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

  “I can’t promise”, I said, “it was too sweet; but kiss me and I’ll try to be good.” She kissed me a quick peck and pushed me away. “Didn’t you like it?” I whispered, “I did awfully. I can’t tell you how I thrilled: oh, thank you, Lucille, thank you, you are the sweetest girl in all the world, and I shall always be grateful to you, you dear!” She looked down at me musingly, thoughtfully; I felt I was gaining ground: “You are lovely there”, I ventured in a whisper, “please, dear, what do you call it? I saw ‘chat’ once: is that right, ‘pussy’?” “Don’t talk of it”, she cried impatiently, “I hate to think—” “Be kind, Lucille”, I pleaded, “you’ll never be the same to me again: you were pretty before, chic and provoking, but now you’re sacred. I don’t love you, I adore you, reverence you, darling! May I say ‘pussy’?” “You’re a strange boy”, she said at length, “but you must never do that again; it’s nasty and I don’t like it. I—” “Don’t say such things!” I cried, pretending indignation, “you don’t know what you’re saying—nasty! Look, I’ll kiss the fingers that have touched your pussy”, and I suited the action to the word. “Oh, don’t!” she cried and caught my hand in hers, “don’t!” but somehow she leaned against me at the same time and left her lips on mine. Bit by bit my right hand went down to her sex again, this time on the outside of her dress, but at once she tore herself away and would not let me come near her again. My insane desire had again made me blunder! Yet she had half-yielded, I knew, and that consciousness set me thrilling with triumph and hope, but alas! at that moment we heard Edwards shout to us as he left the house to rejoin us. This experience had two immediate and unlooked for consequences: first of all, I could not sleep that night for thinking of Lucille’s sex; it was like a large fig split in the middle, and set in a mesh of soft hairs: I could feel it still on my fingers and my sex stood stiff and throbbed with desire for it. When I fell asleep I dreamed of Lucille, dreamed that she had yielded to me and I was pushing my sex into hers; but there was some obstacle and while I was pushing, pushing, my seed spirted in an orgasm of pleasure—and at once I awoke and, putting down my hand, found that I was still coming: the sticky, hot, milk-like sperm was all over my hairs and prick.

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

  “You should go in and lie down”, said Mrs. Mayhew still full of pity, “see” and she opened a door, “there’s the guest bedroom all ready.” I saw my chance and went over to her: “if you’d come too”, I whispered and then, “the coffee has made me quite well: won’t you, Lorna, give me a kiss? You don’t know how often I said your name last night, you dear!” and in a moment I had again taken her face and put my lips on hers. She gave me her lips this time and my kiss became a caress; but in a little while she drew away and said, “let’s sit and talk, I want to know all you are doing.” So I seated myself beside her on the sofa and told her all my news. She thought I would be comfortable with the Gregorys. “Mrs. Gregory is a good woman”, she added, “and I hear the girl’s engaged to a cousin: do you think her pretty?” “I think no one pretty but you, Lorna”, I said and I pressed her head down on the arm of the sofa and kissed her. Her lips grew hot: I was certain. At once I put my hand down on her sex; she struggled a little at first, which I took care should bring our bodies closer and when she ceased struggling I put my hands up her dress and began caressing her sex: it was hot and wet, as I knew it would be, and opened readily.

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

  Then Jasmine started to work on it. Dear dead Jasmine. Maybe because of my half-zonked condition, maybe because I just missed 274 M. Christian those lips, that throat, but I didn’t do what I should have done: run screaming into that intense morning. But I didn’t and dear dead Jasmine started to really get down and suck at my cock. —_ Death did not diminish her knowledge of blowjobs, it seemed. She was all of Jasmine rolled into that one cock-sucking. I could, in fact, squint and see her as I had seen her on all those mornings: her firm, slightly heavy body folded over, her face concentrating at my cock, with her right hand between her legs as she humped herself along with her sucking. God, I could feel every inch of Jasmine — even if I couldn’t see her. I could feel her tongue playing with the ridges and corona of my head, I could feel her lips play over my skin and veins, I could feel her throat — hot and firm — as I grazed it during her sucking. When I came, it was so good it hurt real bad, and my come shot into an invisible mouth and vanished into ectoplasmic nothingness just as real live Jasmine had liked to swallow it. Other people would have run — to their pastors, to the cops (why?), to some science guys with a gizmo to exorcise the latent spectral energies, or to their priests (who would rattle their beads and speak some Latin). But most folks don’t consider themselves a Child of the Night, groove on gloom, or hate any color save pitch black. Besides, Jasmine had been a sweet girl (tinkle, tinkle) and one motherfuckin’ hot lay. The fact that she was dead and haunting me didn’t really seem to bother me at the time. Jasmine was great for surprises. She liked to catch you unawares and get caught unawares herself. I can’t remember how many times I'd “caught” Jasmine in the living room, or on the toilet, in my bed, rubbing one of her little, soft fingers up and down on her little moist slit. She was like a little kid in that, her body and other people’s used to give her so much pleasure. Death didn’t even slow her down. Listening to the newest Lycia CD, all moan, cemeteries, statues, clouds, rain, and mourners, I would get the strong impression of flowers, macramé, pot and the distinct sound of the tiny silver bells on toes jingling merrily away and look next to me to see Jasmine, half there and half not, not quite developed, not quite visible, legs spread wide, fingers gently rubbing up and down on her gumdrop- sized clit. She became, over those weeks, to be more and more in my life. More so than she had when she was alive. Flesh and blood Jasmine used to come over maybe, tops, three times a week. Then I wouldn’t

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

  ‘Tangling her fingers in his damp hair, she moved against his hand, showing him the rhythm. He groaned into her mouth as he played with her, driving her to the edge of any rational thought. It would be better if she came while he was inside her, but he was just too good with his hands. Now all she could think about was getting off. She slid up on his lap a couple of inches to give him some more room, enough so that the top of her head was now above him and her breasts were in his face. With his free hand, he undid the ties of her pale yellow wrap blouse. His mouth found one of her hard nipples through the fabric of her bra and he sucked the tender bit of flesh in the same rhythm he stroked her clit. Charlotte pressed her Perfect Timing 169 breast to his mouth, every muscle taut as she clutched the car seat behind his head. “Oh, oh yes,” she moaned as he moved his mouth to the other nipple. He suckled it hard through the fabric until it stood in rigid attention against the fabric. Her bra was wet now with his sucking, but she didn’t care. “I can feel that in my pussy.” He murmured his pleasure as he slid a finger inside her. Her skin had warmed his fingers and she moaned softly, eyes closed, giving herself over to the feeling. Her nostrils flared, smelling not only Henry’s aftershave now, but also her own arousal. It was an intoxicating scent and, as he pushed a second finger inside her, she felt her body tighten. He slid his fingers in deep, then slowly withdrew them to her opening before pushing inside her once more. He curved them forward, finding her G-spot, and did it again. The feeling was so intense she nearly told him to stop. But she knew if she could just take it for a few more strokes, he would make her come. So instead of pulling back, she made little thrusting motions with her hips, giving him what he was after. She bit her bottom lip, feeling her orgasm like a knot Anside her, slowly loosening. Warmth coursed through her, starting low in her belly and spreading outward. “Oh god,” she whimpered, tightening her pussy around his fingers. Henry kept up his steady rhythm, using his fingers to coax her toward that elusive orgasm. She went still on him, straining toward inevitable release. As if sensing how close she was, Henry rolled her clit under his thumb as he stroked her sweet spot. She cried out, oblivious to her surroundings, feeling a gush of liquid as her orgasm washed over her. “Yes, that’s it,’ he murmured against the swell of her breast. “Come for me.”

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

  “Looking,” he said. “That doing something for you?” “Tm thinking about putting my cock in it,” he said. “So, yeah, I guess it’s doing something for me.” When he put it like that,’it started to do a little something for me, too. “Tm also thinking we’re going to need some lubricant,” he added matter-of-factly. I didn’t have any. Usually, I make more than enough for both of us the old-fashioned way. “As long as it’s not WD-40, I don’t care.” “Hang on.” He got off the bed. When you live with someone for nine years, you know how they think. If you don’t, you haven’t been paying attention. I could see him in my mind’s eye, walking naked into the kitchen, opening the cabinet next to the fridge, assessing our common household foodstuffs for their lubricative potential. Please just not the Crisco, I prayed. He padded back into the bedroom, and I could tell from the first whiff what it was. The coconut oil melted at first touch, and he slathered it liberally everywhere — my inner cheeks, my anus, down to my cunt which, in another minute or two, wasn’t going to need any help in that department. “You smell like the beach, honey,” he said happily. “Yeah, well, just don’t get any sand in there? He didn’t laugh. He was busy running his finger back and forth over my anus and around and around it in little circles. It felt surprisingly good. New location, same nerve endings. He slipped the tip of one finger inside and I jumped and tightened around it. 456 Jax Baynard “That didn’t hurt,” he said. It wasn’t really a question. His voice had changed, gone lower and hoarser. He slid his finger all the way in and I had to stifle a moan. Play hard to get, I thought. That was my MO . small.””, The next thing he here. He took his finger out. “This feels . put on it was his mouth, and I did moan then. I hadn’t imagined it would feel that good. On a scale of relativity: less sensitive than my clit, more sensitive than my G-spot. He swirled his tongue around and made little stabbing motions into the center of it. I let one hand drift towards my clit. . “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, catching me. “I Esa you. You'll come and then you won’t want me to do this anymore.” I thought about it. “That might be true.” I giggled. “Ha ha,” he said, and got up again. He returned with two silk neckties and tied my wrists to the headboard, which — conveniently for him — has little wooden knobs running across the top of it. I glared at him, but let him do it. “The special is for ass-fucking, not bondage,” I said. “You said two-for-one,” he reminded me glibly. “T meant two orifices (two orifi? I wondered irrelevantly), not two activities.” ;

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

  It will be six or seven years at least before I shall know whether the book is good and life-worthy or not and yet need drives me to publish it at once. Did not Horace require nine years to judge his work? I, therefore, want the reader to know my intention; I want to give him the key, so to speak, to this chamber of my soul. First of all I wished to destroy or, at least, to qualify the universal opinion that love in youth is all romance and idealism. The masters all paint it crowned with roses of illusion: Juliet is only fourteen: Romeo, having lost his love, refuses life: Goethe follows Shakespeare in his Mignon and Marguerite: even the great humorist Heine and the so-called realist, Balzac, adopt the same convention. Yet to me it is absolutely untrue in regard to the male in boyhood and early youth, say from thirteen to twenty: the sex-urge, the lust of the flesh was so overwhelming in me that I was conscious only of desire. When the rattlesnake’s poison-bag is full, he strikes at everything that moves, even the blades of grass; the poor brute is blinded and in pain with the overplus. In my youth I was blind, too, through excess of semen. I often say that I was thirty-five years of age before I saw an ugly woman, a woman that is, whom I didn’t desire. In early puberty, all women tempted me; and all girls still more poignantly. From twenty to twenty-three, I began to distinguish qualities of the mind and heart and soul; to my amazement, I preferred Kate to Lily, though Lily gave me keener sensations: Rose excited me very little yet I knew she was of rarer, finer quality than even Sophy who seemed to me an unequalled bedfellow. From that time on the charms of spirit, heart and soul, drew me with ever-increasing magnetism, overpowering the pleasures of the senses though plastic beauty exercises as much fascination over me today as it did fifty years ago. I never knew the illusion of love, the rose-mist of passion till I was twenty-seven and I was intoxicated with it for years; but that story will be for my second volume. Now strange to say, my loves till I left America just taught me as much of the refinements of passion, as is commonly known in these States. France and Greece made me wise to all that Europe has to teach; that deeper knowledge too is for the second volume in which I shall relate how a French girl surpassed Sophy’s art as far as Sophy surpassed Rose’s ingenuous yielding. [Illustration]

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

  “If you want,” I whisper. “Whatever you want.” My clit throbs, trembles, anticipating new agony. But I’m so aroused by now that the third pin hardly hurts. It just turns up the volume on the pleasure. My master sweeps a fingertip through the opened folds of flesh in front of him, ending with a flick to the plastic pin fastened to my core. I moan and writhe, though I can hardly move, trussed up as I am. “You looks so sexy, Sarah. I’ve got to get some pictures.” He leaves me stranded on the bed, open and aching, while he gets his camera. The shutter clicks quietly as he captures me from a 340 Lisabet Sarai variety of angles. “These will keep me company, after you’ve gone.” I’m so embarrassed I think that I’ll die, but at the same I can’t wait to see the photos. “Maybe I'll put these up on the Internet.” . .” “No, you wouldn’t . “Are you sure?” I’m not, not 100 per cent. He has a contrary streak that’s a bit scary. “Or maybe I should email them to him.” My master has actually met my husband, briefly, but he refuses to say David’s name. “No, don’t, please...” David knows, intellectually, that Pm interested in BDSM, but I think he’d find these photos, this reality, pretty difficult to face. My master leans over and brushes his lips across mine. “Don’t worry. I think I want to keep these treasures all to myself.” This brief intimacy is enough to set me shuddering, teetering on the edge of another orgasm. He sees, and laughs. “Don’t come yet, little one. Pve got some new sensations for you.” He kneels on the bed between my splayed thighs, and I hope against hope that he’ll simply pull out his cock and fuck me. But instead he grabs one of the elastic bands and starts snapping it hard against my inner thighs. The rubber stings the tender skin there; I notice that dampness seems to make the sensation stronger. The pain is not extreme, but it wakens the bite of the clothes pins. “The elastic leaves little red marks,” he tells me. “I'll bet you’ll still have them tomorrow.” There is no tomorrow. There is only now. I’m tingling all over, balanced between pleasure and pain, wanting him as I’ve never wanted anything else. “Please ...” I moan. “Please, Eric, touch me...” “Poor little Sarah,” he says. “My poor horny little slave.” He wriggles one of the clothes pins on my labia, and I scream at the fresh rush of pain. He pulls roughly at the one attached to my clit. I tumble into a loud, frenzied climax, my body jerking like a helpless puppet as jolt after jolt of ecstasy hits me.

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

  He did as I asked, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and pulling them away from his hipbones. When he finally eased them down and off on my request, it was to reveal a half-hard cock, thick and already impressive. Even though the bedroom window was open, letting in the traffic noises which reminded me the everyday world was still moving past outside, it suddenly felt stiflingly warm in the room. Not only that, but my jeans seemed to be a size too tight, the seam pressing into the crease between my legs so that every movement I made put a subtle, aching pressure on my clitoris. “Tet’s do a few with the sheet round you,” I suggested. “Just drape it over your legs, like you’ve kicked it off in your sleep.” He wrapped the sheet loosely around the lower half of his body, and then I arranged it to my satisfaction, pulling it away so it was barely covering his muscular left thigh. My fingers brushed his warm flesh as I did, and I shivered slightly at the contact. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had affected me so powerfully. I grabbed my camera again, and directed him through the sequence of shots I wanted, taking some close-ups of the sheet where it was molded to the outline of his cock, then finally asking him to pull the sheet away entirely so I could photograph him naked. He was completely uninhibited as he grasped his hardening dick and played with it languidly till it stiffened fully, rising up towards his belly button. These were shots the magazines in Britain could never use, but I was no longer thinking about a potential market for these photos. Now, it was all about having a beautiful man lying on my bed, erect and unmistakably ready for sex. My pussy was hot, the pulse between my legs beating too hard for me to ignore. And then the roll of film ran out. “Okay, all done,” I said. “You can get dressed now, if you want.” “T don’t want,” he said, catching hold of my arm and guiding me to sit on the bed beside him. “I mean, what I am going to do about this?” He gestured to his cock, still hard and bobbing slightly as he moved. “Well, if it’s a problem, normally the model goes into the bathroom and sorts himself out,” I replied, trying to sound as though this happened all the time. Usually, they just collected their fee and left. “Doesn’t the photographer ever give them a hand?” he asked with what I could have sworn was a hopeful tone in his voice. - Ducks 247 “Notif they don’t wantto geta reputation for being unprofessional,” I told him. “Not even if the model were to ask nicely?” He looked at me with such a devilish expression in those blue eyes that my pussy clenched in a powerful spasm.

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

  I don’t stop it happening. Instead I reach between our bodies and press his cock right into the seam of my sex, feeling the lips there close around it almost as my wet hole would. When I lean forwards and rise up just a little, the fit is almost perfect, and I rock my clit against the sensitive underside of him. He bucks up against me, now shamelessly moaning into my mouth. I rub him against my flesh, striking just the right amount of pressure to eventually bring myself off — not that he’s going to last that long. He’s trembling, and when I reach down with my free hand and cup and massage his drawn-up tight balls and the soft moist place just behind, he lunges up hard against me and draws his mouth away from mine. “Oh God make me come, Ms Layton,” he pants against my jaw, my cheek, everywhere leaving wet trails and hot breath. “Ah yes, rub me-there.4 I do. I have to prove, after all, that I’m as good as he is. “Wait,” I tell him. “Wait. I want you to come in my mouth.” He likes that. He likes that, oh yes, he does. He lets his head fall back and the column of his throat presents itself to me, stark and Slut 329 strong, ready to be bitten. I had a boyfriend once who loved nothing better than to bite me, to mark me, to leave little circles all over my body. And I liked it too. I have always liked the sensation of teeth sinking in. But this is the first time I’ve wanted to sink my teeth into someone else. Not just wanted to, but craved it. I want to mark all that perfect pale flesh, to scatter myself all over him in nips and bites, and see what I used to look like, reflected in his midnight eyes. Shuddering, shivering, beneath another person. Pulled taut against nearly pain. I want to teach him more about what nearly pain is. Of course I’m sure he knows already. I’m sure he knows a lot of things already, horny and gorgeous as he is. But he’s also delightful enough to pretend for me, I know. I bite him just at that place where his throat meets his shoulder. That little cup made for my teeth. And then he gasps and hisses and that meaty pressure satisfies my teeth — that lovely tensing and releasing feeling that I’ve only ever felt with my own hand pressed to my mouth, something buzzing between my thighs. “Please,” he begs me, with his hand in my hair. “Please.” But I know he doesn’t mean please stop biting. In fact, he presses my face harder into his throat, and sighs when I’m done leaving my little mark. He rubs his fingers through the wetness I leave there, an expression much like wonder on his face. Wonder that’s mostly a show, just for me.