Villages by John Updike (Hamish Hamilton)
A flock of crows, six or eight, raucously rasping at one another, thrashed
into the top of an oak on the edge of the square of sky. The heavenly invasion
made his heart race; he looked down at his prick, silently begging it not to be
distracted; his mind fought skidding into crows and woods, babies and Phyllis,
and his prick stared back at him with its one eye clouded by a single drop of
pure seminal yearning. He felt suspended at the top of an arc. Faye leaned back
on the blanket, arranging her legs in an M of receptivity, and he knelt between
them like the most abject and craven supplicant who ever exposed his bare ass to
the eagle eyes of a bunch of crows.
Faye took him in hand. He slipped in. He
became an adulterer. He went for the last inch. She grunted, at her own
revelation. His was that her cunt did not feel like Phyllis's. Smoother, somehow
simpler, its wetness less thick, less of a sauce, more of a glaze. It was soon
over. He could not help himself, he was so excited, proud, and nervous. When he
was done, he opened his eyes, and saw this stranger's face an inch from his,
seemingly asleep, the closed eyelids showing a thin pulse, her long lips curved
self-lullingly.
Fan Tan by Marlon Brando and Donald Cammell (William Heinemann)
In a moment Annie was on his side, Madame Lai was like a plant growing over
him, and her little fist (holding the biggest black pearl) was up his asshole
planting the pearl in the most appreciated place.
"Oh, Lord," he cried out. "I'm a-comin'!"
She could not answer. It is the one drawback of fellatio as conscientious as
hers that it eliminates the chance for small talk and poetry alike. But nothing
is exactly perfect in this life, and for Annie Doultry the delicate but firm
pressure on his rear parts was in perfect harmony with the eruption of his cock.
He came and he came - we are dealing with a hero here. At one point his lover
backed away to inspect the unaltered gush of it, like a plumber saying to a
customer, "Don't blame me. This water supply will stop when the dam's empty."
The bed creaked and its old springs twanged as he levered into action with
his hungry stomach and his big slippery mouth. Annie was at work again. With a
practiced flick of the wrist designed for heavier work, he eased the cheongsam's
slit wider to expose the entire butterball thigh. Without perceptible movement,
her legs were now definitely farther apart, and their musculature was
unresistant and frothy, as if they were no longer bearing her weight. In a
sense, she seemed to float upon the musty air like an arrangement of balloons.
Evidently the dexterous licking of the inside of her left knee was contributing
to her support, as it would soon to her downfall.
When it came, it was a float rather than a fall. Annie's left hand was
completely occupied, each finger playing a separate tune upon the delicate
complexities of her pussy, so it must have been the right one that slid under
her ass and elevated her and floated her onto the bed - or more precisely, onto
Annie, onto his broad stomach, the sturdy muscles beneath expressly relaxed to
provide the comfort of a mattress of familiar Celtic flesh. An unintelligible
muttering sound came from Yummee as she subsided on top of him. It could have
been a prayer to one of her goddesses, or a threat. ...
Winkler by Giles Coren (Jonathan Cape)
And he came hard in her mouth and his dick jumped around and rattled on her
teeth and he blacked out and she took his dick out of her mouth and lifted
herself from his face and whipped the pillow away and he gasped and glugged at
the air, and he came again so hard that his dick wrenched out of her hand and a
shot of it hit him straight in the eye and stung like nothing he'd ever had in
there, and he yelled with the pain, but the yell could have been anything, and
as she grabbed at his dick, which was leaping around like a shower dropped in an
empty bath, she scratched his back deeply with the nails of both hands and he
shot three more times, in thick stripes on her chest. Like Zorro.
The First Casualty by Ben Elton (Bantam Press)
He stood there, his head thrown back with the rain falling on his face, as he
felt fingers reaching into his fly and searching for a way into his long johns.
Murray was a nurse and used to undressing men; it was not long before she had
found what she was looking for and liberated his straining manhood, and then he
gasped out loud. The warmth of her mouth on him was almost too much to bear.
"Oh Jesus. Yes!" he gasped as her lips and teeth closed savagely around him
and he felt the tip of her tongue poking and probing. Then, just when he was
beginning to think that he must explode, her mouth was gone and in its place he
felt her hands once more and he smelt the unmistakable smell of oiled rubber.
"Glad this wasn't hanging on the line to dry when you saw my room," he heard
her say. "I think even I would have been embarrassed."
She slipped the big thick rubber sheath over him and then pulled him down to
her. Kingsley soon discovered that beneath her skirt she was wearing nothing. He
felt the thick, luxuriant bush of soft wet hair between her legs and in a moment
he was buried inside it.
"Ooh-la-la!" she breathed as he smelt the clean aroma of her short bobbed
hair and the rain-sodden grass around it. "Oooh-la-jolly well-la!"
And so they made love together in the pouring rain, with Nurse Murray
emitting a stream of girlish exclamations which seemed to indicate that she was
enjoying herself. "Gosh", "Golly" and, as things moved towards a conclusion,
even "Tally ho!"
Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie (Jonathan Cape)
" ... Let's, you know, caress each other in five places and kiss in seven
ways and make out in nine positions, but let's not get carried away." In reply,
Boonyi pulled her phiran and shirt off over her head and stood before him naked
except for the little pot of fire hanging low, below her belly, heating further
what was already hot. "Don't you treat me like a child," she said in a throaty
voice that proved she had been unsparing in her drug abuse. "You think I went to
all this trouble just for a kiddie-style session of lick and suck?"
Lovers and Strangers by David Grossman (Bloomsbury)
She touched it and her fingers were light and became excited at once, and he
started mumbling, "Good, good, good." She listened with wonder. This wasn't like
the moans she had heard from thousands of others, but like someone suddenly
recognizing something they had previously only heard about, like a boy who sees
an airplane in the sky for the first time, not in a story-book, and he stands
and cries out: Airplane, airplane! When she looked at him, a sigh escaped her.
He was so beautiful at that moment, as if a boy and a girl were twisting inside
him like two ropes or braids, intertwined, like something you see only in
dreams, she thought, or in the Indian shrines, and even there it's not like
this, not this pure and whole and glowing. She whispered to him eagerly, "You
can do everything, you'll see, nothing will stand in the way of your courage."
Memories of my Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (Jonathan Cape)
On the night of her birthday I sang the entire song to Delgadina, and I
kissed her all over her body until I was breathless: her spine, vertebra by
vertebra, down to her languid buttocks, the side with the mole, the side of her
inexhaustible heart. As I kissed her the heat of her body increased, and it
exhaled a wild, untamed fragrance. She responded with new vibrations along every
inch of her skin, and on each one I found a distinctive heat, a unique taste, a
different moan, and her entire body resonated inside with an arpeggio, and her
nipples opened and flowered without being touched. I was beginning to fall
asleep in the small hours when I heard something like the sound of multitudes in
the sea and a panic in the trees that pierced my heart. I went to the bathroom
and wrote on the mirror: Delgadina, my love, the Christmas breezes have arrived.
Blinding Light by Paul Theroux (Hamish Hamilton)
She was racing ahead, reading with emphasis.
The sound of his pleasure came slanting from deep within his lungs and seemed
like an echo of a softer sighing in her throat. Her breasts were in his hands,
his thumbs grazing her nipples. Her touch was surer and so finely judged that
she seemed to feel in the throb of his cock the spasm of his juice rising - knew
even before he did that he was about to come. Then he knew, his body began to
convulse, and as he cried "No" - because she had let go - she pushed him
backward onto the seat and pressed her face down, lapping his cock into her
mouth, curling her tongue around it, and the suddenness of it, the snaking of
her tongue, the pressure of her lips, the hot grip of her mouth, triggered his
orgasm, which was not juice at all but a demon eel thrashing in his loins and
swimming swiftly up his cock, one whole creature of live slime fighting the
stiffness as it rose and bulged at the tip and darted into her mouth.
The Olive Readers by Christine Aziz (Macmillan)
We made our way to the summerhouse and hid in its shadows. We lay on the cool
floor and I twined my legs around Homer's body, gripping him like a hunter
hanging on to its prey. He made love to me with his fingers and I came in the
palm of his hand. He stroked my breasts and neck. "Don't wash it away" he said.
"I want to be able to smell you tonight."
Lobster by Guillaume Lecasble (Dedalus Ltd)
She reached the staircase and climbed the first step but the cold was numbing
her mind. She fainted, upright and motionless with seawater up to her belly.
Lobster swam to her purple feet. Cut off the bloodless hand with his pincers,
and climbed up the inside of the leg as far as the clenched knees. He was amazed
at the pleasure he felt from being held in this way. His pincers slipped between
the thighs, prising them gently apart. His feelers were just able to reach the
satin of the panties. They fluttered, made the labia quiver. Under the
shimmering material a hint of life was returning. Angelina's thighs relaxed.
Lobster pulled back his feelers. Tensed and released his tail. His strokes were
fast and powerful. He was making headway. He sank himself into her warming
muscles; his tail did not falter. He moved forward, a centimetre at a time. Yes!
Suddenly he could see the fabric clearly, glistening, pearl-like.
The Alchemy of Desire by Tarun Tejpal (Picador)
Leaving everything else for later, I went looking for where her hair began
and worked my way through its musky trails to where there was none. And having
found her burning core, and having drunk of it, I left it, and wandered her
body, only to keep circling back to it for sustenance.
We began to climb peaks and fall off them. We did old things in new ways. And
new things in old ways. At times like these we were the work of surrealist
masters. Any body part could be joined to any body part. And it would result in
a masterpiece. Toe and tongue. Nipple and penis. Finger and the bud. Armpit and
mouth. Nose and clitoris. Clavicle and gluteus maximus. Mons veneris and phallus
indica.
The Last Tango of Labia Minora. Circa 1987. Vasant Kunj. By Salvador Dalí.
Draughtsmen: Fizznme.
Fizz screamed silently through it all - through gritted teeth, through
wide-open mouth - and only those who have known a woman screaming silently in
orgasm know how loud it is. It ripped through the room and set me to pounding
frenzies.
