Erotica Quotes

“The massage session ended with both of us soaked, covered in glittery dripping oil. I felt like a Greek salad sloppily drenched in extra virgin. But James was not going to stop. The kisses came thick and fast. And extra massages. “Lie back, wench,” he said.
I lay back and stared up at him and above his head at the striped white and blue awning, which was rippling under the pounding impact of the rain. I’d almost forgotten about the rain, though it was coming down heavier than ever, a glittering silver wall, just a few feet away from us.
James had decided that the most intimate p[art of my delicate self needed a delicate multi-facetted many-sided feathery back and forth up and down and sideways type of ecstatic slow-and-fast motion massage and which involved his index finger and his little finger and the palm of his hand and then his tongue, so and it began to build, and build …
“You are being quite intimate, Master,” I gulped, trying to put on a dignified face and control my panting, the deepening huski¬ness of my voice, and the flood of saliva that had filled my mouth and was dribbling out of one corner. I think, given the circum¬stances, that I did quite a good job.
“Really?” he glanced up at me, and then disappeared between my legs, back to work, his tongue darting, hither and thither, truly a busy little bee, harvesting honey here, there, and everywhere.
“Really …” I sobbed, in a choked desperate voice, “Very ex¬tremely intimate, oh, oh, oh ... Master, Master, Pity, Master …”
― Gwendoline Clermont, Gwendoline Goes To School

“Her hair was a beach of shimmering golden sand.
Her body was a sea of broiling passion.”
― T.W. Lawless

“He peeled the towel that imprisoned us away and let it fall. I felt it slide softly off my backside, and I felt, too, his rising excite¬ment, hard, erect, pressing against me.
My nipples were erect, straining, aching, pressed against his strong warm damp chest, the tangle and pattern of his hair. He was a beast, an animal. My excitement was rising again, to match his. It was as if my heart were about to burst or to flip flop, breathless, into a dark abyss.
“Of course, you are crazy, my darling, but, then, so am I.” He kissed me and his oh-so-clever hands seized my waist, tighten¬ing, and then sneaking up my backside, pulling me, pressing me closer, into him. He kissed me again, and his lips moved down my neck to my shoulder and then to my breasts.
“Oh,” I said, “Oh.”
He bent over me, kissing my collarbone and then my breasts, carefully, slowly, his hands traveling down my back, and over my backside; suddenly, he was on his knees, kissing the whorl of 101
my belly button; then he was forcing me open, gently, gently, his tongue exploring caressing, devouring …
“Oh …” I exhaled a deep, shuddering breath. I tipped on the very edge. He bit me, gently. Oooooh!
He pulled in the reins, the bit and bridle, of the frisky frothing filly that I had become; this sudden halt made me wilder, crazier; then, once again, he brought me, trembling, up to the very, very edge of the cliff – of orgasm, of loss of self.
Then he pulled me back. I blinked and trembled. Around the two of us, there was a whole world, a whole universe. It seemed too vivid to be real, like the backdrop in an opera. Venus was brighter and lower now. The sky had turned deep indigo. One by one, stars appeared.”
― Gwendoline Clermont, The Shaming of Gwendoline C

“There was nothing more dangerous than idea. And nothing more destructive than an idea falling into the wrong hands.”
― Amelia Danver, Bound to You in Japan

“Orgasmic sex is a form of self-care.”
― X Haque, Must Eat Pussy: A Collection of Poetry and Prose

“While we’re being upfront, I don’t want a relationship, and I’m never exclusive. I won’t phone you, I won’t remember your birthday, and I certainly won’t pop over for dinner at the weekend. Now get out of my office before I throw you against the wall and show you who’s really boss around these parts.”
― C.P. Mandara, Deadly Retaliation

“Everything about her body was beautiful she was new addiction”
― Sarah J Fox, Faith

“You own this cock. Torture me or free me, Peyton. You decide.”

-Granger”
― Jessa Kane, My Best Friend, My Stalker

“Woman purred as a pulsing undulation gently parted her lips and carried the sheen of her glistening anticipation through her pubic hair and over her belly. She opened her legs gently and bucked her hips, expecting Adam to claim her again, to fill her with the pleasure he had brought just a few hours before.”
― L.W. Boudreaux, Erotcia Bible: Genesis Part I

“He craved her. She was honeycomb wrapped in velvet, her lips were rosebuds in spring, her nails were thorns, her eyes were oceans and he was drowning.”
― Holly Dixon, ILLICIT AFFAIRS

“I have tunnel vision for your pussy. I can’t think of anything else since yesterday, since…”
― Jessica T. Lawson, Covid-69: Taking the Effects on the Side

“We got up, still talking, and began to dance again.
“I want to try something,” he said.
“Okay, what?”
“Twist your arms behind your back.”
“Hmm, okay … Like this?”
“Yes. And now I’ll hold you like that.”
I licked my lips and gave him the look, and I said, “Okay.”
“If you want me to stop, tell me.”
“Okay. I’ll bite you if I don’t like it. If I’m okay, you get a kiss.”
He smiled and clasped my wrists tight, pinioning my arms behind my back. The pressure twisted my shoulders back, just a bit, and thrust my breasts forward. We moved, and I felt my breasts pressing through the silk T-shirt against his chest. I kissed him.
“I like it,” I said. “I like it when you hold me, when you have me … in your power.”
He kissed me. It was a rapid, sudden, ravishing kiss. He let go of my wrists, and I flung my arms around him. We twirled around. He lifted me up. We plunged back down onto the divan. I was astraddle him, on my knees, looking down on him, breathless.
“Lift it off,” he said.
“You lift it off,” I said. I bowed, and he pulled the silk T-shirt over my head, leaving it halfway off for just a minute, and masking my face. He kissed me on the forehead through the silk. His lips pressed on my lips, and I hungrily tried to kiss, but I was a prisoner of the silk, and then, slowly, he pulled the T-shirt off my head, and my lips were free, and our lips met, and we kissed, a deep, free warm, liquid kiss. I was melting into him.
His hands went up and down my back, sweeping, exploring, pressing, and caressing. He kissed my breasts, slowly, licking and biting each nipple.”
― Gwendoline Clermont, The Shaming of Gwendoline C

“There is nothing more dangerous than an idea. And nothing more destructive than an idea falling into the wrong hands.”
― Amelia Danver, Bound to You in Japan

“Men have faces so you can sit on them.”
― X Haque, Must Eat Pussy: A Collection of Poetry and Prose

“That guy playing tennis?” Link rested his fingers along Camille’s hips. “Not a chance.”

I followed the movement of his fingertips, the slight pressure he exerted on her. A vision of him with a knife protruding from his neck made me smile.

Link returned my grin. “You imagining him on the court too?”

“Yes, funny.”
― Celia Aaron, The Bad Guy

“My mind is a battlefield. Within it I struggle between being too logical and too emotional.”

Excerpt From
The Senator and the Exotic Dancer
H.N. Harris
This material may be protected by copyright.”
― HN HARRIS

“You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”
― Midnight Storm, Love, Lies & Music

“She could feel his breath in her neck and his dick inside her, dancing the dance of victory of a job well done.”
― Jessica T. Lawson, Covid-69: Taking the Effects on the Side

“She sighed and leaned down, kissed my thigh, and then looked up, and put her arm around my shoulder, moving close, so our thighs and arms were touching. She put her finger to my lips. “Well, Gwendoline, my dear vampire-pale mistress-confessor, who wishes to possess my soul, the first confession is this: I love playing like this. Being your prisoner is exciting. Her voice had gone throaty, dreamy, and her fingers were playing in my stubble, caressing it, stroking it, my recently shaved skull.
We slid to the floor and rolled over. I pinned her down. I bit her left nipple, just a delicate nip and twist, and lingering lick and kiss. Remember! Leave no marks!
“Oh, Gwendoline, the silliest things arouse me,” she whispered, her teeth tugging my earlobe.
“Like what?” I slid off her body, and lay beside her, both of us now on our sides, face to face, only a few inches apart. “Like what?” I repeated, kissing her, and running my hand over the curve of her hip, and cupping her backside.
She took a deep breath. “Certain gestures you make drive me crazy.”
“Me?”
“Yes, like when you reach up to put the curls at the nape of your neck back in place, or when you just touch the nape of your neck. Or when you tilt your head down and look up from under your eye¬brows that are coal-black like arched arrows in flight. Or like the way your English accent in French is sometimes just a bit awkward, and I want to touch your lips and correct you by kissing you. And then – and this is unbearably beautiful – there’s the self-conscious way you sometimes walk, looking down as if abashed at the cobble¬stones just in front of your toes, as if you were self-conscious of your sexual vulnerability, as if you were shy, and retiring, a vestal virgin, a timid, self-conscious child. And then there’s the way your shoes are always so neat and impeccable, even when it is raining, or muddy. I want to get down on my knees and worship! Everything about you is neat and self-contained, and as if it had been just polished.”
― Gwendoline Clermont, Gwendoline Goes To School

“Who cares if a guy is a bit feminine? He most likely fucks like a champ.”
― X Haque, Must Eat Pussy: A Collection of Poetry and Prose

“For some women just the face isn’t enough to masturbate to. Give us the face and the dick.”
― X Haque, Must Eat Pussy: A Collection of Poetry and Prose

“We all know that good boys are freaks in bed.”
― X Haque, Must Eat Pussy: A Collection of Poetry and Prose

“Now comfortable in the cold dark, he explores his acquisition thoroughly; his arms and tentacles everywhere on her body, touching every curve, every marked definition of muscle or fat. She can't process all the things happening. There is too much to track. Too many arms and tentacles, too much sensory input for her small human mind. She wills him to touch anything. She wills him to see her body with his arms, his tentacles, his suckers, hooks and teeth, and his touch. She notices that he spends more time on her hard edges: her knees, her elbows, her hips — drawing a picture for himself of her external soft edge, and its strange hard interior frame that gives it an unmalleable alien shape.”
― A. Andiron, Kraken

“But as her body moves, all the yarn in the room suddenly gains tension. There's a swift swishing sound as the lines pull taut. She feels everything in the room move at once, from the big ropey lines supporting her weight, down to the tiny interlocking stitches pressed against her skin.

"She rests in mid-air, suspended above her bed by the network of yarn slicing around the room. It holds her, and at the same time it caresses her. She feels its touch through the stitches on her arms, her legs, her stomach. It feels as if her weight is held in its giant hand, and it contemplates her like Yorick's skull. Hundreds of strings and lines of yarn, ranging from individual strands up to thick knitted cables now move on her. She is wrapped by long meaty loops that move around her legs, and her arms, and her neck; and thin little strings that slip between her fingers. A loop circles her hair and pulls it gently into a
pony tail, and it lifts to supports her head.

"She hangs quietly and meditatively for a while, feeling the caress of the yarn, gently tightening and loosening, and sliding over her body. It feels along her body. And as it feels her, she feels it. She can feel its affection through the way the yarn touches her. The caresses slide up and down her arms, her legs, between her fingers, and around her neck.

"She can feel all the different textures of the different yarns. The scratchy itch of cheap wool, and the smooth toughness of nylon and polyester strings. In places there's even some slick and soft rayon and silk. And she's sure she can tell just by the touch of it, that her foot has been wrapped in a small scarf she made of an extremely fine cashmere.

"But the thing doesn't just want to hold her.”
― A. Andiron, Binding Off: When a passion for knitting becomes passionate knitting

“The emcee marches around the outside of the circle, keeping up a steady banter of insults intended to keep the audience entertained, but also clearly distracting the furiously pounding men. They would occasionally crack up laughing and slow their beat when a particular barbed shaft struck home. The emcee's eyes remain locked on the ginger woman on her knees in the center, holding her breath against the plastic bag.

It's easy to poke fun at the men. Most of their eyes are squeezed closed and their heads arch back. They bare their teeth with their lips pulled back in a gaping rictus. They look so serious — right up until the emcee mocks their manliness and their visage disintegrates into an open-eyed chuckle. Whenever this happens it takes them a few seconds to re-assume their battle pose.

The ginger woman is calm now. Her eyes have closed and she kneels with a certain kind of bravery, very erect and with poise.”
― A. Andiron, How To Tie A Handcuff Knot: A pornographic love story.

“I let her use my pencil to draw me into her beautiful world, while taking classes together in the arts of love.”
― Curtis Tyrone Jones

“Always so greed Ella Rose

Her Protector”
― Sarah J Fox

“Always so greedy Ella Rose

Her Protector”
― Sarah J Fox

“But still I hold on everyday,
Hoping that; One day,
You'll stay back..!
To flush my lips carmine white,
With berry yield in the fields..!
That'll ripen red; The day,
Of the union of our souls..!
And, the thrist being,
Calmly and sedately,
Dissolving in juicy petals..!”
― Nayan Kasturi

“For some reason, I found the fact that our two men were naked, while Jester and I were, in a way, clothed, particularly exciting. Jester was adorned in paint, and I had my feathered pinioned wings and my owl mask. I was a totem, my man was transparent and naked; he was my servant and my slave, and he was that pure thing – a naked male animal, and, tonight, he was mine.
“To-wit, to-whoo,” I invited my servant with my owl call.
He kissed me; the kiss was fierce and unending, or so it seemed, an eternal kiss, a kiss that would carry us into infinity, his arms around me, grasping me, clasping me under my pinioned arms; his lips explored mine; our lips merged in one; my eyes were closed; it was pure sensation: the pouring rain, my dripping feathers, my pinioned arms pressed together, my shoulders pulled back tight, my breasts tensed and straining forward; his chest, hard and smooth and muscular against my breasts; his hands on me; his lips meeting my lips; his tongue mingling with my tongue. I breathed him in. Inwardly, I sighed, “Oh, Master!” But it came out as a quizzical “To-wit, to-whoo?” He whispered, “Oh, Goddess, oh, beautiful Owl.” He held me so tight it was as if he wanted to consume me, merge my body in his, to absorb me totally.
Finally, he stepped back, unhooked the owl mask-and-hood from the collar, and lifted it off, and placed it carefully on an iron bench, which was the only furniture in the gazebo. My face, now, was naked.
And then, standing in the rain, we made love, me with my arms still pinioned behind me, totally at his mercy, thrilling at my helplessness, and entrusting myself totally to his love ...”
― Gwendoline Clermont, Gwendoline Goes To School