Even the words have an effect. Whether it's a wry smile, a tingle that rises from cunt up to mouth and lips or a shudder and a poked out tongue to indicate disgust. We distinguish it from all other kinds of talk by raking it through the mud. This is filth. The kind of speech that Jarvis Cocker uses when he breathes and moans his way through This is Hardcore (or mostly any other Pulp song, to be honest).
Some people love it, others can't stand it. For some, it will always be the "oh baby, yeah baby" of dreadful porn. For others, the mere idea of speaking or listening to someone speak whilst they are playing is a complete anathema. I know that I find talking difficult when I'm concentrating on an intense scene - either topping or bottoming, and that generally it distracts me from being fully in the moment. As a submissive / bottom the ball gag is a marvellous toy because it gives me permission to be silent. As a top I use hoods and sometimes earplugs to block off the fact that I am quiet, which I know can be unnerving for some. And yet, I love being talked to, it gives me a sense of connection to the other person, an insight into what they are thinking, how they are feeling. Similarly, if I know someone really likes dirty talk, I enjoy delivering it.
There should be training for it, as a specific subset of public speaking. It's a kink skill, akin almost to hypnotism and sensory deprivation in its ability to transport the mind (and thence the body) into deep, transfixing places. Getting it right is hard. Getting it wrong is really, really easy. The words we like to hear are personal. Dirty talk is an artform. It's creative, subjective, specific and the difference between "good" and "bad" can be the merest sliver of a phoneme, a change in pace and pause, the tone of voice. And all of that is without even mentioning the actual content.
And oh, the importance of content! Just as scenes have been broken by a badly placed crop blow, suddenly shocking one from the lulling build of rising pain, so too can the wrong word or sound. Equally, the right words and sounds can transport you. The spoken word can make for us all kinds of worlds. Fantasies - especially those that are truly unobtainable or impossible - are spun like threads into a rich tapestry of language-images which cloaks you utterly.
Technophile is a talker, which took me by surprise. I realise I keep using that word when describing him, and how much I'm loving/hating the unfamiliar territory of it all. He started slow, with a (slightly Jarvis-esque now I think about it, which makes so much sense) whisper in my ear. The teasing quality of "do you want it? Do you want to be fucked?" Little "ohs" and moans between the words told me that he wasn't just doing this for effect, it turned him on to say those things. The more he spoke, the more turned on he got, he was using the words to build his own arousal and, like mutual masturbation we took it in turns to urge each other on with our ideas.
The speech act was also a sex act. Fucked by language. Language affirms us as sexual beings - the way I described the feeling of his cock inside me, the way he poured praise over how my body felt in his arms. Certain words produce certain kinds of thrill, they have a history and context and their appearance in the bedroom makes or breaks encounters.
We kinksters use words in lots of ways, and many of our words have been chosen for deliberate reasons, such as forms of address such as Sir or Mistress, please and thank-you. Yes. No. Red. Safeword. These words have power. They are words of power, given and taken in certain ways and at certain times. Forbidden to some and absolutely required by others. Use them with the wrong person at your peril. There are only a few people on this earth who are allowed to call me Fox, for example. And those who do know that using that word is a shorthand reference to an agreement (also enshrined in words), a relationship between us, that I will call upon.
Here's another word. Slut. Watch your own reaction and take notes. I know I did.
"Slut. Hot, kinky slut."
Technophile says it with delight as we fuck. Not the spitting or hissing of a humiliation scene, but an almost reverential, not quite believing it, lip-biting (I love it when they bite their lip) utterance. I've always had a strange relationship with the word, only recently acknowledging it as a positive label, something along the lines of "queer" - a word once used in scorn and hate which has been turned around defiantly. It is definitely the kind of word that would go off like a grenade if it came out of the wrong mouth at the wrong time. Fighting talk. But the way he said it, the context and the tone of his voice made it something else. A thing to aspire to, almost, a wanted, desired and even slightly dangerous, mythical thing.
Which is what the best dirty talk does to us all.