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“The reactionary of any kind condemns sexual pleasure because it stimulates and repulses him at the same time. He is unable to solve the conflict within him between sexual demands and moralistic inhibitions. The revolutionary refutes the perverse, unhealthy kind of pleasure, because it is not his kind of pleasure, because it is not the sexuality of the future, but the sexuality which results from the conflict between instinct and morals, the sexuality of authoritarian society, a debased, smutty, pathological sexuality.”
― Wilhelm Reich, The Mass Psychology of Fascism

“Porn mainly exists to satisfy the physical needs of men. Unfortunately many young men use porn to get educated about sex. But porn is not romance, lovemaking and about an emotional connection with their girlfriend, wife, or lover.”
― Dr. Warren Shepell

“I slid my thigh between her warm ones. Damp heat ground into my muscle as she clamped down and rolled her hips with a small helpless groan.
"That feel good, honey?" She was mostly shadows, and I itched to turn on a lamp so I could see her properly. But that would mean stopping, and I wasn't willing to let her go. I relied on touch, running my fingers along her arm, up to her neck, where sweat dewed on her skin. "You like riding my thigh?"
"Yes. Yes." That word again. Best word ever.
Her lips tickled mine as she panted, her sweet sex working in a little circle. I cupped her cheek and ate at her mouth as she took her pleasure. I'd been wanting to give it to her for so long. So fucking long. Her hands found my chest and slid down, mapping their way along my torso. It was nothing in the scheme of things, but that simple exploration, the way she whimpered and gasped into my mouth, sent licks of heat over my skin.
When her slim hand reached my cock and squeezed me through the barrier of my boxers, a groan tore from me. I shuddered, so close to coming from a furtive grope in the dark it would almost be funny if I weren't so worked up.
"Take it out," I rasped, flexing my thigh, knowing she'd feel it. I needed her hand on my bare skin. "Please."
Deftly she stole beneath the waistband and wrapped her fingers around my needy dick, giving it a firm tug. Then I was the one whimpering and gasping, fucking into the clasp of her hand because it felt so good. Sweet relief, hot pleasure.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“Gentle hands, soft lips, and hot little breaths down my stomach. Pleasure, a thick syrup pouring over my limbs. My cock rose, growing heavy with desire. We were so new together, by all accounts, I should be panting madly, trying to take over. But I was slowly heating wax molding to her will.
Emma palmed me through my briefs, and I grunted. I wanted them off, no barriers between us. As if she heard the silent demand, she kissed my nipple and slowly eased the briefs down. I lifted my butt to help her. My dick slapped against my belly as it was freed. Emma made a noise of appreciation and then wrapped her clever fingers around me.
"Please," I whispered. My body was weak, but my need grew stronger, drowning out everything else. She complied, stroking, her lips on my lower abs, teasing along the V leading to my hips.
"Em..." My plea broke off into a groan as her hot mouth enveloped me. There were no more words. I let her have me, do as she willed, and I was thankful for it.
And it felt so good I could only lie there and take it, try not to thrust into her mouth like an animal. But she pulled free with a lewd pop and gazed up at me.
Panting lightly, I stared back at her, ready to promise her anything, when she kissed my pulsing tip. "Go ahead," she said. "Fuck my mouth."
I almost spilled right there. She sucked me deep once more, and a sound tore out of me that was part pained, part "Oh God, please don't ever stop." The woman was dismantling me in the best of ways.
Waves of heat licked up over my skin as I pumped gently into her mouth, keeping my moves light because I didn't want to hurt her, and because denying myself was outright torture. Apparently, I was into that.
She sucked me like I was dessert----all the while, her hand stroking steady circles on the tight, sensitive skin of my lower abs. It was that touch, the knowledge that she was doing this because she wanted to take care of me, that rushed me straight to the edge.
My trembling hand touched the crown of her head. "Em. Baby, I'm gonna..." I gasped as she did something truly inspired with her tongue. "I'm gonna..."
She pulled free with one last suck and surged up to kiss me, her hand wrapping around my aching dick and stroking it. Panting into her mouth, my kiss frantic and sloppy, I came with a shudder of pleasure. And all the tension, all the pain, dissolved like a sugar cube dropped into hot tea.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“Lucian's thick, long finger slid into me, and I groaned----a pained sound.
"That's it," he rasped, fingering me with agonizingly slow pushes. "Fuck, that's it."
I gasped, my head light, my thighs clamping around his hand, as though I could hold in the sensation.
"Spread your legs a little wider, honey. Let me in. Good girl." He cupped my neck with his free hand, his forehead pressed to mine. "One day soon, I'm going to work myself into this tight sweet honey box, fuck you for hours."
My thighs trembled, heat swimming me as my lower belly clenched. "Lucian." I wiggled my hips.
He added another finger, fucking them up into me at an angle that had me keening in pleasure. "Right here, Em. Right here is where I'm aching to be."
I wanted him there so badly. My body moved with him, rocking against his hand.
"Right here is where I'll worship." He kissed me gently, a simple meeting of mouths, as his thumb snaked out and found my clit. He pressed down, rougher now that I was worked up and at the edge. Just how I liked. White-hot head sparked and lit, and I came in a rushing wave that had me straining against him.
"Say my name." He rubbed my slippery sex, fingers deep inside me.
"Lucian." I sobbed. "Lucian."
His grip on my nape was warm, reassuring as he kissed me. "That's my girl," he said as I came down from my high, my body trembling. "My girl."
My focus came back as he slipped free from my panties. He lifted his hand to his mouth and, holding my eyes with his crystalline-green eyes, sucked his wet fingers clean.
A wicked smile curved his lush mouth as his voice rolled over me like warm honey. "Delicious.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“The intensity of the pleasure derived from an orgasm is compensation for its brevity.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“Each of our bodies is unique. We may share the same basic make-up as men and women, but we certainly don't feel everything the same. What feels good on your body may not always feel good on someone else's
body and that is absolutely natural.”
― Elle Chase, Curvy Girl Sex: 101 Body-Positive Positions to Empower Your Sex Life

“When I start to feel him slide in, I gasp. I knew he was going to feel big---because he is big. I didn't know he'd feel this good, this quickly, though.
I close my eyes and savor the way he stretches me, the immediate intensity I feel. When he starts that slow slide, my mouth falls open.
Soon I'm clawing at the bedsheets like I'm crazed. I'm certain I'll go hoarse at the end of this, but I don't care. I could lose my voice for a year and it would be worth it, this feels so freaking incredible.
Max eases to a slower pace, then leans over me and kisses my shoulder.
"Damn it, Joelle. You are...god, you're..."
My eyes roll to the back of my head as I smile to myself. His inability to finish a sentence while inside me is the highest compliment. My vision focuses, and I take in just how gorgeous he is in this moment: eyes glazed over with arousal, jaw clenched, brow dotted with sweat, lips swollen from kissing me.
Seeing Max so turned on combined with just how good he feels has me tingling between my thighs once more. He digs his fingers into my hips and picks up the pace.
"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this with you?" he growls.
I moan. "No" and push my hips up higher.
"A long fucking time."
"Same," I rasp. "Same, same, same."
He goes harder and faster until my vision begins to go starry. And then he slips a hand between my legs and works the most sensitive part of me with the pads of his fingers. The intensity deepens until my legs start to shake. I reach around and grip a handful of his delectably rock-hard ass.
"I'm gonna need to get a good look at this up close very, very soon," I say.
He chuckles between pants. I babble that I'm close.
"Thank fuck."
And then Max puts it into some high gear I didn't know he was capable of. He goes harder and faster than I thought was humanly possible. It's enough, though. Because moments later I'm bursting once again. He isn't far behind. He tenses against me before shuddering, then grunting. He lightly bites the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. The soft scrape, so sweet and carnal at once, has me grinning in ecstasy.
We collapse on the bed, him on top of me, and stay that way for nearly a minute. I close my eyes and breathe in the mint-spice scent on his bedsheets, relishing the weight of his body on top of mine.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“Any memories of other women were banished permanently from his mind... there was only Evie, her red hair streaming and curling over his stomach and thighs, her playful fingers and frolicsome mouth causing him an agony of pleasure like nothing he had ever felt before. When he could no longer hold back his groans, she climbed over him carefully, straddling him, crawling up his body slowly like a sun-warmed lioness. He had one glimpse of her flushed face before she sought his mouth with teasing, sucking kisses. The rosy tips of her breasts dragged through the hair on his chest... she rubbed herself against him, purring with satisfaction at the hard warmth of the male body beneath her.
His breath snagged in his throat as he felt her hand slip between their hips. He was so aroused that she had to gently pull his sex away from his stomach before she could fit it between her thighs. The crisp red curls of her mound tickled his exquisitely sensitive skin as she guided him between the hot folds of her body.
"No," Sebastian managed, recalling the bet. "Not now. Evie, no---"
"Oh, stop protesting. I didn't make nearly this much of a fuss after our wedding, and I was a virgin."
"But I don't want---oh God. Holy Mother of God---"
She had pushed the head of his sex into her entrance, the sweet flesh so snug and soft that it took his breath away. Evie writhed a little, her hand still grasping the length of his organ as she tried to guide him deeper. Seeing the difficulty she was having in accommodating him caused him to swell even harder, his entire body flushed with prickling excitement. And then came the slow, miraculous slide, hardness within softness.
Sebastian's head fell back to the pillow, his eyes drowsy with intense desire as he stared up into her face. Evie made a little satisfied hum in her throat, her eyes tightly closed as she concentrated on taking him deeper. She moved carefully, too inexperienced to find or sustain a rhythm. Sebastian had always been relatively quiet in his passion, but as her lush body lifted and settled, deepening his penetration, and his cock was gripped and stroked by her wet depths, he heard himself muttering endearments, pleas, sex words, love words.
Somehow he coaxed her to lean farther over him, resting more of her body against his, adjusting the angle between them. Evie resisted briefly, fearing she would hurt him, but he took her head in his hands. "Yes," he whispered shakily. "Do it this way. Sweetheart. Move on me... yes..."
As Evie felt the difference in their position, the increased friction against the tingling peak of her sex, her eyes widened. "Oh," she breathed, and then inhaled sharply. "Oh, that's so---" She broke off as he set a rhythm, nudging deeper, filling her with steady strokes.
The entire world dwindled to the place where he invaded her, their most sensitive flesh joined. Evie's long auburn lashes lowered to her cheeks, concealing her unfocused gaze. Sebastian watched a pink flush creep over her face. He was suspended in wonder, suffused with vehement tenderness as he used his body to pleasure hers. "Kiss me," he said in a guttural whisper, and guided her swollen lips to his, slowly ravishing her mouth with his tongue.
She sobbed and shuddered with release, her hips bearing greedily against his as she took his full length. The rim of her sex clamped tightly around him, and Sebastian gave himself up to the squeezing, enticing, pulsing flesh, letting her pull the ecstasy from him in great voluptuous surges. As she relaxed over him, trying to catch her breath, he drew his hands over her damp back, his fingertips gently inquiring as they traveled to the plump curve of her bottom. To his delight, she squirmed and tightened around him in helpless response. If he had his usual strength... oh, the things he would have done to her...”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Winter

“He cupped her buttocks in his hands, lifted her up, and guided her down over his shaft with a long sigh. When he was deeply inside her, their eyes locked.
Susannah's breasts slid against his chest, both of their bodies sweat-sheened, as she rose up again, knowing instinctively what to do. He smiled faintly, guided her down again. Which is when she saw his eyes go black again with desire and she exulted. She loved this power to give and take, this humbling exchange of strength and vulnerability.
"There's a place inside you, Susannah...," he said hoarsely. "Guide me. You'll know it when you feel it. I'll hold on to you."
So she lifted up again... and slid down again... and oh, he was right. There was a place.
She moved up over him again, with a sultry smile, enjoying this new knowledge, feeling that mysterious need escalating... she held it at bay for as long as she could. Which, as it turned out, wasn't very long at all. For her body took over, found the cadence it craved, and she began to ride him in an instinctive rhythm that grew ever swifter, and he held her, his hips thrusting up to meet hers.
The world became the harsh roar of their breathing, incoherent sounds of pleasure, softly groaned words of urging. Susannah could feel her release pushing, pushing at the seams of her, roaring through her veins like a river of stars, until it flooded its banks and burst from her in an exultant cry. The unthinkable pleasure of it rocked her, shook her like a rag; she trembled and trembled from it.
Kit held on to her, his own hoarse cry following, and she could feel his seed filling her as she breathed her exhaustion against his neck. Felt his chest heaving against hers as they clung together.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy

“To relinquish your typical everyday character for a brief while, in pursuit of uninhibited sexual pleasure can be an incredibly cathartic experience.......Why not try it some time?”
― Miya Yamanouchi, Embrace Your Sexual Self: A Practical Guide for Women

“There is an innate gratification in falling from grace, that the supreme pleasure of love is illicit love, a feeling that you are doing wrong.”
― Chloe Thurlow, A Girl's Adventures

“The state of bliss is based on having pleasure, the basis of which is sexual pleasure. Without the regular sexual life, there cannot be a state of happiness. However, in sexual intercourse, the essential factor for getting sexual pleasure doesn't depend primarily on this sexual act in itself, but on the fact that the brain should be ready to experience this sexual pleasure -- the impulses receiving during sexual intercourse can rush to the pleasure center of the brain and trigger an orgasm. At this point, the functional state of the female brain, which is very sensitive to external factors, differs from the male brain. The sexual impulses in general can trigger an orgasm in sexual intercourse only if the fear and anxiety center of the brain has been deactivated. But this deactivation does not occur in a similar way in both genders. Neuropsychology says that before the fear and anxiety center has been turned off, in the female brain, any last minute worry -- even if about kids, or getting dinner on the table, not to mention the serious career-related anxiety -- can interrupt the march of sexual impulses toward orgasm. Unlike the female brain, male brain does not experience such difficulties associated with orgasm. For that reason, women in general may be less likely to be happy in social life than men. Perhaps, in some cases, the happy face of a career woman is simply a social mask for others.”
― Elmar Hussein

“The state of bliss is based on having pleasure, the basis of which is sexual pleasure. Without the regular sexual life, there cannot be a state of happiness. However, in sexual intercourse, the essential factor for getting sexual pleasure doesn't depend primarily on this sexual act in itself, but on the fact that the brain should be ready to experience this sexual pleasure -- the impulses receiving during sexual intercourse can rush to the pleasure center of the brain and trigger an orgasm. At this point, the functional state of the female brain, which is very sensitive to external factors, differs from the male brain. The sexual impulses in general can trigger an orgasm in sexual intercourse only if the fear and anxiety center of the brain has been deactivated. But this deactivation does not occur in a similar way in both genders. Neuropsychology says that before the fear and anxiety center has been turned off, in the female brain, any last minute worry -- even if about kids, or getting dinner on the table, not to mention the serious career-related anxiety -- can interrupt the march of sexual impulses toward orgasm. Unlike the female brain, male brain does not experience such difficulties associated with orgasm. For that reason, women in general may be less likely to be happy in social life than men. Perhaps, in some cases, the happy face of a career woman is simply a social mask for others.”
― Elmar Hussein

“We are obsessed with the academic and scientific study of displeasure/anxiety/running/fighting, but almost no research is done about pleasure, because the exploration of sexual pleasure is still a taboo subject among Christians as it was in Reich's time. Reich's work is key to the somatic system.”
― Laurence Galian, 666: Connection with Crowley

“All our categories have thus entered the age of the factitious: no more wanting - only getting people to want; no more doing - only getting people to do; no more being worth something - merely getting something to be worth something (witness advertising in general); no more knowing - only letting know; and, last but not least, not so much enjoying, not so much taking pleasure, as getting people to enjoy, getting people to take pleasure. This is the great problem of the moment: to take sexual pleasure serves no purpose - we are supposed to give sexual pleasure, whether to ourselves or to others. Such pleasure has become an act of communication: I am your guest, you are my guest - we exchange pleasure as part of a performative interactivity. Anyone who seeks gratification without communication is a pig. Do communication machines have orgasms? That is another story - but if we try to imagine orgasmic machines, we can do so only by reference to the model of communication machines. As a matter of fact, such orgasmic machines already exist in the shape of our own bodies - bodies coaxed into coming by the subtlest of cosmetic and pleasure-inducing technologies.”
― Jean Baudrillard, The Transparency of Evil: Essays in Extreme Phenomena

“I can hardly believe neither o' ye were shot through with the arrow. I thought ye'd both died when we heard yer screams, they were that pain-filled and anguished."
Claray stiffened, her eyes widening, and then felt herself going hot with a blush as she realized what screams Kenna was referring to. She and Conall had only screamed once each, when they'd both found their pleasure that last time. Good Lord, everyone had come running because of how loud she and Conall had been. Not that she was sorry they'd come. They'd needed their help, but how humiliating would it have been if they'd all come running and found them lying in each other's arms, recovering from the loving?”
― Lynsay Sands, Highland Wolf

“For so long now, part of the pleasure in making love to a woman had been the mechanics of seduction. He'd always been the master of each step of it, and this, too, had been part of the pleasure for him.
But... this pleasure was different. It was in Susannah's breath, warm against his neck in the aftermath of her release. The flush in her cheeks and creamy throat. In the scent of her hair. In her lovely eyes going opaque from desire, her hands in his hair. In---
"Did we just make love?" Susannah wanted to know.
In questions like that.
He smiled faintly. "Very nearly.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy

“He sighed then, and began to move in her, his cadence even, purposeful. She arched to meet each stroke, taking him as deeply into her body as she could; reveling in the pleasure she was giving, in the dark desire she saw in his eyes. And she reveled, too, when control was lost to him. He turned his head away from her when the rhythm of his need took him over, escalated, drummed through her body, his hips quick and fierce. When he turned toward her again, she saw the singular mission in his eyes, the unconscious total pleasure, and from the rush of his breathing knew instinctively it would be soon for him. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, holding him fast.
"Oh, God, Susannah. Oh, God."
His long body went still; she felt his release shudder through him.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy

“He sat up suddenly, swept her into his lap so that she sat across his thighs, and breathed into her ear, touched his tongue there, traced the whorls of it. A silver-hot shiver of sensation coursed through her body.
"Do you like that?" he murmured.
"I don't know," she half-gasped. "It rather takes... everything over."
He dragged a single finger down her throat, over the fine bones of her chest, touched it to the stiff peak of her nipple. "Proof that you most definitely like it," he confirmed in a sultry whisper. She laughed a little, then stopped abruptly, because she needed all of her faculties to enjoy what he'd begun doing to her breasts with his hands.
And then they were quiet, and with a tacit sort of agreement, everything was soft as breath, delicate. With lips, and fingertips light as air, with breath itself, she caressed him, and he caressed her. She breathed into his ear, tasted the cord of his neck while his fingers gently, maddeningly, softly, played along her spine, her waist, her belly, the nest of curls between her legs, her throat, her breasts, as though he was bringing music from the most delicate of harps. Until every cell of her vibrated with desperate need. His breath was hot, then cool, in her ear. She finally gave up exploring him and submitted, hooking her arms loosely around his neck, selfishly wanting just to take the pleasure he could give.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy

“His hand slid down the front of my shirt until he found my breast. I arched into his touch, and he squeezed--- gently at first, and then, when he saw what his touch was doing to me, with firmer pressure. My breasts were a respectable size, but I fit easily and entirely within his large palm. My nostrils flared, my breathing coming hot and quick as sensation coursed through me.
"Frederick," I murmured, intending only to encourage him to keep going. The sound of his name must have done something to him because he growled his response. All his formidable powers of speech seemed to have fled as his free hand came down and cupped my other breast. He thumbed roughly at my nipples through my shirt and bra until they pebbled up into hard little sensitized buds against his palms, and then he kept going, and going, and going, until I was nothing but pure sensation.
"Oh," I said, incapable of articulate speech. The soft velvet duvet underneath me served as delicious contrast to the sharp spikes of pleasure coursing through my bloodstream, the placid and even ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway a stark accompaniment to my uneven, rapid breaths. Frederick tore off my shirt and bra impatiently, tossing them to the floor like the hindrances they'd become. His low, desperate groan when he saw my bare chest ratcheted the coil of desire in the pit of my stomach to nearly unbearable heights.”
― Jenna Levine, My Roommate Is a Vampire

“I curled my hands around the flowers, and felt the earth shiver as he spoke in the language of pleasure with his tongue. I died a little in those wildflowers, surrounded by the rush of water and damp moss and sunlight, and felt for the first time in my life---
That I didn't want to skip to the end, I didn't want to reach for the past. Now was enough.”
― Ashley Poston, A Novel Love Story

“He walked me backwards through my bedroom, steering me with one hand on my hip and the other at my waist, until the backs of my knees hit my mattress.
"Lie down," he murmured. It was dark in my room, but there was enough light from the hallway, enough moonlight streaming in from my bedroom window, that I could see him clearly, broad shoulders silhouetted against the darkness. "I want to touch you."
I complied, eager for the same thing, then closed my eyes, expecting to feel the mattress dip when he got in bed with me.
Instead, I heard him kneel beside the bed. Felt his hands wrap around each of my ankles.
"What---?" I began. Then yelped as he tugged me towards the edge of the mattress.
"I want to see you let go," he explained, hands snaking beneath my skirt to tug at the edge of my underwear. "And I want it to be because of me. I want you to fall apart on my tongue, feel your legs quivering beside my ears as you shout my name." He drew my underwear down my legs and threw them over his shoulder. Then he shoved my skirt up to my waist. "I want to taste you. Everywhere. So badly."
"Reggie," I whimpered. I shivered as he pulled my legs over his shoulders, tilted my hips up with his hands. I was splayed open for him, naked and vulnerable, heart thundering so loudly that surely he must be able to hear it.
His mouth was just a hairsbreadth away from where I ached for him. I could feel each shaky exhalation of breath against my core. His beautiful, expressive eyes met mine. "You want this. Don't you." He closed his eyes, rubbing his cheek against the inside of my thigh. The delicious scratch of his stubble pulled a groan from me before I realized it had happened. "I can smell how much you want me."
I whined, wriggling in his grip. "Reggie, please." I could tell he needed verbal confirmation from me that I wanted to be with him like this. But if I didn't have his mouth on me immediately, I was going to lose my mind. "I want this. I want you. Please."
His mouth quirked up into a half smile. His eyes darkened. "As my lady commands."
Then his mouth was right there, electric, flooding me with sensations I could scarcely remember feeling before and couldn't name. He was relentless as he devoured me, sucking my clit into his mouth a moment before laving it with the achingly soft flat of his tongue. I tried to cry out but couldn't, made mindless by pleasure and pure desperate need as I lay helpless on the bed before him, held together only by the determined way he worked me and the vise grip he had on my hips. My breathing was way too fast and growing shallow, my chest heaving, my blood pounding in my veins as he teased and drew out my pleasure.”
― Jenna Levine, My Vampire Plus-One

“You might as well offer a mutton chop to a man who is dying of thirst as offer sexual pleasure to the desire I am speaking of.”
― C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life