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)

  ‘Bonne chance, little sister.” Locan and Rachel remained. “He said I’d live a long time, Locan.” “Uh-huh.” “Tocan ... how old is Connor?” “Well... I’m not so sure. That debt he says he owes me. Seems an ancestor of mine, a Paladin, caught him napping one evening after a long pursuit. Had him cold. But, for whatever reason, he let him live. ~ Just stuck his sword into the ground and they had themselves a nice chat, like a couple of gents.” “His sword? When was this?” 238 Robert Buckley “T dunno, around 800 I guess. Connor’s tangled with Roman legions...” “Roman?” “Uh; yeah? “And Clare?” “Oh, Clare’s just a baby.” Her eyes pressed him for an answer. “Okay, she was born late in the sixteenth, maybe early seventeenth century.” “Jesus, Locan. Are they ... immortal?” “Connor says no, but he has no idea how long he’ll live. They can beslalledssowers “So what?” “Nothing ... just don’t get reckless.” “Oh my God... Locan.” “T know it’s a lot to dump on you all of a sudden. The main sett is, I need to convince Rome that you’re not a threat.” “Why ...Why are they hunting them?” “T don’t know. Fear, mistrust . . history.” Rachel tossed back her drink. “They kill .. “Not anyone you’d miss,” Locan replied. “Like Connor said, they . don’t they?” . take out the garbage.” Rachel frowned and squeezed his hand. “C’mon kid, let’s get out of here.” She had lain in his arms about an hour, but he could tell she was awake. The poor kid, he thought. What a pile of brick to be dumped on one girl. Then she stirred and climbed on top of him, nestling his cock between her thighs. It didn’t take long for him to stiffen. She raised her hips and sheathed him with her warm, slick cunt. No words, just a swivel of her hips and a steady grind that increased in intensity. He just laid back and let her fuck him, let her take control. A roiling began in his balls; he didn’t want to release until she reached her climax. He watched as her deep red nipples swirled in circles with each swivel of her body. “Oh, God... ALecan!” Blue sparks danced around her shoulders and a flight of blue fireflies flittered around the bed. “Racey! Sweetie, be careful!” Its okay 2 ol mie eee... controks Paleting 339 Locan closed his eyes. “Oh, Jesus!” Rachel shuddered; she’d soaked him. Blue electricity sparkled all around them, and then subsided. She bent over, her breasts flattened against his chest. “Yum,” she cooed. “I want to eat you up.”

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

  “Gracias,” I said, turning to the customer, but I didn’t smile. He nodded, lips tilting in wry amusement. The brandy was rough, its heat scorching my throat and blazing inside my chest. The nape of my neck was wet with sweat, my hair damp. I was concerned about the ice melting in my jug and wished I could sip the ice water. The ceiling fan clicked faintly. Nobody spoke and I was relieved. It could simply be this guy was silently extending the hand of friendship. If so, I would silently shake it then shoot off home. The brandy was difficult to drink though, fire when I wanted ice. “Ay, qué calor,” said my new friend at length. “Si, qué calor,’ I replied. Hot weather. I sipped my brandy. I could feel him watching and his passive interest bugged me. After a couple more minutes, wanting to escape his gaze, I asked for the Javabos and was directed down a flight of rickety stairs. I descended toward a basement with On My Knees in Barcelona 111 scruffy, dark crimson walls, toilets at the far end and a swinging door with a small, dirty window lined with wire mesh. Halfway down the stairs, movement below caught my eye. I paused, looking over my shoulder at the corridor behind me. Beyond an open door was a guy on a chair and a woman on her knees, her head bobbing in his lap. I clutched the banister, immobilized by fear and a sudden, pornographic lust. ‘My cunt swelled and swelled, blood throbbing there. Oh, Christ, what a picture. The guy’s mouth was slack, his head tipped back, as the woman, her chestnut curls fanning over his thighs, dipped up and down, up and down. Had they heard me? Hell, I hoped not. I needed to watch. Until that moment, I hadn’t known how much I wanted cock; hadn’t known how much I’d missed it since dumping the guitarist; hadn’t known that stab of raging desire. Because while I could fuck myself with cock-shaped objects (cool as a cucumber), nothing could ever come close to the overwhelming sensations of a deep, dark, blinding mouthful. I stared, hardly daring to breathe. The guy was young and lean, a tumble of ink black curls giving him an air of flamenco passion. Transfixed, I watched him grow fiercer, pulling the woman on to him, his fingers snarled in her hair as his pelvis rocked either to meet or defeat her. In her kneeling position, the woman kicked at the floor, squealing in muffled protest, her hands flapping. My yearning for cock was knocked for six by a second wave, a shocking urge to be claimed and used in a myriad of filthy ways.

• 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 never thought of herself as being particularly good at oral sex, but then she’d never really had any way to judge. Michael had tended to lie back and keep quiet, but Sheldon is the exact opposite. She can feel his cock quivering in her mouth, hear his satisfied moans as her lips envelop his shaft, and feel his excitement in the way he grips her arms. He lets go of her now and reaches down and caresses her face, running his hand over her cheek and then over her lips to feel them stretched around his cock. “Yes,” he whispers. “Like that. Show me how you love it.” He begins to move his hips, slowly fucking into her waiting mouth. Dominique puts her hands on his thighs and feels the iron-like rigidity of his muscles. Above her, she can see his stomach trembling with tension, and the realization that she is having such an effect on him arouses her terribly. She begins to bob her head up and down on his cock, sucking as hard as she can. Already he’s panting. Dominique weighs his balls in her hand, feels their heavy potency, and his overwhelming maleness makes her The Cavern 21 groan herself. She knows where that cock is going, knows there’s no way to stop him, and it’s such a relief to her. He reaches down and combs his fingers through her hair, pushes it back from her face so he can watch her, then holds her head gently as he begins to fuck her mouth with slow, deep strokes. ‘The way he uses her excites her; the way he takes control of her and imposes his will leaves her free of any responsibility, free to just experience the feel of him in her mouth. His excitement communicates itself to her, and suddenly she’s on fire, sucking his cock, pulling it from her mouth and rubbing it over her cheeks, painting her face with his seeping lubricant. Sheldon thrusts his hips out, wraps her hair in his fists and begins to fuck her mouth with a hard, steady rhythm. It’s a savage way to treat this girl, yet she responds with moans and gasps of her own, thrilled by his violence. His stomach trembles, the big muscles in his thighs stand out like steel cords, and he lets her feel all his animal desire, pure and undiluted. But when he feels himself close to coming — when he feels the muscles tightening in his ass and belly, the fire in his nerves that signal the start of release — he stops, pulls his penis from her open mouth and bends down. He lifts her to her feet before she knows what’s happening.

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

  “But—!” “But what?” she chuckled, sprawling out among the soft sheets and plump pillows, her white body stark against the midnight blue of the bedding. “Didn’t I tell you I was a cruel heartless bitch?” she reminded him, one foot dangling over the side of the bed, working its way through the bars of the cage to brush his face. And very good at it, Brian was coming to learn. She slept before he did, her situation more comfortable, her state more satisfied, but would wake at intervals throughout the night — usually when Brian felt that he might at last find some sleep himself — and resume caressing him with her foot, maintaining his restlessness, a time or two getting out of bed to squat beside his cage, working her hand between the bars to fondle his cock or caress his balls. Her body was so close then, but denied him by the steel bars which _ separated them, and as much as he wanted to bury his face between her breasts, kiss her flat belly or feel her strong arms enfold him, all he could do was press his cheeks against the cage to show her how much he needed these things. 262 Severin Rossetti Whatever hour of the morning it was when she finally released him he was unable to say, there was only one long narrow window high on the wall in that basement room and a heavy velvet curtain covered it. In any case her treatment of him throughout the night, the repeated deprivation of sleep, had made any notion of time too confused. Whatever the hour, finally Brian’s hands were freed and the lid of the cage lifted, his feet released from their restraints and a hand offered him, helping him to rise. His limbs ached from being held immobile for so long and he rose like an arthritic old man, flexing his muscles to try to bring some feeling back to them, stood unsteadily on tottering feet as he stepped out of the cage. Stumbling, he fell into her arms and, though it was more support than an embrace which she offered him, it felt so wonderful, a warmth and a comfort such as he had never known in the arms of a woman. Slowly she turned him, as if they were dancing, backed him towards the bed and let him fall on to it. However many hours before, when he had first set eyes on that woman, Brian had pictured himself fucking her like a stallion, rutting like a wild beast, pounding away on her body beneath him. Now all he could do was lay there and gaze up at her as she lifted first one knee and then the other on to the bed, straddling him. One hand circled his cock, as she lowered herself on to him, and he thought he might come just to feel her touch.

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

  Melissa handed her a dirty martini and leaned in close to be heard over the house music. “I didn’t think you were going to make it. Is Ian peeved?” “Oh no,” Charlotte said, scanning the growing crowd in the club. “He’s staying over and I promised to wake him up when I get home.” “You've got that man wrapped around your little finger.” Wendy laughed. “He’s not the only one.” She tilted her head toward the opposite side of the club. “Here comes your little boytoy.” Charlotte followed the direction of her friend’s gaze and felt her pulse jump. At six-foot-four, with a body of lean planes and sculpted muscle, Terrence was hardly little - nor was he anyone’s boytoy. He was, however, barely out of college, a fact that held more appeal than Charlotte could ever explain. She had met him when he’d come to the library to do research for his senior thesis. He had kept coming back after graduation. He was a lazy, but brilliant, music student with hands that could play her like a finely tuned instrument. As he strolled across the room, oblivious to the predatory looks he was getting from women of all ages, a shiver went up her spine. “Hey, babe,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled her into a tight hug. “Long time no see.” “T suspect you’ve been staying busy.” “T do all right,” he said with a lazy shrug. “But Pve missed you.” Wendy and Melissa made themselves scarce, giggling behind their hands as they left the two alone. Terrence knew the effect he had on women, with his exotic features and often insolent expression. It amused him to turn women into quivering, stuttering schoolgirls. Charlotte let him think she could take him or leave him — which she could — and that made her attractive to him. “Want to get out of here?” There was no subterfuge with Terrence, no hidden agenda. It was one of the things she liked best about him. “Tmpatient, sweetie?” He threw an arm around her shoulders and leaned in. “Impatient to be inside you,” he said. “I told you Pve missed you.” 174 Kristina Wright A naughty thought took hold in her imagination. She took Terrence’s hand and pulled him toward a dark hallway. She led him into the women’s restroom off the kitchen area where harried kitchen staff put together heavy appetizers to complement the cocktails. “What are you up to?” Charlotte closed and locked the restroom door behind him before turning on the light. “What do you think?”

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

  ‘The bedroom was less messy than it could have been, considering; having set up the lights to my satisfaction, I bundled up the duvet and shoved it out of the way beneath the bed, replacing it with a freshly laundered white bedsheet. I was moving various personal items off the bedside table when I became aware of a shadow behind me, and realized my model had come into the room. I hoped he hadn’t seen me bundling the slim, white vibrator which had passed for my sex life since Tim had left into the drawer. If he had, he said nothing, just glanced round the impromptu set I'd created. “So how do you want me?” he asked. So badly my pussy is throbbing just thinking about it, I thought, but I was determined to keep this professional. “Take your trousers off,” I said matter-of-factly. “I'll start with some of you in just your T-shirt and underwear. I take it you are wearing underwear?” When he just looked at me, I continued, “You wouldn’t be the first who wasn’t...” He was, as I discovered when he casually slipped off his trainers, socks and combat pants: little black briefs that clung to the contours of his cock and balls. I picked up my light meter and took a reading, then ordered him on to the bed. “Right, lie on your back,” I told him. “Raise one knee and let your legs fall apart slightly. That’s great...” When sportsmen have a great match, they talk about being in “the zone”; that moment when they can’t fail to hit the ball, when they feel almost incapable of making a mistake. Sometimes when I’m wielding the camera, it’s just the same, and it felt that way now. My instincts had been right; he was a natural model, with no shyness or inhibition. When I asked him to cradle himself through his underwear, he did it without embarrassment, and I could have sworn he was giving himself a couple of sly rubs through the fabric, helping to raise his cock from its slumbers. The camera clicked away as he stripped out of his T-shirt, displaying a chest that was firm and hairless. His nipples were hard, and I wondered just how much of a kick he was getting out of posing for me. I would know soon enough. 246 Elizabeth Coldwell “Okay, let’s get you out of those pants,” I said. “Peel them down very slowly, like you’re teasing me. I just want to see a glimpse of your pubes.”

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

  Without denying the associationist account to be a true description of a great deal of our proprietary feeling, we admitted in addition an entirely primitive form of desire. (See above, p. 420 ff.) The reader must decide as to the plausibilities of the case. Certainly appearances are in favor of there being in us some cupidities quite disconnected with the ulterior uses of the things appropriated. The source of their fascination lies in their appeal to our æsthetic sense, and we wish thereupon simply to own them. Glittering, hard, metallic, odd, pretty things; curious things especially; natural objects that look as if they were artificial, or that mimic other objects,—these form a class of things which human beings snatch at as magpies snatch rags. They simply fascinate us. What house does not contain some drawer or cupboard full of senseless odds and ends of this sort, with which nobody knows what to do, but which a blind instinct saves from the ash-barrel? Witness people returning from a walk on the sea-shore or in the woods, each carrying some lusus naturœ in the shape of stone or shell, or strip of bark or odd- shaped fungus, which litter the house and grow daily more unsightly, until at last reason triumphs over blind propensity and sweeps them away. [581] Review of Bain in H. Spencer: Illustrations of Universal Progress (New York 1864), pp. 311, 315. [582] Ribot: De 1'Hérédité, 2me éd. p. 26. [583] Quoted (without reference) in Spencer's Biology, vol. I. p. 247. [584] Expression of Emotions (N. Y.), p. 287. [585] 'Adaptive' changes are those produced by the direct effect of outward conditions on an organ or organism. Sunburned complexion, horny hands, muscular toughness, are illustrations. [586] For these and other facts cf. Th. Ribot: De l'Hérédité; W. B. Carpenter: Contemporary Review, vol. 21, p. 295, 779, 867; H. Spencer: Princ. of Biol. pt, II. ch. V, VIII, IX, X; pt. III. ch. XI, XII; C. Darwin: Animals and Plants under Domestication, ch. XII, XIII, XIV; Sam'l Butler: Life and Habit; T. A. Knight: Philos. Trans. 1837; E. Dupuy: Popular Science Monthly, vol. XI. p. 332; F. Papillon: Nature and Life, p. 330; Crothers, in Pop. Sci. M., Jan. (or Feb.) 1889. [587] [Because, being exhibited by neuter insects, the effects of mere practice cannot accumulate from one generation to another.—W. J.] [588] Origin of Species, chap. VII. [589] Princ. of Psychol., II. 561. [590] Ibid. p. 623. [591] Ueber die Vererbung (Jena, 1883). Prof. Weismann's Essays on Heredity have recently (1889) been published in English in a collected form. [592] Best expressed in the Essay on the Continuitat des Keimplasmas (1855).

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

  “Pluck?” She wrinkled her forehead and pursed her large mouth; “Courage, I mean”, I said. “Oh, I have courage!” she rejoined. “Did you ever come upstairs to Mrs. Mayhew’s bedroom”, I asked, “when I had gone up for a book?” The black eyes danced and she laughed knowingly. “Mrs. Mayhew said that she had taken you upstairs to bathe your poor head after dancing”, she retorted disdainfully, “but I don’t care: it’s nothing to do with me what you do!” “It has too,” I went on, carrying the war into her country. “How?” she asked. “Why, the first day you went away and left me though I was really ill”, I said, “so I naturally believed that you disliked me though I thought you lovely!” “I’m not lovely,” she said, “my mouth’s too big and I’m too slight.” “Don’t malign yourself,” I replied earnestly, “that’s just why you are seductive and excite a man.” “Really?” she cried, and so the talk went on while I cudgeled my brains for an opportunity but found none and all the while was in fear lest her father and mother should return. At length angry with myself, I got up to go on some pretext and she accompanied me to the stoop. I said “Good-bye” on the top step and then jumped down by the side with a prayer in my heart that she’d come a step or two down and she did. There she stood, her hips on a level with my mouth; in a moment my hands went up her dress, the right to her sex, the left to her bottom behind to hold her: the thrill as I touched her half-fledged sex was almost painful in intensity. Her first movement brought her sitting down on the step above me and at once my finger was busy in her slit. “How dare you!” she cried, but not angrily, “take your hand away!” “Oh, how lovely your sex is!” I exclaimed as if astounded, “Oh, I must see it and have you, you miracle of beauty!” and my left hand drew down her head for a long kiss while my middle finger still continued its caress. Of a sudden her lips grew hot and at once I whispered.

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

  Now I must leave him for the moment and turn again to Mrs. Mayhew. Of course I went to her that next afternoon even before three. She met me without a word so gravely that I did not even kiss her: but began explaining what Smith was to me and how I could not do enough for him who was everything to my mind as she was (God help me!) to my heart and body, and I kissed her cold lips while she shook her head half sadly. “We have a sixth sense, we women, when we are in love”, she began: “I feel a new influence in you; I scent danger in the air you bring with you: don’t ask me to explain: I can’t; but my heart is heavy and cold as death.... If you leave me, there’ll be a catastrophe: the fall from such a height of happiness must be fatal.... If you can feel pleasure away from me, you no longer love me. I feel none except in having you, seeing you, thinking of you—none. Oh! why can’t you love like a woman loves, No! like I love: it would be heaven; for you and you alone satisfy the insatiable; you leave me bathed in bliss, sighing with satisfaction, happy as the Queen of Heaven!” “I have much to tell you, new things to say”, I began in haste. “Come upstairs,” I broke in interrupting myself “I want you as you are now, with the color in your cheeks, the light in your eyes, the vibration in your voice, come!” And she came like a sad sybil. “Who gave you the tact?” she began while we were undressing, “the tact to praise always?” I seized her and stood naked against her body to body: “What new thing have you to tell me?” I asked, lifting her into the bed and getting in beside her, cuddling up to her warmer body. “There’s always something new in my love,” she cried, cupping my face with her slim hands and taking my lips with hers. “Oh, how I desired you yesternoon, for I took the letter to your house myself and I heard you talking in your room perhaps with Smith”, she added, sounding my eyes with hers; “I’m longing to believe it; but when I heard your voice, or imagined I did, I felt the lips of my sex open and shut and then it began to burn and itch intolerably. I was on the point of going in to you; but instead, turned and hurried away, raging at you and at myself—.” “I will not let you even talk such treason,” I cried, separating her soft thighs, as I spoke, and sliding between them. In a moment my sex was in her and we were one body, while I drew it out slowly and then pushed it in again, her naked body straining to mine.

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

  Angel spoke to Jordi in Catalan, tight hard words muttered under his breath. Jordi replied, throaty and urgent. With a sound like an expletive, Angel slammed into me, hissing as he lodged himself high. He was meaty and solid and he clasped my hips, gripping hard as he began driving into my hole. Every thrust jolted my body, jerking me forward on to Jordi’s lap. I felt skewered all the way through, my mouth and cunt both stuffed to capacity. The two men worked together, fucking, pushing, grunting and groaning. Occasionally they exchanged words I didn’t understand and once or twice there was amusement and faint laughter. They had me. They well and truly had me. And when Angel reached for my clit, I knew I was lost. My climax raced closer and I bleated with nearness. Angel hissed in Catalan. Jordi growled. “Sigue, sigue,” he said. He grabbed fistfuls of my hair, his cock swelling to its absolute limit in my mouth. I was a rag doll between the two men, so close to coming my limbs seemed to have lost their bones. With a hoarse cry, Jordi came, flooding my mouth with his bitter silk, and the sound of his release tipped me over the edge. I came hard, disoriented and dizzy as pleasure clutched and stars exploded in my mind. Moments later, my body began to drop with exhaustion but there was no letup from Angel. He kept fucking me like there was no On My Knees in Barcelona Li? tomorrow and my pulpy walls, swollen with sensitivity, clung to his thrusts. I held Jordi in my mouth, gasping on his dwindling erection until Angel’s hammering became so frenzied I fancied he wanted to destroy me. He peaked with a long, low groan, wedging himself deep, and I moaned around Jordi’s cock, wishing I could melt clean away. The three of us held still until Jordi stroked my hair, a tender gesture that took me by surprise. Angel caressed my buttocks. For a minute or two, we rested in silence and, in those moments, I felt we shared a tacit understanding and mutual respect. We had all got what we wanted and were grateful. But I didn’t want to stay. I had nothing to say to them, nor them to me. Conversation would have made us awkward and I wanted to leave it there, pure and perfect, a moment out of time devoted entirely to pleasure. Angel slipped away and I tidied myself up. Jordi asked how I was. I told him I was fine just as Angel returned with my jug, full to the brim with ice. There was no one in the bar when I left and all the lights were off. Jordi unlocked the door so I could leave. Gi

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

  I kiss her thigh before opening my mouth to lick a wet path from her inner thigh to her outer, just above the edge of the cuff. Her breath comes in fast, excited little noises. I switch paths, working my tongue up, letting the chain between us grow slack. She jumps a little as the chain settles against her pussy. As much as I want to taste her and lick her and feel her come in my mouth, I hold back, pulling the chain tight again so that I can’do the same to her other thigh. Her whole body vibrates. Shé moanss louder and longer this time. He leans his weight forward, pinning my bound arms between us, urging me on. Time has run out, there’s nowhere left to go but forward. I trace my lips across her smooth, bare skin for the first time. She hisses and jerks. A warm trickle runs down the curve of her thigh. I want to hear her begging to come. Using only the faintest touch, I kiss my way toward her clit, stopping just short. She moans and rocks her whole body toward me, straining for contact. He stands and begins undressing. When he has everything off, he kneels behind me and leans against me once again. “Youw’re so good with her,” he whispers. “Simon says, make us both come, Veronica.” He shifts on to his knees and slides his cock against my bound hands. “Make us both come.” Without letting up on her, I grip his cock so he can fuck my hands. He reaches forward, his fingers digging into her thighs while he thrusts. Every time he buries his cock in the tight well of my fists, it forces my mouth harder against her. He helps me fuck her this way, all on the same rhythm. So close, she is so close. All it takes is my ~ tongue finally flashing across her clit to set her off. She begs for permission to come loudly. He swells in my hands at the sound of her words. 288 Alice Gray Before he can even finish granting her permission, I feel her climax flow through her body, hear her loud cries of release, taste her orgasm. He comes right behind her, spraying hot jets across my back. She goes quiet first, laying limp on the soft bed. He rests his weight against me, his breathing deep and controlled. After a couple of minutes, he backs off me. “Tt’s your turn, Veronica. We’re both going to make you come. Simon says.” Rain and the Library Kris Saknussemm ‘The thing about research is that it’s so much more fun with two. And the thing about a library is that it’s like a superstore for people who love books and secret, seemingly random knowledge that suddenly gets found, as if part of a quest. So, I was excited about you helping me dig up a very hard to find book in the main files.

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

  “Have I...?” he starts to say, but I think something in my expression stops him. “Yes. You’ve done something very wrong. Very wrong indeed.” His face falls — and he does it well, too. It hardly looks put on at all. “I’m so sorry, Ms Layton,” he says. “How can I make it up?” Again, it’s all very convincing. He’s a clever boy. “Bend over that desk, and write on the notepad I have there exactly what you’ve done wrong, and how you expect to resolve the matter.” He hesitates for the barest of moments. I see his tongue touch his upper teeth. And then he does exactly what I’ve asked. He presents his rump to me perfectly, just like in the stationery cupboard, and then he takes up my best pen and starts scribbling with it. Each time he scribbles, his bottom wiggles just a little bit. It’s delightful. It’s begging for my hand. I don’t know why he makes that little shocked sound, when I whack my palm against that begging flesh. “Hoh!” he gasps. But he doesn’t stop writing. He doesn’t even turn around. It’s the third slap he looks back at me on, and I see his eyes so naked and his cheeks flushed and that mouth hanging open. Shock and sex and hunger all stirred up together. “Eyes front,” I tell him. “While I punish you.” “Ts this how you punish all your staff?” he asks, so I reach around and unbuckle his belt. Clearly he needs something more severe, and he doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t even go to stop my hand or ask again if I do this with all staff, he just moans and whispers something I can’t hear. “Louder,” I say, so he shouts out with a break in the middle: “T can’t believe this is happening!” “What did you think would happen, tease?” “I—” he starts to say, but then I yank his Calvin Kleins down to meet the trousers that are now around his ankles, and he groans for me some more. Slut 323 He has stopped writing altogether now. The pen is still clutched in his hand, however, though that doesn’t last long. Once his underpants hit the floor so does the pen, and, though I can’t see, I know exactly what he’s doing: jerking off. His thighs butt against the desk. His hips roll. I hear that slick clicking of a hand shuttling up and down a stiff cock, and he must know I can, too. But he doesn’t stop. Not even when I slap his bare buttocks hard enough to leave a mark. Instead he gasps: “I’m going to come all over the nice neat writing [ve just done for you.” “Bad slut,” I tell him, and slap right over the handprint I’ve just made.

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

  “That he liked them.” “That’s all?” “That they were big. That I had nice ones.” “Then what did he do?” “He kissed around, then licked around, then bit around my nipples. He wouldn’t suck them. He was tormenting me.” “Did your nipples get hard?” “So hard.” “What did you do?” “TI begged him to suck them. And he said I’d have to wait.” “Were you wet?” “So wet.” “What happened then?” “He made me promise that I would swallow his come if he sucked my nipples.” Biase “And what did you do?” “T promised that I would.” + “And did you?” Presalvaters “T really want to hear about that.” ‘There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, as she heard only Martin’s slow, slightly cold-congested breathing. Then, “T’ll call you back,” he said and hung up. k She made up the stories, of course, having long since exhausted her actual experiences, which she had fictionalized in the first place as to make them virtually unrecognizable. She saw herself as a kind of Sheherazade, though only vaguely aware of who that was. When Isabel looked up the name online, she saw that the analogy wasn’t perfect but close enough to make her feel connected to an oral tradition, in a line of great raconteurs. Yet after more weeks, this remained the only connection she could feel. Martin never stopped wanting to hear her “memories” (which she assumed he knew were padded with details picked up from porn films she saw online, actually had researched at home in her idle hours, the sites not being “safe for work”, and then made less ~ mechanical and cold when she offered them up as her own) but this remained the extent of their physical relationship. Soon he was not requesting to do it after work any more but only in the office, and didn’t reciprocate by touching her (for she, being shyer, refused to 156 Laurence Klavan have that done in public and still insisted on going to the ladies’ room by herself, and then even stopped doing that). Isabel began to feel their actions were fading into another form of passivity, more work, in other words, a new and modern job, the pressing of a penis the same as that of a “send” button, etc. It was around this time that their boss, Owen, requested her appearance in his office after five.

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

  It wasn’t the intentional fondling that was sending him to the edge, but the accidental brush of her breast on his arm, when her foot stepped on his, when her hair tangled on his slight stubble. Beneath the blindfold he felt the sweat gather and pour down his chest as it rose and fell, gulping for enough oxygen to stay standing and in control. Each breath was just more poison — smelling her sweat. When her hand snaked around from behind his back and down the front of his pants he knew that was the point of no return. He could either throw her away and lock her back up, or he could give in for just a little bit longer, to see just how far he could hold out. She didn’t pause — one hand she let creep further into his pants while the other undid his belt buckle and whipped it away in a flash. She put the belt around her neck and tightened it, leaving the end in his hand. While she stepped back to the front, she grabbed the blindfold away and saw his cheeks were flushed. “Took at me.” He looked at her as she crouched in front of him and unzipped his trousers with one hand while the other gestured for him to tighten the belt around her neck, which he did. When he looked down at her, he saw himself, rock hard, a slight movement with every heartbeat brought yet more blood and more pressure that he was only just tolerating. She stuck out her tongue, which was red and wet, then licked her lips for moisture. Leaning in, her lips tightened and he had to grip a nearby chair as her warmth met his body, teasing with her tongue as it moved along his shaft. Her movements were slow at first then firm; on the backward stroke she would suck in so that it felt there was no more room, then her hot breath would release him until she inched closer and closer each time, deeper and deeper. She looked to the chair where his fingernails were tearing at the chintz fabric. Looking up, she saw his head bent back, the sweat rolling over his hard nipples and his Adam’s apple dancing as he gasped for more air. She wondered what he was thinking about to stop him from blowing. Usually the man would have by now. Her strategy shifted into the next phase. She stopped on his shaft and instead massaged his balls — kissing, then sucking while her other hand ran up the inside of his thighs. “Mon dieu...” As soon as he said the words he woke up to himself. Oh no, she’s winning. Indeed she was, smiling with those lips that were so twisting him with irrational thoughts beyond the chess moves he was playing in his mind for distraction. The Escape 207

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

  “But I thought you use professional models?” “Not always. To tell you the truth, I don’t always like using professionals. A lot of them are a pain in the arse. They think they’re doing me a favor by turning up for a shoot, they whinge, they whine and they have these terribly possessive girlfriends who want to claw my eyes out for daring to look at their man naked. So I put adverts in places, and I get guys who’ve never modeled before, but they have great bodies and they have this natural, unspoilt air about them. I’ve even shot guys [ve met in the street before now.” A memory swam into my mind: a bloke I'd seen in a coffee shop on Regent Street, impossibly tall, Viking fair. He’d been a Danish student, disbelieving at first when I’d pressed my card into his hand, then flattered, and grateful for the money the shoot would bring. The photos had been among the best I’d taken, and Dare had used them as their centrefold. I sensed in the man sitting before me the same potential. “So say I was modeling for you, how would you shoot me?” he asked. “In the bedroom,” I replied without hesitation, the image forming in my mind so vivid I could almost touch it. “I’d have you lying in the crumpled sheets, looking like you’d just had the best sex of your life.” I could see it now: his limbs spread languidly on the bed, the rucked-up sheet nothing more than a strip of fabric across his groin, soon to be pulled away to reveal his hard cock in all its glory ... “Sounds good,” he said. “Why don’t we go for it?” I gaped at him. “Are you serious?” The dimple appeared in his cheek. “Why not? Ever since that designer told me what he did, I’ve had a fantasy about posing for some sexy photographs. This seems like the perfect chance.” ’ Ducks 245 If he was up for it, who was I to argue? I had been bemoaning the lack of suitable models less than an hour earlier, and now one had pitched up in my living room. “I'll need a couple of minutes to set things up. There’s another can in the fridge if you want it,” I told him. My camera was sitting in the spare bedroom, which I had converted into my darkroom when I’d bought the flat. I went to hunt it out, together with a couple of lamps which would create the dramatic lighting I needed for the shots I had in mind.

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

  The platter was set on our table. It was a piece of art. The different colored rolls were beautifully arranged, each with a mosaic inside, flecks of green and orange highlighting the more subtle fish colors, the fanned tail of a shrimp emergihg from the center of a large roll as if beckoning us to eat. And we ate. The hot wasabi and salty soy sobered me and my sushi-drunk was better than any alcohol high. I ate beyond full. I couldn’t get enough of the raw fish. If ’'d been fucking instead of eating, and I would not have traded those Nobu rolls for anything, not anything, my cock would have been ripped raw. When we left the restaurant, me walking chivalrously behind my date who’d insisted on paying since, she desperately said, ’d made her forget her ex completely, I made eye-contact with the thick sushi chef. He nodded once for me and I nodded once for him. Thad no type. I had fucked them all, every age and race and ethnicity, from every continent, and not because I was playing Around the World. It just happened that way. I think most thirty-seven-year-olds, if they were still single and enjoyed the single life that was New York City, would have been around the world several times. But when I saw her, walking out of Sushi Samba just before I was walking in, I stopped. Nothing made me stop when sushi was the destination, but she did. My sushi could wait an extra minute even if I had spent the day in my cubicle dreaming of Brazilian fusion rolls. She was beautiful, but there are many beautiful women in New York City. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman IJ had ever seen, not at all. Her eyes 422 Adam Berlin were a little too close together and her nose was a little wide and her body, while thin and fit, did not have the long, lean minx-quality that was as close to a type as I came. But her mouth was perfect. Her lips were the color of the best cut of tuna, rich and red and moist-looking and, seeing her lips, I couldn’t help but think about what her other lips looked like. I pictured her. I pictured myself in her. My cock inside two perfectly cut, sushi-colored lips. I had to stop. And I had to talk. I wasn’t even drunk, but I was drunk with wanting her and so, standing there on the crowded side of Seventh Avenue, I forced myself to block out the noise and block out my need for fusion rolls served with three flavors of dipping sauce, and I looked in her eyes instead of her mouth. “You,” I said, simple and clean, one-word raw. She didn’t say anything. But her eyes were clear and she didn’t move her eyes. “Even if youre full, even if you’re stuffed, come back inside with

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

  She was even better than in the photo. Her eyes like pools of black soot. It was night. A small bar near Bleecker Street. Within minutes I knew I had to have her. I was surprised by the dry coldness of her flesh when I soon undressed her — we had wasted little time on preliminaries or undue conversation; somehow an exchange of meaningful glances, signals and silences had been enough to confirm that the No Strings Attached encounter we had both been seeking was going to happen right there and then that same night. But she sheltered quickly within my embrace and my external warmth migrated across the maddeningly smooth landscape of her flesh and spread its comforting tendrils. The scarlet lipstick that illuminated her features soon stained my lips and my own skin. Her small, hard breasts with night dark nipples sharp as blunt razors were grazing my chest, and even with the hotel room’s main light off the delta of her cunt was like a deep primeval forest shining like a beacon in the heart of the darkness that surrounded us. We fucked. As soon as I was inside of her, I knew this was where I had always aspired to live, sheathed within her tightness, sliding effortlessly against the ribbed texture of her damp walls. Our mouths savagely vacuumed the contents of the other’s lungs in unholy communion. I came quickly. Exhaled. But her cunt still gripped my cock like a vise and would not allow it to go soft. She arched her back under me. “To me again,” she asked me. I shifted, the tip of my penis now moving against her cervix. The coldness inside her drew me in even further. Her nails scratched my back and the pain felt good. It all felt good. It was primitive, no doubt the way our ancestors first mated in deep forests under a pockmarked moon. It was right. It made us both feel so abominably alive. Later, she took me inside her mouth, licking the primordial soup we had jointly created and which I had already tasted with relish after I'd gone down on her and savoured our combined and now intermingled fluids and secretions. As I expected we were a totally perfect cocktail even if at first my tongue delving into her had drawn back from the unaccustomed coolness of her insides, even after the repeated and frantic sex we had enjoyed. Her own tongue was at first as cold as ice but it only served to conserve my hardness. She licked ~ and nibbled and allowed her teeth to teasingly draw sharp, hard lines against my aching, bulbous and purple head. The Communion of Blood and Semen 443 “T want to bite you,” she remarked, her voice flat, neither in jest nor in lust.