PORN. Porn, porn, glorious porn!
Ok, so I felt shitty earlier, but I'm much better, now: I've finally managed to get into cleaning up what I wrote the other day (that 6500 7620-word bout of anal/fisting/squirting Jaffar/Zainab/Pwinzezz extravaganza), and you know what? It's some of the hottest, raunchiest, rawest, filthiest sex I've ever written--but with tenderness, caring, passion and sweetness and sharing, unlike with Torsten/Laura who were but darkness. I'm actually really positively surprised at what I managed to do there, and I should get back to it before I become too tired to continue, but holy hell. I haven't written anything that immersed into the spirit of sex itself--all the glimmering fluids, the pulsing cunnies cupped in hands, the raw gapes, the sobs and the gasps and the souls entwining in a long, long while. The way they (well, Yassamin) think(s) about what's going on has also been great--it's not as analytical as some of my stuff has been, lately, to the point where it's actually become a bit intrusive and the sex has become too talky. It's just *intelligent* and passionate sex, the way she explores and investigates her desires and Zainab's body, the way they all set each other alight. I don't know what's happened, but it's great, and I do hope I can finish this damn fic before long--it deserves to be published before I go to England.
Here's just a little snippet to show you what I mean about the immersion--I think it goes beyond just a description of what they're doing into something more intense, with the psychology that good written porn always, IMHO, needs. This is pretty much the sort of thing I mean when I say I want to combine the fury of the rawest, straight hardcore porn and the emotional intensity found in fanfic. Right here, Zainab (think Bunny like this at her curvaceous best) is on all fours, Yassamin stroking her lady bits, and Jaffar is about to come and take his share.
Jaffar shifts upon the bed, and by instinct, Yassamin knows to move aside the moment she sees the fever in his eyes. He is in that state of arousal where nothing will stop him, now; for a moment, Yassamin is glad Zainab does not know this face as well as she does, for she wonders if even a 'mercy' would be heeded, now. He is dark, he is terrible, he is beautiful, a god: without a word, he straddles Zainab's thighs and pulls up her hips, sliding his cock deep into her cunny. It all happens so fast Zainab cries out, howls, screams into the mattress, her body jerking as Jaffar begins to fuck her, rough, without finesse, brutal; he has barely started when he pulls out, judging his cock slick enough, and now begins to press inside Zainab's arse.
Zainab's face twists from pain and she grows quiet, but she is determined to take him, determined to pull herself through to the pleasure that awaits on the other side; she surrenders so completely it is beautiful to watch. She loosens her body, curves her back like a cat pleading to be mated with, forcing herself to accept Jaffar inside of herself with the concentration of a fakir: ready to defy a little pain for the greater ecstasy of being face to face with his God. Divine, divine, he is divine as he spits upon his cock and impales Zainab's flesh once more; the streak of his spit and the whorls of her arse curling around his prick a white garland, a pink crown.
Briefly, he pulls his cock out, and Zainab's arse gapes, heaves, as if sighing more, I am empty without you, more; Zainab moaning "Please, Master, more," so quiet a whisper it is swallowed by the sheets entire.
Softly, sweetly, Yassamin takes Jaffar into her mouth; she nearly comes there and then as the dark, deep salt of Zainab's arse, deeper than what she could reach with her tongue, now dissolves upon her palate. The glands underneath her tongue flood her mouth with saliva, as if she were sucking upon a delicious sweet; she keens, rubbing herself, rubbing, transferring her pleasure onto Jaffar's cock with the force of her voice, the depth of it to him as she lets him briefly gag her throat. She coughs, shivers, the fastest, quickest of clitoral orgasms whipping through her as she so milks her husband; still, she sobs as Jaffar laughs softly, cruelly, wiping tears from her eyes with his thumbs.
"Return it to her wet," Jaffar says, a command as firm as it is quiet; "slick it up, my child; slick it up so that I might take her deeper.
And Yassamin does as she is told, now never taking her eyes off the skies of Jaffar's, her very submission making him hiss with such pleasure so that his stomach dips, ripples against her huffed, short, fast breaths. His very nipples crinkle, the hair on his arms standing on end as he cups Yassamin's jaw in his hand, taking Zainab's arse with his fingers at the same time; he tenses like a hound, wanting to pounce, pounce, leap and tear and ravage and maim. Oh, Jaffar may want Yassamin to be swift, but she knows his perversion for delay, and thus, teases him to the utmost: slowly, she rolls her head, entranced, dancing, swaying into his rut in worship as she slickens his cock.
"Enough!" Jaffar cries, rasps; he pulls his cock out of Yassamin's mouth so swiftly thick strings of phlegm whip from her mouth onto her throat and onto her breasts; these, Jaffar slurps off her, sucks off her only to spit them into Zainab's arse, pushing them brutally inside of her to slicken her up more, more, more. He slaps his cock against his stomach, hissing through his teeth as Zainab wails at his hooking fingers, now three and long and tugging upon her like claws; finally, he tugs them out, still hooked out and before Zainab has even finished screaming, he replaces them with his cock.
And with this new gloss of spit, a new tug of Yassamin's fingers to ease the way, Jaffar slides deeper into Zainab than ever before: Zainab makes to howl, but her noise is crushed in her throat as Jaffar presses into her, throwing her into the bed with his entire weight. He may be a man slight, but when he drives into a woman, he seems possessed of some strange new heaviness, as if lust itself weighed down his blood, like alchemy makes baser metals gravid with gold. Gold, gold, the sheen of sweat upon his brown belly in the evening light; this, too, Yassamin laps up, little moans in Jaffar's chest trickling down onto his stomach, Yassamin lapping these up, too, sweet golden pearls, pearls.
He is more beast than man, grunting, huffing, his nostrils flared; the eyes of a big cat stare down at Yassamin as she rests her head upon the small of Zainab's back, offering herself up to his service. She strokes Zainab's cunny, now so wet and so swollen in her hand, and a shiver of pleasure goes through Yassamin in recognition: that amazing, wonderful rush of anal penetration that so fills the cunny with heat, makes it swell to twice its normal size, Zainab's folds flushed and full and heavy between her fingers. Zainab, too, is reduced to groans animal, ruts beastlike, huffing and panting as she throws herself back down onto Jaffar's cock; she twists between Yassamin's hand and Jaffar's prick, rubbing herself on both as she tries to relieve what seems a massive ache, despair.
"Please, please, please," Zainab begs, pleads.
"For what?" Yassamin asks, even if she knows what Zainab must mean--sodomy always drives her close to orgasm from the very start, and Zainab is coiled tight, trembling with the need for release.
"Please, let me come, please, let me come, please, let me come," Zainab sobs, the uncrowned queen of the land now reduced to a slave girl begging for scraps, hoping against all hope that her master will have mercy upon her. How many times must she have lain underneath men like this? It is as if some old wound opens in her, her cries those of a girl young, abused. The times she must have been robbed of orgasm when the men who had owned her had taken their pleasure of her and left--a man comes so swiftly from such tightness, even swifter than a woman, and whereas an ordinary orgasm being cut off is frustrating enough, to be cut off in the middle of sodomy is absolute hell.
The wild rush of emotions and humours this act engenders in the body of the recipient, a veritable maelstrom of blood and flesh--to have all these humours trapped inside of the body unreleased, to not have the pain of anal penetration assuaged by orgasm is enough to trigger madness, it is said. Why, even being denied release from ordinary coitus can turn women hysterical, raving lunatics from the humours that sex has heated up and darkened inside of them. For as these humours accumulate in the womb without being allowed release, the womb itself will become poisoned, begin to blacken and bleed into the pelvis and the woman herself shall be slain.
Yet sodomites fare even worse when denied orgasm, it is said, their minds shattered so that they will become paranoid and see things and hear things, their sap and their sperm having risen into their brain and rotting it there, turning them insane before they finally die a horrid, screaming death. The greatest madmen have always been those who had been taken as boys but left unfulfilled--look to the Caesars!--so say all the love manuals. Therefore, even the cruellest of boy-chasers should always make sure his boy reaches orgasm as well.
And Jaffar knows this, has seen it happen: therefore, despite playing the brute, he always makes sure that his lovers' humours are released, be they male or female. From his time as a woman, he knows the pain of the blood-filled womb is worse than anything he has ever felt in his testes; therefore, he now stills, mercy sobering him from his lust-rage.
"Move aside," Jaffar rasps to Yassamin. He flicks up with his hand and makes a curling motion, and with it, Zainab's limbs are lifted so that she is now on all fours, Jaffar yanking her back as if a pard on a leash. He flicks his fingers to the right, so that Zainab's head is turned with it to look over her shoulder, so that now she is forced to watch herself. With a little nod, he gestures for Yassamin to continue rubbing Zainab's cunny; as he stays still within Zainab, her cunny clenches against Yassamin's hand, her hips stiffening with the pain of Jaffar not moving.
"I want you to see this," Jaffar murmurs, cupping Yassamin's head. He pulls his cock out, slow, slow, displaying its gleaming length to Zainab, its red and shining beauty. And as he does this, he sends to Zainab and Yassamin, sends to them both what he now sees: the head of his cock slurps out of her arse and leaves behind itself a beautiful, wide open gape.
Zainab shrieks, both from the sensation of seeing double and of seeing herself, her body so opened: yet this shriek turns into a wail as Yassamin slides her tongue deep into this gape, deep. Yassamin sobs into Zainab's arse, never ceasing in her rubbing of her, the first pulses of her orgasm so violent she can feel them against her hand.
And holy fucking shit, am I proud of that. That is quality fic, right there. Of course, now I will probably have jinxed it and this will never get posted, but at least you get a sample, eh?
Here's just a little snippet to show you what I mean about the immersion--I think it goes beyond just a description of what they're doing into something more intense, with the psychology that good written porn always, IMHO, needs. This is pretty much the sort of thing I mean when I say I want to combine the fury of the rawest, straight hardcore porn and the emotional intensity found in fanfic. Right here, Zainab (think Bunny like this at her curvaceous best) is on all fours, Yassamin stroking her lady bits, and Jaffar is about to come and take his share.
Jaffar shifts upon the bed, and by instinct, Yassamin knows to move aside the moment she sees the fever in his eyes. He is in that state of arousal where nothing will stop him, now; for a moment, Yassamin is glad Zainab does not know this face as well as she does, for she wonders if even a 'mercy' would be heeded, now. He is dark, he is terrible, he is beautiful, a god: without a word, he straddles Zainab's thighs and pulls up her hips, sliding his cock deep into her cunny. It all happens so fast Zainab cries out, howls, screams into the mattress, her body jerking as Jaffar begins to fuck her, rough, without finesse, brutal; he has barely started when he pulls out, judging his cock slick enough, and now begins to press inside Zainab's arse.
Zainab's face twists from pain and she grows quiet, but she is determined to take him, determined to pull herself through to the pleasure that awaits on the other side; she surrenders so completely it is beautiful to watch. She loosens her body, curves her back like a cat pleading to be mated with, forcing herself to accept Jaffar inside of herself with the concentration of a fakir: ready to defy a little pain for the greater ecstasy of being face to face with his God. Divine, divine, he is divine as he spits upon his cock and impales Zainab's flesh once more; the streak of his spit and the whorls of her arse curling around his prick a white garland, a pink crown.
Briefly, he pulls his cock out, and Zainab's arse gapes, heaves, as if sighing more, I am empty without you, more; Zainab moaning "Please, Master, more," so quiet a whisper it is swallowed by the sheets entire.
Softly, sweetly, Yassamin takes Jaffar into her mouth; she nearly comes there and then as the dark, deep salt of Zainab's arse, deeper than what she could reach with her tongue, now dissolves upon her palate. The glands underneath her tongue flood her mouth with saliva, as if she were sucking upon a delicious sweet; she keens, rubbing herself, rubbing, transferring her pleasure onto Jaffar's cock with the force of her voice, the depth of it to him as she lets him briefly gag her throat. She coughs, shivers, the fastest, quickest of clitoral orgasms whipping through her as she so milks her husband; still, she sobs as Jaffar laughs softly, cruelly, wiping tears from her eyes with his thumbs.
"Return it to her wet," Jaffar says, a command as firm as it is quiet; "slick it up, my child; slick it up so that I might take her deeper.
And Yassamin does as she is told, now never taking her eyes off the skies of Jaffar's, her very submission making him hiss with such pleasure so that his stomach dips, ripples against her huffed, short, fast breaths. His very nipples crinkle, the hair on his arms standing on end as he cups Yassamin's jaw in his hand, taking Zainab's arse with his fingers at the same time; he tenses like a hound, wanting to pounce, pounce, leap and tear and ravage and maim. Oh, Jaffar may want Yassamin to be swift, but she knows his perversion for delay, and thus, teases him to the utmost: slowly, she rolls her head, entranced, dancing, swaying into his rut in worship as she slickens his cock.
"Enough!" Jaffar cries, rasps; he pulls his cock out of Yassamin's mouth so swiftly thick strings of phlegm whip from her mouth onto her throat and onto her breasts; these, Jaffar slurps off her, sucks off her only to spit them into Zainab's arse, pushing them brutally inside of her to slicken her up more, more, more. He slaps his cock against his stomach, hissing through his teeth as Zainab wails at his hooking fingers, now three and long and tugging upon her like claws; finally, he tugs them out, still hooked out and before Zainab has even finished screaming, he replaces them with his cock.
And with this new gloss of spit, a new tug of Yassamin's fingers to ease the way, Jaffar slides deeper into Zainab than ever before: Zainab makes to howl, but her noise is crushed in her throat as Jaffar presses into her, throwing her into the bed with his entire weight. He may be a man slight, but when he drives into a woman, he seems possessed of some strange new heaviness, as if lust itself weighed down his blood, like alchemy makes baser metals gravid with gold. Gold, gold, the sheen of sweat upon his brown belly in the evening light; this, too, Yassamin laps up, little moans in Jaffar's chest trickling down onto his stomach, Yassamin lapping these up, too, sweet golden pearls, pearls.
He is more beast than man, grunting, huffing, his nostrils flared; the eyes of a big cat stare down at Yassamin as she rests her head upon the small of Zainab's back, offering herself up to his service. She strokes Zainab's cunny, now so wet and so swollen in her hand, and a shiver of pleasure goes through Yassamin in recognition: that amazing, wonderful rush of anal penetration that so fills the cunny with heat, makes it swell to twice its normal size, Zainab's folds flushed and full and heavy between her fingers. Zainab, too, is reduced to groans animal, ruts beastlike, huffing and panting as she throws herself back down onto Jaffar's cock; she twists between Yassamin's hand and Jaffar's prick, rubbing herself on both as she tries to relieve what seems a massive ache, despair.
"Please, please, please," Zainab begs, pleads.
"For what?" Yassamin asks, even if she knows what Zainab must mean--sodomy always drives her close to orgasm from the very start, and Zainab is coiled tight, trembling with the need for release.
"Please, let me come, please, let me come, please, let me come," Zainab sobs, the uncrowned queen of the land now reduced to a slave girl begging for scraps, hoping against all hope that her master will have mercy upon her. How many times must she have lain underneath men like this? It is as if some old wound opens in her, her cries those of a girl young, abused. The times she must have been robbed of orgasm when the men who had owned her had taken their pleasure of her and left--a man comes so swiftly from such tightness, even swifter than a woman, and whereas an ordinary orgasm being cut off is frustrating enough, to be cut off in the middle of sodomy is absolute hell.
The wild rush of emotions and humours this act engenders in the body of the recipient, a veritable maelstrom of blood and flesh--to have all these humours trapped inside of the body unreleased, to not have the pain of anal penetration assuaged by orgasm is enough to trigger madness, it is said. Why, even being denied release from ordinary coitus can turn women hysterical, raving lunatics from the humours that sex has heated up and darkened inside of them. For as these humours accumulate in the womb without being allowed release, the womb itself will become poisoned, begin to blacken and bleed into the pelvis and the woman herself shall be slain.
Yet sodomites fare even worse when denied orgasm, it is said, their minds shattered so that they will become paranoid and see things and hear things, their sap and their sperm having risen into their brain and rotting it there, turning them insane before they finally die a horrid, screaming death. The greatest madmen have always been those who had been taken as boys but left unfulfilled--look to the Caesars!--so say all the love manuals. Therefore, even the cruellest of boy-chasers should always make sure his boy reaches orgasm as well.
And Jaffar knows this, has seen it happen: therefore, despite playing the brute, he always makes sure that his lovers' humours are released, be they male or female. From his time as a woman, he knows the pain of the blood-filled womb is worse than anything he has ever felt in his testes; therefore, he now stills, mercy sobering him from his lust-rage.
"Move aside," Jaffar rasps to Yassamin. He flicks up with his hand and makes a curling motion, and with it, Zainab's limbs are lifted so that she is now on all fours, Jaffar yanking her back as if a pard on a leash. He flicks his fingers to the right, so that Zainab's head is turned with it to look over her shoulder, so that now she is forced to watch herself. With a little nod, he gestures for Yassamin to continue rubbing Zainab's cunny; as he stays still within Zainab, her cunny clenches against Yassamin's hand, her hips stiffening with the pain of Jaffar not moving.
"I want you to see this," Jaffar murmurs, cupping Yassamin's head. He pulls his cock out, slow, slow, displaying its gleaming length to Zainab, its red and shining beauty. And as he does this, he sends to Zainab and Yassamin, sends to them both what he now sees: the head of his cock slurps out of her arse and leaves behind itself a beautiful, wide open gape.
Zainab shrieks, both from the sensation of seeing double and of seeing herself, her body so opened: yet this shriek turns into a wail as Yassamin slides her tongue deep into this gape, deep. Yassamin sobs into Zainab's arse, never ceasing in her rubbing of her, the first pulses of her orgasm so violent she can feel them against her hand.
And holy fucking shit, am I proud of that. That is quality fic, right there. Of course, now I will probably have jinxed it and this will never get posted, but at least you get a sample, eh?