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

  “Open your eyes, Beauty!” he rasped. I did so and saw his manhood poised before my lips. He took my head in his hands, but I resisted. The Beast refrained from forcing himself into my mouth, but neither did he yield his grasp of my head. I stared at the object before me. It was shaped differently from that of a normal man’s, besides being larger, and was much darker in color. I tentatively put out my tongue, very lightly and cautiously tasting the object that brought me so much pleasure. The Beast shuddered, and suddenly I was seized with a desire to please him. I opened my mouth and caressed him gently with my lips at first, but soon found myself sucking hungrily. He was so large that I could only take a fraction of him, and that with great effort, but he seemed not to mind this; for what I was able to take I took with relish, clutching him with lips and tongue and jaw. Abruptly the Beast stopped me and removed himself from my mouth. Pushing me down on the bed he spread apart my legs. I stared into his dark eyes as he approached. There was something shining there—something inhuman. I wanted to turn away, but his eyes held mine. A wave of terror trickled through me. The Beast growled loudly as he entered me. My legs were stretched almost to the point of breaking as I tried to accommodate his immense form. He rasped and grunted as he mercilessly used my tender flesh. His hot breath burned my skin, and I watched with horrified fascination as his sharp teeth carefully nipped at my shoulders and breasts. But my terror was quickly being joined by that old familiar pleasure that the Beast had kindled within me. They were both working together with the Beast to bring me toward a passion I had never before experienced. I relished the coarse animal hair that covered his body and the fierce, animal sounds that escaped him as he savagely mated me. I squirmed and moaned as his large, rough hands simultaneously bruised my tender skin and sent shivers of delight just beneath its surface. I cried out time and again, helplessly, pleading and dizzy in the utter agony of such exquisite sensations that came from him filling me to overflowing. Wave after wave of pleasure rippled through me as I vaguely heard the Beast’s tremendous roar amidst my own screams. Before I could even catch my breath, morning had come! I left in such a flurry of activity and excitement that I did not think of my Beast for many days. My father recovered quickly upon my arrival, and I became reabsorbed in the eventful days of a large family. Too quickly my month was up, and it was time for me to return to the castle.

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

  As soon as the words were out she felt a flash of terror. Had she really just said that? And when had she stepped out of the protective shelter of her mouse hole? It didn’t matter. She would never give in to him, and he would eventually be forced to leave her with his tail between his legs, unsuccessful and humiliated. This thought made her smile. Cat was smiling, too, thinking, just when it seemed that all the mice were docile little fools, ready to submit to anything put before them, he finds this little gem. Why, she was exactly what he had been searching for his entire life. And to think that he had nearly avoided her, at the advice of the many other cats who had rejected her. “Bitchy,” they all called her! What fools! As exquisite as she was, it was to be expected that she would instinctively want a cat that was willing to put up a fight for her. He recognized this because he came from that same species of animal as she, who prefer a struggle before mating. He needed to continually prove his right to possess his partner, while she needed a mate that was worthy of her and unafraid. Through instinct he knew that they both felt these things, though he also knew that she did not fully understand them yet. Cat stepped closer to Mouse and lightly brushed her hair to one side. She felt his warm breath on her face as he murmured, “How shall we put it to the test?” She sucked in her breath and held it. A thought or two crossed her mind but she remained silent. She was utterly stumped. “Perhaps a kiss,” he suggested finally, after allowing her thoughts to wander a bit. She sighed in relief. All she had to do was withstand one kiss without swooning over him. She was certain that she could do that. How sweet it was going to be to send him packing after he did his damnedest to impress her with his best kiss. She nearly chuckled at the thought. He looked in her eyes and saw the amusement there. So she was already congratulating herself on her victory, was she? Good. He needed to catch her off guard. But he warned himself to be careful. She was one-of-a-kind in their world, and he was not about to let her get away. Confident now, Mouse tilted her head back in anticipation of Cat’s kiss, all the while looking expectantly into his eyes. He stared back at her while his lips hovered directly above hers for what seemed like an eternity. An uncertainty came into her eyes, and suddenly she was impatient. Was he going to do it or not? What kind of a simpleton says he’s going to kiss you and then doesn’t do it? His lips remained so close that they were almost brushing hers. “Well,” he finally whispered, “where would you like it?”

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  The beam was so narrow that Clarissa’s breasts peeked out of either side of it. Berenice petted them, making the little girl so lascivious that she thought she must go mad if she were not granted some reprieve. A pinch on each nipple only increased her need. “You are so cruel,” she wept. Berenice twisted the nearest nipple. “Mind your tongue,” she said, and pressed the cold, grinning dragon against her soft skin. “Do you know what I’m going to do with this?” she asked. “Have you already guessed?” “No,” Clarissa lied. Berenice opened one of the clamps, pulled slightly on Clarissa’s nipple, and left the mythical beast hanging from her breast. In another moment, its twin was swinging from the other breast. The chain was so short that it almost made her nipples touch. Clarissa sounded as if she were crying, but no tears were coming from her eyes, and she was attempting to rub her female parts against the beam. The stiffness of her corset prevented her from achieving full freedom of movement, and the slight contact she was able to achieve with the leather only titillated her further. Berenice went to the foot of the beam and petted her again, spreading her love dew from the clitoris up to the perineum, anointing each side of the inner lips, even rubbing it on her tightest, smallest hole. Then she bent down and blew on the moisture, and Clarissa groaned. “I feel as if I’m nothing but wetness, nothing but the thing between my legs. What are you going to do with me?” “What does it matter to you?” “It doesn’t—only don’t leave me—please take me, use me—oh!” she cried as Berenice once again spread the thick juices, smeared them onto her thighs and between the cheeks of her behind, and expelled her hot breath on the inflamed, liquid parts. When Clarissa was quite incoherent, Berenice selected her third and final weapon: a long, flexible, yellow cane. Before beginning, she administered more brandy and a few sharp tugs on the grinning dragons. Thus far, she had inflicted moderate pain and reddened the skin until it was warm and slightly swollen to the touch, but she had not bruised it. She was not in the habit of marking Clarissa, preferring her skin smooth and unblemished. Clarissa coveted the welts on Elise’s body and often reproached Berenice for withholding them. Tonight, she informed her young charge, she would leave her with visible tokens of the whipping. “I have to give you enough to last six months. Remember that, if you think you’ve had enough. Six long, lonely months.” Though she seriously doubted Clarissa would go without comfort, company, or chastisement at this particular school. Sternly, she repressed a pang of jealousy. She had kept Clarissa all to herself for years. The love between them was genuine, but might not survive her adolescence. Even this sweet submission might fade and something hostile, domineering, or indifferent grow up in its place.

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

  Mouse again remained silent, because she could hardly deny that she would give much to see him on his hands and knees at that moment. Cat felt it was the perfect time to set Mouse up for another game. “You were the one who proposed the stakes,” he reminded her. “Now unless you wish to demand a rematch to win back your freedom, you are bound to serve me however I wish.” It only took a second for her eyes to flash back to life and for her to grasp the hook he had dangled before her. “A rematch?” “Yes,” he said smoothly. Then, pretending to change his mind, he added, “I mean, no. I don’t think I could be enticed to agree to that. After all, I’ve got a pretty good deal here with you as my slave for the evening.” He almost smiled as she uttered the words he had been waiting for. “But we could go double or nothing!” “Why should I wager two potential nights of slavery for the one definite night I already have?” he asked. “No, forget it. You’re wasting time. On your knees, if you please.” “What do you want, then?” she demanded. “Well, to consider giving up my evening as your master, I would need the opportunity to win something of even greater value to me, say…you as my wife.” He was as shocked as she was when he said it, for he had only been intending to make her stay with him for an indefinite period of time. But once the words were out he knew he meant them. He loved the feeling he got from her challenging nature. They had the perfect chemistry, and he knew they would keep challenging each other for the rest of their lives. But when Mouse heard his words she almost laughed. “You expect me to wager one night of slavery against an eternity of it?” she asked, incredulous. “As my wife, you would hardly be a slave,” he rejoined. “But it is flattering to know that your first instinct is to assume that you would be the loser.” This irritated her pride, and she grumbled resentfully, “It was only by using trickery that you won the last bet. It was completely unfair, and I can assure you that it will not happen again.” Although she could not help remembering his prying hand, and wondered how she could make true her rash statement. “Am I to understand that you wish to undergo the test again?” he asked with a taunting smile. “No!” she blurted, mortified. She tried to hide her blushing cheeks by turning her head away from him in an arrogant gesture. “What I mean is that I dispute the accuracy of such a barbarian test.” “Oh, I can assure you that it is a more accurate way to find out the truth than by your words,” he argued. “What I felt there was definitely not ‘disgust.’”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  In Friuli, a country, though cold, glad with goodly mountains and store of rivers and clear springs, is a city called Udine, wherein was aforetime a fair and noble lady called Madam Dianora, the wife of a wealthy gentleman named Gilberto, who was very debonair and easy of composition. The lady's charm procured her to be passionately loved of a noble and great baron by name Messer Ansaldo Gradense, a man of high condition and everywhere renowned for prowess and courtesy. He loved her fervently and did all that lay in his power to be beloved of her, to which end he frequently solicited her with messages, but wearied himself in vain. At last, his importunities being irksome to the lady and she seeing that, for all she denied him everything he sought of her, he stinted not therefor to love and solicit her, she determined to seek to rid herself of him by means of an extraordinary and in her judgment an impossible demand; wherefore she said one day to a woman, who came often to her on his part, 'Good woman, thou hast many times avouched to me that Messer Ansaldo loveth me over all things and hast proffered me marvellous great gifts on his part, which I would have him keep to himself, seeing that never thereby might I be prevailed upon to love him or comply with his wishes; but, an I could be certified that he loveth me in very deed as much as thou sayest, I might doubtless bring myself to love him and do that which he willeth; wherefore, an he choose to certify me of this with that which I shall require of him, I shall be ready to do his commandments.' Quoth the good woman, 'And what is that, madam, which you would have him do?' 'That which I desire,' replied the lady, 'is this; I will have, for this coming month of January, a garden, near this city, full of green grass and flowers and trees in full leaf, no otherwise than as it were May; the which if he contrive not, let him never more send me thee nor any other, for that, an he importune me more, so surely as I have hitherto kept his pursuit hidden from my husband and my kinsfolk, I will study to rid myself of him by complaining to them.'

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Alex watched impassively, but inside she was flame, barely contained, so close to what she wanted that her throat and chest ached. When she saw Anne-Marie with one of her canes politely gesturing to Chris that she should use her signal whip first, Alex nudged EZ out of the way with her boot and took her lady’s torso in her arms, standing to one side of her, to steady her against these new forms of pain. Chris kept shaking her head, and insisted on holding back, so it was Anne-Marie who stepped forward and gave Roxanne six cuts, close and fast. Each cane stroke left two parallel marks across both buns, and Anne-Marie was so accurate that the top edge of each blow lined up perfectly with the bottom edge of the prior stroke. It was a good thing Alex was there, because Roxanne threw herself sideways, apparently losing track of up or down when the pain from the caning faded, then returned in shocking force. Chris waited until she was steady on her feet and in Alex’s arms before she hurled the leather snake in her hand out and down toward Roxanne’s tender flesh. Impact! Impact! Impact! Impact! Just four explosions, each leaving a v-shaped kiss that was already turning purple. Alex passed her hand over the marks and smiled. She crooked her index finger at Michael, who came along as if it were tied to a string around her dick. “Gonna help me out, my man?” she asked, letting go of Roxanne and reaching for Michael’s fly. The chauffeur put her fists on her hips and stared at her insolently. “Get it up for me and I won’t be able to help myself,” she replied. Alex extracted her cock. Kay was already at her elbow with a can of Crisco and a towel. “Oh, yeah, slick it up, stud, get that big fuck-pole ready to do that fine piece a favor. Gonna fuck that slut right offa those high-heeled shoes.” Alex milked Michael, led her to Roxanne by her hard-on, and put the well-greased tip of the instrument up against, just barely inside, Roxanne’s wetness. Then she got behind Michael, wiping off her hands, and once they were clean, she clamped them onto Michael’s hips and humped her ass as Michael fucked Roxanne, drawing the girl smoothly and relentlessly back and forth on her thick shaft. The pack shouted obscene encouragement. Alex’s lips were drawn back in a snarl, Michael’s hands were like claws on Roxanne, and when she finally lost control and threw herself into the girl, no one could tell if Roxanne had come or not because of the gag in her mouth, but it was very clear that Michael had. Alex plucked her off Roxanne, tucked her inside her jacket, and began to kiss her, sloppy butch kisses that made everybody cheer.

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

  The queen felt herself tremble with anticipation as she watched the man now position himself behind the woman in the mirror. She parted her own legs slightly in imitation of the woman, as she watched her accommodate her lover. She imagined that she could feel his strong hands boring into her own hips as he held the woman firmly and pushed himself into her. It sounded like her own voice as the woman cried out with pleasure. The vision was so real that she fancied she could feel it when the man in the mirror penetrated his lady. So completely wrapped up in the image before her was she that the queen did not even realize that she had begun to move her own hips in time with the woman she watched there. She marveled to see the intense expression of pleasure on that woman’s face, the unrestrained moans escaping from her lips, and her hips undulating in such wild abandon. Her own excitement increased as she watched every detail of the intimate performance that was being played out before her. She felt her upper body lean forward slightly as the man in the mirror gently encouraged his lover to do the same. His eyes met hers again in the mirror as he thrust himself into the woman, harder and faster. Suddenly the queen was awakened from her spell and realized with a jolt that the woman in the mirror was no other than herself, and that it was her handsome servant who was staring back at her from his position behind her. She froze for a moment, suddenly embarrassed to have him see her thus. Perceiving the change in his queen, the prince quickly turned her away from the mirror so that she was facing him. He kissed her tenderly and lifted her in his arms, carrying her to a nearby couch. But she glanced furtively back toward the mirror. The prince held the queen close to him, joining himself with her again, all the while whispering soft endearments. The mirror seemed to give her assurance, and she strained her neck so that, always, she might watch the reflection in the mirror. And she watched herself do many extraordinary things throughout the night. The prince was delighted by her inquisitiveness, and was careful to make the long-awaited event last until she was completely satisfied. Afterward, he continued to hold his queen close to him throughout the night, slowly caressing her body so that, by morning, not one single inch of her was left untouched or unloved. The queen smiled as she slept and dreamed of roses. In the morning, the queen did not want to leave. But the prince knew that he must take her back to her castle, to see if his love had truly reached her heart and lifted her from the power of the curse.

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

  But suddenly Cinderella desired her husband to join her in this pleasure. In her mind she had conjured an image and she wanted to experience it with her other faculties. So she took the prince by the hand and led him to their bed. Without a word she removed his clothing, leisurely enjoying his hard muscular form as she did, and then finally pushing him gently down on the bed. His body was hard and straining as he willingly complied with her will. She positioned herself beside him in an arrangement that left him no doubt what she intended. She rolled to one side and bent one leg enough to open herself to him, even as she took his entire hardness into her mouth. He clutched her buttocks in his hands and pulled her into his face, as his tongue easily found her tender pleasure spot and resumed its stroking. Cinderella had never enjoyed having the prince in her mouth quite so much. It had been tiresome, in the past, working over him, trying to please without knowing if she should go faster or slower, or when it was enough. Now she simply relished the feel of him in her mouth, and didn’t worry about how she performed, because she suddenly realized that it was all so much easier for him to enjoy. So she simply let herself get pleasure from him now, caressing him with her tongue and lips as she marveled at his male hardness. It made her feel exceedingly erotic, to simply suckle and leave it to him to move in and out of her mouth as he pleased. It sent thrills through her when his thrusts forced her mouth to open wider, or when she felt him pressing into her throat. And all the while he never stopped working her with his tongue, so she quite thoroughly lost herself in the sensations of having her mouth and throat opened wide and filled by him, while he kept feeding upon her private parts. Further and further Cinderella sank into herself, even as she experienced the most intimate joining she had ever shared with her husband. She simply lost consciousness of anything unrelated to her own sensual pleasure. Lips and tongues were for licking and sucking. Legs were for opening wide, so eager eyes could look inside. Skin was for touching; every part, every cell seemed to be screaming with a mounting pressure to reach that tingling release. This was, at that moment, what she was living for. It rushed toward her and enveloped her. Then in the next instant it was gone again. And yet there was a milder pleasure that lingered.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  She felt the sudden force of his wanting her again. "No, I must run," she said, a little wildly. "Ay," he replied, suddenly changed, letting her go. She turned away, and on the instant she turned back to him saying: "Kiss me." He bent over her indistinguishable and kissed her on the left eye. She held her mouth and he softly kissed it, but at once drew away. He hated mouth kisses. "I'll come tomorrow," she said, drawing away; "if I can," she added. "Ay! not so late," he replied out of the darkness. Already she could not see him at all. "Good night," she said. "Good night, your Ladyship," his voice. She stopped and looked back into the wet dark. She could just see the bulk of him. "Why did you say that?" she said. "Nay," he replied. "Good night then, run!" She plunged on in the dark-grey tangible night. She found the side door open, and slipped into her room unseen. As she closed the door the gong sounded, but she would take her bath all the same--she must take her bath. "But I won't be late any more," she said to herself; "it's too annoying." The next day she did not go to the wood. She went instead with Clifford to Uthwaite. He could occasionally go out now in the car, and had a strong young man as chauffeur, who could help him out of the car if need be. He particularly wanted to see his godfather, Leslie Winter, who lived at Shipley Hall, not far from Uthwaite. Winter was an elderly gentleman now, wealthy, one of the wealthy coal-owners who had had their heyday in King Edward's time. King Edward had stayed more than once at Shipley, for the shooting. It was a handsome old stucco hall, very elegantly appointed, for Winter was a bachelor and prided himself on his style; but the place was beset by collieries. Leslie Winter was attached to Clifford, but personally did not entertain a great respect for him, because of the photographs in illustrated papers and the literature. The old man was a buck of the King Edward school, who thought life was life and the scribbling fellows were something else. Towards Connie the Squire was always rather gallant; he thought her an attractive demure maiden and rather wasted on Clifford, and it was a thousand pities she stood no chance of bringing forth an heir to Wragby. He himself had no heir.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  Service of the poor has been my heart’s desire, and it has always thrown me amongst the poor and enabled me to identify myself with them. Although the members of the Natal Indian Congress included the Colonial-born Indians and the Clerical class, the unskilled wage- earners, the indentured labourers were still outside its pale. The Congress was not yet theirs. They could not afford to belong to it by paying the subscription and becoming its members. The Congress could win their attachment only by serving them. An opportunity offered itself when neither the Congress nor I was really ready for it. I had put in scarcely three or four months’ practice, and the Congress also was still in its infancy, when a Tamil man in tattered clothes, head-gear in hand, two front teeth broken and his mouth bleeding, stood before me trembling and weeping. He had been heavily belaboured by his master. I learnt all about him from my clerk, who was a Tamilian. Balasundaram – as that was the visitor’s name – was serving his indenture under a well-known European resident of Durban. The master, getting angry with him, had lost self-control, and had beaten Balasundaram severely, breaking two of his teeth. I sent him to a doctor. In those days only white doctors were available. I wanted a certificate from the doctor about the nature of the injury Balasundaram had sustained. I secured the certificate, and straightway took the injured man to the magistrate, to whom I submitted his affidavit. The magistrate was indignant when he read it, and issued a summons against the employer. It was far from my desire to get the employer punished. I simply wanted Balasundaram to be released from him. I read the law about indentured labour. If an ordinary servant left service without giving notice, he was liable to be sued by his master in a civil court. With the indentured labourer the case was entirely different. He was liable, in similar circumstances, to be proceeded against in a criminal court and to be imprisoned on conviction. That is why Sir William Hunter called the indenture system almost as bad as slavery. Like the slave the indentured labourer was the property of his master. There were only two ways of releasing Balasundaram: either by getting the Protector of Indentured Labourers to cancel his indenture or transfer him to someone else, or by getting Balasundaram’s employer to release him. I called on the latter and said to him: ‘I do not want to proceed against you and get you punished. I think you realize that you have severely beaten the man. I shall be satisfied if you will transfer the indenture to someone else.’ To this he readily agreed. I next saw the Protector. He also agreed, on condition that I found a new employer. So I went off in search of an employer. He had to be a European, as no Indians could employ indentured labour.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  They never did encores. After they disappeared from the stage, a lot of leftover energy would be flying around. One post-concert crowd was treated to a knife fight in the best tradition of West Side Story. (Nobody got hurt. The two combatants wound up leaving the woman they had been fighting over to fend for herself, while they went home with each other.) When members of The Bitch were confronted about this in the feminist press and asked to comment, they all disclaimed responsibility and shuffled and apologized—all of them, that is, except Jessie. She scowled and announced that it was time for women to reclaim their violence. “I just wish the stupid cunts would cut up some rapist instead of each other.” Then she offered the interviewer a line of coke. The journalist, Amazon Birdsong, was not mollified. She could afford to buy her own coke (pharmaceutical, an ounce at a time). She had wealthy parents who loved Te Kanawa, had never heard of Chuck Berry, collected first editions of D.H. Lawrence, but never went near an adult bookstore. After the stinging review she published (“Pornographic Attitudes Infiltrate Wimmin’s Music”), The Bitch didn’t get any gigs for six months. They were rescued by a women’s karate school on the brink of bankruptcy. The benefit concert they did there salvaged their foundering reputation and gave the bar owners an excuse to start booking them again. Incidentally, the school had huge, blown-up photos of Jessie and other band members in the locker room. I wondered how many women took self-defense classes there just so they could shimmy out of their jeans under Jessie’s sardonic smile. I had been considering getting into Tae Kwon Do myself. There was a stir at the head of the stairs. I looked over crossly, unwilling to interrupt my introspection. Then I saw who was causing the commotion. She had come back. It was Jessie. I had an immediate physical reaction to her presence: my clit jumped. Then it started throbbing in time with my heartbeat. As I watched her speak to acquaintances here and there, moving on before a greeting could turn into a conversation, I began to shake a little—an erotic attack of fear. The party picked up. There was a last-minute run on the beer and apple juice. More couples started dancing. Jessie found her spot on the stair railing and leaned there, not moving. I ran my eyes up and down the slim, well-muscled lines of her body, teasing myself with estimates of her strength, wondering what she would feel like pressed down against me, her arms wrapped around me.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  Till his rousing waked her completely. He was sitting up in bed, looking down at her. She saw her own nakedness in his eyes, immediate knowledge of her. And the fluid, male knowledge of herself seemed to flow to her from his eyes and wrap her voluptuously. Oh, how voluptuous and lovely it was to have limbs and body half-asleep, heavy and suffused with passion! "Is it time to wake up?" she said. "Half-past six." She had to be at the lane-end at eight. Always, always, always this compulsion on one! "I might make the breakfast and bring it up here; should I?" he said. "Oh, yes!" Flossie whimpered gently below. He got up and threw off his pyjamas, and rubbed himself with a towel. When the human being is full of courage and full of life, how beautiful it is! So she thought, as she watched him in silence. "Draw the curtain, will you?" The sun was shining already on the tender green leaves of morning, and the wood stood bluey-fresh, in the nearness. She sat up in bed, looking dreamily out through the dormer window, her naked arms pushing her naked breasts together. He was dressing himself. She was half-dreaming of life, a life together with him: just a life. He was going, fleeing from her dangerous, crouching nakedness. "Have I lost my nightie altogether?" she said. He pushed his hand down in the bed, and pulled out the bit of flimsy silk. "I knowed I felt silk at my ankles," he said. But the night dress was slit almost in two. "Never mind!" she said. "It belongs here, really. I'll leave it." "Ay, leave it, I can put it between my legs at night, for company. There's no name nor mark on it, is there?" She slipped on the torn thing, and sat dreamily looking out of the window. The window was open, the air of morning drifted in, and the sound of birds. Birds flew continuously past. Then she saw Flossie roaming out. It was morning. Downstairs she heard him making the fire, pumping water, going out at the back door. By and by came the smell of bacon, and at length he came upstairs with a huge black tray that would only just go through the door. He set the tray on the bed, and poured out the tea. Connie squatted in her torn night dress, and fell on her food hungrily. He sat on the one chair, with his plate on his knees. "How good it is!" she said. "How nice to have breakfast together." He ate in silence, his mind on the time that was quickly passing. That made her remember. "Oh, how I wish I could stay here with you, and Wragby were a million miles away! It's Wragby I'm going away from really. You know that, don't you?" "Ay!" "And you promise we will live together and have a life together, you and me! You promise me, don't you?"

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

  Time passed in this way, and you may think that Mrs. Fox’s curiosity had diminished somewhat by frustration, but, no! It grew stronger. Poor Mrs. Fox could think of little else besides Mr. Wolfe and what it would be like to be Mrs. Wolfe. So preoccupied with these thoughts was Mrs. Fox that she could hardly enjoy the considerable physical talents of Mr. Fox without having her mind wander off into the Wolfes’ boudoir. This is, in fact, what fueled her excitement as poor Mr. Fox spent his efforts pleasuring her. There was simply something so much more intriguing in the unknown and forbidden notion of Mr. Wolfe than in the familiar and real pleasures her husband had to offer. For Mrs. Fox, the grass was always greener somewhere else. One day, as Mrs. Fox was guiltily prattling on about her husband’s many capabilities to Mrs. Wolfe, the latter all of a sudden sighed miserably. “What a pity I cannot sample Mr. Fox’s talents firsthand,” she remarked absently. No sooner were the words out of Mrs. Wolfe’s mouth than the impact of what she had said hit her. She turned her eyes in horror to meet the shocked gaze of Mrs. Fox. Blushing a deep red, she was immediately contrite. “Oh, my dear! I never meant…really…what I intended to say…” she stammered on, searching frantically for a way to recant the scandalous statement. Mrs. Fox had at first been too dumbfounded to reply, such was her astonishment to hear those words uttered from the proper Mrs. Wolfe, but her composure quickly returned and she slyly took up the opportunity she had secretly wished for. “It is, in truth, what I myself have wondered on occasion,” she admitted. She did not dare to confess the extent of these wonderings, or that she had been thinking about little else since the wedding eve of the Wolfes’ marriage. “You…?” Sweet Mrs. Wolfe was still too flustered to contribute much to the conversation. “It is only normal, after all,” continued Mrs. Fox, determined to use her friend’s unexpected slip to further her own wishes or, as it now stood, the wishes of them both. “Our husbands, although each very talented I am sure, are in almost every respect opposites. How could we not wonder how it would feel to be with a man so different from our own?” Mrs. Wolfe absorbed this and seemed to relax a bit. “Perhaps,” she consented. “But we could never…I mean,” she stopped herself again. “There is a way,” suggested Mrs. Fox cunningly, with her heart pounding at her own boldness. Mrs. Wolfe remained speechless, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes as they met Mrs. Fox’s. Mrs. Fox pretended to be contemplating the situation. In fact, she had played this scenario out in her mind at least a hundred times before. “In a dark bedchamber,” she mused, “our husbands would not be able to distinguish between us so easily.”

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

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

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

  Besides that, Mr. Fox loved touching his wife. It seemed that every time he did she felt new and exciting. He especially enjoyed finding her most sensitive places, and once she was properly warmed, she was that much more likely to submit to these more inquisitive ministrations. Feeling that she was in such a condition as that now, his hands slowly worked their way up her thighs, spreading them even farther apart. He kissed her between her legs while slipping one hand up below. His tongue slowly trailed the soaking slit to her opening as his finger snaked its way up between her two plump buttocks and rested at the puckered hole there. Mrs. Wolfe was too stunned to move, so her legs remained wide-open, and her fingers grasped the bedsheets at her sides. Every molecule was screaming in mutiny, yet waiting obediently for release. She, in turns, gasped and moaned. Mr. Fox was meanwhile leisurely circling her backside with his finger while simultaneously tickling her pleasure spot knowingly with his tongue. He did this with an almost uncanny expertise, flicking his tongue over the sensitive area with just the right amount of force and pressure to send thrills throughout her body, and then stopping abruptly to lap up her liquids with a wicked laugh. Meanwhile, his finger between her buttocks continued its teasing and circling, even pushing into her now and then, farther and farther, encouraged by her little gasps. Mrs. Wolfe reflected that, as forceful as her husband was, she had never before felt so utterly abused. While Mr. Wolfe took what he wanted from her she was able to take what she wanted from him, too. But this was different somehow. It felt as if Mr. Fox was controlling them both; and she did not like it one bit. Tears came to her eyes and she cried out in frustration and impatience. Now Mr. Fox reckoned he at last had her where he wanted her. He laid back on the bed, saying, “Come now and get it.” Mrs. Wolfe was stunned. She had certainly never heard such an utterance from Mr. Wolfe. She had never seen a man show such control. But she could not keep herself from continuing, for she sorely needed what he was withholding. So up she got, and prepared to mount Mr. Fox. However, this was not exactly what Mr. Fox had intended. He stopped her before he entered her. “First show me how much you want it.” Oh, how she hated him! She almost forgot herself in the heat of her anger, and told him what she thought of him. Seemingly unaware of this, his hand was gently caressing her head and stroking her hair, even as he pressed her head downward. She choked back her indignation and opened her mouth to accept his hard shaft. He kept pressing her head down until she could feel him at the back of her throat.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  It cannot be broken.’ The friend looked at me in surpirse. He closed the book and said: ‘All right. I will not argue any more.’ I was glad. He never discussed the subject again. But he did not cease to worry about me. He smoked and drank, but he never asked me to do so. In fact he asked me to remain away from both. His one anxiety was lest I should become very weak without meat, and thus be unable to feel at home in England. That is how I served my apprenticeship for a month. The friend’s house was in Richmond, and it was not possible to go to London more than once or twice a week. Dr. Mehta and Sjt. Dalparam Shukla therefore decided that I should be put with some family. Sjt. Shukla hit upon an Anglo- Indian’s house in West Kensington and placed me there. The landlady was a widow. I told her about my vow. The old lady promised to look after me properly, and I took up my residence in her house. Here too I practically had to starve. I had sent for sweets and other eatables from home, but nothing had yet come. Everything was insipid. Every day the old lady asked me whether I liked the food, but what could she do? I was still as shy as ever and dared not ask for more than was put before me. She had two daughters. They insisted on serving me with an extra slice or two of bread. But little did they know that nothing less than a loaf would have filled me. But I had found my feet now. I had not yet started upon my regular studies. I had just begun reading newspapers, thanks to Sjt. Shukla. In India I had never read a newspaper. But here I succeeded in cultivating a liking for them by regular reading. I always glanced over The Daily News, The Daily Telegraph, and The Pall Mall Gazette . This took me hardly an hour. I therefore began to wander about. I launched out in search of a vegetarian restaurant. The landlady had told me that there were such places in the city. I would trot ten or twelve miles each day, go into a cheap restaurant and eat my fill of bread, but would never be satisifed. During these wanderings I once hit on a vegetarian restaurant in Farringdon Street. The sight of it filled me with the same joy that a child feels on getting a thing after its own heart. Before I entered I noticed books for sale exhibited under a glass window near the door. I saw among them Salt’s Plea for Vegetarianism. This I purchased for a shilling and went straight to the dining room. This was my first hearty meal since my arrival in England. God had come to my aid. I read Salt’s book from cover to cover and was very much impressed by it.

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

  The goose girl moaned fretfully, caught up in the rapturous surge of her mounting pleasure. Suddenly the maid wanted to help her mistress if she could. She slowly moved her hand lower, and even lower still, until she reached the secret place she knew so well, where she worked her fingers gently, round and round, faster and faster. The goose girl moaned louder, panting for air. The prince continued to thrust himself into her as he stared, fascinated, at his wife. She smiled as she continued to massage the little swollen mound, whirling it round and round, gently but firmly. She was getting closer. The maid bent down to kiss her mistress’ feverish lips. The goose girl whimpered and moaned. And still, the prince thrust himself into her. And his wife’s fingers kept going round and round. Suddenly the goose girl’s eyes grew wide, and her body trembled violently as she cried out. In a rush of emotion she embraced her maid and kissed her repeatedly. But there was still the matter of the prince. The maid looked up at her husband. “Lie down, wife,” he demanded. She shivered with anticipation, even as she suddenly burst into tears. The goose girl immediately rushed to her aid and held her close, but the prince gently pried his wife away from her. He pulled his wife into his arms, where he took her, gently and lovingly, even as the goose girl looked on with interest. He kissed his wife’s wet cheeks and attempted to soothe her, saying, “You are my rightful wife, for it is you who really wished to marry me.” He knew that the goose girl would not have made him happy, and besides, it was too late, now that he had already fallen in love with her maid. At hearing his declaration, his wife was filled with joy. She gazed at the goose girl, while her husband continued to gently make love to her. The goose girl snuggled closer to her and gently kissed her lips. The maid slowly wound her arms around the goose girl, pulling her so close that their breasts were pressed tightly together. Thrilling sensations shot through her as she divided herself between her two lovers. From the waist up, she clung to the goose girl, who whispered little endearments between kisses, and pinched her nipples teasingly. But from the waist down the maid was engaged in a much more tumultuous embrace with her husband, the prince. She clutched him with her legs as he thrust himself repeatedly into her, his eyes hungrily watching the two women clinging so fetchingly to each other. And once again, the goose girl returned a favor to her friend, by carefully reaching her hand down to the place where she and her husband were joined, and knowingly caressing her just above that opening. The maid clung desperately to both the goose girl and her husband as she screamed out her pleasure.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Presently, the lady, being somewhat rested,[86] let make a great fire in her dining-hall and betaking herself thither, asked how it was with the poor man; whereto the maid answered, 'Madam, he hath clad himself and is a handsome man and appeareth a person of good condition and very well-mannered.' Quoth the lady, 'Go, call him and bid him come to the fire and sup, for I know he is fasting.' Accordingly, Rinaldo entered the hall and seeing the gentlewoman, who appeared to him a lady of quality, saluted her respectfully and rendered her the best thanks in his power for the kindness done him. The lady, having seen and heard him and finding him even as her maid had said, received him graciously and making him sit familiarly with her by the fire, questioned him of the chance that had brought him thither; whereupon he related everything to her in order. Now she had heard somewhat of this at the time of his servant's coming into the town, wherefore she gave entire belief to all he said and told him, in turn, what she knew of his servant and how he might lightly find him again on the morrow. Then, the table being laid, Rinaldo, at the lady's instance, washed his hands and sat down with her to supper. Now he was tall of his person and comely and pleasant of favour and very engaging and agreeable of manners and a man in the prime of life; wherefore the lady had several times cast her eyes on him and found him much to her liking, and her desires being already aroused for the Marquis, who was to have come to lie with her, she had taken a mind to him. Accordingly, after supper, whenas they were risen from table, she took counsel with her maid whether herseemed she would do well, the Marquis having left her in the lurch, to use the good which fortune had sent her. The maid, seeing her mistress's drift, encouraged her as best she might to ensue it; whereupon the lady, returning to the fireside, where she had left Rinaldo alone, fell to gazing amorously upon him and said to him, 'How now, Rinaldo, why bide you thus melancholy? Think you you cannot be requited the loss of a horse and of some small matter of clothes? Take comfort and be of good cheer; you are in your own house. Nay, I will e'en tell you more, that, seeing you with those clothes on your back, which were my late husband's, and meseeming you were himself, there hath taken me belike an hundred times to-night a longing to embrace you and kiss you: and but that I feared to displease you, I had certainly done it.' [Footnote 86: _i.e._ after her bath.]

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Hey, bitch-dog. You. Dyke. Ever had a fist up your ass?” “Never!” “Not yet, anyway. How about a cock?” There was a long silence. “Well, well, well. I guess I’m never going to get to fuck me a virgin. How many, fur-pie? Answer me! ” “A few.” “Meaning you don’t remember. Well, Joe, I’d say you ought to clean it up to the second sphincter. Mike’s kind of fastidious, and I wouldn’t want him to get any caca on his pretty long schlong. But I don’t think you have to give her a colonic. We haven’t got all week,” While this diagnosis was being made, Joe had maneuvered her into the tiled cubicle, and her bowel had been filling with warm water. He removed the hose, and she yipped with alarm as a small trickle of water escaped along with it. She cried out again as Don’s belt swung overhead and landed right on her ass. “No spills,” he warned her. “You don’t get rid of that until I say so. Now crawl over here and lick my big, fascist boots. Come on, put your ass in the air and pray over ’em.” The belt landed again and again, but she somehow maintained her control and kept the dreadful weight of water bottled inside her guts. His boot-leather was smooth and tasted of fine polish. God, it was good to grovel on the floor and savor them. He didn’t let her up until her ass was bright red and both boots were shiny with her spit. They perched her on the toilet and stood close, cocks out, helping each other into condoms, while torrents of water rushed out of her ass. “God, you stink,” Don growled, and shoved his dick into her mouth. They fucked her face while she shat again and again, and kept fucking her mouth long after the cramps had subsided. Then the process was repeated—more water, a tongue-bath for Joe’s and Mike’s shoes, another session on the throne and choking on their sheathed dicks, one after another, as fast as they could pull her mouth down onto one, off of it, and onto another. Would she ever be able to close her mouth and swallow again? Finally, when her insides had been pronounced squeaky-clean, they removed the hospital restraints and shoved her under the shower. While two of them guarded her under the water, one would disrobe. Joe and Mike put on jockstraps, police boots, and their gun belts. Don removed his shirt and trousers, then replaced his Sam Browne belt and boots. His jock was made out of studded leather. He kept the belt he had removed earlier from his motorcycle jacket in his hand. Watching this transformation, she shuddered with lust, turning in the hot water, wishing there were some way to avoid this confrontation with her fantasies, and deeply glad that there was no escape.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  No matter what your motives, my eyes are repeatedly drawn to your perfect, small, firm breasts; your abdominal muscles; your sharp and shapely hip bones; the long thighs, scarred during a particularly vicious rape. Your scars are hateful to me because you were hurt there, but so dear to me because you survived to wear them, and have defeated the shame and anger so you can still offer me your cunt, allow me to penetrate and have you. When I look at the dark, fuzzy curls of your pubic triangle (some of your pubic hair wanders up your belly and down the inside of your thighs), the rose color of your crinkled sex-lips and clit, it seems easy and natural to roll over onto my belly between your legs and start licking you. You always taste good, even if you go for days without showering. In fact, I love you better when you are pungent. It drives me crazy, licking and licking, because the more I lick, the wetter your cunt gets and the stronger the flavor is. I can’t lick it away. I imagine you will produce more and more fluid until I could actually gulp it down, swallow it by the mouthful, like water or semen. You always respond quickly to the first lick, with a groan that says, “Oh, God, yes, she’s doing that, I need it, will she do it more?” This encourages me, and I begin to think about pleasing you, making you come, instead of just pleasing myself by filling my mouth with the texture and musky taste of your cunt. You like to have your cunt lips pulled back and up, lifting the hood off your clitoris, until the glans rides snug against your pubic bone, the size of a kernel of corn. I put my hands on each side of your cunt and open it—gently at first, because I know I will be holding it apart for a long time, and I don’t want you to get numb or sore. You spread your legs further and groan a little, a groan that says, “She’s really serious. She’s going to keep on doing it. And she wants me to come. Will I be able to? Can she make me come?”