I’ll be honest here and admit I didn’t enjoy this one. My judgement here is nothing against the writing style although, I think Trevelyan’s style tends toward the expository in content.
Maria grinned mischievously, joining her on the small, hard bed beside the wardrobe, facing her one mirror. The Spanish girl’s voice was thick with Latin passion. Maria wasn’t whispering either. “I don’t care, Sarah! Now please, you must show me the things you speak about before, the things your Aunt’s company makes! Come on, carissima!”
Maria had obviously been fascinated by Sarah-Jane’s tales of working with Linger, and Sarah-Jane had promised to show her the catalogue pictures on her laptop. She’d even managed to download some pictures from her Sophie Grant photo-shoot off the Linger web-site, using the one communal internet connection allowed to the students in this place. That should blow her Spanish friend’s mind!
I think it’s also fair to say that Trevelyan’s dialogue could be fairly described as unrealistic.
“We live in a city that is famously bursting with sex,” Vigga laughed. “Half the guys on this continent want access to Rio’s porn sites, and most of the girls too, you know? I’m sure your Europeans are the same – they certainly flock here to see it for themselves, anyway. My people run a fair bit of that industry, Missus Prowse. I’ll email you a link, if you like?”
The woman at the other end of the line paused. Vigga could imagine the Englishwoman scowling in distaste. She didn’t sound like someone who spent a lot of time at the downstream end of the industry, although she was certainly making a healthy income at the upstream end. And she had reacted very positively to every mention of the girl Sarah-Jane so far. Vigga could sense a nice profit here.
“Yes, do that,” Cynthia Winchester-Prowse replied at last. “Now, when do you propose to arrange your first shoot? And will the girl be safe until then? I won’t have her harmed! The scene you sent me earlier was a little extreme, I thought. So I’ll be sending someone to look after her, throughout the whole process.”
I think it was the rape scenes in the story that made me uncomfortable. Partly I was uncomfortable because I didn’t like the potentially racist overtones of domineering black characters raping defenceless white women. Partly I was uncomfortable with the fact that the central female character found herself aroused despite suffering violation.
He chuckled into Sarah-Jane’s ear as he pressed his fingertip into her sensitive cleft.
“I’m Del, Sarah-Jane. Sure am pleased to meet you!” He started wriggling his finger, edging the tip into the slick cleft of her pussy, making her gasp in dismay. She just couldn’t believe how hot she felt. “Big Leroy’s going to fuck that sweet little thing, Sarah-Jane, just as soon as the girls have made her cum! You like that idea, sweetheart? You like to be fucked after you been cummed? Or you want to wait, so you can cum when I’m inside you?”
Sarah-Jane sobbed, staring as Steffi was turned to face a hulking Afro-Caribbean who stood up from behind the table, grinning as he produced a grotesque rubbery member from his jeans. Sarah-Jane swallowed – she’d never seen a cock so large. Leroy hefted it, chuckling at Steffi’s shocked expression. “You better get her good and ready, girls!” he laughed. “She’ll need to be!”
It’s curious how rape is the only crime that gets this sort of treatment in fiction. You don’t see crime thrillers where bank tellers are sighing with satisfaction saying, “Thank fuck those masked gunmen came and relieved our vaults of all that money/gold etc.” You don’t see murder victims chuckling with their ‘John Wayne Gacey-style serial killers’ and saying, “OK, he’s a homophobic psychopath, but that clown costume rocks!” And yet, for the crime of rape, we can encounter passages like this:
Sarah-Jane closed her eyes, shuddering as the vibrating torment went on and on.... Soon, waves of tingling pleasure were spreading right through her tummy, making her legs and bottom quiver. She clenched her teeth, groaning as the sensations spread through her bottom, her thighs quivering... She sobbed, the waves of pleasure overwhelming her, building and swelling.... Her whole sex was alive, shuddering and tingling, it was just so delicious. Sarah-Jane groaned, knowing that she was just about to burst.
She opened her eyes to see that Steffi was now on her back on the table, her legs squirming, her tummy lifting her pussy up against the hands that slithered over her.
“Sweet, ain’t she!” Del breathed into her ear. “Is she going to get fucked now!”
The book does come with a reminder on the frontispiece that states ‘real men don’t rape’ but I’m not sure that is sufficient to counterbalance the effects of a story that perpetuates the myth that sexual violation can ever be linked to pleasure or satisfaction.
Please feel free to take the above with a pinch of salt. This is just one reviewer’s opinion. The reviews on Amazon approve wholeheartedly of Alexis Trevelyan’s work, so it’s likely I’m getting snippy and prudish in my old age.