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 Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  He looked up at her, wanting to see her arch her back and neck, her fingers grabbing at the edge of the rug, twirling around the tassels like ivy. Now, she was like he had been minutes before. He smiled and let her wetness linger on his lips, down her legs on to her ankles, which he grabbed suddenly and pulled her out from under the table. Her eyes flashed in shock from being taken from the trance he was weaving. He picked her up and put her on his shoulder, then leaned her back down on the poker table, the chips flying. ~ As she looked up at him, his hair flicked down and hovered in front of his eyelashes. She reached to push his hair way so she could look at him, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned her down. She 208 Fett Zandersen wriggled and kneed into his ribs. No, this was not her strategy. She had to be on top where she could be in control. To stop and start when she wanted to torment him as long as possible. He struggled to hold her, their slippery bodies sticking to the chips but he held her there, his cock pressed hard against her leg until she stopped moving and their breathing moved in time. Then she realized. Her cards had been left up, exposing her two pairs: aces and queens and a nine. His cards must have been higher. He was taking his prize. She pushed her cards to the floor in acknowledgment and turned her neck so that the moonlight lay upon her skin. He released one of her wrists and she left it there, her nipples getting harder. Then he reached to her eyelids and closed them softly while she felt his tongue move to her jawbone, then to her neck and he kissed it and buried his head into the hollow. His body pressed against hers completely, but lightly enough so she could still breathe. As he breathed in through his nose, he smelled her and felt his cock throb harder than ever. She must have felt it too, because she dangled her fingers down the curve of his back and reached between their legs to stroke him and then finger herself. He took a sharp breath in and rolled her so she was on top, her eyes opened and she looked down at him. His arms were tucked behind his head, his eyes closed and a slight smirk froze upon his face. She gathered some of her hair and tickled it underneath his nose, then rubbed her cheeks against his stubble before moving her hair on his abs. She waited until this stirred him even more and she kissed his bolt upright cock. As she sucked and kissed, she thrust her hips in time around his leg until he could feel her wetness start to slide over him.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  “You’ve already hurt me. Your eyes have hurt me.” I thought I knew him, but he is going right to pieces. Yet I feel his growing excitement. There is yet a part of him, not a very nice part that likes this, that a creature who could do such terrible things could love him also. It is unnatural, but it has bound him to the old me. Since he will not come to me, I go to him, catch him, struggling, and hold him tight to me. “I understand,” I whisper in his ear. “And you were right before. But it’s different now. We have many ordinary days ahead of us, you'll see. I’m not that person. I’m just your girl now. I’m washed in the blood of Jesus Christ.” Now his arms are around me too and for the first time I feel his desire for me. It’s not enough to love him. I must have him too. I want to arouse him. I want him to want to fuck me. More than anything I want him to stay with me. I throw the things down on the ground and wrap myself around him, licking at his neck and he shivers and does not pull away. I whisper in his ear, “We have only each other.” I loosen my hold and drop to my knees. I am going to do something new for him, what women do, but what I have never done for him. On my knees I unfasten his old belt. Open. The zipper down. Both hands — take — tug and all down, and there he is — there he is and I have missed him and longed for him so. I have it in my mouth, warm, surprised and stiffening between my lips, struggling in my hand like a warm bird. I have never done this for him, and it is a thrill to do this. I have done this in the past to relax the prey only, until the fatal moment they close their eyes in pleasure. The Lady and the Unicorn Dy. But this is real. This is sincere, because it is my Daniel in my mouth and I am his woman and his love and I would do this, and anything, to have him back and he must know this truly. Sucking him hard, feeling him swell. His belly muscles tense and now his hands are on the back of my head, and his fingers in my hair. I have him. We are together again, and I have won. He pushes me off of him. But in this moment, when he might scold me and run back to the place where the people are, his clothes are coming off. He is hungry for me. I have won.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  “I’ll give you two,” I whispered, “right now: the first is, I dare you to strip naked as I’m going to do, and I’ll tell you the other when we’re in bed.” Again she tossed her little blue-black head: “pooh!” she cried, “I’ll be undressed first”, and she was. Her beauty made my pulses hammer and parched my mouth. No one could help admiring her: she was very slight, with tiny breasts, as I have said, flat belly and straight flanks and hips: her triangle was only brushed in, so to speak, with fluffy soft hairs, and as I held her naked body against mine, the look and feel of her exasperated my desire. I still admired Kate’s riper, richer, more luscious outlines; her figure was nearer my boyish ideal; but Lily represented a type of adolescence destined to grow on me mightily. In fact as my youthful virility decreased, my love of opulent feminine charms diminished, and I grew more and more to love slender, youthful outlines with the signs of sex rather indicated than pronounced. What an all-devouring appetite Rubens confesses with the great, hanging breasts and uncouth fat pink bottoms of his Venuses! I lifted Lily on to the bed and separated her legs to study her pussy. She made a face at me; but as I rubbed my hot sex against her little button that I could hardly see, she smiled and lay back contentedly. In a minute or two her love-juice came and I got into bed on her and slipped my root into her small cunt: even when the lips were wide open it was closed to the eye and this and her slim nakedness excited me uncontrollably. I continued the slow movements for a few minutes; but once she moved her sex quickly down on mine as I drew out to the lips, and gave me an intense thrill: I felt my seed coming and I let myself go in short, quick thrusts that soon brought on my spasm of pleasure and I lifted her little body against mine and crushed my lips on hers: she was strangely tantalizing, exciting like strong drink. I took her out of bed and used the syringe in her, explaining its purpose, and then went to bed again and gave her the time of her life! Lying between her legs but side by side an hour later, I dared her to tell me how she had lost her maidenhead. I had to tell her first what it was. She maintained stoutly that no “feller” had ever touched her except me and I believed her, for she admitted having caressed herself ever since she was ten: at first she could not even get her forefinger into her pussy she told me. “What are you now?” I asked. “I shall be sixteen next April”, was her reply. About eleven o’clock she dressed and went home, after making another appointment with me.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  “Shuah!” she said smiling, “you’re very strong, and you—” she asked, “was you pleased?” “Great God!” I cried, “I felt as if all the hairs of my head were travelling down my backbone like an army! You are extraordinary, you dear!” “Keep me with you, Frank”, she whispered, “if you want me, I’ll do anything, everything for you: I never hoped to have such a lover as you. Oh, this child’s real glad her breasties and sex please you. You taught me that word, instead of the nasty word all white folk use; ‘sex’ is good word, very good!” and she crowed with delight. “What do colored people call it?” I asked: “Coozie”, she replied smiling, Coozie! good word too, very good! Long years later I heard an American story which recalled Sophy’s performance vividly. An engineer with a pretty daughter had an assistant who showed extraordinary qualities as a machinist and was quiet and well behaved to boot. The father introduced his helper to his daughter and the match was soon arranged. After the marriage, however, the son-in-law drew away and ’twas in vain that the father-in-law tried to guess the reason of the estrangement. At length he asked his son-in-law boldly for the reason: “I meant right, Bill”, he began earnestly, “but if I’ve made a mistake I’ll be sorry: waren’t the goods accordin’ to specification? Warn’t she a virgin?” “It don’t matter nothin’!” replied Bill, frowning. “Treat me fair, Bill”, cried the father, “war she a virgin?” “How can I tell?” exclaimed Bill, “all I can say is, I never know’d a virgin before that had that cinder-shifting movement.” Sophy was the first to show me the “cinder-shifting” movement and she surely was a virgin! As a mistress Sophy was perfection perfected and the long lines and slight curves of her lovely body came to have a special attraction for me as the very highest of the pleasure-giving type.

• From The Principles of Psychology (Volume 1 of 2) (1890)

  When we pass from scientific to æsthetic and ethical systems, every one readily admits that, although the elements are matters of experience, the peculiar forms of relation into which they are woven are incongruent with the order of passively received experience. The world of æsthetics and ethics is an ideal world, a Utopia, a world which the outer relations persist in contradicting, but which we as stubbornly persist in striving to make actual. Why do we thus invincibly crave to alter the given order of nature? Simply because other relations among things are far more interesting to us and more charming than the mere rates of frequency of their time—and space-conjunctions. These other relations are all secondary and brain-born, 'spontaneous variations' most of them, of our sensibility, whereby certain elements of experience, and certain arrangements in time and space, have acquired an agreeableness which otherwise would not have been felt. It is true that habitual arrangements may also become agreeable. But this agreeableness of the merely habitual is felt to be a mere ape and counterfeit of real inward fitness; and one sign of intelligence is never to mistake the one for the other. There are then ideal and inward relations amongst the objects of our thought which can in no intelligible sense whatever be interpreted as reproductions of the order of outer experience. In the æsthetic and ethical realms they conflict with its order—the early Christian with his kingdom of heaven, and the contemporary anarchist with his abstract dream of justice, will tell you that the existing order must perish, root and branch, ere the true order can come. Now the peculiarity of those relations among the objects of our thought which are dubbed 'scientific' is this, that although they no more are inward reproductions of the outer order than the ethical and æsthetic relations are, yet they do not conflict with that order, but, once having sprung up by the play of the inward forces, are found—some of them at least, namely the only ones which have survived long enough to be matters of record—to be congruent with the time—and space-relations which our impressions affect. In other words, though nature's materials lend themselves slowly and discouragingly to our translation of them into ethical forms, but more readily into æsthetic forms; to translation into scientific forms they lend themselves with relative ease and completeness. The translation, it is true, will probably never be ended. The perceptive order does not give way, nor the right conceptive substitute for it arise, at our bare word of command.[551] It is often a deadly fight; and many a man of science can say, like Johannes Müller, after an investigation, 'Es klebt Blut an der Arbeit.' But victory after victory makes us sure that the essential doom of our enemy is defeat.[552] "My Illustrious Friend, and Joy of my Liver!

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  Is the storm passing, though? The rumbling grows distant and the rain lets up enough that I can hear them talking. Please, no! If it stops, I’ll have to leave before they’re done, before he’s done. It isn’t any good unless the rain is washing over me. “Hey, Pammy, want your ass warmed?” She squeals a sophomoric imitation of the Big Bopper succumbing to the charms of his Chantilly lay. “Oh, baby, you Rnooooow what I like.” The dishwater will be left to cool. Gerry swings Pamela away from the sink and bends her forwards over the mint green Formica top of the kitchen table, rucking up her dress. Even though she doesn’t say another word, I know she asks for this. I know it, not just because ve seen them do this before, but because she’s not wearing underpants, just a white garter belt to hold up her nylons. She wanted this to happen. Her chubby ass cheeks are practically quivering. The bitch always looks so prim and wholesome, squeaky clean, but Gerry knows what she is, and so do I. I sometimes wonder if he knew before they were married. If he did, that was probably the reason he married her, in the first place. If he didn’t, then he got the bonus of his life with a filthy little slut like her. He pushes her shoulders down. She’s resting on elbows and forearms, which are pressed in close to her. Gerry wedges the hem of her dress between her arms and her torso, then tucks her slip under the waistband of the raised dress so it won’t slide down. “Stay right where you are, little girl. Daddy has some business with you.” Pamela whimpers, again as if she’s on a stage, or in front of a camera. Phony cunt. She’s not facing my way and I’m just as glad of that. ’m not afraid she'll see me. The kitchen is brightly lit and all either of them would oor Only When it Rains 373 see, should they attempt to peer out the window into the murk, especially in their now distracted state, is their own reflections. No, I simply don’t want to look at her face while Gerry’s working her over. I don’t want to see her eyes squeezed shut, her gaping maw groaning out animal sounds. I don’t want to see Pamela’s lovely, though slightly imperfect, visage contorted in lust ignited by Gerry’s attentions. I do want to look at Gerry’s face, though. Even through the distortion of the droplets on the glass, his face is handsome. He bares his teeth, again, in a ravenous smile. The rain has intensified again and thunder rolls around this suburban enclave as a predator might circle its helpless victim. He speaks to Pamela, but the rumbling drowns out most of what . just what you deserve,” as he pulls his belt he says. I catch only, “. . out of the loops.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  She came half scared, half angry, on the defensive, I could see; so I spoke first, smiling: “Oh Rose”, I said, “Professor Smith has been telling me of your trouble: but you ought not to be angry: for you are so pretty that no wonder a man wants to kiss you: you must blame your lovely eyes and mouth”— Rose laughed outright: she had come expecting reproof and found sweet flattery. “There’s only one thing, Rose”, I went on: “the story would hurt Mrs. Kellogg if it got out and she’s not very strong, so you must say nothing about it, for her sake: that’s what Professor Smith wanted to say to you”, I added. “I’m not likely to tell”, cried Rose: “I’ll soon forget all about it: but I guess I’d better get another job: he’s liable to try again though I gave him a good hard slap”, and she laughed merrily. “I’m so glad for Mrs. Kellogg’s sake”, said Smith gravely, “and if I can help you to get another place, please call upon me.” “I guess I’ll have no difficulty”, said Rose flippantly with a shade of dislike of the Professor’s solemnity: “Mrs. Kellogg will give me a good character” and the healthy young minx grinned; “besides I’m not sure but I’ll go stay home a spell: I’m fed up with working and would like a holiday, and mother wants me—” “Where do you live, Rose?” I asked with a keen eye for future opportunities; “On the other side of the river”, she replied, “next door to Elder Conklin’s, where your brother boards—” she added smiling. When Rose went I begged Smith to pack his boxes for I would get him the best room at the Gregorys’ and I assured him it was really large and comfortable and would hold all his books, etc., and off I went to make my promise good. On the way I set myself to think how I could turn the kindness I was doing the Gregorys to the advantage of my love. I decided to make Kate a partner in the good deed, or at least a herald of the good news. So when I got home I rang the bell in my room and as I had hoped, Kate answered it. When I heard her footsteps I was shaking, hot with desire and now I wish to describe a feeling I then first began to notice in myself. I longed to take possession of the girl, so to speak, abruptly, ravish her in fact, or at least thrust both hands up her dress at once and feel her bottom and sex altogether; but already I knew enough to realise certainly that girls prefer gentle and courteous approaches: why? Of the fact I’m sure. So I said, “Come in, Kate!” gravely; “I want to ask you whether the best bedroom is still free and if you’d like Professor Smith to have it, if I could get him to come here?”

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  “Rose, Rose,” I said, “you mustn’t be too hard on us: we’re different from you girls and that’s all.” “How do you mean?” she asked. “I mean that mere desire”, I said, “just the wish to kiss and enjoy you, strikes the man first; but behind that lust is often a good deal of affection, and sometimes a deep and sacred tenderness comes to flower; whereas the girl begins with the liking and affection and learns to enjoy the kissing and caressing afterwards.” “I see”, she rejoined quietly, “I think I understand: I’m glad to believe that.” Her unexpected depth and sincerity impressed me and I continued: “We men may be so hungry that we will eat very poor fruit greedily because it’s at hand; but that doesn’t prove that we don’t prefer good and sweet and nourishing food when we can get it.” She let her eyes dwell on mine: “I see”, she said, “I see!” And then I went on tell her how lovely she was and how she had made a deathless impression on me and I ventured to hope she liked me a little and would yet be good to me and come to care for me, and I was infinitely pleased to find that this was the right sort of talk and I did my best in the new strain. Three or four times a week I took her out in a buggy and in a little while I had taught her how to kiss and won her to confess that she cared for me, loved me indeed and bit by bit she allowed me the little familiarities of love. One day I took her out early for a picnic and said, “I’ll play Turk and you must treat me” and I stretched myself out on a rug under a tree. She entered into the spirit of the game with zest, brought me food and at length, as she stood close beside me, I couldn’t control myself; I put my hand up her dress on her firm legs and sex. Next moment I was kneeling beside her: “Love me, Rose”, I begged, “I want you so: I’m hungry for you, dear!” She looked at me gravely with wide-open eyes: “I love you too”, she said, “but oh! I’m afraid: be patient with me!” she added like a little girl. I was patient but persistent and I went on caressing her till her hot lips told me that I had really excited her.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  “Encourage you to have an orgasm then?” he said. “Good boy! You’re learning!” she congratulated him, her body relaxing again, and while one hand rested lightly against his cock, sustaining his erection, the other one crept away, her sighs giving him a clue as to where. It was Brian she was using — as a toy, a tool, a support or whatever — but it was herself that she was pleasuring. That free hand was between her thighs, he knew, strumming her clitoris, parting the lips of her sopping cunt wHere he longed to bury his aching cock, dipping finger after finger inside until her whole fist was dripping. Perhaps her wrist was aching, perhaps she wanted to tantalize him further . .. whatever the reason, she switched hands, the teasing one leaving his cock to delve between her thighs and the other lifting, pulling her hair aside so his lips could kiss her slender neck, then working their way behind her head and between their bodies so he could taste her excitement. Her wet fingers forced themselves between his lips and he sucked on them, knowing that this was what she wanted of him, that this was the only way he could give her the orgasm she demanded. His mouth fastened on them, his tongue lapped at them, she writhed so much that his body was bruised by hers, squashed between her firm flesh and the sculpted hardness of the wooden seat. Then, with a sigh which was like the last gasp of a dying person, her head fell forward. “Oh fuck!” she sobbed, her back bowed before him to finally allow him some air, rocking in his lap and nodding her head, saying, “Yes! Yes! Oh fuck!” ~The shudders which shook her body slowly subsided, her breathing became slow and deep and Brian found his matching it, as if he shared her satisfaction. 260 Severin Rossetti But of course he didn’t, his cock was rock hard and as red as a piece of rare meat, burning beneath the knickers which were still draped over it. She could guess at his discomfort, could not help but be aware of the effect she had on him, and with a tantalizing slowness she uncovered him, drew the soft silk along the length of his erection before letting the knickers fall to the floor. His cock sprang upright as she lifted from his lap, jutting out in something like a salute as she turned to face him. “He wants to come?” she supposed, an unnecessary remark in the circumstances, addressing Brian’s cock rather than him as she nudged it with her knee, bringing a gasp of delight from him. “Yes? He does?” “If my hands were free—” he said hoarsely, offering a threat, a promise. “Yes? If your hands were free. .. what?” she asked, but he had no need to answer, she knew what he had in mind.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  Unlike her left arm with the realistic bright red long stem rose that extended from elbow to shoulder, her right arm was bare. Contrasting the rose was a bright green and purple dragon who came into full view as her pale blue bra fell. He curled around on her broad back. The serrations of her spine were worked impressively into the dragon’s form. She removed her panties displaying the bottom of the dragon’s tail, which curled like a fishhook around the curve of her butt. “How do you want me?” “Huh?” My eyes fixed on the bright golden Jaguar that stalked in tall bright green grasses, perfectly fitted to the outside of her strong right thigh. “How do you want me?” “Tattoos like that must cost a mint.” “No, they were free. How do you want me?” prree?a “Thought you hated tattoos.” “T do. Just go ahead and lie on your back. Cross your left leg over. No, turn your shoulders a bit more. Face toward me.” It wasn’t the best pose, but I had the damned tattoos obscured. I sat on the old red barstool with the duct tape patch and pinned the first paper to a piece of ply in the jaws of my old easel. I took account of my soft pastel sticks carefully organized in their foam beds in shallow wooden trays. She settled into the awkward position as if she were taking a nap. I started drawing, and time stood still. She was so at ease as I ‘filled in the outlines. Her small breasts and muscular stomach were so fair. Her nipples drew me to a stick of ruby red. Her hair made me tumble through cadmium yellow, red ochre and carmine. My left hand gathered the sticks between thumb and forefinger, then 384 Craig F. Sorensen paused in passing to blend colors while my right skidded out fresh, bright streaks. “T have to work in the morning.” Her voice broke my trance. It was after 2 a.m. “Oh shit. Is that the time?” My sandy hands and clothes were smudged in Leeny’s colors. “Yup.” She didn’t move until I nodded. “Mind if I look?” “It’s still pretty rough, but go ahead.” She tilted her head as she put on her panties. “S’okay.” “You'll come back, right?” Pyupes Leeny was good to her word. Slowly, I introduced her tattoos into the paintings. When I got paid for my dwindling stock of wheat period paintings, I gave her what I could. Twenty here, fifty there. It could not have equaled the hours she was there, but I’d lost track. She never really pressed. Leeny was far and away the best model I’d ever worked with. She could hold a position for hours and never complained.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  Come on, Gerry. Harder. Whip her harder. Hurt her. The bitch deserves it. And it’s as if he’s gleaned the message telepathically, because he increases the intensity. Her ass is reddening and Pamela starts shifting from one foot to the other, trying to avoid the strap, an impossibility of which she must be aware. Don’t let her get away. Make her take it.Whip her harder. Come on. Harder. The filthy slut-cunt-pony-bitch has it coming. Pamela’s prancing now, stamping her prim white sandals. Her flesh is quivering and bright red. Even from here, I can see the raised welts. ’'m quivering, too, inside and out. I can barely control my hand, the muscles are so tense, cramping. She starts sobbing. The horse whinny is replaced by desperate whining pleas. “Oh, stop, stop, stop. Please, Gerry. Stop the whipping. Gimme me the other.” Come on, Gerry. Now, now. Hit her hard! Fuck her! Only When it Rains 375 He gives her two more vicious whacks, lays the belt on her back and lets go of her pony tail. He moves so fast, unzipping his pants and letting them fall. His white underpants are bright against his olive skin, but he yanks them down freeing his cock. My God, it’s huge, bigger than I’ve ever seen it. And hard, so hard. The veins are bulging, and the head is purple and shiny, wet for sure. The rain is drenching me and the lightning flashes, and, a moment later, the crack of thunder splits the night. Fuck her, Gerry. Fuck the bitch. Take her down. Take her down. I’m working myself faster and faster, harder. I’m on the edge. I feel myself getting closer. Gerry’s cock is bobbing against Pamela’s ass. He grabs the belt with both hands and loops it in front of her face, forces her mouth open. She pretends to struggle against it, but grips it between her teeth. He holds the belt behind her head with one hand, pulling hard, and grabs his huge brown cock with the other, rubs the head of it against her dripping, swollen cunt then rams it into her. She bellows, and he just pushes hard into her, one, two, three strokes and he’s in her up to his Balls. He’s going to take her down and make her beg. The bitch is going to come. Not so prim and proper now. Not cool any more, the hot, filthy cunt. Now, now, now! Fuck her, Gerry. He’s pounding into her and the table shifts. She reaches out to the sides and grips the edges, groaning and gasping against the leather bit, gurgling unintelligibly. “Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga!”” Her spasms are uncontrollable. The pony bitch is broken, humbled. Gerry thrusts once more, hard, his face contorting as he grinds out a scream between clenched teeth.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  someone up on the highest rung, the wheels allow it to be readjusted, to be ratcheted down a shelf — which strangely has the effect of making things more precarious for the person on the ladder, not less. With the center of gravity neatly engineered to be in my control, you are suddenly out of balance — lower to the ground, but still too far to safely reach. You have to lean more into the cage of the ladder, clinging to it to maintain balance. What a good joke, you think. But it isn’t a joke. You’re stuck, like someone in a hammock strung too high. You would have to not only jump, but to roll first — and if you did, the ladder would give way from the shelf and so would collapse. It takes but a moment for you to fully appreciate the physics involved. You can only come down the ladder if I let you. Until then, you are there, balanced, needing both your hands to retain equilibrium. I, on the other hand, unlike the minotaur man (who retains his vividness in your mind ... with his fearsome appendage and awful mask) am now free to do whatever I like. If I make use of the stool down the aisle of books, which has been made available to those who want to browse the lower shelves, I’m exactly the right height to do many things. If I stand on it and poke my head through the square of neatly dowelled wood to the front, I can lift your skirt and gaze without concern at your femaleness. I can breathe over your vulva. I can tongue your thighs. I can bury my face in your pussy and smear myself into it like devouring a ripe, slit-open mango. There’s nothing you can do. You can’t loose a hand to guide me, stop me, or stroke yourself — or you’ll tumble to the floor. If I want to suck your clit like a single pea from a freshly snapped pod, I can. If I want to duck behind the ladder, part your cheeks and lick your asshole, I can do that too. You’ve really gotten yourself into a bit of a muddle. And you laugh at that at first... and sigh... because of course, why would you want to fall to the floor when such things are happening?

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  What a hungry little mouth she had, devouring my liquid heat, running the tip of her tongue around my clit in luxurious circles, waiting for it to swell to unbearable proportions before sliding her lips over and breathing on it, lapping at it, sucking on it. Tiny yelps issued from her throat, vibrating over my whole sex, in time with Ralph’s diligent pull-and-pushing on the deep-set dildoes. “You can’t imagine what you look like, can you, you little trollop? Kneeling here being fucked in both holes while you eat pussy as if your life depended on it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a slut to compare with you. I'd love to introduce you to my friends.” A long, starved moan buzzed between my thighs; I signalled Ralph to slow down. I didn’t want her coming just yet. Noticing the man’s bulging trousers, I gave him permission to masturbate, pulling her head closer to my crotch, mashing her mouth up against my clit, using my other hand to twiddle with her sore little nipples. Advanced Corsetry dD “Next time you pull a stunt like this, young lady, I'll spank your arse for you,” I promised her. She sighed, her tongue in a frenzy now, her bottom wiggling furiously, while her whole body worked at relieving itself on the twin phalluses. ‘The three peaks came in rapid series, one rising as another fell. First Ralph roared and splashed his seed all over her bum and thighs, then, as it dripped downwards, she caught the perfect configuration of dildo and nerve-ending and howled on to my clit, triggering my own explosion. For a few minutes, the three of us were slumped together like felled skittles, panting and enjoying the stars that circled our heads. Ralph was first to tuck himself in and button himself up, leaving my naughty little customer to fall sideways. I wiped my thighs with a tissue and patted down my skirt, thinking that now was the time for private catalogue photography. She was flushed and sweating; her mouth glistening with my spendings; her bottom and thighs sticky with Ralph’s spunk. Her cheeks were still rudely thrust apart by the large dildo, and the strap still cut into the middle of her cunt lips. Her nipples were more like cherry stones than cherries now‘and one high heeled shoe hung off her heel. She looked a mess; a gorgeous dirty feast of a mess. “We need photographs,” I told Ralph, and he nodded. Her name, it turned out, was Jess. Her modelling and catalogue work for me is much admired in corsetry circles these days. And if you gain my trust, and ask me very, very respectfully, I might just show you my private collection. Royal Adam Berlin

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  I soon got my arm round her and kept kissing her till she told me she had never known a man so greedy of kisses as I was. It was delicious flattery to me to speak of me as a man and in return I raved about her eyes and mouth and form; caressing her left breast I told her I could divine the rest and knew she had a lovely body. But when I put my hand up her clothes, she stopped me when I got just above her knee and said: “We’d have to be engaged before I could let you do that. Do you really love me?” Of course I swore I did, but when she said she’d have to tell her father that we were engaged to be married, cold shivers went down my back. “I can’t marry for a long time yet”, I said, “I’ll have to make a living first and I’m not very sure where I’ll begin.” But she had heard that an old man wished to adopt me and everyone said that he was very rich, and even her father admitted that I’d be “well fixed.” Meanwhile my right hand was busy: I had got my fingers to her warm flesh between the stockings and the drawers and was wild with desire; soon mouth on mouth I touched her sex. What a gorgeous afternoon we had! I had learned enough now to go slow and obey what seemed to be her moods. Gently, gently I caressed her sex with my finger till it opened and she leaned against me and kissed me of her own will, while her eyes turned up and her whole being was lost in thrills of ecstasy. When she asked me to stop and take my hand away, I did her bidding at once and was rewarded by being told that I was a “dear boy” and “a sweet” and soon the embracing and caressing began again. She moved now in response to my lascivious touchings and when the ecstasy came on her, she clasped me close and kissed me passionately with hot lips and afterwards in my arms wept a little and then pouted that she was cross with me for being so naughty. But her eyes gave themselves to me even while she tried to scold. The dinner bell rang and she said she’d have to go, and we made a meeting for afterwards on the top deck; but as she was getting up, she yielded again to my hand with a little sigh and I found her sex all wet, wet! She got down out of the boat by the main rigging and I waited a few moments before following her. At first our caution seemed likely to be rewarded, chiefly, I have thought since, because everyone believed me to be too young and too small to be taken seriously. But everything is quickly known on seaboard at least by the sailors.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  To my way of thinking, anyone who devotes his energies to anything but the service of God is a complete blockhead.’ She thus developed the habit of going to Rustico at frequent intervals, and saying to him: ‘Father, I came here to serve God, not to idle away my time. Let’s go and put the devil back in Hell.’ And sometimes, in the middle of their labours, she would say: ‘What puzzles me, Rustico, is that the devil should ever want to escape from Hell. Because if he liked being there as much as Hell enjoys receiving him and keeping him inside, he would never go away at all.’ By inviting Rustico to play the game too often, continually urging him on in the service of God, the girl took so much stuffing out of him that he eventually began to turn cold where another man would have been bathed in sweat. So he told her that the devil should only be punished and put back in Hell when he reared his head with pride, adding that by the grace of Heaven, they had tamed him so effectively that he was pleading with God to be left in peace. In this way, he managed to keep the girl quiet for a while, but one day, having begun to notice that Rustico was no longer asking for the devil to be put back in Hell, she said: ‘Look here, Rustico. Even though your devil has been punished and pesters you no longer, my Hell simply refuses to leave me alone. Now that I have helped you with my Hell to subdue the pride of your devil, the least you can do is to get your devil to help me tame the fury of my Hell.’ Rustico, who was living on a diet of herb-roots and water, was quite incapable of supplying her requirements, and told her that the taming of her Hell would require an awful lot of devils, but promised to do what he could. Sometimes, therefore, he responded to the call, but this happened so infrequently that it was rather like chucking a bean into the mouth of a lion, with the result that the girl, who felt that she was not serving God as diligently as she would have liked, was found complaining more often than not. But at the height of this dispute between Alibech’s Hell and Rustico’s devil, brought about by a surplus of desire on the one hand and a shortage of power on the other, a fire broke out in Gafsa, and Alibech’s father was burnt to death in his own house along with all his children and every other member of his household, so that Alibech inherited the whole of his property.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  In short, with one exception I have nothing to complain about, and the exception is this: that my husband is much older than myself, and consequently I am ill provided with the one thing that gives young women their greatest pleasure. And because I desire this thing no less than other women, I long ago made up my mind that since Fortune has been so unkind as to give me an elderly husband, I would repair her omissions myself, and devise the means of winning solace and salvation through my own efforts. So that my enjoyment therein should be no less complete than in other matters, I have decided that our Pyrrhus, since he is more worthy of my love than any other man, should supply my needs with his embraces, and such is the love that I bear him, that I am never content except when I am gazing or musing upon him. Unless I can forgather with him very soon, I firmly believe that I shall die. And therefore, as you value my life, you must acquaint him with my love in whatever way you think best, and ask him on my behalf to favour me with his company at such time as you shall go to fetch him.’ The maidservant willingly agreed to carry out her mistress’s instructions; and at the first opportunity, having taken Pyrrhus aside, she conveyed the lady’s message as best she could. Pyrrhus was greatly astonished to hear it, for he had never had the slightest inkling that the lady was in love with him, and suspected that she had sent the message in order to test his loyalty. So without mincing his words, he abruptly replied: ‘Lusca, I cannot believe that these words have come from my lady, so be careful of what you are saying. Even if they really did come from her, I cannot believe that she meant me to take them seriously. But if she did, I should never dream of doing such an injury to my master, who already honours me more than I deserve. So take care never to speak to me of such matters again.’ Not to be deterred by the severity of his tone, Lusca replied: ‘Pyrrhus, if my mistress commands me to speak to you of these or any other matters, I shall do so as often as she tells me, whether you like it or not, and all I can say is that you are an obstinate fool.’ Feeling somewhat galled by the answer that Pyrrhus had given her, she returned to her mistress, who, on hearing the result of her mission, simply wanted to lie down and die. However, a few days later she raised the subject once more with her maidservant, and said: ‘Lusca, as you know, an oak is not felled by a single blow of the axe.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Matters standing thus and Rustico being more than ever inflamed in his desires to see her so fair, there came the resurrection of the flesh, which Alibech observing and marvelling, 'Rustico,' quoth she, 'what is that I see on thee which thrusteth forth thus and which I have not?' 'Faith, daughter mine,' answered he, 'this is the devil whereof I bespoke thee; and see now, he giveth me such sore annoy that I can scarce put up with it.' Then said the girl, 'Now praised be God! I see I fare better than thou, in that I have none of yonder devil.' 'True,' rejoined Rustico; 'but thou hast otherwhat that I have not, and thou hast it instead of this.' 'What is that?' asked Alibech; and he, 'Thou hast hell, and I tell thee methinketh God hath sent thee hither for my soul's health, for that, whenas this devil doth me this annoy, an it please thee have so much compassion on me as to suffer me put him back into hell, thou wilt give me the utmost solacement and wilt do God a very great pleasure and service, so indeed thou be come into these parts to do as thou sayst.' The girl answered in good faith, 'Marry, father mine, since I have hell, be it whensoever it pleaseth thee;' whereupon quoth Rustico, 'Daughter, blessed be thou; let us go then and put him back there, so he may after leave me in peace.' So saying, he laid her on one of their little beds and taught her how she should do to imprison that accursed one of God. The girl, who had never yet put any devil in hell, for the first time felt some little pain; wherefore she said to Rustico, 'Certes, father mine, this same devil must be an ill thing and an enemy in very deed of God, for that it irketh hell itself, let be otherwhat, when he is put back therein.' 'Daughter,' answered Rustico, 'it will not always happen thus;' and to the end that this should not happen, six times, or ever they stirred from the bed, they put him in hell again, insomuch that for the nonce they so took the conceit out of his head that he willingly abode at peace. But, it returning to him again and again the ensuing days and the obedient girl still lending herself to take it out of him, it befell that the sport began to please her and she said to Rustico, 'I see now that those good people in Capsa spoke sooth, when they avouched that it was so sweet a thing to serve God; for, certes, I remember me not to have ever done aught that afforded me such pleasance and delight as putting the devil in hell; wherefore methinketh that whoso applieth himself unto aught other than God His service is a fool.'

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  On the surface, it was a legitimate, innocent venture. Two smart people, who wanted to spend time together, doing something productive. It wasn’t something suspicious. The shortness of your skirt? That was just part of the play. There’s no harm in a young sexy woman teasing an older man. It’s a sign of affection and respect. Part of the game. And if he really does get a furious hard-on for her, and that thirst in the mouth, as if for a stem of rye grass when he was walking home from school as a lonely kid, when demons started appearing and people died or wished they had, that’s a good thing. Besides, it was raining very hard and you couldn’t have predicted that. Spring thunderstorm. Black licorice and ozone smell. It would be good to get inside the library. Where it was dry. And where our minds wouldn’t wander. I'd come a long way to find an original of a very old book called The Trials of Great Men Accused of Magic, which as it turned out, was to be found down in the lower basement, down in a very quiet labyrinth of books arranged on very high shelves. It was a lovely bonus that the only library in the US to have a genuine, undamaged copy was at least a little close to where you live. It gave us the excuse of not doing what I wanted to do straight up — and take you to some lost Magic Fingers motel or some resort along the coast where people in uniform bring the rum to your room and discreetly turn away. This was going to be work. I couldn’t help but notice the shortness of the skirt though. And I knew instantly, in some animal way, that you weren’t wearing panties. 290 Kris Saknussemm Which made me think all kinds of thoughts as we descended to the basement. Do I kiss her? Do I fondle her? Or do I just let things run their course? Do I behave? The basement was silent, a veritable maze of old, unlooked-at books filled with who knows what. I was intrigued, however, to see a ladder of a particular kind resting against one of the shelves. I'd often dreamed of having just such a ladder, in the private library of my brownstone on the Upper West Side of New York (of course!). It was very tall, neatly made of individually dowelled rungs, with hooked ends at the top and lubricated wheels at the bottom.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  We ate quietly. There was no need to dilute the experience with talk and she seemed to know this. Her lips were as perfect as sushi and I pictured the pieces of fish stacking up in my stomach and then another picture came to me. Her lips. Not her lip lips, but the lips hidden by the tablecloth that shielded her lap. I pictured a piece of those lips stacked in my stomach and I felt a rush go through me, more intense than the greatest craving. I put my chopsticks down and looked at her and I nodded my head, like the thick-muscled sushi chef at Nobu. “T want to take you to Nobu one day.” “There are sushi places better than Nobu,” she said. “T know. But Nobu was my first and I want to take you there.” “Why did you stop me last night?” “T had to.” “You didn’t have to. How did you know I wasn’t dating a jealous man who would hurt you if he saw you giving me your card.” I lifted my arm, made a muscle, asked her to feel it. “So you would have hurt him.” “T don’t fight,” I said. She moved her hand over my forearm. “That’s the muscle of a hoodlum,” she said. | Raw 425 “T was born with it.” “You have hoodlum in your blood.” “T have sushi in my blood. Or it will be in my blood. First I have to stack it in my stomach.” “That’s the image I have,” she said and picked up a piece of yellowtail scallion roll, dipped it in the soy and wasabi, moved it into her mouth. “It’s a perfect image. Can you keep stacking?” “I can stack sushi all night,” she said and there was no hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Then we will.” I called over the waiter and ordered more. More and more. I watched the waiter move to the sushi bar, place the order. The chefs started cutting. I took her to my place. I never took them back to my place, preferred the option of making a speedy bolt in that limbo-moment between drunk and hungover, but I wanted her in my place. I didn’t want to know where she lived or how she lived. I didn’t want to know anything about her. It felt more ‘pure that way. I just wanted to know her, know her lips, know how they felt. I had kissed her in the cab. Her lip lips were perfect and I tested her immediately, kissed her and kissed her and then I pressed my teeth into her lower lip and she took it without a flinch of protest and I pressed harder and she took it and I grew bone hard. I tasted the salt of blood and stopped biting. I kissed her lips gently. The cab stopped. I took her hand, took her up to my bedroom, undressed her on my bed.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  “You are the loveliest girl in Lawrence”, I said, “but I must really go now: I have an appointment and I’m late.” She smiled enigmatically as I seized my hat and went, not stopping even to shut or lock the office door. As I walked up the street, my thoughts and feelings were all in a whirl: “Did I want her? Should I have her? Would she come again? “Oh Hell! women are the very devil and he’s not so black as he’s painted! Black?” That night I was awakened by a loud knocking at my office door; I sprang up and opened without thinking and at once Sophy came in laughing. “What is it?” I cried half asleep still. “I’se tired waiting”, she answered cheekily, “and anyways I just came.” I was about to remonstrate with her when she cried: “You go right to bed” and she took my head in her hands and kissed me. My wish to resist died out of me. “Come quickly!” I said getting into bed and watching her as she stripped. In a hand’s turn she had undressed to her chemise: “I reckon this’ll do”, she said coquettishly. “Please take it off”, I cried and the next moment she was in my arms naked. As I touched her sex, she wound her arms round my neck and kissed me greedily with hot lips. To my astonishment her sex was well-formed and very small: I had always heard that negroes had far larger genitals than white people; but the lips of Sophy’s sex were thick and firm, “Have you ever been had, Sophy?” I asked. “No, sir!” she replied, “I liked you because you never came after me and you was so kind and I thot that I’d be sure to do it sometime, so I’d rather let you have me than anyone else: I don’t like colored men”, she added, “and the white men all look down on me and despise me and I—I love you”, she whispered, burying her face on my neck.