Quotes About Sensuality

Every woman deserves a man who writes poems on her body with his lips. And every man deserves a woman who craves his touch.

I kissed the boys and made them cry ... in ecstasy.

The pleasures of the flesh are sweet. – Mmm, flesh, said Puck.

So they fucked wild, Puk astride at first, then turned, to his hands and knees, to be tupped under Jaq's hunching thrusts, hips and shoulder and fists of hair yanked back, for the prick to ram jam bam and cram him, till he felt it fill him, and he'd swear to cock, the jism spouted into and through him and out his own spurting prick.

fernando ate britny out

So, ye have a wee bit of the cat in ye," he murmured as he pulled her into his arms. "I should have guessed. Ye purr. No one purrs." "Tisnae such a strange sound," she said as she undid his plaid. "I suspect I could make ye purr." "Ha! Men dinnae purr." He helped her remove his shirt and quickly tugged off her shift before pulling her back into his arms. "They make monly sounds." His

With flowers the sex is up-front and x-rated.

There's something luxurious about having a girl light your cigarette. In fact, I got married once on account of that.

But in the room there was nothing but the exciting scent of the girl and her wanting. We

The sexual embrace can only be compared with music and with prayer.

Beauty was all I'd ever cared for. It was all that ever moved me.

What's kissing like?" "Mmm-like dancing,actually." Bramble pushed her prridge to Ivy and grinned. "You know, the part after a spin, when the room turns about you. What do you think, Clover?" Clover shook her golden head. "I think it more..when the gentleman catches you in his arms, that warm feeling that makes your toes sort of curl." Bramble's face twisted. "No..that's not right. Well, dash it, if we knew more dances-

Humans no longer eat merely to satisfy energetic requirements, any more than we have sex just to make babies.

in regards to Chad's Nifty Over Fifty Moustache and Beard Darkener] "'Dark Bravado Blonde, Number 143.' The name alone makes my loins all aquiver." --Amber

I was at that age which feels neither strain nor friction, when the body burns magic fuels, so that it seems to glide in warm air, about a foot off the ground, smoothly obeying its intuitions. Even exhaustion, when it came, had a voluptuous quality, and sleep was caressive and deep, like oil. It was the peak of the curve of the body's total extravagance, before the accounts start coming in.

The sweetest thing I've ever known was like the kiss on the collarbone, the soft caress of happiness, the way you walk, your style of dress, I wish I didn't get so weak, oh baby just to hear you speak, makes me argue just to see how much your in love with me

Oh ! si au lieu d'être un enfer, l'univers n'avait été qu'un céleste anus immense, regardez le geste que je fais du côté de mon bas-ventre : oui, j'aurais enfoncé ma verge, à travers son sphyncter sanglant, fracassant, par mes mouvements impétueux, les propres parois de son bassin !

The erogenous zone is always shifting, and it is the business of fashion to pursue it, without ever catching it up.

strong circle of his own. He leaned to kiss her neck. Her eyelids remained closed as she dropped her head to the side. "Don't," she whispered raggedly. But his lips moved to hers while he held her with one arm, peering past her cheek as he turned off the oven. Continuing to control her movements with his own, he opened the oven door while pulling her two steps away to make room for its downward swing. "Don't.

She knew how much I needed her. And now she was teasing, playing games. I looked at her and watched her turn into a sex symbol in front of my eyes. She did not look sweet and virginal and lovely anymore. I looked at the very simple summer dress and saw breasts and belly and hips. I looked at her eyes and saw lust as naked as my own.

She made love with the freshness of an impatient virgin and the ingenuity of a sex-scarred whore.

Sex is really only touch, the closest of all touch. And it's touch we're afraid of.

Paris was sad. One of the saddest towns: weary of its now-mechanical sensuality, weary of the tension of money, money, money, weary even of resentment and conceit, just weary to death, and still not sufficiently Americanized or Londonized to hide the weariness under a mechanical jig-jig-jig!

It's only with great vulgarity that you can achieve real refinement, only out of bawdy that you can get tenderness.