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Naked and Sexual

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Fiona Thrust

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“Physical attraction can only maintain a relationship for so long.” He scanned the clouds for thoughts, “But like how the moon and earth are in an eternal dance with each other, there must be another force holding them together, something not visible to our eyes. Likewise, two individuals must be mentally and emotionally attracted and in equal understanding of each other in order for their gravity to hold them together. - Royal Matchmaking Competition: Princess Qloey”

“He closed the door behind us, and led me through to the back of the shop. ‘If you don’t mind, you can get changed in the stock cupboard,’ he said. ‘We’re not posh enough here to have staff changing rooms, but you’ll soon get used to it.’ ‘Oh, don’t worry, Chris,’ I said warmly. ‘I’m used to getting my clothes off in unusual places.”

“We cannot anticipate in advance how anyone will respond when they first rub elbows with Eros’ malady of passion and madness. Eros arrives on a wing of a devious angel to take control of our body, encapsulate our mind, and seize command over the quality of our life. In its purest manifestation, romantic love guarantees to rip us asunder, because we are unwittingly dispossessed of our precious sense of self-control.”

“His nostrils flared and he couldn't wait any longer. He lifted her bodily, moving her farther up on the bed, placing her head and shoulders against the pillows, and then pushed up her chemise, crawling between her spread thighs and settling to enjoy what he'd found. There. There she was, her pretty, pretty pink cunny, all coral lips and wispy dark-blond curls. He hiked her trembling legs over his arms, ignoring her gasp of shocked surprise. He glanced up at once and saw wide, wondering eyes gazing back at him. Her gentlemanly first husband had evidently never done this to her. More fool he. Then he bent and feasted. His nose pressed into her mound, inhaling her woman's scent, his cock grinding hard into the bed, his tongue licking into tart and salt and her. Oh God, her. She squealed at his first touch and tried to squirm away, but he held her fast with his hands on her hips. He almost smiled against her tender flesh, his teeth scraping oh so gently. She might be startled, might be outraged and shocked, but she liked it. Perhaps even loved it- what he was doing to her. She was moaning now, low in her throat, making little mewling sounds, so erotic and sweet, her hips twitching against his lips, trying to get more. He opened his mouth, covering her, breathing over her. He stiffened his tongue and speared into her as far as he could reach, his jaw aching. She cried out at that and he felt fingers tangling in his hair. He withdrew his tongue and moved to her clitoris, taking the small bit of flesh gently between his teeth and pulling. She froze, trembling all over, and he could hear her gasping breaths. He opened his mouth and licked her. Softly. Tenderly. Thoroughly. And at the same time he shoved two fingers into her, feeling her wet walls contract against his knuckles, smelling the rise of her arousal. She arched under him, her soft thighs thrashing restlessly, making no sound, but he knew. He knew. He curled the fingers inside her and stroked her wet, silky inner walls as he pulled them back. Then he shoved them again into her, hard and firm, repeating the motion as he suckled her clitoris. She moaned- loud in the quiet room- and pushed against him, and he felt her tremble and suddenly grow wetter. She shuddered helplessly and he was drunk on her release, his cock a heavy, near-painful throb. He turned his head and kissed the inside of her soft thigh, listening to her pant.”

“Once I had a wild fling on an otherwise boring weekend holiday in Edinburgh, with a guy I met who turned out to be a psychiatrist. He agreed with me, after hours and hours of our naked cavorting in a hotel, that I was a sex addict; although he did stress he wouldn’t change me for the world. It turned him on that I was so sexual, and we turned a dull weekend in a grey city into something wonderful for the two of us. So, what was the problem?”

“Excuse me,’ I said cheerily. ‘Is the job still going?’ I pointed to the notice. ‘Of course,’ he said, looking back at me with a warm smile. I think he was as hopeful as I was about where this could lead to. ‘We need all the hands we can get.’ I looked at the tight swell of his shirt against his chest, and thought, 'Mmm, yes, I can imagine my hands getting your fucking clothes off right now.”

“Livia didn’t reappear. She must have gone out by the back alley. Yaqub came into the house alone, his neck scratched and full of love bites, his face still burning with passion. That’s how he left: his clothes rumpled, his face wet, and his hair full of twigs, leaves, and strands of blondish hair. He went quietly, leaving the house where he had lived with frugality and discretion. He had barely occupied the place, hardly more than a shadow.”

“The Great Carouser by Stewart Stafford The Great Carouser approaches, His belly as stacked cheddar rolls, Used as a springboard for lust, And a battering ram for tavern doors. Shrieks of terror and welcome, Greet his arrival with ale demands, Tankards clank and merriment begins, Lewd ditties and jokes by the bar. Balancing acts on tables, With tongues held hostage, By braggadocio squatters, In an intoxicated stranglehold. Slurred speech and equilibrium loss, Signal festivities end for the gang, Staggering out into the starlit street, Partners on each arm for shady exertions. Then waking as if mauled by a bear, A quick drink and a greasy feast initiated, For the strange girls snoring in his bed, The Great Carouser has struck again. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”