AG31
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 19, 2021
- Posts
- 2,755
Recently two different happenings alerted me to the fact that in some circumstances quality writing is not only unnecessary for my enjoyment, it might be a drawback.
The first was that I was able to articulate for myself that I had a favorite trope, and that a story that had those elements didn't have to be well written at all for me to enjoy it. If a story features a man with some sort of authority (business, nobleman, military) who is captured and subjected to some sort of sexual surrender, then I will read it, no question. I will even read a long story or novel if it pushes those buttons, whereas I normally stick to short things for erotica. The quality of the writing is irrelevant.
The second was this. While I was reading such a novel, I came to an explicit sex scene. But it wasn't totally satisfying. I kept going over it in my mind, wishing it had more concrete detail. I'd re-do bits in my head. Finally I decided to write such a scene from scratch for myself. I changed the names, in case I ended up with something publishable and didn't refer again to the novel. I'm publishing it here, content with the idea that @ElectricBlue proposed, that “You're going to write your own ‘bathing a captured prince’ scene, just as ten thousands other authors have done before."
The relevance for this post is that after I had written my version I went back and re-read C. S. Pacat's version. I recognized that her writing was significantly better and I toyed with the idea of improving mine by using more variety of sentence structure, looking for more imaginative similes, etc. But something in me resisted. "No," it said. "Good writing would be a distraction."
Does this ring any bells for any of you? Do you know what's going on?
Here's my version, and C. S. Pacat's version is in Part 2 of this two piece post, since combining both pieces of writing exceeds the 10000 character forum limit. Here is part 2.
Jason loosened the belt and the fastenings at his shoulders and let his short tunic drop to the floor. Certainly being naked in this captivity was nothing new, but the sandals put an edge on it. “Undress me,” said Mentes.
Jason hesitated a moment and then dropped to a knee, to remove Mentes’ slippers. Mentes grasped the towel bar to his right and lifted his foot, first one and then the other. Holding his bare foot was the first time Jason had touched Mentes. Then he rose and Mentes held out his hand, indicating the long, tight cuff. There were a dozen pairs of tiny eyelets, holding a crisscrossed lace. Mentes hand was very pale and refined next to Jason’s tanned ones, with calluses and scars. Jason paused ever so slightly to contemplate the contrast before proceeding to loosen the lace, eyelet by eyelet. When the cuff was free and fell away, Jason was taken aback to see the forearm of a man, not a youth. He had defined muscles, although he, like Jason was lithe, not heavy. Jason let his finger tips trail lightly through the sprinkling of dark hair, surprising himself, but not surprising Mentes, who displayed the faintest hint of satisfaction. He offered his other hand and Jason slowly unfastened the lacings there.
He turned to the many small buttons that closed the tunic from Mentes’ throat almost to his waist. They were small, fastened in tiny loops. It required Jason to stand very close. He tried to keep his mind strictly on the task at hand, but found his thoughts wandering to the warmth of Mentes’ chest as it worked its way through the cloth to the backs of Jason’s fingers. When he had undone the last button he slipped his hands under the tunic and allowed his palms to rest on Mentes’ shoulders before sliding the garment to the ground.
Adelaide was his love, but Jason had his culture’s high valuation for male beauty, and, while he despised Mentes, he was dumbstruck by his physicality. Not quite as tall as Jason, he was perfectly proportioned. Defined muscles, masculine hair, no scars or blemishes. “Wash me,” said Mentes.
Jason swirled the silken cloth in a basin of hot scented water and touched it to Mentes’ arm. The cloth was thin, not a normal wash cloth. It was like stroking the skin directly. He lifted Mentes’ slack arm to wash it. The tinge of mastery evoked a suggestion of danger for Jason. He was mildly relieved to switch to the torso. He moved to Mentes back, drawing long strokes from shoulder to waist, aware of the muscles rippling under his hands.
When he shifted to Mentes’ chest he was disconcerted to realize that the nipples had lost their neutral aspect. Even in the absence of tell tale pebbling, the nearly indetectable nodule under his palm triggered a slight increase in the speed of his breathing. He needed to discipline himself as he moved lower, to the firm roundness of the rear and the flat muscular plane in the front . Mentes spread his legs, indicating that Jason should wash him well, on and around his genitals. Jason drew the cloth, draped over his finger tips, along the secret juncture between thigh and testicles, and then behind, slightly lifting. They were heavy, but not with the weight of arousal. He drew the cloth forward on the other side, more slowly than hygiene required. His lips were just dry enough that he had to touch them with the tip of his tongue.
Through it all Mentes’ gaze never shifted from Jason’s face. Jason caught it briefly now and again when he looked up from his task.
Jason’s testicles felt full against his thighs and his penis began to swell.
He knelt to wash Jason’s legs, savoring the sculpted firmness, and unavoidably encountering the evidence that Mentes showed no stirring whatsoever.
There was a hint of weakness in his legs, and when Jason rose to pour hot water over Mentes’ body he just avoided becoming unsteady. Mentes’ gaze did finally shift. He looked down with a frank air of triumph at Jason’s visible arousal. He hooked the curve of the half erect cock with a forefinger. “You’re being impertinent. Very impertinent. You need to be punished. Guard! Bind him so I can flog him.
The first was that I was able to articulate for myself that I had a favorite trope, and that a story that had those elements didn't have to be well written at all for me to enjoy it. If a story features a man with some sort of authority (business, nobleman, military) who is captured and subjected to some sort of sexual surrender, then I will read it, no question. I will even read a long story or novel if it pushes those buttons, whereas I normally stick to short things for erotica. The quality of the writing is irrelevant.
The second was this. While I was reading such a novel, I came to an explicit sex scene. But it wasn't totally satisfying. I kept going over it in my mind, wishing it had more concrete detail. I'd re-do bits in my head. Finally I decided to write such a scene from scratch for myself. I changed the names, in case I ended up with something publishable and didn't refer again to the novel. I'm publishing it here, content with the idea that @ElectricBlue proposed, that “You're going to write your own ‘bathing a captured prince’ scene, just as ten thousands other authors have done before."
The relevance for this post is that after I had written my version I went back and re-read C. S. Pacat's version. I recognized that her writing was significantly better and I toyed with the idea of improving mine by using more variety of sentence structure, looking for more imaginative similes, etc. But something in me resisted. "No," it said. "Good writing would be a distraction."
Does this ring any bells for any of you? Do you know what's going on?
Here's my version, and C. S. Pacat's version is in Part 2 of this two piece post, since combining both pieces of writing exceeds the 10000 character forum limit. Here is part 2.
The Bath – by Ag31
Jason was led to the baths, but this time there was only one other person there, his captor Mentes. Like all of the ruling class in this kingdom, he was clothed simply, but richly. The fabric of his floor length tunic was heavy silk. The edging intricate gold braid. The cuffs were long and tight. The fastening in front was tight at his neck. “Strip,” he said to Jason, “but keep your sandals on.”Jason loosened the belt and the fastenings at his shoulders and let his short tunic drop to the floor. Certainly being naked in this captivity was nothing new, but the sandals put an edge on it. “Undress me,” said Mentes.
Jason hesitated a moment and then dropped to a knee, to remove Mentes’ slippers. Mentes grasped the towel bar to his right and lifted his foot, first one and then the other. Holding his bare foot was the first time Jason had touched Mentes. Then he rose and Mentes held out his hand, indicating the long, tight cuff. There were a dozen pairs of tiny eyelets, holding a crisscrossed lace. Mentes hand was very pale and refined next to Jason’s tanned ones, with calluses and scars. Jason paused ever so slightly to contemplate the contrast before proceeding to loosen the lace, eyelet by eyelet. When the cuff was free and fell away, Jason was taken aback to see the forearm of a man, not a youth. He had defined muscles, although he, like Jason was lithe, not heavy. Jason let his finger tips trail lightly through the sprinkling of dark hair, surprising himself, but not surprising Mentes, who displayed the faintest hint of satisfaction. He offered his other hand and Jason slowly unfastened the lacings there.
He turned to the many small buttons that closed the tunic from Mentes’ throat almost to his waist. They were small, fastened in tiny loops. It required Jason to stand very close. He tried to keep his mind strictly on the task at hand, but found his thoughts wandering to the warmth of Mentes’ chest as it worked its way through the cloth to the backs of Jason’s fingers. When he had undone the last button he slipped his hands under the tunic and allowed his palms to rest on Mentes’ shoulders before sliding the garment to the ground.
Adelaide was his love, but Jason had his culture’s high valuation for male beauty, and, while he despised Mentes, he was dumbstruck by his physicality. Not quite as tall as Jason, he was perfectly proportioned. Defined muscles, masculine hair, no scars or blemishes. “Wash me,” said Mentes.
Jason swirled the silken cloth in a basin of hot scented water and touched it to Mentes’ arm. The cloth was thin, not a normal wash cloth. It was like stroking the skin directly. He lifted Mentes’ slack arm to wash it. The tinge of mastery evoked a suggestion of danger for Jason. He was mildly relieved to switch to the torso. He moved to Mentes back, drawing long strokes from shoulder to waist, aware of the muscles rippling under his hands.
When he shifted to Mentes’ chest he was disconcerted to realize that the nipples had lost their neutral aspect. Even in the absence of tell tale pebbling, the nearly indetectable nodule under his palm triggered a slight increase in the speed of his breathing. He needed to discipline himself as he moved lower, to the firm roundness of the rear and the flat muscular plane in the front . Mentes spread his legs, indicating that Jason should wash him well, on and around his genitals. Jason drew the cloth, draped over his finger tips, along the secret juncture between thigh and testicles, and then behind, slightly lifting. They were heavy, but not with the weight of arousal. He drew the cloth forward on the other side, more slowly than hygiene required. His lips were just dry enough that he had to touch them with the tip of his tongue.
Through it all Mentes’ gaze never shifted from Jason’s face. Jason caught it briefly now and again when he looked up from his task.
Jason’s testicles felt full against his thighs and his penis began to swell.
He knelt to wash Jason’s legs, savoring the sculpted firmness, and unavoidably encountering the evidence that Mentes showed no stirring whatsoever.
There was a hint of weakness in his legs, and when Jason rose to pour hot water over Mentes’ body he just avoided becoming unsteady. Mentes’ gaze did finally shift. He looked down with a frank air of triumph at Jason’s visible arousal. He hooked the curve of the half erect cock with a forefinger. “You’re being impertinent. Very impertinent. You need to be punished. Guard! Bind him so I can flog him.
