Excitement

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 From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  Sam replaced the floorboards. We stayed there for a few more months, hoping and praying that a stench would never surface or else we’d have to come up with a Plan B. Years from now, when they end up condemning that place, maybe they’ll find his body—but nine times out of ten, just like every other murder in the projects, it will be written off as gang-related. But until then, just like Braw’s homo-thug lifestyle, Sam and I will keep our little secret in the closet and continue our life of sin. TRAINING DAY Kweli Walker Have you ever . . . you know . . . fucked?” Dushawn asked softly, licking his fingers until they glistened in the last orange and lavender rays of the sun. Before I knew it, he had my jeans unzipped. “If you ain’t, you need to holla cuz I got a big, long, thick-ass dick, and if you ain’t used to dealin’ with that I’m gonna have to break you in easy.” It took every brain cell in my skull to help me nod my head yes. I said, “Uuuh . . . yeah.” I almost said no, cuz on a scale of one to ten, what I had really experienced was a fuckin’ zero. The guy I was with had been a straight fuckin’ zero. Zero skills, zero dick, and zero holdin’ power. The one time I gave it to him that fool had pulled outta me like a little bitch and squirted cum all over his mama’s fake-fur seat covers. The worst part was how long he had sweated me, and how much his ass had bragged on his skillz. I coulda done better with my own two hands. I really shoulda told Dushawn no. I’d said yeah just to keep it real. But Dushawn must’ve figured out by the look on my face that this was going to be my first real ride. He laughed and shook his head, “He wasn’t shit, huh?” “Unh-unh.” I shook my head, kinda laughin’. “Don’t worry, La La, I’m going to teach you how to ride Big Black, but first I’m gonna polish your phat saddle of an ass for the ride. Come ’ere, girl.” I strolled over to him, trembling in excitement. “Bomb fuck” rumors spread through the ghetto like wildfire about Dushawn Lambert. Rumor had it that he was a guy who could get the job done. I couldn’t wait to see if the rumors were true. The shit was on!

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  “You remember my friend Pierre who drives the silver Escalade?” “Yeah, the dude you met at the gym. What about him?” Mikala asked. “Well, I invited him and his friend Kareem over to play spades with us tonight. We can play a couple of hands, eat some good food, and get our drink on. I don’t feel like doing the club thing tonight. You’re not mad at me are you?” Chastity asked. “Nah, that’s cool. You should’ve at least warned a sista first though. Tell me about this Kareem character. What do you know about him?” Mikala asked. “I know Kareem has money, for one thing. He was locked up for four years and came home like a year ago. Since then, he’s been outta the hustling game. I also know that he runs his own office-cleaning business. Trust me, when you see him you will definitely be pleased. The brother is fine,” Chastity said. “You hooked me up with a jailbird? Chastity, what the hell were you thinking?” “Don’t be so damn judgmental. Just because he was locked up doesn’t mean he’s not a good brother. Remember, that bum Jamel was a college boy and you see how he treated you. Give this dude a chance,” Chastity said. “Your point is well taken. You’re right, girl. I’ll see what’s up with him. I guess it couldn’t hurt. What time will they be here?” Mikala asked. “I told them to be here around ten thirty. I gotta go take a shower real quick. Order us some pizza and buffalo wings. The menus are in the kitchen in the drawer underneath the cabinet where the glasses are,” Chastity said. Mikala went into the kitchen to get the menu. When she found it, she called the carryout spot and ordered the food. She took the strawberry daiquiri and rum runner Bacardi Mixers outta the freezer to hook up some drinks for the night. Ten minutes later she had two pitchers full of alcoholic beverages chilling in the refrigerator. She sipped on a strawberry daiquiri and watched Two Can Play That Game on Showtime. Seeing Morris Chestnut on the TV screen and the effects of the drink had her feeling a little horny. She could use a sexy Dark Gable up in her life right about now. While she watched the movie, Chastity walked into the room. “So, how do I look?” Chastity asked. She was dressed in a lime green South Pole sweat suit and had curled her hair. “Like a ghetto princess,” Mikala said jokingly. “Forget you, hooker. You know I look good,” Chastity said. “I know you do. I was just playing. Go get one of those daiquiris out the fridge. I want you to taste it. I think I made them kinda strong.”

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  I pulled off my panties, keeping them in my hand, and hiked up my skirt as I walked up to the dick. I straddled him little by little; gradually bringing my pussy down on his dick. I groaned as I felt him penetrate me. I gripped the handicap railing near the toilet and started to ride him. Raheem grasped my ass and brought me down harder on the dick, I let out a loud scream as he pushed damn near the whole thing into me. “You better stop,” I whispered in his ear. “This is my job you fuckin’ with.” He gave me that same sinful grin, and continued to thrust in me, pulling at my hair and fuckin’ the shit out of me. I let go of the railing and wrapped my arms around him, clutching his body tight, feeling myself about to cum. “I’m cumming,” I whispered in his ear, rocking back and forth, up and down on his lap. I felt that dick in my chest again. “I’m cumming too, Ayeesha,” he cried out, but suddenly we heard the bathroom door creak open and my eyes widened. We both remained completely still. I listened carefully. We heard someone peeing by the urinals. Raheem smiled at me, and grabbed my ass and tried to continue fuckin’ me as he sucked on my nipples. “You better stop,” I whispered to him. I heard the urinal flush and then water running in the sink. And then I heard the guy fart as he washed his hands. Raheem and I laughed silently as the man walked out of the bathroom. We continued to fuck. Raheem sucked on my hard nipples and repeatedly pounded some good fuckin’ dick up in me. “I’m cumming,” I cried out again. I felt my legs quivering, so I gripped the railing with my left hand and continued to ride. I felt his dick get harder inside me as he grabbed my butt tightly, and his fingers gripped my butt cheeks as I felt him shuddering and exploding in me. Moments later, he made me explode too. I remained seated on his lap, panting and trying to catch my breath. I glanced at the time and saw that I only had two minutes left of my break. “Damn, you always do this to me,” I told Raheem as I dismounted him, wiped myself, and put my panties back on. He smiled and said, “But you know it’s worth it.” We quickly got decent again, and Raheem stepped out of the stall before me to check if all was clear. He signaled for me that it was okay to leave, and I strutted out of the bathroom running my hands through my hair.

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  A sexy grin spread over her face and she stuck her fingers between her legs, pulling back her pussy lips and exposing herself to their greedy eyes, then began masturbating herself slowly, then faster. Monique knew just what to do, and she couldn’t wait to teach some of her old tricks to the new bitches she was gonna hire when she got to Baltimore. Monique had the wettest pussy in the whole wide world, and she tossed her head back and worked herself with three fingers, sloshing them around inside of her slit, but making sure she pulled them out every so often so niggahs could see the thick juices that dripped from her fingers and splattered down onto the stage floor. The screams coming from the crowd drove her into a frenzy, and she fucked herself deeply, squeezing her clit, stroking her breasts, and licking that third nipple that mighta been tiny, but was sensitive as hell and sent sparks shooting through her pussy that felt like electric perfection. The moans rolling off her lips wasn’t fake no more, and this is what the crowd had been waiting for. Her plump ass splashed around in the pool of juices she was creating on the floor, and she was concentrating on her orgasm like it was the last one she would have in the world. Her shit was for real, and them niggahs in the G-Spot knew it and loved it. Some of the bitches right up onstage loved it too, and had even tasted what Monique had to offer a time or two themselves. Monique screamed as her clit swelled and throbbed like a mini-dick. She parted her swollen pussy lips so everyone could see her pearl, then whipped it back and forth with her wet fingers, pressing down and massaging it until her legs shot straight out and her back arched in a C. She started trembling and whimpering as cum rushed from her body, her pussy squirting and ejaculating on the floor in spurts just like a man. Monique floated back down to herself and opened her eyes. Security was having a real hard time keeping them niggahs from rushing up on the stage and fucking the shit outta her, and she smiled real big at the hot ballers as they strained against Greco’s armed crew and tried to reach her. She knew she was safe, but she made sure each and every one of them got a good look as she rubbed her spilled sugar all over her mound, and even all down in the crack of her ass. Ten minutes later Monique had picked up her money off the stage and was repeating her performance in fuck room number eight. Some high-rolling hustler from Connecticut had paid premium dollars to keep her on lock for two hours, and right now he was tickling her tonsils with his tiny dick as his woman buried her pretty face in Monique’s still-wet pussy.

• From The Surprising Lives of Christian Saints (2023)

  18. Joan of Arc: Peasant-General She was sent to Tours and outfitted with customized armor and banners. For her weapon, Joan asked monks at Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois to unbury a sword from a specific site and send it to her. They searched and found a rusty sword with five crosses on it buried behind the altar. Her miraculous knowledge of the weapon imbued its possession with further divine authority—though Joan later dimmed that somewhat by breaking it on the back of a prostitute she was chasing out of camp. Joan’s preparations may also have included some military training. Commanders later commented she displayed uncannily seasoned battlefield knowledge, particularly in her tactics and skill in aiming artillery. Joan continually surprised the court and the French military captains by taking an active and even intrusive role in military strategy, circumventing chivalric norms, and using aggressive tactics to win the day. Joan’s Divine Missions Joan was eager to fulfill her divine commission when she arrived at Orléans in late April 1429. She was frustrated to find that the leader of the city’s defenses was inclined to retreat and abandon the city to the English. On May 6, Joan seized the initiative and insisted on leading her troops out in a sortie against one of the English fortifications. Joan was always at the forefront of the attack, charging with couched lance. It was a resounding success, with few French losses. But it did not win her favor or influence with the other French captains, who decided without her to wait for more supplies and men from the king. 136 18. Joan of Arc: Peasant-General 137

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  Harlem is too hot. It’s time to get the fuck out, she thought, her body undulating with movements on its own. She’d been working the G-Spot for over two years now, and she couldn’t believe how fast her luck had suddenly changed. That dumb bitch Juicy had fucked around and betrayed G by getting caught on camera suckin’ off his very own son, and right now Granite McKay’s main bitch was downstairs chained to a bed in the Dungeon, beat down and fucked the hell out. That left all the room in the world for Monique and Pluto to take over the G-Spot2 when it opened in Baltimore, the same joint that G was fronting all the money for and had been planning to hand over to his son, Gino. Monique was down on the floor now. Laying on her side, her right leg doing a wide scissor dance as niggahs drooled and tried to push their eyeballs up into her uterus. She rolled over on her back and slid her body around the long way. She knew how delicious she looked from the side. Bodacious titties rising into the air like two firm brown hills, each one with a shiny little cherry on top. Her shoulders were pressed back and her waist arched up high, a gap of light showing between her lower back and the stage floor due to the thick mound of ass she was packing. She waved her legs in the air. They were shapely and in perfect proportion. Already Monique could see herself flossin’ down there in B-More. She’d step up in that brand-new territory like a bad-ass bitch for real. She’d shop for some fly New York gear before she left, then take all her banging fashions right down I-95 along with her. Of course she’d come back to Harlem to get her hair whipped all the time, but no more poles and stages and fuck rooms for her. She’d be too busy managing her own stable of strippers and hoes. She’d be pushing Pluto’s Porsche and staying iced the fuck out seven days a week. The excitement of her thoughts had Monique moving her body on the floor like a snake, slithering and shivering as her nipples hardened and her pussy began to leak. Just imagining herself as a classy bitch running a high-powered joint kicked her sex-o-meter into automatic. Her heat was turned up extra-high, and every niggah in the room was dying to stick his tongue in the pool of hot juices that were bubbling between her thighs. Monique closed her eyes and tuned out the noise of the crowd. C-notes fluttered down on her body, some of the green bills sticking to the dampness of her skin. She bounced her ass to the beat, then shocked them all by spinning around on her butt until she was facing the crowd with her curvy legs gapped wide open.

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  “Is that a fact? I got some more tricks for you then. Didn’t know I was dealing with a closet freak. But a brotha came prepared,” I told her, reaching back into my bag and pulling out my anal starter kit. Rasheeda was an anal virgin and had run scared every time my dick got anywhere near her ass. “What’s that!” Rasheeda blurted. Ignoring her, I applied a liberal amount of oil to the four-inch anal vibrator, then turned it on low. Slowly, I rubbed the tip of it up and down her asshole. “Don’t . . .” she began, then contradicted herself. Wiggling her ass and warming up to the probe, she moaned and nodded. “Ready?” I gently inserted the toy in her ass and worked it all the way in. Rasheeda buried her face into the pillow, and gripped its edges. Moving her delicious chocolate in rhythm with the vibrator, she loosened up. “This tight ass of yours is getting something it never had before. Didn’t know you would like it, did you?” I asked, as I slowly stroked her with the toy. Rasheeda didn’t respond, just continued to muffle her pleasurable cries with the pillow. Reaching back into my bag of tricks I pulled out a seven-inch vibrator and turned it on. She was oblivious to the new toy until I pushed the tip of it against her engorged clit. “Euftis!” Rasheeda blurted out, lifting her head up as far as she could. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” I coaxed, slowly inserting the vibrator inside of her pussy. No lube was required. She was dripping wet. “Daddy is just gonna fuck both your holes real good,” I said, soothing her again as I began fucking her with both toys. “Ooooohhhhhhh . . .” she moaned. “Yes, baby. Give it to Daddy.” “Oooohhhhh,” she yelled out as her body began to shake. She was cumming. “Yessssssssssssssss . . . that’s it. That’s it!” I said as I tossed the toys on the floor, and buried my face between her legs. I flicked the tip of my tongue across her vagina. “What are you doing to me!” she exclaimed, gripping my head. “Spelling . . . my . . . name,” I told her innocently. “Oh shit!” “See . . . watch,” I told her as my tongue drew an E on her pussy. Rasheeda trembled when I tongued a U. Twitched after the F. Bucked when I crossed the T. Shivered from the I. Came when I snaked an S between her slit. Suddenly Rasheeda turned the tables on me. “Whose dick is this?” she asked, grasping and holding my dick. It ain’t yours! I thought. “You don’t know her,” I replied coolly.

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  Kareem took the game up a notch when he lifted her off of the bed while he was still inside of her. He pounded her insides relentlessly as he leaned her up against the bedroom door. Next, he carried her across the room and sat her down on the dresser as they continued fucking. The heat coming off Mikala’s back steamed up the mirror on the back of the dresser. “Hit this ass, baby. Damn, my pussy ain’t never felt this good before!” Mikala screamed. Her legs began to tremble from the good vibrations Kareem was giving her. Each orgasm released miles of pent-up sexual frustration that had built up in her. Kareem knew how to hit all the right spots on her body to get a response from her. Jamel had never made her cum this many times in one night! Kareem turned her around and tapped that thing from behind as he watched himself in the mirror. He grabbed her hips with both hands. Watching her ass jiggle with every stroke made him more and more excited. He took his finger and stuck it in her asshole. Mikala lost any composure that she had left as she screamed at the top of her lungs for him to keep doing what he was doing. The double penetration sent her into convulsions as her body shook uncontrollably. Kareem couldn’t contain himself any longer. He pulled his penis outta her and instructed her to turn around. Mikala lay on her back on the bed and eagerly awaited his eruption as he stroked his member. Kareem took his enlarged penis and placed it between Mikala’s breasts. The friction between her twins left him invigorated and craving more. When he couldn’t control his dick any longer, he ejaculated all over her mouth and face. She eagerly received his semen until there wasn’t a drop left. Drained, the tired lovers pushed the top mattress back onto the box spring and passed out from exhaustion. They awoke the next morning in each other’s arms. “So did you enjoy yourself?” Kareem asked her. “No, you were a lousy lover! Sike, Kareem, I was just playing. If you ask me a stupid question, then expect to get a stupid answer,” she laughed. “Oh, I thought so. I know I can handle my business,” Kareem said cockily. “Yeah, I can’t even front, you’re a stud. You had my body tingling in ways I have never felt before.” “So where do we go from here?” Kareem asked. “I’m not sure. I’m not really looking for a man right now. You know I just got out of a bad situation. I’m just trying to do me for a while. I say we just enjoy the moment and let tomorrow take care of itself when it comes,” Mikala replied. “I’m cool with that,” Kareem said. “But I’m digging you already, boo, and I would really like something more.”

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  That’s all I get. After that, it’s his turn. He pounds me hard, fucking me for all he’s worth. He’s determined to come and he knows how to use my ass for his own pleasure. My job is to endure. Gagged, held down, plowed, I am a thing to him. An object. A leather-clad fuck-hole. He slams into my ass, over and over, until he shoots his orgasm into me. It’s not liquid, of course; it’s an energy, and thus, twice as potent. I take every drop, deep into my ass, for him. And when he’s done, he pulls out gently, undoes my gag gently, slides me over onto my back gently, smoothes down my skirt gently, and gently, very gently, reaches under my skirt and flicks one slick finger against my clit. I explode. I come against his hand with a roar, violent waves of pleasure crashing onto me. He holds me as I come, body to body, gripping me tightly until my moans subside. Then, just as quickly as he entered, he puts his dick back in his pants, zips up, and leaves. CRUISING Lee Cairney W hen I’m getting ready to go out on the prowl I often get a feeling like the excitement of being sick but without the nausea, like my stomach lining is trying to peel away. It feels good in the same way that inhaling sherbet up your nose feels good, and believe me, I do mean good. I pull on my heavy, steelcapped biker boots, tucking them under my leather trousers, and sling my battered black leather jacket over my white vest. One large silver spike rivets my ear. My hair is dark and cropped short, snug against my head. I was once told that I had eyes like flakes from an iceberg—whatever that means. I’m wearing bondage cuffs, tight confections of soft, supple, leather and stainless steel, around both wrists for the constriction and sheer pleasure of it. I know I’m looking good. I bang the door behind me and stroll down the hill from my apartment. I live in an ancient cathedral city where small, beautiful medieval churches cluster and old flint-faced walls run into each other. Beautiful, but it’s difficult to find the sex I need in this small, provincial place. I walk to the riverside, leaving little trails of iced breath in the dark air behind me. Dirty water slaps against the moorings and a line of grubby white cruising boats. I slouch my shoulders forward just a tiny bit and check that my jacket covers my small tits. It does. I step across the toll bridge and into the wooded park that marks the beginning of the local cruising area for gay men. I’ve become used to getting my kicks vicariously. I enjoy the ambiance. Strange men stalk between the trees, crunching leaves underfoot. Some of them walk dogs and feign nonchalance.

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  “Damn, you sexy,” this middle-aged man stated, as he tossed a ten-dollar bill onstage at me. I smiled, moved my hand slowly across his face touching him soothingly, and then I grabbed his hand and moved it steadily across my breasts. I felt him squeezing my tits and groaning during the process. “That’s enough,” I softly said, showing him a slight smile and moving his hand away from my goodies. “Marry me,” he joked, looking content. I continued my seductive routine onstage, and the DJ was doing me right by his selection in music. He continuously played one R. Kelly record after another. This time I moved my butt to “Bump N’ Grind.” I grabbed the pole and dropped down to the floor into a wide split—showing these muthafuckas my flexibility, and then I bounced my ass up and down against the stage. “Oh shit!” I heard someone shout. Soon they were tossing tens and twenties at me like wild. I stood up on my six-inch heels clutching the pole, and moved to the beat with extreme passion, eyeing the crowd and looking at their reactions to my hot dance and fine body. I got excited just watching niggahs praise and rave over me in the club. I was the best. I was about to end my dance segment, when I noticed Tears looming from the crowd. He was so fuckin’ sexy. I had noticed him around the way a few times, but never got at him like that. He stood by the stage, gazing at me, wearing a clean white tank top, baggy Sean John jeans, fresh new Timberlands on his feet, and his bald head gleaming. Adorning his neck was a thick platinum chain and a diamond encrusted cross. I glanced at his right hand, and also saw him sporting a diamond encrusted pinky ring. “What’s good, luv?” he said, pulling out a wad of bills from his pocket. “You know you look good, right? What’s your name?” he whispered in my ear as he leaned over me. “Ayeesha.” “I like that. You a shorty fo’ real.” He peeled off three C notes and tossed them at me. Ya know I had to continue dancing after that! For the next ten minutes, I belonged to Tears on that stage. He had my undivided attention as he tipped me big, dropping fifties and hundred-dollar bills on me. His touch was soft, confident, and enticing. He had me lying down on my back, with my legs spread wide as he ran his hands down my thighs. I felt his fingers brush against my pussy. I moaned lightly as I peered up at him. Then he gave me this wicked grin, and I suddenly felt him tugging at my thong, trying to remove it. I jumped, grabbing my thong and said, “Yo, chill, chill . . . we can’t get naked in here. You about to get me kicked out.”

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  “What?” Rasheeda was shocked. “Awwwww . . . I see a bitch is gonna have to . . .” She walked over to the nightstand at the side of the bed and retrieved a small metallic container. She got back between my legs and opened the container. A can of Altoids. “Awwwww shit!” I exclaimed. “Uhhhhh-huh!” she replied as she put six Altoids in her mouth and a few cubes of ice she took from a cup. “Awwwwwww shit!” I yelled out again. Rasheeda attacked the dick. Holding it firmly at the base while going up and down on it at a frantic pace. Monster felt as if he was burning and freezing at the same time. I had never felt a sensation like that before and my mind fought to record everything I was feeling from my numb dick. Rasheeda kept at it as she dripped melted ice and liquefied mint out of her mouth. It ran down the length of me, leaving hot/cold sensations on Monster as it trickled down between my legs. “Whose dick is this?” she asked again. I looked down and deep into her eyes before I replied, “You don’t know her!” Holding my dick, she inched off the bed until her knees were on the floor. Since she held my most prized possession hostage, I had no choice but to follow her. When my butt was at the edge of the bed, she got on all fours, looking up into my eyes as she prepared to suck my dick in the position where it could be done best. She stuck her tongue out and licked my balls in an upward motion to the very tip of my love muscle. My body shuddered uncontrollably after just the first lick. “Whose dick is this?” “You . . . don’t . . . know . . . her!” I grunted through gritted teeth. Monster was so hard that he pointed at the ceiling. “Dick,” Rasheeda said simply. I pushed the tip of Monster down until he was pointed at Rasheeda’s full lips. She rocked forward on her knees and slurped at the tip of my dick. “Ohhhhh fuck!” Sluuurp! “Whose dick is this?” “Ohhh fuck! I’m . . . gonna . . . cum . . . all ova ya face . . .” I breathed, warning her. Sluuuurp! “A bitch might like—” The second I knew Rasheeda didn’t mind me cumming on her, Monster threw a bolt of pearl white lightning onto her face. “Uuugghh!” I groaned as Monster flexed. He flexed his muscles again, casting another bolt of white lightning. Rasheeda moaned loudly as my liquid heat dripped from her face. Monster cast another bolt and her eyes snapped open. “Damn, baby!” she exclaimed, aroused by the abundance of semen splashing on her. She cooed and took my dick back into her mouth, absorbing the rest of my liquid bolts down her throat. I growled loudly then fell back on the bed, spent.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  Just leapt in, closed and locked the door behind him, shoved me down onto my stomach, and used one hand to pull his cock out while the other pushed my skirt up. He’s gripping my skirt, the thin leather bunched into his fist. One of my arms is pinned under me, but with my other I start to reach out and run my hand along his pant leg. I discover he’s wearing leather chaps over his jeans, and that they fit nice and snug. I try to reach far enough to get to the edge of the leather, so I can stroke his crotch. But he’s not having any of this, doesn’t want me to move. He rams his cock into me to the hilt and uses both his arms to hold me down, immobilizing me. My face is buried in the vinyl of the seat, my legs spread wide with one on the seat and the other leaning over the side toward the floor, and all else is sound and heat and motion and fullness. His chaps are rubbing the vinyl, my skirt is rubbing the vinyl, and there’s no room to breathe. I’m gasping for air, wondering which one of us will come first, when suddenly, without warning, he pulls out. He pulls out, and pulls back, and I can finally catch my breath. But I’m confused. I shift around to see what’s going on, and witness him pulling two things out of his pockets. My eyes go wide as I see that one is a rubber ball gag, and the other is a small packet of my favorite anal-sex lube. He lays the lube packet on my bare ass and speaks for the first time all night. “Open up.” I open my mouth to receive the gag, and then he secures the straps in place at the back of my head. Now he twists the tab off the lubricant and dribbles it onto his dick. His second sentence comes at me: “Get ready.” The head of his cock is already pressing against my asshole. When we talked about meeting in the alley, he said he wanted things to go quickly. But if he’s seriously thinking of fucking my ass with that big toy, this is going to take a while. Or so I think. He works it in with surprising speed. Behind the gag, I’m grunting and half screaming, but he knows I can take it, and I know he’s going to make me. The perverse thrill of submitting to this sadistic “forced” ass-fuck actually causes me to open a little more, which eases his way inside. He’s one step ahead of me, and pushes as I acquiesce. When his cock is completely in my ass, he pauses for a moment, to give me a chance to feel the extent to which he’s stretched me out, to confirm my own surrender. One moment, and then it’s over.

• From The Master and Margarita (1966)

  To this Fagott exclaimed with a hurt air: ‘Come, come!’ and the cat miaowed resentfully. ‘I’ll take this pair, m’sieur,’ the brunette said with dignity, putting on the second shoe as well. The brunette’s old shoes were tossed behind a curtain, and she proceeded there herself, accompanied by the redheaded girl and Fagott, who was carrying several fashionable dresses on hangers. The cat bustled about, helped, and for greater importance hung a measuring tape around his neck. A minute later the brunette came from behind the curtain in such a dress that the stalls all let out a gasp. The brave woman, who had become astonishingly prettier, stopped at the mirror, moved her bare shoulders, touched the hair on her nape and, twisting, tried to peek at her back. ‘The firm asks you to accept this as a souvenir,’ said Fagott, and he offered the brunette an open case with a flacon in it. ‘Merci,’ the brunette said haughtily and went down the steps to the stalls. As she walked, the spectators jumped up and touched the case. And here there came a clean breakthrough, and from all sides women marched on to the stage. Amidst the general agitation of talk, chuckles and gasps, a man’s voice was heard: ‘I won’t allow it!’ and a woman’s: ‘Despot and philistine! Don’t break my arm!’ Women disappeared behind the curtain, leaving their dresses there and coming out in new ones. A whole row of ladies sat on stools with gilded legs, stamping the carpet energetically with newly shod feet. Fagott was on his knees, working away with a metal shoehorn; the cat, fainting under piles of purses and shoes, plodded back and forth between the display windows and the stools; the girl with the disfigured neck appeared and disappeared, and reached the point where she started rattling away entirely in French, and, surprisingly, the women all understood her from half a word, even those who did not know a single word of French. General amazement was aroused by a man edging his way on-stage. He announced that his wife had the flu, and he therefore asked that something be sent to her through him. As proof that he was indeed married, the citizen was prepared to show his passport. The solicitous husband’s announcement was met with guffaws. Fagott shouted that he believed him like his own self, even without the passport, and handed the citizen two pairs of silk stockings, and the cat for his part added a little tube of lipstick. Late-coming women tore on to the stage, and off the stage the lucky ones came pouring down in ball gowns, pyjamas with dragons, sober formal outfits, little hats tipped over one eyebrow. Then Fagott announced that owing to the lateness of the hour, the shop would close in exactly one minute until the next evening, and an unbelievable scramble arose on-stage. Women hastily grabbed shoes without trying them on.

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  It was enough for now. More than I’d hoped for when I arrived. “And to think we still have two more days...” CRUISING Lee Cairney When I’m getting ready to go out on the prowl I often get a feeling like the excitement of being sick but without the nausea, like my stomach lining is trying to peel away. It feels good in the same way that inhaling sherbet up your nose feels good, and believe me, I do mean good. I pull on my heavy, steelcapped biker boots, tucking them under my leather trousers, and sling my battered black leather jacket over my white vest. One large silver spike rivets my ear. My hair is dark and cropped short, snug against my head. I was once told that I had eyes like flakes from an iceberg—whatever that means. I’m wearing bondage cuffs, tight confections of soft, supple, leather and stainless steel, around both wrists for the constriction and sheer pleasure of it. I know I’m looking good. I bang the door behind me and stroll down the hill from my apartment. I live in an ancient cathedral city where small, beautiful medieval churches cluster and old flint-faced walls run into each other. Beautiful, but it’s difficult to find the sex I need in this small, provincial place. I walk to the riverside, leaving little trails of iced breath in the dark air behind me. Dirty water slaps against the moorings and a line of grubby white cruising boats. I slouch my shoulders forward just a tiny bit and check that my jacket covers my small tits. It does. I step across the toll bridge and into the wooded park that marks the beginning of the local cruising area for gay men. I’ve become used to getting my kicks vicariously. I enjoy the ambiance. Strange men stalk between the trees, crunching leaves underfoot. Some of them walk dogs and feign nonchalance. I’ve even seen a few round here in business suits—no doubt, their wives are left waiting at home as they sully loafers in the mud and snag holes in pinstripe, rubbing against the rough bark of a tree as they’re taken brutally and swiftly by a faceless man they met twenty seconds ago. A whole new language of looks and come-ons develops. Rejection is as subtle as the tilt of a head. Tonight the air is spiced with the smoky tang of autumn and a sharp, slowly trickling sense of muted danger. Dark parkland, bushes, and trees lie ahead of me. Often I catch men fucking and stand and watch them—on their hands and knees, being shunted hard from behind, or half hidden by a bush having a thickening cock rammed into their warm mouths; even sitting on one of the forgotten park benches stroking each other’s dick.

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  I began to cry with pleasure as Life caused my ass cheeks to bounce up and down. “If the dick’s good, keep crying. Cry, baby. Cry or I’ll take it outta this hot pussy!” Life demanded. I cried until I felt another orgasm swell up inside of me. I tried to dig my nails into the carpet but couldn’t hold on to a single fiber of it. “I’m about to. Damn. I’m—I’m about to cum!” I whispered in a very high pitch. Despite us being in my boss’s office minutes before he was due to arrive, Life never stopped stroking me—and I came for the second time. “Where do you think you’re going?” Life said as I tried to crawl away. “Oh no you don’t. Keep your ass right here.” I was feeling good and both of our bodies were wet with sweat. “This dick feels so good! Fuck—what are you doing to me now?” I exclaimed. “I know what you need. Turn over on your back,” Life said. I did. “Take this dick!” Life placed each of my legs on his shoulders. He looked into my eyes as he worked his hips in a rhythmic motion, bending down to kiss me as he kept thrusting himself in my pussy. Suddenly I was scared. “I think I heard something. We better stop! This is my boss’s office! I can’t get caught fuckin’ up in here!” I said. I instinctively lifted my legs from Life’s shoulders, pried myself off of his dick, and ran to the glass-cubed wall to see if anyone was coming. My hands shook as I peeped through a small slit in the blinds. Before I knew it, Life had pushed my legs apart from behind. “But, but—what if—” I complained. Life ignored me and began kissing, sucking, and tonguing my ass like he was getting paid to turn me out. “Oh shit!” I said. Smooth would never lick my asshole but I loved the way Life did it. The next thing I felt were heavy balls smacking up against me. Life slid into me and began pumping deep while gripping my waist tightly, until I forgot all about my boss and came again. “Did you like all of that—huh? Did you like that, you freaky office hottie?” Life asked. “Thank you for fucking the shit out of me,” I said. “I needed this so bad. Thank you!” I moaned. Life dropped to his knees. I felt the most powerful sensation as I dripped into his mouth. His talented tongue persuaded my body to release yet another quick orgasm. He sucked my juicy nectar as he let it pour out of me. When I was dry, Life pulled away from me and began picking up his clothes. I turned around, speechless. I was drained, but also stunned when I noticed his tool was still fully erect. Life had never come, despite all of the nasty things that we’d done in every which way possible.

• From The Master and Margarita (1966)

  As she flew off, Margarita saw only that the virtuoso jazzman, fighting against the polonaise blowing in Margarita’s back, was beating his jazzmen on the heads with the cymbal while they cowered in comic fright. Finally they flew out on to the landing where, as Margarita realized, she had been met in the dark by Koroviev with his little lamp. Now on this landing the light pouring from clusters of crystal grapes blinded the eye. Margarita was put in place, and under her left arm she found a low amethyst column. ‘You may rest your arm on it if it becomes too difficult,’ Koroviev whispered. Some black man threw a pillow under Margarita’s feet embroidered with a golden poodle, and she, obedient to someone’s hands, bent her right leg at the knee and placed her foot on it. Margarita tried to look around. Koroviev and Azazello stood beside her in formal poses. Next to Azazello stood another three young men, vaguely reminding Margarita of Abaddon. It blew cold in her back. Looking there, Margarita saw bubbly wine spurt from the marble wall behind her and pour into a pool of ice. At her left foot she felt something warm and furry. It was Behemoth. Margarita was high up, and a grandiose stairway covered with carpet descended from her feet. Below, so far away that it was as if Margarita were looking the wrong way through binoculars, she saw a vast front hall with an absolutely enormous fireplace, into the cold and black maw of which a five-ton truck could easily have driven. The front hall and stairway, so flooded with light that it hurt the eyes, were empty. The sound of trumpets now came to Margarita from far away. Thus they stood motionless for about a minute. ‘But where are the guests?’ Margarita asked Koroviev. ‘They’ll come, Queen, they’ll come soon enough. There’ll be no lack of them. And, really, I’d rather go and chop wood than receive them here on the landing.’ ‘Chop wood—hah!’ picked up the garrulous cat. ‘I’d rather work as a tram conductor, and there’s no worse job in the world than that!’ ‘Everything must be made ready in advance, Queen,’ explained Koroviev, his eye gleaming through the broken monocle. ‘There’s nothing more loathsome than when the first guest to arrive languishes, not knowing what to do, and his lawful beldame nags at him in a whisper for having come before everybody else. Such balls should be thrown in the trash, Queen.’ ‘Definitely in the trash,’ confirmed the cat. ‘No more than ten seconds till midnight,’ said Koroviev. ‘It’ll start presently.’ Those ten seconds seemed extremely long to Margarita. Obviously they had already passed and precisely nothing had happened. But here something suddenly crashed downstairs in the huge fireplace, and from it leaped a gallows with some half-decayed remains dangling from it.

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  Sam replaced the floorboards. We stayed there for a few more months, hoping and praying that a stench would never surface or else we’d have to come up with a Plan B. Years from now, when they end up condemning that place, maybe they’ll find his body—but nine times out of ten, just like every other murder in the projects, it will be written off as gang-related. But until then, just like Braw’s homo-thug lifestyle, Sam and I will keep our little secret in the closet and continue our life of sin. TRAINING DAY Kweli Walker Have you ever . . . you know . . . fucked?” Dushawn asked softly, licking his fingers until they glistened in the last orange and lavender rays of the sun. Before I knew it, he had my jeans unzipped. “If you ain’t, you need to holla cuz I got a big, long, thick-ass dick, and if you ain’t used to dealin’ with that I’m gonna have to break you in easy.” It took every brain cell in my skull to help me nod my head yes. I said, “Uuuh . . . yeah.” I almost said no, cuz on a scale of one to ten, what I had really experienced was a fuckin’ zero. The guy I was with had been a straight fuckin’ zero. Zero skills, zero dick, and zero holdin’ power. The one time I gave it to him that fool had pulled outta me like a little bitch and squirted cum all over his mama’s fake-fur seat covers. The worst part was how long he had sweated me, and how much his ass had bragged on his skillz. I coulda done better with my own two hands. I really shoulda told Dushawn no. I’d said yeah just to keep it real. But Dushawn must’ve figured out by the look on my face that this was going to be my first real ride. He laughed and shook his head, “He wasn’t shit, huh?” “Unh-unh.” I shook my head, kinda laughin’. “Don’t worry, La La, I’m going to teach you how to ride Big Black, but first I’m gonna polish your phat saddle of an ass for the ride. Come ’ere, girl.” I strolled over to him, trembling in excitement. “Bomb fuck” rumors spread through the ghetto like wildfire about Dushawn Lambert. Rumor had it that he was a guy who could get the job done. I couldn’t wait to see if the rumors were true. The shit was on!

• From Soaking Wet: Lesbian Sex Stories (2014)

  I had opted for a simple black one-piece, a low-maintenance suit that doesn’t cause me any trouble and still emphasizes the right parts of my body. I held back a smile as I watched Jill twist and turn to rub lotion on her back, first going over her shoulder, then behind her and around. I had plans to keep her on her back for most of the afternoon, but she didn’t need to know that yet. “Come here,” I beckoned, and she did, sheepishly handing me the bottle. I had her sit between my legs and lean forward, then poured a healthy amount of lotion onto her back and started kneading it in, not simply rubbing but pounding it into her with my palms. As I pressed harder and harder, my hands roaming from her shoulder blades to the small of her back, she let out a moan. I pushed her head down and squeezed the back of her neck, pinching and pressing that delicate skin. I brought all my weight to bear, focusing on her neck and shoulders, feeling her go limp. I knew she was getting turned on, but I pretended not to and went about my business until her back was fully slathered with sunscreen. I skimmed my fingertips down her back, lightly tickling her, then whispered into her ear, “You didn’t really need so much sunscreen on your back, you know. I don’t think it’ll be facing the sun for too long today…though I could be wrong.” She turned her head and squinted at me but didn’t say a word. She knew exactly what I meant, and I in turn knew that she’d agree to whatever I asked of her. That arrangement’s worked quite well for the eight months we’d been together, and neither of us has stopped getting a little thrill of arousal when I give her an order. “Put on the sun mask,” I told her, liking how this toy doubled as a blindfold. It’s better for her to be slightly surprised, I thought, to have to wait in the darkness before I ravished her. I let her lie out in the sun for half an hour, let it beam its searing rays down on her, at the hottest time of day, her eyes hidden behind the mask. Finally, my timer buzzed and I dragged her into the shade. “Can I go in the water?” she asked, her skin warm to the touch. “In a little while,” I demurred, and had her lie down. “I have a better way to cool you off,” I said, pulling her to me and kissing her, our lips pressing frantically together as I reached my hand between her legs. Immediately, she whimpered.

• From The Master and Margarita (1966)

  The doorman ran out of the main entrance, looked up, hesitated a moment, evidently not grasping at first what he ought to undertake, put the whistle to his lips, and started whistling furiously. To the sound of this whistle, Margarita, with particular passion, demolished the last window on the eighth floor, dropped down to the seventh, and started smashing the windows there. Weary of his prolonged idleness behind the glass doors of the entrance, the doorman put his whole soul into his whistling, following Margarita precisely as if he were her accompanist. In the pauses as she flew from window to window, he would draw his breath, and at each of Margarita’s strokes, he would puff out his cheeks and dissolve in whistling, drilling the night air right up to the sky. His efforts, combined with the efforts of the infuriated Margarita, yielded great results. There was panic in the house. Those windows left intact were flung open, people’s heads appeared in them and hid at once, while the open windows, on the contrary, were being closed. In the buildings across the street, against the lighted background of windows, there appeared the dark silhouettes of people trying to understand why the windows in the new Dramlit building were bursting for no reason at all. In the lane people ran to Dramlit House, and inside, on all the stairways, there was the stamping of people rushing about with no reason or sense. Quant’s housekeeper shouted to those running up the stairs that they were being flooded, and she was soon joined by Khustov’s housekeeper from apartment no. 80, located just below Quant’s apartment. At Khustov’s it was pouring from the ceiling in both the kitchen and the toilet. Finally, in Quant’s kitchen a huge slab of plaster fell from the ceiling, breaking all the dirty dishes, after which came a real downpour, the water gushing from the grid of wet, hanging lath as if from a bucket. Then on the steps of the main entrance shouting began. Flying past the penultimate window of the fourth floor, Margarita peeked in and saw a man who in panic had pulled on a gas mask. Hitting his window with the hammer, Margarita scared him off, and he disappeared from the room. And unexpectedly the wild destruction ceased. Slipping down to the third floor, Margarita peeked into the end window, covered by a thin, dark little curtain. In the room a little lamp was burning weakly under a shade. In a small bed with net sides sat a boy of about four, listening timorously.

• From Laura Middleton; Her Brother and Her Lover (1890)

  It happened as I had anticipated, and very soon after the ordinary luncheon hour I was rejoiced to see Laura approaching. I was very certain, from the manner in which she looked about her as she drew near, what her object was, and I made my arrangements before she arrived so as to be able to keep perfectly still till the proper time came. After taking a walk round the place apparently to make certain that no one was in the neighbourhood, she came in, and taking out one of the books, sat down to peruse it. Convinced that my only chance of success was to catch her in the critical moment when she would be too much overwhelmed by her voluptuous sensations to offer any resistance, and afraid that any precipitate movement on my part might enable her to retain that self-command of which she possessed so large a share, I waited quietly for the effect of the seductive entertainment I had provided for her. Nor was it long before it began to produce the expected result. Her colour heightened, she moved backwards and forwards upon the couch apparently unconsciously, and at last her fingers stole under her petticoats and reached the part which was the principal scene of her excitement and which I could see from the motions of her arm she was attempting to allay. In a few minutes she appeared to be unable longer to withstand the temptation which the opportunity offered, and rising up, she went to the hiding-place and took from it some lascivious pictures and the little object with which she intended to solace herself. After heightening her desires by an attentive examination of the seductive plates, she raised her dress and stretched herself on the couch, much in the same attitude in which I had previously seen her, and after a little toying with her finger she separated the ruby lips and introduced the mock representation of that part of me which I was so eager to enable her to judge how much more pleasure the reality would afford her. Even then I had the patience to wait until she had made use of it for some little time and until I could discern from sundry sighs that the pleasure it was giving her was approaching a climax. Then gently raising the trap door and catching hold of the sides, I quietly let myself drop into the apartment below. A slight rustling noise I made attracted her attention, and looking up from her book, she beheld my almost naked body with the most prominent object of it standing fiercely erect, for I had let down my trousers and turned up my shirt so as to afford her a complete view of my person.