Porntagenet Strikes Back
Here I am, back with another selection, this time from Posie Graeme-Evans' novel The Exiled. What can I say, I love subjecting myself to this stuff.
First, we are introduced to our Mary Sue heroine, Anne:
Anne's coloring was flattered by the rich fabric of the dress, and her body was graced by its simple cut, the smoke-gray velvet a lustrous contrast to the unlined ivory column of her throat. Anne's beauty was a joyous thing...the deep, blood-russet chesnut of her hair under her veil...
She does some angsting:
For it was at court she'd fallen in love with Edward the King, and it was at court she'd found out who she really was: the natural daughter of the old king, Henry VI. Thus the man she loved, adulterously, had usurped her father's throne.
That's right. Anne is the omg!love-child of crazy ol' Henry VI.
She shags Edward IV in several luridly-described scenes. There's so much of it, I can't even quote it all. Here are some choice snippets:
There was no night, no day, as sleeping and waking blended into one long, heated half-life filled with the most exquisite, unslaked, unslakeable hunger. Hunger for him.
Sounds like she wants to eat him with a spoon.
Naked, lying with her and inside her on a great cape lined with black fur. He'd thrown it down so she'd not feel the stone floor on her bare skin and be chilled.
What's with these writers and sex on stone floors?
Shaking so deeply that she could only center by sliding him hot and deep and hard into her body, by kissing him so that warmth flowed from mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue as he had rocked her, rocked her and she straddled him and the itch between them both became deeper and hotter and hotter and...
If there's one word that should be verboten in a sex scene, it's "itch". Bad author! NO BISCUIT!
First, we are introduced to our Mary Sue heroine, Anne:
Anne's coloring was flattered by the rich fabric of the dress, and her body was graced by its simple cut, the smoke-gray velvet a lustrous contrast to the unlined ivory column of her throat. Anne's beauty was a joyous thing...the deep, blood-russet chesnut of her hair under her veil...
She does some angsting:
For it was at court she'd fallen in love with Edward the King, and it was at court she'd found out who she really was: the natural daughter of the old king, Henry VI. Thus the man she loved, adulterously, had usurped her father's throne.
That's right. Anne is the omg!love-child of crazy ol' Henry VI.
She shags Edward IV in several luridly-described scenes. There's so much of it, I can't even quote it all. Here are some choice snippets:
There was no night, no day, as sleeping and waking blended into one long, heated half-life filled with the most exquisite, unslaked, unslakeable hunger. Hunger for him.
Sounds like she wants to eat him with a spoon.
Naked, lying with her and inside her on a great cape lined with black fur. He'd thrown it down so she'd not feel the stone floor on her bare skin and be chilled.
What's with these writers and sex on stone floors?
Shaking so deeply that she could only center by sliding him hot and deep and hard into her body, by kissing him so that warmth flowed from mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue as he had rocked her, rocked her and she straddled him and the itch between them both became deeper and hotter and hotter and...
If there's one word that should be verboten in a sex scene, it's "itch". Bad author! NO BISCUIT!