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 Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  Suddenly I felt my husband near me. He pushed me forward slightly, maneuvering me, I knew, so that I was in the exact position that she had been in. When I was settled like he wanted, my head and forearms rested on the floor, and my knees rested on the ottoman, spread wide apart. In this position my hips were forced impossibly high into the air and opened very wide. Terror and manic excitement made me light-headed, giving me a dreamlike impression of those first few moments. But when I felt his hands grasping my hips in readiness for what was coming, I suddenly became acutely aware of everything around me. It seemed that all my senses were heightened, so that every detail appeared magnified and distinct. I held my breath as I felt my husband’s hardness pressing against my nether opening. My hips instinctively contracted, wanting to close and move forward to escape him. But both my position and his grasp on my hips would allow no such escape, and so I was obliged to remain still as he forced himself into me. In spite of my good intentions, I cried out. My husband immediately stopped. He did not withdraw, but he held himself perfectly still where he was. There were tears of disappointment in my eyes. I had not expected that first, stinging pain. But in the very next moment the sting began to subside. Even so, it was still terribly uncomfortable. Notwithstanding the pain and discomfort, I was still amazingly aroused. And I was far from ready to give up on the experience. I can’t stop now, I thought. I have come too far. Besides, if she could do it, I can too! With renewed determination, I arched my back, pushing my hips upward and opening myself further to my husband. He groaned when I did this, and his fingers dug into my flesh. He advanced very slowly, carefully urging himself into me, and I could tell from his groans that he was using every bit of restraint he possessed to go slowly. Even so, I had to bite my lip to avoid crying out again. But at last he was fully inside me. The combination of shock, excitement, and discomfort was like nothing I had ever experienced before. As I became accustomed to the discomfort, I almost felt disappointment, so exquisite had that aspect of the intimacy been for me. He withdrew gradually and then once again pushed himself forward slowly. He was being very careful and gentle because it was me. But I did not want to be me tonight. I wanted to be her. If I were really going to feel what she felt, all this tenderness would have to go. “Do you like it?” I asked my husband, as he continued to move in and out of me slowly. “Yes,” he moaned. “Do you like mine as much as you liked hers?” I pressed. “Better!”

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  Imagine, from now on she could have all the attention she could ever wish for (and then some), while never having to worry about the effect it would have on her position as ruler! She thought of how exciting it had been to have all of those eyes upon her. What had they been thinking as they watched? She wondered what other things the emperor would do to her while servants and royals alike gazed on with interest. The emperor laughed again as he watched the empress’s expression change with her rushing thoughts. “I have invited dukes and duchesses from all over our kingdom to attend our next production,” he said. “Perhaps we should begin rehearsing for it now!” And indeed they spent the rest of the evening doing just that. The Goose GirlThere once lived a princess who had, since the day of her birth, been promised in marriage to a prince in a faraway kingdom. When the time at last came for the princess to go to her prince, there was great sorrow throughout her kingdom, for she was a kind and gentle princess who was loved by all. Her mother, the queen, was the most saddened by the event, and gathered for her daughter many rare treasures for her to take away with her. Preparations took many months, and when they were completed there was such a procession of trunks that you could not see the beginning from the end. Stuffed within the massive trunks were assorted jewels of the rarest quality and brilliance, gold and silver accessories for the princess’s every convenience, yards upon yards of the finest fabrics obtainable in every color of the rainbow, and too many other items to mention here—all of the very best quality and in great abundance. No small detail had been overlooked, so that there was included everything befitting a princess; indeed, many a queen would approve such a legacy. These brimming trunks were carefully loaded onto long carts, which were then furnished with guards that had been selected from among the most devoted servants throughout the kingdom. In addition to this extravagant cargo, the princess was given, for her personal maid and companion, the beautiful daughter of the king’s most trusted servant, a man who had himself descended from a long line of servants to the throne. This maid was a most agreeable selection to the princess, for she had been a cherished companion of hers since her childhood. For her journey, the princess was given an enchanted horse that could speak, called Falada. Last of all, the princess was presented with a golden necklace from which hung a royal ring belonging to her betrothed prince. She was to return the ring to the prince upon their marriage. When all was ready for departure, the entire castle turned out to wish the princess well and, at length, the journey was begun.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  The Emperor’s lips were warm on the back of her neck as his hands moved deliberately downward, stroking her back and hips. Hypnotized, the empress silently watched the servants’ eyes as they followed the motions of her husband’s hands with rapt attention, especially as he brought them slowly around her waist and then upward, cupping her breasts. He caressed her with a knowing touch, brazenly fondling her. All the while he kept kissing her along her neck and back as she mutely stared at the audience’s faces. Even when he suddenly and brutally squeezed the tips of her breasts, forcing a small gasp from her lips, she still did not take her eyes from those of the spectators, who stared, enthralled by the exhibition before them. Frozen thus, the empress could only breathlessly anticipate the emperor’s next move as his hands traveled slowly downward, ever so slowly, until at last they lightly grazed the tender flesh between her legs. Her audience’s eyes followed his hands, as they circled round and round, just brushing her lightly, teasing her. But the emperor was growing impatient to know if the empress was really willing to accept the part he had created for her in this drama and so, as the servants stared on, spellbound, he touched her more intimately, pushing his finger deep inside her, searching for her response to his unspoken question. He groaned with pleasure when he felt her soft, wet answer. With the screen test so successfully concluded, the emperor could think of no reason to further delay the performance. He gently guided the empress’s upper body forward so that she was bent at the waist. Instinctively, her hands reached out to lean on the crystal panel in front of her, in an attempt to gain leverage in her new position. Meanwhile the emperor spread her legs apart with his foot, keeping one hand on the small of her back to hold her in place. “You are the scheduled performance, empress,” he said, as he pushed himself into her. The empress stood there, dazed, leaning weakly against the cool wall of glass, unable to think of anything but the roomful of servants who were silently watching while the emperor took her right before their eyes. She stared at the floor, still uncertain in the midst of the conflicting sensations that were flooding through her. But at length she felt herself being enticed out of her trance and succumbing to the exquisite pleasure building up within her. She slowly began to respond to her husband, self-consciously at first, with awkward little motions and thrusts, and meanwhile stifling her moans into tiny gasps and shrieks. But as the dreamlike quality of the event started to ebb away into the reality of what was happening, she became increasingly more excited, and her movements became more uninhibited and frantic, until at last she was pumping her hips against the emperor’s in a frenzy of pleasure.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  As one hypnotized, the prince was fully under Cinderella’s spell and eagerly waited for her to enlighten him further on her pleasure. It took effort and self-control to hold back and gently and carefully touch the place where her hand was pressing his into her soft flesh, but he concentrated all his energies on what she was trying to show him. She loosened her hold as he became more skillful, and it thrilled him when she moved her hips against his capable hand. Using the most sensitive parts of his fingertips, the prince very gently felt all around her exposed flesh, searching very vigilantly for a clue to her secrets. Just above her soft opening he discovered a small bud of flesh that appeared to be quite tender. He noticed how Cinderella quivered when he rubbed the little bud in just the right way, just at the top where it begins, in a circular motion, and at just the right tension and speed. It thrilled him to see her tremble and shake beneath his fingertips, and he could not resist every now and then slipping a finger into her, and shuddering when he felt the soft, silky wetness that was the reward for his efforts. Every now and then the prince, in his impatience, would unconsciously quicken the motions of his fingers, in his impatience to bring about Cinderella’s climax, but each time he did this, she would bring him back to attention with a gentle motion of her hand, as a reminder of how she liked it. Each of these little incidents caused another surge of excitement to fill his loins, until he thought he might explode. Even so, he was determined that she should be thoroughly satisfied and would have joyfully administered this pleasure to her throughout the night if she had wished it. However, Cinderella was presently breathing very quickly, in short little gasps. She had momentarily lost all awareness of the prince, for strange little fragments of sensual scenarios were playing themselves out inside her brain. The prince, meanwhile, could sense that he was very close to bringing his wife the satisfaction she had so often given him, so he focused all his concentration to what his fingers were doing. He forced himself to keep a slow, even pace, as his fingertips relentlessly rubbed and twirled her swollen flesh. Suddenly he realized she had arrived at the peak of her excitement, and it took all his self-control to keep the steady pace until she was fully relieved, but he did just that. And even when she was finished, he very leisurely and gently held her there, and then kissed and licked her there, relishing in her wet silkiness. Cinderella moaned and shuddered in utter contentment.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  Her fairy godmother was shocked. It was not customary for her to be called back by the tears of a godchild whom she had already enchanted with her powers. In fact, it had not happened to her before. She sat close to Cinderella and tenderly took both her hands up in hers, determined to find the cause of all this. Could it be that an evil witch had cast a spell on her goddaughter? “Tell me, dear, what it is that is making you so unhappy?” Cinderella thought for a moment. How could she explain it? It wasn’t precisely that anything was making her unhappy. It was more that nothing was making her happy. Then she remembered the glass slippers. Certainly they were one source of unhappiness that she could clearly identify. “The glass slippers that you gave me are making me very unhappy, Godmother,” she whimpered. Her fairy godmother drew in a sharp breath. “Why, my dear,” she cried defensively, “I was certain they were a perfect fit!” How dare the girl question her abilities? “Well yes, but they are so confining!” replied Cinderella. Her fairy godmother was stunned into silence by that. What could she say? Who presumed that a glass slipper, or a prince’s kingdom, or any other fairy-tale aspiration for that matter, would not be confining? “It’s as if I can’t be myself in those shoes,” continued Cinderella. “I can’t even remember who myself is.” “Ah,” said the wise fairy godmother. She could not comprehend the connection this complaint had to do with the lovely glass slippers, but as it happened she was very well acquainted with the ever-prevalent issue of self-identity. What fairy godmother wasn’t these days, what with frogs who believed they were princes and wolves impersonating grandmothers? And as luck would have it, the recommended cure came in the form of two lovely slippers, the uppers of which were made from the softest part of lambs’ ears, and bound together with the wispy tendons of bat wings, and all of this was soled with the rubbery tips of a thousand tiny leaping frogs’ fingers. In addition to heightening the wearer’s self-awareness and desires, the slippers were above all comfortable, so with a little good fortune they would cure Cinderella of everything that ailed her. “I do have the cure,” her godmother announced, “but I must give you this warning—self-discovery is a solitary activity, and the discoverer must have a care not to alienate those who matter most to them.” Cinderella nodded her head impatiently. Her fairy godmother’s warning was too ambiguous to concern her overmuch, especially since she was so discontented as to try anything new, regardless of consequences.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  Mouse again remained silent, because she could hardly deny that she would give much to see him on his hands and knees at that moment. Cat felt it was the perfect time to set Mouse up for another game. “You were the one who proposed the stakes,” he reminded her. “Now unless you wish to demand a rematch to win back your freedom, you are bound to serve me however I wish.” It only took a second for her eyes to flash back to life and for her to grasp the hook he had dangled before her. “A rematch?” “Yes,” he said smoothly. Then, pretending to change his mind, he added, “I mean, no. I don’t think I could be enticed to agree to that. After all, I’ve got a pretty good deal here with you as my slave for the evening.” He almost smiled as she uttered the words he had been waiting for. “But we could go double or nothing!” “Why should I wager two potential nights of slavery for the one definite night I already have?” he asked. “No, forget it. You’re wasting time. On your knees, if you please.” “What do you want, then?” she demanded. “Well, to consider giving up my evening as your master, I would need the opportunity to win something of even greater value to me, say…you as my wife.” He was as shocked as she was when he said it, for he had only been intending to make her stay with him for an indefinite period of time. But once the words were out he knew he meant them. He loved the feeling he got from her challenging nature. They had the perfect chemistry, and he knew they would keep challenging each other for the rest of their lives. But when Mouse heard his words she almost laughed. “You expect me to wager one night of slavery against an eternity of it?” she asked, incredulous. “As my wife, you would hardly be a slave,” he rejoined. “But it is flattering to know that your first instinct is to assume that you would be the loser.” This irritated her pride, and she grumbled resentfully, “It was only by using trickery that you won the last bet. It was completely unfair, and I can assure you that it will not happen again.” Although she could not help remembering his prying hand, and wondered how she could make true her rash statement. “Am I to understand that you wish to undergo the test again?” he asked with a taunting smile. “No!” she blurted, mortified. She tried to hide her blushing cheeks by turning her head away from him in an arrogant gesture. “What I mean is that I dispute the accuracy of such a barbarian test.” “Oh, I can assure you that it is a more accurate way to find out the truth than by your words,” he argued. “What I felt there was definitely not ‘disgust.’”

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  The salt tax was extremely unpopular and a powerful movement had been for some time past going on to secure its repeal. I therefore suggested that the people might prepare salt from sea-water in their own houses in disregard of the salt laws. My other suggestion was about the sale of proscribed literature. Two of my books, viz.,Hind Swaraj and Sarvodaya (Gujarati adaptation of Ruskin’s Unto This Last), which had been already proscribed, came handy for this purpose. To print and sell them openly seemed to be the easiest way of offering civil disobedience. A sufficient number of copies of the books was therefore printed, and it was arranged to sell them at the end of the monster meeting that was to be held that evening after the breaking of the fast. On the evening of the 6th an army of volunteers issued forth accordingly with this prohibited literature to sell it among the people. Both Shrimati Sarojini Devi and I went out in cars. All the copies were soon sold out. The proceeds of the sale were to utilized for furthering the civil disobedience campaign. Both these books were priced at four annas per copy, but I hardly remember anybody having purchased them from me at their face value merely. Quite a large number of people simply poured out all the cash that was in their pockets to purchase their copy. Five and ten rupee notes just flew out to cover the price of a single copy, while in one case I remember having sold a copy for fifty rupees! It was duly explained to the people that they were liable to be arrested and imprisoned for purchasing the proscribed literature. But for the moment they had shed all fear of jail-going. It was subsequently learnt that the Government had conveniently taken the view that the books that had been proscribed by it had not in fact been sold, and that what we had sold was not held as coming under the definition of proscribed literature. The reprint was held by the Government to be a new edition of the books that had been proscribed, and to sell them did not constitute an offence under the law. This news caused general disappointment. The next morning another meeting was held for the administration of the pledges with regard to Swadeshi and Hindu-Muslim unity. Vithaldas Jerajani for the first time realized that all is not gold that glitters. Only a handful of persons came. I distinctly remember some of the sisters who were present on that occasion. The men who attended were also very few. I had already drafted the pledge and brought it with me. I thoroughly explained its meaning to those present before I administered it to them. The paucity of the attendance neither pained nor surprised me, for I have noticed this characteristic difference in the popular attitude partiality for exciting work, dislike for quiet constructive effort. The difference has persisted to this day.

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  Then you bind his naked body to the pillar with the rope, stretching his arms above his head. You insist that he put up plenty of resistance and scream loudly. You give the victim an elaborate description of his approaching death, and all the while a strange, innocent smile plays about your lips. Taking a sharp knife from your pocket, you press close to him and tickle the skin of his straining chest with the point of the knife, lightly and caressingly. He gives a despairing cry, twisting his body in an effort to escape the knife; his breath roars with terrified panting; his legs tremble and his knees knock together with a clatter. Slowly the knife is driven into the side of his chest. (That's the outrageous thing you did!) The victim arches his body, giving a lonely, piteous shriek, and there is a spasm in the muscles around the wound. The knife has been buried in the rippling flesh as calmly as though being inserted in a scabbard. A fountain of blood bubbles up, pours out, and goes flowing down toward his smooth thighs. The pleasure you experience at this moment is a genuine human feeling. I say so because at this precise moment you possess the normality that is your obsession. Whatever the form of your fantasy, you are sexually excited to the very depths of your physical being, and such excitement is entirely normal, differing not a jot from that of other men. Your mind quivers under the rush of primitive, mysterious excitement. The deep joy of a savage is reborn in your breast. Your eyes shine, the blood blazes up throughout your body, and you overflow with that manifestation of life worshiped by savage tribes. Even after ejaculation a fevered, savage chant of exultation remains in your body; you are not attacked by that sadness which follows intercourse with a woman. You glitter with debauched loneliness. For a little while you are floating in the memory of a huge, ancient river. Perhaps by some chance the memory of the deepest emotion in the life force of your savage ancestors has taken utter possession of your sexual functions and pleasures. But you're too busy with your pretending to notice, aren't you? I cannot understand why you, who can thus sometimes feel the deep pleasure of human existence, find it necessary to utter such drivel about love and soul. I tell you what—how about this idea? What if you were to present your magnum opus of a quaint doctoral thesis in the presence of Sonoko? It's a profound dissertation entitled "Concerning the Functional Relationships between an Ephebe's Torso-Curves and Rate of flood Flow."

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  Snow White was positively trembling with shock and delight. “Choose your prince,” she heard one of them whisper close to her ear. But she remained silent, for she could not bear the thought of losing so much as one of the magnificent princes that stood before her. The princes did not question her silence. Instead, they knowingly removed their clothes, which had been all but torn to shreds in their transformation. Next, they set out to remove Snow White’s nightdress, and it quickly disappeared as a flurry of fourteen agile hands set to action. Relieved of the impediment of her gown, the hands were now free to caress her flushed, trembling body thoroughly, seeking out every curve and dimple and peak, and finding all her hidden places. The hands explored her fully, lingering here and there, but leaving no single part of her untouched. Meanwhile their lips devoured hers in turn. But the hungry mouths grew too impatient to wait idly for a turn at Snow White’s lips, so they sought out other places to kiss. Feverishly Snow White moaned and writhed as the hands and lips of the seven princes consumed every part of her. She shivered as she felt the sharp teeth of one prince nip carefully at her breast, while another prince gently suckled at the other. One tongue slid down the length of her belly as another wriggled its way into her body at the juncture between her legs. Another set of lips took hers in a deep and lingering kiss. Snow White was so overcome with excitement and desire that it was a struggle to keep breathing, and for a moment she feared she might lose consciousness. She floundered near delirium as she anxiously waited for what would come next. Perceiving her quandary and the remedy for it, the princes gently positioned Snow White’s body so that she could receive her first prince, a beautiful man with golden hair and eyes of the deepest blue. He kissed her tenderly as he slowly came into her. Snow White cried out in irrepressible ecstasy, utterly beside herself with the pleasure she felt. You mustn’t think that the other princes remained idle in the meantime. One prince held up her right leg while another prince held up her left. A third prince kissed her lips while two more kissed and licked her breasts. They all watched the fair prince take Snow White, patiently waiting for their own turn, and she had to close her eyes for a moment just to catch her breath. Just as Snow White was approaching the height of her pleasure with the gentle blond prince, the men who held her legs opened them wider and higher so that the prince could thrust himself deeper within her. This maneuver quickly had its effect, and all eyes watched the pair as they submitted to the last rushes of pleasure.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The other ladies, hearing her speak thus absolutely, not only held their peace, but all with one accord agreed that the young men should be called and acquainted with their project and bidden to be pleased bear them company in their expedition. Accordingly, without more words, Pampinea, who was knit by kinship to one of them, rising to her feet, made for the three young men, who stood fast, looking upon them, and saluting them with a cheerful countenance, discovered to them their intent and prayed them, on behalf of herself and her companions, that they would be pleased to bear them company in a pure and brotherly spirit. The young men at the first thought themselves bantered, but, seeing that the lady spoke in good earnest, they made answer joyfully that they were ready, and without losing time about the matter, forthright took order for that which they had to do against departure. On the following morning, Wednesday to wit, towards break of day, having let orderly make ready all things needful and despatched them in advance whereas they purposed to go,[22] the ladies, with certain of their waiting-women, and the three young men, with as many of their serving-men, departing Florence, set out upon their way; nor had they gone more than two short miles from the city, when they came to the place fore-appointed of them, which was situate on a little hill, somewhat withdrawn on every side from the high way and full of various shrubs and plants, all green of leafage and pleasant to behold. On the summit of this hill was a palace, with a goodly and great courtyard in its midst and galleries[23] and saloons and bedchambers, each in itself most fair and adorned and notable with jocund paintings, with lawns and grassplots round about and wonder-goodly gardens and wells of very cold water and cellars full of wines of price, things more apt unto curious drinkers than unto sober and modest ladies. The new comers, to their no little pleasure, found the place all swept and the beds made in the chambers and every thing full of such flowers as might be had at that season and strewn with rushes. [Footnote 22: _e prima mandato là dove_, etc. This passage is obscure and may be read to mean "and having first despatched [a messenger] (or sent [word]) whereas," etc. I think, however, that _mandato_ is a copyist's error for _mandata_, in which case the meaning would be as in the text.] [Footnote 23: Or balconies (_loggie_).]

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  “We’ve considered it many times,” Pamela says. “There have been many, many women who could have been part of our family—close friends who the whole family felt attracted to, and who felt attracted to the family. But when it came right down to it—well, it just never quite happened. At the time it was just too difficult.” Pamela stops stripping wallpaper, puts down her tools, and goes into the kitchen to prepare lunch for her daughter, Emmylou, and the Prophet Onias. “I could live the Principle more easily now that I’m older,” she says brightly. “I’ve matured a lot. I can see how my children would benefit from the talents of another woman. I’m not saying there wouldn’t be difficult times. But I can also imagine how neat it could be.” A frown crosses Pamela’s face. It entirely misses the point, she says, to think that joining the Work is mostly about plural marriage, or keeping blacks out of the priesthood, or other matters of doctrine. Such issues, she insists, are only “the superficial reasons” for her belief. She says the real basis for her faith “is spiritual. It’s all about the spirit that exists in your heart.” Hearing this, the Prophet Onias pipes in. “The LDS Church has pretty well lost the spirit,” he says. “You go and hear them on Sunday, or you hear the things they say at General Conference, and you realize most of them feel nothing.” In marked contrast, the spirit burns for Pamela with a white-hot flame. The energy she draws from it is palpable; one can almost feel the heat emanating from her skin. “I tell you,” Pamela says, pressing her hands to her chest, beaming, “when you feel that spirit—the real spirit—there’s nothing like it. You’re full of fire inside.” And that fire is being spread very effectively to the next generation of fundamentalists. Pamela’s daughter Emmylou, who is on the cusp of adolescence, lays out the plans for a house she has designed across the dining room table. “I did it on the Internet, according to the Principle,” she declares shyly, and then points out the home’s numerous special features. “The exterior is going to be rammed earth or maybe adobe,” she explains. “It’s eighty-five feet long by seventy-seven feet wide, all on one floor. This

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  As rough as sandpaper and larger than the leaf of an oak, the Beast’s tongue slowly wriggled and dug itself into my most tender place. I nearly jumped out of my skin, but the Beast held me firm, even as he repeated the action again, and still again. At once aggravated and enthralled by the harsh persistence of the inhuman thing that continued to rub and pry at my delicate flesh, I could do little more than twitch and jerk, one moment desperately trying to get away, and the next moment pressing myself toward him. His large tongue easily covered my exposed area in its entirety with one rough stroke, and then carefully resumed its invasion of my inner flesh with the enthusiasm of a hungry animal. I was near the point of swooning, so overcome with excitement was I. At last the Beast stopped with a grunt, and I felt his oversized fingers prying me open. By now my entire body was shaking violently. In spite of my excitement, I felt an immense pressure as the Beast began to press himself into me from behind. I protested with little cries, and my body instinctively edged forward in an effort to escape the intruding Beast. This he would not allow however, and his powerful hands grasped my waist harshly, jerking me all the way back until he entered me. I screamed. With visible difficulty, the Beast struggled to retain what little human restraint he still possessed. His whole body shook as he held me firmly in place and, in a strangled voice, he insisted, “You will get used to me in a moment.” But I was getting used to him before he finished his statement. My entire body suddenly felt like it was on fire. I moaned, tentatively rocking back and forth. But there was much more than what I had thus far experienced to endure. Pulling my hips forward in short little jerks, the Beast began a steady but gradual advance. “Slowly,” I heard him murmur, possibly to himself, as he continued to edge himself into my body. Little by little he pushed forward, all the while holding me firmly in place. All I could do was remain motionless, gasping and whimpering, one moment in extreme pleasure, the next in exquisite pain. I would never have thought it possible, but I was, in fact, able to take the Beast entirely. Yet I could scarcely breathe when at first the Beast filled me completely, for I felt as if I were being impaled. I was conscious of nothing but that part of me he filled.

• From The Spiral Staircase: My Climb Out of Darkness (2004)

  Then it hit me. Perhaps I should write it myself. I resumed my pacing, but this time thinking furiously. My book could set the Prophet in the context of his time, and I could angle it to a Western person who was confused by the controversy and had an inbuilt cultural suspicion of Islam. In the West we took it for granted that Islam was the religion of the sword; I myself had assumed that it was an inherently violent religion until I had started to study Islam seriously. In the new book, I could deal with this question when telling the story of Muhammad’s war with Mecca. When I described the Prophet’s relationship with his wives, I could discuss the position of women in Islam. I could look into the real meaning of the episode of the so-called Satanic verses that had inspired Rushdie’s novel, talk about the nature of scripture and what was entailed in the concept of divine inspiration. Feeling more excited and positive than I had felt for a long time, I went upstairs to my study, typed out an eight-page proposal, and faxed it to Felicity Bryan so that she could see it as soon as she came into the office on Monday morning. I was eager to begin, but it was months before we could find a publisher. Once again, most people who saw the proposal turned it down flat, convinced that the topic was too dangerous and that I would be joining Rushdie in hiding. There were the usual gloomy jeremiads. “Muslims won’t like it, you know,” a friend warned me solemnly. “They’ll see it as provocative to have not only a Westerner, but a Western woman, writing about their Prophet!” Others could not see why I wanted to get involved at all. I would appear to be siding with Islam, a position that would put me even further beyond the pale in London at the present time. It was just not politically correct right now. Finally, however, Liz Knights of Gollancz saw that the project had possibilities, and offered a small advance. Because I felt that time was of the essence, I agreed to deliver the manuscript on New Year’s Day 1991.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  As rough as sandpaper and larger than the leaf of an oak, the Beast’s tongue slowly wriggled and dug itself into my most tender place. I nearly jumped out of my skin, but the Beast held me firm, even as he repeated the action again, and still again. At once aggravated and enthralled by the harsh persistence of the inhuman thing that continued to rub and pry at my delicate flesh, I could do little more than twitch and jerk, one moment desperately trying to get away, and the next moment pressing myself toward him. His large tongue easily covered my exposed area in its entirety with one rough stroke, and then carefully resumed its invasion of my inner flesh with the enthusiasm of a hungry animal. I was near the point of swooning, so overcome with excitement was I. At last the Beast stopped with a grunt, and I felt his oversized fingers prying me open. By now my entire body was shaking violently. In spite of my excitement, I felt an immense pressure as the Beast began to press himself into me from behind. I protested with little cries, and my body instinctively edged forward in an effort to escape the intruding Beast. This he would not allow however, and his powerful hands grasped my waist harshly, jerking me all the way back until he entered me. I screamed. With visible difficulty, the Beast struggled to retain what little human restraint he still possessed. His whole body shook as he held me firmly in place and, in a strangled voice, he insisted, “You will get used to me in a moment.” But I was getting used to him before he finished his statement. My entire body suddenly felt like it was on fire. I moaned, tentatively rocking back and forth. But there was much more than what I had thus far experienced to endure. Pulling my hips forward in short little jerks, the Beast began a steady but gradual advance. “Slowly,” I heard him murmur, possibly to himself, as he continued to edge himself into my body. Little by little he pushed forward, all the while holding me firmly in place. All I could do was remain motionless, gasping and whimpering, one moment in extreme pleasure, the next in exquisite pain. I would never have thought it possible, but I was, in fact, able to take the Beast entirely. Yet I could scarcely breathe when at first the Beast filled me completely, for I felt as if I were being impaled. I was conscious of nothing but that part of me he filled.

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  FIFTEEN THE ONE MIGHTY AND STRONG As a religious city-state under tight control, Nauvoo was a haven where the followers of Joseph Smith had their most important choices—what they should do to serve God—made for them . . . , and their identity as God’s chosen people was assured through him. . . . As is common in such situations, the threat of evil was projected onto others. . . . Hence, at Nauvoo the innocent children of God realized their identity through their struggle against the evil followers of Satan, who dominated American society everywhere except in the city of the Saints. The problem, of course, with this kind of dichotomous myth is that, for the people who hold it, guilt and innocence become matters of belief, not evidence. JOHN E. HALLWAS AND ROGER D. LAUNIUS, CULTURES IN CONFLICT When the Utah businessman and Dream Mine supporter Bernard Brady brought Prophet Onias and the Lafferty brothers (minus Allen) together one crisp fall evening near the end of 1983, it seemed to all who were present to be an especially auspicious union. There was an instant feeling of kinship and shared values, and the men talked excitedly until “the wee hours of the morning,” according to Onias. Giddy with their sense of divinely empowered mission, everyone at the gathering was convinced that, collectively, they were destined to alter the course of human history. “Five of the six brothers,” Onias said, “became extremely enthusiastic when they realized that we had just been given a commandment by the Lord to send three sections of The Book of Onias to all the stake and ward authorities.” * He was referring to a revelation he’d received on November 26 of that year, in

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  Rejected by his wife, scorned by his community, Ron poured himself completely into the School of the Prophets. It became his family, his life, his world. Much of Ron’s time with the school was occupied by expediting the shipping of the pamphlets to LDS leaders, urging them to abandon their ungodly path. But the school’s main thrust, as Onias had conceived it, was to teach the faithful how to receive and interpret revelations from God, and as the winter of 1984 edged toward spring, Ron began receiving this instruction in earnest. On February 24, Ron became the first of Onias’s students to take delivery of a commandment from the Almighty. Sitting at a computer he’d borrowed from Bernard Brady, Ron closed his eyes and waited until he felt the spirit of the Lord cause a finger to depress a key, and then another, and another. By and by, a message from God inched across the screen: Ron’s inaugural revelation. He received a second revelation on February 25, and a third on the 27th. Upon witnessing his brother receiving revelations from God, Dan was spellbound, and excited. “I never received any revelations when we were in the School of the Prophets,” he explains. “Everyone else in the school did, and I’ve received revelations since then, so now I understand the phenomenon, but I didn’t at that time. So I was fascinated. I’d ask, ‘What is it like?!’ Ron said it was hard to describe, but I remember once he said, ‘It’s like a blanket falls over you, and you can feel the Lord’s thoughts, and you write them down.’ One revelation came to him a single word at a time, and he didn’t even know if it was coherent until he was done receiving it, and then went back and read it. But they didn’t always come that way. Sometimes he’d receive whole phrases at a time.” The revelation Ron received on February 27 was in fact a message from the Lord to Ron’s wife, with Ron simply serving as the conduit. In this commandment God reiterated that the earth would soon be destroyed, and He warned Dianna: Thou are a chosen daughter but My wrath is kindled against thee because of thy rebelliousness against

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  The Emperor’s lips were warm on the back of her neck as his hands moved deliberately downward, stroking her back and hips. Hypnotized, the empress silently watched the servants’ eyes as they followed the motions of her husband’s hands with rapt attention, especially as he brought them slowly around her waist and then upward, cupping her breasts. He caressed her with a knowing touch, brazenly fondling her. All the while he kept kissing her along her neck and back as she mutely stared at the audience’s faces. Even when he suddenly and brutally squeezed the tips of her breasts, forcing a small gasp from her lips, she still did not take her eyes from those of the spectators, who stared, enthralled by the exhibition before them. Frozen thus, the empress could only breathlessly anticipate the emperor’s next move as his hands traveled slowly downward, ever so slowly, until at last they lightly grazed the tender flesh between her legs. Her audience’s eyes followed his hands, as they circled round and round, just brushing her lightly, teasing her. But the emperor was growing impatient to know if the empress was really willing to accept the part he had created for her in this drama and so, as the servants stared on, spellbound, he touched her more intimately, pushing his finger deep inside her, searching for her response to his unspoken question. He groaned with pleasure when he felt her soft, wet answer. With the screen test so successfully concluded, the emperor could think of no reason to further delay the performance. He gently guided the empress’s upper body forward so that she was bent at the waist. Instinctively, her hands reached out to lean on the crystal panel in front of her, in an attempt to gain leverage in her new position. Meanwhile the emperor spread her legs apart with his foot, keeping one hand on the small of her back to hold her in place. “You are the scheduled performance, empress,” he said, as he pushed himself into her. The empress stood there, dazed, leaning weakly against the cool wall of glass, unable to think of anything but the roomful of servants who were silently watching while the emperor took her right before their eyes. She stared at the floor, still uncertain in the midst of the conflicting sensations that were flooding through her. But at length she felt herself being enticed out of her trance and succumbing to the exquisite pleasure building up within her. She slowly began to respond to her husband, self-consciously at first, with awkward little motions and thrusts, and meanwhile stifling her moans into tiny gasps and shrieks. But as the dreamlike quality of the event started to ebb away into the reality of what was happening, she became increasingly more excited, and her movements became more uninhibited and frantic, until at last she was pumping her hips against the emperor’s in a frenzy of pleasure.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  Among other monstrosities in this lumber room was a largish black japanned box, excellently and ingeniously made some sixty or seventy years ago, and fitted with every imaginable object. On top was a concentrated toilet set: brushes, bottles, mirrors, combs, boxes, even three beautiful little razors in safety sheaths, shaving bowl and all. Underneath came a sort of escritoire outfit: blotters, pens, ink bottles, paper, envelopes, memorandum books: and then a perfect sewing outfit with three different-sized scissors, thimbles, needles, silks and cottons, darning egg, all of the very best quality and perfectly finished. Then there was a little medicine store, with bottles labelled Laudanum, Tincture of Myrrh, Ess. Cloves and so on: but empty. Everything was perfectly new, and the whole thing, when shut up, was as big as a small, but fat weekend bag. And inside, it fitted together like a puzzle. The bottles could not possibly have spilled: there wasn't room. The thing was wonderfully made and contrived, excellent craftsmanship of the Victorian order. But somehow it was monstrous. Some Chatterley must even have felt it, for the thing had never been used. It had a peculiar soullessness. Yet Mrs. Bolton was thrilled. "Look what beautiful brushes, so expensive, even the shaving brushes, three perfect ones! No! and those scissors! They're the best that money could buy. Oh, I call it lovely!" "Do you?" said Connie. "Then you have it." "Oh no, my Lady!" "Of course! It will only lie here till Doomsday. If you won't have it, I'll send it to the Duchess as well as the pictures, and she doesn't deserve so much. Do have it!" "Oh your Ladyship! Why I shall never be able to thank you." "You needn't try," laughed Connie. And Mrs. Bolton sailed down with the huge and very black box in her arms, flushing bright pink in her excitement. Mr. Betts drove her in the trap to her house in the village, with the box. And she _had_ to have a few friends in, to show it: the schoolmistress, the chemist's wife, Mrs. Weedon the under-cashier's wife. They thought it marvellous. And then started the whisper of Lady Chatterley's child. "Wonders'll never cease!" said Mrs. Weedon. But Mrs. Bolton was _convinced_, if it did come, it would be Sir Geoffrey's child. So there! Not long after, the rector said gently to Clifford: "And may we really hope for an heir to Wragby? Ah, that would be the hand of God in mercy, indeed!" "Well! We may _hope_," said Clifford, with a faint irony, and at the same time, a certain conviction. He had begun to believe it really possible it might even be _his_ child.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  There was no question of misunderstanding ‘the 31st of July,’ and if nothing was done by that date, we could proceed further. Dr.Reed saw the force of the argument, and ultimately Sjt. Lallubhai also agreed. We adopted the 31st July as the latest date by which the abolition should be announced, a resolution to that effect was passed at the public meeting, and meetings throughout India resolved accordingly. Mrs. Jaiji Petit put all her energies into the organization of a ladies’ deputation to the Viceroy. Amongst the ladies from Bombay who formed the deputation, I remember the names of Lady Tata and the late Dilshad Begam. The deputation had a great effect. The Viceroy gave an encouraging reply. I visited Karachi, Calcutta and various other places. There were fine meetings everywhere, and there was unbounded enthusiasm. I had not expected anything like it when the agitation was launched. In those days I used to travel alone, and had therefore wonderful experiences. C. I. D. men were always after me. But as I had nothing to conceal, they did not molest me, nor did I cause them any trouble. Fortunately I had not then received the stamp of Mahatmaship, though the shout of that name was quite common where people knew me. On one occasion the detectives disturbed me at several stations, asked for my ticket and took down the number. I, of course, readily replied to all questions they asked. My fellow passengers had taken me to be a ‘sadhu’ or a ‘fakir’. When they saw that I was being molested at every station, they were exasperated and swore at the detectives. ‘Why are you worrying the poor sadhu for nothing?’ they protested. ‘Don’t you show these scoundrels your ticket,’ they said, addressing me. I said to them gently: ‘It is no trouble to show them my ticket. They are doing their duty.’ The passengers were not satisfied, they evinced more and more sympathy, and strongly objected to this sort of ill- treatment of innocent men. But the detectives were nothing. The real hardship was the third class travelling. My bitterest experience was from Lahore to Delhi. I was going to Calcutta from Karachi via Lahore where I had to change trains. It was full, and those who could get in did so by sheer force, often sneaking through windows if the doors were locked. I had to reach Calcutta on the date fixed for the meeting, and if I missed this train I could not arrive in time. I had almost given up hope of getting in. No one was willing to accept me, when porter discovering my plight came to me and said, ‘Give me twelve annas and I’ll get you a seat.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘you shall have twelve annas if you do procure me a seat.’ The young man went from carriage to carriage entreating passengers but no one heeded him.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  Snow White stared at the dark protrusion in wonder. Her mouth was opened slightly from the little gasps and shrieks that escaped through her lips, and now, she perceived that her black prince was edging forward slowly, ever so slowly, until finally his wetness could be felt upon her lips. He did not force himself into her mouth, however, but waited for her lips to open wider, which they did of their own accord, and in the next instant he was fully inside her. Tremendously aroused yet again, she rocked her body back and forth, delighting in the abandon. How she had longed for a single prince to pleasure her. Now she would never be content with only one! And so the princes served Snow White worthily, each in a different and unique way, until she had sampled the gifts of all seven. And even when it was not their turn to please her, they continued to minister to her faithfully, assisting her in every way they could devise for her to achieve the maximum amount of pleasure. At last exhausted, she drifted off into a very deep sleep. The next morning Snow White woke up alone and almost fancied that she had dreamed the entire episode, except that throughout her body she felt tiny evidences that she had indeed been ravished the night before. But where have my princes gone to? she wondered. And where had they come from? She was left to ponder this for the remainder of the day, until at last the seven dwarfs came home that evening. But seeing them, Snow White felt quite shy, and wondered how she should approach the subject. Snow White remained silent through dinner, but memories of the previous night flashed in and out of her mind. Feverishly she fought off the images, but they continued to assail her until she cried, “Where are my princes?” Within seconds the dwarfs’ true identities were explained to her. Snow White had only to kiss the lips of any dwarf of her choosing to free him, if only temporarily, from the evil spell. How Snow White rejoiced to hear this! And yet, she once again wondered how she would be able to choose one over the other. In examining each of their faces, she could clearly see that they were all equally devoted to her. “I cannot choose between you, my dearest princes,” she said to the dwarfs. “How could I?” The dwarfs glanced at each other. They had never denied her anything she wished, and they could not do so now. “You may see all your princes again if that is what you wish, Snow White,” Doc told her kindly. “It is entirely up to you.”