Mistress of the World: The Glory of The American Woman

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I’ve always like Americans principally for their obliviousness (I won’t use the word ignorance, as that can never be used affectionately). I am not talking here of the much mocked obliviousness of the external (non-American) world cheerily exhibited by small-town US citizens. I mean more the obliviousness, common across the class divide, which Americans display toward their own country and the extreme nature of their everyday reality.

I refer to how Americans are prepared to accept the most insane and evil things as utterly ordinary, unremarkable, and generally tolerable, from legally-owned sub-machine guns slung around the backs of obese white-supremacists in KFC restaurants, to extortionate health care fees, almost universal anti-depressant and opiate use, a history of genocide, segregation, and enslavement celebrated by monuments to the guilty, medieval prison routines, and the Roman-style blurring of the military and the state. None of this seems to disturb the average American citizen, or at least not enough to prompt them to emigrate to Canada, Britain or Australia. It is not strange enough for them to want to escape from it. It is part and parcel of their nation, the nation they swear allegiance to, and it is part of who they are.

America, of course, has always been an experiment in gigantism. They took things from the rest of the world and made them bigger – bigger, one might argue, than they needed to be. They took slavery from the West Indies and made it considerably bigger and considerably worse. They took military developments from Europe and expanded them to grotesque and potentially apocalyptic proportions. They took food from Italy, France, and Germany, and offered them in portions so big that the national stomach now requires surgery. America is a banquet, an overindulgence, with a history of vomiting, bleeding, and migraines, skilfully assembled to substitute for a national tradition.

Note – this is not intended as some juvenile anti-American screed. This author is not remotely troubled by capitalism, and would not want to live without it. I am not a bleeding heart defender of any tribe or race or nation. The world, I believe, has benefited immensely from American daring, initiative and forward-thinking. I mean only to say that America is grotesque, and that Americans are charmingly oblivious of the extent of this grotesqueness.

And I not only find this charming, but deeply, fiendishly erotic. American-ness in a woman is greatly arousing to me, precisely if  she possesses the most objectively negative traits associated with her country. Put simply, the more stereotypically (defectively) American a woman is, the more I find her sexually desirable.

When I lick the thick, burger-fed thigh of an American woman, I like to imagine she has the blood of Indian-killers, segregationists, gun-nuts, slave-owners, and overseers, flowing voluptuously beneath her pink American skin. As I taste her vagina, I think of the death penalty, high-school massacres, atom bombs, and oxycodone bottles. She is the human distillation of her entire country; the fattened posterity of unrivalled enslavement, violence, and conquest. I am licking America, its extreme past, present, and future.

I am also licking power, by measure of which America is obviously preeminent in the world.

An American woman, with her vote, has more power at her fingertips than a hundred thousand Estonians, Belgians or New Zealanders put together. She is carelessly and zealously protected by the world’s most powerful military, with its ICBMs, carrier strike groups, and M1 Abram tanks numbering by the thousand. Millions could be liquidated to defend her. She is thus an aristocrat of the democratic world. I should rightly be scared of her, awed by her power, desperate for her approval, fearful of upsetting her.

Of course, most Americans do not understand their power any more than they appreciate their extremity. Why else would American women treat English men as if we are their superiors? Why else would they seem to believe our accents, intelligence, and reputed charm, rightly merit their giggling humility? Britain is surely an irrelevance. In reality, we are prostrate at their feet, along with the rest of the world.

How I wish they would become conscious of their might!

The American woman is mistress of the world, to be obeyed, feared, and worshipped.

PG


Purchase (and please review) my books:
The Torture of the Octoroon: A Tale of Sex & Slavery
Synopsis: Abigail and Susannah are half-sisters. Abigail is white. Susannah is not, being the result of their father’s extra-marital relations with a mixed-race slave at his tobacco plantation in Florida. When their father dies, Abigail inherits not only the estate, but her sister along with it. Their relationship soon changes out of all recognition as Abigail finds a dark part of her own nature that delights in the cruel treatment of her childhood rival.
Kindle & paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9
Conquerors: Israeli Girls Having Fun
Synopsis: Hannah and Eden are old friends – and blossoming lovers. While the two are training to join the Israeli security forces, Hannah, a ruthless sadist, manages to persuade her weak-willed sweetheart into an act of extreme perversion.
Kindle : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07736XNYP
Paperback : https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conquerors-Israeli-Girls-Having-Fun/dp/1979313881
The Cherokee’s Nearly-White Slave
Synopsis: 1851. USA. Juliet is a blonde twenty-three year old farm slave in Appalachia. Only one thirty-second black by blood – nearly white by law – she hopes to have an illicit child (who will be legally white and thus free) with her owner, Jack. But that dream is soon shattered when Jack, under great financial strain, sells her to a sadistic Cherokee master with plans to use her for breeding.
Kindle & paperback : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077SNXHW1

The Beautiful Neo-Nazi Girl (erotic flash fiction)

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How did I end up here?  I went to the march to protest, to condemn. These people are garbage. They want me dead. They want my family dead.

And yet here I am, with my head between pale, tattooed thighs, attached by the force of sheer lust to the body of a psychopath.

If she finds out I lied about my ethnicity I’m a dead man. I have no doubt this woman is capable of killing. The swastika flag hanging over her bed tells me all I need to know about her morals. The framed photo of a burning cross on the bedside cabinet just serves to remove any doubt.

“Go deeper,” she drawls in her gum-chewing Tennessee accent. And so I extend my tongue farther into the pink, vinegary flesh of her white pussy. All white pussies taste of vinegar. The juice they seep is sharply sour, with an echoing saltwater aftertaste. But it pulls you back, this taste. You want to leave. But you can’t. They are in charge. And they hold the tanks, the armies, the police, the power.

This sour cunt is the pinnacle of human evolution, or such is the opinion of the most powerful portion of humankind. And I am befouling it, surely, with my mongrel tongue. I should rightly be honoured to touch this semi-literate meth-head, this pristine specimen of Old America.

But she would cheer the murder of your whole family! This is madness!

Be quiet, conscience!

How can you do this?

I DON’T KNOW! Alright? I could ask these questions with my intellect well enough. Why does the thought of this woman smiling over my corpse excite me so?

I don’t know.

Why do I wish to lick the soles of her feet?

I don’t know.

Why do I wish to worship and consume her foulest excretions?

Because… because she is of a race of Gods. This flabby, tattooed divinity stands astride the world, whip and noose in hand. And to submit to her delirium is a hundredfold sweeter than to oppose it.

PG


Purchase (and please review) my books:
The Torture of the Octoroon: A Tale of Sex & Slavery
Synopsis: Abigail and Susannah are half-sisters. Abigail is white. Susannah is not, being the result of their father’s extra-marital relations with a mixed-race slave at his tobacco plantation in Florida. When their father dies, Abigail inherits not only the estate, but her sister along with it. Their relationship soon changes out of all recognition as Abigail finds a dark part of her own nature that delights in the cruel treatment of her childhood rival.
Kindle & paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9
Conquerors: Israeli Girls Having Fun
Synopsis: Hannah and Eden are old friends – and blossoming lovers. While the two are training to join the Israeli security forces, Hannah, a ruthless sadist, manages to persuade her weak-willed sweetheart into an act of extreme perversion.
Kindle : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07736XNYP
Paperback : https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conquerors-Israeli-Girls-Having-Fun/dp/1979313881
The Cherokee’s Nearly-White Slave
Synopsis: 1851. USA. Juliet is a blonde twenty-three year old farm slave in Appalachia. Only one thirty-second black by blood – nearly white by law – she hopes to have an illicit child (who will be legally white and thus free) with her owner, Jack. But that dream is soon shattered when Jack, under great financial strain, sells her to a sadistic Cherokee master with plans to use her for breeding.
Kindle & paperback : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077SNXHW1

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Buy my debut novel – “The Torture of the Octoroon: A Tale of Sex & Slavery”

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In this erotic novel, Abigail and Susannah are half-sisters. Abigail is white. Susannah is not, being the result of their father’s extra-marital relations with a mixed-race slave at his tobacco plantation in Florida. When their father dies, Abigail inherits not only the estate, but her sister along with it. Their relationship soon changes out of all recognition as Abigail finds a dark part of her own nature that delights in the cruel treatment of her childhood rival.

Amazon.com (Kindle) : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9

Amazon.com (Paperback) : https://www.amazon.com/dp/1975807308

Amazon.co.uk (Kindle) : https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B075CK7LB9

Amazon.co.uk (Paperback) : http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1975807308

Southern Woman: A Worshipful Ode (erotic poem)

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To you who make of others all

An ugly, lowly, cheapened swarm,

I bend my knee and raise my eyes

To chance admire pure white thighs.

 

The veins which run beneath your skin

Must boast in great supply within

The blood of masters, heartless kin,

Who dared correct the fault and sin

 

Of tired slaves, rebellious minds,

Who, cruelly owned by evil kinds

Superior in arms to them,

Did fight the ordering of men.

 

Pinke Grapefruit


You can support my writing by buying my erotic novels:

The Torture of the Octoroon: A Tale of Sex & Slavery” – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9

Conquerors: Israeli Girls Having Fun

Synopsis: Hannah and Eden are old friends – and blossoming lovers. While the two are training to join the Israeli security forces, Hannah, a ruthless sadist, manages to persuade her weak-willed sweetheart into an act of extreme perversion.
Kindle : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07736XNYP
Paperback : https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conquerors-Israeli-Girls-Having-Fun/dp/1979313881

– or you can confuse / scare your friends by sharing my work on social media.

Conquerors: Israeli Girls Having Fun (erotic novella)

NEARPERF (3)

Synopsis: Hannah and Eden are old friends – and blossoming lovers. While the two are training to join the Israeli security forces, Hannah, a ruthless sadist, manages to persuade her weak-willed sweetheart into an act of extreme perversion.

Kindle : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07736XNYP

Paperback : https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conquerors-Israeli-Girls-Having-Fun/dp/1979313881

Pinke Grapefruit

Anilingus: The Suspension of Civilisation

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Sex is overrated. By this, I mean to say that the climax of sexual desire – the ‘in-out’ – to adopt Clockwork Orange vernacular – is overrated, and too much importance is ascribed to it.

Much better is foreplay; an (in)discipline of infinite variety. Like a game of chess, no two sessions of foreplay are exactly alike. They vary wildly. It can sometimes be boring, sure, perhaps a little routine. But it can also be heavenly; a banquet for the senses without limit. Via foreplay one can devour a person, not merely use them for pleasure. One can explore everything there is to know about that person. And to this end we can use not only our bodies, but our words and minds, our creativity. Foreplay is to sex what Jazz is to music. It is free-flowing and ecstatic, primitively complex.

And of the kinds of foreplay, the most exquisite activity is surely that which technical types refer to anilingus; the pleasuring of the anus with the mouth. (Colloquially this is known as ‘ass-eating’, and, to be honest, I prefer this more literal term.)

The beauty of ass-eating derives from its perfect degradation of the giving partner. There is no way of dressing up anilingus as something dignified. It isn’t. It is shamelessness and surrender perfected. And that is why I am so utterly, proudly addicted to it.

When I lick my partner’s anus, I am caressing with my tongue the tube down which her excrement and flatulence travels. Without such gruesome aspects in mind, the activity is far less enlivening.

For a person to eat an ass is to surrender utterly to the animal part of his or her being. It is to strip away the veneer of civilisation completely and expose the chimp-like reality that is only ever half-obscured beneath the suits and ties, the sky-scrapers and the banks, the democracies and all other cants with which modernity powders its face in the morning.

Anilingus rolls us back down the evolutionary hill. It is the sport of kings and queens. And no life may be called complete without a taste of its mysteries.

PG


You can support my writing by buying my novel: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9 – or you can confuse / scare your friends by sharing my work on social media.

Veronica Hurts Her Employees (erotic flash fiction)

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I am too poor to refuse. I have no other options left to me. Though it stabs at my pride as if with a jagged-tipped blade, I have no way of resisting her.

I can hear Veronica rubbing her hands with lubricant behind me. The noise is nauseating. Chook, chook, chook, slide, slide, chook. It’s ghastly. Every nerve and muscle in my body is tensed to breaking. My feet are far apart. She has me as she wants me.

Why would she want to do this? Why would anyone? What strange pleasure can she derive from it?

“Here it comes, baby,” she says.

She has never called me this before.

But there is no time to think any more about it. Soon enough I feel the cold, sticky mess of her fingertips slide into the crack of my buttocks, parting them wider the further she penetrates. She is quickly up to her knuckles, and then past them; deeper, deeper still. It is the most bizarre and un-erotic sensation I have ever experienced. I feel like I am being examined.

“Nearly in,” she mutters excitedly. “Keep perfectly still.”

When her hand has squelched up to her wrist, I feel her fingers slowly begin to curl into a ball inside me. I know too little of biology to decide whether this is something that could damage me. But that is what my common sense cautions me.

The tightened elastic of my anal passage is resisting the swelling shape of her fist with everything it has. The squelching is growing ever more disquieting. The sensation is nearly indescribable.

“Good,” she sighs. “That’s great. Can you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“Stupid question really,” she laughs pleasantly, as if expecting me to laugh along with her.

There is now a fist inside my anus. It is all the way in. She is trying to force it still higher. Only science can save me now.

I am breaking wind in long loud gusts. This is so undignified.

She fucks me with her hand, pushing and pulling the fist she has made up and down my anal canal.

“Take that, baby. Take it.”

I should have studied harder in school.

PG


You can support my writing by buying my novel: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075CK7LB9 – or you can confuse / scare your friends by sharing my work on social media.