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.

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• From The Fixed Stars: A Memoir (2020)

  I took her to a bar owned by a friend. I wanted to make it all seem ordinary. I needed this to be ordinary. I’d texted the friend ahead of time with a forcefully matter-of-fact heads-up, told her I’d figured out that I wasn’t straight, la la la, that Brandon and I had opened our relationship, that if she saw me at the bar, looking datey with a woman, that was why. Our friend must have told the bartender, who was an acquaintance. When he saw me with Nora, he smiled and introduced himself to her, and then he bought us a round. He unfurled a semblance of normalcy over us, light as a blanket on sand. We ate tacos on the same side of the banquette. I put my feet up on a chair, and so did she. By unspoken agreement, we did not allow them to touch. We could have gone up in flames. Are you sure your husband is okay with this? she said. How does he feel about it? I reassured her. I said he’d gone out one night this week and had let himself flirt a bit. I didn’t want to talk about him. The street was empty as we walked to my car. We stopped on the sidewalk beside a brick house with expensively pruned hedges. Something wobbled in my stomach, went zinging up between my ears. Can I kiss you? I asked, and then I did. Her mouth was open just enough. My lips found her upper lip just right of center, and I kissed the ridge where it met the skin above. Her tongue moved gently, a polite suggestion. I felt her mouth close around my lower lip, and I drove myself against her, linked my hands at the small of her back. Her breasts pressed against my chest. They were bigger than mine, pliant the way a waterbed is, and they made a peculiar spacer between us. I’d never collided this way with familiar and foreign, like-me and not-me. I’d never been this close to another woman, not since I was an infant with my mother. Nora and I were not the same person, but she knew what it felt like to have breasts, to have a vagina, to live in a body like this, to move it through the world, to move it against another body. This was a new intimacy: the pleasure of sameness. Her thigh slid between my legs and offered itself to me. I pressed my pelvis against the firm pad of her muscle and gave her my own thigh in return. We fit, because she was made like me. She whispered into my mouth and I pulled in her words like air.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  LaurieWhen I see an attractive guy, I find myself imagining what his penis is like. I see it in my mind as I’m sitting there talking to him, or when I think about him I see his penis erect. I imagine my hand on it, I imagine it touching me, I see every little groove and detail of it enlarged in great erection. I can even feel the heat of it in my hand or in me. [Letter] JeanieI have developed an unusual fascination about men’s buttocks. When I see an attractive man from the back, and he is wearing close-fitting pants, I often try to imagine what his buttocks would look like with his pants off. Sometimes, I even try to imagine what it would be like if he were bent over my lap and I were spanking his bare buttocks. To a much lesser degree, if I see an attractive man from the front, and he is wearing close-fitting pants, I try to guess whether his penis is larger, smaller, or the same size as my husband’s. [Letter] SEEING AND READINGI know popular theory has it that women are not as sexually aroused by what they see and read as men. Men are supposed to have this trigger response to the sight of a breast or a bottom; whole segments of our economy depend on it. Whereas women, they say, feel nothing at the sight of a cock, except perhaps a sense of embarrassed amusement, or even distaste. Several years ago, the essential humor of a successful Broadway play (You Know I Can’t Hear You When the Water’s Running) depended on this idea. On the other hand, some people will concede that the erect cock does arouse some women… but even there the debate goes on.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  "Our honourable society winks at the first peccadillo, and shudders with horror at the second, and as our society is composed of honourable men, I suppose the honourable men which make up our virtuous society are right. "What private reasons they have to make them think in this way, I really do not know. "In the exasperated state in which I was, life was intolerable, I could not bear it any longer. "Weary and worn out by a sleepless night, with my blood parched by excitement and by absinthe, I returned home, took a cold bath, dressed, and called the girl into my room. "When she saw my jaded look, my pale face, my hollow eyes, she stared at me, then— "'Are you ill, sir?' she asked. "'Yes; I am not well.' "'And where were you last night?' "'Where?' I asked, scornfully. "'Yes; you did not come home,' said she, defiantly. "I answered her with a nervous laugh. "I understood that a nature like hers had to be mastered all of a sudden rather than tamed by degrees. I therefore caught her within my arms and pressed my lips upon hers. She tried to free herself, but rather like a defenceless bird fluttering with its wings than like a cat thrusting out its claws from inside its velvet paws. "She writhed within my arms, rubbing her breasts against my chest, her thighs against my legs. Nevertheless, I kept her crushed against my body, kissing her mouth, pressing my burning lips against her own, breathing her fresh and healthy breath. "It was the first time she had ever been kissed on her mouth, and, as she told me afterwards, the sensation shook her whole frame like a strong electric current. "I saw, in fact, that her head was reeling, and her eyes swimming with the emotion which my kisses produced on her nervous constitution. "When I wanted to thrust my tongue into her mouth, her maidenly coyness revolted; she resisted and would not have it. It seemed, said she, as if a piece of burning iron had been thrust into her mouth, and it made her feel as though she was committing a most heinous crime. "'No, no,' cried she, 'you are smothering me. You are killing me, leave me, I cannot breathe, leave me or I'll call for help.' "But I persisted and soon my tongue down to its very root was in her mouth. I then lifted her up in my arms, for she was as light as a feather, and I stretched her upon the bed. There the fluttering bird was no longer a defenceless dove, but rather a falcon with claws and sharp beak, struggling with might and main, scratching and biting my hands, threatening to pull out my eyes, thumping me with all her strength.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  You may guess then in what a curious pickle those soft flesh-cushions of mine were, all so red, raw, and in fine, terribly clawed off; but so far from feeling any pleasure in it, that the recent smart made me pout a little, and not with the greatest air of satisfaction receive the compliments, and after-caresses of the author of my pain. As soon as my clothes were huddled on in a little decency, a supper was brought in by the discreet Mrs. Cole herself, which might have piqued the sensuality of a cardinal, accompanied with a choice of the richest wines: all which she set before us, and went out again, without having, by a word or even by a smile, given us the least interruption or confusion, in those moments of secrecy, that we were not yet ripe to the admission of a third too. I sat down then, still scarce in charity with my butcher, for such I could not help considering him, and was moreover not a little piqued at the gay, satisfied air of his countenance, which I thought myself insulted by. But when the now necessary refreshment to me of a glass of wine, and a little eating (all the time observing a profound silence) had somewhat cheered and restored me to spirits, and as the smart began to go off, my good humour returned accordingly: which alteration not escaping him, he said and did every thing that could confirm me in, and indeed exalt it. But scarce was supper well over, before a change so incredible was wrought in me, such violent, yet pleasingly irksome sensations took possession of me that I scarce knew how to contain myself; the smart of the lashes was now converted into such a prickly heat, such fiery tinglings, as made me sigh, squeeze my thighs together, shift and wriggle about my seat, with a furious restlessness; whilst these itching ardours, thus excited in those parts on which the storm of discipline had principally fallen, detached legions of burning, subtile, stimulating spirits, to their opposite spot and centre of assemblage, where their titillation raged so furiously, that I was even stinging made with them. No wonder then that in such a taking, and devoured by flames that licked up all modesty and reserve, my eyes, now charged brimful of the most intense desire, fired on my companion very intelligible signal of distress: my companion, I say, who grew in them every instant more amiable, and more necessary to my urgent wishes and hopes of immediate ease.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  "His moist lips grazed mine so very slightly that I hardly felt their touch; they thus only awakened in me the eager desire to feel their contact more closely, whilst the tip of his tongue kept tantalizing mine, darting in my mouth for a second and rapidly slipping out again. His hands in the meanwhile passed over the most delicate parts of my body as lightly as a soft summer breeze passes over the smooth surface of the waters, and I felt my skin shiver with delight. "I happened to be lying on some cushions on the couch, which thus elevated me to Teleny's height; he swiftly put my legs on his shoulders, then, bending down his head, he began first to kiss, and then to dart his pointed tongue in the hole of my bum, thrilling me with an ineffable pleasure. Then rising when he had deftly prepared the hole by lubricating it well all round, he tried to press the tip of his phallus into it, but though he pressed hard, still he could not succeed in getting it in. "'Let me moisten it a little, and then it will slip in more easily.' "I took it again in my mouth. My tongue rolled deftly all around it. I sucked it down almost to its very root, feeling it up to any little trick, for it was stiff, hard, and frisky. "'Now,' said I, 'let us enjoy together that pleasure which the gods themselves did not disdain to teach us.' "Thereupon the tips of my fingers stretched the edges of my unexplored little pit to their very utmost. It was gaping to receive the huge instrument that presented itself at the orifice. "He once more pressed the glans upon it; the tiny little lips protruded themselves within the gap; the tip worked its way inside, but the pulpy flesh bulged out all around, and the rod was thus arrested in its career. "'I am afraid I am hurting you?' he asked, 'had we not better leave it for some other time?' "'Oh, no! it is such a happiness to feel your body entering into mine.' "He thrust gently but firmly; the strong muscles of the anus relaxed; the glans was fairly lodged; the skin extended to such a degree that tiny, ruby beads of blood tickled from all around the splitting orifice; still, notwithstanding the way I was torn, the pleasure I felt was much greater than the pain. "He himself was so tightly clasped that he could neither pull his instrument out nor push it in, for when he tried to press it down he felt as if he was being circumcised. He stopped for a moment, and then, after having asked whether he was not hurting me too much, and having received a negative reply, he thrust it in with all his might.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  “I was born with it,” I replied. “I already had it as a child. Furthermore furs have a stimulating effect on all highly organized natures. This is due both to general and natural laws. It is a physical stimulus which sets you tingling, and no one can wholly escape it. Science has recently shown a certain relationship between electricity and warmth; at any rate, their effects upon the human organism are related. The torrid zone produces more passionate characters, a heated atmosphere stimulation. Likewise with electricity. This is the reason why the presence of cats exercises such a magic influence upon highly-organized men of intellect. This is why these long-tailed Graces of the animal kingdom, these adorable, scintillating electric batteries have been the favorite animal of a Mahommed, Cardinal Richelieu, Crebillon, Rousseau, Wieland.” “A woman wearing furs, then,” cried Wanda, “is nothing else than a large cat, an augmented electric battery?” “Certainly,” I replied. “That is my explanation of the symbolic meaning which fur has acquired as the attribute of power and beauty. Monarchs and the dominant higher nobility in former times used it in this sense for their costume, exclusively; great painters used it only for queenly beauty. The most beautiful frame, which Raphael could find for the divine forms of Fornarina and Titian for the roseate body of his beloved, was dark furs.” “Thanks for the learned discourse on love,” said Wanda, “but you haven’t told me everything. You associate something entirely individual with furs.” “Certainly,” I cried. “I have repeatedly told you that suffering has a peculiar attraction for me. Nothing can intensify my passion more than tyranny, cruelty, and especially the faithlessness of a beautiful woman. And I cannot imagine this woman, this strange ideal derived from an aesthetics of ugliness, this soul of Nero in the body of a Phryne, except in furs.” “I understand,” Wanda interrupted. “It gives a dominant and imposing quality to a woman.” “Not only that,” I continued. “You know I am supersensual. With me everything has its roots in the imagination, and thence it receives its nourishment. I was already pre-maturely developed and highly sensitive, when at about the age of ten the legends of the martyrs fell into my hands. I remember reading with a kind of horror, which really was rapture, of how they pined in prisons, were laid on the gridiron, pierced with arrows, boiled in pitch, thrown to wild animals, nailed to the cross, and suffered the most horrible torment with a kind of joy. To suffer and endure cruel torture from then on seemed to me exquisite delight, especially when it was inflicted by a beautiful woman, for ever since I can remember all poetry and everything demonic was for me concentrated in woman. I literally carried the idea into a sort of cult.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  "Our fingers hardly moved the skin of the penis; but our nerves were so strained, our excitement had reached such a pitch, and the seminal ducts were so full, that we felt them overflowing. There was, for a moment, an intense pain, somewhere about the root of the penis—or rather, within the very core and centre of the reins, after which the sap of life began to move slowly, slowly, from within the seminal glands; it mounted up the bulb of the urethra, and up the narrow column, somewhat like mercury within the tube of a thermometer—or rather, like the scalding and scathing lava within the crater of a volcano. "It finally reached the apex; then the slit gaped, the tiny lips parted, and the pearly, creamy viscous fluid oozed out—not all at once in a gushing jet, but at intervals, and in huge, burning tears. "At every drop that escaped out of the body, a creepy almost unbearable feeling started from the tips of the fingers, from the ends of the toes, especially from the innermost cells of the brain; the marrow in the spine and within all the bones seemed to melt; and when the different currents—either coursing with the blood or running rapidly up the nervous fibres—met within the phallus (that small instrument made out of muscles and blood-vessels) a tremendous shock took place; a convulsion which annihilated both mind and matter, a quivering delight which everyone has felt, to a greater or less degree—often a thrill almost too intense to be pleasurable. "Pressed against each other, all we could do was to try and smother our groans as the fiery drops slowly followed one another. "The prostration which followed the excessive strain of the nerves had set in, when the carriage stopped before the door of Teleny's house—that door at which I had madly struck with my fist a short time before. "We dragged ourselves wearily out of the carriage, but hardly had the portal shut itself upon us than we were again kissing and fondling each other with renewed energy. "After some moments, feeling that our desire was too powerful to be withstood any longer,—'Come,' said he, 'why should we linger any longer, and waste precious time here in the darkness and in the cold?' "'Is it dark and is it cold?' was my reply. "He kissed me fondly. "'In the gloom you are my light; in the cold you are my fire; the frozen wastes of the Pole would be a Garden of Eden for me, if you were there,' I continued. "We then groped our way upstairs in the dark, for I would not allow him to light a wax match. I therefore went along, stumbling against him; not that I could not see, but because I was intoxicated with mad desire as a drunken man is with wine.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  I am twenty-nine years old, have been married for eleven years to a merchant seaman, and have two children. My husband is at sea for almost six months of every year, and during one of his trips about three years ago I was introduced to lesbianism by two young girls. My first experience with these girls was so completely satisfying and wonderfully exciting that I now relive the scene almost every time I make love with my husband when he is at home. The scene I picture is as follows: My husband is at sea and the children are at my mother’s for the weekend, because I am having a night out with the girls at the office to celebrate one of the girls’ coming wedding. I have invited two of the girls to spend the night at my place, as they live in the next town and they would have had to leave the party early to make the last train home. We arrive at my place, late and tired after the party. I flop down on the chair and say that I wish that I had a maid who would undress me and get me ready for bed. The girls say they will be my maids and proceed to undress me. When they take off my bra and panties they are obviously very excited by what they see, and both say they have never seen breasts as large and beautiful as mine before. They ask if they could touch them. I say they may do anything they want with them, and soon my nipples become very large and firm with their caresses. Then they take a breast each and kiss and suck my large but very sensitive nipples, and at the same time they begin to caress my tummy and thighs, and soon I am squirming all over the chair. When I start moving they release my breasts, and one of the girls sits on the arm of the chair and starts to kiss me very tenderly and lovingly and then more demandingly. Soon our tongues are deep into each other’s mouths. While this is going on, the other girl is kneeling on the carpet between my legs caressing my thighs and tummy until I am about frantic with desire. I am moving all over the place trying to direct her fingers into my vagina, but she ignores my attempts. Suddenly I almost go crazy when I feel her head go between my legs and her tongue enter my vagina. I have an orgasm almost immediately, and nearly scream the house down in the process. While I am regaining my breath, the girls strip off and make love on the carpet while I watch. We then have a shower together and all three go to bed and make love all night. [Letter] ***

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  With the farmyard animals there is no licking, no clitoral stimulation either in fantasy or fact. I don’t think there are many women who have actually been fucked by a bull or a donkey, either—though it is supposed to be not entirely unknown at “stag” (ah!) dinners. With barnyard studs, imagined or not, it’s all about the visible turn-on of the prick, the incredible size of it more than anything. Imagine something that big—which you reacted to with such fascination, at least the first time you saw it, even if you almost immediately glanced away with embarrassment—imagine that penetrating you! How can a woman look at a prick that big and not imagine it going into her? It’s like looking at a racing car and ignoring the thrill of speed. I don’t think it’s literally a desire to be fucked by these animals, simply an attempt to imagine what it would be like to have so much prick “filling” you up. In fantasy and reality, women repeatedly refer to “being filled”; perhaps it’s a woman’s way of expressing her sexual desire for more. But since everyone knows that unless the man is abnormally small, it isn’t penis size that really matters, I think this female cry only uses size as a kind of visible metaphor to express a desire for greater sex, completer sex, the essence of sex. Advertisers have found that the public responds when they call their product “the coffeeer coffee” and “the chocolate-ier chocolate.” Should it be any surprise then that women desire sexier sex? JoI often have this fantasy when I’m alone, or with time on my hands, or even when I’m making love with my husband. I am alone in the house. My husband has left for work. I begin my housework downstairs, clearing the dishes from the dining room into the kitchen. I take off my nightgown and housecoat and work in the nude. While I work, the neighbor’s dog follows me. He always comes over to visit. I take no notice of him, but his wet nose and warm breath move between my legs whenever I pause. Briefly I will let my legs part, and his tongue will dart out and lick me while I continue my chores as though he weren’t even there. I keep moving about, not giving him or me too much. Slowly, as if not noticing, I let him have more: now two licks, increasing to three, four, his nose burrowing into my privates as I allow him to get at me for longer and longer periods. Suddenly he tires of the game and stops following, just as I have finished cleaning all the downstairs rooms. Except the kitchen. I always save the kitchen for last.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  I then just hinted to him not to mention in the house his having seen such a person as me, for reasons I would explain to him more at leisure. And then, for fear of miscarrying, by being seen together, I tore myself from him with a bleeding heart, and stole up softly to my room, where I found Phœbe still fast asleep, and hurrying off my few clothes, lay down by her, with a mixture of joy and anxiety, that may be easier conceived than expressed. The risks of Mrs. Brown’s discovering my purpose, of disappointments, misery, ruin, all vanished before this new-kindled flame. The seeing, the touching, the being, if but for a night, with this idol of my fond virgin heart, appeared to me a happiness above the purchase of my liberty or life. He might use me ill, let him: he was the master, happy, too happy, even to receive death at so dear a hand. To this purpose were the reflections of the whole day, of which every minute seemed to me a little eternity. How often did I visit the clock! nay, was tempted to advance the tedious hand, as if that would have advanced the time with it! Had those of the house had the least observations on me, they must have remarked something extraordinary from the discomposure I could not help betraying; especially when at dinner mention was made of the charmingest youth having been there, and stayed breakfast. “Oh! he was such a beauty!... I should have died for him!... they would pull caps for him!...” and the like fooleries; which, however, was throwing oil on a fire I was sorely put to it to smother the blaze of. The fluctuations of my mind, the whole day, produced one good effect: which was, that, through mere fatigue, I slept tolerably well till five in the morning, when I got up, and having dressed myself, waited, under the double tortures of fear and impatience, for the appointed hour. It came at last, the dear, critical, dangerous hour came; and now, supported only by the courage love lent me, I ventured, a tip-toe, down stairs, leaving my box behind, for fear of being surprized with it in going out.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  Yet another fantasy is that I would like a man to get on top of me, both of us naked, then gently lower himself until his enormous erect penis was resting in between my breasts. I would like to watch it as he moves up and down, then when it is getting near his time I would like him to lower himself and push it into me in the right place. I must tell you that whenever I have sex with a man, all the time I am pretending to myself that I am wearing long knickers, bending over in the headmistress’ study, and getting soundly caned on my bottom. I can only think of two possible causes of my fantasies. The first happened when I was about six or seven. I had an elder sister who was then about fourteen, and for probably a series of misdemeanors, my stepmother said she would cane her. My sister was ordered out of her frock, in front of me, and then Stepmother pushed her over the settee arm. My sister Jean was wearing the usual school Directoire knickers at the time, much longer than those worn today, of course, and with her bottom in the air and her feet off the ground, the knickers tightened around her buttocks.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  Another of my fantasies is when I imagine I am secretary to the headmistress of some school for girls between the ages of fifteen and nineteen. One of my jobs, being a big strong girl, is to cane girls who have been sentenced to be caned by the headmistress. Two or three nights in the week I imagine I have about six girls waiting outside my office in a queue for the cane, and one by one they enter at my command, strip off their gym tunics, and are then ordered to bend over the whipping block, where they get the number of strokes of the cane ordered by the headmistress. Then I change the fantasy and imagine that I am one of the senior girls, aged about eighteen, caught smoking and sentenced to twelve strokes of the cane. We stand outside the door of the secretary’s room and listen to the sounds of the caning going on inside. Then it is my turn. I go in, get out of my gym tunic, and stand there feeling tense in my tight knickers. The secretary points to the flogging block, says Bend over, girl, and I get across it, ready for my thrashing with the cane on my knickers. While I am pretending that I am getting caned, I masturbate. I’ve read many stories of how women used to be punished in the old days, and many of these appeal to me in my fantasies. There is a lovely tale of a rich man, in the 1880s, who employed a governess for his large family of eight daughters and six sons. Frequently the children were caned, and at all such canings the master was present while the governess administered the punishment. The boys had to drop their trousers before being lashed down across a bench, and the girls had to remove outer clothing, the caning being given on their frilly long white drawers. I picture myself as the governess, first because I would enjoy giving the cane, and secondly because I fancy that after all this corporal punishment I could go to bed with the master of the house, who was widowed. In another book of stories about the Midwest in the early days, there is a story of how girls found guilty in the courts were publicly punished. They were taken to the front of the courthouse in the one main street, and there had their wrists fastened above their heads to a whipping block, so that in their underwear, and bending forward, they were unable to move. The number of whacks with the cane varied according to their crimes, but after the sentence had been passed, the girl was left there so that passersby could pick up a cane and give her another whipping. The culprit was released after three hours.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  Also, G. and I used to share a fantasy of what it would be like, when we were making love in his car in a secluded spot on a promontory with bushes all around, if the two hundred men on his staff would suddenly appear from behind the bushes and see us at it. In fact, I think I would have really enjoyed it, and have since wondered about seeing all that lot masturbating when they saw that their boss was pretty good at things apart from work. I would have liked to watch their reactions when I toyed with my lover’s penis in my mouth—that would shock a good many of them, old women that a lot of them are, especially when they saw me bring him to climax that way and swallow his seed, or when I made G. come simply by flexing my vaginal muscles (tricks my mother taught me—ha!—I can’t do that with my husband though; he’s not sensitive enough). My husband never seems to really take the initiative in bed, and a climax for him seems to be more of a relief than a release. (Incidentally, we’ve been married three years and he’s twenty-four.) What I miss most is my lover’s manipulation of me during intercourse, and his more or less mastery of the situation. Most of all I remember when I’m with my husband how G., when his climax came, used to grunt and groan with the pleasure and kiss me fiercely, making me feel a complete woman, completely possessed. I haven’t really felt like that for months now. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to get something off my chest which has been weighing me down for almost two years. Very often I’ve longed to tell my husband the details of my adultery—it would heighten my opinion of my husband if he could take joy in what my lover has experienced. But I know it’s just not possible. After all, my fantasies are based on the real thing. [Letter] AdrienneAdrienne is one of those lively, gregarious types who are easy to get to know. I met her on the QE2 trip from New York to Southampton. Although the voyage is only five days, a ship has a way of bringing people together in terms of intimacy so quickly that it seems incredible when remembered back on shore.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  "Saying these words, holding her with one hand clasped as in a vice, her back against him, he tried with the other to twist her head round so as to get to her lips; but, seeing that he could not, he pressed her down on the bed. Holding her by the nape of the neck, he thrust his other hand between her legs and gripped her middle part in his brawny palm. "Being ready before-hand, thrusting himself between her parted legs, he began to press his instrument against the lower part of the half-opened lips. "Swollen and dry as they had remained after my attempt, his good-sized turgid phallus slipped, and the tip lodged itself at the upper corner. Then, like a heavy laden stamen when kissed by the deflowering wind scatters its pollen on the open ovaries around it, so, hardly had the turgid and overflowing phallus touched the tiny clitoris when it jutted forth its sappy seed not only on it, but it squirted over all the surrounding parts. As she felt her stomach and thighs bathed by the warm fluid, it seemed to her that she was burnt by some scalding corrosive poison, and she writhed as if in pain. "But the more she struggled, the greater was the pleasure he felt, and his groans and the gurgling that seemed to mount from his middle parts up to his throat, testified the rapture in which he was. He rested for a moment but his organ lost none of its strength or stiffness, her contortions only excited him the more. Putting his huge hand between her legs, he uplifted her on the bed, higher than she was, and brutally holding her down, he pressed the fleshy extremity of the glans against her, and the lips bathed in the slimy fluid parted asunder easily. "It was hardly a question with him now of pleasure given or received, it was the wild overpowering eagerness which the male brute displays in possessing the female, for you might have killed him, but he would not have left go his hold. He thrust at her with all the mighty heaviness of a bull; with another effort, the glans was lodged between the lips, another one more, half the column was already in, when it was stopped by the as yet unperforated but highly dilated virginal membrane. Feeling himself thus stopped at the outer orifice of the vagina he felt a moment of exultation. "He kissed her head with rapture. "'You are mine,' he cried with joy; 'mine for life and death, mine for ever and ever.' "She evidently must have compared his wild delight with my cold indifference, and yet she tried to scream, but his hand stopped her mouth. She bit him, still he did not heed it.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  “I have indeed considered it,” she replied almost with a tone of command. “As a man of honor you must keep your oath and redeem your promise to follow me as slave whithersoever I demand and to obey whatever I command. Now leave me, Gregor!” I turned toward the door. “Not yet—you may first kiss my hand.” She held it out to me with a certain proud indifference, and I the dilettante, the donkey, the miserable slave pressed it with intense tenderness against my lips which were dry and hot with excitement. There was another gracious nod of the head. Then I was dismissed. * * * * * Though it was late in the evening my light was still lit, and a fire was burning in the large green stove. There were still many things among my letters and documents to be put in order. Autumn, as is usually the case with us, had fallen with all its power. Suddenly she knocked at my window with the handle of her whip. I opened and saw her standing outside in her ermine-lined jacket and in a high round Cossack cap of ermine of the kind which the great Catherine favored. “Are you ready, Gregor?” she asked darkly. “Not yet, mistress,” I replied. “I like that word,” she said then, “you are always to call me mistress, do you understand? We leave here to-morrow morning at nine o’clock. As far as the district capital you will be my companion and friend, but from the moment that we enter the railway-coach you are my slave, my servant. Now close the window, and open the door.” After I had done as she had demanded, and after she had entered, she asked, contracting her brows ironically, “well, how do you like me.” “Wanda, you—” “Who gave you permission?” She gave me a blow with the whip. “You are very beautiful, mistress.” Wanda smiled and sat down in the arm-chair. “Kneel down—here beside my chair.” I obeyed. “Kiss my hand.” I seized her small cold hand and kissed it. “And the mouth—” In a surge of passion I threw my arms around the beautiful cruel woman, and covered her face, arms, and breast with glowing kisses. She returned them with equal fervor—the eyelids closed as in a dream. It was after midnight when she left. * * * * * At nine o’clock sharp in the morning everything was ready for departure, as she had ordered. We left the little Carpathian health-resort in a comfortable light carriage. The most interesting drama of my life had reached a point of development whose denouement it was then impossible to foretell.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  Another one of my favorite fantasies is to imagine myself being the focal point in group sex. While men take their turns having intercourse with me, the women are kissing me and playing with my breasts. Everyone is telling me how much they love me and I am brimming with love for them. [Letter] BeeI do not now have lesbian fantasies, but for a period of time when I was a teenage girl, I did. I had a young, pretty female teacher on whom I guess I had a crush. She was very kind and nice to me, and we had many long talks after school. When she found out from me that my parents thought sex was bad and that they told me nothing about the “facts of life,” she got me a little pamphlet that gave the basic information. She also answered a few of my questions about what I learned from that pamphlet. I did not learn any of the details about sex, but at least I learned where babies came from. Anyway, as I said, I had a crush on this teacher, and I would sometimes fantasize about her. I dreamed that we would undress each other, and she would hold me in her arms. Then I would kiss her breasts and suck on her nipples as though I were a baby. Other times, I would fantasize about taking a bath or a shower with her, and I would have thoughts about washing and drying her entire body. When she got married, my crush was broken, and these dreams stopped. [Letter] VeniceI have had an occasional lesbian fantasy, but only about a girlfriend feeling my breasts; nothing more than that. [Conversation] LillyI don’t think you would call my lesbian fantasies “suppressed wish fulfillment.” I have often wondered what it would be like to be aroused by a woman, to be engaged in foreplay with her, with her kissing my breasts and sucking on my nipples, and also to have her play with my clitoris. I wouldn’t want her to suck or kiss it, just play with it—and not gently. [Conversation] RitaI must be very selfish, but I believe it would take quite a lot to get me involved in “swinging” or group sex. I can’t stand the thought of my fiancé making love to someone else. I have, however, imagined watching another woman perform fellatio on him and later joining the two of them. However, even this culminates in him and me having intercourse. [Letter] Mary BethI enjoy a full sex life with my husband. Sometimes, however, I do have lesbian fantasies, but it is difficult to describe them. I think of best friends (past girlfriends) and being in bed with them, just touching and caressing. That is as far as the fantasies ever go, although I would like to meet a lesbian and experiment. [Letter]

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  I admired then, upon a fresh account, and with a nicer survey, the texture of that capital part of man: the flaming red head as it stood uncapt, the whiteness of the shaft, and the shrub growth of curling hair that embrowned the foots of it, the roundish bag that dangled down from it, all exacted my eager attention, and renewed my flame. But, as the main affair was now at the point the industrious dame had laboured to bring it to, she was not in the humour to put off the payment of her pains, but laying herself down, drew him gently upon her, and thus they finished, in the same manner as before, the old last act. This over, they both went out lovingly together, the old lady having first made him a present, as near as I could observe, of three or four pieces; he being not only her particular favourite on account of his performances, but a retainer to the house; from whose sight she had taken great care hitherto to secret me, lest he might not have had patience to wait for my lord’s arrival, but have insisted on being his taster, which the old lady was under too much subjection to him to dare dispute with him; for every girl of the house fell to him in course, and the old lady only now and then got her turn, in consideration of the maintenance he had, and which he could scarce be accused of not earning from her. As soon as I heard them go down-stairs, I stole up softly to my own room, out of which I had luckily not been missed; there I began to breathe more free, and to give a loose to those warm emotions which the sight of such an encounter had raised in me, I laid me down on the bed, stretched myself out, joining and ardently wishing, and requiring any means to divert or allay the rekindled rage and tumult of my desires, which all pointed strongly to their pole: man. I felt about the bed as if I sought for something that I grasped in my waking dream, and not finding it, could have cried for vexation; every part of me plowing with simulated fires. At length, I resorted to the only present remedy, that of vain attempts at digitation, where the smallness of the theatre did not yet afford room enough for action, and where the pain my fingers gave me, in striving for admission, though they procured me a slight satisfaction for the present, started an apprehension which I could not be easy till I had communicated to Phœbe and received her explanations upon it.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  I am filled with a very curious sensation. I don’t believe that I am in love with Wanda; I am sure that at our first meeting, I felt nothing of the lightning-like flashes of passion. But I feel how her extraordinary, really divine beauty is gradually winding magic snares about me. It isn’t any spiritual sympathy which is growing in me; it is a physical subjection, coming on slowly, but for that reason more absolutely. I suffer under it more and more each day, and she—she merely smiles. * * * * * Without any provocation she suddenly said to me to-day: “You interest me. Most men are very commonplace, without verve or poetry. In you there is a certain depth and capacity for enthusiasm and a deep seriousness, which delight me. I might learn to love you.” After a short but severe shower we went out together to the meadow and the statue of Venus. All about us the earth steamed; mists rose up toward heaven like clouds of incense; a shattered rainbow still hovered in the air. The trees were still shedding drops, but sparrows and finches were already hopping from twig to twig. They are twittering gaily, as if very much pleased at something. Everything is filled with a fresh fragrance. We cannot cross the meadow for it is still wet. In the sunlight it looks like a small pool, and the goddess of love seems to rise from the undulations of its mirror-like surface. About her head a swarm of gnats is dancing, which, illuminated by the sun, seem to hover above her like an aureole. Wanda is enjoying the lovely scene. As all the benches along the walk are still wet, she supports herself on my arm to rest a while. A soft weariness permeates her whole being, her eyes are half closed; I feel the touch of her breath on my cheek. How I managed to get up courage enough I really don’t know, but I took hold of her hand, asking, “Could you love me?” “Why not,” she replied, letting her calm, clear look rest upon me, but not for long. A moment later I am kneeling before her, pressing my burning face against the fragrant muslin of her gown. “But Severin—this isn’t right,” she cried. But I take hold of her little foot, and press my lips upon it. “You are getting worse and worse!” she cried. She tore herself free, and fled rapidly toward the house, the while her adorable slipper remained in my hand. Is it an omen? * * * * * All day long I didn’t dare to go near her. Toward evening as I was sitting in my arbor her gay red head peered suddenly through the greenery of her balcony. “Why don’t you come up?” he called down impatiently.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  "She pressed her lips again upon his, and almost relinquished her grasp. The hand went stealthily up along the leg, stopped a moment on the knees, caressing them; but the legs closely pressed together prevented it from slipping between them, and thus reaching the higher storey. It crept slowly up, nevertheless, caressing the thighs through the fine linen underclothing, and thus, by stolen marches, it reached its aim. The hand then slipped between the opening of the drawers, and began to feel the soft skin. She tried to stop him. "'No, no!' said she; 'please dont; you are tickling me.' "He then took courage, and plunged his fingers boldly in the fine curly locks of the fleece that covered all her middle parts. "She continued to hold her thighs tightly closed together, especially when the naughty fingers began to graze the edge of the moist lips. At that touch, however, her strength gave way; the nerves relaxed, and allowed the tip of a finger to worm its way within the slit—nay, the tiny berry protruded out to welcome it. "After a few moments she breathed more strongly. She encircled his breast with her arms, kissed him, and then hid her head on his shoulder. "'Oh, what a rapture I feel!' she cried. 'What a magnetic fluid you possess to make me feel I as do!' "He did not give her any answer; but, unbuttoning his trousers, he took hold of her dainty little hand. He endeavoured to introduce it within the gap. She tried to resist, but weakly, and as if asking but to yield. She soon gave way, and boldly caught hold of his phallus, now stiff and hard, moving lustily by its own inward strength. "After a few moments of pleasant manipulation, their lips pressed together, he lightly, and almost against her knowledge, pressed her down on the couch, lifted up her legs, pulled up her skirts without for a moment taking his tongue out of her mouth or stopping his tickling of her tingling clitoris already wet with its own tears. Then—sustaining his weight on his elbows—he got his legs between her thighs. That her excitement increased could be visibly seen by the shivering of the lips which he had no need to open as he pressed down upon her, for they parted of themselves to give entrance to the little blind God of Love.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  AnnaI’m amused to see that your habit of being an “incurable fly-watcher” applies to me, also. Sometimes it can even be a little fun when you suddenly realize that the guy is watching you! Of course this all depends on who it is. I think it excites a man for him to think that you’re interested in what he looks like under his clothes. [Letter] VeraI, too, am a “crotch-watcher.” I can’t help imagining the exact shape and size of a man “there” when I look at him, and I invariably compare him to my fiancé. [Letter] UnaI myself am so unconscious of looking at men, of glancing at their crotches as they approach me on the street, that I can be thinking of what to buy for dinner while my mind is speculating on just what a guy has done to himself to achieve a particularly interesting arrangement of his genitalia. They can get the most remarkable effects! In fact, my husband says that I notice on which side a man dresses before I’ve even shaken hands. A funny thing happened to me one day as I was hurrying home from work, thinking about God knows what, but also checking out the oncoming stream of men hurrying home. I suppose I wasn’t even aware of how intently I stared at one particular man’s well-fitting trousers until just as we passed—tweak!—he reached out and tweaked my nipple! Just like that, on Fifth Avenue! I was stunned. I stopped, turned around with my mouth gaping open, watching him disappear… and then I laughed. What else could I do? [Letter] LoisI love seeing the bulge beneath a boy’s tight jeans and imagining what is underneath. I long to know whether he might or might not be circumcised. I have always preferred uncircumcised boys. [Letter] LizI am also an incurable fly-watcher, and also a bottom-watcher, imagining the reality beneath the clothing. I also have an almost irresistible urge to run my fingers through a man’s hair when it is well cut, reasonably long, and looks clean and soft. I find men’s naked bodies very exciting (and often wish there was the equivalent of “girlie” magazines for us women). [Letter] WinonaSometimes when I have been on a train or a bus I have found myself looking at men’s trousers to see if I can trace the shape and size of the penis. Sometimes I have noticed a penis stiffen when the man has looked at my breasts or when he tries to get a glimpse of my thighs and then it excites me to think that I am the cause of his erection. [Letter] RubyI do daydream a bit; if I have heard that a boy is particularly large, or good in bed, or something, then when I see him I undress him mentally, wondering what he looks like naked. [Letter]