Sexual Frustration Quotes

“I drop my face to my hands and scrub hard.

"I wish I had your boobs," I hear Sam announce and raise my head to see who she's talking to. Of course, she's talking to Bryn.

"Right," she smirks and takes another bite of brownie.

"Dude, I do!" And just like that, Sam saunters across the room and cups Brynna's tit in her palm. "See? You have the perfect boobs. Stace, have you felt her boobs?"

Just kill me. Put a bullet in my head and end the agony.

"Oh yeah," Stacy waves her off. "She has great tits."

She has amazing tits.

"I wanna feel!" Jules bounces over and joins in.

"Give me more chocolate and you can touch all you want." Brynna laughs and then glances over at me. "This is the most action I've had in months."

"Motherfuckingsonofawhore." I grumble.

"Is Brynna single?" Mark asks Will.

"Keep your fucking hands off her," I growl at him before I know what's coming out of my mouth.

"Hey," he holds his hands up in surrender and laughs. "It was just an innocent question.”
― Kristen Proby, Safe with Me

“I, for example, recently finished writing an article about the latest wave of “home-grown” Islamic suicide-murderers. It was impossible not to notice one thing that their profiles and Web sites had in common. All of them complained about the impossibility of finding a woman, or sometimes a woman of sufficient piety. Meanwhile their public propaganda was hot with disgust and indignation at the phenomenon of female inchastity. The connection between repression and orgasmically violent action appeared woefully evident.”
― Christopher Hitchens, Civilization and Its Discontents

“I'll buy you a blow-up doll. I'm sure my mate won't mind when I explain how hard up you are."

She didn't bother to punch him this time, just glared with promise of future retaliation. "Very funny. You wouldn't be laughing if you knew how sexually frustrated I am right now." [...] "The last time was when that SilverBlade sentinel was in town for a communications meeting."

All amusement left Dorian's face. "You serious? That was months ago." A very long time to go without intimate touch. "Merce, that could get dangerous."

"I know. Do you think I don't know?" She thrust her hands through her hair. "Damn it Dorian! It's getting to the point where I'm starting to wonder if some of the wolves would be good in bed. [...]

"Cat and wolf isn't a ... um ... normal combination."

"And Psy and cat is?" She made a face at him. "Yeah, yeah I know. Cat and wolf is strange." [...]

"How about one of the Rats?" Dorian's eyes gleamed.”
― Nalini Singh, Hostage to Pleasure

“A honey pie, lovingly made. The tiny sugar bee, still perched on the edge of the flaky crust, mocked me.
That little bee nibbling on her honey pie.
A pulse of sheer heat lit up my sex, licked down my thighs, tweaked my nipples. I shoved another messy bite into my mouth, relishing the taste, wanting...him.
This was his work, made with his hands, his skill, his mind. My grumpy man with the ability to create sweetness in the most unexpected of ways.
Somehow, at the back of my mind, I'd known from the start. From the way he'd all but ordered me to try his brest. How he'd watched me eat it with that strange intent look upon his face. Pride. That was what it was. He was proud of his work.
I ate up my honey pie without pause, devouring it until it was nothing more than a sticky paste on my fingers, buttery crumble on my lips. Moaning, I licked my skin clean like a cat might. I swore I felt claws prickling, aching to come out.
Because he had known, and I hadn't. Was it a joke to him? What had he said? The chef was temperamental. Oh, how he must have laughed on the inside at that.
With a growl, I washed my hands and headed for the door, half of me more turned on than I'd ever been in my life, the other half ready to tear into the most irritating man I'd ever met.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“He would have given up everything -- education, comfort, luxurious life and his powerful position as manager -- if only just for one day he could have been the humblest of these poor devils under him and be free with his own body and be oafish enough to beat his wife and take his pleasure with the wives of his neighbors. He found himself wishing he were dying of starvation too, and that his empty belly were twisted with pains that made his brain reel, for perhaps that might deaden this relentless grief! Oh to live like a brute, possessing nothing but freedom to roam in the cornfields with the ugliest and most revolting haulage girl and possess her!”
― Émile Zola, Germinal

“The Pay Per View porn sessions that were Discord’s Desire shows left her frustrated, and ever since she’d joined, she’d been on a dry spell.”
― Katherine McIntyre, Captivating Melody

“It was not a pretty sight, all these pale, gangly, pimpled youths, in a frenzy of hunger and sexual frustration, shredding bread.”
― Anthony Bourdain, Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly

“There is, of course, Niemen, in Switzerland, and Horsschitt, in Germany... It all depends on what you mean by ‘love’.”
― Romain Gary, Au-delà de cette limite votre ticket n'est plus valable

“She knew she should drop the subject, but something inside her wouldn't let go. She snapped her fingers, couldn't resist. "You could go as a moving man."
"Damn, woman." He was on her before she had a chance to step back. He slid his big hands into her hair, none too gently. Held her still. "What's with you? I've asked you nicely to stop. Let up or I'll---"
"What?" She moved beyond common sense.
He kissed her.
His punishment was sexual, unexpected, yet effective. He was all hotness, hardness, and sensual appeal. Sparked by anger, he bit her bottom lip. Sensation puckered her nipples. Her belly pulled tight. Her groin pressed his. Their thighs rubbed.
The kiss lasted. She had no desire for it to end. His firm mouth softened. He slipped his tongue between her lips with sexy finesse. The man could kiss. He made her want him.
Fully into him, she rose on tiptoe and clutched his biceps. His hands rubbed down her back, cupped her butt, and lifted her slightly, until they were sexually aligned.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“I want to take ten gazillion photos and put them on Instagram, since I'm proud of myself for baking and decorating this cake when I was horny as fuck."
"Did you just say...?"
"Did I just say what, Lindsay?"
He wanted her to repeat his words, damn him.
"That you're horny as fuck?" she said.
"Might have done," he said innocently, as he started removing his clothes.
No, his apron. He was only removing his apron. She did the same and hung it on a peg, bumping into him in the process.
An accident. She hadn't done that on purpose.
But then she was in his arms again, and he was kissing her, and God, why was he so good at this? His hands slipped beneath her T-shirt, touching her skin above the waistband of her jeans. It was enough to nearly make her combust, and at the same time, it frustrated her.
She wrapped a leg around him and tried to climb him like a tree.
He laughed softly, in a way that made her insides turn into runny strawberry filling”
― Jackie Lau, Donut Fall in Love