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 Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  It was only necessary to mention any favourite amusement to engage her to talk. She could not be silent when such points were introduced, and she had neither shyness nor reserve in their discussion. They speedily discovered that their enjoyment of dancing and music was mutual, and that it arose from a general conformity of judgment in all that related to either. Encouraged by this to a further examination of his opinions, she proceeded to question him on the subject of books; her favourite authors were brought forward and dwelt upon with so rapturous a delight, that any young man of five and twenty must have been insensible indeed, not to become an immediate convert to the excellence of such works, however disregarded before. Their taste was strikingly alike. The same books, the same passages were idolized by each—or if any difference appeared, any objection arose, it lasted no longer than till the force of her arguments and the brightness of her eyes could be displayed. He acquiesced in all her decisions, caught all her enthusiasm; and long before his visit concluded, they conversed with the familiarity of a long-established acquaintance. “Well, Marianne,” said Elinor, as soon as he had left them, “for one morning I think you have done pretty well. You have already ascertained Mr. Willoughby’s opinion in almost every matter of importance. You know what he thinks of Cowper and Scott; you are certain of his estimating their beauties as he ought, and you have received every assurance of his admiring Pope no more than is proper. But how is your acquaintance to be long supported, under such extraordinary despatch of every subject for discourse? You will soon have exhausted each favourite topic. Another meeting will suffice to explain his sentiments on picturesque beauty, and second marriages, and then you can have nothing farther to ask.” “Elinor,” cried Marianne, “is this fair? is this just? are my ideas so scanty? But I see what you mean. I have been too much at my ease, too happy, too frank. I have erred against every common-place notion of decorum; I have been open and sincere where I ought to have been reserved, spiritless, dull, and deceitful—had I talked only of the weather and the roads, and had I spoken only once in ten minutes, this reproach would have been spared.” “My love,” said her mother, “you must not be offended with Elinor—she was only in jest. I should scold her myself, if she were capable of wishing to check the delight of your conversation with our new friend.” Marianne was softened in a moment.

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

  “Well, no, of course not, but.” Cardell could feel a joywave gathering, a tingling in his lips at the exhilaration of saying what was now in his head. “Imagine two chairs, facing each other. I’m in one, you’re in the other.” “Please, Cardell, let’s not make it quite so personal.” “Okay, Charles Dickens is in one chair—” “Not Dickens.” “Okay, that hunky bar pianist is in one and you’re in the other, but you’re not really you, because your mind is gonzo on apple cobblers. I mean sherry. Shorry. And you’re both in your fashionable underwear, and your knees are tied together with long colorful scarves.” “Indian-print scarves?” “Absolutely. Not tightly, but not loosely, either. You’re toying with your slobbering kitty, and he’s doing his bulldog—and your mouths are murmuring filthy nothings that neither of you can quite hear. Then he takes hold of your waist and tries to pull you toward him, and you hold his shoulders and try to pull him toward you. But no can do.” She frowned. “Why?” “Because of the scarves. His knees and your knees are made to share the same fate. You see? Their bony places and their soft places. The knees are your point of mutual contact. You’re kneecapping. The harder you try to pull toward him, and the harder he tries to pull toward you, the more it forces your legs apart. It’s sad, really. Then he sees your hand going fast and you start to go, ‘Ooh, mm, ah, mm, oh,’ and your brow goes all furrowy, and your eyes go all glittery, the way they are now, you throw your head back, exposing your swanlike neck, and just when you’re at that moment when you’re starting to feel yourself come, suddenly you really desperately need him inside you, and just at that moment the scarves come loose and Charles Dickens is there—I mean the bar pianist—and you feel his dick find you, and it starts to push and to muscle its way in, slowly at first, and then wom, oh shit, he’s slamming it up there, old twinkle fingers is in you, and his hips are humping, it’s out of his control.” Cardell did pelvisy things on the bar stool. “Ngong, bong, ung, fung!” Jackie closed her eyes and smiled. “Well,” she said, “you’ve made little missy pussy just a little bit horny, baby, because you talk dirty, and I sure do love a bar pianist.” “Good,” said Cardell. Jackie held her head still, averted, listening to the songs; then she relaxed and got a sad look. “They play their hearts out in hotel bars where nobody can hear the twelve clever things they’re doing with the harmony.” She pointed. “See the big brandy snifter for tips there on the top of the piano? Not much in it.” “So maybe we should casually drop a ten-spot in the snifter as we walk on by.” “When?”

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

  “You hold the left and I’ll hold the right,” said Krock. Henriette felt the two suction cups embrace and conform themselves to her cheeks, and then there was a sound of a vacuum motor starting and jiggly vibrating sensations, and she felt pressure as both men leaned against the suction cups, holding the seal in place. “Oooooooffff,” she said. It felt strange but strange in a delectable way and then, when Mischa and Krock together started rotating their suction cups—“to distribute the energy uniformly,” Krock explained—she put her head down and gave herself up to their ministrations, feeling her privacies stretched and held open and then squeezed shut. “God dang!” she said. “Holy effing shitter wiggle.” And then she started to feel the growing—she felt a heaviness to her ass as it grew and grew and grew and grew and grew. “Don’t let the cups slip off as she gets bigger,” Mischa warned, “keep pressing.” Finally they were finished. The groan of the vacuum pump stopped. The vibrating suction pads released themselves with a juicy kissing sound. “Okay, baby,” said Krock. “You have now got some seriously heavy assjunk. Mmm, mmm, mmm!” He rolled a full-length mirror over. Henriette stood. “Holy cow!” she said. She reached back and squeezed it—it was like squeezing two soft smooshy pillows. She tightened one crumpet muscle and then the other and felt how that felt. “I hope Number 53 likes this,” she said, “because this is one major derriere.” She turned toward the two of them, wearing only her bra. “What’s your verdict?” They were both open-mouthed. Her eyes flitted to Krock’s nethers, and she saw what looked like a stack of Duplo blocks. “The verdict is yes.” Mischa said, “And now, the fixative.” “What’s that?” asked Henriette. “I will excuse myself and Krock here will come on your new humongous ass.” “What? I didn’t know about that. What happens if he doesn’t come on my ass?” “It shrinks back to normal size in ten minutes.” “No!” “Yes. You have to have the fixative. For each man who comes on your ass, it’ll remain humongous for a full hour, up to a total of twenty-four hours. How much fixative do you want?” “The full twenty-four.” “Then you’ll need us to summon the beginning of the Man Line. Kneel on the couch and Krock will come on your ass, and when he’s done I’ll wipe you down and send in the next man. Okay?” Henriette knelt on the couch and waited, jiggling her amazingly huge ass a few times to get used to how it moved. “Okay,” she said. “Bring on the Man Line.” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Dave Trespasses

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

  Shandee’s heart fluttered as she shook hands with the new arrivals: Dune, absurdly handsome in an old suede jacket, with an ironic, off-kilter smile, and Hax, West Indian, keen-eyed and devastatingly white T-shirted, with a broad forehead and long tawny dreadlocks and a light beard. “Hello,” said Hax. “Hey, folks,” Dune said, as he signed the form on the clipboard, after which he took several long seconds to look Shandee over. “You’re pretty, shit. Tight little body on you, too. Look at you! Your mama must be proud.” Then he cocked his head to the side. “Is that somebody’s arm you’ve got tucked away in your lap?” Shandee told the story. “So you’re a little bit in love, that’s sweet,” said Dune. “Makes sense to go for just an arm, though. Forget the head. Men are bullshitters. They’ll always feed you a line.” “Hey, man,” said Hax, turning, “don’t go all loungey on the girl. Relax.” “Loungey? Who are you, shrimp locker?” Hax looked at him. “I’m a masseur.” “Oh ho, a masseur.” “And I remove tattoos as well, manually.” “I’ve got a tattoo on my asscheek that says ‘Remember Sputnik,’ ” Dune said. “I forget why. Can you get rid of it?” “Hey, hey,” said Ruzty, looking nervously from Dune to Hax. “I cannot help you,” said Hax to Dune. “Only women.” Dune snorted, then repented. “Sorry, I’ll be nice,” he said, and he looked back at Shandee. “So can your arm lover hear us chatting?” Whereupon Dave’s arm flipped the bird at him. Dune chuckled and said, “I guess so.” He picked up the copy of Contemporary Crochet and began flipping through it. “Oops, dicks in hammocks,” he said. He handed the magazine to Hax, who grunted and put it down. To be conversational, Shandee asked Hax how he got there. “A fine woman came up to me on the street where I sell my belt buckles,” answered Hax. “She asked me would I like to go to a handjob festival.” “You as well!” said Ruzty. “Me, too,” said Dune. “Smackdown. Longest cumshot wins the prize.” “It’s a cumshot contest at a handjob festival?” said Shandee, puzzled. “Goodness, that’s rather crude.” “Maybe it is crude, or maybe it’s very beautiful for some people to see a healthy man showing all his healthy ways by letting a woman shake her boobies for him and pull out all his jizm,” said Hax. “Five thousand, I could pay off my motorcycle,” said Dune. Shandee stood. “Guys, please look away for a moment, I have to change.” The three men looked politely away while Shandee took off her jeans and pulled on the leg warmers. Then she took off her shirt and put on the men’s shirt, buttoning three of its buttons. “Okay to look now,” she said. “Ta-dah.” “Nice!” said Hax, sitting up. Dune sprawled and smiled, lifting an eyebrow of approval. Ruzty blushed. Dave’s arm drummed his fingers.

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

  “Good, well, good. Now grab your cock and get it in its comfort zone, honey, and do just what you want to do with it. I’m going to screw myself with this screwy fucker, I’m going to—hooo. I’m going to let it go in till my asshole muscle locks on the—almost, almost—handle’s—there it is—narrower part. Hoh, it’s locked in. Hoo yeah. Fuck. I’ve got this shiny silver screwdriver pointing straight out my ass, I wish you could see it.” Cardell scanned the room for reflective surfaces. He thought he could almost see some of what was going on behind him in the curve of a glass vase filled with colored sand. “Me, too,” he said. “Well, do the next best thing and jerk your bull cock while I abuse myself with this thing, just jerk and jack and pound it like you love to do every single day and night. And if you can, tighten your buns again so I get something to look at besides your arms and elbow moving, although I must say they’re nice arms.” “Okay.” He breathed little panting breaths, his hips rocking as he flummoxed his beatstick. “I’m going to take a moment to check in on my nipples now. Yep, crinkling up nice. And now I’m going to—oh, lord god—pull the handle out, because that empty feeling feels so good, when I feel my ass closing down again, I tighten it on itself, and it’s suddenly all, like, empty but concentrating hard on its memories, all the nerves in a huddle, and when it goes tight that always makes me want to work my clit, like right na-ha-ha-how! But then when I do my clitty, that makes me need to feel my ass tingle again, so I’m going to circle it with my fingers and feel it go soft again and oh, god, I need something in my cunt now. I think I’ll shove this tube of Push in my cunt, oooh!” “I’m jacking, Betsy, you’ve got to know I’m jacking it now.” “Back up toward me, I need to feel those balls when I come. I need a heaping handful of hot hairy balls! Don’t turn around.” Cardell backed toward her and stood with his legs parted and felt her hand enclose his balls and tug on them. “Big warm balls,” she said. “You’ve got a lot of come in these, I can tell.” “I’m close, Betsy!” “Come all over my coffee table, baby, just shoot it every-where.” “Betsy, no, I can’t come on your coffee table! Those are your husband’s hiking magazines.” She spoke in a quiet voice. “You’re right. Then close your eyes tight and turn around.” “Okay.” He turned, and just before he closed his eyes he saw her with her legs jackknifed back, propped against the arm of the couch, and the screwdriver in one hand and her other hand pincering.

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

  Everyone politely suppressed a gasp at the massive rude cockitude of Dave’s equipment as Lanasha unfolded it and shook it free from the confines of Dave’s pants. Shandee was mesmerized. She and Lanasha together worked their fists up and down on its length, and as their hands rose and fell, pulling the cockskin, Dave’s mobile balls hopped up and down in their hairy handbag. “Oh, my god, I’ve got so much dick going on here!” said Shandee. “Keep fucking Glenn and meanwhile always suck and jack on Dave,” said Daggett. “Keep the flow going.” Everyone went quiet, watching Shandee do her strenuous double service. She pulled up on and then slumped down on Glenn’s rigid stonker, and she gave simultaneous attention to Dave’s jaw-dropping mouthful of dickstick. “Both genitals are going plasmic—they’re about to flow,” Daggett announced, wrapping a bra strap tightly around his balls. “Are you ready for the transfer? It’ll happen fast.” Shandee nodded yes as her ass rose and fell, and then she involuntarily grunted as a huge molten mass of shifting sexmeat crissed and crossed through her body. She grabbed Dave’s hips to steady herself and felt the enormity of the testosterodick travel from her mouth down through her middlemost uterine self and into Glenn’s rapidly growing loinstem. Dave’s cock was still hard, but it was shrinking in girth and length. Shandee popped her head off of it for an instant, working it with her hands instead. “More and more of the dick is going down through me, oh, my god!” she said. She chewed one side of her cheek. “It’s growing huge in my vagina! Oh, there’s so much hot, bad ball-hopping dick in me now! Oh, this feels so good, oh, Dave, this dick! This dick! This dick! How can you possibly give up this massive dick, it feels so fucking full in my cunt canal, aaaaaaaaaaaaah, shit, shit, oh, shit, Glenn, unbelievable!” She caught her breath for a moment and looked around the room. Daggett, balls a-waggle, was slamming himself into Lanasha, and Jason was doing Zilka. Betsy had her legs hooched and the beardwater sprayer-wand up her ass and was jiggling it lasciviously.

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

  All at once she was liquefying into pure blue. When the light went away, she was standing in front of the House of Holes concert hall, wearing her black dress and black stockings, still out of breath from her recent exertions. She looked at her shoulders—they were perfectly tanned, not too dark, just right. Chuck came up wearing a rumpled blazer, carrying floppy tickets. His shock of hair excited her. “Hello, hello,” he said. “You look lovely. I got us the Velvet Room.” They went inside, past the bar, and up a wide red stairway to the balcony level. It was very warm, and there were gold sconces in the shape of mermaids. “Where’s the rest of the audience?” Luna asked. “It’s a special kind of concert,” said Chuck. They came to room 28L. The door said “Velvet Room.” They went inside. It was very quiet, very private, and there were two holes in the wall. A strangely shaped low chair was positioned in front of the two holes. “This is nice, but I can’t see the stage,” said Luna. “You can’t see the stage in the Velvet Room. It’s not about seeing.” Chuck smiled and moved his hand lightly over her hair. His eyes had an inner level, through the irises—it felt as if she was looking down a spiral staircase. “Now you must take off your shoes and your black stockings, although they’re very nice, and sit in the chair.” “Okay,” said Luna. She slipped off her stockings and handed them to him. He folded them and put them on a little side table. “Good,” said Chuck. “And now I sit?” Chuck nodded. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said. She sat and looked up at him, taking another hit of his eyes. The chair was low, and her dress rode up. “Sorry, a little indelicate here,” she said, hitching to cover the sight of her red panties. “Don’t worry. You’re going to put your legs through the holes.” “Now?” Chuck nodded. She pointed her right foot and put it through the hole. Then her left foot. “Good,” said Chuck. “All the way now.” Luna scooted forward on the seat. “A little further,” said Chuck, taking a position behind her in the chair. Luna felt her legs dangling out in space, and then she felt a man’s hand touch her and cradle her right heel. “I do believe someone is holding my foot,” she said. “That’s Alexander,” said Chuck. The touch was gentle, and Luna sensed that Alexander had a little French-style goatee, perhaps. She could hear him murmuring. Her main thought was: Boy am I glad I shaved my legs this morning. “What’s he saying?” she asked Chuck. Chuck turned up a volume dial. “You can speak to him if you’d like,” he said. “May I ask who you are?” she asked politely.

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

  Rimsky-Korsakov?” “One moment!” said Rimsky. “And now, my cock, too!” There was another resilient stiffness against her toes. Luna pushed back with both feet and felt both cocks standing hard against the composers’ taut bellies. They both seemed surprisingly fit for musicians. “How’s the music going for you?” Chuck murmured into her hair. “It feels good to have two stiff Russians pushing against the soles of my feet,” said Luna, smiling up at him. “Good,” said Chuck. Then convulsively he whispered some-thing in her hair that she didn’t catch. “What’s that?” “Nothing.” “No, Chuck, please tell me what you said.” “I said, ‘I wish I could fuck you in the mouth with my cock and come all over your pretty lips.’” “Woo, Chucky.” Luna got a melty feeling in her shoulders. She turned and squashed her face against his lap, inhaling his warm cocoa-bean smell through his dress pants. The smell went right to her head. “Hurry, because this pussy cradle is feeling way too good.” Out flopped the enormity of Chuck’s dick, poking stiffly between his white shirttails. It came to rest on her lips. “Jesus, that’s a nice dick, Chuck. My god. Rimsky, Alex, don’t stop!” She bucked against the pussy cup. “Nnnnnng! This is way too good!” She threw her head back and opened her mouth for Chuck’s cockness. “Fuck my mouth!” she said. Borodin and Rimsky-Korsakov were squeezing her calves and doing mad cocky things at her toes. “My penis is coming right now!” moaned Borodin. “My penis is coming, too!” said Rimsky-Korsakov. “Oh god, Chuck, I can’t hold back much longer,” said Luna. “Stuff my mouth with that fucking beast!” She ground her pussytwat against the crotchy holder, lifting her hips high to hold the moment in suspense. “Nnnnng-aaaaa!” She let her orgasm wave crash down just as she felt two hot blasts of white Russian semen drizzle against her toes. “Phew,” she said, breathing deeply, but she wanted more. She pulled her legs from the holes. “Now really fuck me, Chuck. No pussy cradle. I want to feel you inside.” Chuck turned the chair around. “You ready?” She nodded, feeling the Russian sperm cooling on her feet. Chuck’s thundertube of dickmeat started sliding in. It pushed her frilly doilies of labial flesh aside, and it kept on going till it couldn’t go any farther. She grabbed his hips and pulled him in, and then he pulled out, leaving her empty and waiting, and then he slammed into her train station again. His cock train was commuting in and out of her pussyhole, filling and emptying it by turns, and she loved it.

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

  Henriette felt the two suction cups embrace and conform themselves to her cheeks, and then there was a sound of a vacuum motor starting and jiggly vibrating sensations, and she felt pressure as both men leaned against the suction cups, holding the seal in place. “Oooooooffff,” she said. It felt strange but strange in a delectable way and then, when Mischa and Krock together started rotating their suction cups—“to distribute the energy uniformly,” Krock explained—she put her head down and gave herself up to their ministrations, feeling her privacies stretched and held open and then squeezed shut. “God dang!” she said. “Holy effing shitter wiggle.” And then she started to feel the growing—she felt a heaviness to her ass as it grew and grew and grew and grew and grew. “Don’t let the cups slip off as she gets bigger,” Mischa warned, “keep pressing.” Finally they were finished. The groan of the vacuum pump stopped. The vibrating suction pads released themselves with a juicy kissing sound. “Okay, baby,” said Krock. “You have now got some seriously heavy assjunk. Mmm, mmm, mmm!” He rolled a full-length mirror over. Henriette stood. “Holy cow!” she said. She reached back and squeezed it—it was like squeezing two soft smooshy pillows. She tightened one crumpet muscle and then the other and felt how that felt. “I hope Number 53 likes this,” she said, “because this is one major derriere.” She turned toward the two of them, wearing only her bra. “What’s your verdict?” They were both open-mouthed. Her eyes flitted to Krock’s nethers, and she saw what looked like a stack of Duplo blocks. “The verdict is yes.” Mischa said, “And now, the fixative.” “What’s that?” asked Henriette. “I will excuse myself and Krock here will come on your new humongous ass.” “What? I didn’t know about that. What happens if he doesn’t come on my ass?” “It shrinks back to normal size in ten minutes.” “No!” “Yes. You have to have the fixative. For each man who comes on your ass, it’ll remain humongous for a full hour, up to a total of twenty-four hours. How much fixative do you want?” “The full twenty-four.” “Then you’ll need us to summon the beginning of the Man Line. Kneel on the couch and Krock will come on your ass, and when he’s done I’ll wipe you down and send in the next man. Okay?” Henriette knelt on the couch and waited, jiggling her amazingly huge ass a few times to get used to how it moved. “Okay,” she said. “Bring on the Man Line.” Dave Trespasses Dave was out for a walk in the middle of a quiet road near the House of Holes.

• From The City of God

  324 Books That Matter: The City of God Second, in contrast to the first, we must also be constantly growing in ever-deepening anticipation of the joy to come in the end of time, the eschaton. And while this anticipation is no physical pain or suffering at all, it definitely dislodges us from slothful ease in our world today. After all, anticipation of future goods can be painful in the present, as the 20 th -century philosopher Elizabeth Anscombe put it, “Possibility is the destruction of contentment.” In sum then, we must keep looking out for the resurrection of the body; we must live in the body now as if it were a problem, but not a tragedy as the Platonists do. Both of these emotional practices are premised on a deepening understanding of the belief in the doctrine of the resurrection, which is both restoration and transfiguration for Augustine. It will be a restoration since the bodies of saints will be restored to their originally intended obedient integrity. But they will also be made better than the bodies of Adam and Eve. He says it will not even be such as it was in the first human beings, before their sin. Why is this? Because unlike Adam’s animal body, the blessed will be resurrected into Christ’s spiritual body. What exactly this difference amounts to is hard to see in Augustine, though he clearly thinks the spiritual body is real—it was into the side of Christ’s spiritual body that Thomas stuck his finger, and it was the hands of this spiritual body that bore the marks of the nails. So it won’t be a ghostly immaterial cloud. It is not a body that has been transmuted into spirit, but flesh sustained by a quickening spirit, he says. So perhaps it will be especially vigorous flesh. And yet it has some crucial differences from our animal bodies today. Resurrected bodies won't need nourishment since they will be spiritual, though they’ll be able to eat just like Christ after the resurrection ate. So while we are not fleeing the body in this restoration, we are on the lookout for not quite what the body was initially, but something else. This is Augustine’s attempt to work through the paradox of what

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

  When the light went away, she was standing in front of the House of Holes concert hall, wearing her black dress and black stockings, still out of breath from her recent exertions. She looked at her shoulders—they were perfectly tanned, not too dark, just right. Chuck came up wearing a rumpled blazer, carrying floppy tickets. His shock of hair excited her. “Hello, hello,” he said. “You look lovely. I got us the Velvet Room.” They went inside, past the bar, and up a wide red stairway to the balcony level. It was very warm, and there were gold sconces in the shape of mermaids. “Where’s the rest of the audience?” Luna asked. “It’s a special kind of concert,” said Chuck. They came to room 28L. The door said “Velvet Room.” They went inside. It was very quiet, very private, and there were two holes in the wall. A strangely shaped low chair was positioned in front of the two holes. “This is nice, but I can’t see the stage,” said Luna. “You can’t see the stage in the Velvet Room. It’s not about seeing.” Chuck smiled and moved his hand lightly over her hair. His eyes had an inner level, through the irises—it felt as if she was looking down a spiral staircase. “Now you must take off your shoes and your black stockings, although they’re very nice, and sit in the chair.” “Okay,” said Luna. She slipped off her stockings and handed them to him. He folded them and put them on a little side table. “Good,” said Chuck. “And now I sit?” Chuck nodded. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said. She sat and looked up at him, taking another hit of his eyes. The chair was low, and her dress rode up. “Sorry, a little indelicate here,” she said, hitching to cover the sight of her red panties. “Don’t worry. You’re going to put your legs through the holes.” “Now?” Chuck nodded. She pointed her right foot and put it through the hole. Then her left foot. “Good,” said Chuck. “All the way now.” Luna scooted forward on the seat. “A little further,” said Chuck, taking a position behind her in the chair. Luna felt her legs dangling out in space, and then she felt a man’s hand touch her and cradle her right heel. “I do believe someone is holding my foot,” she said. “That’s Alexander,” said Chuck. The touch was gentle, and Luna sensed that Alexander had a little French-style goatee, perhaps. She could hear him murmuring. Her main thought was: Boy am I glad I shaved my legs this morning. “What’s he saying?” she asked Chuck. Chuck turned up a volume dial. “You can speak to him if you’d like,” he said. “May I ask who you are?” she asked politely. The hands stopped. “I am Alexander Borodin, the very famous Russian composer,” said the voice.

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

  “Yes. And there’s a restaurant where people stand on the balcony to watch the pussyboarders come zooming downward to the lake one by one. Men, mostly Deprivos, line up afterward, if that’s what you want. It’s totally up to you. Some women feel so fresh from the lake that they want sex immediately.” “Got it,” said Henriette. She looked at Ned and Ned looked at her, and they shrugged—what the hell? Then a small cable-car gondola arrived, swaying and circling around on a metal track. The cables made gentle zinging sounds of tautness, and the door whished open. They got in, waving good-bye to Krock. The gondola rocked a little as the doors closed, and it began silently ascending toward a very high craggy tower. Ned and Henriette smiled embarrassedly at each other. “This is fun, I think,” said Ned. “It’s quiet,” said Henriette. “Very quiet,” said Ned. “Oh, look at the little herd of mountain zebra! So elegant.” Ned looked, but he couldn’t see them. They rose up up up, till the trees thinned out and stopped, and the mountains changed color and became turquoise and orange and red, and then they turned past a tall tower where there was a sudden dinging and an urgent pull of acceleration, and then they went higher still, through an impossibility of mist, and then finally out again into very bright deep-blue daylight. As they slowed, Henriette yawned to adjust her ears. The gondola’s door opened, and they disembarked on the flat smooth top of a crag. There were two chairs and a table with a linen tablecloth, and each chair had a shiny chrome double-scoped observation telescope in front of it. It was sunny and, fortunately, not too windy. The strange swooshing silence was even deeper here. “We’re really up high,” said Ned. The table was laid with some fruit, some grapes, some crackers, and a bottle of House red and two glasses. Henriette looked out, chewing a grape, letting her eyes adjust. They seemed to be about a mile up on an irregular, brittle, wind-eroded obelisk with a flat top and a low railing. There were about fifty other pillars, or spears, needling up from the clouds around them—each looking like the chemical mountains that grow in toy aquariums. The closest mountain was about five hundred yards away. Henriette spied a couple sitting on it. They, too, seemed to have a table with some delicacies set out. She waved. They waved back. “Have you got a quarter?” Henriette asked. “I think so,” said Ned, looking through his pockets.

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

  Probably have to suck on it a little. Well, it’s sort of big, not quite as big as yours is. Great. Thanks, honey, I’ll call you later, bye.” Betsy went to work. When Glenn’s cock was good and stiff, he lay on the floor on his back. Dave, still in his pants, sat spread-eagled on a chair directly over Glenn’s head. Shandee, her pussy ring-dinging like mad, got astride Glenn, and Betsy held Glenn’s cock at the right angle. “That pussy spray makes me sick horny,” said Shandee. “When do I sit down on Glenn?” “Right now, Shandee, fuck his pole. Betsy will help you guide it in. Soon you’ll feel the plasmic cockmeat puree begin to move right through your body.” Shandee spiraled slowly down on Glenn’s cock. “Ohhh, that feels so nice,” she said. “Thank you,” said Glenn. “And it’s actually my cock down there, so thank you from me, as well,” said Dave. “Now Lanasha,” said Daggett, “haul out Dave’s current cock and give it a spray of the blue fluid and a good sprinkle of Bohu’s beardwater, too.” Everyone politely suppressed a gasp at the massive rude cockitude of Dave’s equipment as Lanasha unfolded it and shook it free from the confines of Dave’s pants. Shandee was mesmerized. She and Lanasha together worked their fists up and down on its length, and as their hands rose and fell, pulling the cockskin, Dave’s mobile balls hopped up and down in their hairy handbag. “Oh, my god, I’ve got so much dick going on here!” said Shandee. “Keep fucking Glenn and meanwhile always suck and jack on Dave,” said Daggett. “Keep the flow going.” Everyone went quiet, watching Shandee do her strenuous double service. She pulled up on and then slumped down on Glenn’s rigid stonker, and she gave simultaneous attention to Dave’s jaw-dropping mouthful of dickstick. “Both genitals are going plasmic—they’re about to flow,” Daggett announced, wrapping a bra strap tightly around his balls. “Are you ready for the transfer? It’ll happen fast.” Shandee nodded yes as her ass rose and fell, and then she involuntarily grunted as a huge molten mass of shifting sexmeat crissed and crossed through her body. She grabbed Dave’s hips to steady herself and felt the enormity of the testosterodick travel from her mouth down through her middlemost uterine self and into Glenn’s rapidly growing loinstem. Dave’s cock was still hard, but it was shrinking in girth and length. Shandee popped her head off of it for an instant, working it with her hands instead. “More and more of the dick is going down through me, oh, my god!” she said. She chewed one side of her cheek. “It’s growing huge in my vagina! Oh, there’s so much hot, bad ball-hopping dick in me now! Oh, this feels so good, oh, Dave, this dick!

• 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?”