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.

Page 25 of 182 · 20 per page

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Now start ragging,” she said. “Rag on yourself as fast as you can. Faster! Faster!” The men were puffing and blowing, their cheeks pink, a fine sheen of strain on their foreheads. “Who’s first?” Rhumpa said. A little man of about forty-five wearing a baseball cap said, “I’m gonna juice big-time!” Rhumpa grabbed the back of his leg and pulled him close. “Come all over these britneys,” she said. “They need it, shoot right here.” She pinched her nipples and pointed them around the crowd. “Here it comes!” the man croaked, and a long whipflick of silly string curved through the sparkling air. Then one very hairy man pulled off Rhumpa’s panties and clapped them to his nose and went, “Aaaah!” He jerked out his putz and splashed on her pussyfloss. “Next! I need more come—more come!” Rhumpa said. Just then Daggett burst in, naked, wild-eyed, with Rhumpa’s former bra twisted around his huge purple erection. “Daggett!” she said. She clapped her hand over her breasts. “I don’t care, I need to see them, I don’t care.” She let her hands fall, and he stared feastingly at her breasts while he slowly unwrapped the straps of her bra from his pulsing hellhound. He waved the other men back. “Take me and fuck me good!” Rhumpa said. She threw her legs open and he slowly socketed himself deep in her famished slutslot. Somewhere alarm bells and buzzers rang, but the lovers fucked for a moment with joyous sweaty abandon, laughing. Then two headless men appeared and pulled Daggett away. “Is this it for your balls, then?” Rhumpa asked. “They’re going back in the tank,” he said, “but it was worth it. It’s only two weeks.” “I’ll go to the opera with you,” Rhumpa called as they dragged Daggett away. When he was gone, she gestured the other men back. “More come, more come!” she said. “Jerk it out! Ice my cake, dickboys! I want to feel like a breakfast pastry!” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Wade Learns about the Cloth of Ka-Chiang [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Wade’s vesicles were jumping, and he felt sunny inside. He wanted to be near a woman he didn’t know, but he felt a little shy, so he called up the House of Holes and said, “Hi, this is Wade, and I’d like to be able to be friendly with a woman.” Wade was transferred to Lila, who said, “Honey, why don’t you come on by?” Wade said, “Because I don’t know how.” “Do you have a penis, Wade?” Wade said he did. “Then grab hold of it.” Wade grabbed hold of it. Lila said, “Now make it hard and stare it down. Is it hard yet?” Wade said, “No, it shrank way down while I was making this call.” Lila said, “Well, you’re not going to get anywhere without a dependable boner.” Wade said, “I realize that. Okay, here it goes. It’s hard now.”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “You don’t need to be sorry,” said Mindy. “I’m sorry about this horrendous inconvenience.” “No, it’s fine, we’ll beat this thing.” “What about if you—you know—do yourself proud?” said Mindy. “It might make it easier for me to wriggle.” Dennis held up his finger. “You know, that thought crossed my mind,” he said. “Let’s see what we can do on that front.” He went back to the bed, lay down, and began gingerly stroking himself. “This is tricky because I don’t want to squeeze you.” “You can squeeze some,” said Mindy. “Just please don’t waggle. That’s better. It’s much better for me when you’re pointing up—otherwise I’m upside down and the blood rushes to my head and I get confused.” “What did you say?” Mindy resumed talking loudly. “Nothing! You just really have to get hard. Is it at all erotic for you that I’m here, stuck in your dickknob?” “Well, it gives me a chance to know you better, that’s for sure. It’s a nice first date. Are you naked in there? Or do you have your clothes on? Because if you’re naked that’s definitely erotic for me.” “I’m pretty sure I’m naked. Let me see. Yep, I’m totally starkers. ‘Naked as a worm,’ as the French say.” “That’s good news, Mindy. I’m going to think about you being naked. Can you toy with yourself?” “I’ll try. I’m putting my finger down between my puffy pussylips. That’s my little friend there, oh, yeah. It’s warm in here. I feel like you’re hugging me all over my body. I’m playing with my pussylips now. I don’t feel panic anymore. You can squeeze me a little more. Squeeze me through your cock. That’s it.” “This is better,” said Dennis. He was gently stroking the middle section of his cock, which had lengthened and stiffened. “Can you do a little hip dance in there, shake your hips for me?” “How about this?” Mindy’s head moved back and forth. “Can you feel it? I’m shimmying my hips for you.” She bit her tiny lip with her tiny teeth. “I’ve got a finger going in my fuckalope now. I can feel your cock getting longer. That’s good, when you do that I can feel you squeezing my hips.” “Mmf, getting some wood now,” said Dennis. “You feel slightly painful in there, but good.” A froth of bubbly fluid surged up around Mindy’s neck. “Woops, what’s this?” she said. “Precum! Hah-hah! This is sick! My hair’s all wet with it! Oh, you juicy, juicy man! Squeeze me a little more!” Dennis squeezed some more, and this pushed her a little ways up, freeing one of her arms. She tried using the arm to lever the rest of her out, but it didn’t work. “We’re definitely getting closer,” she said. “I think, though, you’re actually going to have to come to push me out.” “Will do, I’m trying,” said Dennis.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “I know. Get yourself all filled with oxygen and nitrogen and helium and all the other special components of the air that will allow you to breathe out the best come you ever had right in your own bedroom, this afternoon. See you, bye.” He squeezed her arm and ducked through the hedgerow. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Dune Visits the Midway [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Shandee was standing up on a balcony on the midway, shaking her hips self-promotingly. She had white boots on and a small green cloth of Ka-Chiang hanging like a flag from her pussyhole. Out in front Krock was calling, “Forty to slap the pretty ass, sixty to spank it. Forty to slap, sixty to spank.” Dune, strolling by, saw Shandee and immediately got in line for her. He paid and was given a pair of blue quilted oven mitts. “I’m going to slap that girl’s happy ass,” announced the man in line in front of him. It was a long wait, in through a red door and around a series of small turns that led through a maze of plywood baffles painted black. Finally, Dune reached a small private room with a velvet curtain in it. Shandee was there—or part of her was. He couldn’t see her face or upper body because she was leaning forward through a hole in the curtain that went around her waist; only her legs and bottom and pussy hanky were visible. Dune sat down and said to himself, Will anything ever look as good to me as this girl’s wineglass shape looks to me right now? Probably not. “Shandee, baby,” he called quietly. “It’s me, Dune. How goes the search for your one-armed mystery man?” Shandee’s voice came muffled from the other side of the curtain. “No luck yet,” she said. “Lila wants me out working on the midway while Dave sows his oats. She says I have to wait because Dave has a superlarge penis and he needs a little more time with it before he has to give it up.” “Too bad for him, he’s missing out on you,” said Dune. “Have you been going with anyone else?” There was a thoughtful silence, then Shandee said, “Ruzty’s paid a few calls.” “That sweet smiley kid with the accent?” Shandee sighed. “It’s embarrassing because whenever we finally get down to a little kissing, Dave’s arm starts thrashing in his bag like a bad puppy. I put him in a drawer, but he starts thumping to get out.” “I can sympathize,” said Dune, lightly stroking the back of Shandee’s knee with his oven mitt. “You’re so damn pretty I can barely swallow my own spit. And I can only see the lower half of you.” “That’s sweet. Have you been well?”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “You mean you just say hello and start fucking?” said Loxie. “Isn’t that a little cold?” “No, it’s more like, ‘Hello, how are you today? What a lovely warm Tuesday afternoon.’ And she says, ‘Allo,’ or ‘Hi,’ and you say, ‘May I?’ And she says yes, and then you ease yourself into her for fifteen seconds, and you get the incredible sensation of those first few humps—I call them the groaners. You get that fantastic new groaning feeling, oh, oh, fuuuhck, oh, and she holds very still or maybe not, maybe she tosses her hair around, and then you pull out and give your cock a quick breather so that it doesn’t come, which it’s threatening to do, and you say, ‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ and you move down one and do it again. Groan it in.” “Hm, I wonder how much the women enjoy the international stretch couch.” “I think it depends on a number of factors.” They were silent for a while. Then Loxie asked, “I take it there’s something similar for women?” “It’s called the Squat Line. All these international dudes are lying on beach towels on the grass, aroused, with their dicks doing the Hokey Pokey, and the woman sinks down on one dude, humps him for a bit, then pulls off, goes to the next, humps that guy, etcetera.” Loxie sat up. “The Squat Line? Don’t you think we should go together? I’d love to work my way down that line of guys and then maybe you’d be at the end, and I’d feel myself opening to take your hot wanky stick inside for a look around.” Pendle lay back on the grass and laughed. His erection was doing obvious things in his jeans, but he didn’t care. “I wish that could happen, but I still have a thousand dollars to earn. I’ve got mulch to spread.” “I’m a portal, silly,” said Loxie. “I thought you’d figure that out by now. Come into my van and I’ll show you my pussy. That’s the hole you’re looking for.” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Shandee Learns How to Wash a Penis [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Shandee climbed the steps to the porch of the House of Holes and rang the doorbell. A dreamy leggy woman, barefoot, wearing only a man’s blue shirt and yellow wooden beads, opened the screen door. Her name tag read “Zilka—Intake and Interview.” “I’m here to find the man who belongs to this arm,” said Shandee, holding up Dave’s arm. Zilka, toying with her beads, looked Shandee over and led her to a waiting room, where she gave her a clipboard with a legal agreement to sign. “Lila will see you soon,” she said. “She’s the director.” She walked away. The waiting room was empty. There were two couches and some lamps with fringed lampshades and some pictures on the wall of sheep in fields. Shandee hummed along with Sade’s “Smooth Operator,” while Dave’s arm, resting on her lap, gently stroked the back of her hand.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  He grabbed her ass and pulled her panties down, turning her so that she held the tree. He shoved himself deep into her. It felt sudden and tremendous, and she made a surprised sigh: “Ooof!” Then she began to hear different sounds—a cracking and a ticking as several small buds of bark appeared on the tree trunk about three feet off the ground. The bark split open, showing a pale, smooth, fleshy branch, and then the branch, thus exposed, began to straighen, while the nodular wooden balls remained covered with a finely wrinkled bark. Jason was slamming his hips into her. He thumped into her hard, so that she almost lost her grip on the trunk. “Oh, oh, oh, god, Oh, shit! Oh, fuck! Here it comes, baby, ooooooooohhhhhhhhhh! Aaaaaaaaah!” Jerk after jerk of Jason’s artisanal come filled her rejoicing twathole. “Now quick, hop on this new cockbranch.” She grabbed it and held it—it was still warm from its accelerated growing. And then she heard the summer wind begin—a warm wind that made a different kind of rustling in the leaves because the leaves were drier now—and the light that snuck in between the boughs and boles was splaying and scattering, half of it reflected off the water, half direct from the setting sun. “Fuck me deep, tall, strong penis tree,” she said. The cock shape grew longer and pushed into her, and then the whole tree seemed to branch into her core and out her arms and legs and lift her far above the earth. “Hold on!” called Jason, as she was swept up on a high bough impaled on old boreal growth. She looked out from her high-splayed vantage, and she said, “I’m a treefucking woman!” Dappled sunlight shone and emptied itself onto her. She squeezed her Kegeling love muscle around the smooth, thickened branch within, and when the wind came up again all the leaves twittered and shook. The tree itself shuddered: It was having some kind of orgasm. The new growth of penisbranches fell off. Panting and quivering, Luna climbed down. Jason hugged her, then gathered the fallen branches. “I’ll polish and stain these tomorrow,” he said. “Dendro dildos?” “Yes, inspired by you.” “Can I come back and get one?” “Please do,” said Jason. “I’ll make a salad for you.” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Henriette Goes for a Walk

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Do you think we should dance for them?” said Donna. Polly, feeling a little giddy, started in with a Diane Birch song, “Rise Up,” and the three women danced and sang around the room. “Rise up, little sisters!” they sang—and soon they began to notice some changes in some of the wall toads. There was a new alertness about their attitude, no question about it. Several of them had started to do a little elongational leaning-forward sort of movement. “I think they like us!” said Polly. The penises were in fact becoming visibly semi-erect at the sound of voices. Golly, Polly thought, I had no idea that my simple presence in a room could do that. It was kind of interesting and exciting, but also a little sad, because those penises had no clue what Polly, Donna, and Saucie were all about as women—what they believed in, what their plans were. Near one corner, Polly came to an empty hole. She tried to peek in, but she couldn’t see anything. “What’s up?” she said into the hole. “Are you a little reserved today?” There was silence. Then she said, “I can wait.” She looked back over her shoulder and saw Saucie kneeling on the opposite wall. Polly suspected that Saucie was in front of her ex’s penis, but it wasn’t easy to keep track. Donna was really getting into it—she was kneeling on her cushion with both hands on a wall and she was passing her face and hair all over a large, attractive petard. Polly turned back to her empty hole and she said, “Can you tell me something about yourself?” Suddenly a tennis ball appeared in the opening. At least she thought it was a tennis ball. When it popped through and she caught it, she felt how heavy it was, and then she knew it was the kind of ball they use in real tennis, or royal tennis, the game Henry the Eighth played. “So you enjoy the sport of kings?” she said. “The old jeu de paume?” And then the end of a tennis racket came through the hole. She looked at the handle. It was very worn. He had really used that racket. She held it for a second and said, “Nice racket.” Then the handle disappeared, and a bunch of purple turnips came through the hole and dangled there, held by their green tops. Polly squeezed them and she said, “I bet you could get some good blood out of these roots, you crazy fucked-up vegetarian.”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Then the turnips disappeared. Polly looked back at Saucie and Donna. Both their heads were bobbing. They were sucking toad-in-the-hole with guiltless gusto. Polly said, “I wish I knew your name.” There was silence. She said, “I’m going to call you Chief. Okay, Chief? Do you want me to do a private dance for you, Chief?” The racket handle reappeared and it nodded slowly up and down. “I can’t unless you give me a present,” said Polly. After a moment, a little leather pouch of gold sovereigns came flying out of the hole. “Those look like nice pieces of money,” Polly said, “but that wasn’t exactly the present I had in mind.” She waited. “You’re supposed to put your babymaker through this hole.” There was a pause, and Polly said, “Right now, please. I want you hard or soft, doesn’t matter. Put it through, Chief, so I can see what you’ve got.” Finally a large dark semisoft penis flopped out through the hole. After some further fumbling, a matching ballsack was stuffed underneath. The three-pack hung there. “Hello, hello,” said Polly, somewhat surprised that the man had done what she had asked for. “Pleased to meet you, Chief Cock and Bottle Washer.” She had to admit to herself that it was, in fact, quite a nice-looking penis. Not intelligent looking—few penises were—but the testicles did somehow have the air of being attached to a man of substance. And Polly had always liked confident tennis players. “Would you enjoy it if I shook my bottom for you?” she asked. She turned and wiggled her bottom. “Now a bit of tit action!” She turned back around and flashed open her shirt for a second, so that the penis, if it had an eye, could see her bra cleavage. She felt out of breath, and she started talking nasty, the way she always did when she got aroused. “Do you want me to be your little suckslut?” she asked. “Hm?” She never knew where the words came from—they just came out of her. And as she talked, the penis began lifting. She said, “Ooh, you’re getting bigger for me, Chief. Yeah, yeah, I want you totally stiff for me. Is that all you have, you perverted gloryhole fucker? I want you as hard as that racket handle. Come on, baby. Do you like my mouth? Do you like my twenty-seven-year-old nasty cocksucking mouth, you twisted shitter?”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “I’ll put a drop in my spritzer, too, so we’re even,” said Pendle. Then they went for a walk down Quim Street and turned right on Loulou Avenue. They talked about shipping lanes, the European Union, Trix’s French grandmother, and what Trix did after she got home from work when she wasn’t at the House of Holes. Bohu’s beardwater was beginning to kick in by then. “I walk around in my bare feet listening to NPR and eating soy crisps and cherry tomatoes,” Trix said. “Gradually I take off my clothes. I open the fridge and look in the celery drawer, and I sometimes flash the fridge my pussyhair, and the fridge seems to like it. At least, its motor comes on and it gives me a breath of cold air. I like to have my breasts out when I eat soy crisps.” “And then a little later you . . .” “Mhm. Close the curtains. Now here, it’s different. Here I go to a groanroom with a friend. Sometimes I don’t have sex, I just listen. I love sex sounds.” “I’ve never been to a groanroom.” “Oh, you should go. The groanrooms are like the darkrooms except bigger. There are four couples in each one, and you can’t talk at all, not one word, and everyone wears a glowing wristband and a glowing ankleband. That’s all you can see. Mostly it’s just juicy sex sounds. I love when people make a surprised sound, ‘ooh!’ Basically I love to listen to people making out. That’s why I don’t understand about cumshots, frankly. Not that it’s bad for you to wear a Heftyshot. But seeing a man squirt out into the air is much less exciting to me than the idea of a man shooting inside me and filling me up with wonderful hot streams of doodle-goo.” Pendle gave her an eager smile. “Just the sounds of people just—just doing the happy humperdinkle, eh? Just doing it and loving it. Hooooooo.” “Exactly.” Trix sat forward politely. “So what about you, have you been having any fun here?” “No fun at all,” said Pendle. He plucked an aspen leaf. “Well, a little. I haven’t been here that long. Lila asked me to be a nipplerider, and I shrank down and rode her nipple for a bit, but I wasn’t good at it. The best time I had was when I went out with this woman for lunch on the terrace, overlooking the Garden of the Wholesome Delightful Fuckers. We were eating melon and blueberries and looking down, and there were all these wholesome fuckers having sex in among the palm trees and the bushes. It was exciting. They really take extra care with the grounds here—the grass is so green and the paths are so carefully tended. I like the landscaping.” “How many couples could you see?”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  The hand put her down and smacked the water hard. Another drench of sexual splatterment went over her. It made her tingle everywhere. She felt she was in touch with a giant collaborative moan. Climbing the five steps of a metal ladder, she stood on a tall platform that technicians used when they needed to open or close a hydraulic valve that led to a smaller treatment tank. She began singing the Benassi Brothers, swinging her ass: “I love men, money, power, and I love my sex.” She could see the monster turning on its legs, trying clumsily to keep time. On an impulse, she unclamped and unsealed the front of her wetsuit and danced with her breasts on display, her nipples high and pointy in unpuzzled skyward erections. Almost immediately, many monster hands took hold of many penises, and there was a general convulsion of orgasmic fluid release. The monster sat in a puddle of its own secretions. Then it revived. Rhumpa spoke: “I will give you good loving if you grow a head.” There was silence, and then a bulb formed at the top of the fleshy confusion. There was a huge sucking sound, and a head popped into place. It was a normal head, male, with a mouth and a nose and two eyes, and it blinked at her. “Can you hear me now?” she voiced. Out of the mouth came a strange amphibious croak: “Aaaa-oooowwwawaooo.” “Take a moment to organize your thoughts,” she said. “You are built from other people’s orgasms, and yet you seem to have a soul.” “Not much of a soul, but it’s there,” said the pornmonster. “And do you wish to be freed from the tank?” “Yes, I do.” “Do you think you would live a normal life if you were free?” “No, not normal,” said the pornmonster. “I have way too many sex organs for that. But I could lead a better life. I would like to help in some way. My name is Friggley.” In the control room, Harry watched and took notes, squeezing his crotch from time to time. The creature looked like a hedge ball with frondy things hanging off it. It moved rapidly but shufflingly forward, a tumorousness of overstimulated desire. Harry observed as it surrounded Rhumpa and slid her wetsuit completely off. One after another of the penises found and sounded her cervix. Rhumpa seemed, oddly, to be enjoying it—it was a gangbang from a single source. When the fleshly storm had passed, she leapt onto its back and grabbed hold of what looked like two scrotums. “Harry, open the main hatch, I’ve got my new friend Friggley by the balls, and I’m going to take him to the Handjob Festival.”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  They fed some coins into the slots of their sightseeing scopes. Henriette frowned, looking through the chrome-hooded viewer. At first she had a little trouble getting the hang of it because the image hopped around, but then she learned to move slowly, and she found she could see into the haze very far away. There was a red Mustang convertible on one tower, with a sunbathing woman on top of it wearing a red bikini bottom and no top. On top of one green crag a naked man had painted a billboard with large letters that said, “Show Me.” “There’s a couple in this direction,” said Ned. “Looks like they’re doing stuff.” Henriette swiveled her binoculars around. “Yeah?” “Yeah, the man’s got his johnny-stick out, I think. Yeah, the woman’s jerking it. Wow, fast. Now she’s blowing him. He’s having fun.” “Where? Dang, can’t find it,” said Henriette. “Way over there. I’d say he’s going to pop the oyster pretty soon.” Finally she found the right angle. The man was holding himself up off the chair with his hands, and the woman knelt between his splayed legs. It was difficult to see at this distance, with the colors gone all blue and pale, but she thought she saw the woman’s lips relax and a gush of sperm flow back down over her fingers. Ned made a little noise. “What did you think?” he asked. “Very nice,” she said. “Did you like to see her sucking on his bone?” Ned rubbed her shoulder in a friendly way. “Uh, sure. Have you got another quarter? Let’s find out what else is up here at the roof of the world.” They scanned the horizon. “Another couple!” said Ned excitedly. “Oh, boy. He’s doing her real nice. Mmmm-yeah, her boobs are jumping around. Jesus mama.” He shifted the direction of his scope. “And there’s a AR-24 Pornsucker ship!” He pointed excitedly. “See it? Out on a mission, sucking that pornstarch. You can tell it’s an AR-24 Recon/Pornsucker because of the red tips on its wings. That’s the giveaway. You can always tell.” “Mm,” said Henriette. She wasn’t listening. She’d swiveled her scope and was looking intently off to the south. “Mountain zebras,” she said, in a small intense voice. “A herd. Two of them are getting ready to mate. How on earth did they get so high? Oh, they are such nimble climbers.” “Where?” Ned was panning unsuccessfully. “Way way off, about halfway down a crag, on a little ledge. See them?” Henriette pointed, then hunched to see more. “No, I’m not seeing them,” said Ned. “Damnation!” “Keep hunting, you’ll find them. The female is holding her head down. Ooh, she’s backing up. The male’s penis has dropped. It’s big but it’s hanging. It’s practically dragging on the ground. I don’t see how—ooh, her pussy is literally steaming. And his balls are huge and luscious.” “I’m still not seeing it,” said Ned.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Mindy, that’s just how much microphone I need to give you a good in-depth cuntpussy interview.” “Okay,” said Mindy. Dune fished out a condom from his wallet and unrolled it over the end of the microphone. “Now shove it in me and I’ll show you something.” Mindy eased the condom-covered microphone into Dune’s pussyhole. “Oooh, that’s it, while I whale on this clit,” said Dune. “You like the way my clit sticks straight up like a tiny little dick? It’s amazing you can get this much feeling out of a little pink bean of a thing, but you can, if you work at it. Now let go of the microphone for a second. I’ll show you my muscles. I’ve been exercising them.” Dune clenched himself and said, “Mmm, mmmm, mmmm.” The microphone end wigwagged obscenely. “Nice muscles,” said Mindy. “Please go on. What tips did you give Marcela?” “I said to her, ‘Sometimes I pull on the nutsack a little and shake the whole package to make it aware of the fact that it’s going to be getting hard soon.’ She said, ‘Like this?’ And she shook my cock, or her cock, whoever’s cock it was, and I said, ‘Yeah, like that.’ Then I said, ‘Marcie, while you do that I wonder if you’d mind if I squeezed on your titties.’ And she was okay with that, so I squeezed her tits my special way, up from below, and a really amazing thing happened, which was that her dick, my own dick, started to lean out into space, and I realized I was making her dick hard by squeezing her tits, and ooooh, shit, that was some nice madness.” Mindy put one leg on the bed, nodding. “And then she stood up, and she turned herself around,” Dune went on, “and I had a view of her that was like”—he held up his hands. “I looked up at her eyes and her face looking down at me and then these nice heavy, hanging tits and then her big hips and then, look out, there’s my heavy cock on her.” “She must have wanted you to jerk her off,” said Mindy. “Yes, she said, ‘Now I want you to help me get my dick off.’ I said, ‘Marcie, it’s just as much my dick as it is yours.’ And now, Mindy, that’s all I’m going to say about this unless you promise me one thing.” “What’s that?” said Mindy. “Promise me that when I get my penis back you’ll give some serious thought to fucking me, because you attract me sexually.” Mindy said, “I’ll think about it. But right now how about let’s jill off together side by side, and you keep telling me what happened, because I can’t resist playing with myself, Dune, but I also need to get your story.” “I’m glad to hear it, Mindy, honey—come on and sit next to me,” said Dune, scooting himself back on her bed.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Lila quickly lowered Dave’s arm and looked over the crowd. “My goodness,” she said, “this is a pleasant afternoon. Dune, hello again, you rogue. Can any of you three fly a plane?” “I can sail a boat,” said Hax. “I drive a stunt motorcycle,” said Dune. “I can bend my thumbs backward, like this,” said Ruzty, demonstrating. “That settles it. Hax and Dune, you’ll fly the pornsucker ship to Baltimore with one of the pussypilots. Daggett will give you pointers. Daggett!” A dark-haired man appeared with a heavy bag on his back. “Daggett, we’ve got an emergency overload,” said Lila. “We’re going to have to suck all the bad porn out of Baltimore, Maryland.” “Not Baltimore!” said Daggett. “Yes. Buildings and Grounds says there’s a sentient mass forming in our main settling tank. We need dilution. Take these two fine men to the pornsucker squadron right away. I will brook no delay!” Daggett bowed and complied. “Have fun with that dude’s arm, girls!” called Dune as they left. “That boy is fresh,” said Lila cheerfully. “And now, Zilka, will you please help this lovely young man here, with the flexible thumbs”—she gestured at Ruzty—“to kick off his pants and lie on the massage table. It’s a nice solid table, bamboo.” Shandee, watching out of the corner of her eye, saw Zilka begin to busy herself with removing Ruzty’s wardrobe. She was curious to see Ruzty naked, but she forced herself to look back at Director Lila. Meanwhile, Lila was frowning and squeezing the length of Dave’s arm. Eventually she said, “Shandee, here’s your best course of action. A lot of our armless men end up at the Hall of the Armless Men Who Still Want to Fuck Twat. That’s way across the salt marshes.” “Oh, okay,” said Shandee. “With those legs on you, you’ll have to get yourself a tall pair of waders. They’re sold on O Street, at a little place called Wade for Me. Ask for Angelo, he’s a sweetheart. He’ll measure you all over. But first I’m going to ask you to give us some help right here in Intake. Because we are busy.” “Sure, I’m game,” said Shandee. “You’ve arrived here on what’s called a work-study scholar-ship,” Lila said. “We’ve got dozens of men arriving every day, with their wallets. The rush is on. We scan them for badness when they rematerialize—we’ll find any of nineteen diseases, cough, runny nose, STDs, of course. Is it nineteen, Zilka, or twenty-three now?” “I don’t know,” said Zilka. “At least nineteen diseases, plus any tendency toward thieving, scamming, or violent behavior. Which doesn’t mean some real a-holes don’t get in.” “For instance, what’s his name, Pootie,” said Zilka, folding Ruzty’s pants. “Pootie was awful. So we screen them. And we know that some of these arrivals are nervous and uncertain, as well as extremely good looking, and they need a good friendly penis scrub. That’s what we want help with at the moment. From you.”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  The hands stopped. “I am Alexander Borodin, the very famous Russian composer,” said the voice. Luna looked back at Chuck, who had begun playing with her hair. “But Alex,” she said, “didn’t you write the Polovetsian Dances something like a hundred and twenty, hundred and thirty years ago?” “Yes, but I’m here now to play your leg like the keys of a piano keyboard,” he said. Chuck kissed her forehead. “Just enjoy it.” “Okay, carry on,” Luna said. Alexander began to play. He was up and down her leg, her thigh, trilling away on her kneecap, glissandoing down her calf. She leaned back and sighed a soft, murfling sigh, allowing her head to fall into Chuck’s lap. “Oh, sorry,” she said, feeling a large lump there. “May I unpin this bauble from your hair?” Chuck asked. Luna’s eyes were closed. She nodded. Chuck took out the barrette and leaned and kissed her on her ear. Then, when Luna was almost swept away by the music on her right leg—she could hear it perfectly—suddenly she felt another man’s hands on her left leg. “Wait, who are you?” she asked. The hands held her leg very firmly and confidently. “I am Nikolai.” “Nikolai who?” “Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, the very famous Russian com-poser,” the voice said. “I will be playing a piano transcription of my very famous Scheherazade.” “Where?” “On your nude left leg. Starting now.” The two composers began fingering and squeezing her legs with great intensity, and then, as if by mutual agreement, they both seized her legs and gave a strong but gentle pull, sliding her farther down in her chair. “Woopsie,” said Luna. “Don’t worry,” said Chuck softly. “They’re just pulling you down so that you’re fully seated in the pussy cradle.” “Of course, the pussy cradle,” said Luna, as her pussy made firm and not unpleasant contact with a curved item covered in black leather and shaped a little like a bicycle seat. It fit her just right, and the two composers now began pulling and stroking with a soft sort of insistent rhythm. Luna rocked herself into it and she heard Chuck make a slight growling sound as he traced his fingertips over her neck. “Chuck,” she said, “seriously, what’s going on here? This is getting down to the nitty-gritty.” Chuck laughed. “It’s what happens at the House of Holes.” Luna thought, Why not? She let her head fall back again till she could feel some of Chuck’s interesting groin bundle through his black pants. It pushed against the side of her head. Just then her attention was diverted by something stiff and warm tracing the curve of the arch of her foot. “Mr. Borodin, is that you?” she said. “Yes, that is my cock,” said Alexander Borodin. “It is very hard and very famous.” “I see,” she said. “It tickles a little. And you, Mr.

• From Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953)

  In the narrow way, the way of the cross, there awaited him only humiliation for ever; there awaited him, one day, a house like his father’s house, and a church like his father’s, and a job like his father’s, where he would grow old and black with hunger and toil. The way of the cross had given him a belly filled with wind and had bent his mother’s back; they had never worn fine clothes, but here, where the buildings contested God’s power and where the men and women did not fear God, here he might eat and drink to his heart’s content and clothe his body with wondrous fabrics, rich to the eye and pleasing to the touch. And then what of his soul, which would one day come to die and stand naked before the judgment bar? What would his conquest of the city profit him on that day? To hurl away, for a moment of ease, the glories of eternity! These glories were unimaginable—but the city was real. He stood for a moment on the melting snow, distracted, and then began to run down the hill, feeling himself fly as the descent became more rapid, and thinking: ‘I can climb back up. If it’s wrong, I can always climb back up.’ At the bottom of the hill, where the ground abruptly levelled off on to a gravel path, he nearly knocked down an old white man with a white beard, who was walking very slowly and leaning on his cane. They both stopped, astonished, and looked at one another. John struggled to catch his breath and apologize, but the old man smiled. John smiled back. It was as though he and the old man had between them a great secret; and the old man moved on. The snow glittered in patches all over the park. Ice, under the pale, strong sun, melted slowly on the branches and the trunks of trees. He came out of the park at Fifth Avenue where, as always, the old-fashioned horse-carriages were lined along the kerb, their drivers sitting on the high seats with rugs around their knees, or standing in twos and threes near the horses, stamping their feet and smoking pipes and talking.

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  As I listened to the weather report, unseasonably warm, I cleaned my sneakers with a dash of dry Dutch Cleanser, rubbed in with an old toothbrush. Cleaned shoes was a New Year’s Day ritual that I carried over from my parents’ house without question or consideration. At 8:30 A.M. I woke everyone except Rhea. I was eager to start the day. “Who needs a toothbrush?” I called, breaking out the little store of them which I kept for such occasions. I was secretly pleased to have Muriel see how in charge I was of all situations. Always prepared, too. Just like the Marines’ motto. Everybody knew a thirty-five-year old woman could run any world, and I considered myself to be permanently in practice. I made coffee the way I used to do it in Mexico, using very little coffee and straining it through the little fabric net which I’d brought home with me. I turned off the radio and started the phonograph, putting on Roberta Sherwood’s “Cry Me a River” real low, so as not to disturb Rhea’s fretful, sighing sleep. The rest of us sat around the table in the kitchen near the shaft window drinking coffee. Muriel’s sturdy feet stuck out beneath the cuffs of her jeans, her broad toes moving up and down in time to the music as her soft musical laugh moved through the smoke of her ever-present cigarette. Bea and Lynn in their dungarees and flannel shirts; and Gloria, her flamboyant spanish huaraches over woolen stockings and her baggy peasant pants made from handwoven magenta cotton. The click of Gloria’s fruitwood necklaces and bracelets was a contrapuntal echo behind the morning’s conversations of politics, gay-girl gossip, and the advent and use of the new tranquilizers in mental hospitals. The house grew even warmer as the steam came up, and I got up to fix us a beautiful New Year’s breakfast. I mixed our last two eggs, well-beaten, into the leftover chinese food, added a drizzle of the foo yong gravy and some powdered milk, and scrambled it all together with a healthy amount of chopped onions quailed in margarine with lots of paprika and a dash of dill for color. It was a dish reminiscent of the Sunday-morning concoction of eggs, onions, and scraped chicken livers which my father called entre and which he used to cook for us each weekend while my mother and the three of us were at Sunday Mass. After breakfast, we exchanged long goodbyes and Happy New Years, and the other three left.

• From Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953)

  But he said: ‘Then that’s why you so dressed up to-day. Where you going to go?’ ‘We going to a picnic—a church picnic,’ she said, and suddenly, unaccountably, and for the first time, smiled. And he smiled, too, and lit his cigarette, blowing the smoke carefully away from her. ‘You like picnics?’ ‘Sometimes,’ she said. She was not comfortable with him yet, and still she was beginning to feel that she would like to stand and talk to him all day. She wanted to ask him what he was reading, but she did not dare. Yet: ‘What’s your name?’ she abruptly brought out. ‘Richard,’ he said. ‘Oh,’ she said thoughtfully. Then: ‘Mine’s Elizabeth.’ ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I heard her call you one time.’ ‘Well,’ she said helplessly, after a long pause, ‘good-bye.’ ‘Good- bye? You ain’t going away, is you?’ ‘Oh, no,’ she said, in confusion. ‘Well,’ he said, and smiled and bowed, ‘good day. ’ ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘good day.’ And she turned and walked out into the streets; not the same streets from which she had entered a moment ago. These streets, the sky above, the sun, the drifting people, all had, in a moment, changed, and would never be the same again. ‘You remember that day,’ he asked much later, ‘when you come into the store?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Well, you was mighty pretty.’ ‘I didn’t think you never looked at me.’ ‘Well, I didn’t think you never looked at me.’ ‘You was reading a book.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘What book was it, Richard?’ ‘Oh, I don’t remember. Just a book.’ ‘You smiled.’ ‘You did, too.’ ‘No, I didn’t. I remember.’ ‘Yes, you did.’ ‘No, I didn’t. Not till you did.’ ‘Well, anyway—you was mighty pretty.’ She did not like to think of with what hardness of heart, what calculated weeping, what deceit, what cruelty she now went into battle with her aunt for her freedom. And she won it, even though on certain not-to-be-dismissed conditions. The principal condition was that she should put herself under the protection of a distant, unspeakably respectable female relative of her aunt’s, who lived in New York City—for when the summer ended, Richard said that he was going there and he wanted her to come with him. They would get married there. Richard said that he hated the South, and this was perhaps the reason it did not occur to either of them to begin their married life there. And Elizabeth was checked by the fear that if her aunt should discover how things stood between her and Richard she would find, as she had found so many years before in the case of her father, some means of bringing about their separation. This, as Elizabeth later considered it, was the first in the sordid series of mistakes which was to cause her to fall so low.

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  She said it was because this was my first flight, and I was so young to be traveling so far alone. Zami: A New Spelling of My Name: A Biomythography 21 From the Palace of Fine Arts to El Angel de la Reforma, along the broad Avenida Insurgentes, lay the central hub of the Districto Federal, Mexico City. It was a sea of strange sounds and smells and experiences that I swam into with delight daily. It took me two days to adjust to the high altitude of the city, and to the realization that I was in a foreign country, alone, with only rudimentary language skills. The first day I explored tentatively. By the second day, alight with the bustle and easy warmth of the streets, I felt filled with the excitement of curiosity and more and more at home. I walked miles and miles through the city, past modern stores and old museums, and families eating beans and tortillas over a brazier between two buildings. Moving through street after street filled with people with brown faces had a profound and exhilarating effect upon me, unlike any other experience I had ever known. Friendly strangers, passing smiles, admiring and questioning glances, the sense of being somewhere I wanted to be and had chosen. Being noticed, and accepted without being known, gave me a social contour and surety as I moved through the city sightseeing, and I felt bold and adventurous and special. I reveled in the attention of the shopkeepers around the hotel, from whom I bought my modest provisions. “¡Ah, la Señorita Moreña! [ moreña means dark] buenas dias!” The woman from whom I bought my newspaper on the corner of Reforma reached up and patted my short natural hair. “¡Ay, que bonita! ¿Está la Cubana?” I smiled in return. Because of my coloring and my haircut, I was frequently asked if I was Cuban. “Gracias, senora,” I replied, settling the bright rebozo I had bought the day before around my shoulders. “No, yo estoy de Nueva York.” Her bright dark eyes widened in amazement and she patted the back of my hand with her dry wrinkled fingers, still holding the coin I had just given her. “Ay, con Dios, niña,” she called after me, as I moved on up the street. By noon, it amazed me that the streets of a city could be so busy and so friendly at the same time.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Then she said, “How do I feel? Lanasha, frankly I need two yellow school buses of dick to drive right through me. Each filled with a whole soccer team.” Lanasha made a satisfied chuckle. “I thought you said foot-ball,” she said. “Okay, one football team, one soccer team.” Lanasha rang a bell. “I think she’s ready for you, Ross,” she called. Ross and Bono walked in. “Hot show,” said Ross. “I loved when your titties were hanging.” Marcela began to turn slowly, smiling, and put her ass up. “You liked it when I was like this?” “Yeah, just like that!” Bono was standing to the side, staring at Marcela while Lanasha gently stroked his pecker. “Ross, sweetheart,” said Marcela, “where’s that nice young peeny wanger of yours? Is it still full of gobs of nice hot come?” Ross said nothing, but Marcela watched Bono’s eyes follow something happening around back of her. Then Marcela felt two hands on her hips and a heavy, knobby pressure moving around the folds of her pussy, seeking a way in. She arched her back and suddenly, because she was so wet, a stiff immensity went deep and filled her up. She made a surprised groan and answered instinctively by slapping her ass back hard against Ross’s hips, then she pulled partway off his cock and let him slam into her again—once, twice, thrice, four times, and then she heard Ross say, in a fierce whisper, “Shit, baby, I’m coming!” She felt the thickness twitch hard inside her. “I’m sorry! Your pussy was just too hot for me.” “That’s okay, honey, I like that you had to come right away—that’s supersexy.” Marcela turned and smiled at him reassuringly. He gave her an embarrassed shrug and grinned. Lanasha spoke. “I think Bono’s got something all ready for you,” she said. “Bono? You got something for me? My ass is still up. La-nasha, can you help this nice boy find his way? I’m still open for business.” Ross slapped hands with Bono. Marcela felt Lanasha’s strong practiced hands pulling her asscheeks open, and then she felt a middle finger twiddle purposefully in her ass. And then, finally, Bono’s length of badness stuffed her gasping twat full of warm, brown dick muscle. Bono had more control. He said little, but he developed an oval rhythm, angling and slamming his smooth musclemeat in and out. He slammed fourteen strokes, and then he said, “It’s gonna pop soon!” “Wait, stop, not quite yet,” she said, freezing. “I want to frig myself off while you’re still hard in me.” “Okay, but if you move the tiniest bit I’ll come for sure.”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  She tried using the arm to lever the rest of her out, but it didn’t work. “We’re definitely getting closer,” she said. “I think, though, you’re actually going to have to come to push me out.” “Will do, I’m trying,” said Dennis. “Try picturing something dirty, really dirty,” Mindy advised. “I mean dogfuck dirty. This is an emergency. What’s the dirtiest thing you ever did?” “Uh, I’m not that dirty. Once I came into this girl’s guitar.” “Into the hole? Did she know?” “No. I felt bad about it, but it sounded fine afterward, thank goodness. I like to think that my dried come was vibrating to her songs.” Mindy waited. “Is that memory helping you want to come?” “No.” “Well, then, think some more about my sexy hips stuck inside your cock.” “Mm, mm, better.” “Think about me kissing the head of your dick like this—mwah!—and slapping at your cockhead hard, like this!” Mindy slapped. “And splashing your precum foam all over the place!” This excited Dennis. “Oh, kiss my cockhead!” he said. “Oh, you’re so fucking tiny. I wish you could free up your breasts.” “You’re getting slippery enough now I think I can.” She shook out her hair and then with some effort she scooped a tit out of the well of his cockhole. “There’s one. And here’s the other. Do you like?” Dennis had a new, lower note in his voice. “Ooh, shit, tease the nipples for me, tease them, I’m real hard now. You’re like a pretty mermaid coming out of my volcano.” He started working long, steady dickstrokes, sliding the skin so it bunched up and then went smooth. He extended his tongue, and Mindy reached up for it but couldn’t catch hold of it. “Jack me out right into your hand,” Mindy said. “Pump your lovely Lincoln Stiffins. Jack me!” Dennis made a mooing sound, standing up, with his feet planted apart like an action figure. “You want to feel this come push you right out? You want a come ride? You want a flume ride of my burning jizz? Huh? I’ve never jerked a beautiful woman out of my hot dick before. I want to see your big sexy hips blow out of my cock.” “Oh, this is getting good,” said Mindy. “Hold on just a second, I want to catch up. I want to come with you.” She bit her lip again and frowned, her breasts shaking as she urgently frigged her tooter. She hummed a few notes of a wordless Estonian song, then she said, “I’m almost there, Dennis, I’m going to come, I’m going to come. Ohh, make me shoot out of you, shoot me out, SQUIRT ME! AAAAH!” Dennis grabbed his balls and made five smooth cock-pumpings, and then he felt the pulse of his come bulbing below Mindy’s legs. It pushed her out of his screaming penis on a blast of jizz force.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Marcela held three fingers together and circled and swizzled over her clit hood, while Lanasha’s finger darted and dithered in her ass. As she began to come, her cunt muscles tried to close around Bono’s motionless blood-pulsing truncheon. “Now!” she said. Bono pulled out almost to the helmet and slide-slammed back into her slippery salope, then out, then back in, and once more, and then five hard short strokes. “UHLLLLLLLL!” he said, followed by lots of snuffling. She felt a cold spray of sweat droplets on her back, and, inside, she again felt the long warm twitch of liberated jizm. “Oh, that’s it, fill me up with all that goodness.” She lay panting on the massage table. Lanasha rubbed the backs of her legs with a cool washcloth. Cardell Has a Sherry Cobble r C ardell worked at the planning office of a small city, planning brick crosswalks and trying to figure out where people could park. It was interesting work, but he wanted to meet a nice, smart, sexy woman, so he went to a lecture on the history of the municipal water supply and sat down on a folding chair next to a woman with mustard-colored stockings. There was a good crowd, but unfortunately the lecturer had a boring singsong voice. Cardell’s assbones hurt from sitting and his mind was aswirl with obscene imagery, cocks being stuffed everywhere, women’s eyes suddenly going wide in surprise. He began to think more and more about the woman next to him. He liked her mustard-colored knees poking out from the hem of her skirt. She had a little notebook and she was drawing a picture of a cocktail glass. Below that, she’d written “He doesn’t know anything” and underlined it twice. When the audience questions began, Cardell leaned toward her and asked her to the roof bar of a nearby hotel. “I noticed your doodle,” he said, in his thrummiest voice. “You naughty man,” she said. She gave him a speedy once-over and made a single nod. They left as unobtrusively as possible. Turned out her name was Jackie. She sat on a dark-red bar stool and addressed the bartender. “Can you make a sherry cobbler?” she asked. He nodded, sure. “I’ll take one, too,” Cardell said impulsively. He turned back to Jackie. “What’s a sherry cobbler?” “It’s my life’s work,” said Jackie, and moved an eyebrow provocatively. She told Cardell where she taught, and they talked about a big video store near there that had closed recently. “Rented a lot of movies there, back in the day,” said Cardell, closing his eyes in nostalgic reminiscence. “Before everything streamed.” The drinks came, with straws poking out. Cardell took three enormous sips and nodded, blinking and smacking his lips. The drink was incredibly sweet and strong. And good. “So that’s a sherry cobbler,” he said. “Not particularly subtle—but then, who needs subtle?” Jackie sucked hers down greedily. “Damn delicious. I never tire of it.