Cum in peace…

Beautiful, sobbing high-geared fucking and then to lie silently like deer tracks in the freshly fallen snow beside the one you love. That’s all.

Richard Brautigan – Deer Tracks

settled between her widespread thighs…

Crouching over her, St. Vincent teased and fondled until he felt her hips rising tentatively against his hand. “I want to be inside you,” he whispered, kissing the side of her neck. “I want to go deep into your body… I’ll be so gentle, love… let me turn you over, and… God, you’re so lovely…” He pressed her on her back, and settled between her widespread thighs, his whisper becoming frayed and unsteady. “Touch me, sweetheart… put your hand there…” He sucked in a quick breath as her fingers curved gently around the hard length of his sex. Evie stroked him hesitantly, understanding from the quickening of his breath that the caress gave him pleasure. His eyes closed, the thick lashes trembling slightly against his cheeks, his lips parting from the force of his sharp respirations. 

Awkwardly, she gripped the heavy shaft and guided it between her thighs. The head of it slipped against the wetness of her sex, and St. Vincent groaned as if in pain. Trying again, Evie positioned him uncertainly. Once in place, he nudged strongly into the vulnerable cove. It burned far more than when he had put his fingers in her, and Evie tensed against the pain. Cradling her body in his arms, St. Vincent moved in a powerful thrust, and another, and then he was all the way inside. She writhed with the impulse to escape the hurtful invasion, but it seemed that each movement only drew him deeper. 

 
Filled and stretched and opened, Evie forced herself to lie still in his arms. She held on to his shoulders, her fingertips digging into the hard quilting of muscle and sinew, and she let him soothe her with his mouth and hands. His brilliant eyes were heavy-lidded as he bent to kiss her. Welcoming the warm sleekness of his tongue, she drew it into her mouth with eager, awkward suction. He made a low sound of surprise, shuddering, and his shaft jerked violently inside her in a series of rhythmic spasms. 

 
Lisa Kleypas – Devil in Winter 

Absence and Desire…

Poetry is the way I fuck you when you’re gone. 

Nicola Cayless – Literary Sexts  

rut like a wild beast

“Fuck me! ” she said. “Don’t worry about my pleasure, focus on yours! Don’t be tender, use me! I want to feel possessed; I want you to rape my mouth, rape my cunt and my ass. I want to be your woman, and even more, I want you to be my man! I want you to rut like a wild beast. I will take it all  if I can. In any case, I will enjoy being possessed, in the literal sense of the word. I am yours, for your use, that you may do with me as you please. Fuck me! I want to feel your cock in my throat! I want your hands to enclose me! Mine is yours! I’ve prepared for this, I want it! I want your scent in my hair! Enjoy me, enjoy me, enjoy being in me! But enjoy! Take me! Fuck me!  Take me again! And, when you are fully emptied, when I have served you obediently, when I am filled and covered with your seed, take me in your arms, caress me as hard as you forced me minutes earlier. 

And tell me you love me. 

Cléo de Mérode 

we were alive and human

In that dark autumn and even darker winter we kept meeting for coffee, meeting in parks and plazas and diners and having long hugs and before this I had not been the type of person to want to hug a person, but no I didn’t even think of who I had previously been and what I had previously done because now the only thing that made sense was our shaking chests pressed together because when we were together we were alive and human in a way we had not found in other parts of life, and we would spend hours sitting on benches in cold parks until it got dark and we would go and eat something together and we did this many days in a row, then after a few months we went to his apartment while it was snowing and we fucked like our lives depended on it, like every life on the planet depended on it, like the concept of death depended on it, like the state of being human, and being alive, in general, depended on our fucking. And this went on for a while and I became a haver-of-authentic-emotions, an openhearted, well-adjusted, and thriving person, a dependable employee, a woman who could go to a deli and order a sandwich and eat it and read the newspaper like a grown woman without thinking of the sentence ‘I am being a grown woman, eating off a plate, and reading the news’, because I was not an observer of myself, but a be-er of myself, a person who just was instead of a person who was almost.

Catherine Lacey – Nobody Is Ever Missing

come up from between her thighs and unzip your jeans…

“Would you like to kiss me, Lila? It might help you to decide if you like this or not.” 

Lila licks her lips, so I close my eyes and wait for her to come to me. In the next room I can hear the printer punching my words onto paper, as she presses her thin, champagne-cool lips to mine. Everything about her feels thin: arms, legs, neck, the fleeting kiss, which has no flavour, no taste – just a pressing of slender flesh. I open my eyes and we both retreat from each other, but not completely. I can sense you holding your breath in the next room, as she and I take another sip then lean in to fold our lips into each other, this time with more courage. I lick her upper lip then pull back. With the next kiss I let my tongue enter her mouth slowly and subtly hooking around hers. My free hand slides under the shimmering gold of her skirt, gliding along towards her pubic bone, to discover the white tank top which hugs her slim torso is a one-piece suit that unclips at the bottom of her crotch. Nor is she wearing a bra, causing her erect nipples to struggle against the taut fabric. 

I let her lead the kissing, offering my mouth to be explored at her pace, making sure the experience doesn’t feel urgent, just like my fingers which glide up and down her crotch, in slow and gentle strokes that are more like soft patting than fingering. She pulls back when she hears you come back into the room, and I hold her in my gaze. She doesn’t close her legs, letting me push her gently into the corner of the sofa, while I rub my hand against her clit. I take another sip of the champagne and spray the cool fizz into her mouth. She closes her eyes and lets me work on her body, while you sit down in the grey armchair and put the freshly printed story that I wrote about us on the side table, never to be read out loud to anyone. 

You adjust the uncomfortable hardness in your jeans, as I press my palm into her sex, like it’s the only thing I ever want to touch. 

“Lila, are you ok?” you ask and stroke her hand gently because it’s important to make her feel safe. To make her think all the sensual caresses are about her. Her underwear is soaked, as I unclip the buttons of the body suit. My fingers dive deeper, separating the soft lips and rubbing the wetness into all her folds, firmly but not hard enough to give her what she wants or needs. Lila, now lost in the moment, groans, and tilts her head backwards making her long brown hair sweep over her chest and shoulders, exposing her swan-like neck. I come up to lick it, while stretching out my hand to pass you my champagne flute, now hindering my actions. You kneel on the floor in front of the sofa, as I gently spread her legs. 

“Is it ok if Damien licks your divine femininity?” I ask, mimicking the dainty language of her online posts, but also wrapping her in a cocoon of familiarity. She nods and you pull her hips closer to the sofa’s edge. You lick her for a while and she immerses herself in the tingling, euphoric sensation building around her clitoris. I pull her top down to free large coffee-coloured nipples; you come up from between her thighs and unzip your jeans. 

The lights of the harbour and the bridge that moves the city around are streaming into the room through the naked floor to ceiling windows. Were anyone to look through binoculars from the buildings across the dark water, they would make out three shapes immersed in tantalising foreplay. Lights are flickering over the black horizon, as if it was a mirror ball; ‘mirror ball’, coincidently, is our safe word, but we won’t need it tonight, because tonight is all about mellow fucking of someone new. There won’t be roughness, broken ear drums, black eyes, golden showers, forced penetrations, a belt around the throat until someone passes out. 

“May I?” you ask, and she whimpers as you push your cock inside her. Her cunt juices glisten on your mouth and chin, and her legs dangle over your shoulders as I pinch her nipples, and watch you push yourself in and out, groaning heavily with every breath. I can tell you’re working hard not to sound too hoarse, not to startle her out of the trance. Your hands hold her slim buttocks in place for a few more pumps, but then you pull out, and I make her follow me down to the floor as you rise up. 

“Shall we both lick him?” I ask, pretending I need her permission to put your cock in my mouth, even though I’ve had it there as many times as there’re stars outside. I let her take you into her mouth first, keeping my fingers on her clit, watching her bob up and down over your thick erection. She’s not sucking vigorously enough, but I don’t ask her to change pace, because you’re rock hard as you massage the back of our heads and alternate between our mouths. 

“Stop Lila – or you’ll make him come too early.” 

I pull her, now intoxicated, into the bedroom, where the lights throw a soft glow onto the bed that you sleep in with your wife. Here the dimmed lights are warm orange, good for blurring the details of our bodies and the snow-white covers enveloping a light doona. I see our reflection in the gilt mirror that rests on the floor, as she and I strip off our clothes and slide onto the bed. I can hear you collecting the glasses in the lounge, which I know you will refill and bring into the bedroom, but not before giving me enough time with her first. Time with her breasts, two flat formations of white flesh with nipples sticking out like the mouthpieces of blow-up mattresses, narrow hips and a bare pubic bone. A flawless body, with no freckles, no scars, no skin tags, unmarked by life’s experiences. 

“Would you like to explore my body?” I ask and bring her hands to my breasts, which she cups, curious about ones that have had milk in them. My body couldn’t be more different to hers. Every part is round, full and warm. All of my deepest, softest crevices that have been owned by your mouth, tongue, hands, cock, Lila now explores with her cold, slim hands. You come into the room and sit next to her on the bed to hold her in your lap as I go down between her legs. It’s my turn to lick her senseless. As you caress her lips with your fingers, I drive my tongue into her and suck hard. I spit loudly onto her clit then suck it all back up, making her wail and clutch to you. It’s pleasure and pain, over and over as I bite and lick, eventually asking her to turn over onto all fours. The mirror on the wardrobe door reflects her arse curving upwards on the edge of the bed, time for you to lower your jeans down to your knees, grip her hips in your hands and take her from behind. 

I jump off the bed and go to my handbag in the kitchen to retrieve a tube of lube. 

“Do you like anal?” I whisper into her ear when I get back. 

“I’ve never done that,” she whimpers, nearly crying, but not asking for it to stop. 

“It’s ok, you don’t have to. I’ll just rub it in with my fingers. You will like it, I promise.” 

I rub the lubricant into the hole that reminds me of her mouth, which isn’t occupied by your cock, then reach underneath her stomach to work on her clit, feeling the shaft of your cock going in and out of her tight cunt. With all her holes pleasured at the same time, she moans loudly throwing her head back: she’s about to erupt. I rise onto my knees to reach your mouth. We don’t kiss, just let our tongues entangle and lick with a hungry wanting that can never be sated. I know you won’t hold off much longer, so I pull my fingers away from your cock and rub her clit and arsehole vigorously. You groan heavily and she screams as you pump deep into her, but you don’t cum, because you know you must save it for me… because we’re here to hurt each other, to see who will crack first. 

After her final yelps, I push Lila away and make you lie in the middle of the bed, which you do while cradling her in one arm. I take your cock into my mouth, hard and deep just the way you like it. I moan loudly as my diligent licking cleans her off your long shaft, round tip, vulnerable slit, tight balls. You kiss her mouth gently to keep her occupied, while rising up and down, oozing precum into my mouth. I sit on top, hugging you with my thighs. You put your free hand on my hip. I guide your cock into me through my dark forest of curls, where it fits perfectly, the same way my cheek fits your face. Resting my hands on your shoulders, I start to rock up and down with my eyes closed. 

I sense Lila’s watching us anxiously, her breath quickened, her post-orgasm bliss not enough to distract her from what she’s seeing. But I don’t care about that now. I reach down and squeeze you, feeling your hard cock sliding in and out of my gushing cunt, remembering you’ve told me how much you love how my warm wetness sometimes squirts as far as your face. I scoop the juices now with my hands and spread them over your belly, reaching up to your chest, pinching your nipples so hard it makes you jolt. In this moment, I feel my body flood with the familiar tingling, an overwhelming sensation that travels from my cunt right down to every nerve in my fingertips. Our bodies are rapturously immersed in each other, but the shock is in the connection between your hand and my hip, where your palm is flush with my skin. 

It’s where the love hides. 

I open my eyes and let it happen, when I orgasm like I never do with anyone else. That you can bring me to this state, a rapture that only you own, breaks you too, and we howl in a moment that feels like an eternity, but lasts only seconds. Seconds during which nothing else matters. I fall onto your chest, where I lie, euphoric, motionless, with my face turned away from Lila, silently absorbing my pounding heart and pulsating insides, and your little spasms still emptying into me. With the intimacy away from her, a palpable unease seeps into the girl lying on the other side of you. It makes me glide down along your stomach to suck my juices and last drops of cum off your cock. I’m not doing it to pleasure you, I’m doing it to remove any trace of me, before leaving you and Lila on the bed, naked and exposed. 

Joanna Maidment – The Stranger In Me 

Activities for Boxing Day morning

There’s absolutely no feckin’ hope for humanity, so you might as well just concentrate on enjoying yourselves while you can.

Today is a simple fuckable day. So use it or lose it

Write on his body with the tips of your nails

tingling between my thighs once more

When I start to feel him slide in, I gasp. I knew he was going to feel big – because he is big. I didn’t know he’d feel this good, this quickly, though.

I close my eyes and savour the way he stretches me, the immediate intensity I feel. When he starts that slow slide, my mouth falls open.

Soon I’m clawing at the bedsheets like I’m crazed. I’m certain I’ll go hoarse at the end of this, but I don’t care. I could lose my voice for a year and it would be worth it, this feels so freaking incredible.

Max eases to a slower pace, then leans over me and kisses my shoulder.

“Damn it, Joelle. You are…god, you’re…”

My eyes roll to the back of my head as I smile to myself. His inability to finish a sentence while inside me is the highest compliment. My vision focuses, and I take in just how gorgeous he is in this moment: eyes glazed over with arousal, jaw clenched, brow dotted with sweat, lips swollen from kissing me.

Seeing Max so turned on combined with just how good he feels has me tingling between my thighs once more. He digs his fingers into my hips and picks up the pace.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this with you?” he growls.

I moan. “No” and push my hips up higher.

“A long fucking time.”

“Same,” I rasp. “Same, same, same.”

He goes harder and faster until my vision begins to go starry. And then he slips a hand between my legs and works the most sensitive part of me with the pads of his fingers. The intensity deepens until my legs start to shake. I reach around and grip a handful of his delectably rock-hard ass.

“I’m gonna need to get a good look at this up close very, very soon,” I say.

He chuckles between pants. I babble that I’m close.

“Thank fuck.”

And then Max puts it into some high gear I didn’t know he was capable of. He goes harder and faster than I thought was humanly possible. It’s enough, though. Because moments later I’m bursting once again. He isn’t far behind. He tenses against me before shuddering, then grunting. He lightly bites the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. The soft scrape, so sweet and carnal at once, has me grinning in ecstasy. We collapse on the bed, him on top of me, and stay that way for nearly a minute. I close my eyes and breathe in the mint-spice scent on his bedsheets, relishing the weight of his body on top of mine.

Sarah Echavarre Smith – The Boy With the Bookstore

fucking and talking

When you return I am going to give you one literary fuck fest – that means fucking and talking and talking and talking and fucking. Anaïs, I am going to open your very groins. God forgive me if this letter is ever opened by mistake. I can’t help it. I want you. I love you. You’re food and drink to me, the whole bloody machinery as it were. Lying on top of you is one thing, but getting close to you is another. I feel close to you, one with you, you’re mine whether it is acknowledged or not. Every day I wait now is torture. I am counting them slowly, painfully. But make it as soon as you can. I need you. God, I want to see you in Louveciennes, see you in that golden light of the window, in your Nile green dress and your face pale, a frozen pallor as of the night of the concert. I love you as you are. I love your loins, the golden pallor, the slope of your ass, the warmth inside you, the juices of you. Anaïs, I love you so much, so much! I am getting tongue-tied. I am sitting here writing you with the tremendous erection. I can feel your soft mouth closing over me, your leg clutching me tight, see you again in the kitchen here lifting your dress and sitting on top of me and the chair riding around over the kitchen floor, going thump, thump.

 Henry Miller – Letter to Anaïs Nin dated Saturday 30^th July 1932

sensuous caress of mouth and lip

“And now, dear Emma, I’ll show you just what you have to be wary of,” he said, and his head moved down, blotting out the light.

This was no slow, sensuous caress of mouth and lip. This was no chaste salute, nor was it the wet awkwardness of an untried boy or a randy old man. He opened his mouth over hers and kissed her, using his tongue, his teeth, and all the clever weapons he had in his arsenal.

She told herself she was being kissed by a practiced rake. She told herself it meant nothing, it was a trick, an act, a small skill that anyone could acquire. She told herself that as her body trembled and melted beneath him, as her mouth opened to his skilful insistence. She told herself it meant absolutely nothing as his tongue pushed into her mouth, and the moan that came from deep inside her had to be one of displeasure, didn’t it?

It wasn’t one kiss, it was twenty, it was a long series of unending kisses, leading one into another, so that she barely had time to begin to regain her sanity when he stripped it away once more. He kissed her eyelids, the side of her mouth, the beating pulse at the base of her neck. He kissed her nose and her chin, he bit her earlobe, and then he covered her mouth once more, kissing her with a devastating thoroughness that had her damp and trembling in his arms.

His hands were on her petticoats, slowly drawing them up her long legs, and her hips cradled him. He was hard against her, she belatedly recognized that fact, and the knowledge panicked her. He wanted her, his body wanted to claim hers, and there was no way she could stop him. No way, God help her, that she wanted to stop him.

He broke the kiss, rising up over her as she lay on the bed, staring down at her with a hooded expression in his eyes. His mouth was wet from hers, and his breathing was slightly laboured. It would have been the only sign of his arousal, had it not been for the heat pressing against her hips.

“Do you want me, Emma?” he murmured, his voice low and insistent. “You don’t have to say a word. Just put your mouth against mine.”

Oh, God, she did want him, as terrifying as that notion was. She wanted to touch him, to feel his skin against hers, and she felt a dark burning deep inside her that she knew only he could assuage. She wanted his mouth, she wanted his heart, she wanted his soul.

Anne Stuart – To Love a Dark Lord