Desire

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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

  “Do you have to rush straight home, or can I get you a beer?” I asked. “I mean, you’ve been kind enough to bring all this over .. .” “Yeah, that'd be great, thanks,” he said, and I went to hunt a couple of cans of ice-cold lager fsom the fridge. When I came back into the living room, he was standing in front of what had once been the chimney breast, looking at the photograph I keep hanging there. It’s an arty, black-and-white shot of a well-muscled man, his face in shadow, wearing nothing but a pair of torn denims. The fly is open enough to show the beginnings of his pubic bush, and his hand is reaching in to cradle his cock. Nothing is explicit; everything implied. “That’s some photo you’ve got there,” he said, taking one of the cans from me. “Is it a Mapplethorpe?” I shook my head, surprised by his knowledge of erotic photography. “Thanks for the compliment, but no. I took it.” “Seriously? It’s fantastic,” he enthused. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a thing about other men or anything, but if I did, it would more than likely turn me on.” “I do quite a bit of that sort of work.” I took a swig from my drink, hoping the lager would cool the fire that was being stoked in me, but standing next to Izzy’s gorgeous errand boy was having entirely the opposite effect. “Well, to be honest, not as much as Id like. I do sets for Dare magazine now and again.” _ “That’s the porn magazine for women, isn’t it? I met a guy at a party who used to be their designer. He told me some pretty wild stories about the stuff they print.” ; 244 Elizabeth Coldwell “Tt’s good fun,” I replied, kicking off my shoes and curling up on the settee, “but they don’t buy many black-and-white sets, which is a shame. I’d love to take some photos for them which really concentrated on the muscles in a man’s body; emphasize how they move, and the power they contain.” I noticed him raise the can to his lips again, and saw the way his biceps pressed against the taut cotton of his T-shirt. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have really good muscles in your arm. Do you work out at all?” He shook his head. “I play football on Sunday mornings, and ’m helping a mate renovate his flat at the moment. That’s pretty physical work, but I’ve never been in a gym in my life.” He drained his can. “What are you saying, that you reckon I’m worth photographing?” I reckoned far more than that, but I just smiled. “I think you have good muscles. It’s a start.”

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

  And the size of his penis. While the rest of his body is that of a human male, the organ is that of a bull — or a monster. So swollen and erect it seems to be like another creature ... making an angle with his rippled abdomen that reminds you of the cleft between the first thick branch and the trunk that made a favorite tree easy to climb when you were a little girl. But this is no room for little girls. All innocence has been swept away in this private world . . with the sight of the shining cock head, sculpted like some kind of medieval battering ram. . And then there is the room. It is richly appointed, like something from eighteenth-century France, the curtains not quite drawn, with a hint of rain on the leadlight pane. So, this moment too, that you’ve just stumbled upon is another afternoon of rain and possibility. Lust. Perhaps things unleashed. Another piece of the puzzle. Before the bull-man lies a naked woman, porcelain white of flesh, but coated with a fine sheen of perspiration and fragrance — spread wide on an amethyst and black sheeted bed of silk with fat tasseled pillows, like a giant version of a pearl butterfly she had made for her at great expense by a blind jeweler who died when it was finished and she only bothered to wear once. She has the air of grotesque wealth and depravity, the kind that is only shown in secrecy. Her legs are parted fully, so that you can see how neatly she has been shaved by a serving girl, how smooth her thighs are, her clitoris unusually large, bulbing up from under its hood of skin in monstrous mimicry of the minotaur’s giant phallus. Her whole sex is gaping, like an overbloomed rose torn apart in a single swift gesture by strong hands. You can see all the way inside her . . her mouth open like a second ravenous, meat-eating flower. . all the way to the words she wants to say .. . There is a blood-red sleep mask in her right hand — you can’t tell if she’s just removed it or longs to put it on, confronted as she is by the monster — the wall-splitting girth of him poised before her. Does she feel horror and fear . Beside her, on the floor by the bed, is another woman, also naked, much younger, and even though you can’t see her face, you realize she is much more beautiful. Perhaps she is the serving girl who has . or insane longing? . 292 Kris Saknussemm done the immaculate shaving and grooming . misted the room with aromatic spray. . . plumped the pillows,

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

  When I arrived in the small waiting area outside my atelier, she was sitting, hands folded demurely, while he stood scanning the photographs and framed magazine clippings on the wall. At first, there seemed nothing of special note about them, indeed they were rather less showy in their style and fashion taste than many I see. This in itself seems noteworthy in retrospect; at the time I simply cocked an admiring eyebrow at his Italian suit and her immaculate haircut and invited them into my fitting room. At first I was taken aback when my initial “what can I do for you?” spiel, addressed to the lady, was responded to by the man. He appeared at least twenty years older than her, and for a bizarre moment I wondered if he were her father. It was a relief when he used the words “my wife” in his reply, and I presumed the more exotic dynamic of Dominant and Submissive — a bread-and-butter breed of customer, though I usually only interview one half of the sketch. Instantly her silence became fascinating to me, and throughout the man’s lengthy discourse regarding their wants and tastes, I kept my eye on her. She was somewhere in her twenties, though conservatively dressed for her age in a blouse of ecru silk, the high neck adorned with what is incongruously termed a “pussy-bow”. A knee-length tweed skirt and low courts completed the ensemble; hardly the pink-haired rubber-skirted brigade I generally tend to encounter en route to the Fetish Ball. Her head remained bowed, our eyes never met, and I found myself wondering whether her doggedly maintained silence conveyed weakness or strength. When the time came for her to have her measurements taken, she stood unbidden and planted herself in the centre of the room, chin up and shoulders back, awaiting instruction. “You will need to remove your blouse and skirt, Mrs Fox,” I told her, affecting intense concentration on my tape measure while she unbuttoned and cast off her outer layers of clothing. I was struck by Advanced Corsetry 63 two things once the clothes were neatly folded: the 1950 styling of her underwear, which was a flesh-coloured bra and girdle with old- fashioned metal suspender snaps; and the understated magnificence of her body, all luscious curves and creamy skin. “Surely you will need her naked?” said her husband, standing behind her with his arms folded. “To get the true measure of her, I mean.” “I... do not usually insist . . .” I told him, though my throat dried at his suggestion. I longed to see what was held in by that severe girdle, cut so tantalizingly high and yet retaining the letter, if not the spirit, of modesty.

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

  I replied finally, “No, little lady, your charms are not for me”, and I took my seat again at the table and poured myself out some wine. I had the ordinary American or English youth’s repugnance to what seemed like degradation, never guessing that Jeanne was giving me the second lesson in the noble art of seduction, of which my sister had taught me long ago the rudiments. The next time I was offered _minette_, I had grown wiser and made no scruples; but that’s another story. The fact is that in my first visit to Paris I kept perfectly chaste, thanks in part to the example of Ned’s blunder; thanks, too, to my dislike of going with any girl sexually whom I didn’t really care for, and I didn’t care for Jeanne: she was too imperious and imperiousness in a girl is the quality I most dislike, perhaps because I suffer from an overdose of the humor. At any rate, it was not sexual indulgence that broke my health in Paris; but my passionate desire to learn that had cut down my hours of sleep and exasperated my nerves: I took cold and had a dreadful recurrence of malaria. I wanted rest and time to take breath and think. The little house in a side-street in the lovely Welsh watering-place was exactly the haven of rest I needed. I soon got well and strong and for the first time learned to know my father. He came for long walks with me, though he was over sixty. After his terrible accident seven years before (he slipped and fell thirty feet into a dry-dock while his ship was being repaired), one side of his hair and moustache had turned white while the other remained jet black. I was astonished first by his vigor: he thought nothing of a ten-mile walk and on one of our excursions I asked him why he had not given me the nomination I wanted as midshipman. He was curiously silent and waved the subject aside with: “The Navy for you? No!” and he shook his head. A few days afterwards, however, he came back to the subject of his own accord. “You asked me”, he began, “why I didn’t send you the nomination for the midshipman’s examination. Now I’ll tell you. To get on in the British Navy and make a career in it, you should either be well-born or well-off: you were neither. For a youth without position or money, there are only two possible roads up: servility or silence, and you were incapable of both.” “Oh, Governor, how true and how wise of you!” I cried, “but why, why didn’t you tell me? I’d have understood then as well as now and thought the more of you for thwarting me.”

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

  me and let me buy you one more roll,” I said. Her lips parted in a smile. Her teeth were white, white as rice, highlighting the healthy pinkness of her un-lipsticked lips. She knew her lips were beautiful, that they needed no enhancement. But she didn’t know, I didn’t think, that her lips looked good enough to eat. “Tm with a friend,” she said. “He’s just using the bathroom.” “A friend?” “Yes.” Her voice was playful. Maybe she’d been drinking sake and the whole world looked fun. “A friend.” “A friend, or a boring date you just realized is only worthy of being a friend?” “Well done,” she said. I took my business card and put it in her hand. “Call me,” I said. “You have to call me. We’ll go out for sushi. We’ll go out for the best sushi we can find.” “T love sushi,” she said and her smile was up-to-something. Her eyes were alive. “T love it too.” “Well then,” she said. “Tomorrow,” I said. “Call me. I think your friend is coming out of the restaurant right now so hide my card and call me tomorrow and we'll eat sushi together tomorrow night.” I was right. It was her friend. He came over to her and took her arm, tentatively, and she let him, but I wasn’t really watching him. Raw 423 I was watching her and, like magic, my card disappeared into her hand. I went into Sushi Samba, sat alone at the sushi bar, ordered a full plate of spicy tuna and yellowtail and fusion rolls. I watched the sushi chefs work. It was a performance the way they rolled, cut, separated, displayed the sushi on colorful plates. I took my chopsticks from their paper holder, moved one stick against the other, wood on wood, like making a fire. I picked her up at her door. I was never this chivalrous, good-looking enough to simply hold a door once in a while without ever having to pay for a cab, but she was not just another woman. Her mouth, when she came out of her midtown office building, was as I remembered. Her lips were almost more perfect. The perfect thickness, the perfect color. The perfect texture, I guessed. I had already kissed her in my head, had already bitten down on her lower lip, had already tasted the salt of her blood, like the salt of the sea. I forced my lips away from her mouth and gave her a polite kiss on her cheek, but let my lips stay there for a moment so she’d know I more than liked her. I’d made reservations at Haru on the Upper West Side. Nobu had been booked solid and I didn’t want to spend hours drinking cocktails at a nearby bar until a table at Nobu Next Door could be secured. Bond Street was booked. Blue Ribbon Sushi was booked. I wasn’t the only one who lusted sushi.

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

  She thought of April and her nipples tightened. She shed her blouse, camisole and bra without hesitation, and before she put the blouse back on, she looked at the costumes on hangers behind the screen. Some of the shining fantasies were no bigger than her hand, and her nipples grew as hard as marbles as she imagined herself in glossy black and white, shining patches of satin. She stole a glimpse of herself in the mirror, unable to look directly at her image, the rising curves with dark rigid tips, and her face that of the woman in Bobby’s photos. She slipped on the sheer blouse and buttoned it to the place Mr Bentley had asked for, aware of every place the linen touched her, its Calendar Girl 481 cling no more than mist, but intense as a warm finger. She stepped from behind the screen, her blood pulsing in her ears, her throat, and her treasure. Almost giddy, she walked toward the men and their cameras. As she approached the chair, she understood at once that everything had changed. She smelled something in the room, a scent, sharp and tangy, exhilarating and new. She heard their breath, as ragged as her own, but with a primal edge. Every one of them watched the bounce of her breasts. She sat and gathered the roses, leaned forward so that the revealed cream of her chest emerged from the linen, her dark nipples harder yet in clinging, translucent pink, her lips parted in a smile, a promise. The clicking almost deafened her. “You are everything Bobby said, my dear.” Mr Bentley took the roses from her this time. He put his hands lightly on her shoulders and his fingertips kneaded lightly through the blouse. He held her gaze, the unspoken question as clear as a shout. She answered it with a nod. He knelt, his gray eyes intense on hers, not looking down to where his fingers worked at the’ last four buttons, not until he had finished and stood up so that she could open the blouse and drop it in a whisper to the floor. Click. She picked up the roses, spread them in a fan over her breasts, not covering herself at all, letting the red flowers brush the most sensitive spots just below the nipples. The men watched her, rapt, their cameras silent. She grew still in the moment, the pulse in her treasure and the blazing heat just under her skin demanding obedience. She saw the intense shapes against the rising light of the morning sun and tried to find Bobby among them. Paint me, she thought to him. Paint me with light. Raising a finger to her lips, she wet it to dripping, then touched her right nipple, slick and shining, catching the sun like the sweat of its luminescent desire.

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

  In Germany I have since learned the State requires that ten times as much pure air must be supplied as we had and in consequence the serious illnesses which with us amounted to eighty per cent in three months have been reduced to eight. Paternal Government, it appears, has certain good points. One day just as the “decompression” of an hour and a half was ending, an Italian named Manfredi fell down and writhed about, knocking his face on the floor till the blood spurted from his nose and mouth. When we got him into the shed, his legs were twisted like plaited hair. The surgeon had him taken to the hospital. I made up my mind that a month would be enough for me. At the end of the first week I got a note from Jessie saying that her father was going on board that afternoon and she could see me the next evening. I went and was introduced to Jessie’s sister who, to my surprise, was tall and large but without a trace of Jessie’s good looks. “He’s younger than you, Jess”, she burst out laughing. A week earlier I’d have been hurt to the soul, but I had proved myself, so I said simply, “I’m earning five dollars a day, Mrs. Plummer, and money talks.” Her mouth fell open in amazement. “Five dollars”, she repeated, “I’m sorry, I—I—” “There, Maggie”, Jessie broke in, “I told you, you had never seen anyone like him; you’ll be great friends yet. Now come and we’ll have a walk”, she added and out we went. To be with her even in the street was delightful and I had a lot to say, but making love in a New York street on a summer evening is difficult and I was hungry to kiss and caress her freely. Jessie, however, had thought of a way: if her sister and husband had theatre tickets, they’d go out and we’d be alone in the apartment; it would cost two dollars, however, and she thought that a lot. I was delighted: I gave her the bills and arranged to be with her next night before eight o’clock. Did Jessie know what was going to happen? Even now I’m uncertain, though I think she guessed. Next night I waited till the coast was clear and then hurried to the door. As soon as we were alone in the little parlor and I had kissed her, I said, “Jessie, I want you to undress. I’m sure your figure is lovely, but I want to know it.”

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

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