Review of Netflix show How to Build a Sex Room

 

In the Netflix real estate porn show How to Build a Sex Room, the perfectly named star Melanie Rose  is more like Dr. Ruth than Dan Savage.  She's an utterly unintimidating woman of a certain age (57, which makes her the exact same age as Savage, but she comes across as older) who takes absolute delight in normalizing sexy times.  She finds various people who for some reason are happy to share their sex lives with the whole world but don't want their neighbors to know.  With long-suffering contractor Mike (last name unknown), she builds them sex rooms designed to their particular taste.  Most of them cry when they see how well she gets them.

Melanie has a gee whiz but accepting attitude towards anything that is thrown at her, from a polyamorous family to a couple who live in a van that is too cramped for comfortable sex.  Her bag of tricks is fairly limited and repetitive.  You get a vibrator!  You get a vibrator!  Everyone gets a vibrator!  She throws in some floggers and sex swings and St. Andrews crosses, but there's nothing that anyone who occasionally watches Pornhub wouldn't regularly see.

I'm not a connoisseur of home makeover shows.  I'm generally aware that the beneficiaries of the TV producers' largesse often complain that the construction was shoddily done and raised their taxes to a rate they can't afford.  So I was relieved that most of the work to create sex rooms was cosmetic rather than structural.  

Nevertheless, I am very concerned about what is going to happen to most of these rooms a couple weeks after the filming ends.  There's one couple with so little control over their home that they've moved their toddler son's bed into their own bedroom because they built a trampoline in his bedroom and can't figure out how to get it outside.  They now have a "secret" sex room in their basement, hidden behind a revolving bookshelf.  The idea that their son won't quickly discover it is absurd.  It struck me that the couple would be better served by one of those nanny reality shows, or perhaps by the contractor moving the trampoline outside for them, than by a sex room they are unlikely to be able to find the time to use.  I expect that ten or so years from now it's where the son will go with his friends to smoke pot. 

And, let's be realistic -- who is going to clean these rooms?   All the penis wall hooks will need dusting, and the sheets need changing.  The van couple never had sex in their van because it was too much trouble for them to pull out their bed.  Are they really going to start bringing pillows and floggers and feathers up the roof of the van so they can have comfortable sex under the stars?  For the sex rooms in houses, how long will it be before they are used to store Grandma's china that she doesn't want but can't bear to see thrown away?  Or for the farm couple to actually start using their sex shed built in the middle of a field as the Airbnb the neighbors claim to believe it is? What happens when it's time to sell the house?  

Despite all this, I found the show to be charming.  I often had a smile on my face at the banter between Melanie and Mike (although their simulated sex in front of Mike's adult son was  . . . ew).  And, if a TV show came and offered to give me a nice new room with great furniture plus a bunch of free vibrators (those things are expensive!) -- well, isn't that the stuff that fantasies are made of?

Note from Jasmine Gold: As the name of this blog indicates, I write erotica. Check out my dark, dystopian novel about naked sex slaves, Mindgames. Your darkest fantasies, with a phenomenal plot and characters you will come to think of as beloved friends. Available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited  and in paperback.  Or read my book of short stories about hot, consensual sex, The Mature Woman's Guide to Desire, available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited.

Thank you, Elust, for including me in your latest issue!

 

 

 

Elust is a delightful compilation of sex blog posts on topics ranging from advice about kinks and fetish to sexual health to (my favorite) erotic fiction, and many other categories.

I am flattered that Elust included a link to my story, My First Submissive Adventure, in its latest issue.  Thank you, Elust! 

In case you missed it, I updated my smutty short story A Submissive's First Threesome

More details make it hotter than ever!  Check it out here.

A Submissive's First Threesome, a smutty short story -- updated

From the author: I added some details to this story.  Enjoy!

The two of you tell me this is for me.  You have me lay on my back.  It is pretty vanilla but delicious.  You each lay on either side of me (thank goodness for king size beds).  We are all kissing and you each touch me, starting with my arms and working up to my neck and down to my breasts.  Then you are both sucking my breasts while your hands drift lower.  I am getting nervous because this is too intense.  You each separate my legs and capture them under your legs so I can't close them.  You are also laying on my arms (gently, it doesn't hurt) so I can't move them either.  You are still sucking my tits, and your hands are on my inner thighs.  You come closer and closer to my pussy.  "Do you want this?" you ask me.  I don't answer.  I'm too embarrassed.  "Guess not," you say.  You both get off of me.  "She doesn't want it" you say to her.  "Do you?"  She laughs.  "Of course."   

Now she lays on her back.  "Lick her," you say,  "And she better like it or you'll be in big trouble."  I kneel between her legs and lick her pussy.  I start to use my fingers but  you slap my butt.  "Just your tongue," you say.  She laughs.  I've never licked pussy before but it feels pretty natural to me.  She starts to squirm and I feel like I'm doing a good job.  But all of a sudden your finger is on my asshole.  You push it in.  I look up, afraid even though it doesn’t hurt.  "Did I say you could stop?" you ask.   

"What's going on?" she asks.  

You pull my head back. “Answer her, slut.”  

I say, “He’s sticking his finger up my butt.”  

You slap my ass with your other hand.  “Not my finger, slut,” you say.  “My thumb.  Because with my thumb in your asshole I can use my fingers for this.”  I feel them on the outside of my pussy lips, stroking up and down in parallel. You are not touching my clit but the sensation makes it burn.  I hear a sound – my own whimper – and without conscious thought I press back, seeking contact.  This  causes your thumb to go more deeply inside me, which makes my clit burn even more. 

 You tell her, “She’s assfucking my thumb.  She’s trying to come.  What a slut.  I’m embarrassed for her.”  Then with your other hand you slap my butt again, this time much harder.  I cry out, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the unexpected pain or your words.  You spank me again.   I cry out again.   “Stop being so useless, and get back to licking your mistress’s pussy,” you order me.  Mistress.  God I want to come.  Need to come.  You spank me again before I can get my mouth properly around her clit.   

 I suck on her clit, running my tongue over it.  You move your thumb in and out of my butt and continue to saw your fingers on my pussy lips.   She arches her back but you pull my head back before she comes.  You spank me while she calms down.  Then you push my face back down into her crotch.  Your thumb is still in my butt; your fingers still tease me.  Every time she gets close to coming you pull my head up.  "What a loser," my mistress says.  "She  can't do anything right."  But she is covered with a fine sheen of sweat, and I know that I have caused that.  The next time you pull my head back again she gives a small sigh of frustration.  

Finally,  you pull your thumb out of my butt and slide your fingers away from my pussy lips.  You push my head down and I suck on her frantically, wanting desperately to please her.   I feel your hard cock pressing into my crack and you grasp at my hips.  For a moment I am afraid you are going to fuck me anally – we hadn’t talked about that, we hadn’t agreed to it – but you push your cock into my dripping pussy.  "Don't you dare come," you tell me.  I wouldn't anyway, you're not touching my clit, but the feeling of you moving in and out of me is so good.  You're inside me and I'm eating her.   Her legs tighten around my head.  I make my tongue as long as I can so that the tip is inside her pussy while my mouth is still pressing against her clit.  I feel her spasm.   "Fuck!" she yells.  I keep pressing into her, making her come again, while your grip on my hips tightens and you jackhammer in and out of me.  You shout when you come in me.  You pull out and collapse next to me.  You roll onto your back, half reclined on pillows.  You pull  me so I am on my back between the two of you.

You are both sated but I am unsatisfied.  Both of you lazily touch me, my breasts, my stomach, my abdomen.  After a few minutes you ask me if I want to come.  "Yes, master," I say.  My mistress laughs at me.  "You're so pathetic," she says.  She tells me to lie with my back on your stomach.    

Your half-hard cock presses against the top of my sore butt cheeks.  You are playing with my breasts again.  She sits between our spread legs, facing us,  and reaches out with her foot, until her toe is on my clit.  I shake my head frantically.  I don't want to come like this.  "Not a word," you tell me.  You reach down and pull my pussy lips apart. It hurts, but it gives her toe direct access to my clit.  She is relentless. "No," I beg.  "Please, no."  It doesn't matter. She keeps going.  The orgasm tears through me and doesn’t stop.   I am safe in your arms as you tsk and say, “Such a slut,” and my mistress laughs at me.       

 

Note from the author:  If you enjoyed this story check out my book of short stories about hot, consensual sex, The Mature Woman's Guide to Desire, or my dark, dystopian novel about naked sex slaves, Mindgames.  

Review of My Darling Duke by Stacy Reid, another Beauty and the Beast-themed Regency Romance

The reason that so many Regency romances have a Beauty and the Beast theme is obvious:  the idea of a virtuous woman rescuing a reclusive, seemingly mean and ugly but actually kind and very hot man from himself, and finding love and riches in the process, is one of the very best fantasies.  My smutty novel in progress, Damascus, about a young woman sold into sex slavery to pay off her father's gambling debt, expressly name-checks this theme.

My Darling Duke, by Stacy Reid, follows the trope fairly explicitly.  Kitty is a self-sacrificing yet feisty heroine willing to abnegate her own dreams in order to help her younger sisters land rich husbands. Towards that end she pretends she is engaged to hero Alexander in order to raise the social standing of her family. Alexander is a recluse who had acquired horrendous scars and other injuries rescuing his sister from a fire.  He demands that Kitty lock herself away in his castle -- er, country estate -- with him until he grows bored.  He's actually nice, his servants love him, sparks ensue, etc. etc.

 SPOILERS AHEAD  

I was intrigued by Alexander's impotence and hoped that Reid would see that through.  Could Kitty and Alexander make their future work if Alexander is unable to give her children?  Or sexual satisfaction?  The book teased this story, and for the middle portion it seemed as if Reid might truly explore these implications.  But in the end Alexander was cured by his attraction to Kitty and was able to have PIV sex with her and get her pregnant.  In the epilogue they fucked like bunnies.  

I reviewed another one of Stacy Reid's books, Her Wicked Marquess, here.  

Note from Jasmine Gold: As the name of this blog indicates, I write erotica. Check out my dark, dystopian novel about naked sex slaves, Mindgames. Your darkest fantasies, with a phenomenal plot and characters you will come to think of as beloved friends. Available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited  and in paperback.  Or read my book of short stories about hot, consensual sex, The Mature Woman's Guide to Desire, available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited.

The Eighth Step (an angry, non-smutty poem by me)

I'm posting this poem on this blog because it's in response to a family member insisting on discussing issues about my childhood I raised in a poem I posted on a blog under my real name.  (Which is not to say a pen name is not a real name, but that's a philosophical issue for another day.)  Rather than getting into an endless unpleasant loop, I present:

 THE EIGHTH STEP

Confrontation

Is not all that. 

 

Forgiveness

Is not all that. 

 

Take your 8^th step

And choke on it.

 

Go to your higher power

And tell him/her/it/they

That I moved on so long ago

That the only thing left to forgive

Is you reminding me

Of what I survived. 

 

Person 1: 

 

The time my baby

Was in the backseat

As I drove you to the airport

And you mentioned offhandedly

That your program requires

That you seek forgiveness

And would I mind?

 

Why, yes, I would.

 

Person 2: 

 

The time you said

You don’t really remember any of it

But would I forgive you? 

 

Whatever. 

 

I slide away,

As I used to.

Then, I was biding time until I

Could build my own life.

Now I have.  

 

Note from Jasmine Gold: As the name of this blog indicates, I write erotica. Check out my dark, dystopian novel about naked sex slaves, Mindgames. Your darkest fantasies, with a phenomenal plot and characters you will come to think of as beloved friends. Available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited  and in paperback.  Or read my book of short stories about hot, consensual sex, The Mature Woman's Guide to Desire, available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited.