The Gor book that boojum gave me, which I read perhaps the first twenty pages of, is so far one of the only books I actively wish to destroy.
I have read S.M. Stirling's Draka books. I enjoyed them, because as much as they horrified and squicked me, they are well-written, well-crafted, and ... *shudder* I'm glad that I've witnessed the author himself say onlist that, were they real, he'd be one of the first ones in with a backpack nuke.
It's really not fair to compare Gor to the Draka. Gor is a fantasy. I have also read fantasies that squicked me. (Fantasy in this case would be "dream of the author, unlikely to be carried out" rather than the sword-and-sorcery genre.) pyrogenic had a particularly ... vivid ... one at the Wash some years back. ("the Wash": a web page with classic e-mail forwards "cleaned up" and presented in a static format.) It was about an office that decided to implement the practice of office whores, and it crept gradually from something on the bare edge of plausibility into... not. And it squicked me more and more the more I read, and finally I had to quit reading it because it disturbed me so much.
This differs from Gor in that I didn't stop reading the Gor book because the practices detailed within completely disgusted me, it was because I could not wrap my mind around the self-satisfied purple prose that the fucking thing was written in. I was left with no desire to do anything with the office whore story other than not read it; Gor left me with the desire to break out FatherSir's propane weed-burner torch.
I suppose my point is this: everyone has fantasies, and Your Kink May Well Be My Squick. (Like mpreg. I can't get my mind around that, even though I'm writing one just to prove that it can be written well.) But for the love of gods, even though it may be squicky as all goatfuck, that's no excuse for poor writing.