'I'm not asking,' he answers as his hands pull up my skirt roughly. I'm bending over the toilet, and he's behind me and he's so rough it almost hurts; it's so good. I feel his jarring inside me from behind with one hand over my clitoris. Oh, God, I need this, but I must stop this. 'Come on, just let go.' I wish he wasn't right. What choice do I have, I can feel it coming. And I'm a screamer, but he puts his free hand against my mouth to contain the sound. Oh shit, this is so good . . .
Shanna, age 18
Heterosexual
Virgin
College Student
Singapore
In my favourite fantasy, a guy is sitting in the back of his chau-eured car (the windows are tinted) waiting for his seventeen-year-old niece. She gets in the car unsuspectingly. They get into foreplay and her uncle suckles her virgin twat. He laps up her juices and plays around her labia with his tongue. (Keep in mind the girl is wearing her school uniform.) She moans. They rock the limousine, and shouts of pleasure and their lascivious moans can be heard outside the car. The chau-eur gets off on their muffled sex cries, and passersby are intrigued.
Unearthly Pleasures
Sheila, age 34
Heterosexual
Steady relationship, not live-in
High School diploma
Occupation unknown
Ohio, USA
I liked being in control of sexual situations when I first learned about sex. Experience has led me to become a female dominant. In the relationship I have now it is vanilla D/s. In the past I have been a switch (someone who can be either the dominant or submissive with their partner). My experience with women has mainly been through BDSM, kissing, touching and use of toys and props with them, but I have yet to have a full-on female experience. If the right woman came along I very well could give it try, I think. The lesbian curiosity is one that I would like to explore because I believe it would be so di-erent being with someone who knows in her own way what I would like, could understand my thoughts and feelings better. What keeps it from happening, not really searching for it, is that I know that relationships are relationships; no matter your sexual orientation, each group has its own problems. So I think, why trade the problems that I am used to for a di-erent set? Besides, I do love men a hell of a lot and I damned sure enjoy being dominant over the man in my life.
Though I am dominant, the best sex came when I was in a submissive role. I was with a man and we were doing age-play role-playing, dad/daughter scene. He had a way of making me feel very young even though he was not much older than me. I was pleasing 'daddy' orally, trying to make up for being a very bad girl, when the man's real-life brother walked in on us. OMG! Embarrassment and shock at getting caught in the exposed position I was in were only a few of the feelings going through me, not to mention I was extremely horny, too! A look, a few words between the dominant 'daddy' and me, and we invited the brother to join us. This night became my first, and so far only, experience with a threesome. Still makes me drip thinking about it. And yes, the brother stepped in to the role of 'uncle' to the dad/daughter scene.
Erotica and romantic erotica are my first reading choices when possible, followed by paranormal romances and so on.
When it comes to fantasy, the themes I go to often are paranormal, like vampires (as victim or as the vamp) and werewolves, BDSM, inanimate objects (for example, statues), and some taboo subjects such as rape and incest. Some fantasies have force to mild violence. What holds me back from living out my fantasies? Vampire fantasy is hard to complete, don't you think? Role-playing is as close as I get to that one, and it's freaking hot when I play that role, too. Finding a statue that can fill the role of my latest fantasy isn't easy. And rape is not anything I want to have happen to me or anyone else.
Recently the fantasy that gets me going is sex with a statue. It plays out this way: I'm a woman who is at an art auction. I'm exploring the items up for bid and come across a wonderfully aroused sculpted male statue, one that to my mind puts the statue of David to shame. Though I'm there with my mind set on a certain painting, something about the statue calls to me and I set out to win it, and do. The statue is delivered. Alone with it at last, I can't stop touching it. The more I touch it the more aroused I become and I figure out a way to impale myself on its sculpted cock and come.
The only real variance in the above fantasy is that sometimes the statue will come to life while I'm riding it and other times not.
Cecilia, age 40
Bisexual
No children
Live-in relationship/marriage and steady relationships, not live-in
Master's degree
Writer
Massachusetts, USA
I discovered I could masturbate to orgasm when I was about five years old. Even then, images of bondage and power/domination turned me on – Catwoman and Batman on the old Batman TV show, the episode of Star Trek with the slave people . . . I like to fantasise about men on men, bondage, roleplaying, cock worship, large cocks and what to do with them, domination, gay love, and beautiful young men. There are lots more but in the past six to eight months those are the top themes.
In my fantasy I'm a young prince whose father is involved in a huge power struggle. The scenario can vary from the family being modern crime lords, to medieval settings with magic and spells. My safety has been entrusted to an older man whom I gradually fall in love (or at least lust) with, but when my father discovers that this man is actually a traitor working for our enemies he is forced to flee, taking me with him. Sometimes I start out as a hostage, sometimes I have secretly been helping him all along to bring my father down. Either way, we end up in a deeply sexual relationship, fuelled by the tension. The scenario climaxes when my father catches up to us at last – we know he's spying on us but hasn't yet made his move, and, to protect me, my lover enacts a scene in which he 'rapes' me, to make it look to my father like I've been his captive, his slave all along, when in truth it is our goodbye.
Cynthia, age 31
Bisexual
Single, moderately sexually active
No children
Master's degree
Residence Hall Director
Ohio, USA
I'm turned on by sexual tension, especially when I can't act on it. But flirting with the person and playing with fire is always fun. I'm a little less caught up on hearts and flowers and champagne. Romance is wonderful, but I'm also attracted to raw sexuality, being sexually satisfied. When I was younger, I was more worried about pleasing my partner than myself.
Lately, I've fantasised about having sex with a very alpha male, one who is almost controlling. I have a favourite fantasy about being taken (literally kidnapped) by a man who is superhuman in some way (vampire, werewolf, wizard, etc.). He takes me to his home, which is somewhere secluded, to be used as his sexual plaything. Sometimes he locks me in a little cage, sometimes he chains me to his bed, and other times he uses some sort of magical power on me in order to bend me to his will. He likes to tease me. He pulls my ass to the edge of the bed and then ties my legs open so they are completely stretched out. That way he has access to my ass and my pussy. The man only wants me as a sexual servant but eventually develops feelings for me. While I enjoy having sex with him, I am angry with him for holding me captive. The fantasy usually ends with me tying him up and leaving him unsatisfied as I walk out.
Name withheld, age 46
Heterosexual
Live-in relationship/marriage
Bachelor's degree
Writer
Wisconsin, USA
When I was young I thought Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin (when he was in his early 20s) was beautiful. Of course, I was very young and inexperienced (thanks to a very protective dad), and so my mind couldn't grasp anything beyond hugging and kissing. Now I'm turned on by nude Greek statues, the kind found in museums. You have these healthy, trim gods doing their thing – chasing nymphs or what have you. The sculptors should have shown these statues masturbating or getting their cock
s licked, because all that beauty is otherwise going to waste. Walking through a major art museum is better than a porn movie any time!
My fantasies mostly revolve around the theme of being put in a situation where I can't really be held responsible for my actions. For example, my engaging in the act is the lesser of two evils. (It's like you have a choice: either the guy performs cunnilingus on you and your friend, or you have to act as maid for the 3-storey, 115-room whorehouse. And, may I add, you have no help in cleaning the house. It's room after room of scrubbing toilets, wiping down shower walls, and cleaning someone's hairs out the sink. I hate picking hairs out of the sink!)
Well, my actual fantasies are much more concrete than that. This is to say, I don't fantasise about a guy sticking his prick up my ass because I know from experience that, unless the guy knows what he's doing, the act hurts like hell. I don't fantasise about having two guys lick me at the same time because I know someone is going to get pissed off at somebody else. Someone is going to feel left out. And the United States is still largely heterosexual, so it's damn unlikely that two het males are going to feel comfortable about rubbing against each other (and I'm sure if you have two males to one woman, one of the males is bound to accidentally touch the other male, and then you have two males ready to fight because someone feels that his masculinity is being challenged. Every het male I've talked with regarding multiple partners expressed indignation about touching another naked male).
OK, here goes (blush). I'm on my hands and knees, being slow-fucked by two witches. I don't mean they're fucking me slowly. I mean the auburn-haired witch who kneels behind me has his hands on my hips, and he pushes his huge dick in me real fast, and then he pulls out really slow, so that I feel every morsel of delicious friction as he withdraws his cock. He never completely withdraws. He's just in real hard and real fast, and out real tender and slow as though he knows how to let his cock linger on the edge of my pussy. If I could, I would scream, but the 6' 4" black-haired, blue-eyed babe who kneels before me, well, he looks even better without any clothes. He's cut, with the six-pack and the guns. He doesn't look like a high priest in one of the most whispered-about covens in the region. He looks like a weightlifter from one of those expensive California gyms. This ain't California, though, and he wears nothing but a blue tattoo of the Horns of Isis on his right shoulder and a silver pentagram with an amethyst as its centrepiece around his throat.
The auburn witch halts, leans into me a little, and begins to finger my clit. The more the auburn pagan pinches the lips of my pussy and squeezes my clit between his index and third finger, the harder I suck the black witch. God in Heaven, he tastes so creamy and smooth – like sweet yogurt when you add a tiny bit of salt. He strokes my hair and shifts his hips a little. Suddenly he pushes me backwards and the auburn one pulls at my shoulders until I'm flat on my back. I stare at the ceiling – a beautiful painting that depicts every known goddess exposing her swollen cunt to the hungry mouth of a god with a rig not to be believed. Auburn brings his face close to mine so that I see his long straight lashes, which are rather pale when compared to the sensual reds and soft browns of his hair. He pins my wrists to the dirt floor and shoves his tongue inside my mouth. The high priest thrusts my legs apart, revealing my cunt which makes a wet smacking sound as the lips of my vulva open a little. Oh goddamn! Resting his weight on his elbow and knees, the black priest uses one of his hands to guide himself inside me. I gasp for air as his tremendous-sized dick tears its way through my walls. I scream from a good pain because I need to be fucked raw. I am two weeks away from my bleeding, and I have become mad, mindless and chaotic in my need to have a dick inside me and my clit licked and nibbled. My arms snake around his shoulders, my legs embrace his hips. During the two weeks prior to my period, I can think of nothing except making the horniness go away. His hips guide mine into a rhythmic sway. His razor stubble rakes my face. He's deep inside me, nourishing me in this crumbling, forgotten church with its busted-out windows and the occasional crow flapping through the mouldy air. Vaguely, I think if we're caught bareassed and screwing inside an abandoned church, then who is going to bail our asses out of jail? Actually, I'm thinking who is going to bail my ass out of jail? Like many witches, Black Hair is middle-to-upper class, well-educated, and a phone call away from a lawyer who probably plays golf with the district attorney every Sunday. Me? I'll be lucky if I land a cell above the ground. 'Don't worry about it,' he lifts himself on his elbows but he doesn't stop fucking me. He has the hard, angular features of the Norwegians, but the full, pouting lips of the Swedes. When he smiles, his face softens. 'I'm a witch, remember?' Sometimes, balling a witch can get a little creepy because he can be eerily telepathic. For now, though, his fucking feels too good for me to argue with him.
Toy Stories
Astrid, age 58
Heterosexual
Live-in relationship/marriage
Children
PhD
Writer
Vienna, Austria
My fantasy is written as a story. The only time my mother spoke to me about sex was when I was fifteen. It was an e-ort to demystify the contents of my womb with the help of illustrations in my zoology book. I do not have memories of ever having been told to keep my fingers out of 'there', although I do recall how I told my two-year-old daughter that one did not do 'that' with people around. And although I cottoned on later to what he was getting at, I'm sure that my mother, one of those women who eventually gets everything right, never wanted to go into the reasons for Mick Jagger singing, 'I can't get no satisfaction'. Or maybe she knew that in the end it was not satisfaction that was the game's name.
All these jumbled thoughts played through my mind as I waited for my plane for New York and my menopause to strike. My ovaries were having what I thought was their final fling, yet I still wondered why I was suddenly in such a state of enduring arousal. I told my muse, but his reaction did not solve the problem, if problem there was.
'Are you still horny?' he asked me before I left.
'I think I'll be horny for ever.'
'Music,' he said.
Yes, my muse is a man. Who else could coax the unspeakable from within my core to my breast and down the length of my arms to my right hand, through my fingers, the pen, the keys, to the page? Music, yes. But he wasn't around and it wasn't really about him. It was about me.
More and more I wanted to explore. I would have dreams of dancing naked in a roomful of dildos. There were black ones and red ones, purple, yellow; there were big ones and curved ones, ones with glitter and with little appendices; what they all had in common were smiles on their dickheads. I wanted books on my shelves about cock, clit and cunt, but I wanted nice covers.
Just like Hook's Peter Pan before he could fly, I'd missed the 60s. But it wasn't too late to play with the forbidden. Four-letter words. Fuck was one I had started to say aloud, but only when swearing; then there was cock as in peak, cunt as in hunt, clit as in split. And oh so much more in the name of love. I wanted to play with anal and bang, blow, buns and bush, butt, come and slit. I wanted oils and creams, candles and lubes. In an orgy of the senses I wanted to drown. I wanted to learn how to masturbate, do a course, start from scratch. I didn't want mail order. I wanted someone to take me in hand. A shop. Friendly sta-. I had questions to ask.
I'd sent an email from the town of Calvin in Switzerland where I lived. No sex shops in the city? One. Two. Maybe more tucked away in the red-light area behind the station. I scuttled in once for a look and scuttled out again with my clandestine purchase of pink pleasure balls, a present to me on my 52nd birthday. My mother's day gift was the trip to New York and a tube to the lower east side. Babes in Toyland. The musical. No way.
My heart was beating as I pushed open the door. Over eithteen. You betcha. So why did I feel nervous? Wow! It was gorgeous. So was she. Like the girl next door. I've always had a soft spot for tomboyish redheads. From my Pippy Longstocking days, I guess. At the threshold I let slip the coat o
f being a wife, a mother, from my shoulders. I only had that afternoon in the store. It was now or never. I had to do the necessary research. I was a writer, a lover, and I was going to learn how to write erotica. My head spun. It was gorgeous, I felt dizzily free.
'So you made it?' she said. 'Come. Put your bag down and I'll show you around.'
'Do you have the same size, but without the vanilla taste?' The words floated across from a table of dildos. A voluptuous black woman wistfully stroked a large curved purple number and I stared as if in a trance.
'Do you want to start with the dildos?' the redhead said.
I put my bag down, shook my head. It was spinning. Then I blurted, 'I don't know what I want. This is my first time. Can you show me . . . the Hitachi wand?'
The redhead raised one eyebrow and then she smiled. She was gentle and pretty. Freckles sprinkled her nose. She picked up the biggest vibrator I had ever seen. Now this wasn't difficult since I'd only seen the mail-order ones intended for easing pain in the neck region. I could never get that 'wand' inside me. Then I realised that was perhaps not the main intention. The redhead turned it on.
'Do you have something a little more . . . discreet? In size and in sound?'
She showed me a tiny finger cap. 'It comes with its own little purse to slip on a belt.'
I could just see myself travelling with my bumbag and the mini-vibe purse. 'Is it any good?'
She turned it on. It gave a low buzz. 'I need something a little more powerful myself,' she confided.
The New Black Lace Book of Women's Sexual Fantasies Page 9