Sexual Intercourse Quotes

“Young girls are like helpless children in the hands of amorous men, whatever is said to them is true and whatever manipulation on their bodies seems like love to them, sooner or later, they come back to their senses, but the scars are not dead inasmuch as her spoiler lives.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson, Scars Of Beauty

“It is still cheating, even if nobody comes.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“Without attachment, a naked body is merely a lifeless sex-toy.”
― Abhijit Naskar, The Bengal Tigress: A Treatise on Gender Equality

“The human population would probably be way less than a thousand, if ejaculation were not usually accompanied by an orgasm.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“She felt a slight burn as he slipped a second finger inside her, stretching tenderly, and then he suckled the taut bud of her sex, licking slowly at first, increasing the pace as she twisted beneath him. He stayed with her, his long fingers working in controlled thrusts, his mouth compelling and demanding, until pleasure washed over her in faster and faster rushes, and suddenly she couldn't move at all. Arched tightly against his mouth, she cried out and gasped, and cried out again. His tongue gentled but continued its artful play, nursing her through the lingering peaks of sensation, bathing her sex with warm strokes as she began to shudder violently.
A great weariness flooded her, and with it a physical euphoria that made her feel drunk. Unable to control her limbs, she squirmed tremulously beneath him, and she offered no resistance as St. Vincent turned her over to her stomach. His hand slipped between her thighs and his fingers entered her once more. The opening to her body was sore and, to her mortification, saturated with moisture. He seemed excited by the wetness, however, breathing against the sensitive nape of her neck in rapid pants. Keeping his fingers inside her, he kissed and nibbled his way down her back.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Winter

“London, December 1915. In the master bedroom (never was the estate agent's epithet more appropriate) of Flat 21, Carlyle Mansions, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, the distinguished author is dying - slowly, but surely. In Flanders, less than two hundred miles away, other men are dying more quickly, more painfully, more pitifully - young men, mostly, with their lives still before them, blank pages that will never be filled. The author is seventy-two. He has had an interesting and varied life, written many books, travelled widely, enjoyed the arts, moved in society (one winter he dined out 107 times), and owns a charming old house in Rye as well as the lease of this spacious London flat with its fine view of the Thames. He has had deeply rewarding friendships with both men and women. If he has never experienced sexual intercourse, that was by his own choice, unlike the many young men in Flanders who died virgins either for lack of opportunity or because they hoped to marry and were keeping themselves chaste on principle.”
― David Lodge, Author, Author

“When selecting a one-night stand, a heterosexual woman who is materialistic is a trillion times more likely to choose a sexually unattractive poor man who seems rich over a sexually attractive rich man who seems poor.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana, The Use and Misuse of Children

“One passionate kiss wets a woman’s lips two times.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“There are times to act the master, there are times to act the slave - let your partner decide what they want, and act accordingly.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Woman Over World: The Novel

“Flesh involves in the forced sex but soul involves in the mutual sex”
― P.S. Jagadeesh Kumar

“My hints had, undoubtedly and unintentionally, made her feel insecure, guilty, inadequate, afraid that she was losing whatever it was that turned me on; in short, it aroused all the self-doubt so readily awakened in women after thousands of years of servitude. Hence my zeal in denying the effects of time was abetted by Laura's complicity.”
― Romain Gary, Au-delà de cette limite votre ticket n'est plus valable

“Men DO NOT emotionally process love anything close to the way that women process love.
When expressing your sincere devotion and love for a man---the best way to say it, is to put on G-string panties, and then SHOW HIM with a swallow.”
― Nannette LaRee Hernandez, Men Only Want Sex and Their Freedom™

“The average sexual intercourse lasts sixteen point to minutes," he says, breaking the spell.

"That's long."

"I can't believe it either, but that's what the medical literature says.”
― Michael Ampersant, Green Eyes

“Yes, we were quite satisfied. His penis is long and thin, like the dong of a chimpanzee. What can I say? Intercourse is intercourse. You want to know more?”
― Michael Ampersant, Green Eyes

“Six months without sex is a lot, being French or not, just being human.”
― Alain Bremond-Torrent, "Darling, it's not only about sex"

“I guess when a woman shows that much hunger, there is no point serving her too much of an entrée.”
― Alain Bremond-Torrent, "Darling, it's not only about sex"

“You, me and testosterone!”
― Steven Magee

“Shetani hawezi kusoma ndani ya myoyo ya wanadamu mpaka wanadamu wenyewe wamwonyeshe. Ukionyesha tamaa ya ngono, Shetani atakupa ngono. Ukionyesha tamaa ya ulevi, Shetani atakupa ulevi. Ukionyesha tamaa ya wizi, Shetani atakupa wizi. Usimpe nafasi Shetani.”
― Enock Maregesi

“My body had become that of an old liar, and my most spontaneous transports had begun to end in calculated maneuverings and delayed deliveries. It was no longer a question of self-esteem or pride; when I thought of breaking up with her, it was not to avoid some sort of discomfiture: it was a question of authenticity. I loved Laura too much to drag myself along on crutches in the wake of our love.”
― Romain Gary, Au-delà de cette limite votre ticket n'est plus valable

“What ties Tantra to Sûfîsm is contained in the symbolism of Prophet Muhammad's nighttime ascent to Heaven. The Prophet ascended on al-Burâq, a riding beast with the head of a woman, through the seven heavens to the Throne of God. Hadith relates that the Prophet's bed was still warm when he returned from the Mi'râj. On this night, the Prophet Muhammad (Peace be upon him) reached within 'two bows' length' of Allâh. The secret Sufic explanation of the fact that the Prophet's bed was still warm, is that Muhammad (Peace be upon him) was making this journey while having sexual intercourse with his wife Khadijah.”
― Laurence Galian, Jesus, Muhammad and the Goddess

“One need carry nothing going into sexual encounters.”
― B.S. Murthy, Jewel-less Crown: Saga of Life

“You are my sex test pilot!”
― Steven Magee

“A relationship has its advantages.”
― Steven Magee

“I am actually having so much gex right now”
― me, at all times

“Mina ben faller isär och han fyller utrymmet emellan mina lår. Vi pressar våra kroppar hårt emot varandra tills det pulserar i mig, djupt och längtande.”
― Pia Printz, Holiday Romance

“Love is not about looking at each other, but about looking in the same direction together."
"Love is not about needing someone; it's about choosing them every single day."
"The strongest love stories are not written in books but in the hearts of those who dare to love fearlessly.”
― Arjan Singh, Dive: Intimacy

“In the entire path of love, the steps that lead up to sex are the most slippery, one false step and it could make man slip out of woman’s favor, forever.”
― B.S. Murthy, Benign Flame: Saga of Love

“You’re manhandling me.”
I gather her wrists together and hold them over her head, tightly enough she’d have to work to free herself. I ease into her again; a slow, painful glide that takes a considerable amount of my rapidly fraying self-control. Despite the pinch of her eyebrows, she digs her heels against my lower back, drawing me ever closer.
“You love it,” I murmur. Her eyes hold a kaleidoscope of blue. Sky blue and navy and cobalt and robin’s egg and everything in between. “You should be chanting my name right now.”
“Someone’s confident.”
“You’re clenched around me like a steel trap, darling.” I let the words wash over her lips, so near to a kiss, yet so far.”
― Grace Reilly, Yes, Chef

“His deep voice is oddly soothing. I want the pain he’s promising, and the praise that I know will follow.
The flat part of the spoon smacks against my backside. I startle at the sting, then moan.
“You know what I want to hear,” he murmurs. “Give it to me.”
Another whack, harder this time. Desperate heat blooms throughout my body. My mind narrows to the here and now, discarding idle thoughts about if I’m too eager, if this is too dirty, how the cries tumbling from my lips sound to him, whether I’m attractive enough in this position. It’s freeing. Intoxicating, the way he grounds me. He murmurs praise in between each spank, rubs my clit to distract from the sting. It isn’t long before each touch feels like exquisite torture, the pleasure and pain so entwined I’m not sure where one ends and the other begins.
I’m going to come like this, and we both know it, and I don’t want to hold back when it hits.
“You’re so beautiful.” His voice is hoarse. He tugs my braid; gives my bottom another firm smack. His hand, this time, not the spoon. My core clenches at the intimacy of it; the way his fingers dig into my tender flesh. “Fucking gorgeous. I’m dying to get inside you.”
“Please,” I breathe. I want him to spear me open, inch by delicious inch. I want him everywhere. “Jack, please, I need it.”
“If you’re good and come first.” He gives the braid a harder pull. “Don’t you dare hold back.”
My scream echoes in the gleaming steel of the kitchen as my climax crashes through me. It’s ferocious, pulling from some primal place I can’t quite name. I’d be embarrassed with anyone else, in any other situation; but I’m with Jack, and he’s spinning me around, and we’re tumbling to the floor together in a chaotic cloud of flour and breathless kissing. Sex has never felt like this. I’ve never felt like this. So utterly myself, with no concessions.”
― Grace Reilly, Yes, Chef

“He spreads me slowly, lovingly, as if I’m the rarest of ingredients, deserving all of his focus and respect.
The way he devours me, though, is as filthy as it comes.
I cry out, body jerking instinctively, as he runs his tongue down my slit. He spreads me with his thumbs, tongue and lips and teeth roaming everywhere, tasting everything. He teases my clit until I pant, clawing for him everywhere I can reach, only to pull away, pressing his face against my slick flesh. I feel his smile like a brand, his teeth like a tattoo. He leaves delicate nips on the insides of my thighs, as if signing his name. When he finally, finally lets me wobble off the edge, he looks up from the cradle of my hips, lips slick, beard wet, eyes shining like chips of rare jade.
His grin undoes me.
I claw at him until he settles over me. He slides a hand around the back of my head, cradling my neck as we kiss. I moan, tasting myself on his lips, desperate for him to claim me in the deep, unique way I know only he can accomplish.”
― Grace Reilly, Yes, Chef