Desire

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 176 of 344 · 20 per page

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The latter, having renewed his covenant with the gentleman, seated himself with the lady in a part of the saloon at a great distance from every one and began to say thus, 'Noble lady, meseemeth certain that you have too much wit not to have long since perceived how great a love I have been brought to bear you by your beauty, which far transcendeth that of any woman whom methinketh I ever beheld, to say nothing of the engaging manners and the peerless virtues which be in you and which might well avail to take the loftiest spirits of mankind; wherefore it were needless to declare to you in words that this [my love] is the greatest and most fervent that ever man bore woman; and thus, without fail, will I do[170] so long as my wretched life shall sustain these limbs, nay, longer; for that, if in the other world folk love as they do here below, I shall love you to all eternity. Wherefore you may rest assured that you have nothing, be it much or little worth, that you may hold so wholly yours and whereon you may in every wise so surely reckon as myself, such as I am, and that likewise which is mine. And that of this you may take assurance by very certain argument, I tell you that I should count myself more graced, did you command me somewhat that I might do and that would pleasure you, than if, I commanding, all the world should promptliest obey me. Since, then, I am yours, even as you have heard, it is not without reason that I dare to offer up my prayers to your nobility, wherefrom alone can all peace, all health and all well-being derive for me, and no otherwhence; yea, as the humblest of your servants, I beseech you, dear my good and only hope of my soul, which, midmost the fire of love, feedeth upon its hope in you,--that your benignity may be so great and your past rigour shown unto me, who am yours, on such wise be mollified that I, recomforted by your kindness, may say that, like as by your beauty I was stricken with love, even so by your pity have I life, which latter, an your haughty soul incline not to my prayers, will without fail come to nought and I shall perish and you may be said to be my murderer. Letting be that my death will do you no honour, I doubt not eke but that, conscience bytimes pricking you therefor, you will regret having wrought it[171] and whiles, better disposed, will say in yourself, "Alack, how ill I did not to have compassion upon my poor Zima!" and this repentance, being of no avail, will cause you the great annoy.

• From Fragments (7)

  I shall tell you what I think. Oft with Loves my path was teeming. Often was I on love's brink. 'Twixt the others I slipped through. Only this one victory knew. 135 Lyric Songs of the Greeks A LOVE SONG (29) Violently did Eros smite me With his hyacinthine rod. To a run did he invite me; So o'er swollen streams I trod, And through glens and thickets ran, Till I to perspire began. To my throat my heart was aching. Almost, almost did I choke; But, his forehead at me shaking, And his pinions, Eros spoke: "Wonder not thou canst not run: Ne'er hast thou to love begun." A LOVE SONG (30) On tender myrtle branches I Desire my limbs to stretch. As on a clover lawn I lie, I wish to drink a pledge. May Eros pour my wine for me, While, o'er his shoulders wound, A tunic, fastened carefully, Be with papyrus bound. For life like chariot wheels rolls by; Not long will death delay. 136 Anacreontea Naught but a little dust we lie, When once our bones decay. Why anoint a stone? Why offerings give To those who long are dead? Anoint me rather while I live ; With roses crown my head. And, Eros, call the best of maids, Ere Death me downward bears Where e'en the dancers all are shades — I want to drown my cares. TO EROS (31) The midnight hour was passing. The Bear was about to set. And Bootes his course was tracing Behind him with noiseless tread. And all the mortals unnumbered Were asleep, with labor sore. Then Eros came as I slumbered. And knocked and knocked at my door. " WTio is pounding my door? " I demanded, " My dreams dost thou make disappear " ; And Eros, " Pray, open," commanded, " I am merely a child; do not fear. 137 Lyric Songs of the Greeks " I am drenched with rain and did wander From my road in the moonless night." I, pitying, not long did ponder, But arose a lamp to light. A child with a bow and quiver On his winged back I saw; And then, as I saw him shiver, I him toward my hearth did draw. I warmed his cold hands trembling. From his hair the water I pressed. When he became warm, dissembling. He said : " This bow let us test. " I fear lest, its bow-strings laming, The rain set at naught my art." He stretched his string: at me aiming, He hit the midst of my heart. And he leaped and bounded with laughter, And said: " My friend, be thou glad. My bow is unharmed, but hereafter Thou wilt in thy heart be sad." TO THE CICADA (32) Happy insect, we admire thee, Who on leafy boughs dost sing. Tiny dew-drops to inspire thee Drink'st thou, living like a king. 138 Anacreontea All is thine where'er thou goest;

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  Very slowly, with ragged breathing and low growls, the Beast began to move himself in and out of me. He continued the slow pace for quite some time, allowing me to become completely accustomed to him; but at last his grunts and moans became wilder and louder, and likewise his strokes became rougher and quicker. His breath seared the skin on my back. His hands bored into my flesh, bruising the tender skin. I thought I felt his teeth nip my shoulder. I was aroused to the point of pain. With my inhibitions long gone, I began to touch myself to enhance the pleasure as I struggled against the Beast. But I was too late. With a deafening yell and one last hard thrust, the Beast filled me with a tremendous deluge, the excess of which flowed down my trembling legs. I was profoundly disappointed and attempted to pull myself away from the Beast, but he held me firmly in place, remaining inside me, still fully aroused, as he reached around for my hand and replaced it between my legs. He held it there until I grasped what he wanted me to do. I was momentarily embarrassed by his knowledge of what I had been doing, but that quickly disappeared as my enthusiasm once more returned. Realizing that I had as much time as I wished to enjoy the Beast, I once again began to stimulate myself. Meanwhile, the Beast slowly pulled himself out of me, almost to the very end, and then, just as slowly, pushed himself all the way back in. He continued this patiently while I sought my own pleasure. My every sense was awakened and aroused. My skin prickled under the rough hands that grasped my hips. My ears were ringing with the raw, animal sounds that echoed throughout the moonlit chamber. My eyes were riveted to the spot on the floor that displayed the images of our two contrasting shadows as they struggled intimately against each other. My inner thighs were sticky and wet. I thought about the Beast’s sharp teeth on my shoulder as I finally found my own satisfaction. That began my nightly visits to the Beast’s private bedchamber. And for me, each night was more pleasurable than the one before, and I no longer felt embarrassed or ashamed. In fact, my Beast was appearing much less beastly to me, and my affection made him appear, at times, even handsome. Even so, when the Beast asked me to marry him each evening, I gently declined. One day, some months later, I received a message that my father was ill. At supper I showed the message to the Beast. After reading it he looked up at me in horror. “Please don’t go, Beauty,” he begged. “I must!” I cried. “If anything happens to my father before I see him again I shall never forgive you!” The Beast was silent for a moment.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  I was getting used to him now. It was still terribly difficult but, in an odd way, that added to the excitement. I began to move my hips, clenching and unclenching them as I remembered him describing her as having done. “Is this the way she moved?” I purred, as my hips awkwardly learned the rhythm. “Yes!” “She liked it hard and fast, didn’t she?” I continued, remembering what he had told me. “Yes, she liked it hard and fast,” he repeated in a low voice that was barely perceptible. “Give it to me like that, too,” I ordered. “I want it hard and fast!” “Honey,” he groaned. “I don’t want to hurt you.” But he increased his pace. “You didn’t care if you hurt her,” I argued. I worked my hips faster. “She was different,” he said, barely aware of what he was saying. “Pretend that I am her,” I goaded. And all at once I began to say the things that she had said to him, exactly as I remembered him telling me. “Harder,” I cried, pumping my hips furiously, massaging him within me. “Yes, that’s better…now you’re getting your money’s worth…” I was beyond the point where I cared what I did or how I appeared. It was as if I really was that other woman, working as hard as I could to please a total stranger for money. And my husband was as lost as I was. He pounded himself into me with a violence I had never known he possessed. I shamelessly reached between my legs and caressed myself. “What am I?” I asked him suddenly, needing to hear the words. “What?” he was nearly oblivious of his surroundings. “Tell me what I am,” I pleaded. “You’re my wife…sweetheart…my adorable wife,” he was quickly becoming incoherent. “No!” I rubbed myself more vigorously. I couldn’t stop myself. “Tell me I am what she was,” I whispered. He groaned. “Now…please,” I begged, still clenching and unclenching myself around him as he moved in and out of me. He was panting noisily. It occurred to me that, even with so little practice, I was already as good, or better, than she had been at this. “Whore” he muttered. And with that he let out a thunderous yell, thrusting himself all the way in to the base. I felt him quivering inside me. “Oh, you’re such a sweet little whore!” I closed my eyes and shuddered as one pleasurable wave after another rippled through me. And in that split second I felt the utter abandon and exquisite pleasure of being a wanton whore, but without any of the remorse or loneliness that she would likely have felt afterward.

• From Fragments (7)

  However, his poetic interests and his abilities were not quite so narrow as would appear from his repu- tation. First, we have from him a few fragments of h3niins to the gods, but these are nothing more than new settings for his love poetry (cf. no. ii). Then there are a few fragments of a patriotic or martial content (nos. 50-58), besides remnants of elegit (nos. 89-91), epigrams (nos. 92-107), and iambics (e. g. nos. 63, 66). He was, in fact, a fol- lower of Archilochus as well as of Alcaeus and Sap- pho, and a number of fragments show that he was able also to use the bitter shafts of Satire (e. g. no. 60). However, in all of this he is easily outdis- tanced by others — in the poetry of pleasure he reigned supreme. TO ARTEMIS (I) Huntress of stags, hear thou my prayer. Daughter of Zeus with golden hair, Artemis, mistress of wild deer, Come thou to the Lethaeus River. And to the city of valiant men. Joyful of heart, direct thy ken; For not a wild and savage clan Are the townsmen thou cherishest ever. 83 Lyric Songs of the Greeks WINE, WOMAN, AND SONG (2) On honey-cake I first did dine, Broke off a little piece, And then I drank a jar of wine, And then my harp did seize. Now with its strains I serenade My lovely friend, the pretty maid. LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP EROS KING OVER ALL (3) Of beauteous Love I fain would sing, Whose belt e'er teems with flowers. To him the gods their homage bring; He mortals overpowers. EROS THE BRONZE-SMITH (4) 'Tis a bronze-smith Eros is like; For with mighty blows he doth strike With a hammer, immerses me then In a wintry torrent again. EROS' DICE (5) Frenzy and tumult are the dice With which dread Eros ever vies. 84 Anacreon. A BOUT WITH EROS (6) Bring water, boy, bring wine, And flowers in wreaths entwine. Come quickly; for I crave With Love a bout to have. RADIANT LOVE (7) Love for the maiden he doth admire, Radiant and glad with longing desire. THE ROCK OF LEUCAS (8) Down from the stony crag above, The rock of Leucas, I shall leap, And plunge into the hoary deep, My heart aglow with frenzied love. LOVE UNREQUITED (9) My airy pinions have I spread On flight to heaven above. Because of Eros; for the lad Will not requite my love. 85 Svm^ «/ tike TOO OLD (lO) And vben iznr Ixatrd be did ^ifhoM, J^It sged gngi^ bcsxd. On brDtzT prnicmy hn^Oi ss gold U? ^puciflT dwagipraTed- PRAIXR TO DIONTi'SUS FOR CLEOBULUS Ixyrd, irbcKT plsxTDSlxs sit xxmQucnzig Lxnr;, Aad liir fair XTZophs urA ctb diiit*UiXL, And Tod-^^iected Ap^iroditr too, ThoB frho l u tum es t tbr hrigte abcTrc Them miiD lag^ mammnF diost farnjiinrff, Thet I beseedu bef cut oizt face Came wiiL i^nr kind, i^nr fBPormg; grace. To IS OUT d«ibfd mite enott.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  The prince watched the queen’s face as she stared at him. His expectations for the evening had been minimal, namely, that the queen, within the safety of his forest, might realize the prince’s feelings and accept his offer of courtship. He had not dared to hope for more than that, and was shocked to see the desire burning hotly in her eyes. Perceiving her desire, he slowly began to undo the buttons of her gown. She did not resist or tremble with fear that she would not be good enough, but instead shivered with anticipation. With a light swishing sound, the garment fell to the floor. She watched in silent wonder as his muscles strained under the control he applied to carefully remove her delicate clothing. She stood, as if hypnotized, while his large fingers painstakingly handled the sensitive fabric. For the first time in her life, she felt genuinely aroused. One by one, her undergarments fell to the floor. She watched with interest as her body was slowly revealed. When she lifted her eyes to meet those of the prince in the mirror, the desire she saw there astonished her. With her heart throbbing within her breast, she met his gaze with the same burning intensity. It was suddenly as if she were watching two strangers, so unfamiliar were the images in the mirror, and she could not pull her eyes away from the sight of them. She saw the woman shudder as her lover lowered his warm mouth to the back of her neck for a long, sensual kiss. He continued to kiss her lightly as his arms came around her waist and held her in a loving embrace. The woman’s face was flushed, her lips were parted, and her breathing was quick. The man in the mirror was steadily becoming more demanding as his hands began caressing the woman with a thoroughness that left no part of her untouched. This did not seem to offend her, however, for she only moaned softly as she stared intently ahead of her, wordlessly allowing him full access to her body. The queen watched with keen interest as the large, masculine hands roamed over every part of the woman. Her eyes followed every movement, every touch, every intimacy. A feeling of overpowering desire came over her as she watched. Suddenly the man in the mirror pulled away from the woman to remove his own clothing. Still, she continued to stare silently in front of her, as if she were under a spell. The queen wondered that she did not turn to watch her lover undress, so beautiful was his image, splendid in its arousal. He looked at his staring lady for a moment, and then turned toward the object of her interest. This made him smile, and he continued to look ahead with her, meeting the eyes of the queen, as he wrapped his arms around his lady and gently kissed the side of her face.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Now Fra Cipolla, in leaving him at the inn, had bidden him look well that none touched his gear, and more particularly his saddle-bags, for that therein were the sacred things. But Guccio, who was fonder of the kitchen than the nightingale of the green boughs, especially if he scented some serving-wench there, and who had seen in that of the inn a gross fat cookmaid, undersized and ill-made, with a pair of paps that showed like two manure-baskets and a face like a cadger's, all sweaty, greasy and smoky, leaving Fra Cipolla's chamber and all his gear to care for themselves, swooped down upon the kitchen, even as the vulture swoopeth upon carrion, and seating himself by the fire, for all it was August, entered into discourse with the wench in question, whose name was Nuta, telling her that he was by rights a gentleman and had more than nine millions of florins, beside that which he had to give others, which was rather more than less, and that he could do and say God only knew what. Moreover, without regard to his bonnet, whereon was grease enough to have seasoned the caldron of Altopascio,[319] and his doublet all torn and pieced and enamelled with filth about the collar and under the armpits, with more spots and patches of divers colours than ever had Turkey or India stuffs, and his shoes all broken and hose unsewn, he told her, as he had been the Sieur de Châtillon,[320] that he meant to clothe her and trick her out anew and deliver her from the wretchedness of abiding with others,[321] and bring her to hope of better fortune, if without any great wealth in possession, and many other things, which, for all he delivered them very earnestly, all turned to wind and came to nought, as did most of his enterprises. [Footnote 319: Said by the commentators to have been an abbey, where they made cheese-soup for all comers twice a week; hence "the caldron of Altopascio" became a proverb; but _quære_ is not the name Altopascio (high feeding) a fancy one?] [Footnote 320: It does not appear to which member of this great house Boccaccio here alludes, but the Châtillons were always rich and magnificent gentlemen, from Gaucher de Châtillon, who followed Philip Augustus to the third crusade, to the great Admiral de Coligny.] [Footnote 321: Sic (_star con altrui_); but "being in the service of or dependent upon others" seems to be the probable meaning.]

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The abbot, who slept not, nay, whose thoughts were ardently occupied with his new desires, heard what passed between Alessandro and the host and noted where the former laid himself to sleep, and well pleased with this, began to say in himself, 'God hath sent an occasion unto my desires; an I take it not, it may be long ere the like recur to me.' Accordingly, being altogether resolved to take the opportunity and himseeming all was quiet in the inn, he called to Alessandro in a low voice and bade him come couch with him. Alessandro, after many excuses, put off his clothes and laid himself beside the abbot, who put his hand on his breast and fell to touching him no otherwise than amorous damsels use to do with their lovers; whereat Alessandro marvelled exceedingly and misdoubted him the abbot was moved by unnatural love to handle him on that wise; but the latter promptly divined his suspicions, whether of presumption or through some gesture of his, and smiled; then, suddenly putting off a shirt that he wore, he took Alessandro's hand and laying it on his own breast, said, 'Alessandro, put away thy foolish thought and searching here, know that which I conceal.' Alessandro accordingly put his hand to the abbot's bosom and found there two little breasts, round and firm and delicate, no otherwise than as they were of ivory, whereby perceiving that the supposed prelate was a woman, without awaiting farther bidding, he straightway took her in his arms and would have kissed her; but she said to him, 'Ere thou draw nearer to me, hearken to that which I have to say to thee. As thou mayst see, I am a woman and not a man, and having left home a maid, I was on my way to the Pope, that he might marry me. Be it thy good fortune or my mishap, no sooner did I see thee the other day than love so fired me for thee, that never yet was woman who so loved man. Wherefore, I am resolved to take thee, before any other, to husband; but, an thou wilt not have me to wife, begone hence forthright and return to thy place.' Alessandro, albeit he knew her not, having regard to her company and retinue, judged her to be of necessity noble and rich and saw that she was very fair; wherefore, without overlong thought, he replied that, if this pleased her, it was mighty agreeable to him. Accordingly, sitting up with him in bed, she put a ring into his hand and made him espouse her[90] before a picture wherein our Lord was portrayed, after which they embraced each other and solaced themselves with amorous dalliance, to the exceeding pleasure of both parties, for so much as remained of the night.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  She stared at him in shock. Her hand reached down to touch the place that burned to be touched, but he intercepted it and held it firmly down so she could not use it. She struggled under him for a moment. “Please!” she whispered. “Please, what?” he asked. His lips were so close to hers that they brushed her as he spoke. The pleasure was excruciating. Anger flashed in her eyes as she turned her face away from his warm lips and once again struggled beneath him. He slid himself back into her all the way and held himself perfectly still there. Sweat trickled down his back, and every nerve ending in his body was screaming for him to give in to her, to end this torment, but he held his ground. There were tears in her eyes. “Tell me you want it,” he said in a voice that was misleadingly gentle and kind. “That’s all you have to do.” She struggled again. He didn’t want to lose her now. With slow, gentle thrusts, he began again. His hand resumed its gentle caressing. “Oh, no,” she whimpered. He smiled in spite of his agony. “Oh, yes,” he replied. Like a well-tuned musical instrument, her body responded in perfect time to his every touch. She was feverish in her struggle, and he was getting impatient. Why did she have to be so stubborn? He was going to make her a very happy wife. When his excitement began to overtake him and he came too close to the edge, he thought about losing her forever, and that was sufficient to cool his desire and hold his own needs at bay. “That’s it,” he coached lovingly as she once again came perilously near the brink. “Now tell me that you want me.” He pulled himself almost completely out of her again and paused. “No!” she screamed. But she was referring to his stopping, completely unaware now of what he wanted. “Please…oh, please. Don’t stop.” He didn’t want to mince words at a time like this, but he couldn’t have disputes over the matter later. “Tell me that you want me,” he repeated. “I…” she stopped herself. He pulled himself completely out of her. “I…” she repeated. He groaned loudly, thinking she had nearly as much endurance as he had. He pushed himself back into her and held perfectly still. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he pleaded. “I…want you,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. Cat wanted to comfort Mouse, but that would have to wait until later. They both had held out for way too long. He thrust himself into her again and again, thinking only to seal his victory with his final satisfaction, but suddenly he recalled the prize he had won and what it had cost her.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  She spread her legs wider and arched her back, pushing her hips upward and forcing herself to take the third baron completely in her backside. The discomfort this caused mingled with her pleasure and gave her the fuel she needed to reach her ultimate pleasure. Alternately she pressed herself against the first baron, moving forward and backward on him so that he, too, received an equal turn of pleasure. Not wanting to neglect the second baron, she opened her mouth wider and tipped back her head, so that he could push himself farther into her throat, and with each thrust she felt an exquisite thrill to her very core. All of these efforts she made were duly noted and remarked upon by the barons, and their comments added fuel to the fire that was burning hotter and deeper within her, threatening to consume her. Goldilocks was responding to the barons in earnest now, caressing each one with that part of her body he possessed. She cared not how she appeared or how they would remember her later, for, to the extent that she pleased them, to that extent she felt her own pleasure. Her body gyrated wildly as she choked out sounds of pleasure. The barons watched her with admiration and delight, and marveled that she not only yielded to them, but also seemed to want them to use her more harshly. Holding back their climax repeatedly, the three barons intended to employ Goldilocks’s body for as long as she would allow it. The baron who had her mouth held her by her golden locks, pulling her hair this way and that, according to the position he desired her mouth to be in. The baron beneath her held her breasts in both hands, pinching the nipples fiercely while she shuddered and wriggled helplessly on top of his body. The third baron slapped her backside brutally, much like he would have done to his horse if it did not please him. But finally the barons could delay their excitement no longer, and they each became more urgent, roughly thrusting themselves into her body. Their crude use of her sent Goldilocks over the edge, and she cried out screams of pleasure as her body finally reached a most glorious release. That was the breaking point for the barons, and they lost all control, loudly filling her body to overflowing. A few moments later Goldilocks once again found herself back in the same woods where she had begun her day. She pondered distractedly over what had happened to her. If not for the telltale soreness throughout her body she would have fancied the whole thing was no more than a daydream. But she knew it was no daydream, and she wondered over what she had done and how it had all come about. “Was it wrong of me to venture into the barons’ cottage uninvited?” she questioned. “But no. If it were wrong, I surely would not have been so thoroughly rewarded!”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Then, remembering him of Sophronia and going over to the contrary, he denounced all that he had said, saying, 'The laws of love are of greater puissance than any others; they annul even the Divine laws, let alone those of friendship; how often aforetime hath father loved daughter, brother sister, stepmother stepson, things more monstrous than for one friend to love the other's wife, the which hath already a thousand times befallen! Moreover, I am young and youth is altogether subject to the laws of Love; wherefor that which pleaseth Him, needs must it please me. Things honourable pertain unto maturer folk; I can will nought save that which Love willeth. The beauty of yonder damsel deserveth to be loved of all, and if I love her, who am young, who can justly blame me therefor? I love her not because she is Gisippus's; nay, I love her for that I should love her, whosesoever she was. In this fortune sinneth that hath allotted her to Gisippus my friend, rather than to another; and if she must be loved, (as she must, and deservedly, for her beauty,) Gisippus, an he came to know it, should be better pleased that I should love her, I, than another.' Then, from that reasoning he reverted again to the contrary, making mock of himself, and wasted not only that day and the ensuing night in passing from this to that and back again, but many others, insomuch that, losing appetite and sleep therefor, he was constrained for weakness to take to his bed.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  At last, unable to endure longer and bethinking himself, in default of other means of compassing his desire, to take not one alone, but both of the damsels from their father, he discovered both his passion and his intent to Count Guy, who, for that he was an honourable man, said to him, 'My lord, I marvel greatly at that which you tell me, and that more than would another, inasmuch as meseemeth I have from your childhood to this day known your fashions better than any other; wherefore, meseeming never to have known such a passion in your youth, wherein Love might lightlier have fixed his talons, and seeing you presently hard upon old age, it is so new and so strange to me that you should love by way of enamourment[458] that it seemeth to me well nigh a miracle, and were it my office to reprove you thereof, I know well that which I should say to you thereanent, having in regard that you are yet with your harness on your back in a kingdom newly gained, amidst a people unknown and full of wiles and treasons, and are all occupied with very grave cares and matters of high moment, nor have you yet availed to seat yourself [in security;] and yet, among such and so many affairs, you have made place for the allurements of love. This is not the fashion of a magnanimous king; nay, but rather that of a pusillanimous boy. Moreover, what is far worse, you say that you are resolved to take his two daughters from a gentleman who hath entertained you in his house beyond his means and who, to do you the more honour, hath shown you these twain in a manner naked, thereby attesting how great is the faith he hath in you and that he firmly believeth you to be a king and not a ravening wolf. Again, hath it so soon dropped your memory that it was the violences done of Manfred to women that opened you the entry into this kingdom? What treason was ever wroughten more deserving of eternal punishment than this would be, that you should take from him who hospitably entreateth you his honour and hope and comfort? What would be said of you, an you should do it? You think, maybe, it were a sufficient excuse to say, "I did it for that he is a Ghibelline." Is this of the justice of kings, that they who resort on such wise to their arms should be entreated after such a fashion, be they who they may? Let me tell you, king, that it was an exceedingly great glory to you to have overcome Manfred, but a far greater one it is to overcome one's self; wherefore do you, who have to correct others, conquer yourself and curb this appetite, nor offer with such a blot to mar that which you have so gloriously gained.'

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Pericone, seeing this, deemed himself on the high road to that which he desired and continuing the supper with great plenty of meats and wines, protracted it far into the night. Ultimately, the guests having departed, he entered with the lady alone into her chamber, where she, more heated with wine than restrained by modesty, without any reserve of shamefastness, undid herself in his presence, as he had been one of her women, and betook herself to bed. Pericone was not slow to follow her, but, putting out all the lights, promptly hid himself beside her and catching her in his arms, proceeded, without any gainsayal on her part, amorously to solace himself with her; which when once she had felt,--having never theretofore known with what manner horn men butt,--as if repenting her of not having yielded to Pericone's solicitations, thenceforth, without waiting to be bidden to such agreeable nights, she oftentimes invited herself thereto, not by words, which she knew not how to make understood, but by deeds. But, in the midst of this great pleasance of Pericone and herself, fortune, not content with having reduced her from a king's bride to be the mistress of a country gentleman, had foreordained unto her a more barbarous alliance. Pericone had a brother by name Marato, five-and-twenty years of age and fair and fresh as a rose, who saw her and she pleased him mightily. Himseemed, moreover, according to that which he could apprehend from her gestures, that he was very well seen of her and conceiving that nought hindered him of that which he craved of her save the strait watch kept on her by Pericone, he fell into a barbarous thought, whereon the nefarious effect followed without delay.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  There was in Pistoia a gentleman of the Vergellesi family, by name Messer Francesco, a man of great wealth and understanding and well advised in all else, but covetous beyond measure. Being made provost of Milan, he had furnished himself with everything necessary for his honourable going thither, except only with a palfrey handsome enough for him, and finding none to his liking, he abode in concern thereof. Now there was then in the same town a young man called Ricciardo, of little family, but very rich, who still went so quaintly clad and so brave of his person that he was commonly known as Il Zima,[169] and he had long in vain loved and courted Messer Francesco's wife, who was exceeding fair and very virtuous. Now he had one of the handsomest palfreys in all Tuscany and set great store by it for its beauty and it being public to every one that he was enamoured of Messer Francesco's wife, there were those who told the latter that, should he ask it, he might have the horse for the love Il Zima bore his lady. Accordingly, moved by covetise, Messer Francesco let call Il Zima to him and sought of him his palfrey by way of sale, so he should proffer it to him as a gift. The other, hearing this, was well pleased and made answer to him, saying, "Sir, though you gave me all you have in the world, you might not avail to have my palfrey by way of sale, but by way of gift you may have it, whenas it pleaseth you, on condition that, ere you take it, I may have leave to speak some words with your lady in your presence, but so far removed from every one that I may be heard of none other than herself.' The gentleman, urged by avarice and looking to outwit the other, answered that it liked him well and [that he might speak with her] as much as he would; then, leaving him in the saloon of his palace, he betook himself to the lady's chamber and telling her how easily he might acquire the palfrey, bade her come hearken to Il Zima, but charged her take good care to answer neither little or much to aught that he should say. To this the lady much demurred, but, it behoving her ensue her husband's pleasure, she promised to do his bidding and followed him to the saloon, to hear what Il Zima should say.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  You must know, then, that there was once at Varlungo,--a village very near here, as each of you ladies either knoweth or may have heard,--a worthy priest and a lusty of his person in the service of the ladies, who, albeit he knew not overwell how to read, natheless regaled his parishioners with store of good and pious saws at the elmfoot on Sundays and visited their women, whenas they went abroad anywhither, more diligently than any priest who had been there aforetime, carrying them fairings and holy water and a stray candle-end or so, whiles even to their houses. Now it chanced that, among other his she-parishioners who were most to his liking, one pleased him over all, by name Mistress Belcolore, the wife of a husbandman who styled himself Bentivegna del Mazzo, a jolly, buxom country wench, brown-favoured and tight-made, as apt at turning the mill[366] as any woman alive. Moreover, it was she who knew how to play the tabret and sing 'The water runneth to the ravine' and lead up the haye and the round, when need was, with a fine muckender in her hand and a quaint, better than any woman of her neighbourhood; by reason of which things my lord priest became so sore enamoured of her that he was like to lose his wits therefor and would prowl about all day long to get a sight of her. Whenas he espied her in church of a Sunday morning, he would say a Kyrie and a Sanctus, studying to show himself a past master in descant, that it seemed as it were an ass a-braying; whereas, when he saw her not there, he passed that part of the service over lightly enough. But yet he made shift to do on such wise that neither Bentivegna nor any of his neighbours suspected aught; and the better to gain Mistress Belcolore's goodwill, he made her presents from time to time, sending her whiles a clove of garlic, which he had the finest of all the countryside in a garden he tilled with his own hands, and otherwhiles a punnet of peascods or a bunch of chives or scallions, and whenas he saw his opportunity, he would ogle her askance and cast a friendly gibe at her; but she, putting on the prude, made a show of not observing it and passed on with a demure air; wherefore my lord priest could not come by his will of her. [Footnote 366: Or, as La Fontaine would say, "aussi bien faite pour armer un lit."]

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  This cat, however, was one of the few who would be considered worth the trouble. But that was all the more reason to avoid him in Mouse’s opinion, for the good-looking cats were worse than the slovenly ones. They were in great demand and they knew it, and it was hard work indeed to win their affection for a single moment, let alone to achieve any kind of long-term devotion. As she looked at this cat’s self-assured expression, Mouse realized he probably had a number of mice at his beck and call. She forced herself to look past his physical beauty. But it was impossible not to note the thick hair that fell in short dark waves around his face, or the faultlessly chiseled features that arranged themselves into an expression of absolute confidence and poise. His muscular body moved with singular grace and ease. Mouse’s sharp instincts warned her that she had better get rid of him quickly. She drew her most effective weapon in ridding herself of cats: her tongue. “Look all you like, pig,” she snarled. “You will never be allowed to touch.” For at the very least, this strange world in which she lived would not permit a cat to force a mouse to submit against her will. Indeed, there was not the slightest temptation for them to do so anyway, since mice were offering themselves up willingly to be the eager slaves of the undeserving louts! To Mouse’s astonishment, Cat actually smiled at her remark and then slowly reached his hand into her little hideaway. Very carefully, so as not to touch her skin, he took one agile finger and lifted the ragged material of her covering up to her shoulders, exposing her body completely to his view. With an angry hiss she slapped his hand away. “You did say I could look all I liked, did you not?” He laughed. Now, Mouse had one weakness, and it was that she was highly competitive—especially in matters of wit and will. Hers was a character that was easily drawn into the game of cat and mouse. The cat’s clever retort, combined with his easy demeanor and absolute disregard of her bad-tempered manner was sufficient enticement for her to ignore her apprehensions and change her mind about her earlier resolution to get rid of him immediately. It might be better to torment him a bit first. Her eyes held his with sudden interest, and one corner of her lips turned up in a smirk. She shrugged her shoulders and tried to assume a look of casual indifference. “I was only thinking of you just now,” she rejoined with mock sincerity. “I would hate your ego to suffer the singular blow of being refused what you desire.” “It’s sweet of you to be concerned for my welfare,” he replied with a grin. His eyes burned into hers as he added, “But on that matter we both know you don’t need to worry.”

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  With her heart hammering wildly within her breast she tiptoed into the pitch-dark chamber where Mr. Wolfe slept, slipped off her nightgown and crept into the bed beside him. He groaned in his sleep as she rubbed her naked body against his. His hands instinctively went around her and pulled her closer to him. Mrs. Fox lifted her face and found Mr. Wolfe’s warm, moist lips. The stubble on his cheek was rougher than that of her husband’s. He responded immediately to her kiss, even in sleep, and his arms tightened around her as he all but bruised her lips with his. All at once he was awake. Mr. Wolfe did not question or tease, as her husband might have done, but instead he reacted violently, flinging her onto her back and covering her body with his own. Although she was alarmed by his brutality, there was no opportunity for second thoughts, for he held her down securely and crushed her lips under his. But she was having no second thoughts, or, if she had, they were almost immediately forgotten in the tumult of his embrace. Her hands had flown up in a gesture at first defensive, but so ineffectual as a defense that they really seemed more of a caress. She spread out her hands over his chest and fingered the curly hair that covered his burly muscles, so different from her husband’s smooth, lean body. Longing to feel his roughness fully against her skin, she wrapped her arms around his neck and arched her back, pressing her bare breasts against him. His body was so warm and hard and strong. She shuddered. “I’m sorry, my love,” he murmured. “I know I frighten you when I am too rough.” He began to loosen his hold on her. “No!” she protested. Then, collecting herself, she whispered to disguise her voice. “I want it like that, darling.” There was silence for a moment, and Mrs. Fox wondered if she had given herself away. “Are you sure?” he asked her at last. “Yes,” she whispered. “Hold nothing back from me tonight.” He moaned out loud and then lowered his lips to hers, pausing directly over her lips, nearly but not quite touching, for a brief moment. She could feel his hot breath on her face as he once again murmured, “You’re sure?” “Yes! Yes!” she whispered. “Plea…” But she could not finish her petition because his lips were once again crushing hers.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  There was (and is yet) in these our parts a convent of women, very famous for sanctity (the which, that I may not anywise abate its repute, I will not name), wherein no great while agone, there being then no more than eight nuns and an abbess, all young, in the nunnery, a poor silly dolt of a fellow was gardener of a very goodly garden of theirs, who, being miscontent with his wage, settled his accounts with the ladies' bailiff and returned to Lamporecchio, whence he came. There, amongst others who welcomed him home, was a young labouring man, stout and robust and (for a countryman) a well-favoured fellow, by name of Masetto, who asked him where he had been so long. The good man, whose name was Nuto, told him, whereupon Masetto asked him in what he had served the convent, and he, 'I tended a great and goodly garden of theirs, and moreover I went while to the coppice for faggots and drew water and did other such small matters of service; but the nuns gave me so little wage that I could scare find me in shoon withal. Besides, they are all young and methinketh they are possessed of the devil, for there was no doing anything to their liking; nay, when I was at work whiles in the hortyard,[152] quoth one, "Set this here," and another, "Set that here," and a third snatched the spade from my hand, saying, "That is naught"; brief, they gave me so much vexation that I would leave work be and begone out of the hortyard; insomuch that, what with one thing and what with another, I would abide there no longer and took myself off. When I came away, their bailiff besought me, an I could lay my hand on any one apt unto that service, to send the man to him, and I promised it him; but may God make him sound of the loins as he whom I shall get him, else will I send him none at all!' Masetto, hearing this, was taken with so great a desire to be with these nuns that he was all consumed therewith, judging from Nuto's words that he might avail to compass somewhat of that which he desired. However, foreseeing that he would fail of his purpose, if he discovered aught thereof to Nuto, he said to the latter, 'Egad, thou didst well to come away. How is a man to live with women? He were better abide with devils. Six times out of seven they know not what they would have themselves.' But, after they had made an end of their talk, Masetto began to cast about what means he should take to be with them and feeling himself well able to do the offices of which Nuto had spoken, he had no fear of being refused on that head, but misdoubted him he might not be received, for that he was young and well-looked.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  He was steadily becoming more crude and demanding. His impostor wife unconsciously edged forward a little to escape his hard thrusts, but he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked, forcing her body back and obliging her to stay put unless she wished to suffer further pain. She cried out again, but he seemed not to hear her. If anything, he was becoming even more ruthless with each of her cries. She thrashed about desperately, trying to lessen the blow of each punishing thrust, but again, her attempts only incited him further. Tears streamed down her face as she was obliged to remain still and withstand the relentless onslaught. She hated Mr. Wolfe; though an irrepressible yearning possessed her in spite of her discomfort and anger. She wondered how Mrs. Wolfe was able to withstand this rough mating, even as she was reaching between her legs to enhance her own pleasure. She was slowly becoming conscious of her other senses, and particularly she was aware of a sound that had been echoing in her eardrums. It was a foreign sound, low and base and harsh; mere whispers and grunts but with the tone and inflection of longing and horror and shame. The disquieting sound had been echoing in her ears for some time now. But what was it? Suddenly she was filled with revulsion. It was her! It was the sound of her own voice, half whispering and half grunting out her surreptitious wish, again and again. “Harder,” she heard herself moan. “Harder, harder, I want it harder!” How long had she been repeating that shameful directive through her struggles and tears? How much more could she take? Yet even fully conscious of it she couldn’t seem to stop; she just kept choking out the words “Harder…I want it harder.” Mrs. Fox felt like a woman possessed. Her desire was controlling and overpowering her. Her initial horror over what she was doing had halted her sensations for but a moment, then they returned with twice the strength. She didn’t know what to do. She was terrified that it would end before she had had enough. “Please, oh, please,” she was begging and sobbing now, “don’t stop! You mustn’t stop.” Through her sobs she continued to pleasure herself, even as her poor aching body flinched and cowered from his fierce riding of her. And she realized that this was how she knew it would be with Mr. Wolfe. She could hardly account for her desire for him, but she still wanted more! She clung to the bed in an attempt to hold her ground against his pounding, and she knew now that it was she who egged him on with her frenzied mantra “Harder, harder.” She wished she could stop herself. This was madness. But even so, her trembling fingers kept rubbing and rubbing and her lips kept repeating, “Harder, harder, harder!”

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  * Hap a breakdown or something? ° inquired Puddle brightly, as at three o’clock Stephen slouched into the schaolroom. ‘ No — but Mrs. Crossby’s dog had a fight. She got bitten, so I drove her back to The Grange.’ Puddle pricked up her ears: ‘ What’s she like? I’ve heard rumours — ° ‘Well, she’s not at all like them,’ snapped Stephen. There ensued a long silence while Puddle considered, but con- sideration does not always bring wise counsel, and now Puddle made a really bad break: ‘She’s pretty impossible, isn’t she, Stephen? They say he unearthed her somewhere in New York; Mrs. Antrim says she was a music-hall actress. I suppose you were obliged to give her a lift, but be careful, I believe she’s fearfully pushing.’ Stephen flared up like an emotional schoolgirl: ‘I’m not go- ing to discuss her if that’s your opinion; Mrs. Crossby is quite as much a lady as you are, or any of the others round here, for that matter. I’m sick unto death of your beastly gossip.’ And turning abruptly she strode from the room. ‘ Oh, Lord!’ murmured Puddle, frowning. 5 Tuar evening Stephen rang up The Grange. ‘ Is that Upton 25? It’s Miss Gordon speaking — no, no, Miss Gordon, speaking from Morton. How is Mrs. Crossby and how is the dog? I hope Mrs. Crossby’s hand isn’t very painful? Yes, of course I’ll hold on while you go and inquire.’ She felt shy, yet unusually daring. THE WELL OF LONELINESS 149 Presently the butler came back and said gravely that Mrs. Crossby had just seen the doctor and had now gone to bed, as her hand was aching, but that Tony felt better and sent his love. He added: * Madam says would you come to tea on Sunday? She’d be very glad indeed if you would.’ And Stephen answered: * Will you thank Mrs. Crossby and tell her that I'll certainly come on Sunday.’ Then she gave the message all over again, very slowly, with pauses. * Will — you thank — Mrs. Crossby — and tell her- Pl] certainly come -— on Sunday. Do you quite understand. Have I made it quite clear? Say I’m coming to tea on Sunday.’ CHAPTER 17 I L; was only five days till Sunday, yet for Stephen those five days seemed like as many years. Every evening now she rang up The Grange to inquire about Angela’s hand and Tony, so that she grew quite familiar with the butler, with his quality of voice, with his habit of coughing, with the way he hung up the receiver.