Fear

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 Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Objection 5: Further, the Philosopher says (Rhet. i, 19): “Those virtues must needs be greatest which are most profitable to others.” Now liberality seems to be more useful than fortitude. Therefore it is a greater virtue. I answer that, As Augustine says (De Trin. vi), “In things that are great, but not in bulk, to be great is to be good”: wherefore the better a virtue the greater it is. Now reason’s good is man’s good, according to Dionysius (Div. Nom. iv) prudence, since it is a perfection of reason, has the good essentially: while justice effects this good, since it belongs to justice to establish the order of reason in all human affairs: whereas the other virtues safeguard this good, inasmuch as they moderate the passions, lest they lead man away from reason’s good. As to the order of the latter, fortitude holds the first place, because fear of dangers of death has the greatest power to make man recede from the good of reason: and after fortitude comes temperance, since also pleasures of touch excel all others in hindering the good of reason. Now to be a thing essentially ranks before effecting it, and the latter ranks before safeguarding it by removing obstacles thereto. Wherefore among the cardinal virtues, prudence ranks first, justice second, fortitude third, temperance fourth, and after these the other virtues. Reply to Objection 1: Ambrose places fortitude before the other virtues, in respect of a certain general utility, inasmuch as it is useful both in warfare, and in matters relating to civil or home life. Hence he begins by saying (De Offic. i): “Now we come to treat of fortitude, which being higher so to speak than the others, is applicable both to warlike and to civil matters.” Reply to Objection 2: Virtue essentially regards the good rather than the difficult. Hence the greatness of a virtue is measured according to its goodness rather than its difficulty. Reply to Objection 3: A man does not expose his person to dangers of death except in order to safeguard justice: wherefore the praise awarded to fortitude depends somewhat on justice. Hence Ambrose says (De Offic. i) that “fortitude without justice is an occasion of injustice; since the stronger a man is the more ready is he to oppress the weaker.” The Fourth argument is granted. Reply to Objection 5: Liberality is useful in conferring certain particular favors: whereas a certain general utility attaches to fortitude, since it safeguards the whole order of justice. Hence the Philosopher says (Rhet. i, 9) that “just and brave men are most beloved, because they are most useful in war and peace.” OF MARTYRDOM (FIVE ARTICLES)We must now consider martyrdom, under which head there are five points of inquiry: (1) Whether martyrdom is an act of virtue? (2) Of what virtue is it the act? (3) Concerning the perfection of this act; (4) The pain of martyrdom; (5) Its cause.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  I answer that, Since fear is born of love, we must seemingly judge alike of love and fear. Now it is here a question of that fear whereby one dreads temporal evils, and which results from the love of temporal goods. And every man has it instilled in him by nature to love his own life and whatever is directed thereto; and to do so in due measure, that is, to love these things not as placing his end therein, but as things to be used for the sake of his last end. Hence it is contrary to the natural inclination, and therefore a sin, to fall short of loving them in due measure. Nevertheless, one never lapses entirely from this love: since what is natural cannot be wholly lost: for which reason the Apostle says (Eph. 5:29): “No man ever hated his own flesh.” Wherefore even those that slay themselves do so from love of their own flesh, which they desire to free from present stress. Hence it may happen that a man fears death and other temporal evils less than he ought, for the reason that he loves them* less than he ought. [*Viz. the contrary goods. One would expect ‘se’ instead of ‘ea.’ We should then read: For the reason that he loves himself less than he ought.] But that he fear none of these things cannot result from an entire lack of love, but only from the fact that he thinks it impossible for him to be afflicted by the evils contrary to the goods he loves. This is sometimes the result of pride of soul presuming on self and despising others, according to the saying of Job 41:24,25: “He [Vulg.: ‘who’] was made to fear no one, he beholdeth every high thing”: and sometimes it happens through a defect in the reason; thus the Philosopher says (Ethic. iii, 7) that the “Celts, through lack of intelligence, fear nothing.” [*”A man would deserve to be called insane and senseless if there were nothing that he feared, not even an earthquake nor a storm at sea, as is said to be the case with the Celts.”] It is therefore evident that fearlessness is a vice, whether it result from lack of love, pride of soul, or dullness of understanding: yet the latter is excused from sin if it be invincible. Reply to Objection 1: The just man is praised for being without fear that withdraws him from good; not that he is altogether fearless, for it is written (Ecclus. 1:28): “He that is without fear cannot be justified.” Reply to Objection 2: Death and whatever else can be inflicted by mortal man are not to be feared so that they make us forsake justice: but they are to be feared as hindering man in acts of virtue, either as regards himself, or as regards the progress he may cause in others. Hence it is written (Prov. 14:16): “A wise man feareth and declineth from evil.”

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Further. The order of justice demands that punishment be awarded for sin. Now, the wisdom of God’s government appears in the maintenance of order among things. Therefore it belongs to the manifestation of God’s goodness and glory that punishment be the reward of sin. But the sinner by sinning acts against the divinely established order, for he transgresses the laws of God. Therefore it is right that he make compensation by punishing in himself that which had previously sinned: for thus he will be wholly freed of his disorder. It is clear then that after man has by grace obtained the forgiveness of sin, and been restored to the state of grace, he remains, by virtue of God’s justice, bound to suffer punishment for the sin he has committed. And if he, of his own accord, take this punishment on himself, he is said thereby to satisfy God: inasmuch as with labour and pain he follows the divinely established order by punishing himself for his sin, which same order by sinning he of his own accord had abandoned.—On the other hand if he fails to take this punishment on himself, since the things subject to divine providence cannot remain in disorder, this punishment will be inflicted on him by God. Nor will this punishment come under the name of satisfaction, since it will not be of the sufferer’s choice: but it will be described as purgatorial, because he will be purged, as it were, by another punishing him, and whatever was disorderly in him will be brought back to the right order.—Hence the Apostle says (1 Cor. 11:31, 32): If we would judge ourselves, we should not be judged. But whilst we are judged, we are chastised by the Lord; that we be not condemned with this world. We must observe, however, that when the mind turns away from sin, it is possible for its detestation of sin to be so strong, and for it to cling so closely to God, that there remains no obligation to punishment. For, as may be gathered from what has been said, the punishment that one suffers after sin has been forgiven, is necessary in order that the mind may adhere to good more firmly, through being chastised by punishment; for punishment is a kind of medicine; and again that the order of justice may be maintained by the sinner being punished. Now, the love of God suffices to strengthen man’s mind in good, especially if it be vehement; and when the intense detestation of past sin causes great sorrow. Consequently great love of God, and great hatred of past sin remove the need of punishment whether satisfactory or purgatorial: and even if the vehemence be not so great as to exclude all punishment, yet the greater the vehemence, the less punishment will be required.

• From Post Office (1971)

  Maybe he’d never smelled anything like it and didn’t quite know what to do. I walked quietly away. 8There was another German Shepherd. It was hot summer and he came BOUNDING out of a back yard and then LEAPED through the air. His teeth snapped, just missing my jugular vein. “OH JESUS!” I hollered, “OH JESUS CHRIST! MURDER! MURDER! HELP! MURDER!” The beast turned and leaped again. I socked his head good in mid-air with the mail sack, letters and magazines flying out. He was ready to leap again when two guys, the owners, came out and grabbed him. Then, as he watched and growled, I reached down and picked up the letters and magazines that I would have to re-route on the front porch of the next house. “You sons of bitches are crazy,” I told the two guys, “that dog’s a killer. Get rid of him or keep him off the street!” I would have fought them both but there was that dog growling and lunging between them. I went over to the next porch and re-routed my mail on hands and knees. As usual, I didn’t have time for lunch, but I was still 40 minutes late getting in. The Stone looked at his watch. “You’re 40 minutes late.” “You never arrived,” I told him. “That’s a write-up.” “Sure it is, Stone.” He already had the proper form in the typer and was at it. As I sat casing up the mail and doing the go-backs he walked up and threw the form in front of me. I was tired of reading his write-ups and knew from my trip downtown that any protest was useless. Without looking I threw it into the wastebasket. 9Every route had its traps and only the regular carriers knew of them. Each day it was another god damned thing, and you were always ready for a rape, murder, dogs, or insanity of some sort. The regulars wouldn’t tell you their little secrets. That was the only advantage they had—except knowing their case by heart. It was gung ho for a new man, especially one who drank all night, went to bed at 2 a.m., rose at 4:30 a.m. after screwing and singing all night long, and, almost, getting away with it. One day I was out on the street and the route was going well, though it was a new one, and I thought, Jesus Christ, maybe for the first time in two years I’ll be able to eat lunch. I had a terrible hangover, but still all went well until I came to this handful of mail addressed to a church. The address had no street number, just the name of the church, and the boulevard it faced. I walked, hungover, up the steps. I couldn’t find a mailbox in there and no people in there. Some candles burning. Little bowls to dip your fingers in.

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

  Without pondering further over the matter, she carefully fit the tiny key into the keyhole and turned the latch. As soon as the latch was released, the door popped open, but the room was pitch-dark inside, as shutters were closed up tightly over the windows. She rummaged through her pockets in search of a match and, finding one, quickly lit it and held it out before her. She took a step forward as her eyes, adjusting to the darkness, fell upon a large table. There were shackles attached to the table, evidently for the purpose of restraining someone. Her eyes widened. In another part of the room she saw a heavy rope hanging from the ceiling. About halfway down on the rope there was a manacle, and directly below that the rope split into two parts, with each connecting to a shackle that was fastened to the floor. On a nearby wall there hung long leather strips of varied lengths and widths. As she stared at these objects in horror, Bluebeard’s wife suddenly recalled the many rumors she had heard about her husband’s previous wives, all of which were presumed dead. Suddenly it occurred to her that he must have killed them in this very room, for, to her inexperienced eyes, the objects she saw there could serve no other purpose. But there was no more time to deliberate over the matter for, at that very moment, the match she was holding burned down to her fingers and with a little shriek, the terrified lady dropped the match and the ring of keys onto the floor. Trembling violently, she felt around in the dark for the keys and, finding them at last, she rushed from the forbidden room, fled down the winding corridor, and slipped into the first open doorway she could find. She collapsed into a nearby chair. Very slowly the horrified lady began to regain her composure. She assured herself that her husband could not know that she had entered the room—for she had touched nothing. Considering this, she glanced at the key ring and gasped. Was it her imagination, or had the little key to the forbidden room changed? Yes, it had turned bright red!

• From The Decameron (1353)

  How sore concerned was Cimon for this it needeth not to ask; himseemed the gods had vouchsafed him his desire but to make death the more grievous to him, whereof, without that, he had before recked little. His comrades lamented on like wise, but Iphigenia bewailed herself over all, weeping sore and fearing every stroke of the waves; and in her chagrin she bitterly cursed Cimon's love and blamed his presumption, avouching that the tempest had arisen for none other thing but that the gods chose not that he, who would fain against their will have her to wife, should avail to enjoy his presumptuous desire, but, seeing her first die, should after himself perish miserably. Amidst such lamentations and others yet more grievous, the wind waxing hourly fiercer and the seamen knowing not what to do, they came, without witting whither they went or availing to change their course, near to the island of Rhodes, and unknowing that it was Rhodes, they used their every endeavour to get to land thereon, an it were possible, for the saving of their lives. In this fortune was favourable to them and brought them into a little bight of the sea, where the Rhodians whom Cimon had let go had a little before arrived with their ship; nor did they perceive that they had struck the island of Rhodes till the dawn broke and made the sky somewhat clearer, when they found themselves maybe a bowshot distant from the ship left of them the day before. At this Cimon was beyond measure chagrined and fearing lest that should betide them which did in very deed ensue, bade use every endeavour to issue thence and let fortune after carry them whither it should please her, for that they could be nowhere in worse case than there. Accordingly, they made the utmost efforts to put to sea, but in vain; for the wind blew so mightily against them that not only could they not avail to issue from the little harbour, but whether they would or no, it drove them ashore.

• From Post Office (1971)

  Go on in.” Oh hell, they were going to play the old drive-away joke. Damned farmers. They’d wait until I got in there and then drive off laughing. Well, let them. I could walk back. It’d give me a rest from Joyce. I walked very quickly into the field, waiting for them to drive off. I didn’t hear them leaving. I walked further in, then turned, cupped my hands and yelled back at them: “WELL, WHERE’S THE BUFFALO?” My answer came from behind me. I could hear their feet on the ground. There were three of them, big ones, just like in the movies, and they were running, they were coming FAST! One had a bit of a lead on the others. There was little doubt who they were headed for. “Oh shit!” I said. I turned and began running. That fence looked a long way away. It looked impossible. I couldn’t spare the time to look back. That might make the difference. I was flying, wide-eyed. I really moved! But they gained steadily! I could feel the ground shaking around me as they beat up the earth getting right down on me. I could hear them slobbering, I could hear them breathing. With the last of my strength I dug in and leaped the fence. I didn’t climb it. I sailed over it. And landed on my back in a ditch with one of those things poking his head over the fence and looking down at me. In the car, they were all laughing. They thought it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. Joyce was laughing louder than any of them. The stupid beasts circled, then loped off. I got out of the ditch and climbed in the car. “I’ve seen the buffalo,” I said, “now let’s go catch a drink.” They laughed all the way in. They’d stop and then somebody would start and then they all would start. Wally had to stop the car once. He couldn’t drive anymore. He opened the door and rolled out on the ground and laughed. Even grandma was getting hers, along with Joyce. Later the story got around in town and there was a bit of swagger missing from my walk. I needed a haircut. I told Joyce. She said, “Go to a barbershop. “ And I said, “I can’t. It’s the buffalo.” “Are you afraid of those men in the barbershop?” “It’s the buffalo,” I said. Joyce cut my hair. She did a terrible job. 4Then Joyce wanted to go back to the city. For all the drawbacks, that little town, haircuts or not, beat city life. It was quiet. We had our own house. Joyce fed me well. Plenty of meat. Rich, good, well-cooked meat. I’ll say one thing for that bitch. She could cook. She could cook better than any woman I had ever known. Food is good for the nerves and the spirit. Courage comes from the belly-all else is desperation.

• From Post Office (1971)

  got to walk a ways to see them.” There was nothing in the field. They thought they were being very funny, conning a city-slicker. I climbed the fence and walked on in. “Well, where are the buffalo?” I called back. “They’re there. Go on in.” Oh hell, they were going to play the old drive-away joke. Damned farmers. They’d wait until I got in there and then drive off laughing. Well, let them. I could walk back. It’d give me a rest from Joyce. I walked very quickly into the field, waiting for them to drive off. I didn’t hear them leaving. I walked further in, then turned, cupped my hands and yelled back at them: “WELL, WHERE’S THE BUFFALO?” My answer came from behind me. I could hear their feet on the ground. There were three of them, big ones, just like in the movies, and they were running, they were coming FAST! One had a bit of a lead on the others. There was little doubt who they were headed for. “Oh shit!” I said. I turned and began running. That fence looked a long way away. It looked impossible. I couldn’t spare the time to look back. That might make the difference. I was flying, wide-eyed. I really moved! But they gained steadily! I could feel the ground shaking around me as they beat up the earth getting right down on me. I could hear them slobbering, I could hear them breathing. With the last of my strength I dug in and leaped the fence. I didn’t climb it. I sailed over it. And landed on my back in a ditch with one of those things poking his head over the fence and looking down at me. In the car, they were all laughing. They thought it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. Joyce was laughing louder than any of them. The stupid beasts circled, then loped off. I got out of the ditch and climbed in the car. “I’ve seen the buffalo,” I said, “now let’s go catch a drink.” They laughed all the way in. They’d stop and then somebody would start and then they all would start. Wally had to stop the car once. He couldn’t drive anymore. He opened the door and rolled out on the ground and laughed. Even grandma was getting hers, along with Joyce. Later the story got around in town and there was a bit of swagger missing from my walk. I needed a haircut. I told Joyce. She said, “Go to a barbershop. “ And I said, “I can’t. It’s the buffalo.” “Are you afraid of those men in the barbershop?” “It’s the buffalo,” I said. Joyce cut my hair. She did a terrible job.

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  "Well," I answered, "if the Americans don't make their landing near the arsenal I can get leave again in about a month." I was hoping—no, it was more than mere hope, it was a superstitious certainty—that during that month the Americans would surely land at S Bay and we would all be sent out as a student army to die to the last man, or else that a monstrous bomb, such as no one had ever imagined, would kill me, no matter where I might be taking shelter. . . . Could this have been a premonition of the atom bomb which was soon to fall? Then we went toward a slope bathed in sunlight. Two silver birch were shading the slope, looking like gentle-hearted sisters. Sonoko, walking along with downcast eyes, broke the silence: "When we meet next, what sort of present will you bring me?" "As for a present that I could bring in these days," I answered in desperation, pretending not to understand her meaning, "about the best I could do would be a defective plane or a muddy shovel." "I don't mean something that has a shape." "H'm, what could it be?" The more I feigned ignorance the more I was being driven into a corner. "It's a real riddle, isn't it? I'll puzzle it out at leisure on the train going back." "Yes, please do." Her tone of voice was a strange combination of self-possession and dignity. "I want you to promise you'll bring the gift." Sonoko had emphasized the word promise, and there was nothing I could do to defend myself except continue my bluff of cheerfulness: "Good!" I said patronizingly, "let's lock fingers on it. We locked our fingers together in that way children have for sealing their promises. The gesture seemed innocent enough, but suddenly I was beset with a fear I had known in childhood. I remembered how children said your finger would rot away if you broke a promise after you'd locked fingers on it. And my fear had an even more real reason: even if she did not say so, it was clear that Sonoko's talk of a present was a request for a marriage proposal. My fear was like that which a child feels all about him at night when he is afraid to go alone down a dark passage. That night at bedtime Sonoko came to the door of my room and, hiding herself partially behind the curtain hanging there, begged me poutingly to stay one day longer. I could only stare at her as though astonished by something.

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

  But there was no more time to deliberate over the matter for, at that very moment, the match she was holding burned down to her fingers and with a little shriek, the terrified lady dropped the match and the ring of keys onto the floor. Trembling violently, she felt around in the dark for the keys and, finding them at last, she rushed from the forbidden room, fled down the winding corridor, and slipped into the first open doorway she could find. She collapsed into a nearby chair. Very slowly the horrified lady began to regain her composure. She assured herself that her husband could not know that she had entered the room—for she had touched nothing. Considering this, she glanced at the key ring and gasped. Was it her imagination, or had the little key to the forbidden room changed? Yes, it had turned bright red! This discovery started her heart racing anew, and in desperation she took a section of her petticoat and rubbed the key vigorously, but no matter what she did the red would not come off the key. At length she perceived that it was a charmed key, and if her husband discovered it he would indeed find out that she had disobeyed him. But then she reasoned, “If I take the key off the ring perhaps Bluebeard will believe it has been lost.” As she considered this, a dark shadow fell over her and she looked up to find no other than Bluebeard standing before her. She flung the keys behind her and desperately tried to appear happy to see him, but he could see by her face, which was paler than death, that she had entered the forbidden room. Bluebeard did not accuse his wife immediately, however. Instead, he spoke to her very pleasantly, telling her how, just as he was nearing town, he had come upon a messenger riding in to tell him that the business had been concluded satisfactorily after all, so that he could forfeit his trip. All this he explained in a very leisurely manner, though what it was exactly that he said his poor wife could never have told you, so preoccupied was her traumatized mind. But at last Bluebeard came to the point and asked his wife very politely for the ring of keys. As you might well imagine, that lady did everything she could think of to delay, but her husband would not be put off, and at length she handed him the keys. Bluebeard examined the keys carefully and then said to his wife, “Why has the key which I forbade you to use turned red?” At this his wife burst into tears and confessed all, begging her husband to forgive her. But Bluebeard grabbed her fiercely, dragging her along as he strode purposefully toward the small room at the end of the corridor, saying, “Now you will meet your fate in that room!”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Nastagio, hearing these words, drew back, grown all adread, with not an hair on his body but stood on end, and looking upon the wretched damsel, began fearfully to await that which the knight should do. The latter, having made an end of his discourse, ran, tuck in hand, as he were a ravening dog, at the damsel, who, fallen on her knees and held fast by the two mastiffs, cried him mercy, and smiting her with all his might amiddleward the breast, pierced her through and through. No sooner had she received this stroke than she fell grovelling on the ground, still weeping and crying out; whereupon the knight, clapping his hand to his hunting-knife, ripped open her loins and tearing forth her heart and all that was thereabout, cast them to the two mastiffs, who devoured them incontinent, as being sore anhungred. Nor was it long ere, as if none of these things had been, the damsel of a sudden rose to her feet and began to flee towards the sea, with the dogs after her, still rending her; and in a little while they had gone so far that Nastagio could see them no more. The latter, seeing these things, abode a great while between pity and fear, and presently it occurred to his mind that this might much avail him, seeing that it befell every Friday; wherefore, marking the place, he returned to his servants and after, whenas it seemed to him fit, he sent for sundry of his kinsmen and friends and said to them, 'You have long urged me leave loving this mine enemy and put an end to my expenditure, and I am ready to do it, provided you will obtain me a favour; the which is this, that on the coming Friday you make shift to have Messer Paolo Traversari and his wife and daughter and all their kinswomen and what other ladies soever it shall please you here to dinner with me. That for which I wish this, you shall see then.' This seemed to them a little thing enough to do, wherefore, returning to Ravenna, they in due time invited those whom Nastagio would have to dine with him, and albeit it was no easy matter to bring thither the young lady whom he loved, natheless she went with the other ladies. Meanwhile, Nastagio let make ready a magnificent banquet and caused set the tables under the pines round about the place where he had witnessed the slaughter of the cruel lady.

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  taught polygamy for the right reasons,” says one of the new prophet’s older siblings. “Warren has no love for the people. His method for controlling them is to inspire fear and dread. My brother preaches that you must be perfect in your obedience. You must have the spirit twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, or you’ll be cut off and go to hell. Warren’s a fanatic. Everything is black and white to him.” A great many First Warders had hoped that an admired, ninety-five-year-old patriarch named Fred Jessop—known as Uncle Fred—would succeed Uncle Rulon. When Warren was ordained as prophet instead, there was considerable speculation that Uncle Fred’s followers would be sufficiently disenchanted to secede from the First Ward and form yet another sect of their own. But the brother of Warren quoted above speculates that this faction may bide their time for a while before deciding to make the break, because they don’t think Warren is going to be sitting in the prophet’s chair for long: “They’re holding on. They believe that it’s just a matter of time before God takes this evil man from their midst, leaving the First Ward intact, with one of their own in power. And I agree with them. I think Warren’s going to get his comeuppance. I don’t know how it’s going to happen, or when, but I think he’s going to suffer an untimely death. I feel this in my bones.” In the meantime, Warren is still very much in the company of the living, and he has been taking steps to consolidate his power. Up in Bountiful, British Columbia, he has stripped Winston Blackmore (whom he has long resented and distrusted) of his leadership position and has threatened to banish him from the religion altogether. Warren installed a compliant man named Jimmy Oler (the half brother of Debbie Palmer, the woman who burned her house down to escape Bountiful) as the new bishop of the Canadian branch of the church, but at least half of the Bountiful community has remained loyal to Blackmore. Should he decide to establish an independent sect of his own, many Canadian fundamentalists would probably sever their ties with Warren’s church in Colorado City to follow Blackmore. But schisms of this sort are hardly a new phenomenon. A look backward at the history of Mormon Fundamentalism shows that its adherents have been splintering into rival sects ever since the first group of die-hard polygamists themselves broke away from the main Mormon Church a century ago.

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

  About midday the pair passed by another stream. Quite thirsty, the princess said to her maid, “Please get down from your horse and fetch me some water.” But the maid refused, saying, “You may get it for yourself.” This shocked the princess, but she felt too kindly toward the girl to take the issue up with her as she should, and so, sliding down from her horse, she went to the stream to drink. But the princess’s horse, Falada, marked all that occurred. A little farther down the road the princess once again felt thirsty and, forgetting the earlier incident, she once more entreated her maid, saying, “Please get down from your horse and fetch me some water.” Again the maid refused the princess with a rude retort, and the princess was obliged to get the water for herself. But after drinking she stood up to find that her maid had dismounted also. The look in her maid’s eyes caused the princess’s heart to grow cold with terror. It appeared as if the maid would kill her, but instead she ordered the princess to remove her royal robes and don her maid’s clothing. This seemed an odd request, but the princess obeyed silently, even as she watched her maid put on her royal robes. Next, the maid mounted Falada, leaving her own nag for the princess to ride. The princess wondered at all that occurred, but said nothing, thinking it safer to wait until they reached the safety of the kingdom before questioning the maid’s bizarre behavior. As for the maid, she kept postponing the moment when she would conclude her scheme, for she did not, in truth, take pleasure in the task ahead. They traveled on for a time in this way, with the princess too frightened to speak and the maid solemnly pondering their fate. When at last they reached the fork in the road that marked the entrance of the betrothed prince’s kingdom, the maid knew that she could delay no longer. She stopped the princess’s horse and forced her to dismount. Before the princess had time to speak the maid quickly produced a dagger. Pointing the dagger at the princess’s heart, she gave her an ultimatum: to vow never to reveal her true identity to a single soul or else be killed. The princess was too shocked to speak, but the maid pressed the dagger forward, saying, “I know you will not break a royal vow, so vow now or die!” What could the princess do? To save her own life she did as the maid demanded.

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

  The girl turned to the servant who answered the bell, an older woman who regarded her kindly. “I should be grateful if you could offer any advice,” she implored. “Remove your clothes,” said the old woman calmly. “What!” exclaimed the girl. “Remove your clothes,” repeated the woman. “That is how you know him and you will choose the man you know.” “But, what if…” she paused, uncertain. “It is the only way,” replied the shrewd old woman. “You will not get another chance after this.” Seeing the wisdom in the old woman’s words, she quickly removed her clothing. Then she opened the door and walked into the blackness beyond. The door closed immediately behind her. Although the room was silent, she could feel the presence of the men who crowded the large room. Slowly she moved forward. It occurred to her suddenly that she hadn’t even touched the face of her prince, for he had thwarted her every attempt to seek his identity. She had only that one glimpse of him by candlelight. She knew him only as a lover. Would that be enough to help her now? All of a sudden, she felt someone beside her. She reached out her hand in the dark and discovered a man standing there. The thought of the smirking servant crossed her mind, and she recoiled instantly. But the man reached out a steady hand and held her. With her heart racing, she let him draw her near. His hands slid down the length of her body, touching her intimately. She tried to concentrate on his hands and recall exactly how her prince’s hands had felt when they were touching her. Were these his hands that caressed her now? The man reached a hand between her legs, prying her open and thrusting a finger inside her warm body. But something was wrong. The fingers that were digging into her flesh were cold, not warm like her lover’s. With a small cry of horror, she tore herself from the impostor’s hands. The next man she encountered had much warmer hands. Like the former, he touched her body intimately, without reserve. Did all men grasp and clutch at a woman in exactly the same manner? But there seemed to be something familiar in this one’s touch. She turned up her face towards his in the darkness. His lips immediately came down on hers in a soft kiss. Pressing her body close to his, she slowly wound her arms around his neck, thinking this man could be her prince. Her body began responding to his warm kisses and caresses, and yet, a slow dawning crept up within her that this man could not be her prince after all, for his kisses were much too wet!

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

  It was I who, unable to sleep one evening, stumbled across the Beast’s private chamber while wandering toward the library in search of something to read. I heard a noise, much like a groan, coming from the other side of his door as I passed. I stopped abruptly. In a moment or two I heard the noise again. I knew immediately it was the Beast and was seized with compassion for him. Was he ill? Without further thought I knocked on his chamber door. Moments passed and I knocked again. “Go away,” I heard the Beast say at last, in a pleading tone. “I shall not,” I replied determinedly, “not until I have seen that you are well.” Silence again. “Please,” I implored, knocking again. “Just open the door and let me…” “Go away from that door, Beauty!” the Beast commanded harshly. “Leave now or you will endanger yourself!” His tone was controlled, but his voice was desperate. I have wondered many times why I did not leave him then. I have told myself that I could not leave a friend in need. I have told myself that it was my curiosity that would not let me leave. I have told myself a great many things, but I suspect that you will not believe them, either. I turned the doorknob and opened the door to the Beast’s private bedchamber. It was pitch-black inside. I took a few steps into the room, searching the darkness for the Beast. The door behind me suddenly slammed shut. The hair on my neck stood up. The darkness was slowly giving way to shadows. My eyes scanned the massive room frantically, seeking the Beast’s form. Suddenly I heard the shrill screech of metal rings on rods, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin, as one heavy velvet drape was yanked aside so that the bright moonlight could enter the chamber. Now I could see the Beast clearly as he approached me. I could also suddenly hear his irregular breathing, and I realized he was panting. My own breathing became more rapid as I desperately struggled to get enough air into my lungs. It was as if the huge chamber had shrunk to half its size upon my discovering the Beast’s large form. Fear was steadily trickling through my veins, infusing me with an acute awareness of everything around me. The Beast slowly approached me until he stood so close that I could feel his warm breath on my skin, and I fancied I could even feel heat from his stare. He was a full foot and a half, if not more, taller than I, with shoulders that extended a distance of more than three times the size of mine. There was an unnatural glow in his dark eyes. I shivered in spite of the heat I felt coming off him.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The Prince's messengers found Martellino still in his shirt before the judge, all confounded and sore adread, for that the judge would hear nothing in his excuse; nay, having, by chance, some spite against the people of Florence, he was altogether determined to hang him by the neck and would on no wise render him up to the Prince till such time as he was constrained thereto in his despite. Martellino, being brought before the lord of the city and having told him everything in order, besought him, by way of special favour, to let him go about his business, for that, until he should be in Florence again, it would still seem to him he had the rope about his neck. The Prince laughed heartily at his mischance and let give each of the three a suit of apparel, wherewith they returned home safe and sound, having, beyond all their hope, escaped so great a peril." THE SECOND STORY [Day the Second] RINALDO D'ASTI, HAVING BEEN ROBBED, MAKETH HIS WAY TO CASTEL GUGLIELMO, WHERE HE IS HOSPITABLY ENTERTAINED BY A WIDOW LADY AND HAVING MADE GOOD HIS LOSS, RETURNETH TO HIS OWN HOUSE, SAFE AND SOUND The ladies laughed immoderately at Martellino's misfortunes narrated by Neifile, as did also the young men and especially Filostrato, whom, for that he sat next Neifile, the queen bade follow her in story-telling. Accordingly he began without delay, "Fair ladies, needs must I tell you a story[79] of things Catholic,[80] in part mingled with misadventures and love-matters, which belike will not be other than profitable to hear, especially to those who are wayfarers in the perilous lands of love, wherein whoso hath not said St. Julian his Paternoster is oftentimes ill lodged, for all he have a good bed. [Footnote 79: Lit. a story striveth in (draweth) me to be told or to tell itself (_a raccontarsi mi tira una novella_).] [Footnote 80: _i.e._ religious matters (_cose cattoliche_).] In the days, then, of the Marquis Azzo of Ferrara, there came a merchant called Rinaldo d'Asti to Bologna on his occasions, which having despatched and returning homeward, it chanced that, as he issued forth of Ferrara and rode towards Verona, he fell in with certain folk who seemed merchants, but were in truth highwaymen and men of lewd life and condition, with whom he unwarily joined company and entered into discourse. They, seeing him to be a merchant and judging him to have monies about him, took counsel together to rob him, at the first opportunity that should offer; wherefore, that he might take no suspicion, they went devising with him, like decent peaceable folk, of things honest and seemly and of loyalty, ordering themselves toward him, in so far as they knew and could, with respect and complaisance, so that he deemed himself in great luck to have met with them, for that he was alone with a serving-man of his on horseback.

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  The family doctor was called. After examining me, he said he was not sure I would recover. I was given injections of camphor and glucose until I was like a pincushion. The pulses of both my wrist and upper arm became imperceptible.Two hours passed. They stood looking down at my corpse. A shroud was made ready, my favorite toys collected, and all the relatives gathered. Almost another hour passed, and then suddenly urine appeared. My mother's brother, who was a doctor, said, "He's alive!" He said it showed that the heart had resumed beating. A little later urine appeared again. Gradually the vague light of life revived in my cheeks. That illness—autointoxication—became chronic with me. It struck about once a month, now lightly, now seriously. I encountered many crises. By the sound of the disease's footsteps as it drew near I came to be able to sense whether an attack was likely to approach death or not. My earliest memory, an unquestionable one, haunting me with a strangely vivid image, dates from about that time. I do not know whether it was my mother, a nurse, a maid, or an aunt who was leading me by the hand. Nor is the season of the year distinct. Afternoon sunshine was falling dimly on the houses along the slope. Led by the hand of the unremembered woman, I was climbing the slope toward home. Someone was coming down the slope, and the woman jerked my hand. We got out of the way and stood waiting at one side. There is no doubt that the image of what I saw then has taken on meaning anew each of the countless times it has been reviewed, intensified, focused upon. Because within the hazy perimeter of the scene nothing but the figure of that "someone coming down the slope" stands out with disproportionate clarity. And not without reason: this very image is the earliest of those that have kept tormenting and frightening me all my life. It was a young man who was coming down toward us, with handsome, ruddy cheeks and shining eyes, wearing a dirty roll of cloth around his head for a sweatband. He came down the slope carrying a yoke of night-soil buckets over one shoulder, balancing their heaviness expertly with his footsteps. He was a night-soil man, a ladler of excrement.

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

  It was I who, unable to sleep one evening, stumbled across the Beast’s private chamber while wandering toward the library in search of something to read. I heard a noise, much like a groan, coming from the other side of his door as I passed. I stopped abruptly. In a moment or two I heard the noise again. I knew immediately it was the Beast and was seized with compassion for him. Was he ill? Without further thought I knocked on his chamber door. Moments passed and I knocked again. “Go away,” I heard the Beast say at last, in a pleading tone. “I shall not,” I replied determinedly, “not until I have seen that you are well.” Silence again. “Please,” I implored, knocking again. “Just open the door and let me…” “Go away from that door, Beauty!” the Beast commanded harshly. “Leave now or you will endanger yourself!” His tone was controlled, but his voice was desperate. I have wondered many times why I did not leave him then. I have told myself that I could not leave a friend in need. I have told myself that it was my curiosity that would not let me leave. I have told myself a great many things, but I suspect that you will not believe them, either. I turned the doorknob and opened the door to the Beast’s private bedchamber. It was pitch-black inside. I took a few steps into the room, searching the darkness for the Beast. The door behind me suddenly slammed shut. The hair on my neck stood up. The darkness was slowly giving way to shadows. My eyes scanned the massive room frantically, seeking the Beast’s form. Suddenly I heard the shrill screech of metal rings on rods, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin, as one heavy velvet drape was yanked aside so that the bright moonlight could enter the chamber. Now I could see the Beast clearly as he approached me. I could also suddenly hear his irregular breathing, and I realized he was panting. My own breathing became more rapid as I desperately struggled to get enough air into my lungs. It was as if the huge chamber had shrunk to half its size upon my discovering the Beast’s large form. Fear was steadily trickling through my veins, infusing me with an acute awareness of everything around me. The Beast slowly approached me until he stood so close that I could feel his warm breath on my skin, and I fancied I could even feel heat from his stare. He was a full foot and a half, if not more, taller than I, with shoulders that extended a distance of more than three times the size of mine. There was an unnatural glow in his dark eyes. I shivered in spite of the heat I felt coming off him.

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

  The man’s family hovered about the room gaping at the peculiar visitor, anxious to know what business had brought him to their humble cottage. “I have come for your firstborn daughter,” the bear announced without preamble. “If she will come away with me, she will have everything she wishes for, and, what’s more, I will make you and the rest of your family as rich as you are now poor.” Beguiled by the words of the white bear, the eldest daughter pleaded with her mother and father to let her go—for her parents were against it, insisting that it would bring bad luck on them to give up their daughter for wealth. But at last they relented, as the young woman would not be denied the adventure. Packing took no amount of time, since the poor girl owned nearly nothing in the world, and bravely she kissed each member of her family goodbye and climbed onto the back of the huge white bear. She barely had time for one last backward glance at her family before she was abruptly whisked away, with extraordinary speed, to a large white castle. There, servants rushed to and fro to attend to her arrival. Everything happened so quickly that she could scarcely take in her extravagant surroundings, and all of a sudden she felt terribly afraid. What was to become of her? Perceiving her anxiety, the bear instructed a kindly old servant woman to take the girl to her bedchamber. But before she left him he advised her not to be afraid, assuring her that the castle was indeed enchanted and that, for as long as she remained there, all of her innermost desires would be immediately brought about. He handed her a little golden bell, adding that if, in fact, the castle failed in this tall order, all she had to do was to ring the bell while wishing for anything within the castle walls, and it would be immediately done for her. Then, with a polite bow, the bear left her with the old servant woman, who chattered away amicably as she led the girl to her bedchamber. What the servant spoke about she could not have said, so preoccupied was she, but the old lady’s sociable manner had the effect of calming her nerves. Inside her bedchamber, she first noticed the bed, a massive furnishing of elaborately carved mahogany dressed in lavish silks. Next she spied a dressing table, as splendidly adorned as the bed and laid out with solid-gold utensils for her to use.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Tyre snapped her fingers. “Medic! Who has the poppers?” The amyl appeared under Roxanne’s nose, and she took the biggest hit she had ever taken in her life. It exploded before she finished inhaling, and Alex shoved the needle all the way through her tit. The grating, tearing noise was louder, and the ring seemed to be much bigger than the needle. Tiny bolts of pain followed its progress through her nipple. Then Alex took a pair of needle-nosed pliers, and squeezed the jewelry shut. It was almost done. Alex massaged her breast, milking blood out of the piercing, exclaiming as it ran down Roxanne’s chest. Roxanne shivered and cried out, fearfully aroused. For a few crazy seconds, she wished Alex were going to put a hundred rings in her body, then her owner began to tweak the second nipple, and that wish vanished in a riptide of panic. “No-no-no-no,” she moaned. “Idiot, you’ll hyperventilate,” Tyre told her, and shoved more poppers under her nose. “Hold still, or she’ll take this one out and all you’ll have is a pair of kinky earrings.” Alex went to the other side of the table and repeated the process of marking the piercing, positioning the forceps, and forcing the needle through the tough nipple tissue. Roxanne could feel blood cooling on her other breast. The gold felt hot, as if it had gone straight from the forge into her body. The ring was not quite in. “Daddy, hold still, I have to scream,” she said. Alex froze. Roxanne screamed, and all the fear left her with it. “Please put it in,” she begged, and Alex pushed the ring through to the other side and set its end in the bead. She was bleeding from both breasts now, and her nipples were swelling. They were the size of walnuts, and felt like they were on fire. Tyre was giving instructions about turning and cleansing the rings, and Roxanne hoped Alex was listening, because she could not. She was wearing Alex’s rings now. Permanently. Forever. “Done,” Alex said. She poured antiseptic onto her breasts, and Roxanne yipped when it hit the piercings. “Just a few more,” Alex said. “Do it now,” Roxanne told her. “If I come down, I’ll freak out. Do it now, please hurry.” “Relax, you impatient little bitch. I’m not going to rush myself. You think you want to look at a bad piece of work? You’ll get it soon enough. Put your foot back up in those stirrups. Anne-Marie, can you lower the table? Slide your ass down. That’s right. Dr Feelgood is in town.” The antiseptic splashed her labia. Alex spread the delicate lips, and wet them thoroughly. Tyre bent over Roxanne’s face. “The rings for your cunt are smaller than the tit rings or the earrings,” she explained. “You probably don’t believe me, but this isn’t going to hurt as much as either of the piercings you just had.