intense sensations

Was this monster-man rape really turning me on?

Posted on: July 1, 2012

Named and Shamed by Janine Ashbless.

I was a little intimidated by this book to tell you the truth. I was worried that my knowledge of fairytale folklore might be found wanting. I hate having my ignorance exposed.

Fortunately, my anxiety was misplaced. Concerns for my own dignity were soon dwarfed by the perils facing Tansy; for the tough, witty, streetwise heroine of this novel is soon stripped of her smugness — and much else besides. As early as Chapter Two her clothes are expertly removed in a restaurant and she is exhibited in front of a room full of shocked diners, before being further abased in Chapter Three with the help of a spurting bottle of champagne. I say fortunately not merely out of selfish schadenfreude. I did enjoy Tansy’s humiliation but it was clear by this stage that Tansy was enjoying it a whole lot more.

“I swear I tried to hold on to some vestige of dignity. I tried not to look the diners around me in the eye as I jerked and heaved my hips, as the champagne rain splashed over me and the table, and piddled down onto the parquet floor. But I came all too quickly — with a folorn cry, clutching at his hair — just like the willing slut he’d called me. My climax rose and burst like the gush of champagne, as golden as the squandered liquid.”

The sensitive among you will recognise in these telling sentences the poetry and passion of an acutely literary sensibility. Tansy is no stranger to recondite manuscripts filled with opaque and ancient squiggles.

Worries about my dignity may have been allayed but, if I were to keep up with Tansy’s exploits, I discovered, I would need to keep my dictionary handy. Words like “lave”, “jounce”, “ululate”, “gloaming”, “frenulum” and “duergar” fly thick and fast. Duergar? Yes, I still don’t know what they are. Some kind of Scottish, impish horde, possibly, of the kind that invade the London underground during cup finals.

Which brings me to another point. If you are going to enjoy this book you will need a sense of humour. There are some scenes in here which could damage you for life were they not mitigated by a sophisticated sense of irony. If not for the jokes, you might, like Tansy, clutch your pussy and ask:

“Oh dear God. Was that the extent of my empathy? Was it really turning me on, watching a man being violated by a monster?”

This book is not for the humourless then, nor for the faint of heart.

It’s not just the sex that is racy. The plot flies along at a cracking pace. If this is your bed-time read, be warned. You may find yourself too excited to sleep.

Nor will the pictures soothe your imagination. They are explicit, outrageous and inappropriate in the most appropriate of ways.

All in all, then, this is a highly charged tour de force from one of erotica’s most fantastically imaginative minds. Janine ventures fearlessly into the darkest forests of folklore and dishes up a feast of disquieting delicacies. The things I have mentioned offer the merest hints of the kind of shocks that lie in store. There is a rich range of horrors here and acts that would make an ettin quail.

The warning on the cover is for once entirely justified.


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Books by Vanessa Wu

Lure of the Feminine

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