misscatalinafox, Author at NSFW story

“On Pressing, Or Marking, or Scratching With the Nails” from The Kama Sutra, 400 BC [F]

Hi all, please enjoy this excerpt from The Kama Sutra, which dates to 400 BC. I have posted the audio at r/gonewildaudio and on my podcast, the 500 Word Fuck. Enjoy ❣️

*CHAPTER 4: ON PRESSING, OR MARKING, OR SCRATCHING WITH THE NAILS.*

*The places that are to be pressed with the nails are as follows: the arm pit, the throat, the breasts, the lips, the jaghana [loins], or middle parts of the body, and the thighs. But Suvarnanabha is of opinion that when the impetuosity of passion is excessive, then these places need not be considered.*

*The qualities of good nails are that they should be bright, well set, clean, entire, convex, soft, and glossy in appearance.*

*When a person presses the chin, the breasts, the lower lip, or the jaghana of another so softly that no scratch or mark is left, but only the hair on the body becomes erect from the touch of the nails, and the nails themselves make a sound, it is called a “sounding or pressing with the nails.”
This pressing is used in the case of a young girl when her lover shampoos her, scratches her head, and wants to trouble or frighten her.* Read more »

An erotic letter from James Joyce to his wife Nora Barnacle, 1909 [MF]

This is an excerpt from a letter James Joyce wrote to his wife Nora Barnacle in 1909. I have posted the audio at r/gonewildaudio. Enjoy!

*As you know, dearest, I never use obscene phrases in speaking. You have never heard me, have you, utter an unfit word before others. When men tell in my presence here filthy or lecherous stories I hardly smile. Yet you seem to turn me into a beast. It was you yourself, you naughty shameless girl who first led the way. It was not I who first touched you long ago down at Ringsend. It was you who slid your hand down inside my trousers and pulled my shirt softly aside and touched my prick with your long tickling fingers, and gradually took it all, fat and stiff as it was, into your hand and frigged me slowly until I came off through your fingers, all the time bending over me and gazing at me out of your quiet saintlike eyes. It was your lips too which first uttered an obscene word. I remember well that night in bed in Pola. Tired of lying under a man one night you tore off your chemise violently and began to ride me up and down. Perhaps the horn I had was not big enough for you for I remember that you bent down to my face and murmured tenderly ‘Fuck up, love! fuck up, love!’* Read more »

Bianca in Italy, Part 2: Il Giardino

*This is Part 2 of “Bianca in Italy.”* [*Read Part 1 here*](https://misscatalinafox.com/bianca-in-italy-part-1-profumo-di-menta/)*.*

Bianca sat utterly still, hypnotized. Marlena’s hand was inching up her leg, her pinky moving softly over the delicate skin of her inner thigh, past the hem of her linen sundress. Bianca felt her face flush and for the first time, noticed their reflection in the mirrored wall opposite the table. Marlena’s lithe form was silhouetted in green, her long hair tumbling down her backside and gathering in dark copper waves around her waist, and Bianca was wide-eyed, frozen.

“Are you hungry?” Marlena asked, squeezing Bianca’s thigh.

Bianca blinked, unable to tear her eyes from Marlena’s. Above the din of the cafe, her stomach rumbled, and Marlena laughed. Suddenly her hands were back in the air, throwing her hair over her shoulder and rummaging through her handbag. She placed six euros on the table.

“Ok, we go now, then.” Marlena’s eyes twinkled. “For your *macadeonia di frutta.*”

[Read the rest of Part 2 here](https://misscatalinafox.com/bianca-in-italy-part-2-il-giardino/)!

Bianca in Italy, Part 1: Profumo di Menta

*Bianca had only two weeks left in Italy. It seemed that only a month ago she had become accustomed to waking up in Rome, a city of sensory temptations which seemed to queue up like eager dwarves behind her, following her from square to square. When she had first arrived, she was always getting lost; at the end of each day, she found herself woefully entangled in an ever more intimate network of streets, until one day she began to listen for her destination, rather than simply look for it. When she listened she heard it speak, and when it spoke, it shouted at her from the market.*

*It was hot out, and market stalls overflowed with fresh fruit shaded under white tarpaulins. She serpentined through the sea of color, blocked out in bins, mounded and scooped into sweet forms: melons, figs, cantaloupes, grapes, citrus, pears.*

Read the rest of the story [here](https://misscatalinafox.com/bianca-in-italy-part-1-profumo-di-menta/). Part II will be released tonight by the author [Miss Catalina Fox](https://www.misscatalinafox.com)!