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)

  “But ... that doesn’t make any sense.” “No? Look at people, good or bad. The ones with intellect, the ones who have a deep thought, even if it’s just once in a while. I think they have souls. But look at the rest. Like that lovely couple we left behind us. Something like that just lives to feed its appetites. And it’s not just what we’d consider the scum of the earth. From white trash right on up to the nouveau riche yuppie shithead who’s acquired his latest BMW, or yacht or mansion ... you know the type, they calculate their own worth and everyone else’s according to how many things they’ve accrued. They have no souls, because as insubstantial as a soul might be, it takes a lot to fill the void where it doesn’t exist. So they fill it up with things.” “So, what are you saying, that it’s okay to kill people like that?” “T’m saying if it has no soul, it isn’t murder when you kill it.” 226 Robert Buckley “Did that cane thing have a soul?” He shrugged. “Maybe. But that was self-defense.” “Maybe you think too much,” she said, then yawned. He pulled into another hotel. A sleepy clerk checked them in. Another room, much like the one in which they spent the night before. This one they entered from a balcony. Outside it began to rain; droplets beat against the window. They stood together in the darkness by the window. A lightning flash illuminated the courtyard; another caught a naked couple in the room directly across from theirs having sex in their window, a fleeting image of a woman with her breasts pressed against the glass. He chuckled. “You can’t enjoy sex if you don’t have a soul.” “Why not?” “Because if you don’t, fucking is just about the fucking, it’s just chalking up another pussy or prick, just another fuck to tally on top of the ones you’ve already had. Just so you can say you had more tail than the other guy.” “And if you have a soul?” “Well, then it’s about...” “Making love?” “Or...something else. In any case, you do it with another person. Some people have sex, and it’s no different than if they were masturbating.” “You think too much.” “Tet me take a shower at least,” she protested weakly after he tossed her on the bed and tugged her shorts and panties off. “Uh-uh,” he said. He knelt and breathed deeply, his nose pressed against her dark pubic patch. He spread her thighs apart. She didn’t resist. Then his tongue laved her swelling vulva. Her own tongue slipped along her lips as his licking became more determined.

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

  So we got lost. We spent a half-hour locked in kisses outside on the sidewalk, pressing our hips together, muttering tender obscenities in each others’ ears, groping under each other’s shirt, taking turns running our index fingers along each other’s lower lip, unbuttoning buttons and letting the cold night air ripple over our skin, nibbling each other’s neck in full view of a parked patrol car. When we finally let go of each other we waved at the two cops; the officers seemed to blush like schoolboys. I wished her good night and rode my train home with my face on fire, my cock surging as I recalled my hands on her warm skin, the supple after-tingle of her lips on mine. And most of all that blue- eyed gaze of hers: sharp, hungry, determined. For two weeks, she phoned me nonstop trying to arrange a rendezvous. I reminded myself that student crushes are just that, and that I would be driving down a dead end — she was going to marry Mr ATM. I hated myself for how much my heart leaped at hearing her voice. My pussyfooting around her requests didn’t work. Soon I got tired of resisting. “Why don’t you come up here,” I suggested. I met her on the train platform. She was wearing a tight fitting denim jacket over a slate gray halter dress and matching gray sling back heels. We strolled with our arms snaked around each other’s back as if we might fall down if we didn’t hold tight to prop each other up. She tried to distract us from our own sexual tension by enumerating the property values of the storefronts and buildings we passed. Honeymoon with Shannon 41 After dinner, I brought her home to my apartment to “meet my goldfish”. The goldfish was indifferent; I wasn’t. When I helped her out of her denim jacket, the sight of her bare arms, lightly freckled and perfumed with talc, made me feel so intensely alive I felt I’d walked into someone else’s life. I led her into my bedroom and I put on Miles Davis’ Sketches of Spain. She closed her eyes and told me what a sharp interior design eye I have. “For a starving poet, at least.” I knelt down in front of the bed and drew back the slit of her long gray skirt, staring up at her as I raised the fabric over her knees. She closed her eyes. She asked me for some poetic lines. “Slate gray like the sea. Scented,” I said, “like wave-spray.” She smiled and threw her head back, her long red hair dangling behind her back, her draped hair almost touching the sheets on my bed. I studied her tightly crossed legs. Then I wedged her legs apart, gently, willfully. I quoted the Talking Heads to her. “Dreams walking in broad daylight.”

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

  I knew I shouldn’t be doing it, that it went against the professionalism which was such an important part of my job, but I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and circled his cock with my fingers, feeling the hot, hard length of him. His sigh of pleasure was barely audible as I stroked him gently. He rolled back, pulling me on to the mattress with him, and we began to kiss, his mouth soft and tasting faintly of spearmint. It felt strange to be still fully dressed while he was naked, but if I thought that gave me the upper hand in matters, I was proved wrong. Suddenly, he climbed over me, and the weight of his body pressed me down as he straddled my chest. My hand barely broke its rhythm on his shaft, even when he pulled my T-shirt out of my jeans and started cupping and squeezing my breasts through my bra. I wriggled beneath him, using the seam of my jeans to give my overheating pussy the stimulation, it craved. Now it was his mouth that explored my tits, his tongue dampening the nylon of my bra and flicking over my nipples. “Take it off,’ I urged him, wanting to feel his lips against my bare skin. My T-shirt and bra were stripped off me without ceremony and, as he suckled my bare breasts, my hand continued to wank his cock. We were both panting heavily by now, and drops of sweat glistened on his torso. I guided his hand down to the fly of my jeans, hoping he would take the hint. I was pretty sure he knew exactly what I wanted, but he seemed determined to make me beg. “Please . . .” I murmured, pressing my crotch against his fingers, and I was rewarded with the rasp of my zip being pulled down. Between us, we started hauling my jeans and panties down, but when they reached my ankles he pushed me back to the mattress, leaving me effectively hobbled by the tangle of denim and white cotton. It felt strange to have my movements restrained as his fingers began to explore the soft, wet flesh of my sex, but I gave myself up to the feeling. I had let go of his cock and lay submissively as he circled my clit with a lazy fingertip. I was blossoming, opening up under his touch, readying myself for the moment when the thick head of his cock breached the entrance to my pussy, and. yet somewhere at the back of my brain a little voice nagged at me. 248 Elizabeth Coldwell “Condoms,” I muttered. “In the bedside cabinet.” If he found the vibrator now, I didn’t really care. An image flashed through my mind of him using it on me, sliding its buzzing length deep into my cunt, or even using it to explore my tight, virgin arse.

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

  For the special day, I wore my favorite jeans and a loose white top, leaving the pearly buttons undone to the center of my bra. I went online and read story after story of naughty girls who needed to be spanked. Some of them horrified me; I mean, ’m a middle- aged businesswoman, and I was getting off on the idea of girls half my age getting paddled by their former teachers right after they’d graduated? Well, yes, I was. All those pretty young things in their schoolgirl skirts made me long to be eighteen or nineteen again, innocent and carefree. How I’d wasted my early years, content to do it in the dark, under the covers, missionary or, if I was lucky, on top. Marco hadn’t even let me suck his cock, telling me that such behavior was unbecoming of a young lady like myself. Of course, when he wasn’t around, I’d spent copious solo masturbation time fantasizing about a man who didn’t give a shit what was ladylike or even what I would be into; he’d take from me exactly what he needed, pulling my hair, slapping my ass, and “forcing” me to suck his cock. Those fantasies got me through countless boring classes, solo expeditions, and even a few sessions with Marco. And now, perhaps, I was simply doing what I was destined to do: take the spanking that rightly belonged to me. That’s right; this 416 Rachel Kramer Bussel was all about empowerment. I jolted in my seat, feeling heat rising to my cheeks as my doorbell rang, and wondering if I had a just- been-fucked flush on my skin. I buttoned my jeans back up and gave myself a once-over in the mirror, then raced to the door and flung it open. It should say a lot that I barely glanced at the muscular young man before me. He looked like a college student; way too young for me, but that had never stopped me before. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said, almost killing my sex buzz. “Where shall I put this?” ’d pondered and pondered that question, but had opted for the only real space I had available: my living room. The bedroom would’ve been more discreet, but it also would’ve swallowed it. Besides, I live alone and I have the right to get off in any room I damn well please. I’d certainly spent plenty of nights sprawled on my couch with my vibrator pressed against my clit while watching a dirty movie. I watched him put the box down, then wipe his brow with a handkerchief. ““Would you like something to drink?” I asked, more out of rote politeness than any real desire to delay him. I wasn’t looking to seduce him, or even flirt, which was new for me; usually men like him were a challenge to me, a pleasant distraction from the rush of my daily business dealings.

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

  The boy, dressed in a skimpy Speedo that doesn’t bother with his rump, stands up and crosses over to the pocked wall. Straight- spined, no shame or hard work to weigh him down, he left a trail of brags about his famous mistress, all too easy to follow. Who knows how old this preening donkey is? Twenty? Thirty? Hard to tell now that ve passed forty and then some, and she’s not far behind me though she still looks just beyond jailbait. Youth all looks the same to me now, bland, like this new crop of bare-bellied hoochie girl singers who can’t touch Kiara’s talent or beauty; you can’t tell them apart except for the Kool-Aid streaks in their hair that I want to yank. So easy for me to pollute their images with the shots I manufacture, their disgrace smeared across the checkout stands. ‘The boy, this spoiled pony, kneels in front of the cat-holed wall. Kuara’s panicked, grown careless to allow his unbridled mouth. He reaches through an opening, his scapula flexing as his arm disappears up to his shoulder. The other hand reaches between his own legs. I know he paws under the folds of her shrouds as she stands on the other side. Thinking he fondles a creature who looks like the poster The Strangler Fig 91 in his gym locker. She hasn’t wholly given herself to him, yet. She makes them all wait, until they have little sense left when the time comes. Their last glimpse of her must paralyse them. This little display is for me. Not you, she’s saying to me. Never you. I cap the telephoto; she sees my eye blink closed. The boy’s hand drops free. Even from here, I see his fingers rise to his nose, see the snap of his head, turning away, the hand snapping in the other direction away from his face. Put it in your mouth, I say out loud, but he kneels beside the pool and splashes it in the water, then dries it on a towel, rubbing until it’s well past dry. Developing film has been almost impossible in this sun-drenched town. Dust, salt-laden air, and Cancer’s Tropic light all leach through door seams and window cracks, infiltrating even inner rooms, like the ants and cockroaches. I can’t darken even the back bedroom or bathroom, but I manage to stuff myself into a closet and feed the negs into the metal roller. I cap the lid on the canister and move my wrists, not rapid like a bartender’ s, but smooth like a dancer’s, to agitate the developer evenly over the film. The solution is not one I purchase over a counter, but my own concocted recipe. It’s taken a great deal of experimentation and patience to perfect the formula.

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

  “On the bed,” he says. He pulls her over and pushes her down face first on to the mattress. Dominique wipes her mouth with her hand, totally confused, on fire for him and feeling her mouth’s emptiness throughout her entire body, as if a part of her is missing. Her sudden need makes her weak and unsteady, and she lets him push and pull her around on the bed until he has her as he wants her: head down on the mattress, ass in the air, knees parted. She remembers the mirror standing against the wall and looks over to see herself. She looks at the woman on the bed, the wicked stockings and garter belt, the breasts hanging down in elongated cones. She is a slut, she realizes, a brazen, shameless slut who’s about to be fucked by a total stranger. Sheldon seems to be capable of reading her mind because he caresses her naked bottom and says, “I want you to forget all about who you are. For tonight I want you to be nothing but a body, pure sensation. All you do is feel.” He pushes her knees together and pulls her hips back so that her puffy lips are compressed into two fleshy buns between her thighs. He holds her knees together, squats down and licks her, a lewd, 22 Valerie Grey . animal-like swipe of his tongue, totally unexpected. She shudders, and he licks her again, pushing his mouth against her and trying to spear his tongue inside, though with her legs compressed he can only just touch the sensitive nerves at her entrance. The way he licks her and presses his face against her is obscene, primitive and feral. It’s totally unlike what she expected from this worldly and urbane man, but the very wildness of his actions arouses her terribly and brings out her own primal feelings, dirty and deliciously alive. She sneaks a glance in the mirror again and sees him kneeling on the floor, his face pressed into her ass. One hand caresses her buttocks, pulling them apart and squeezing. His other hand is on his hard, glistening cock, and he’s pumping himself, masturbating as he licks and mouths her mons. He raises his hand and brings it down sharply on her rear, totally unexpected, making Dominique cry out in surprise. No one has ever struck her before, not even in play, and it shocks her, but when she tries to move he pulls her roughly back into place and slaps her bottom again. “Ow!” she lets out. “Shush,” he warns. “Stay still! ’m not hurting you.” He slaps her again, and Dominique grabs on to the bed cover, not knowing what else to do. It’s a violation of all that she believes about love-making, and yet the angry sting of his hand on her flesh satisfies something deep inside her, some need to be owned and possessed, to be punished for her own erotic desires.

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

  “Keep it nice and relaxed, dear,’ I whispered. “It will stretch you, and you will feel it, but it won’t fill you; no, you mustn’t have that satisfaction without your husban‘d’s permission, must you, my dear? I do wonder where you will be wearing this lovely thing; I’m sure no amount of cover-up would hide the obvious fact that your holes are filled and your nipples as swollen as overripe cherries. I expect you'll draw quite a lot of attention, wherever you go. I like those heels, my dear; they do thrust out your bum quite helpfully — look how ready you are now. Now keep still, dear girl, and don’t tense those muscles.” I pushed the dildo against the tight little pucker, easing it in, keeping a tight hold of her spread cheeks in case she panicked, though I suspected she was well used to this method of penetration. She took it without protest, grunting quietly and rocking back and forth, until it was fully seated. All that remained for me to do was to tighten the straps so that neither dildo could possibly be dislodged and leave her to accustom herself to the sensation. _ “Well, that’s ... very nice,” said Mr Fox, and I had to agree with him. The slightly protuberant flange of the anal dildo separated her cheeks pleasingly, and her pussy lips swelled out at either side of the invasive strap. Now I was tempted to take up Mr Fox’s offer of a photography session, but he interrupted my train of thought, ordering his lady to, ““Walk across the room for us. No tottering on those heels.” Wd. Fustine Elyot Mrs Fox straightened, straining to keep her posture dignified and refined, but from the moment she took her first waddling step, it was obvious that dignity and refinement would not characterize her gait in this garment. Unable to close her thighs, and highly conscious of her penetrated bottom hole, she had to bow her legs slightly in order to get anywhere. Keeping her head down, she shuffled across the room, working hard at keeping upright on those vertiginous five inch heels, coming to a halt at the full-length mirror. “Lovely. Now get on your hands and knees and crawl back.” She dropped to all fours and began to creep towards us. Oh Lord, I had never seen anything so exquisite than this beautiful, silent, submissive woman in her depraved garb, crawling in my direction, embodying all my sublimated fantasies together. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” Mr Fox picked the strangest moment to leave the room, just as his wife had arrived at my feet. “Oh...” I glanced after him, mildly consternated, then turned my attention to the woman on the floor. Without looking up at me, she crouched over and kissed the toe of each of my patent leather court shoes.

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

  It really shouldn’t be that difficult, Lacy told herself. She danced in front of an audience four nights and one afternoon a week under the nom-de-hump Amber Lust. “Amber” did not shimmy in an old historical theater like the Chimera, of course, but at The Mustang out on Highway 35. Nor did she work it in front of a well-dressed crowd of San Esteban’s screamingest queers and howlingest hipsters swilling highballs and cosmopolitans while yowling, “Woo-woo- woo- lake it off!” but, rather, in front of an ill-washed crowd of mustachioed truckers glugging Bud and Jack Daniels and screaming “Show us your pussy!” She also did the Stang’s particular brand of dance minus the feather boa, the rhinestone headdress, the choker, the hot pink bustier and matching satin skirt and the fishnet stay-ups and the fan or the tinsel-trailing baton and the mask and the peignoir and the bowling pins. Instead, she started out in a black string bikini, Sally’s-issue because that was the way they did things at the Stang, black because after her first six shifts she’d begged and pleaded with Bobo not to make her wear neon pink any more. It was kinda hard to striptease when all you had to lose was your top. At the ultra- sleazy Stang, county liquor laws required her to retain the bottoms 126 Thomas S. Roche throughout the performance. But exuding the kind of smoldering sensuality that reduced men to cash-waving lunatics had come naturally to Lacy ever since she started at the Stang late last year; maybe she was just a natural exhibitionist. Whether it was natural or cultivated, there was no question that the moister she was when she finished a show, the more cash she had stuffed in her G-string. Easy as pie — so why couldn’t she pull it off with vintage lingerie and improbable props? She was a dancer, a professional dancer — had been for months. Shouldn’t this all come naturally to her? That was maybe the problem — it actually kinda did come naturally, which was where the chair-humping came in. Every time she got up onstage at the Chimera, she did one of two things. Either she stuck to the routine as prescribed and approved by the powers that be, and ended up looking like a white guy from Albuquerque. Or she went with her instincts, and careened from campy innocence directly into X-rated material, strictly verboten for Happy Henderson’s Ba-Ba- Bazoomba Revue, “Where the tease is queen!” as Hap put it. Well, that son of a bitch should know.

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

  I finish my drink and follow her. There is no handholding as Ava and I thread our way forward. The dance floor is filling with other couples looking for hot fun on a cold autumn night. All I can see is the way her skirt rides the curves of her backside with each step. The whiskey has done its job, leaving a volatile trail of desire. It’s a small club, intimate, but there are few enough people tonight that we have our own universe within the mass of hot bodies. A universe with a perfect view, just for him, so he can watch as we spiral toward each other, toward ignition. Music fills the room, leaving no escape. The rhythm has invaded her, washing her in an ethereal splendor. So beautiful, her hips swaying in languid figure eights, lips parted, eyes burning into mine. I know they are a package deal. In order to have Ava, I must share her with Simon. He’s attractive enough but she is the reason I came so far. I reach for the swell of her hips. Her warmth seeps through the thin material of her skirt into my hands. We move together, alone in the sea of bodies. Her hips, my hands, our only contact points, still separated by a searing gap of space. She covers my hands with hers, pressing them harder against Her hips, taking control. Each sway brings her closer to me until our bodies touch at last. She feels so good. Her breasts against mine, our bellies touching, her body so like my own. And, there is nothing left in the universe but the live wire that is her. “Veronica.” The sound of my name is lost in the music but I don’t need to hear her tone to understand her. I twine my fingers with hers, squeezing, using the leverage to guide her mouth to mine. She parts her lips in anticipation. So soft. She tastes of smoky vanilla. Trailing small kisses, I nip and suckle her slender throat. With bold hands, she cups my breasts through my clothing, capturing my nipples between her thumb and forefinger. The pressure borders on painful and draws a moan from deep within me. Time and place lose all meaning. I seek her warm, inviting mouth wanting to devour the sounds of her arousal. The skin between her thighs is smooth, her panties silken and taut under my fingers. Her moan vibrates down my throat and rumbles in my chest. She rocks, pleasing herself against my hand. An insistent tapping on my shoulder breaks the spell. It’s a man in a sharp suit wearing an unhappy, somber expression. Ava and I scramble apart, guilty like children caught with hands in a cookie jar. 282 Alice Gray “Excuse me, ladies. I’m going to have to ask you to take your party elsewhere. Sorry. Club policy.”

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

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” He kissed the top of her head as he continued to stroke her. i She sighed sleepily. “I was so«tired by the time I took a shower I just wanted to curl up and go to sleep.” He stroked her pussy gently. “I would have helped you get to sleep.” ““This is so much better than sleeping,” she whispered, covering his hand with her own. “That feels good.” “Want more?” She nodded against his shoulder. “Yes, please.” ‘Slowly, he pushed his finger inside her. “You’re getting wet.” “Imagine that.” He kept up his slow circles, teasing her with his warm touch. “Naughty girl.” Charlotte hooked her leg over his, spreading herself even wider for his touch. “Oh yes,” she said, ending on a sigh as his finger slid deeper. “I think I want more.” He added a second finger inside of her. “Like that?” She moaned, arching off the bed to take his fingers inside her. “Just like that.” He stroked her slowly, her wetness coating his fingers. She could hear the liquid sounds her pussy made as he stroked her. The noise was as arousing as this slow build up of tension. She squirmed against his hand, eager for more but willing to let him set the pace. 180 Kristina Wright She reached down and fondled his cock just as slowly as he was touching her. He made a soft sound of approval and pushed against her hip. She smiled, sure she could hold out at this languid pace longer than he could. He apparently didn’t want her to think she had the upper hand because he upped the ante by pressing his thumb to her swollen clit. She jumped as if shocked and clamped her thighs around his hand. Ian chuckled. “I wanted to make sure you were awake.” She harrumphed as she swirled her thumb over the tip of his cock, catching a bead of wetness along the way. “I’m as awake as you are, sweetheart.” “Excellent.” His fingers glided into her, curving upward to stroke the inside of her pussy. She was still tender from the previous day, but she was getting wetter as he touched her. A familiar ache began to build inside her and she felt her nipples pucker in response to her growing arousal. Ian’s arm was beneath her neck and he reached down to stroke the swell of her breast, the dark edge of her hard nipple. His fingers, callused from years of handling fire equipment, felt rough against her tender flesh. The sensation sent chills through her and she inhaled sharply.

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

  Then my parents went away for a fortnight, leaving me in Luke’s eare. Oh, the irony. If only they had known how much the idea of it excited me. It was our first night alone, and I had been thinking about him all evening, barely aware of the blockbuster movie I’d gone to see with my friends. I wanted to get home, to see if Luke was there. But now he had a woman in there with him, and that woman wasn’t me. 448 Saskia Walker I was intensely curious, and it struck me that I was getting hot just thinking about him having sex, even if it wasn’t me he was having it with. The push-pull reaction of the unexpected situation had me on edge. Torn, I glanced at my bedroom door. He probably thought I was in there, asleep. Like a good girl. I looked back at his doorway and saw a shadow move across the room beyond. His shadow. I couldn’t walk away. Luckily I hadn’t switched the landing light on. I was glad of the darkness, glad that I was standing in the gloom and that his door was open and I could see into his room. I’d had a couple of beers earlier. That probably helped, too. I stepped farther along the landing, until I could see him. He had his shirt off. I’d seen him seminaked before, in the kitchen in the mornings. He’d have a towel round his waist, his body still damp and gleaming from the shower. I managed to muster up an early morning conversation so I could watch him pouring out coffee, stirring in three teaspoons of sugar as he chatted to me easily, watching me all the while. Watching me in a way that made my body feel womanly and alive. That’s what he’d done to me; he’d made me feel alive. And although I remember saying something in response to his early morning conversations, it wasn’t what I was thinking. What I was thinking was X-rated. I wanted him to bend me over the breakfast bar and introduce me to real sex. The woman was sitting back on his bed, and he had his knees pressed against hers. As I watched, he bent over her and pushed her silky red dress up along her thigh, exposing her panties. Craning my neck, I could see that they were very small, a narrow strip of sheer black fabric. Luke stroked the front of them, and when he did her hips moved on the bed, rocking and lifting under his touch. My pussy ached to be stroked that way. My pulse was racing. Would he strip? Would I see him naked, as I longed to do?

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

  He goes to the wall switch and turns off the lights. The only illumination is from the moonlight seeping through the French doors. He takes off his jacket and kicks off his shoes; removes his tie and unbuttons his shirt; shrugs off the shirt and lets it fall around his arms as he works on the cuffs. The sight of his chest and the domed muscles of his shoulders makes her breath race. He’s thicker and darker than Michael, and altogether more dangerous. She’s so intent on watching him strip that she doesn’t even notice her own nakedness. He pulls off his socks and unbuckles his belt, opens the zipper and lets his pants fall to the floor. Dominique can see his cock tenting his shorts, his beautiful, threatening cock, hard just for her. When he comes to her and embraces her again, his shaft presses into her lower stomach and she has the strong urge to reach down and feel it, but he grabs her arm and stops her. “No,” he says. “I’m taking charge. I’ll tell you when. Now, down. Down.” He grips her wrists and uses them to force her down to her knees at his feet. There’s no real need to force her. She’s willing, but his 20 Valerie Grey strength excites her: a measure of his hunger. She wants to be used, which is strange, because she’s always hated being treated as a sex object, but now his force is exactly what she wants. She wants to feel the depth of his need for her. She wants him to make her do things. He holds her with one hand on her wrist and pulls down his shorts with the other. His cock springs free, standing straight out in rampant eagerness. He’s shaved entirely bare, which only makes him look bigger and more magnificent: thick and hard and wreathed in veins, arching upwards defiantly and capped with a straining helmet like a medieval warrior. Below it, his balls hang ripe and heavy, obscenely potent: stones for a catapult. Dominique looks up at him from her knees. He looms above her, still holding her wrists in his hands, glaring down like Zeus from Olympus, his hips thrust forwards slightly. Dominique has a brief thought of Michael, of a line she never meant to cross, and then she closes her eyes. She opens her mouth and takes him inside. He moans, almost a growl, and she feels his hands tighten on her arms, urging her on. She slides her face forwards, feeling the head of his cock rubbing across the roof of her mouth and over her soft palate. She hears him groan again and he shudders, and something inside her smiles with deep relief and satisfaction.

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

  He reached for her arm and then leaned up to pull her face away and bring her close so her eyelashes flicked against him and his gaze said what he wanted. She shifted her weight and balanced on her knees, hovering over him. Taking a deep breath, she slid slowly on to his shaft, and he leaned back and groaned, eyes shaking beneath his eyelids. She moved side to side at first to adjust, then strained in a slow rhythm. He opened his eyes to see the white-skinned goddess arch her back with every lift and fall, his fingers tracing her ribs and around her nipples. She took his hand and placed his fingers in her mouth where she sucked on them, tasting the sweat. She placed his hand against her neck and opened her eyes and stopped. He read her thoughts and rolled them over so he was on top. She lifted her legs so that her toes were curled behind his head, pushing The Escape 209 him deeper. He felt both warmth and friction and the tantalizing taste like the bitter sweetness of acid chocolate — so soft and yet sharp enough to take his senses beyond. He used the edge of the poker table as leverage to push himself deeper. She contracted her muscles in time with his thrusts so that he was forever being teased and released. They continued this, slow then fast — each time he ran to the edge and ran back, until he finally took the leap. Shuddering and twitching, he breathed in deeply through clenched teeth, his hair flicking on to his face and sticking from sweat. After holding himself in mid-air, muscles clenched, he released and collapsed on the table, his limbs a mixture of pins and needles and elastic. His eyes opened and saw her lying there, looking at the ceiling. She could feel his cum flowing out now that she had relaxed, but she was still gripping the edge of the table in frustration, her white skin moving with every pounded heartbeat. She closed her eyes and then opened them suddenly as she felt his hair brush against her stomach and his fingers trace around her thighs. Again she entered the trance that he had placed her under while they were on the rug, minutes before. But this time he det his tongue and fingers bring her to the point where she forgot to breathe and the release brought light again to her blackout of consciousness. Her breathing returned and she opened her eyes, staring into space to the outside window at the stars performing for the last encore before the glare of daylight hid them. He walked over to his pants and put them on, slowly dressing as he looked at her almost-still body from behind, only the faintest rise and fall as she breathed. She heard him walk to the desk, unplug the computer and take out the iPod.

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

  At the next session, Leeny would not take off a garment until I had matched her, and again I painted her with artist and model in the nude. I finished the painting I was working on, and directed her to a new position on the chaise. For the first time, she just couldn’t seem to get it right. I approached. I touched her hip to turn her. She was like steel wrapped in silk. The almost cool blue tone of her flesh belied the radiant heat that poured from her. She smiled at me then let her mouth open just a little as she resisted my physical adjustment of her pose. I couldn’t help but taste. Her breath was laced with piquant, sweet cinnamon. She pushed her tongue deep inside my mouth, and the gold orb through her tongue plowed my taste buds. Leeny’s hot fingers squeezed my stiff rod almost too hard. I deluded myself that I might _ have some self-control left. She spread her strong thighs. “Taste me.” “Oh God, yes.” I knelt between her legs and traced up and down her opening slowly, then cradled her clit. Leeny’s moans grew as she 386 Craig F. Sorensen anchored her arms to the top of the chaise and ground her hips to my face. I pushed my tongue in her. She was delectable inside. Not perfumed, real and a bit meaty. My voice was muffled in her crotch, a series of incoherent exclamations of the beauty while I combed her fiery pubic hair with my thumbs. She waved insistently for me to climb her. I rushed my cash stash drawer and found a strip of rubbers and tore one packet open. Leeny made a wide O with her mouth and positioned the curled rubber on it. She slowly covered the tip then down the shaft. She retreated, tracing her steps with post in her tongue tracing the thick bottom vein. She laid back and spread her body again. “Give it to me, Scott.” Some cunts kiss. Some cunts stroke and some caress. Leeny’s swallowed greedily. I drew my fingers along the lines of the rose tattoo, then the jaguar as I savored her ripples. I focused on the artistry of her adornment to hold the floodwaters behind the feeble dam. Yes, they were tattoos, but the artist was a master. I told myself that a sensation of this depth could only lead to even finer paintings of Leeny. She turned me over and straddled me. She read my responses masterfully and stopped the powerful swinging of her hips each time my orgasm came close to resolution.

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

  She begins to move her head, feeling his knobby stalk bumping between her lips, and is gratified to feel his fingers tighten in her hair. “Easy,” he says. “Feel me, Dominique. This isn’t just for me.” She’s done this before of course, but never paid much attention to her own sensations. It was always for Michael, always a matter of finding out what he liked and doing it, but Sheldon is intentionally trying not to respond, to give her no cues and, except for an occasional low moan of appreciation, it’s up to her to find her own motivation and derive her own pleasure. She’s aware of the bumps and veined ridges on the shaft of his cock, the way the wide, rounded glans presses against her throat, and The Cavern 35 the thrilling hardness, the feel of something potent and aggressive pushing at her just above the point where she can swallow him. On a sudden urge, she pushes her face forwards and feels her throat close in stubborn resistance. She insists, pushing harder, feeling him touch the part of her that makes her want to gag, and she has to back off. She pulls her head off him, gasping for breath, feeling his cock emerging from her mouth trailing long strings of mucus from the back of her throat, and her sense of shame at her own lasciviousness brings her to a new state of arousal. The boat rocks gently upon the dark water as she repositions herself then slides her head forwards to take his cock again, the head slithering over her tongue and down her throat. She’s determined this time. Something fierce and female possesses her, and she’s determined to do this. There’s no time for shyness or circumspection; no time to think and worry. Some hunger compels her to take him inside as deep as she possibly can. She wants to swallow him like he’s never been swallowed The blood pounds in her ears as Dominique fights down her gag reflex. The head of his ‘cock is tight at the top of her throat and she feels her soft palate close on it in a series of muscular spasms, but still she doesn’t stop. She pushes her face farther forwards until the head of his prick is in her gullet. ‘Tears stream from her eyes as she fights the urge to reject him. She wants him there, deep within, all the way down to her stomach — even farther. Sheldon’s groan of harsh pleasure and astonishment echoes off the invisible walls and Dominique has a vision of the fish swimming in the darkness below, blind things in the caves, seeking the dark water.

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

  “And she’s a real tease. She’s the biggest horniest tease there is. And she has all these little minions at her beck and call, and they just have to watch as she stalks around in her tiny tight skirts and her blouses that show off all her cleavage.” “Does she have nice cleavage, Brad?” “Gorgeous cleavage. Her tits are like .. . They’re like ... moons.” I'd laugh, if it were not for the enthusiasm he packs into this ... “story”. He’s practically spluttering with it. And it’s obvious that he’s getting off on it in some way, too, because his stiff prick is now almost touching his belly. “And there’s this one guy ... this one guy she loves to torment more than the others. She loves to stand real close to him so he can smell her perfume right down to his cock. She likes to bend over him and show him everything she’s got. She likes to lick her lips and get his mind stuffed full with how it’d look sucking on him. Slut 331 He can hardly think straight and keeps doing things wrong because everywhere she’s there, begging for him to just . . fill her mouth and her pussy and her...” . “Yes, Brad?” saenherass 2 There are so many things that I don’t mind about Brad, this story included, but I think I like the little swallow he does after “ass”, the best. “I bet you’d like to do one after the other, wouldn’t you, Brad?” He swallows again, harder this time. Takes a calming breath. “If I say the wrong thing, am I gonna get cut off?” he asks, so plaintively that I actually can’t stop myself laughing, this time. “T tell you what, Brad. Why don’t you start with my mouth, and we'll see how far you get.” “T think about right here,” he says, half-amused with himself, half- tremulous. I laugh again, and reach for him. He does not come to me easily. Now that his finger’s on the trigger ‘and there’s so much on offer, he’s reluctant to start. “You know, I can usually go forever.” “What's different about now?” I ask, as I slither off my desk and down, down his body until ’'m on my knees. He looks gargantuan from down here. “You,” he whispers, before I run my tongue along the rubber-clad underside of his cock. It should taste bitter, I suppose, but it doesn’t at all. “Keep talking, Brad,” I say, between licks. “What happens next?” “Next she... Oh! Next ... Jesus ... she ... she decides I need to be punished, for all the things ’ve been doing wrong ... no don’t. Don’t suck me. Not yet — don’t!” I squeeze the base of his shaft and cock a look up at him. “Yowre doing really well, Brad,” I say, and he tries to fumble on

• From Cultish (2021)

  You had your BPs (bench presses), your BSs (back squats), your C2Bs (chest-to-bars), and your inevitable DOMS (delayed-onset muscle soreness). Who doesn’t love a catchy acronym? Alyssa was captivated by how tight-knit all these CrossFitters seemed—they had such a culture—and was dead set on mastering their private patois. A portrait of CrossFit’s founder, Greg Glassman (known then to devotees as “The WoDFather,” or simply “Coach”), hung on the wall of Alyssa’s box next to one of his most famous quotes, a fitness proverb that would soon sear into her brain: “Eat meat and vegetables, nuts and seeds, some fruit, little starch, and no sugar. Keep intake to levels that will support exercise but not body fat. Practice and train major lifts . . . master the basics of gymnastics . . . bike, run, swim, row . . . hard and fast. Five or six days per week.” Alyssa was taken with how CrossFit focused on shaping members’ mentalities not just inside the box, but everywhere. When driving trainees to work harder, coaches would bellow “Beast mode!” (a motivational phrase that reverberated through Alyssa’s thoughts at school and work, too). To help you internalize the CrossFit philosophy, they’d repeat “EIE,” which meant “Everything is everything.” When Alyssa noticed everyone at her box was wearing Lululemon, she went out and dropped $400 on designer workout swag. (Even Lululemon had its own distinctive vernacular. It was printed all over their shopping bags, so customers would walk out of the store carrying mantras like, “There is little difference between addicts and fanatic athletes,” “Visualize your eventual demise,” and “Friends are more important than money”—all coined by their so-called “tribe” leader, Lululemon’s founder, Chip Wilson, an aging G.I. Joe type just like Greg Glassman whose acolytes were equally devout. Who knew fitness could inspire such religiosity?) As soon as Alyssa learned that most CrossFitters followed a Paleo diet, she cut out gluten and sugar. If she made plans to go out of town and knew she wouldn’t be able to make her normal workout time, she quickly alerted someone at the box, lest they publicly shame her in their Facebook group for no-showing. Coaches and members were all fooling around with each other, so after Alyssa and her boyfriend split, she started hooking up with a trainer named Flex (real name: Andy; he changed it after joining the box). So here’s the big question: What do Alyssa’s and Tasha’s stories have in common? The answer: They were both under cultish influence.

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

  Instantly, his hand splayed across my lower back to calm me, a touch that managed to still my nerves and wet my panties. Quicker than the smoke from the candied combustion, he cleared himself from me and attended diligently to the prospective donors. He ought to have looked like a pauper among princes, he in a rumpled white lab coat and tattered tennis shoes, specked among designer suits and patent leather pumps. Yet they clung to his every word, enraptured by the mystifying language of science. As he led the group further into the lab I heard him begin to boast about the facility’s latest microarray technology. Good boy, I thought. He had obeyed my coaching and was hitting all of the major speaking points. After the event, I congratulated him and mentioned that if he felt the need, we could debrief. He told me that he would be working late and that if I stopped by, we would review things. I agreed. That evening, I found him bowed over a polarizing light microscope, his pert little ass hidden by the draping of his white lab coat. He stopped upon noticing my arrival. “Tm just examining some potassium chlorate,” he said. “Want to take a look?” I shifted toward the microscope resting on the waist-high table and bent to peer in the lens. Magnetized, the crystalline powder was Chemistry 121 transformed into jagged cubes of translucent hues, like miniature icecaps in Technicolor. Although lacking scientific training, I could appreciate beauty enough to admire the hidden complexity of a seemingly simple form. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Yes, it is,” he said, then smoothed the fingers of one hand down my lower back and around the curve of my rear. I didn’t move, and he continued, “I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I appreciate the short skirts.” His fingers continued their downward path and crept between the slit of my skirt. Two fingertips moved forward to slowly stroke the crease of my panties, which rested against my inner thigh. I felt the material soak with a sudden urgency. Unnerved by the speed of the situation, I stood straight and stepped aside. His hands trailed out of their reach. . “You think I didn’t notice that you’ve been dressing for me?” he asked, as he moved closer, trapping me between his body and the chest-high countertop of the lab bench, now pressed against my spine. “Safety is important in a lab; that’s why it’s necessary to wear long pants and flat shoes. cb glad you choose to live a little dangerously.” I blushed and averted my gaze downward as he called me out. “Do you know much about potassium chlorate?” he asked. I squinted as I retook his gaze and shook my head no, undoubtedly revealing my confusion, if not disappointment, by the sudden topic shift.

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

  She slipped my belt off my trousers and wrapped it around her fist and play-punched me in my stomach. Then she fit my belt around her small waist, the buckle dangling. As I lifted her by her haunches she tried to kick free. I lowered her down on the cake and she squirmed, closing her eyes and grinning as her ass crushed the cake. “Boy the icing is bloody cold!” I told her not to worry. “Help is on the way.” I lay myself down stomach-down on the bed, my head directly in front of her sex. I licked her inner thighs, licking up the flakes of cake and icing, and swirled my sweetened tongue along her sex, flicking my tongue on her cunt until she was wet, warm, wiggling. The icing melted on her skin as I kissed her thighs and dragged the tip of my tongue up her sex and down, in, down, down and then up again, quick strokes with my tongue till her sweetness wet my lips. I pulled myself up and we lay down in the missionary position, eye to eye, nose to nose, like a couple about to consummate vows. I entered her slowly, and stayed still inside her, swollen, hot, rigid. We remained motionless like that, face to face, our hands locked together tenderly savoring something we knew was ending. Ending, that is, until it started, first with her hips moving and then mine, my mouth on her right breast, lapping her nipple, nibbling, lolling my tongue at the soft under-skin of her breasts as my hands cupped her. 50 Thom Gautier She swirled her tongue in my ear and ran her fingers through my hair. I buried my fingers in her mass of red hair, massaging her scalp. I pulled the pins from her hair and let her red hair spill over the pillow and her cheeks. Her hair framed her face so wonderfully she looked like a movie star posed on the cover of Vanity Fair. I told her so and kissed her and lowered my face and kissed her nipples. I nibbled. I dragged the tip of my tongue from her neckline down to the space between her breasts, slathering each nipple again, lifting myself up just enough so that my cock stayed locked in place while I kissed her stomach, my tongue swirling on her warm skin as we rocked like that for what felt like an hour, an hour that ended faster than a millisecond as the two of us came crashing down on each other — into each other — muffling our cries in a kiss, kissing and then licking our chins as we fell, rose and fell and rose again only to fall finally waist deep into the hot running currents between our legs.

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

  She’s ashamed of herself, has been all day; conflicted by her behaviour last night, but now in this underground labyrinth of glistening towers with the black water below and around her, her hunger surfaces to a shocking degree. It’s as if the still lifelessness makes their human presence all the more precious and Dominique presses back against him and covers his hand on her breast with her own. There’s no one else around. She’s never been in a place so totally devoid of humanity and her sensual excitement seems to expand to fill the emptiness like the glow of the little boat’s lanterns seeks to fill the darkness. Sheldon’s sitting directly behind her and the feel of his shaft coming to life and pressing against her bottom is terribly exciting. She still worries that her own capacity to respond to a man might The Cavern 33 have been damaged and it’s gratifying to know that it hasn’t, but more gratifying is his response to her. His ardour seems greater than her own, and suddenly the memory of last night comes back to her in physical sensations: the memory of his cock inside her and the weight of his body on hers. Dominique presses back against him. His left hand leaves her breast and travels down between her legs and she groans. She’s on fire for him, as if she’s been drugged. She raises her knees and lets them fall open. Behind her, Sheldon chuckles. “What is it?” she demands. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing. Nothing at all. This place is very magical, isn’t it? It invokes feelings of majesty and awe, but finally they all come down to sex, don’t they? When words fail us, we always have that.” He uses both hands to open her jeans and his warm hand dips inside. Dominique has to stifle a cry as he finds her and begins to play with her. “Sheldon! Should you?” Again, he is amused by her. “I doubt there’s another place on earth as private as this,” he says: The boat hardly moves. When Dominique opens her eyes she can see the stone columns stained yellow by the kerosene light, soaring into the darkness. She’s in a place of deep beauty and secrecy, and even Sheldon’s hand moving between her legs seems to have some extra meaning, summoning up something dark and primal from her depths. The boat hardly moves. Sheldon is kissing her now, kissing the side of her neck and her face as his hand rubs and massages her breasts and catches her nipples between his fingers. His hand between her legs is busy and coated with her wetness, and Dominique’s belly and hips are grinding about as if trying to dispel a sudden empty ache she feels.