The problem with writing sex scenes is that I can’t draw on personal experience because if I did my female protagonists would just make weird squeaking noises the whole time and maybe occasionally yell “WAIT WHAT’S HAPPENING oh okay yes that’s fine”
- As he thrust into her, she lost her balance and sort of tipped over to the side, her arm stretched painfully over her neck. “Fuck!” she cried, but he just took this as a ringing endorsement and kept on going, until she was like “Wait, seriously fucking just back up a minute here.”
- She bit her lip as his hand slid down the front of her jeans, where she realized with horror that his nails needed a trim.
- He groaned as his shaft passed over her lips, sucking and bobbing, until she suddenly withdrew. Reaching into the back of her mouth, she extracted a single pubic hair.
- “Why are you so tense, sweetheart?” he murmured into her ear, rubbing her shoulders. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” But what she could never tell him was that actually, she was just trying really hard not to fart.
- She was at a loss, unable to tactfully explain to him that her vibrator was the size of a car, and would never fit between them.
- As he thrust into her, pounding rhythmically between her legs, she spied the clock over his shoulder. “Oh, shit!” she cried, reaching one arm out for her bedside table. He froze, a questioning expression on his face, and she clarified, “Supernatural is on, I need to check into GetGlue for the sticker!” With a sigh he began to withdraw, but her free hand grabbed his shoulder to restrain him. “No, no,” she assured, “keep going.” She wrapped her arm around him so that she could see her phone over his shoulder, and with an exasperated sigh he resumed pounding.
- “My love,” she said mournfully, “when I said you could do whatever you want with me, I mostly meant light bondage.” With a heavy heart, he put the lube away.
- “The power’s out,” he purred, wrapping his arm’s around her waist, “and you know what that means.” “That I can’t shower?” she offered sheepishly, and he withdrew to play his DS with a sigh.
- “Goddammit, now I have to wash the stupid sheets.”
- “What’s got you in a mood?” he wondered appreciatively as she straddled his lap, nipping at his neck. “Internet,” she offered lightly, preferring that he think she’d been watching porn and not reading a morally questionable fanfiction.
- He tickled her playfully while she begged for mercy, tears of laughter in her eyes as she reflexively lashed out and punched him in the nose. “I warned you to stop!” she offered helplessly as he stormed to the kitchen, bleeding.
- “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said in his most seductive voice, trying to pretend the mood had not been ruined by her noisy crisis in the bathroom. Next time, he thought to himself, no Thai food.
COURT OF CARDS SEXY VALENTINE’S EDITION AW YEAH
Actually this is possibly the least sexy sex scene I have ever written since I was writing it for plot and not porn. Probably later I will write a scene where someone has sex for hours and I describe everything they are doing in excruciating detail, but for right now here are two buddies having meaningless rough sex and making fun of each other. This will make no sense if you do not read the rest of Court of Cards first. I mean, it will make sense, but it will just be a boring out of context sex scene and there are better places to find those.
Marianne’s day was much improved by the time Josiah was pounding into her from behind with a fist in her hair. Admittedly, she was pretending he was someone much bigger with red eyes and sharp teeth, but nothing in life was perfect. Neither one of them had bothered undressing – they were unlikely to be disturbed, but assuming they might be added an intoxicating touch of danger. It was simply too bad that Josiah hadn’t grown his nails longer: it was the only imperfect touch as his fingers dug into her hips.
“If I were a less confident man,” Josiah told her between gritted teeth, even as his cock plunged in and out of her, “I might be offended by your not wanting to watch me violate you.”
“If you don’t stop acting like I’m made of glass,” came the reply between gasps and moans and grunts, “you will be able to watch me violate you when I show you how it’s done.” There was probably a more eloquent response, but Marianne’s brain never seemed to function properly during sex. Unlike Josiah, who tended to become inexplicably chatty. Perhaps on a different day she would have more patience for his foreplay, for his skillful fingers gently teasing all the right places until she reached a gentle crescendo. Today, however, she’d already had her foreplay.
For hours now, her thoughts had barely wandered from Benedict, from those sharp nails grazing her skin and that tongue against her hand. She was desperate to know if his body could keep all those promises he’d made, what his fingers would feel like on her back and what those teeth – those horrifying, magnificent teeth – would feel like sinking into her shoulder as he made her sing. No, Marianne was done with foreplay; what she needed now was release.
“Fuck,” Josiah snarled, immediately rising to her challenge and pushing her into the ground by the back of her neck. His other hand held her hips in place as he rammed furiously into her, and she yelped as each thrust pressed her chest against the wood. “If that’s how you want to play,” he snarled over the sound of skin slapping skin, “I am happy to oblige.” He then pulled the whole of his length out of her wet slit before shoving it back in to the hilt, as if his member were an exclamation point. Had it not been for the muffling effect of the hedges, Marianne’s pleased scream would have been easily heard near the castle. He certainly had learned some new tricks; she couldn’t recall having ever felt so wonderfully full before, and so bereft when he withdrew.
“Don’t even try to pretend you don’t like it, you dirty slut,” she teased huskily, her voice shaking as his thrusts made her bounce. Rather than dignify this accusation with a response, Josiah grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked, and Marianne cried out as pulled her off the ground to grab roughly at one breast with his other hand. She had a vague sense that there would probably be bruises where her breast was crushed beneath his fingers, but between that and the cock driving deeper and deeper between her legs, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She noticed, as if the sound was coming from someone else, that strangled noises were escaping from her throat as Josiah pulled her hair to make her tighten before each long thrust. It was really quite unfortunate, as it drowned out the sound of his skin slapping against hers.
“You’re just lucky,” he growled finally as her gasping gave way to desperate, whimpering moans, “that you make the cutest fucking noises when you’ve got a cock inside you.” With that, her back arched and pleasure washed over her in a violent wave, expressed in an undignified groan that she’d find embarrassing when she was in her right mind. Josiah stayed buried inside her until she went limp, then rocked more gently in and out of her while Marianne murmured mindless agreement to whatever it was he had been saying. He finished shortly after her, pulling out to spill his seed on her thighs before rolling over next to her.
Marianne was the first to break the silence: “Fuck.”
“Yeah – I’m pretty great.”
If she hadn’t felt so spent, she’d have punched him. “No, I mean fuck, as in: now we have to climb back out of the stupid maze.”
“… I told you we should have just fucked in my caravan.”
“It wouldn’t have been as fun.”
“I’m not the one that has to sneak back to my room in wet bloomers.”
Apparently my subconscious thinks that part of being hugely rich is that you can have sex with statues in a fountain in your front yard and no one can give you shit about it.
My subconscious also seems to believe strongly in diversity. It’s one thing to have a statue of a hot guy with an erection, but apparently I felt it necessary to have a series of statues in a circle, of all shapes and sizes. I’m not sure whether this decision was based on making sure no one felt left out, or ensuring I’d have something to please me no matter my mood.
I awoke horrified that I had wasted so much money on a sex fountain when I could have just bought an eroscillator and put the difference into my savings.
When I was eleven years old, I was driven to distraction by how unutterably sexy I found Wolverine. Specifically, Wolverine as portrayed by Hugh Jackman in the then-new film adaptation; even more specifically, in the cagefighting scene in which he was introduced. I played that scene over and over in my head in vivid detail, trying to imagine - of all things - what he would have smelled like. At that age, it’s important to note, my unspoken goal in life was to be a carney who was also the leader of a biker gang. I even managed to get a leather jacket and Doc Martens for my birthday, though neither of them fit. Other scenes in the movie, even ones perhaps more sexually charged, did nothing for me. Other roles in which I could see Hugh Jackman just never tickled me the same way. It was always about that one scene: drinking hard liquor and smoking a cigar while kicking unrealistic amounts of ass. At that age, if I could have made a wish and been that person, I’d have done it in a heartbeat. I don’t think I’ve ever lusted after someone whose life I didn’t want to lead.
As life goals go, “be the sort of person I’d want to fuck” isn’t the worst.
The moment Angie pulled behind Ryan’s Silver Hummer and followed him into the locked community of Gainey Ranch, she was second-guessing her decision for a night of unadulterated sex with the boss.
- Andrew: How did you get so pretty? Was it Fairy Magicks? :o
- Kitty: Vigorous fucking.
- Andrew: I LIKE YOUR EXPLANATION SO MUCH BETTER OH GOD
No matter that she had been the spoils of battle, mating with him had been the most incredible experience of her young life. The world would call what he’d done rape, but to Brenna, it had been something far different than that. She’d never known a woman could feel that way — so tight and full she thought she would shatter, and then that shimmering, quivering, glorious sensation of release. Three times.