Before we get there, a quick quiz: What is the difference between erotica and sex in literary novels? In erotica, the sex is never bad. Glean from this wisdom. Study and prove yourself approved. The Joy of Writing Sex. If I did not happen to hit upon your specific form of sexual entertainment, I humbly apologize in advance but seriously — there must be something here that entertains you. I would love to hear in the comments which sex scene you think is the hottest.
Sex Scenes in Books 1. He had more or less resigned himself to the women being old and decrepit and was taken aback to see teenagers. There were four of them near the showers, all between fifteen and seventeen, opposite the sinks.
Two of them wore bikini bottoms and waited as the other two played under the shower like otters, chatting and laughing and splashing each other: The scene was indescribably graceful and erotic.
He did not deserve such a thing. His cock was hard in his boxer shorts; with one hand, he took it out and pressed himself against the sink as he cleaned between his teeth with a toothpick. He stabbed himself in the gum, removed the bloody toothpick. The head of his penis tingled unbearably; it was hot and swollen, a drop forming at the tip.
One of the girls, graceful and dark-haired, stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and began to contentedly pat her young breasts dry. A little redhead slipped off her swimsuit and took her place under the shower — her pussy hair was golden blonde.
Bruno moaned a little, and was beginning to feel dizzy. In his head, he could imagine walking over, taking his shorts off and waiting by the showers. He had every right to go and wait to take a shower. At this thought he felt increasingly dizzy and had to hold on to the porcelain sink. At the same instant two boys arrived, laughing a little too loudly; they were wearing black shorts with fluorescent stripes. The one thing different from before was that she did not take off her own clothing.
I tried to move, but it felt as if my body were tied down by invisible threads. I felt myself growing big and hard inside her mouth. I saw her fake eyelashes and curled hair tips moving. Her bracelets made a dry sound against each other.
Her tongue was long and soft and seemed to wrap itself around me. Just as I was about to come, she suddenly moved away and began slowly to undress me. She took off my jacket, my tie, my pants, my shirt, my underwear, and made me lie down on the bed. Her own clothes she kept on, though. She sat on the bed, took my hand, and brought it under her dress. She was not wearing panties. My hand felt the warmth of her vagina. It was deep, warm, and very wet. My fingers were all but sucked inside.
Once she had me deep inside, she began a slow rotation of her hips. As she moved, the edges of the pale-blue dress caressed my naked stomach and thighs.
With the skirts of the dress spread out around her, Creta Kano, riding atop me, looking like a soft, gigantic mushroom that had silently poked its face up through the dead leaves on the ground and opened under the sheltering wings of night.
Her vagina felt warm and at the same time cold. It tried to envelop me, to draw me in, and at the same time to press me out. My erection grew larger and harder. I felt I was about to burst wide open. It was the strangest sensation, something that went beyond simple sexual pleasure. It felt as if something inside her, something special inside her, were slowly working its way through my organ into me. Tengo has sex with a woman who mystically transfers his sperm to a woman across town.
Man copulates with woman because she reminds him of his true love. And she takes the tube of suntan lotion from me and squeezes some onto her fingers and then touches herself and motions for me to do the same, and I do.
I lie there, naked, sunglasses still on, and she hands me a box of Kleenex. She puts a robe on and stares at me. I can hear thunder in the distance and it begins to rain harder. She lights a cigarette and I start to dress. I risked being seen, emboldened by how loud the vibrator was, timing my mastur-strokes to the shaking of her knees and the somewhat Zen-like whooshing of her breathing, and when she began to come for the second time I did in fact stop time for an instant and laid my dick in her palm and closed my fist around her fist, and squeezed on it so tightly my knuckles turned yellow, sliding within my skin in and out of her grip.
As the inexorability of my clasm began I pulled down on my glasses so that she and I were living coterminously, and as she came I released one-liners of sperm up her forearm and then squeezed the last semi-painful droplets of my orgasm out on her curled fingers.
I let her just begin to register the fact of my cooling slime on her arm after she finished coming herself before I stopped time and toweled her off and left. The greatest phone sex novel of all time. Some of the most innovative sex writing of all time. The cover is a work of art.
I wanted the ache. I wanted him in me, all the time. His weight on top of me. I wanted to squeeze him in further and further. I wanted to watch his face.
I wanted his sweat to drop onto me. I wanted to drop mine on him. I got on top of him. I was inventing something. I held him and put him in. He felt deeper in me. I was in charge and he liked it. I held his hands down.
He pretended he was trying to break free. I let my tits touch his face. He went mad; he bucked. He split me in two. One of his fingers flicked over my bum. I did it to him. He lifted and heaved. There was no end to it, no end to the new things. He did it back. He took me from behind. I pushed back, forced more of him into me. I made him come on my stomach. He sucked my toes. The whole room rocked and Mrs. Doyle smiled at us every morning.
Jackson and much, much, more. The first was that after he finished spanking me he told me to pull up my skirt.
Fear hooked my stomach and pulled it toward my chest. I turned my head and tried to look at him. Pull up your skirt. I can stop right now. I can straighten up and walk out. I pulled up my skirt. Do what I say. The letter before me became distorted beyond recognition. I was held up by a feeling of dizzying suspension, like the one I have in dreams where I can fly, but only if I get into some weird position.