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 269 of 344 · 20 per page

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Then she took it over to Clarissa, for her inspection. “My grandmother brought these back from the Orient,” she said. “She used them to fasten her opera cape. Aren’t they pretty?” She showed Clarissa a pair of silver clasps, each in the form of a dragon whose jaw moved to grip the edge of a cloak … or whatever was placed in its rapacious mouth. The clasps were connected by a few inches of chain. The beam was so narrow that Clarissa’s breasts peeked out of either side of it. Berenice petted them, making the little girl so lascivious that she thought she must go mad if she were not granted some reprieve. A pinch on each nipple only increased her need. “You are so cruel,” she wept. Berenice twisted the nearest nipple. “Mind your tongue,” she said, and pressed the cold, grinning dragon against her soft skin. “Do you know what I’m going to do with this?” she asked. “Have you already guessed?” “No,” Clarissa lied. Berenice opened one of the clamps, pulled slightly on Clarissa’s nipple, and left the mythical beast hanging from her breast. In another moment, its twin was swinging from the other breast. The chain was so short that it almost made her nipples touch. Clarissa sounded as if she were crying, but no tears were coming from her eyes, and she was attempting to rub her female parts against the beam. The stiffness of her corset prevented her from achieving full freedom of movement, and the slight contact she was able to achieve with the leather only titillated her further. Berenice went to the foot of the beam and petted her again, spreading her love dew from the clitoris up to the perineum, anointing each side of the inner lips, even rubbing it on her tightest, smallest hole. Then she bent down and blew on the moisture, and Clarissa groaned. “I feel as if I’m nothing but wetness, nothing but the thing between my legs. What are you going to do with me?” “What does it matter to you?” “It doesn’t—only don’t leave me—please take me, use me—oh!” she cried as Berenice once again spread the thick juices, smeared them onto her thighs and between the cheeks of her behind, and expelled her hot breath on the inflamed, liquid parts. When Clarissa was quite incoherent, Berenice selected her third and final weapon: a long, flexible, yellow cane. Before beginning, she administered more brandy and a few sharp tugs on the grinning dragons. Thus far, she had inflicted moderate pain and reddened the skin until it was warm and slightly swollen to the touch, but she had not bruised it. She was not in the habit of marking Clarissa, preferring her skin smooth and unblemished.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  7.WILLShe picked me up to drive to John Leal’s house. Paired taillights swept ahead of us, the red lamps slewing here, there. Turning off the road, she hurtled uphill, and stopped. Phoebe and I walked up the flagstone path to a white, tall house. She held my hand, swinging it, the way children do. Piled leaves blew about, alive again. She touched the bell button. I lifted Phoebe’s hand; I kissed bitten nails that shine, in hindsight, like quartz, spoils I pulled down from the moon. – The door flung open. Strangers appeared, drawing us into the heat, the light. The rich perfume of cooked flesh filled the front hall. Saliva flooded my mouth. They asked if we’d mind removing our shoes. Light-headed, I used the excuse to crouch. I took in a breath as I unknotted the tight laces. I hadn’t eaten since morning, when I had a stolen Gala apple. With the bus behind schedule, I’d arrived at Michelangelo’s too late for the staff lunch. Phoebe and I were led down a hall, into the living room. Flat blue cushions had been placed in a half-circle in front of the lit fireplace. There was no furniture. Invited to sit, I followed Phoebe’s lead: I took a cushion, the one closest to hers. It slipped as I sat, the glossed fabric smooth. Is John Leal here? Phoebe asked. I’d love to tell him hello. He’s in the kitchen, they said. He’ll join us in a minute. Before long, the conversation split in two. Phoebe chatted with a girl whose name I hadn’t caught, then with a person called Ian. He left the room, coming back with full porcelain teacups. Mulled wine, he said. Meanwhile, I jolted through pleasantries with Philip Hecht, also an Edwards student. I wondered when they’d reveal the punchline behind this evening. When, not if, I still thought. Philip asked where I was from; the girl, Jo, smiled. I started reciting lies I’d been telling since the first day in Noxhurst, the half-truths ballooning until, in moments, I turned into a different Will again, floating above the usual Kendall problems. I cut the strings. I had the balloonatic’s glee. Timelines cracked, shifted; my father pulled his emptied seat to the table. My mother’s little rental house sailed south from dull, meth-addled Carmenita to the hills of Los Angeles, expanding mid-flight into an open villa with the kind of misshapen pool no one but the rich would have. It lit up at night. I swam in its blue fire.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Alex had gathered her long, curly blonde hair into a ponytail and pulled it through a hole in the hood. The only other openings in it were the nose holes. A piece of tubing, ending in an incongruous orange valve and a black rubber bulb, dangled from the mouth of the hood. Tyre cocked Roxanne’s head, made sure she was breathing freely, then drew the rope down hand over hand until the girl was standing bent at the waist, her chained hands high up in the air behind her back. Tyre secured the rope by winding it in a figure-eight around a cleat on the wall. Alex put her arm over Michael’s shoulder. She was stroking the sky-blue fly of the Marine Corps uniform. “Do you always strap it on before you come to work?” she asked. Michael grinned. “Well, you know who I work for,” she replied. Her hips rocked in response to Alex’s touch, straps pulled tight up against her cunt. She wanted Alex to take out her cock and suck it. Anne-Marie was stroking the chained girl in much the same way, but her cunt had no protection other than a pair of crotchless silk panties held together with tiny ribbons tied in bows. The rest of the pack gathered around and watched Anne-Marie pull up the girl’s skirt and untie each bow, then plunge her fingers into her cleft from behind. The chains made a pleasant accompaniment, barely discernible over the music. The girl staggered, tossed her shoulders. The rope was not long enough to let her escape. She could not lower her hands to cover her exposed vaginal lips. She was helpless. She tossed her shoulders again as Anne-Marie worked one finger into her ass. “I think you oughta stick around,” Alex growled in Michael’s ear. She had moved behind her and was massaging her butt. “Pleasure’s mine.” “It will be,” Alex promised. The girl in the middle of the pack didn’t turn her head in response to this dialogue. Apparently the hood completely sealed off hearing as well as sight. “You put in ear plugs?” Tyre asked Alex. “Yes. And it already has pads over the ears. The blindfold can be unsnapped. And you can see the gag. There’s a rubber insert that fits inside the mouth and gets pumped up.” Kay went over to the girl, took the bulb that dangled from her face, and pumped it once or twice. Roxanne shook her head, and her long hair sprayed across her back. “I already pumped that up pretty good,” Alex warned. “Why don’t you turn the valve and let some of the air out, then pump it up again? I like keeping something big in my mouth.” Michael reached over her shoulder and touched Alex’s lips. She got her fingers bitten. She gave Alex a lazy smile and put them in her own mouth, sucked the pain away.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  The black-gloved hands unbuttoned his shirt and began to play with his flat nipples, barely visible in the mat of chest hair. Suddenly, she had more cock than she could handle. Mike gripped her to him, refusing to let her get away, and pumped into her throat. The harder Don worked on his tits, the harder he got and the deeper he thrust into her soft tissues. She felt like an Accu-jac, a convenient sex toy being used to help these two men get off with each other. Mike had only one hand on her head now, and she could see that the other one was behind him, busily working Don up to full erection. Now Don’s hands were on Mike’s cock, and he was jerking him off, slowly and insistently milking his rosy shaft. “I’m going to jerk him off in your mouth,” he told her coldly. “Isn’t that exciting? Pinch your own tits, Mike. I want you to fill up that scumbag with fresh spunk. You better produce a lot of cream, boy, or it’s your ass. You, cocksucker, don’t take that rubber off him until I can see the size of his load.” They continued that way—Mike pulling on his own tits, Don pumping his cock, her twirling her tongue around the head of Mike’s dick—until he came, copiously, and sagged, weak in the knees. “God, it’s hard to come standing up,” he complained. Don let go of him, grabbed the prophylactic and slid it off. “You forgot to say thank you,” he grinned. “Now git down on the floor next to her.” Mike hesitated, and his face turned red. Don shouted, “I said kneel, you punk!” Mike obeyed him with bad grace, giving her one furious glance that wiped the smile off her face. Don took Mike’s face in his big hands and forced his mouth open. “Swallow it,” Don said, squeezing the contents of the used rubber onto his tongue. He did, grimacing. She could only imagine how your own cum would taste, cold. Don’s hard-on was in her face, and she transferred her attention to it. Mike mumbled, “Thank you, sir,” with obvious lack of sincerity, and got to his own feet while Don reached down for her and helped her up. He turned her and held her the way he had held Mike. His leather-clad hands felt her breasts, dug briefly into her sore armpits, then reached for her belt buckle and undid it and the top button of her jeans. One hand slid inside her pants, the other hand undoing buttons until he could cup his fingers around her cunt.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Alex plucked her off Roxanne, tucked her inside her jacket, and began to kiss her, sloppy butch kisses that made everybody cheer. Kay gave EZ a towel and sent her over to clean off Michael and put her equipment away. When EZ knelt in front of her and began to swab at her dick, Michael couldn’t resist turning her hips just enough to slap the side of it into EZ’s face. The look she got was hatred laced with lust and panic. As if knees weren’t made to bend! She was going to remember that look and hope she saw it again sometime, when her own knees weren’t so weak. Tyre had pulled a slim blade, Damascus steel with a horn handle, from the sleeve of her jacket. She ran its edge up the back of Roxanne’s legs. The girl stopped panting and immediately froze, obviously trained to mind the blade. “I think I’m gonna wet my pants,” Kay said to Anne-Marie. “This is too delicious.” “I know just how you feel, dear. It’s such a cleansing release. So good for the system.” The knife traveled the inside of Roxanne’s thighs. The girl had spread her feet as far apart as her manacles and chain permitted. When the tip of it probed her clit, she jumped a little, then steadied herself. Shoulders, neck, upper arms felt the fine scrape of Tyre’s weapon. Then the blade disappeared between her slip and her skin, and its tip plunged through the thin material. The silk made a grieving sound as it was cut, as if it knew it could not heal itself. Tyre let the elegant rags fall from Roxanne’s body, and the girl shivered. Tiny goosebumps came out all over her. She smelled like pure sex. God, she was pretty. Under the slip she wore a leather corset, cinched so tight that her waist was visibly compressed. Six short garters on each leg kept her stockings taut. Alex motioned everyone close, and all eight women held their hands above Roxanne, then simultaneously lowered them. She jumped when she felt herself handled by so many. The rude hands went everywhere. Obviously, much was going to be demanded from her. She shook beneath their hands, but her nipples got larger and firm as cherries, and her pussy was already producing enough slippery stuff to pave the way for all of them to take her in turn. And, in fact, they did just that—hand after hand plunging as deep as it could go, turning slowly into her, then being withdrawn to give its neighbor a turn. She was being laid open to the pack, made equally the vessel of each of its members. Alex took her head between her thighs and worked on the hood’s laces. She let all the air out of the gag before peeling the thin kid off Roxanne’s face and tweaking out the ear plugs.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Dioneo, who had diligently hearkened to the queen's story, seeing that it was ended and that it rested with him alone to tell, without awaiting commandment, smilingly began to speak as follows: "Charming ladies, maybe you have never heard tell how one putteth the devil in hell; wherefore, without much departing from the tenor of that whereof you have discoursed all this day, I will e'en tell it you. Belike, having learned it, you may catch the spirit[202] thereof and come to know that, albeit Love sojourneth liefer in jocund palaces and luxurious chambers than in the hovels of the poor, yet none the less doth he whiles make his power felt midmost thick forests and rugged mountains and in desert caverns; whereby it may be understood that all things are subject to his puissance. [Footnote 202: _Guadagnare l'anima_, lit. gain the soul (syn. pith, kernel, substance). This passage is ambiguous and should perhaps be rendered "catch the knack or trick" or "acquire the wish."] To come, then, to the fact, I say that in the city of Capsa in Barbary there was aforetime a very rich man, who, among his other children, had a fair and winsome young daughter, by name Alibech. She, not being a Christian and hearing many Christians who abode in the town mightily extol the Christian faith and the service of God, one day questioned one of them in what manner one might avail to serve God with the least hindrance. The other answered that they best served God who most strictly eschewed the things of the world, as those did who had betaken them into the solitudes of the deserts of Thebais. The girl, who was maybe fourteen years old and very simple, moved by no ordered desire, but by some childish fancy, set off next morning by stealth and all alone, to go to the desert of Thebais, without letting any know her intent. After some days, her desire persisting, she won, with no little toil, to the deserts in question and seeing a hut afar off, went thither and found at the door a holy man, who marvelled to see her there and asked her what she sought. She replied that, being inspired of God, she went seeking to enter into His service and was now in quest of one who should teach her how it behoved to serve Him.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Instead, on the nights I couldn’t sleep, I imagined Phoebe’s sidling hips, the fist-sized breasts. She flailed and squirmed. With an arched back, rosebud ass soaring up, she starred in solo fantasies. The fact that I still hadn’t slept with Phoebe, or anyone, didn’t preclude these scenarios. If anything, it helped. Irritation absolved me of the guilt I might have felt about the uses to which I put the spectral mouth and breasts. Each time this ghost Phoebe jumped in my lap, I bit her lips. I licked fingers; I grabbed fistfuls of made-up skin until, sometimes, when I saw the girl in the flesh, she looked as implausible as all the Phoebes I’d dreamed into being. – I pushed through a revolving door into the Colonial: a private club, college-affiliated. She’d invited me to have a drink. One last date, I’d resolved. With Phoebe, I kept spending time I didn’t have. I rushed from classes to Michelangelo’s, an Italian restaurant fifteen miles from Noxhurst’s town limits—distant enough, I hoped, that no fellow students would walk in. I took the bus. I waited tables; I relied on staff meals. I filched apples from the Edwards dining hall. I received scholarship funding, but not enough. I told no one. She was sitting alone at the bar, back facing out. I touched the girl’s waist, and she slipped down from the stool. Phoebe’s smile, angling up, floated toward me. She asked the bow-tied barkeep, Bix, to bring me a gimlet. You’ll love it, Will, she said. Bix makes, no joke, the world’s best gimlets. He puts something extra in. I’ve asked, but he won’t tell me what it is. If it was my recipe to give, I would, he said. I believed him. It was obvious he liked Phoebe. She asked how I was, and I said I’d passed a man playing the fiddle while I walked here. I’d paused, to listen. I had no small bills, so I’d put quarters in his upside-down hat. Oh, ho, he said. It’s high-rolling time. It’s like jingle bells tonight. He threw out the coins, I said, to Phoebe. I forced a smile, but I hadn’t told the story well. I’d tried to help him. Six quarters, which he’d thrown to the ground, like nothing. If I could just tell him as a gag, I’d negate his ridicule. But then, as though she heard the version I intended, Phoebe obliged me, and laughed. She asked what I’d said next. I rattled along. I was pleased; unsettled, too. It was odd, how well she listened. It made me anxious I’d reveal more than I should. When I could, I turned the questions: an old evangelist’s trick. In general, people love talking about themselves. If, at times, with Phoebe, I felt a slight resistance, I pushed through.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  This has been the cardinal fiction of my life, its ruling principle: if I work hard enough, I’ll get what I want. He heard God’s voice, she said. He’d told the group the miracle could happen for each of them, if they practiced. If they had discipline. He believed in physical training. Once, he’d had Jejah dig a large hole in the backyard. They’d labored for hours with the hard-packed dirt, after which he had them fill it in again. But a little pain cleared the mind, he said. It made space for the waiting Spirit. Then, as I walked to class one afternoon, I saw him, the soiled hems of his jeans trailing naked feet. His torso riding his hips like a serpent on its coil. From his gait alone, a lax, rolling, low-hipped stroll, I could have picked him out from a crowd. I stayed well behind him; I didn’t think he’d spotted me, but it wasn’t long after this that I had my chance. In bed, while I studied, Phoebe told me that the blond girl in Jejah, Tess, had quit. If you still want to come to a meeting, you’re invited, she said. I’ll be there, I said. It isn’t a joke, though, she said. Don’t come if all you’ll do is laugh at it— I won’t laugh, I said. I’m serious, Will. So am I. I twisted my face into a scowl, mock-solemn; she pushed me. Unbalanced, she tumbled on top of me. We rolled to the edge of the bed, and almost fell. Will, careful, she said, but she was laughing. She butted against my chest. Don’t laugh, I said. This is serious. I kissed Phoebe’s head, the strands gliding between my lips. I tasted chlorine. Irritated, I stopped. It was too hot, I realized. I opened a window, letting the light cold drift in. Phoebe caught ash-white flakes, ice shreds, on her fingertips. She blew them at me, but they’d melted. We were talking, until we weren’t. She felt beneath my boxers; I pulled down ribbed tights, the bared thighs white. I listened to Phoebe’s quick breaths. I shut my eyes, then a line of imagined girls pirouetted through: twirling, pouting figurines. To my surprise, not one looked like Phoebe, and the last thought before I finished was that I’d broken free of my girlfriend for several minutes. Like the breeze, this change came as a relief. 22. WILL I half-ran through Platt courtyard, taking the diagonal path. On the frozen lawn, a small group huddled around a picnic table, cigarette tips burning. I rushed past while someone slung a girl across his back. Help, she wailed. I paused, uncertain. Put me down, you big dolt, she said, but then she let out a howl that rolled into a laugh. I kept going.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  It was the keeper, he stood in the path like Balaam's ass, barring her way. "How's this?" he said in surprise. "How did you come?" she panted. "How did you? Have you been to the hut?" "No! No! I went to Marehay." He looked at her curiously, searchingly, and she hung her head a little guiltily. "And were you going to the hut now?" he asked rather sternly. "No! I mustn't. I stayed at Marehay. No one knows where I am. I'm late. I've got to run." "Giving me the slip, like?" he said, with a faint ironic smile. "No! No. Not that. Only--" "Why, what else?" he said. And he stepped up to her, and put his arm around her. She felt the front of his body terribly near to her, and alive. "Oh, not now, not now," she cried, trying to push him away. "Why not? It's only six o'clock. You've got half an hour. Nay! Nay! I want you." He held her fast and she felt his urgency. Her old instinct was to fight for her freedom. But something else in her was strange and inert and heavy. His body was urgent against her, and she hadn't the heart any more to fight. He looked round. "Come--come here! Through here," he said, looking penetratingly into the dense fir trees, that were young and not more than half-grown. He looked back at her. She saw his eyes, tense and brilliant, fierce, not loving. But her will had left her. A strange weight was on her limbs. She was giving way. She was giving up. He led her through the wall of prickly trees, that were difficult to come through, to a place where there was a little space and a pile of dead boughs. He threw one or two dry ones down, put his coat and waistcoat over them, and she had to lie down there under the boughs of the tree, like an animal, while he waited, standing there in his shirt and breeches, watching her with haunted eyes. But still he was provident--he made her lie properly, properly. Yet he broke the band of her underclothes, for she did not help him, only lay inert.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  An we have promised it Him, let Him find Himself another or others to perform it to Him.' 'Or if,' went on her fellow, 'we should prove with child, how would it go then?' Quoth the other, 'Thou beginnest to take thought unto ill ere it cometh; when that betideth, then will we look to it; there will be a thousand ways for us of doing so that it shall never be known, provided we ourselves tell it not.' The other, hearing this and having now a greater itch than her companion to prove what manner beast a man was, said, 'Well, then, how shall we do?' Quoth the first, 'Thou seest it is nigh upon none and methinketh the sisters are all asleep, save only ourselves; let us look about the hortyard if there be any there, and if there be none, what have we to do but to take him by the hand and carry him into yonder hut, whereas he harboureth against the rain, and there let one of us abide with him, whilst the other keepeth watch? He is so simple that he will do whatever we will.' Masetto heard all this talk and disposed to compliance, waited but to be taken by one of the nuns. The latter having looked well all about and satisfied themselves that they could be seen from nowhere, she who had broached the matter came up to Masetto and aroused him, whereupon he rose incontinent to his feet. The nun took him coaxingly by the hand and led him, grinning like an idiot, to the hut, where, without overmuch pressing, he did what she would. Then, like a loyal comrade, having had her will, she gave place to her fellow, and Masetto, still feigning himself a simpleton, did their pleasure. Before they departed thence, each of the girls must needs once more prove how the mute could horse it, and after devising with each other, they agreed that the thing was as delectable as they had heard, nay, more so. Accordingly, watching their opportunity, they went oftentimes at fitting seasons to divert themselves with the mute, till one day it chanced that one of their sisters, espying them in the act from the lattice of her cell, showed it to other twain. At first they talked of denouncing the culprits to the abbess, but, after, changing counsel and coming to an accord with the first two, they became sharers with them in Masetto's services, and to them the other three nuns were at divers times and by divers chances added as associates. Ultimately, the abbess, who had not yet gotten wind of these doings, walking one day alone in the garden, the heat being great, found Masetto (who had enough of a little fatigue by day, because of overmuch posting it by night) stretched out asleep under the shade of an almond-tree, and the wind lifting the forepart of his clothes, all abode discovered.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  It chanced, not long since, that there came thither, sent by his masters, one of our young Florentines, by name Niccolo da Cignano, though more commonly called Salabaetto, with as many woollen cloths, left on his hands from the Salerno fair, as might be worth some five hundred gold florins, which having given the customhouse officers the invoice thereof, he laid up in a magazine and began, without showing overmuch haste to dispose of them, to go bytimes a-pleasuring about the city. He being of a fair complexion and yellow-haired and withal very sprightly and personable, it chanced that one of these same barberesses, who styled herself Madam Biancofiore, having heard somewhat of his affairs, cast her eyes on him; which he perceiving and taking her for some great lady, concluded that he pleased her for his good looks and bethought himself to order this amour with the utmost secrecy; wherefore, without saying aught thereof to any, he fell to passing and repassing before her house. She, noting this, after she had for some days well enkindled him with her eyes, making believe to languish for him, privily despatched to him one of her women, who was a past mistress in the procuring art and who, after much parley, told him, well nigh with tears in her eyes, that he had so taken her mistress with his comeliness and his pleasing fashions that she could find no rest day or night; wherefore, whenas it pleased him, she desired, more than aught else, to avail to foregather with him privily in a bagnio; then, pulling a ring from her pouch, she gave it to him on the part of her mistress. Salabaetto, hearing this, was the joyfullest man that was aye and taking the ring, rubbed it against his eyes and kissed it; after which he set it on his finger and replied to the good woman that, if Madam Biancofiore loved him, she was well requited it, for that he loved her more than his proper life and was ready to go whereassoever it should please her and at any hour. The messenger returned to her mistress with this answer and it was appointed Salabaetto out of hand at what bagnio he should expect her on the ensuing day after vespers.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  13 “Rise up! Consecrate the people and say, ‘Consecrate yourselves for tomorrow, for thus says the LORD , the God of Israel: “There are things under the ban among you, O Israel. You cannot stand [victorious] before your enemies until you remove the things under the ban from among you.” 14 ‘In the morning you shall come forward by your tribes. And it shall be that the tribe which the LORD chooses by lot shall come forward by families, and the family which the LORD chooses shall come forward by [separate] households, and the household which the LORD chooses shall come forward man by man. 15 ‘It shall be that the one who is chosen with the things under the ban shall be [killed and his body] burned with fire, he and all that belongs to him, because he has transgressed the covenant of the LORD , and because he has done a d disgraceful and disobedient thing in Israel.’ ” [Josh 7:25 ] The Sin of Achan 16 So Joshua got up early in the morning and had Israel come forward by tribes, and the tribe of Judah was chosen [by lot]. 17 He had the families of Judah come forward, and the family of the Zerahites was chosen; and he had the family of the Zerahites come forward man by man, and Zabdi was chosen. 18 He brought his household forward man by man; and Achan the son of Carmi, son of Zabdi, son of Zerah, of the tribe of Judah, was chosen. 19 Then Joshua said to Achan, “My son, I implore you, give glory to the LORD , the God of Israel, and give praise to Him [in recognition of His righteous judgments]; and tell me now what you have done. Do not hide it from me.” 20 So Achan answered Joshua and said, “In truth, I have sinned against the LORD , the God of Israel, and this is what I have done: 21 when I saw among the spoils [in Jericho] a e beautiful robe from Shinar (southern Babylon) and two hundred shekels of silver and a bar of gold weighing fifty shekels, I wanted them and took them. Behold, they are hidden in the ground inside my tent, with the silver underneath.” 22 So Joshua sent messengers, and they ran to the tent; and they saw the stolen objects hidden in his tent, with the silver underneath. 23 And they took them from the tent and brought them to Joshua and to all the sons of Israel, and f spread them out before the LORD . 24 Then Joshua and all Israel with him, took Achan the son of Zerah, the silver, the [royal] robe, the bar of gold, g his sons, his daughters, his oxen, his donkeys, his sheep, his tent, and everything that he had; and they brought them up to the Valley of Achor (Disaster). 25 Joshua said, “Why have you brought disaster on us?

• From The Decameron (1353)

  This song they carolled on such dulcet wise and so delightsomely that to the king, who beheld and hearkened to them with ravishment, it seemed as if all the hierarchies of the angels were lighted there to sing. The song sung, they fell on their knees and respectfully craved of him leave to depart, who, albeit their departure was grievous to him, yet with a show of blitheness accorded it to them. The supper being now at an end, the king remounted to horse with his company and leaving Messer Neri, returned to the royal lodging, devising of one thing and another. There, holding his passion hidden, but availing not, for whatsoever great affair might supervene, to forget the beauty and grace of Ginevra the Fair, (for love of whom he loved her sister also, who was like unto her,) he became so fast entangled in the amorous snares that he could think of well nigh nought else and feigning other occasions, kept a strait intimacy with Messer Neri and very often visited his fair garden, to see Ginevra.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I nibbled slices between scales, the late-afternoon sun oiling the top of my head like a benediction, a sign of grace. If I then tried to clean the dish, she didn’t let me. Haejin, go practice, she said.) Too full to eat more, I pointed out the plane. He raised his head, obedient; he looked up. I’d love to learn how to do that, he said. To fly a plane. Just in case. In case . . . If, mid-flight, the pilot fainted, or— But planes have two pilots. Not small planes. Right, I said. So, on this little plane, if the pilot fainted, you’d hurtle into the cockpit. You’d save lives, the big hero. That’s right, he said, laughing. I touched the tip of my nose to his. I wasn’t sure, though, what I was doing. Oh, I’d gained his attention: from the moment I spilled punch on his thigh, and he turned to find me smiling up at him, I’d had it, him. I’d chatted, then started dancing. He lifted one shoe at a time, inept. I’m not used to this, he said. I adjusted my tempo to his, following his motions until, relaxing, he twitched his limbs; he tried to spin me in a circle. I let him. I liked how he looked at me, as if he couldn’t help it. But since then, five nights ago, I persisted in spending time with him. Our legs mingled beneath the thick plaid blanket he’d also thought to bring. His toes pressed my calves. I hadn’t taken him to bed; I kept waiting. I didn’t think I should treat him like a one-night fling. Days passed, then weeks. He proved more evasive than even I could be. He joshed and hid. I sighted him in flashes. Late one night, while talking about religious faith, Liesl had said, I’d love to believe there’s something out there. It’s hard to imagine this is all, then we die. What solid logic, Will said. Top-notch wishful thinking. He tried to smile, as if he’d told a joke. Liesl, no idiot, winced. I filled the silence that followed by talking about the time when, as a kid, reaching for a mall-fountain nickel, I’d fallen in. Before long, I had everyone laughing; afterward, when Julian alluded to Will’s bad mood, I acted as though I hadn’t noticed. Oh, please, Julian said. But he hadn’t seen the twist in Will’s smile, how pitiful he looked. Such bravado, like a small child taught he’d be punished if he cried. From the little he let slip about leaving his church, I tried to conceive of what he’d lost. The high-minded world he used to inhabit: ordered, calm. I didn’t think I’d die, he said. It’s a fringe benefit of the faith. I believed I’d always live, along with everyone I loved.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  "She should ha' been slapped in time." "But why? and she's _so_ nice." He didn't answer, went round doing the evening chores, with a quiet, inevitable sort of motion. He was outwardly angry, but not with her. So Connie felt. And his anger gave him a peculiar handsomeness, an inwardness and glisten that thrilled her and made her limbs go molten. Still, he took no notice of her. Till he sat down and began to unlace his boots. Then he looked up at her from under his brows, on which the anger still sat firm. "Shan't you go up?" he said. "There's a candle!" He jerked his head swiftly to indicate the candle burning on the table. She took it obediently, and he watched the full curve of her hips as she went up the first stairs. It was a night of sensual passion, in which she was a little startled and almost unwilling: yet pierced again with piercing thrills of sensuality, different, sharper, more terrible than the thrills of tenderness, but, at the moment, more desirable. Though a little frightened, she let him have his way, and the reckless, shameless sensuality shook her to her foundations, stripped her to the very last, and made a different woman of her. It was not really love. It was not voluptuousness. It was sensuality sharp and searing as fire, burning the soul to tinder. Burning out the shames, the deepest, oldest shames, in the most secret places. It cost her an effort to let him have his way and his will of her. She had to be a passive, consenting thing, like a slave, a physical slave. Yet the passion licked round her, consuming, and when the sensual flame of it pressed through her bowels and breast, she really thought she was dying: yet a poignant, marvellous death. She had often wondered what Abélard meant, when he said that in their year of love he and Heloïse had passed through all the stages and refinements of passion. The same thing, a thousand years ago: ten thousand years ago! The same on the Greek vases, everywhere! The refinements of passion, the extravagances of sensuality! And necessary, for ever necessary, to burn out false shames and smelt out the heaviest ore of the body into purity. With the fire of sheer sensuality.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  But a child, a baby! that was still one of the sensations. She would venture very gingerly on that experiment. There was the man to consider, and it was curious, there wasn't a man in the world whose children you wanted. Mick's children! Repulsive thought! As lief have a child to a rabbit! Tommy Dukes?... he was very nice, but somehow you couldn't associate him with a baby, another generation. He ended in himself. And out of all the rest of Clifford's pretty wide acquaintance, there was not a man who did not rouse her contempt, when she thought of having a child by him. There were several who would have been quite possible as lovers, even Mick. But to let them breed a child on you! Ugh! Humiliation and abomination. So that was that! Nevertheless, Connie had the child at the back of her mind. Wait! wait! She would sift the generations of men through her sieve, and see if she couldn't find one who would do.--"Go ye into the streets and byways of Jerusalem, and see if ye can find _a man_." It had been impossible to find a man in the Jerusalem of the prophet, though there were thousands of male humans. But _a man! C'est une autre chose!_ She had an idea that he would have to be a foreigner: not an Englishman, still less an Irishman. A real foreigner. But wait! wait! Next winter she would get Clifford to London; the following winter she would get him abroad to the South of France, Italy. Wait! She was in no hurry about the child. That was her own private affair, and the one point on which, in her own queer, female way, she was serious to the bottom of her soul. She was not going to risk any chance comer, not she! One might take a lover almost at any moment, but a man who should beget a child on one ... wait! wait! it's a very different matter.--"Go ye into the streets and byways of Jerusalem...." It was not a question of love; it was a question of _a man_. Why, one might even rather hate him, personally. Yet if he was the man, what would one's personal hate matter? This business concerned another part of oneself. It had rained as usual, and the paths were too sodden for Clifford's chair, but Connie would go out. She went out alone every day now, mostly in the wood, where she was really alone. She saw nobody there. This day, however, Clifford wanted to send a message to the keeper, and as the boy was laid up with influenza,--somebody always seemed to have influenza at Wragby,--Connie said she would call at the cottage. The air was soft and dead, as if all the world were slowly dying. Grey and clammy and silent, even from the shuffling of the collieries, for the pits were working short time, and today they were stopped altogether. The end of all things!

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Its lush cloth wings dangled down. I wish I could explain how helpful he’s been, she said. I feel light again. Will, I’m jubilant. I’m glad to be alive. If I could just have you with me, as well— You haven’t enjoyed living, I said. But you know what I mean. It’s the peace that passeth understanding. Phoebe’s smile flared, the old outsize grin. It belonged to someone I’d known. Last fall, caught in a flash storm, we were rushing through Noxhurst when Phoebe’s shoe strap broke. I picked her up, but the hold slipped. She laughed, or I did. Legs flailed, fish-bright. The beige raincoat bunched, slid; wet hairs, like blown seaweed, filled my mouth. She writhed, but I held on. I’d carried Phoebe home. She’d left the bedroom door open. It had to be on purpose: she wished me to learn what he’d done. She joined her hands on the table. I pulled one loose, and I kissed the inside of Phoebe’s wrist. The pulse flitted, urgent with life. When I licked the trapped blue of a vein, she shivered. I kissed an eyelid. She lifted open lips, at first, to meet mine. We slid down, the planks cold, but then she stopped responding, mouth rigid. Beneath the kitchen lights, Phoebe’s face was a mask of gold. It hid the living girl. If I could crack it apart—she pushed herself up, sitting cross-legged, and I saw the logical solution, so simple I wanted to laugh. I told Phoebe we should get married. You’re joking, she said. No. I watched as she realized I was serious. I think, she said, Will, I— Phoebe— I’m late for Julian, and you’ve had a few drinks—we’ll talk about this in the morning, when you’ll— Since I didn’t want to let Phoebe refuse, I pushed my mouth on hers again. The shift dress had come loose. Bra-strap nicks, like the lines dividing a doll’s joints, indented Phoebe’s skin. It’s possible she struggled awhile before I noticed she wasn’t, as I thought, excited, but I’d waited a long time. If I pretended I didn’t understand, I could postpone letting go. The fitted bottom half of Phoebe’s dress had twisted at waist-level. With my body pressing hers down, I could easily move the panties aside, unzip my jeans. Stop, she said; I slipped inside. She went still. I finished, then I went to the bathroom. I locked myself in. – I woke the next morning on the bathroom mat. She’d left the apartment. I went outside, too. I walked until it was night; I called her, leaving messages, apologies I couldn’t finish. What you crying about, pal, a man said, panhandling. Take this soda bottle, drink it all up like Lou Reed, baby. He rattled his plastic cup, and laughed. I knew where she’d be. In three nights, she called back to tell me she’d return home Sunday, at noon, but just to finish moving out.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Masetto was not so far distant but he heard all this, making a show the while of sweeping the courtyard, and said merrily in himself, 'An you put me therein, I will till you your hortyard as it was never tilled yet.' Accordingly, the bailiff, seeing that he knew right well how to work, asked him by signs if he had a mind to abide there and he replied on like wise that he would do whatsoever he wished; whereupon the bailiff engaged him and charged him till the hortyard, showing him what he was to do; after which he went about other business of the convent and left him. Presently, as Masetto went working one day after another, the nuns fell to plaguing him and making mock of him, as ofttimes it betideth that folk do with mutes, and bespoke him the naughtiest words in the world, thinking he understood them not; whereof the abbess, mayhap supposing him to be tailless as well as tongueless, recked little or nothing. It chanced one day, however, that, as he rested himself after a hard morning's work, two young nuns, who went about the garden,[153] drew near the place where he lay and fell to looking upon him, whilst he made a show of sleeping. Presently quoth one who was somewhat the bolder of the twain to the other, 'If I thought thou wouldst keep my counsel, I would tell thee a thought which I have once and again had and which might perchance profit thee also.' 'Speak in all assurance,' answered the other, 'for certes I will never tell it to any.' Then said the forward wench, 'I know not if thou have ever considered how straitly we are kept and how no man dare ever enter here, save the bailiff, who is old, and yonder dumb fellow; and I have again and again heard ladies, who come to visit us, say that all other delights in the world are but toys in comparison with that which a woman enjoyeth, whenas she hath to do with a man. Wherefore I have often had it in mind to make trial with this mute, since with others I may not, if it be so. And indeed he is the best in the world to that end, for that, e'en if he would, he could not nor might tell it again. Thou seest he is a poor silly lout of a lad, who hath overgrown his wit, and I would fain hear how thou deemest of the thing.' 'Alack!' rejoined the other, 'what is this thou sayest? Knowest thou not that we have promised our virginity to God?' 'Oh, as for that,' answered the first, 'how many things are promised Him all day long, whereof not one is fulfilled unto Him!

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  Genesis 39 Joseph’s Success in Egypt 1 N OW JOSEPH had been taken down to Egypt; and Potiphar, an Egyptian officer of Pharaoh, the captain of the [royal] guard, bought him from the Ishmaelites, who had taken him down there. 2 The LORD was with Joseph, and he [even though a slave] became a successful and prosperous man; and he was in the house of his master, the Egyptian. 3 Now his master saw that the LORD was with him and that the LORD caused all that he did to prosper (succeed) in his hand. [Gen 21:22 ; 26:27 , 28 ; 41:38 , 39 ] 4 So Joseph pleased Potiphar and found favor in his sight and he served him as his personal servant. He made Joseph overseer over his house, and he put all that he owned in Joseph’s charge. 5 It happened that from the time that he made Joseph overseer in his house and [put him in charge] over all that he owned, that the LORD blessed the Egyptian’s house because of Joseph; so the LORD ’s blessing was on everything that Potiphar owned, in the house and in the field. 6 So Potiphar left all that he owned in Joseph’s charge; and with Joseph there he did not [need to] a pay attention to anything except the food he ate. N ow Joseph was handsome and attractive in form and appearance. [Gen 43:32 ] 7 Then after a time his master’s wife b looked at Joseph with desire, and she said, “Lie with me.” 8 But he refused and said to his master’s wife, “Look, with me in the house, my master does not concern himself with anything; he has put everything that he owns in my charge. 9 “He is not greater in this house than I am, nor has he kept anything from me except you, because you are his wife. How then could I do this great evil and sin against God [and your husband]?” 10 And so it was that she spoke to Joseph [persistently] day after day, but he did not listen to her [plea] to lie beside her or be with her. 11 Then it happened one day that Joseph went into the house to attend to his duties, and none of the men of the household was there in the house. 12 She caught Joseph by his [outer] robe, saying, “Lie with me!” But he left his robe in her hand and ran, and got outside [the house]. 13 When she saw that he had left his robe in her hand and had run outside, 14 she called to the men of her household and said to them, “Look at this, your master has brought a Hebrew [into the household] to mock and insult us; he came to me to lie with me, and I screamed.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  It was left propped open; I followed them in. Hip-hop pulsed, rolled. Pale limbs shone. I’d learned that the alcohol table was the one place where I could stand without looking too isolated, and I was idling at my usual station, finishing a third drink, when a girl in a striped dress tripped. She spilled cold liquid down my leg. She shouted apologies, then a name: Phoebe Lin. Will Kendall, I said, also in a shout. We tried talking, but I kept mishearing what she said. Phoebe started tilting her pelvis from side to side. Life as a juvenile born-again hadn’t put me on a lot of dance floors; uncertain, I followed the girl’s lead. She swayed left, right, bare shoulders sliding. Others writhed to the frenzied tempo, but Phoebe’s hips beat out a slowed-down song. Punch-stained red cups split underfoot, opening into plastic petals. Palms open, she levitated both hands. The room clattered into motion, rising to spin. She dipped, glided along its tilt, and still she moved to the calm rhythm she’d found, dragging the beat until my pulse joined hers. She kept dancing, so I did, too. By the time she stopped, she looked flushed, out of breath. She lifted black, long hair into a makeshift ponytail. We shouted again, and I watched a drop of sweat trickle from Phoebe’s hairline toward the clavicle niche, where it might pool, I thought, to be lapped up. Thick bangs, damp at the tips, parted to expose her forehead. I wanted to kiss that spot, its sudden openness: I leaned down. She pulled close. Since then, three weeks ago, we talked; we kissed, but that was all. I didn’t know what I had the right to ask. I waited, while the rest of Edwards played musical beds. Late at night, if I walked to the bathroom, I crossed paths with still more girls listing tipsily down the hall in oversized, borrowed polo shirts. They flashed smiles, then swerved back into my suitemates’ rooms. I returned to mine, but I could still hear the squeals, the high-pitched cries. In no time, a pretty girl might zigzag into my bed, and if it hadn’t happened yet, it was excitingly attainable—if I said the right words, reached for the right girl— Instead, on the nights I couldn’t sleep, I imagined Phoebe’s sidling hips, the fist-sized breasts. She flailed and squirmed. With an arched back, rosebud ass soaring up, she starred in solo fantasies. The fact that I still hadn’t slept with Phoebe, or anyone, didn’t preclude these scenarios. If anything, it helped. Irritation absolved me of the guilt I might have felt about the uses to which I put the spectral mouth and breasts. Each time this ghost Phoebe jumped in my lap, I bit her lips.