I made sympathetic noises as he continued to tell me how horny he was all the time; how he'd drive to work almost everyday with a hard-on; and how he'd eye the women at work and fantasize about having sex with them.

Then he cleared his throat and said he'd even fantasized about me.

Well, I'd been doing the same about him for the past several hours! I was sporting a pretty good buzz from all the alcohol I'd had, and I guess I wasn't thinking much about consequences when I reached out under the water and squeezed Rob's nuts through the material of his trunks.

I could see his body tense as I touched him. Our faces were just a foot apart and we looked into each other's eyes as I continued to massage his crotch. His eyes finally closed and he was obviously enjoying my handiwork.

Suddenly he came alive and looked around guiltily. To my surprise, after reassuring himself that we were still alone, he pulled me to him and kissed me deeply...

Tony's ladies are kittens, good girls underneath the tattoos; his food images, on the other hand are some of the raunchiest you'll ever have the pleasure to behold, and these hot tamales may arouse you more viscerally than you ever expected.

We're all intimately familiar with the sex lives of our favorite pornstars—the ones that happen in front of the camera, at least. But what happens when pornstars go home to the people who love them?...

She stood in the afternoon light, as if the light was coming from her own body, from her breast and eyes and where her dress had been [...] Jim ached with her nakedness. His arms and legs were as lifeless as fallen branches. He understood that love was a power and force of a different order from anything else beneath the sky, and could demolish not merely family relations or notions of right and wrong but also what was real and what was not. Jim's world had been knocked a little out of its axis, and would not be restored.

She turned to him. Her face had taken on her nudity or rather had shed a veil it wore for the world. She said:

'Perhaps you'd like to take off your shorts.'...

Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore and no aspect of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic-minded, responsible, thrill-seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation and destroy the male sex.

It is now technically feasible to reproduce without the aid of males (or, for that matter, females) and to produce only females. We must begin immediately to do so. Retaining the mail has not even the dubious purpose of reproduction. The male is a biological accident: the Y (male) gene is an incomplete X (female) gene, that is, it has an incomplete set of chromosomes. In other words, the male is an incomplete female, a walking abortion, aborted at the gene stage. To be male is to be deficient, emotionally limited; maleness is a deficiency disease and males are emotional cripples.

The male is completely egocentric, trapped inside himself, incapable of empathizing or identifying with others, or love, friendship, affection of tenderness. He is a completely isolated unit, incapable of rapport with anyone. His responses are entirely visceral, not cerebral; his intelligence is a mere tool in the services of his drives and needs; he is incapable of mental passion, mental interaction; he can't relate to anything other than his own physical sensations. He is a half-dead, unresponsive lump, incapable of giving or receiving pleasure or happiness; consequently, he is at best an utter bore, an inoffensive blob, since only those capable of absorption in others can be charming. He is trapped in a twilight zone halfway between humans and apes, and is far worse off than the apes because, unlike the apes, he is capable of a large array of negative feelings -- hate, jealousy, contempt, disgust, guilt, shame, doubt -- and moreover, he is aware of what he is and what he isn't...

..I want (no, need) a woman with absolute confidence. I spend my life reassuring and cossetting and saying “yes I love you” and “yes I think you’re attractive”, but it’s just wasted breath. The irony is that the only thing that’s really unattractive about people is their continuing obsession with whether they’re attractive or not. I want somebody who knows, implicitly, that they are comfortable with themselves, and exudes that confidence in their clothes, their mannerisms, the way they carry themselves and with their sexual confidence. Somebody who takes instead of waiting for it to be offered. Somebody who doesn’t care if the destination is wrong, because the journey is the bit that matters...

I forgot that to most people the word 'cunt' is an insult, derogatory, and shocking. That they don't hear it as a marvellous beautiful descriptor of female genitalia, or realise that I speak the word with love and reverence and respect.

I forgot that to most people 'sex' is between a male and a female, and described solely as the penetration of the penis into the vagina. That they have no idea sex can be amazing without penetration being part of the picture, or that indeed masturbation is solo sex and in no way secondary to that with a partner.

I forgot that to most people there are only two genders: 'male' and 'female', and they they either don't understand or actively despise the gender-queer, the androgynous, the intersexed, the transgendered and transsexual and just plain unsure. That they have no concept of the amazing galaxy of genders out there, and that while I may fit into one of the categories they understand, it doesn't mean I don't recognise the others exist...

When Peter is hard, aroused beyond recognition, all the signs change. There is no amber, green or red. We're in another dimension. Blood rushes through arteries. We're on a highway where rules fade and the only rule is to pleasure the flesh.

Beneath my fingers, his skin sings. I take pleasure in the stroke. He's capable of being satisfied with the simplest brush of the fingers or tight grip on his cock. The options stretch out, yet his protruding cock takes pride of place as our limbs untangle and I position myself between his thighs, on my elbows, eye to eye with his hard cock.

While some may think it profane to utter the word cock, I find it poetic. When he says that he wants my lips wrapped around his cock, it's his tone that does it. His razor-like tone may as well enter me. I adore it. Live for it. He doesn't tiptoe around the subject, uses his body to relay his need...

Great sex requires attention to detail. It should be a time when thought ceases and sensation reigns. One reason being with my lover is more sexually satisfying then being with my husband is that when I am with Victor, in those short hours, the rest of the world drops away. I am fully present, perhaps because in the urgency of seeing each other I innately realize that this present moment is the only one we have and so I truly cherish it. The truth is each and every present moment is the only one we are guaranteed and should be just as cherished as those precious hours with my lover. The trick for me, and I suspect for most of us who bring too many stressors into the bedroom, is to be able to do the same with my spouse. Maybe I should start by tuning everything else out when my husband takes my sore foot in his hand and by asking him to do the same. It may be a tiny start, but we all have to begin somewhere...

I'm a throatfucker. I like a big cock in my throat.

There's an obliterating quality to intense sexual experiences that I crave. I want to quash my mind, and any attachments to who I think I am. I like to get whipped, nippled tortured, fucked hard, ass fucked and throat fucked. I love the delicious feeling that every orifice is available to my lover, at any time. I like my lover fucking my face so hard, that I wonder if my neck will be injured or my esophagus will burst...

It is a delicate thing. The formula needs to be just right... a dash of desire, a pinch of attraction, a spoonful of perfect personality and that secret ingredient (I can't tell, it's a secret). But when it is right the potion that is wanting and being wanted is the most powerful aphrodisiac in the world. Girls go a little naughty and boys well they will do just about anything to have this that is wanted. Oh, you have to love that. A drug, a spell, an incantation, an addiction that drives all to places they believe they are the first to reach.

The power of being wanted is intoxicating. The moment he sighs your name is wickedly delicious. The moment she says, "Please!" and you know that please is everything you want, everything thing you possibly desire can make you breathless.

Nothing is more beautiful in that moment than the person on the other side of that wanting. Nothing would substitute in that time and place and for those magical minutes everything is right. Every word is perfect because it is a gift to you. Every request is granted because nothing can be wrong when this wanting is so right...

Isn't it funny how most w4m ads are like checklists of requirements. These women think finding a guy is like ordering a sandwich - a little more height please, easy on the love of sports, and can you throw in a weekend house in the mountains and a willingness to support some other guy's children?

If men wrote their m4w ads the same way, we would expect to see something like this:

Looking to meet the woman of my dreams. Someone who appreciates me for who I am. I love big TV's, big trucks, baseball caps, and wife-beater tanks. I love going out with my friends to get drunk at strip clubs too. I'm looking for a nice woman who is not looking to jump into a relationship too soon but who knows what it means to be sexy and take care of her partner. Please no BBW's (sorry) but you won't look good on my arm when I wear a white t-shirt...

Sometimes I wish I could come like the women in the porn videos. Glacial, porcelain dolls with flawless skin and perfectly made-up faces.

You don't see their bodies going blotchily red and hear them howling like a banshee. There is no sloppy wet patch where their mouths have dribbled on the pillow or a puddle of gunk where the mixture of semen and orgasm has leaked convulsively from between their legs.

Their faces remain uniformly the colour the make-up artist applied earlier, not red-cheeked and white-eyed, frantically blinking....

1. A CLEAN HOUSE. There is something about a new female lover coming over that gets a man interested in cleaning. Never seen your partner volunteer to vacuum? Didn’t know he could dust? Watch as dirty clothes get picked up, dishes get put away and your house becomes sparkling clean.

2. LAUNDERED FRESH SHEETS AND TOWELS. When it is just you and your partner, it can be easy to leave the same sheets on the bed for weeks and to avoid washing the towels in the bathroom. But when you start opening your home up to new love, watch how much your man enjoys doing the laundry. If you want your house to seem like an elegant hotel with clean sheets and fresh towels every night, fill up your calendar with dates and see how much joy it brings him to do another load of wash....

Returning Creation (from the High Couch of Silistria series), by Janet Morris.
If you like to see ladies brought low, and then raised up to be worshipped, and then brought low again, then the "High Couch of Silistra" series is for you. Set on a planet of psychically-gifted people who embrace sexual diversity and peace, the series is focused mainly on sexual slavery and war. Our heroine is a prostitute (a noble calling on her world) who holds the "high couch" of her town - basically, she's the sex duchess. Unfortunately she's always being kidnapped or taken to other worlds where she's tied up, forced to have degrading sex, and (of course) has lots of tearful, shame-faced orgasms. Silly and pulpy, the first novel in the series is basically a swashbuckler with kinky bondage thrown in between sword fights. Also, there is a giant flying cat.
Kinks: Sexual slavery, bondage.