Chloe Thurlow's Blog, page 15

Spanking and Bondage at a Cinema Near You

Christian Grey, billionaire, mysterious, sexy, suffered a childhood trauma and can only get off on spanking and bondage.

Anastasia Steele, virgin, falls for the billionaire, and is caught between Christian’s spanking fetish and her resistance to submission. She wants love. He ‘doesn’t do romance.’

Fifty Shades of Grey, EL James’s tale of BDSM and nouvelle erotica, has sold 100 million books, and revived the career of the Marquis de Sade. The long-awaited movie opened February 11th at the Berlin Film Festival and on cinema screens across the world this Valentine’s Day weekend.

I went with three friends on Friday 13th to the Curzon, Chelsea. We had all dressed in spiky heels, a coincidence, if there is such a thing. We drank champagne – one of the few cinemas in London catering for such extravagance – and were surprised on entering the auditorium that it was only one third full.

Of my friends, Gemma is a fan of Fifty Shades and all things spanking and bondage; Helen, a copyright lawyer, dropped the book in the bin on reading Christian Grey’s discipline contract (Anastasia says no to nipple clamps and has no idea what butt plugs are); and Bella has been too busy the last three years to read anything except Hello!

In a scene reminiscent of Charlie Chaplin, we open with Ana entering Christian’s office and falling over; cue laughter. She is there to conduct an interview for the college magazine and has forgotten her pencil; cue empathy. Ana is an English lit major. Christian guesses her passion is Thomas Hardy; cue a spike in sales for Tess of the d’Urbervilles.

Ana gets drunk after her graduation. Christian rescues her from a swarthy photographer about to kiss those plump lips he will later tell her not to keep biting, and takes her to a hotel where they platonically sleep in the same bed – the first time he has ever shared a bed with a woman.

Christian pilots his own helicopter to take Ana for a flight over Seattle at night and Danny Elfman’s subtle score reminds us that at the grey heart of Fifty Shades, this is Romeo and Juliet for the sexting, nude-selfie, mommy-porn generation.

Spanking and Bondage on Screen

This was never going to be an easy film to make: too many expectations, censors and critics grinding the sharp edge of their knives. The opening montages are predictable, sometimes tedious. But that is not why audiences will go to see Fifty Shades of Grey. They will go to see how the scenes of spanking and bondage have been translated from the page to the screen – by all accounts with author EL James watching from the flaps.

Director Sam Taylor-Johnson was taking on a gargantuan task and has made the best film she could have made; perhaps the best film that could have been made from the source material. She navigates the script from Anastasia’s point of view and Dakota Johnson as Anastasia grows as the story unfolds. She conveys her desire to submit in Christian’s ‘red room of pain’ world, while retaining her inner strength of character; her disinclination to be dominated. She likes the sex (once Christian ‘rectifies’ the problem of her virginity). She isn’t into pain.

It is not easy to like Christian Grey. He’s too rich, too spoiled; it’s not easy to believe he is the orphaned son of a crack addict who became a sex-slave to an older woman at fifteen – thus his penchant for spanking and bondage. Is he really working on a business project to help feed the hungry in Africa? I do hope so.

Jamie Dornan, last seen as a serial killer in BBC2’s The Fall, makes a convincing, if slightly inanimate Christian Grey, but does perk up in the play room while threading red rope through metal rings to bind Ana for a thrashing, leisurely, softly-lit sequences that remind us that erotica’s purpose is not orgasm, but the suspension of orgasm.

Taylor-Johnson follows the simple rule: nudity is erotic, genitalia pornographic. The bondage scenes, elegantly shot by DP Seamus McGarvey, are intercut between racks of spanking devices and the naked Anastasia in a way that recalls Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland in Nicolas Roeg’s lovemaking/dressing montage in Don’t Look Now.

When Christian puts Ana over his knee and pulls down her white knickers to spank her bottom, it is merely playful. She squeals, less in pain than delight. But as the discipline gets more intense, so Ana’s misgivings grow until she decides, no more. Fade to black – look out for the sequel.

We had pizza at The Pheasantry and the girls gave their reviews:

Gemma 2** – not enough spanking and bondageHellen 2** – better than she hopedBella 3*** – watchable, a lot of fuss over a little spankingMe – 4**** – the secret of a good movie is to take audiences into a world in which they are unfamiliar – and the film does exactly that.Read Fifty Shades? Try another perspective with Katie in Love, my new novel, just out in paperback.Please share with the buttons below

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Girls on Top a Danger to Men

Girls on top is dangerous!

After 2000 years on all fours with our bums in the air doggy style, or spreadeagled for missionaries, research published in Advances in Urology claims that girls on top are responsible for ‘half the penile injuries suffered by men.’

The Daily Mail diligently sent its ‘penile’ correspondent to Brazil where he discovered in the town of Campinas, 42 men in hospital with bandaged wangs, their distraught Latino girlfriends tearfully at their sides. Girls on top, he reported, is the ‘most dangerous position for men.’

Dangerous? Absolutely, dangerous for men terrified that girls are taking the lead in the bedroom, the board room, sports reporting, news casting. The crystal ceiling was always sugar-glass and girls on top has switched – after 2000 years – from metaphor to a social trend that just keeps gaining ground.

Can men damage their precious peniles with girls on top? I am sure they can. And with girls on the bottom, sideways, and swinging from ropes suspended from the ceiling. Sex can be a risky affair. So is skiing. That’s why we do it.

The researchers suggest that a man is most at risk for pecker injuries in this position because girls on top have more control over the movements. Half the damaged chaps who spoke to the research team reported hearing a cracking noise at the time of the injury. The majority endured ‘a great deal of pain,’ they said, and two claimed to have suffered long term erectile dysfunction.

Girls on Top Positions

The cowgirl position is described as the most precarious for men and is, as irony would have it, the position girls on top like most, straddling your prone guy like he’s a saddle and you’re riding a bucking bronco. In this position, women control the pace and depth of penetration, a psychological perk that results in easier, often multiple orgasms.

The reverse cowgirl is riding him backwards. Rather than your breasts and rib cage in view, he’ll see the toggles of your spine, tossed hair, your butt rising and falling to the rhythm of a flamenco dancer with the slapping sound effects of maracas as the moment draws nearer.

Reverse cowgirl has the same intensity as doggy style, except in reverse, girls on top without making eye contact and pleasuring themselves with a singularity of purpose rare in the bedroom. Well, some bedrooms.

Another soothing, more sensual position is stretching out flat, chest to chest, legs to legs, and using his insteps like levers to push in and out, the swaying waves massaging your vulva and clitoris. When girls climb on top, they are in a better position for G-spot stimulation. By switching from deep to shallow thrusts, every part of the vagina is tended to, massaged and coddled.

Finally, try sitting him down on a straight-backed chair without arms, climb aboard, grab on to the back of the chair and, with his hands clutching your bum, move up and down, then in a circular motion, round and round, faster and faster, until you are both giddy and fall off the chair in a volcanic orgasm. Now, that is dangerous.

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Why Kinky Sex Bondage Girls Love BDSM

Girls like kinky sex. Girls like bondage. Girls like a whispering hint of BDSM. Why do you think the Marquis de Sade is still being read and Fifty Shades of Grey sold 50 million copies?

I’ll start again. Girls like the idea of kinky sex. Girls fantasise about being tied up and bent over a broad pair of knees. Girls dream of being dominated and worshipped. Girls adore dressing up, role play, changing roles. Yes, that’s right, perfidious submissives are itchy to switch to the Domme and grab the whip handle.

So what’s the problem between sex-seeking consenting adults?

It is this: men don’t know how far to go – they either go too far, or not far enough. And girls are often too timid to take the lead. They lay back, legs open like a cyber doll, when what they really want is to slip into the stilettos, the mask, the velvet-lined handcuffs bought secretly online, and lead that man (or woman) out on the diamond highway to kinky sex nirvana.

Next time you’re on the beach, grab a handful of sand. Every grain is similar and every grain is different. Sexual desire exists in us all. That desire is for completion, fulfilment, satisfaction. It is how you reach that state that makes you different from the next grain of sand.

Kinky Sex & BDSM Rules

In the right hands (better said: right hand), girls delight in the supreme of BDSM recreations: spanking, that metronome beat of rhythmic smacks that send warming sensations coiling through the silken freeways of the vagina until the nerve endings sizzle and sing. Can you orgasm during spanking? Absolutely.

Zen masters with a student lost in contemplation will, when appropriate, give them a good hard slap. At that moment, they stop thinking and reach satori – awakening, a fleeting view of their true nature, a sort of cerebral orgasm.

BDSM – bondage, discipline, sado-masochism – is not about inflicting and suffering pain. It is about ultimate sexual pleasure sourced from a scintilla of pain. The seed that grows into a tree. A glimpse of that certain indefinable something you know is there but can’t quite see or grasp.

When sex turns stale, love fades and loving couples will only revive the corpse of their relationships by pushing back the bedroom walls. Games of domination and submission can be a new lease of life and, with ‘safe words’ like a safety net, they will rediscover on the highwire the unexplored desires within themselves and each other.

The handcuffs, latex suit, vibrator, costume (dominatrix, nurse, schoolgirl, monkey) and white silk rope tie them together like conquistadors on a voyage into the unknown. They quickly learn how far they are prepared to go, and know, too, that however far you go, there is always a kink in the road that will take you further.

Put on a mask and you become someone else. Yourself. Domination is meditation. Wrists bound, ankles tethered, the mind stills, your senses spring to life and you feel more alive than you have ever felt before. Your body is a buzz of miracles and wonder, a caravanserai of carnal ecstasy. Submission is liberating. It’s like growing wings and flying, or floating in a warm sea,

BDSM and kinky sex for some is a lifestyle, as golf is for other grains of sand. How do you start? Where do you get lessons?

It’s not like that. The desire is innate. It finds you. Keep your eyes wide. Read. Be open. Kinky sex is fun.

Did I say read? I did – try reading my new novel Katie in Love. Just CLICK.

Remember fortune favours the brave.

The post Why Kinky Sex Bondage Girls Love BDSM appeared first on Erotic romance writer Chloe Thurlow.

Begging in the Street Makes Me So Angry

Every time I see someone begging in the street it makes me depressed. Sometimes I give money. Sometimes I buy a sandwich and exchange a few words. Sometimes I don’t do anything at all. Except feel depressed.

When Jesus told the parable of the Good Samaritan, he knew Jews and Samaritans hated each other and reversed what his followers expected to hear in order to make them think beyond the perceived wisdom of the times. The fable tells of a foreign traveller robbed, beaten and stripped of his clothes. He is neglected first by the priest who passes, then by the Levite. But a Samaritan takes the man home and cares for him.

Bob Dylan reminds me of Jesus: Jewish, intense, provocative; stand them side by side, and they probably would have had a far more similar appearance than the Renaissance images of Jesus with pale skin and blue eyes. Dylan writes in his song I Am a Lonesome Hobo: I have tried my hand at bribery / Blackmail and deceit / And I’ve served time for everything  / ‘Cept begging in the street.

Is begging in the street as low as one can fall, the ultimate humiliation? Dylan must have given it a lot of thought. I imagine he saw himself as he set out penniless with a guitar on his back as a Lonesome Hobo. Jesus probably felt the same.

The Buddha was born Siddhartha Gautama, a royal prince. The first time he left the palace to enter the town, he was struck by four things which would become The Four Noble Truths; the essence of Buddhism. He understood life brings suffering, that suffering is part of living, that suffering can be ended, and that there is a path that leads to the end of suffering.

The path is renunciation of possessions, ambitions, anger, greed, you name it, the Buddha gave it up. He spent the next 40 years wandering, preaching and begging in the street for sustenance. In Buddhist and Hindu communities across Asia, begging is not shameful and allows people to gain good karma by giving alms.

Begging in the Street Protocols

Charities say don’t give money to people begging in the street. Better to give that money to the charities that know best how to distribute it. They also say beggars will use the money to buy drugs or alcohol. This is probably true. But is that so terrible? I feel a frisson of cheer when I have a glass of wine. Why shouldn’t a beggar be entitled to that same pleasure.

Giving to someone begging in the street is direct action, important to the giver as much as the receiver. One story that cropped up in The Guardian last week reveals how this human connection can have amazing knock-on effects.

Art student Dominique Harrison-Bentzen lost her bank card one night and a man begging in the street gave her £3 so she could get a taxi home in safety. Dominique in turn set up a donation page on Facebook and, in a few weeks, has raised so far more than £21,000 to help the homeless – 80% of beggars are homeless, and as many as 50% are ex-army, men who have served on battlefields and now find themselves without the support and often with mental health problems, too.

Beggars who are not homeless, one assumes, are what we might call professionals. Borders have all but vanished in Europe and whole families from the poorest nations can share modest accommodation in rich cities and set up shop. They have a routine: poorly-scrawled signs, broken cups, a desolate demeanour, unlike what I think of as genuine beggars who are usually lethargic, sad and undemanding.

In spite of the economic and banking crisis, in London, Barcelona and Paris, I see gorgeous new buildings, shiny new cars and glittering shop windows filled with stuff that reveals a level of wealth that makes the need for begging in the street even more scandalous.

That’s why when I am not depressed, I feel angry. There are empty buildings, there are generous people willing to donate time, there is an innate human inclination to give to those in need. What’s lacking isn’t so much funds as the will and organisation. Governments everywhere seem to have washed their hands of people begging in the street. Perhaps we need to call on Dominique Harrison-Bentzen to get the ball rolling.

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Grooming Girls – Why is it so Easy?

Grooming girls as sex slaves, suicide bombers and gang members is a modern-day pandemic; the Ebola of contemporary life.

Erotic sex between consenting adults – spanking, bondage, watersports, role play: all belong to the exotic tapestry woven by those seeking their deepest desires and fantasies. It’s healthy. It’s normal. Sex is the essence of our humanity, the way we show love and fulfil our destiny by continuing the species.

Grooming girls is not about love, adult sex or erotica.Grooming girls is a crime.

Girls want to please. Girls want to be pretty. Girls want to be admired. Girls are naïve and that’s why grooming girls is so easy. It is the burden of being a girl and why grooming girls has become an industry.

As you enter puberty, your body reshapes from a collection of flat plains to a riddle of curves and new sensations. Your mind fills with dreams and primal images. You are no longer a child. You are not yet a woman. You float in the vortex between the two.

As you change from a bug to a butterfly, you study the air-brushed models in the toothpaste and Wonderbra ads. You pose. You dress and undress. You spend ages in front of the mirror wondering whether or not to take a nude selfie. All the things you’ve been warned not to do, you are suddenly tempted by.

Most girls negotiate this hormonal minefield and escape unscathed. Some girls, girls who are lost, lonely, confused, they are the girls as they pass through puberty who are being watched by the groomers.

Grooming Girls as Sex Slaves

Men skilled at grooming girls look for teenagers alone in parks, community centres, shopping malls. The groomers know how to make girls laugh. They say things girls want to hear. You’re amazing. You’re really pretty.

The girls don’t know they are being groomed. They believe that have found a friend who understands them. The man buys her small presents that lead up to him giving her a mobile phone, even if they already have one. This is a secret connection, an electronic chain he will later tug on knowing the girl will come running.

The groomers take their victim for a drive. It makes girls feel daring, a rebel, grown up. He is usually young, good looking and part of a team the girl meets when he takes her to a night club for the first time. They give her alcohol. They smoke hash. Subtly, shrewdly, the girl – sometimes they are only 12 years old, are drawn into the adult world.

Girls think of the groomer as their boyfriend. They have taken the gifts and are easy prey to the pressure when he wants sex for the first time. Before long, he convinces her to have sex with other men. She is beaten and forced if she doesn’t want to. After the second time, a psychological switch flicks in her brain. She is ashamed, trapped, damaged. Unable to tell parents, police, social workers, she accepts her role in the hollow new world she has entered.

These girls are an ATM machine. They are currency. Girls are sold to other gangs, taken to other towns, set up in squalid rooms with pink lights and closed curtains where they may have sex with ten or twelve men in a single night. Girls groomed in this way in Eastern Europe are traded across borders from the east to the wealthier countries, Germany, France, Holland, the UK.

Grooming Girls by Gangs

Grooming girls in poor neighbourhoods starts when girls are as young as eight. They take messages, carry drugs and guns. They are unlikely to be stopped by the police. If they are, they are too young to be charged and will already have learned that the first law of the gang is you don’t rat on the others members.

Girls feel lucky and protected being in the gang. Evidence shows that they accept being raped in their early teens as part of the initiation.

Grooming Girls for the Rich

Grooming girls is not limited to poor areas. Virginia Roberts has declared through an affidavit filed in the Florida courts that she was groomed as a teen by businessman Jeffrey Epstein and forced to have sex as a teenager with Prince Andrew, son of the Queen, not once, but on three occasions, in New York, London and the Caribbean, a claim the Prince denies.

Andrew was at the time an associate of Epstein, the American billionaire jailed for grooming girls and, in a sense, grooming his business cronies by supplying girls as deal sweeteners. Virginia Roberts told The Times: “The third time I had sex with Andy was in an orgy on Epstein’s private island in the US Virgin Islands. I was around 18. Epstein, Andy, approximately eight other girls and I had sex together.”

Grooming Girls for Jihad

While Islamic State (ISIS) fighters have been battling to carve out what they call a new Caliphate in Syria and Iraq, online radical preachers have been grooming girls, some as young as 14, to abandon their homes in Europe to became jihadi wives in the conflict zone.

They are assisted in acquiring passports, provided tickets for flights to Turkey, then cross the frontier to Syria. They do not know before they leave that a ‘jihadi wife’ is not wedded to one man. By some quirk of Koranic Law where men can ‘take a wife for a day,’ the girls become sex slaves to many men. Other Muslim girls are groomed as suicide bombers and are considered particularly valuable in target assassinations, according to a 2011 US Army intelligence report.

From Islamic extremists to street gangs to the wealthy elite, grooming girls for sex, business and politics describes a world that does not value women – a reality that has always existed, but more shameful and corrupt in what we would like to believes are enlightened times.

Please share and comment.If you enjoy my blogs, Katie in Love, my new novel, is out now.

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Marquis de Sade – Life, Books and Debauchery

The Marquis de Sade plucked reluctant virgins, debauched serving girls, beat his wife, seduced her sister, practised sodomy and wrote stories featuring rape, incest, necrophilia, torture and bestiality.

He was also a war hero, lent his name to the word sadism and practically invented the erotic genre.

Two hundred years after his death in 1814, the Marquis de Sade’s books are still in print and are being reassessed by academics who see him as a philosopher whose belief in living life in absolute freedom resonates more strongly with present-day attitudes than ever before.

After two centuries in the shadows, the de Sade family are reclaiming their heritage, and the current heir, Elzear de Sade, is using the title Marquis, though purely honorary in Republican France. In our age of celebrity, infamy is merely another shade of fame.

A more concrete sign of de Sade’s new respectability was the Orsay Museum in Paris in 2014 paying $7 million for the original manuscript of 120 Days of Sodom, written by de Sade while imprisoned for debauchery in the Bastille, and described by Napoleon (a frustrated writer) as “the most abominable book ever conceived.”

The Marquis de Sade found a lot of time to write, passing as he did almost half his sixty-four years in various prisons. He was finally sent to an insane asylum, where he wrote Justine, his best book, in my opinion, the pages of which were smuggled out a folio at a time, printed and sold in secret to an insatiable readership.

Banned, burned, censored and condemned, there has always been a market for erotica.

Marquis de Sade – A Life

Donatien Alphonse François (1740 – 1814) was the son of Comte Jean-Baptiste François Joseph de Sade and Marie-Eléonore de Maillé, the Lady-in-Waiting to the Princess of Condé.

De Sade’s parents resided at the House of Condé, the 16th century palace where their son grew up and which would become the fictionalized setting for much of his later writing: the Gothic chambers connected by candlelit corridors, grim stairways and shadowy dungeons nurturing his macabre imagination and planting the seeds of the literary genre he took to new extremes.

At age sixteen, de Sade joined the military. His baptism of fire occurred in June 1756 at the start of the Seven Years’ War, when the armies of the Maréchal de Richelieu stormed Port-Mahon. Wearing a scarlet uniform with a plumed helmet, de Sade was in the vanguard of the attack. Following ‘fierce and murderous combat,’ with a lone companion, he secured an enemy stronghold and his bravery was ‘mentioned in dispatches,’ according to Gilbert Lêly, de Sade’s biographer.

De Sade would later write that during the skirmish ‘his soul was on fire.’ He saw death all around and felt no compassion bathing his sword in the blood of those enemy soldiers who stood in his way. Not since the Crusades had warfare been so bloodthirsty and merciless. More than a million people were slaughtered. Cities were pillaged and entire populations put to the sword.

It was in this furnace of carnage where de Sade’s soul was forged and the map of his future began to form. Climbing the ranks to Colonel, his diary through those years changed from heroic accounts of battles won and soldiers meeting death in a noble cause, to a mocking criticism of the military high command, the corruption and duplicity at the heart of government, and the futility of war.

He had seen massacres blessed by the Holy Roman Church and torture executed in the name of the Crown. He came to view the ethics of his times, and of life itself, as hollow, hypocritical and meaningless, a grand lie perpetrated by Church and State.

The only way to endure this absurdity, he reasoned, was to live in freedom without value judgments, religion or morality. He saw all existence as a struggle between master and slave, predator and prey, and determined to enjoy his own good fortune as one of the hunters.

Arriving back in Paris a hero, de Sade began to put his theories into practice. Within months, several street walkers had protested to the police over his ‘unmentionable’ acts, whipping, bondage, torture, the perversions and brutality he had witnessed in the wake of battle and would later appear in gory relish on the pages of his books.

After spending a few nights in the jailhouse, de Sade realized that his pleasures were going to cost him a great deal more than he could afford on his family allowance. Tall, good-looking, if ravaged, he courted and quickly married the heiress Renée-Pélagie de Montreuil, the daughter of a magistrate. They made their home at the castle above Lacoste, a spectacular hill town overlooking the Provence countryside; today, the restored edifice a place of pilgrimage for admirers of de Sade’s writing, philosophy and, no doubt, his lifestyle.

De Sade constructed a theatre within the castle walls and the plays written by an ‘anonymous’ author began to acquire loyal patronage by the time his father died in 1767, when he assumed the title, Marquis. The productions were bizarre, as well as blasphemous, in that, while the performers portrayed perverse and vicious acts, they discussed political, religious and philosophical issues. The more prurient the work, the more the men of Lacoste clamoured for tickets.

The Marquis watched the audiences watching his work and came to believe that in the soul of those bourgeois tradesmen was a streak of sadism; a hunger for sex. De Sade identified the line between a love story and an erotic story and recognized that, the further that line was crossed, the greater the potential for creating compulsive narratives.

He was conscious of his own erotic nature. As he watched the burgers of Lacoste glued to their seats in his theatre, he became aware that aspects of that nature existed in every man – and woman. While a handful of prostitutes reported his depraved deeds, just as many did not. He discerned from this that his companions on his erotic journey would have different levels of tolerance and, more important, that tolerance to pain both increases and reaches a point when pain becomes pleasure.

Nudity, corporal punishment, multiple partners, slavery, every form of role play we can imagine today has always been with us. Erotic composition survives from the first Chinese dynasty. From Ancient Greece we have a collection of erotic verse including the work of the first ‘lesbian’ writer, Sappho of Lesbos, who died around 570 BC. The great Roman thinker, Ovid, dabbled in the erotic, as did Shakespeare; better known for his love elegy Romeo and Juliet, he also turned his quill to the sensuous poems Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece.

In more recent times, erotic writers from Anaïs Nin to EL James, have continued to reshape the erotic genre, while sticking closely to the blueprint set down by the Marquis de Sade: submissive females drawn to dominant males who discover sensual pleasure through acts involving restraints, gagging, punishment by hand, whip, strap and cane.

The consensual aspect of BDSM is the primary difference between contemporary erotic literature and that pioneered by the Marquis de Sade. His stories are decadent and nihilistic, with pitiless protagonists and simpering heroines stripped of their dignity.

Marquis de Sade – Writer

The Marquis de Sade grasped the first rule of the budding author: write about what you know about. As a young man growing up in the House of Condé, he would have seen churchmen and aristocrats seducing young house maids below his very roof.

Added to his experiences on the battlefield slaughtering men with lance and sword, was his careful study of human psychology. He didn’t only whip and unite in coitus with the prostitutes he procured, he observed their reactions and lusts, their greed and hypocrisy.

When his wife’s sister, Anne-Prospère, moved to live at the castle, he seduced her and made her partner in his clandestine orgies. Servants, of both sexes, he saw as fair game.

His writing became more depraved, as did his life, which he led with what he called ‘extreme freedom,’ and what the existentialists more than a century later would call ‘authenticity.’

In Provence, he felt safe from the prying eyes of the capital and, something often forgotten, while his literature became more transgressive, so, too, did his political writing, which he pursued with as much fervour and which would, perversely, save his life.

De Sade’s wife gave birth to three children, two sons and a daughter, while he maintained relations with her willing sister. But two women were not sufficient for his gargantuan appetites. No matter how frequent, or by what multiple the participants, nothing dimmed his lust for the next experience.

As de Sade observed, depravity, what we might call pornography, quickly palls and must be continuously renewed and updated. An erotic book is seldom re-read. Readers require fresh stimulations.

De Sade was charged in 1772 for supplying the aphrodisiac Spanish Fly to some prostitutes in Marseilles. During the investigation, he was further accused of sodomy with his manservant, Latour, and sentenced to death in absentia. De Sade fled to Italy with Anne-Prospère. They were caught, imprisoned by the Italians, and escaped back to France, where the Marquis hid in the castle in Lacoste.

De Sade had always been lucky, but luck’s natural journey is to run out. Later that year, he was captured on a visit to Paris. An aristocrat and war hero, he successfully appealed his death sentence, but was imprisoned finally in the notorious Bastille, where he began his opus Les 120 Journées de Sodome – 120 Days of Sodom.

The manuscript survived his move in 1789 to Charenton, an insane asylum, where, that same year, the French Revolution resulted in the overthrow of the Monarchy. High ranking members of the new Constituent Assembly formed in 1790 were conversant of de Sade’s political writing. They saw him as a fellow traveller and he was immediately released.

The Marquis gathered his manuscripts, each written in gloomy prison cells on scraps of paper. They were edited and he saw several of his books published during the first years of the 1790s. His wife had divorced him and the castle at Lacoste was uninhabitable after being sacked by the mob.

In spite of his aristocratic background, he joined the radicals and was elected to the National Convention representing the far left. He wrote political pamphlets and advocated fairer voting systems for the poor and landless, revolutionary ideas for revolutionary times.

By 1796, all de Sade had to his name was his title and half a dozen novels bound on the bookshelf. When Napoleon came to power in 1801, the general engineered de Sade’s arrest. He was sent to the asylum at Charenton, where he staged his plays with inmates acting the parts and Parisian high society making up the audience.

De Sade’s last great coup, as he saw it, was the seduction of Madeleine Leclerc, the thirteen-year-old daughter of an employee at Charenton, with whom he maintained sexual relations until his death in 1814.

Between the lines of the Marquis de Sade’s novels is an analysis of how power and economics relate. The strong overpowering and abusing the weak is a metaphor for the politics of his time, as he noted, ‘for all times’. De Sade championed erotica as a literary form and can be seen as the definitive symbol of the artist’s struggle against censorship which, it has to be said, he clearly won.

Adapted from The Fifty Shades of Grey Phenomena, my guide for writing great erotica 

Image shows a modern sculpture of the Marquis de Sade outside the ruined castle at Lacoste.

The post Marquis de Sade – Life, Books and Debauchery appeared first on Erotic romance writer Chloe Thurlow.

Squirting Girls in French Watersports Survey

Squirting is in the news and it made me so mad I screamed out the window and frightened the pigeons in the tree in the garden next door. Let me start by saying this:

Eve was not constructed from Adam’s rib.Females do not have a prostate.Squirting evidence on YouPorn is convincing (and mesmerising).

And not only the porn sites. Proof of effective squirting has reached me through comments on my blog, chat-rooms, personal mail, in late night gossip with trusted friends and – need I say more?

All of which runs contrary to claims by a group of French scientists who have published in The Journal of Sexual Medicine an article ‘revealing’ that fluid from squirting – or gushing – is not arousal juices, as loving couples and vibrator virtuosos believe, but golden arches of warm steamy pee.

The research was conducted with seven (SEVEN) women whose squirting prowess provided an ‘average’ cup of liquid for analysis. To achieve these historic results, they gave the women pelvic ultrasound scans after the women peed, and twice during sexual stimulation.

The experts stated there was a ‘marginal contribution of prostatic secretions in the fluid,’ although what they meant to say is discharges from the Skene’s gland, seeing how, in the female, the uterus occupies the place where the prostate nestles all walnut-like in the male.

I find the evidence unsound and the number of squirting girls too small to be reliable. I am also surprised that the news comes from France, where girls, I’m told, reach orgasm smoking Gauloises or watching a video of Claude Chabrol’s Les Bonnes Femmes.

Squirting isn’t easy, it has to be said. Then, neither is riding a unicycle. Just as some people sweat more than others, or eat more than others, some girls erupt in surging geysers of  vaginal fluids with greater facility and in more generous quantities than others.

Squirting Watersports

In Victorian times, they had another word for female orgasm – it was hysteria. Even though dildos date back to Ancient Greece – they were shaped like a bread-stick and called olisbokollikes – the new breed of psycho-quacks got it into their heads that women did not have sexual desire and merely resembled the garden outside my window, repositories for the male seed and its bounty.

Some men are still like that. And some men believe a girl squirting under their touch is a sign of their own sex appeal and machismo. It seems a shame to pee on their parade, but the truth is, the methodical throb of a vibrator in the right place and in the right hands – even your own hand – achieves more consistent results.

Those into watersports, and couples in uninhibited moments, enjoy each others golden showers on their bare skin. For them, even if the squirting juice is composed principally of urine, the pleasure of urophilia is not diminished.

Squirting Tips

Is squirting myth or magic? Is it all in the mind and does it really matter? Those who can, do, and they do so because it’s fun. Those who can’t, well, they don’t know what they are missing.

How is squirting accomplished? By stimulating the clitoris by tongue, the soft pad of a fingertip or, of course, the loyal vibrator. Squirting, like love, and learning the cello, requires patience, concentration and self-belief.

Relax now. Close your eyes. Throw your head back. Open your legs wide, wider still. Keep going until arousal is beyond control, beyond endurance, and you will gush like a fountain of the type where lovers throw coins to buy wishes and their first wish is a squirting orgasm.

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The Dream Is Not To Have Dreams

We find happiness in being who we are, not in striving to become who we would like to be. When dreams end, at moments of boredom, loneliness or disappointment, we have a tendency to ask ourselves the same four questions:

Who am I?
What do I want from life?
How am I going to achieve it?
Why do I feel so unhappy?

The questions come instinctively. But we seldom have the honesty to answer them. It is as if we are looking into a dusty mirror and are afraid to sweep away the dust. The mind creates dreams, illusions, self-deceptions.

We imagine a change of partner or career, a holiday or treating ourselves to a costly new object, will bring back our lost sense of contentment. But balance only returns when we take a step back into our true selves and stop trying to be what we or not, or acquire what we do not need.

There is a belief that what you visualise can materialise: that success, money and happiness are there for the grabbing if you concentrate on them; that the universe answers your desires if you make those desires clear. In the book The Secret, Rhonda Byrne suggests that you write a list and read it regularly like a prayer so that you are unequivocal about your dreams and wishes.

We only have to look at the millions of people suffering in wars, the refugees, the starving, to see that the universe is not a vast superstore answering the dreams of those privileged enough to have dreams. Dreams are an illusion. A mirage. The dream is not to have dreams.

Dreams Deceive

The quest of the alchemists to turn lead into gold is a metaphor for our attempts to turn the base metal of ourselves, that person hooked on consumerism, filled with angst and ambition, into the gold of what we can be and really are. An inner voice constantly urges us to change; some people take that urge to the extreme of the surgeon’s knife. But there is a still deeper voice at the core of our being whispering that the secret is just to be yourself.

We can spend our lives conjuring dreams, waiting for some special moment, some challenge, some prize, some lover, some opportunity, some special reason why we exist. Rarely does that moment come – and, when it does, if it does, we are seldom ready or recognise that the moment has arrived.

John Lennon said life is what happens when you are busy making other plans. He also wrote, with Paul McCartney, All You Need Is Love. Look at the four questions listed above and take John’s advice.

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Cunnilingus – the Art and Science of Pure Pleasure

Cunnilingus is a girl’s best friend. Cunnilingus is life. Everything else is just waiting. An orgasm during cunnilingus turns you into an angel. You grow wings and glimpse paradise.

Eating the peach is a meditation. Your mind empties of all the must dos and should have dones. You are pure being. Your lover’s tongue is the key that turns the lock that opens the pleasure box. Life has few perfect moments; moments of cunnilingus score the highest on sex blissometer.

Make no mistake: girls love getting head as much as giving head. Giving head is good for your health. Getting head is good for the soul.

In the Garden of Eden, Eve wore a fig leaf, not to cover her moist parts, but to draw Adam’s gaze to what lay hidden in the undergrowth. Extending the metaphor, the snake symbolizes Adam’s tongue, the apple the rosy, blood-engorged bundle of nerve endings pulsing within Eve’s clitoris.

Cunnilingus is not a three-minute twerking fad, here today junked tomorrow. It is Tchaikovsky. An overture. An operatic experience that makes you high, then takes you higher. Orgasm is the waft of smoke seen at the top of the volcano. As we know, the journey is pure pleasure, the arrival like the Big Bang that created the universe.

Oral arts were highly considered in Ancient India and are poetically described in the Kama Sutra. The word cunnilingus derives from the joining of cunti and kunda: Womb of the Mother or Womb of the Universe. The vagina, yoni in Sanskrit, was given the sobriquets lotus, jade palace, cinnabar gate and love temple; the lips of the labia the archway of love. The penis (lingam) didn’t carry names like cock, prick and chopper, but wand of light, jade stalk and jewel.

Cunnilingus Tips and Tongue Tips

Some lucky girls reach orgasm at the touch of a button. Some find squirting as easy as turning on a tap. For the majority, though, bliss arrives from extended foreplay, from tender loving concern with that little bundle of nerves. Remove your watch; turn off your phone. There’s no hurry.

Girls adore being stroked, licked and fondled, the longer the better. Kiss her lips, her chin, the hollow of her throat. Pause at her breasts before slipping down over her tummy and stretch her legs apart as if you are opening a lace curtain – the archway of love.

Your tongue entering her vagina will awaken the (Bartholin) glands that make her wet with arousal fluids. She delights in the deep penetration of your tongue, in and out, a waltz more than a tango that takes your tongue tip gentle as a feather through the hood to the waiting clitoris.

The blissometer rises slowly. Cunnilingus requires a lightness of touch, saintly patience, flawless timing. Try pushing a garden pea across a table top with the tip of your tongue. When you can do so in even strokes, just a centimetre or two at a time, your downtown trips will just get better and better.

Cunnilingus & Knotting The Cherry Stem

Another technique to improve tonguing performance made its debut on David Lynch’s hit TV series Twin Peaks; a demonstration can be found on YouTube. The aim is to tie a cherry stem in a knot whilst inside your mouth. Crazy, but worth a try.

Start by buying a bag of cherries or, better still, a bottle of  maraschino cherries, as the stems are already supple. With a fresh cherry stem, you need to suck and chew the stem, softening it with your saliva until it is flexible.
Bend the stem in half over the tip of your tongue, so that the folded stem lies with one side on the top of your tongue, one side on the bottom.
Take the folded stem between your front teeth. Bite down and grind gently until the ends cross, forming a loop with the two ends of the stem crossed over.
Holding one end of the stem with your teeth, use the tip of your tongue to push the other end through the loop. Use your teeth to rotate the looped stem toward the end you are trying to push through.
Spit the knotted cherry stem on to your open palm.

Well done!

Tie a cherry stem with your tongue tip and your cunnilingus nights will soon shake the windows and rattle your walls. Click the links below and share the good news -

Smile If You Want To Look 10 Years Younger

My mother rarely smiles. When I arrived for lunch on Sunday, her hands dropped to her hips and she said: ‘Chloe, are you taking monkey glands? You look 10 years younger.’

My eyebrows shot up. ‘So do you,’ I replied.

And out popped one of her rare smiles.

Only humans smile. And the moon in its first quarter. A smile makes you look 10 years younger. Smiling is contagious.

I had come from walking in Battersea Park where an elderly lady hiking along with an ebony cane had given me a warm smile. ‘Good morning,’ she’d said, and I smiled back.

I was still smiling as I passed two joggers and they grinned the wheezy grin of people making an effort. I reached the lake where an Indian family were feeding the ducks with breadcrumbs. They turned with beaming faces and the ducks smiled as they went quack, quack, quack.

Scientists say it requires less facial muscles to smile than it does to frown. I must have taken the smile with me from the park and mislaid the frown I usually wear when I have lunch with Mother. Her compliment: You look 10 years younger, even with its tinge of sarcasm, made lunch a more happy affair and bodes well for the new year.

Look 10 Years Younger like the Mona Lisa

Smiling releases endorphins that make you happy. If you are already happy, you feel even happier. A frown does the same in reverse, spreading gloom like a virus. A trick to make yourself smile is to put something in the corner of your lips, like a pen top. Sounds silly, but it fools the body into feeling a rush of pleasure, and out comes those endorphins.

We tell our loved ones to say cheese to make them smile for a photograph. People spend zillions on cosmetic dentistry to get a Hollywood smile. Looking for a job? Smile at the interview, and you are half way to your first pay check. Louis Armstrong sang: ‘When you’re smiling, the whole world smiles with you.’ Is it just a lyric?

The most famous smile of all belongs to the Mona Lisa, the best known, most visited, most talked about and most parodied painting in the world. The portrait has been permanently on display at The Louvre in Paris since 1797. If you go to see it, and you should, avoid the crowds by arriving half an hour before the museum closes.

Mona Lisa is captured full face with a smile that is cheeky, innocent, inviting and enigmatic, qualities that intrigue men and women try to project. Researchers at Amsterdam University in 2005 ran the image through emotion recognition software that declared Mona Lisa to be 83% happy, 9% disgusted, 6% fearful, 2% angry, less than 1% neutral, and 0% surprised.

She is smiling. She is 83% happy, which sounds just about as happy as one can ever hope to be. Mona Lisa, the wife of an Italian aristocrat, appears to me to look 10 years younger in the portrait than she actually was, and the painting remains as fresh as when Leonardo da Vinci painted it in the early years of the 16th-century

Look 10 Years Younger – The Secret

To look 10 years younger: stand up straight, throw your head back and smile.

It’s so easy. When you smile, your eyes light up. The pupils dilate and take in more light, which then spreads in a glow through the whole body.

A smile goes against gravity. You push back the force of the universe, of time’s incessant arrow. Frown and you are racing the clock forwards. When you smile, you appear more confident, as well as more attractive. You really do look 10 years younger.

If you are in a bad mood, when you go out, make yourself smile and the blues have a habit of disappearing. Smile at the shop assistant, the bus driver, the person bringing new shoes for you to try on. Maybe they have the blues. Smile and say thank you and it will make their day happier.

When you smile, the surge of endorphins changes the body mechanism and you have better orgasms. Orgasms release hormones, which make life seem better. And when life seems better you live longer.

It is the last day of 2014. Time to make some New Year Resolutions. Here are mine:

Be nice to Mother.
Read more – good books only.
Smile.

Happy New Year – and remember this: you look ten years younger when you stand up straight, throw your head back and smile.

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