Kinky Love Quotes

My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover. ~ Falsely yours

So you've just slept with him, given him your virginity, a man who doesn't love you. In fact, he has odd ideas about you, wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave.

I love you and all your kinky fuckery

She was my mother. I couldn't threaten to slap, stab, beat or even name call her. I tried to think of something to scare her into never mentioning the predicament with the Dreamsnatcher again. I'll become a swinger," I said. her eyes bugged. Uptight rearing made her uncomfortable with alternate lifestyles. "That's right. threesomes, foursomes, and more. bones knows about a thousand chicks who'd love to hop into bed with us. It'll be kinky, we'll get out freak on.-

We could get kinky and see how bats and rats make love, he suggested in a whisper, warm breath against her neck. You are a sick man, Jacques. Very, very sick.

Mom, this isn’t what it looks like.” Mom put her hand on her hip. “It looks like a group of boys wrestling on the floor of your bedroom while you watch. Wearing a towel.” “Okay,” I admitted, “it is what it looks like, but it’s not—” “Sexual?” She raised her eyebrows. “Mom!” Luna stuck her head under Mom’s arm and sucked in a breath. “She’s gone from a love triangle to a kinky sex pentagon.

Cheating in relationship is a sign of self-regulation failure. When it happens ones, it is a mistake. When it happens twice, it is unfortunate. But when it happens thrice or more, it is a pattern indicating primitive, uncivilized inhuman behavior.

The bed reminded me of a lifestyle. It reminded me of Frankie. “It was Frankie and James, wasn’t it? Did those kinky fucks bring you over to the dark side?

Two married partners do not just live with each other, they live in each other, neurologically speaking.

Livingston, if you could read my mind, you would start feeling really shy around me.

Do not seek for the best partner, but seek for the person who makes you a better version of yourself.

Try to respond to your partner instead of reacting.

Do you know about the spoons? Because you should. The Spoon Theory was created by a friend of mine, Christine Miserandino, to explain the limits you have when you live with chronic illness. Most healthy people have a seemingly infinite number of spoons at their disposal, each one representing the energy needed to do a task. You get up in the morning. That’s a spoon. You take a shower. That’s a spoon. You work, and play, and clean, and love, and hate, and that’s lots of damn spoons … but if you are young and healthy you still have spoons left over as you fall asleep and wait for the new supply of spoons to be delivered in the morning. But if you are sick or in pain, your exhaustion changes you and the number of spoons you have. Autoimmune disease or chronic pain like I have with my arthritis cuts down on your spoons. Depression or anxiety takes away even more. Maybe you only have six spoons to use that day. Sometimes you have even fewer. And you look at the things you need to do and realize that you don’t have enough spoons to do them all. If you clean the house you won’t have any spoons left to exercise. You can visit a friend but you won’t have enough spoons to drive yourself back home. You can accomplish everything a normal person does for hours but then you hit a wall and fall into bed thinking, “I wish I could stop breathing for an hour because it’s exhausting, all this inhaling and exhaling.” And then your husband sees you lying on the bed and raises his eyebrow seductively and you say, “No. I can’t have sex with you today because there aren’t enough spoons,” and he looks at you strangely because that sounds kinky, and not in a good way. And you know you should explain the Spoon Theory so he won’t get mad but you don’t have the energy to explain properly because you used your last spoon of the morning picking up his dry cleaning so instead you just defensively yell: “I SPENT ALL MY SPOONS ON YOUR LAUNDRY,” and he says, “What the … You can’t pay for dry cleaning with spoons. What is wrong with you?” Now you’re mad because this is his fault too but you’re too tired to fight out loud and so you have the argument in your mind, but it doesn’t go well because you’re too tired to defend yourself even in your head, and the critical internal voices take over and you’re too tired not to believe them. Then you get more depressed and the next day you wake up with even fewer spoons and so you try to make spoons out of caffeine and willpower but that never really works. The only thing that does work is realizing that your lack of spoons is not your fault, and to remind yourself of that fact over and over as you compare your fucked-up life to everyone else’s just-as-fucked-up-but-not-as-noticeably-to-outsiders lives. Really, the only people you should be comparing yourself to would be people who make you feel better by comparison. For instance, people who are in comas, because those people have no spoons at all and you don’t see anyone judging them. Personally, I always compare myself to Galileo because everyone knows he’s fantastic, but he has no spoons at all because he’s dead. So technically I’m better than Galileo because all I’ve done is take a shower and already I’ve accomplished more than him today. If we were having a competition I’d have beaten him in daily accomplishments every damn day of my life. But I’m not gloating because Galileo can’t control his current spoon supply any more than I can, and if Galileo couldn’t figure out how to keep his dwindling spoon supply I think it’s pretty unfair of me to judge myself for mine. I’ve learned to use my spoons wisely. To say no. To push myself, but not too hard. To try to enjoy the amazingness of life while teetering at the edge of terror and fatigue.

Sexual fantasies say a lot about the emotional places we go to in our minds. When you find out what’s so sexy about something to you or your lover, you will both want to do it more and you might start to crave the searching for whatever else you have hidden in that beautiful brain.

All the black leather she needs is the E-Z boy recliner where her love is parked with one of his hands wrapped around a remote, the other, a bottle of beer. She's right. It's kinky. The way he doesn't look away from the TV, as her head bobs in his lap like a fisherman's float on a nature program, hectic with the pace his breath sets. His crotch swells under her mouth's prowess. He's such a sweetheart he waits until the commercials to come.

Let me tell you what I want. You, screaming my name, telling me how much you love being Daddy's slutty little girl while you beg me to go harder.

When two people fall in love, they not only give up their genuine authority over their own lives, but also, they become mutual authorities of the collective life that they build together.

When women read romance books, one of two things generally happen.” Mal ran a hand through his lovely locks. “They either want to discuss the book in great depth. And probably, life and your relationship. Now sometimes that’s okay. You reach a higher level of understanding with each other and shit. But sometimes it sucks, pure and simple. You wind up getting bitched at for days because of something the dude in the book did that makes you look bad. But if it’s an awesome book, however, a hot one? Well then … kinky fuckery like you wouldn’t believe, man. The ideas Pumpkin has gotten out of some of those books. Gold. I could never have talked her into trying half of that stuff.

And while I do love coffee - both the scent...and the taste - I have no doubt I'd prefer the scent...and the taste...of something...more personal.

Good sex is about knowing each other's deepest and kinkiest desires.

Marriage is not a competition. Marriage is completion of two souls.

A healthy world is made of healthy nations. A healthy nation is made of healthy families. And a healthy family can only be raised on the foundation of a monogamous relationship.

Either one is promiscuous or in a relationship - it cannot be both at the same time.

Stay home for long weekends and have morally bankrupt amounts of sex with someone I’m in love with. Kinky, vanilla, I want it all. I want to adopt rescue animals with her. I want to take care of her, and watch her be cold in Sweden, and marvel every day at how much smarter than me she is, and . . . Scarlett.” His thumb swipes under my eye. “Why are you crying?

True love is born out of the pyre of two committed souls.

Polygamy is a luxury of the cave-people, and monogamy is an existential responsibility of the civilized society.

I am not a total pervert. Although, to be honest, consider the night we’ve been having. First handcuffs, and now this? Way more kinky than I expected.” “Please,” M’cal said. “Do not talk.” “You like the strong and silent type, huh?” “If you do not shut up, I will kill you with my voice.” “I love it when you talk dirty.” “Fine. Which would you prefer to lose first? Your soul or your testicles?” “You know, you’re just a bit obsessed with chopping off balls. Do you have issues with your masculinity?

Cheating is an innate evolutionarily programmed desire, especially in men, but it is not a desire that cannot be controlled.

A healthy marriage acts as the vessel of wellbeing and stability for both partners as well as the children.

For us, when our sexual lifestyle is essential to our sense of identity, anybody who doesn't know about our kink doesn't really know us.

I would like to make love to you every day, Sween. Several times. To take time to indulge in long foreplays, from playing games to cover each other in food and lick it away, and then on to long sessions of lovemaking… In the morning… In the afternoon… At night… Soft, intense, loving, lustful, kinky… Everything. I want us to try everything.

Let me tell you a story. There was a student who asked his teacher, what is love? The teacher said go into the field and bring me the most beautiful flower. The student returned with no flower at hand and said, “I found the most beautiful flower in the field but I didn't pick it up for I might find a better one, but when I returned to the place, it was gone.” We always look for the best in life. When we finally see it, we take it for granted and after some time start expecting a better one, not knowing that it's the best for us.

There are times to act the master, there are times to act the slave - let your partner decide what they want, and act accordingly.

If you don't love Jesus-go to hell!

Your laughter is louder than my personal demons' whispers.

Any woman with kinky textured hair - can wear it, love it and manage it. She only needs the right tools, inspiration and motivation.

I’m sorry it hurts, Nadine,” he whispered, gently stroking her face. “But this is all I have to give you, and I love seeing you try to take it.

Did she remember how he liked to fuck? Maybe that's what made her run. He smiled grimly, running a hand along his unshaven jaw. Foolish girl. She knew he loved the chase.

Girls fantasize about being tied up and bent over a broad pair of knees. Girls dream of being dominated and worshipped. Girls adore dressing up, role play, changing roles. Yes, that's right, perfidious submissives are itchy to switch to the Domme and grab the whip handle.

Oh, I love megalomaniac Christian, too, and control freak Christian, sexpertise Christian, kinky Christian, romantic Christian, shy Christian … the list is endless.” “That’s a whole lot of Christians.” “I’d say at least fifty.” He laughs. “Fifty Shades,” he murmurs into my hair. “My Fifty Shades.

Ask for what you want. Always. Not just with me. If, in the future, a guy ever thinks you’re weird or throws shade at you for doing that, then you drop his ass on the hot pavement. Sex can be fun. It can be hot. It can be kinky or serious. It can be a lot of things. But what it should always be is a safe zone to explore what each person likes. If everyone is consenting and it’s legal, there really are no limits beyond that. Just be you.

I’m so sick of polite sex. I want someone to pull my hair. I want my ass smacked, I want fuzzy handcuffs and maybe some mild restraints—I’m not that kinky that I want the whole whips and chains deal, at least I don’t think I do, but some light bondage and a good hard fuck, the kind I’ll feel long into the next day, that I can totally handle.

I won’t tell you, dear readers, that she lived happily ever after. You should know all too well there is no such thing. However: she did live fully, and she loved widely, and she helped light the way for others like herself. How much more magic does one need than that?

E L James, Party Games you’re looking kind of smug inserting that god damn anal plug giving me your kinky love after writing Fifty Shades you’re acting like some kind of renegade giving me your kinky love sit me on a dildo and spin me right around chain me up and hang me upside down giving me your kinky love god damn you E L James making me into some kind of party game giving me your kinky love put me in a dream and wheel in the Fucking Machine god damn you E L James spank a hand on my bum see how much I can cum god damn you E L James stand me up and sit me down lay me out and roll me about god damn you E L James BDSM electro impulses up my brainstem god damn you E L James cast me in a submissive role-play with my genitals on display god damn you E L James suspend me high in the air slap me around like I don’t care god damn you E L James take that whip off the shelf make me forget myself god damn you E L James Why are you wearing oven mittens? branding iron your name written inner goddess don’t keep in hidden god damn you E L James holy crap my mind has snapped to forget one thing that I have heard I’m never going to use the safe-word god damn you E L James By R.M.Romarney

Damn, Tate was a greedy fucker when it came to getting eaten out, and Logan never would’ve guessed that to be something he would end up loving the most. But hell if he hadn’t been pleasantly surprised to find that out about Tate. His guy was as dirty as he was, and that pleased him down to the very corners of his kinky soul. “Logan…

A human is the one, who would give up a thousand Cleopatras to be with the person he or she loves.

Polygamy is about sex, whereas monogamy is about love.

Sex is only a tool in love, not love itself.

My mission now is to shed every shame, guilt, judgment or embarrassment about my or anyone's sexuality . . . I did my trial by fire, and came out the other side tattered, but clear in my identity.

You have chastised me, demeaned me and dismantled me, before bringing me back to life. Who would have thought all of this was possible in a grotty cubicle of the men’s room? You hold me there for some time whilst we both catch our breath. Tentatively I raise one hand from the wall and claw at your dark, luscious hair behind me. I love these tender moments between us just as much as the kinky, depraved ones.

Mac: "I happen to love flowers. Especially on clothes. The flashier, the better." Cooper rolls his eyes as if he knows I'm lying through my teeth. Cooper: "You know, you don't have to work this hard. I'm pretty easy." Mac: "I'm sorry, what? Who's working too hard? You've been blowing up my phone talking about scone porn." Cooper: "You're kinky." he says, shrugging Cooper: "I get it. It's not my thing, but whatever gets you off.

Promoting promiscuity in this evolved and civilized society is actually like signing the Declaration, that says: “I hereby renounce my membership of humankind, since I am neither human nor kind. I declare that I no longer belong to the modern human species, i.e. the Homo sapiens. From now on I shall be counted among the swingers of the animal kingdom, such as the bonobo or montane vole. I am simply an arrogant philandering savage.

One thing I learned over the years is that you have to love wholeheartedly when your loved ones are with you. I loved my parents. I still miss them every day of my life, and they’ve been gone for centuries. One thing they taught me is when you love, you love hard. You carry that with you always, even when the ones you love are no longer in this world. I don’t think I truly appreciated that until Dylan came into my world, and then you, but that’s two different types of love.

Sometimes I think Shug never love me. I stand looking at my naked self in the looking glass. What would she love? I ast myself. My hair is short and kinky because I don’t straighten it anymore. Once Shug say she love it no need to. My skin dark. My nose just a nose. My lips just lips. My body just any woman’s body going through the changes of age. Nothing special here for nobody to love. No honey colored curly hair, no cuteness. Nothing young and fresh. My heart must be young and fresh though, it feel like it blooming blood.

I love him bodily, as a man! I love his walk, his size, his shape, his smell, the kinkiness of his hair. I love the very texture of his palms. The pink of his brows. I love his feet. And I love his dear eyes in which the vulnerability and beauty of his soul can be plainly read.

For a while, I thought I needed to have some over-the-top gol, something comparable to the Olympics, but ..." He stops. Runs his thumb over my lower lip. "I want to spend four years in med school, fully knowing that it'll be hell. Do a fellowship and residency. Corpse stuff, sure. I want to travel to places that don't have a fucking pool. See my family more than once a year. Sleep in. Go on hiking trips. Stay home for long weekends and have morally bankrupt amounts of sex with someone I'm in love with. Kinky, vanilla, I want it all. I want to adopt rescue animals with her. I want to take care of her, and watch her be cold in Sweden, and marvel every day at how much smarter than me she is, and ... Scarlett.

It's time to stop being ashamed. Untold tens of thousands of people share the desire to redden each other's backsides in a loving and consensual manner, and have enhanced their lives and their sexuality by doing so. Why on earth should anybody be ashamed of having more ways to get aroused than their neighbor has? Seems to me that such a person should feel lucky, not guilty.

Mom, this isn’t what it looks like.” Mom put her hand on her hip. “It looks like a group of boys wrestling on the floor of your bedroom while you watch. Wearing a towel.” “Okay,” I admitted, “it is what it looks like, but it’s not—” “Sexual?” She raised her eyebrows. “Mom!” Luna stuck her head under Mom’s arm and sucked in a breath. “She’s gone from a love triangle to a kinky sex pentagon.” A & E Kirk, Drop Dead Demons

Do you really think my feet smell?” I don’t. I love the way he smells after a lacrosse game--like sweat and grass and him. But I love to tease, to see that unsure look cross his face for just half a beat. “Well, I mean, on game days…” I say. Then Peter attacks me again, and we’re wrestling around, laughing, when Kitty walks in, balancing a tray with a cheese sandwich and a glass of orange juice. “Take it upstairs,” she says, sitting down on the floor. “This is a public area.” Disentangling myself, I give her a glare. “We aren’t doing anything private, Katherine.” “Your sister says my feet stink,” Peter says, pointing his foot in her direction. “She’s lying, isn’t she?” She deflects it with a pop of her elbow. “I’m not smelling your foot.” She shudders. “You guys are kinky.” I yelp and throw a pillow at her. She gasps. “You’re lucky you didn’t knock over my juice! Daddy will kill you if you mess up the rug again.” Pointedly she says, “Remember the nail-polish-remover incident?” Peter ruffles my hair. “Clumsy Lara Jean.” I shove him away from me. “I’m not clumsy. You’re the one who tripped over his own feet trying to get to the pizza the other night at Gabe’s.” Kitty bursts into giggles and Peter throws a pillow at her. “You guys need to stop ganging up on me!” he yells.

You may have guessed that I loved him all along; but I did not know it. Oh, I loved him as a brother and respected him as a friend, but Celie, I love him bodily, as a man! I love his walk, his size, his shape, his smell, the kinkiness of his hair. I love the very texture of his palms. The pink of his inner lip. I love his big nose. I love his brows. I love his feet. And I love his dear eyes in which the vulnerability and beauty of his soul can be plainly read.

You may have guessed that I loved him all along; but I did not know it. Oh, I loved him as a brother and respected him as a friend, but Celie, I love him bodily, as a man! I love his walk, his size, his shape, his smell, the kinkiness of his hair. I love the very texture of his palms. The pink of his inner lip. I love his big nose. I love his brows. I love his feet. And I love his dear eyes in which the vulnerability and beauty of his soul can be plainly read.

And please, whatever you do, don’t tell us that what we do, either in love or lust, is unnatural. For one thing if what you mean by that is that animals don’t do it, then you are quite simply in factual error. There are plenty of activities or qualities we could list that are most certainly unnatural if you are so mad as to think that humans are not part of nature, or so dull-witted as to believe that ‘natural’ means ‘all natures but human nature’: mercy, for example, is un¬natural, an altruistic, non-selfish care and love for other species is unnatural; charity is unnatural, justice is unnatural, virtue is unnatural, indeed — and this surely is the point — the idea of virtue is unnatural, within such a foolish, useless meaning of the word ‘natural’. Animals, poor things, eat in order to survive: we, lucky things, do that too, but we also have Abbey Crunch biscuits, Armagnac, selle d’agneau, tortilla chips, sauce béarnaise, Vimto, hot buttered crumpets, Chateau Margaux, ginger-snaps, risotto nero and peanut-butter sandwiches — these things have nothing to do with survival and everything to do with pleasure, connoisseurship and plain old greed. Animals, poor things, copulate in order to reproduce: we, lucky things, do that too, but we also have kinky boots, wank-mags, leather thongs, peep-shows, statuettes by Degas, bedshows, Tom of Finland, escort agencies and the Journals of Anaïs Nin — these things have nothing to do with reproduction and everything to do with pleasure, connoisseurship and plain old lust. We humans have opened up a wide choice of literal and metaphorical haute cuisine and junk food in many areas of our lives, and as a punishment, for daring to eat the fruit of every tree in the garden, we were expelled from the Eden the animals still inhabit and we were sent away with the two great Jewish afflictions to bear as our penance: indigestion and guilt.

I went into the experience with the notion that I was merely going to get a taste of a deviant lifestyle. The Dom was charismatic and the kinky sex might be good if I could get past the whipping part, because there was no way I would ever think that was fun. I believed I could never be truly submissive or enjoy pain. I was so very wrong My life changed forever. The connection between Dom and sub is one of the closest relationships two people can have. Give and take became more than words. They became the basis of my existence. My body is no longer my own. He has access to everything I am— privacy does not exist, but when he looks at me it's with love. There is no fear and no shame because I am safe. I will always be safe with him. As my Master will be safe with me.

Why are you doing this? I don’t want you. Is that the problem? Is your ego so big you can’t handle a woman rejecting you?” “Oh, you want me alright, my sexy little witch. Want me so bad it scares you. Well, I’ve got news for you. It scares the fuck out of me, too. But I don’t care. When the options are settling down with you for life and popping out little demonlings or watching you walk away, I know what I choose.” For a moment, she couldn’t answer, could only gape at him as his words penetrated. Surely, she misunderstood. “What did you say?” “I want you as my mate.” No misunderstanding that time. She tamped down her elation by slapping it with the cold, hard truth. “You’ll hurt me.” “Trust me.” He asked too much. “I’m not the right woman.” “You’re all I want.” She shook her head lest his words weave a spell around her and make her believe. Yet despite all the warnings in her head, hope blossomed and love warmed her. How nice it would be to allow herself to love him. To trust him. Sadness entered his expression at her rejection. “I know it’s hard for you, little witch, but I promise you’ve nothing to fear. Unless the thought of too many orgasms in a row freaks you out.” And that quickly, he changed from pensive male to the one she’d grown to love with the mischievous smile. He lunged. She squealed like a little girl and ran. Not far though. With his ridiculously long stride, he quickly caught her and tossed her over his shoulder. He laughed as she beat at his broad back with her fists. “Save some of that energy for the bedroom because you are not leaving until you admit you care for me.” “I’ll kill you first.” “I like a girl who’s kinky.” “You’re impossible.” “No, but I am horny.” “How are we supposed to catch those souls if we’re fooling around here?” “Some things are more important.” “How can having sex with me be more important than ensuring you don’t burst into flame tomorrow?” “I would let someone beat me with a cat-o-nine too, if you’d just admit you like me.” “I hate you.” “Close. I see we’ll need to work on that.” -Ysabel & Remy

What do woman say to little boys? " Stop fighting. Stop being so rough. Stop rough housing." They're boys you know, that's kinda what they're sapossed to do. So, men are sapossed to overcome all these biological drives and I'm just really interested in helping women overcome theirs caus' I think the spotlight of " Outgrow your bestial nature." has been pointed just a little bit too long at men and I think it's time to swivel that motherfucker around and point it at woman and say stop making yourself look like fucking sex clowns to milk money out of men's dicks. Stop lying about who you are and what you're about. Stop being flirty, manipulative, and trying to be sexy. Just stop doing it. It's time for women to outgrow biology just as men have been instructed to for about the last 20,000 years to outgrow their biology. "Stop slamming doors. Stop yelling. Stop climbing trees. Stop being rude. Stop farting. Stop enjoying fart jokes. Just stop being men." Ok, Well; women stop being women. Be people. Be people who have sex, absolutely but, don't be caricatures. Don't aim to be like a woman who looks like the outline of some playboy mudflap on a trucker's rig. Just be people. Be sexual. Enjoy your sexuality and bodies but, stop trying to bury us in tits so that we pass out and you can rifle through our bank accounts. Just stop doing that shit. I won't enable it anymore. Why does your face have to look like some half rained on Picasso water color? I don't need rainbows on the face of a woman. I don't need these weird butterfly wing goth eyebrows and shit like that. Male sexuality is demonized and female sexuality is elevated. That's bullshit. Then women wonder why men prefer porn to them. It's caus' porn doesn't nag you for wanting stuff that's defined as "kinky" or "weird". Male sexuality is demonized and held in low esteem. Woman's sexuality is always beautiful. Woman's sexuality is unremitting shallow. I'm not saying men's isn't but, we know that about men, right? What turns women on? Women say confidence. Do you know what that means? Money. Do women say " He is really confident about his sidewalk art. He is really confident about his subway busking. That's such a turn on!" Why do men like looking at naked women and women get turned on looking at clothed men? Because if a man's clothes aren't on you don't know how expensive his wardrobe is. This is what Mohammad Ali said. I'm going to throw on some old jeans and a old t-shirt and I'm just gonna walk down into some little town and find some woman who doesn't know who the hell I am and then when she's fallen in love with me and we get married, I'm going to take her to my million dollar mansion and my yacht. This is the reality. Once you start having money, once you start having power, then the true nature of massive swaths of female sexuality becomes clear.

The door opened. We all froze. “Mom, this isn’t what it looks like.” Mom put her hand on her hip. “It looks like a group of boys wrestling on the floor of your bedroom while you watch. Wearing a towel.” “Okay,” I admitted, “it is what it looks like, but it’s not—” “Sexual?” She raised her eyebrows. “Mom!” Luna stuck her head under Mom’s arm and sucked in a breath. “She’s gone from a love triangle to a kinky sex pentagon.” Blake lifted his head. “Vote for Team Blake!” Mom rolled her eyes. “Boys, vacate. Now. Aurora get dressed. And everybody head downstairs. Breakfast is on. I made quiche. There’s plenty for all.” “First edible breakfast in weeks,” Luna said. Blake smacked his lips. “Yum!” Mom checked behind the door. “Ayden’s not here, is he?” I shook my head. “Then there’s no lust factor. Although, your father may not be as easy going as I am. So, gentlemen, get out.”  As she left, Mom dragged Luna away with her. Blake shook off the other boys and stood. “That’s offensive. I’m a very lustful guy.” “And a big blabbermouth.” Logan whacked the back of Blake’s head. “But remember you can’t tell—” “Ayden!” Blake shouted. “Right,” Tristan said, “or —” “No, it’s…” Wide-eyed, Blake jerked his chin toward my door. Our heads swiveled. Ayden filled the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms folded. “What can’t you tell me?” He arched one eyebrow awaiting a reply. The silence seemed ready to explode. Ayden zeroed in on Blake. “Come on, Weak Link, give it up.” Blake blurted out, “Jayden was in the shower with Aurora!”  I choked. “What!” “You idiot!” Logan thumped Blake repeatedly. “Technically, that’s true.” Jayden said. “But only once.” Ayden’s arms dropped. Along with his jaw. Tristan jumped up and shoved Jayden’s shoulder. “Shut up!” I tugged the towel tighter. “Ayden, that didn’t happen. Exactly. Guys, he already knows the Divinicus thing.” “Oh, good.” Blake was relieved. “Secrets? Not my thing.” “No kidding,” I said. “You told Blake before me?” Ayden said. “Unbelievable.” Blake raised his brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?" I held up my hand. “I didn’t tell anyone.” “Oh, my God! Why are you in a towel?” A & E Kirk (2014-05-26). Drop Dead Demons: The Divinicus Nex Chronicles: Book 2 (Divinicus Nex Chronicles series) (pp. 466-467). A&E Kirk. Kindle Edition.

NOTE: The character of Aoleon is deaf. This conversation takes place in the book via sign language... “Feeling a certain kind of way Aoleon?” She snapped-to and quickly became defensive. “What in the name of the Goddess are you on about?” Shades of anger and annoyance. The old Aoleon coming out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t poke at you like that. It’s okay you know. There’s nothing wrong about the way you feel.” As if suddenly caught up in a lie, Aoleon cleared her throat and ran her fingers absentmindedly over her ear and started to fidget with one of the brass accents in her snowy hair. A very common nervous reaction. “No…I mean…well I was…uh...” “Aoleon, I know about you and Arjana.” he admitted outrightly as he pointed at the drawing. She coughed, stuttered, smiled, but could bring herself to fully say nothing. Words escaped her as she looked about the room for answers. “My sight is Dįvįnë, lest we forget. I knew you were growing close.” “Yes. Well…she’s…something else.” “Indeed?” he responded. Images flashed briefly in Aoleon’s head of her father’s old friend. Verging on her fiftieth decade of life. She was a fierce woman by all accounts. One who’d just as soon cut you with words as she would a blade. Yet, she was darling and caring towards those she held close to her. Lovely to a fault; in a wild sort of way. Dark skin, the colour of walnut stained wood. Thick, kinky hair fashioned into black locs that faded into reddish-brown tips that were dyed with Assamian henna; the sides of her head shaved bare in an undercut fashion. Tattoos and gauged ears. Very comfortable with her sexuality. Dwalli by blood, but a native of the Link by birth although she wasn’t a Magi. Magick was her mother’s gift. “I heard her say something very much the same about you once Aoleon.” “Really?” Aoleon perked up right away. “Did she?” “Yes. After she first met you in fact. Nearly exactly.” Aoleon’s smile widened and she beamed happiness. She sat up assertively and gave a curt nod. “Well, of course she did.” “She’s held such a torch for you for so long that I was starting to wonder if anything would actually come of it.” “Yeah. Both you and Prince Asshole.” Aoleon exclaimed with a certainty that was absolute as she once again tightened up with defensiveness. Samahdemn walked his statement back. “Peace daughter. I didn't know your brother had been giving you a row about her. Then again, he is your brother. So anything is possible.” Aoleon sighed and nodded. “Not so much problems as he’s been giving me the silent treatment over it. Na’Kwanza. It’s always Na’ Kwanza.” Samahdemn nodded knowingly and waived a dismissive hand. “He’s just jealous. He always has been.” “So I’ve noticed.” “Why would you hide it? Why not tell me?” “I don’t know.” she said; shrugging her shoulders. “I didn’t know how you’d take it I suppose.” “Seriously? You were afraid of rejection? From me? Love, have I ever held your individuality against you? Have I ever not supported you or your siblings?” She shook her head; a bit embarrassed that she hadn't trusted him. "No, I suppose not." -Reflections on the Dįvonësë War: The Dįvįnë Will Bear Witness to Fate

Miranda was still trying to process the intrusion. “Just tell me one thing--how do you guys get away with sneaking out at night? My mom would have a fit!” “Right.” Parker’s grin turned scornful. “Like my mom and dad ever know if I’m there or not.” Ashley was totally unconcerned. “Oh, we just tell them we’re going to the tree house. They never check on us there.” “What’s the tree house?” Miranda wanted to know. “Well, when we were little, Gage’s daddy built a tree house for the three of us in his backyard. We used to have a secret club. And we’d play over there, and hide from people, and pretend we were knights in a castle.” “Gage and I were knights,” Roo corrected her. “You always had to be rescued.” “Well, I liked the way Gage threw me over his shoulder and carried me down from the tower.” “Gage did that?” Clasping his hands over his heart, Parker sighed. “My hero.” Gage ignored him. “We used to camp out in that tree house at night.” Ashley nibbled a potato chip. “In fact, we still like sleeping together over there.” Parker wiggled his eyebrows and gave Miranda a stage whisper. “Very kinky.” “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Parker--not that kind of sleeping together.” Ashley paused for a second. “It is just Gage, after all.” Gage stared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Oh, nothing.” Ashley plopped down on the bed next to Miranda. “Just that we love and respect you so much, we wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of you.” “Sometimes I dream of you two taking advantage of him,” Parker said seriously. “It’s one of my favorite fantasies.” Gage tried unsuccessfully not to look embarrassed. “You need a life.

All in all, most of the customers, both vampire and human, had read far too many novels. They had watched the vampire media and they took their cues from there. They indulged in black leather, took to kinky sex, and did their best to imitate a Laurel K Hamilton book. Half of the audience routinely tried ceremonies, Black Masses, dark rituals, but they typically ended up as sex orgies -less Satan, more basic hedonism. Everyone else had pastimes that generally included drinking blood from drug addicts, petty theft, and generally making a nuisance of themselves.

How are you enjoying the holidays so far?” “I never thought Christmas could be like this.” “You mean kinky?” “I mean honest and happy.

I love you if you want to be a kinky, sex-crazed maniac, and I still love you just as much if you don’t.

The hardest part of “coming out kinky,” if such a thing even exists, isn’t coming out to other people. Beyond sexual or romantic partners, coming out to others isn’t even necessary. The hardest part is coming out to ourselves. Many

When women read romance books, one of two things generally happen.” Mal ran a hand through his lovely locks. “They either want to discuss the book in great depth. And probably, life and your relationship. Now sometimes that’s okay. You reach a higher level of understanding with each other and shit. But sometimes it sucks, pure and simple. You wind up getting bitched at for days because of something the dude in the book did that makes you look bad. But if it’s an awesome book, however, a hot one? Well then … kinky fuckery like you wouldn’t believe, man. The ideas Pumpkin has gotten out of some of those books. Gold. I could never have talked her into trying half of that stuff.” “Huh.

There’s also an innumerable amount of beautiful people out there, getting it on. You can’t compete on a looks, kinkiness, or quantity measurement. You can win on the visceral and real experience meter, though.

There comes a time in every relationship when the fires of passion begin to die down as they are slowly quenched by the rains of indifference and familiarity. They cannot be allowed to go out completely though, as love without passion is like a jet without a pilot, destined to crash and burn in a spectacularly messy fashion. As a couple, you must fan the flames with the winds of lust and kinky rubber catsuits, or whatever other nastiness rocks your boat. Anything else isn’t living, it’s existing.

Just give me what I want, big brother. Let me feed and care for you until you feel as loved and full as I do.

I pull away right as he leans in for a kiss, and I love to leave him hanging for more. I head to his cabinet and check out the drawers. It’s filled with kinky toys that I don’t even know the name of, but some of it sure looks interesting, and definitely something I’d love to use. But for now, this set of handcuffs will do.

You over there playing with my pussy?” Caught red-handed, Genai eased her hand from her shorts. “No.” “You know, lying gets you punished.” “I’m not lying. Are you on your way?” “Yeah, and I’ll see when I get there. I brought you some food too. Have you eaten? I don’t need you passing out on me. I’m kinky, but not that damn kinky.

We’ve all lived too damn long lugging around this puritanical notion that pleasure must be villainized to protect us from ourselves.⁠ Fuck that.⁠ Seriously.⁠ The only question you need to ask is this:⁠ Is everyone involved in full personal safety and enthusiastic consent?⁠ Ask it loudly and repeatedly if you need to.⁠ Yes?⁠ Then you go with your bad, brilliant, beautiful, pleasure-filled self.⁠ Our bodies are here to feel good.⁠ And what makes that happen isn’t for anyone else to decide.⁠ It doesn’t matter whether you’re outside the gender binary, into collars and restraints, love someone with the same parts, desire more than one human, or have a kinky turn on others think is weird.⁠ Monogamous, polyamorous, relationship anarchist, vanilla, kinky—whatever your flavor, it’s valid.⁠ We’ve all wasted way too much damn time in the closet.⁠ End of story.

I grew up in the South, remember? I carry a lot of guilt about sex.” “Ah, yes. Lovely Florida, where the Bible belt is waiting to strangle you. But, not for any kinky reasons, because that would be a sin.” I

Kinky sick fucks doing their kinky sick fuck shit.

I fucking love all types of sex and I’m open to new things; threesome, foursome, orgy, kinky or vanilla, dirty or clean, slow or hard. As long as I come, I’m open to give it all a go.

No, I am stating a fact. Find some other gullible bitch to bite, fuck and fetch your slippers.” Javier’s laughter washed over her in a warm wave she enjoyed way too much. Fuming that they wouldn’t take her seriously, she clamped her lips shut as the overgrown cat carried her into her home. He finally set her down on her couch, but then instead of leaving, Ethan sat in the chair opposite her while Javier wandered off in the direction of the kitchen. “Shouldn’t you be leaving?” she asked with a pointed stare toward the door. A shrug from massive shoulders answered her. “Make me.” “Ooh,” she almost shrieked in exasperation. Only the pulsing of her painful head held her back. “Why are you both being so stubborn? Can’t you tell you’re not wanted?” “My mama said the same thing to my dad when they first met,” Ethan admitted. “Not liking her answer, he tossed her over his shoulder and kept her prisoner in a cave for two weeks, making love to her numerous times a day until she finally admitted she loved him, too,” he added with a smug grin. Naomi’s jaw dropped and her throat worked soundlessly for a moment. “You wouldn’t dare!” Her mouth said one thing, her pussy, drenching at his words, screamed another. “Well, as you’ve mentioned a few times, I’m probably too dumb to know better. Although, don’t worry, because of the lacrosse season, maybe I’ll just handcuff you to a bed instead of finding a cave.” “My family won’t stand for it!” “Children, children,” Javier chided returning to them holding two open beers, and one tall glass of juice. “Can’t we all get along? After all, since our beasts have seen fit to join us in a ménage, we’ll be together a long, long time.” “Over my dead body,” she growled. “Not dead, but gagged can definitely be arranged,” Ethan grumbled. “Hmm, a little kinky, but I’m not averse to the idea,” Javier added.

Showing up unannounced was risky. This guy was known for being cantankerous at best, violent at worst. But she was ready. As soon as the door opened, she let loose a stream of urine right on his doorstep . . . and then ran like hell. A few days more of that, she knew, and he’ d be all hers.

You might be playing hard to get, but we both know where this is going to end up,” he said, once again invading her space bubble as if she were in a Pepe Le Pew cartoon in which she starred as the unfortunate cat with a white stripe painted down her tail. “You, me, the moonlight…” “And my vomit all over you,

I felt a new sense of optimism and excitement. “Lori,” I said to myself, “you have to make your own happiness. You can’t expect people to just come to you and make you their project.” I agreed with myself and promised to do better. To get into Spanish life, I started making a mental list of all the things I could do to become more Spanish.

I will not expose you to these men.” “Give it a rest, Jacques. I mean it. We’re in this thing together. I hate to brag and put you at an obvious disadvantage, but I can take more of the sun than you.” His hand caressed the nape of her neck. “That doesn’t mean I will allow you to be exposed to danger.” Shea burst out laughing. “Just being with you is dangerous, you idiot. You’re dangerous.” She shook back her hair, her chin lifting a bit defiantly. “In any case, I can feel the vampire and you cannot. Neither, it seems, could Byron. Maybe the others won’t be able to either. You need me.” Reluctantly Jacques was allowing her to pull him toward the cave entrance. “Why do I never win an argument with you? I cannot allow you to be in danger, yet we are walking into the dawn and facing brutal killers when we are at our lowest strength. In the afternoon, Shea, we will be completely vulnerable, at their mercy, at the mercy of the sun. Both of us will be.” “Then we’ll just have to be in a safe place by then. Contact the others, Jacques, tell them what’s going on.” “I think you just want to get out of this cave. You would rather face a vampire and human killers than a few little bats.” He tugged at her wild mane of hair. She flashed him a grin over her shoulder. “You’ve got that right. And don’t you ever turn into a bat.” She shuddered. “Or a rat.” “We could get kinky and see how bats and rats make love,” he suggested in a whisper, warm breath against her neck. “You are a sick man, Jacques. Very, very sick.” The passage was narrowing again, taking her breath. At least Jacques was complying, even if he was grousing a bit.

Treated you? You’re lucky I didn’t lock you up. If I had my way, you’d be in chains undergoing a debriefing, but apparently, that would be cruel.” “Aramus!” “What? I said I wanted to, not that I was going to.” Why did Einstein have an urge to bang his head on a wall? Violence to his cranium wouldn’t solve anything. “Kinky, are you, captain? I’ll bet the ladies love that.” “As if you’d know anything about ladies,

Primer of Love [Lesson 4] Live as if you were living a second time, and as though you had acted wrongly the first time. ~ Viktor E. Frankl Lesson 4)Live everyday as it were the last; love everyday as if it were your first. Do not mistake this advice as an excuse for epicurism -- 'eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may die'. That's a lame rationalization to justify materialistic selfish hedonism. If it truly were your last day, search for the meaning of your lives in your lovemaking. Repeat the process until the tsunami takes you away in the backwash. Insert something new every day in your lover's repertoire as you battle against the serial killer of romance-- familiarity. Pull a Dexter by using the element of surprise -- but don't wrap your lover in cling wrap unless it's part of your kinky ritual.

Yeah. Chris says Mark’s a brother, part of the unit, and so whether he’s gay or straight or...kinky...we just deal with it because we love him.

I love the way you make the same seven meals every week. The way your socks are separated by colors in your drawer and the way you appear to all the world like this respectable, responsible woman when really underneath you are one hardcore kinky bitch. I love the way you howl, Josie Jacobson. And I love you.

He’s a perverted, kinky man, and damn if I don’t love that about him.

Money may buy you a fine dog, but only love will make it wag it's tail

Green gave him that smug grin that drove Ruxs insane. He inched up his body, keeping their contact. He dropped all his weight down on him and kissed him slowly at first, before he released an abysmal groan, vibrating his chest, as he pushed his tongue in deep, deep enough to almost gag him. “Fuck.” Ruxs pushed the back of his head deeper into his pillow, trying to take a much-needed breath. “I’m not done,” Green growled, grasping the back of his neck and shoving his salty tongue back in his mouth again. Ruxs tasted himself on his best friend. It was erotic, kinky, something he’d never experienced before… and he loved it. He kissed Green back just as hard and wildly as he was kissing him now. They kissed, licked, and bit at each other for several more minutes, both of them rolling each other as they fought for dominance. Ruxs finally relented, letting Green pin him down. He panted in his face while he ground his hard cock into his thigh. He tilted his head back at the onslaught. It felt so good. Better than he thought it would. Green’s hard cock pressed up against him. He realized that he’d been on the receiving end of all the pleasure. He hadn’t reciprocated. Ruxs wasn’t a selfish lover, he wanted to satisfy Green too. He pulled one hand free from Green’s hold and ran it down the side of his tough body. His touch was timid and light at first, as he further realized that he had no clue on how to please his partner. “Tell

Mom, this isn’t what it looks like.” Mom put her hand on her hip. “It looks like a group of boys wrestling on the floor of your bedroom while you watch. Wearing a towel.” “Okay,” I admitted, “it is what it looks like, but it’s not—” “Sexual?” She raised her eyebrows. “Mom!” Luna stuck her head under Mom’s arm and sucked in a breath. “She’s gone from a love triangle to a kinky sex pentagon.” A&E Kirk, Drop Dead Demons

This diary will tell the real life story of my great-grandmother Yasutani Jiko. She was a nun and a novelist and New Woman7 of the Taisho era.8 She was also an anarchist and a feminist who had plenty of lovers, both males and females, but she was never kinky or nasty. And even though I may end up mentioning some of her love affairs, everything I write will be historically true and empowering to women, and not a lot of foolish geisha crap. So if kinky nasty things are your pleasure, please close this book and give it to your wife or co-worker and save yourself a lot of time and trouble. 4.

We went into Bennie`s, where Ratso bought all three newspapers: the Post, which I always read and Ratso hated, The New York Times, which Ratso loved and I didn't believe in, and the Daily News, which we both read to see if the Russians were attacking the Alamo yet.

Money can buy you a fine dog, but only love can make him wag his tail.

This possessive kinky side of Gabe is entirely new, he was never like this before, and I fucking love it. it’s driving me fucking crazy.

What started as a kinky fantasy, has shown us what we really mean to each other. I love them both, and they both love me.