Naughty Girl Quotes

Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere.

No sight so sad as that of a naughty child," he began, "especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?" "They go to hell," was my ready and orthodox answer. "And what is hell? Can you tell me that?" "A pit full of fire." "And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?" "No, sir." "What must you do to avoid it?" I deliberated a moment: my answer, when it did come was objectionable: "I must keep in good health and not die.

good girls go to heaven and bad girls go everywhere

If all the girls attending [the Yale prom] were laid end to end, I wouldn't be at all surprised.

Beatrix, do you know what happens to girls who ask such naughty questions?” “They’re ravished in haylofts?” she inquired hopefully.

Claudia, you've been a very very naughty little girl.

You are a fucking naughty girl,” I told her. “Or just a naughty girl you’re fucking,” she said and picked up one of the shots. You’re so much more than that, I thought. But I picked up the shot and raised it at her. “Bottoms up for now. You’re bottom’s up later when I smack the shit out of it.

Do you want to know what I do to naughty girls?” She nods. “Anything I want.

well it about these really naughty girls they made this huge girls gand they stole stuff from shopes and stuff

You know what, your imagination works faster than your mind.

As cocky as this sounds, I knew I could walk onto that campus and get a date with the nearest available girl. Probably even a girl who wasn’t available, but with Avery, it was like trying to hit on a nun. And not a naughty nun.

My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also. You say when I go back you will suck me off and you want me to lick your cunt, you little depraved blackguard. I hope you will surprise me some time when I am asleep dressed, steal over to me with a whore’s glow in your slumberous eyes, gently undo button after button in the fly of my trousers and gently take out your lover’s fat mickey, lap it up in your moist mouth and suck away at it till it gets fatter and stiffer and comes off in your mouth. Sometimes too I shall surprise you asleep, lift up your skirts and open your drawers gently, then lie down gently by you and begin to lick lazily round your bush. You will begin to stir uneasily then I will lick the lips of my darling’s cunt. You will begin to groan and grunt and sigh and fart with lust in your sleep. Then I will lick up faster and faster like a ravenous dog until your cunt is a mass of slime and your body wriggling wildly. Goodnight, my little farting Nora, my dirty little fuckbird! There is one lovely word, darling, you have underlined to make me pull myself off better. Write me more about that and yourself, sweetly, dirtier, dirtier.

I knew I should have changed your name from Nightie Girl to Naughty Girl.

What was it like the first time you saw me?" she asks. "What was it about me that made you want to ask me out? And tell me everything, even the bad thoughts." I laugh. "There weren't any bad thoughts. Naughty thoughts, maybe. But not bad." She grins. "Well then tell me those, too.

You're my girl, Tessa Crimson. You'll always be my girl." He brought me close to him and wrapped me up in his arms, staring down into my face. "And even if we aren't together, that won't change.

He didn’t face her. “I said go away.” “Like I’m going to obey you. You aren’t my daddy. Unless you want to be. ’Cause I’ve been a bad, naughty girl and I need a spanking.

Why are you such terrible parents?" I yell. "I don't know," Dad yells back. "Why are you such a naughty little spider?

That’s enough naughty girl,” you say in a mocking tone, “I am going to put you over my knee and spank you for being such a bad wife tonight. It will hurt, but you’re going to enjoy it a lot more than you’ll admit…

The cold night air outside was like a slap in the face. If I wasn't in Naughty Girl Martini Land, I would have sobered instantly. Unfortunately, I was deep in Naughty Girl Martini Land. So deep, I was skipping dazedly through the Naughty Girl Martini forest and leaping over the Naughty Girl Martini streams, completely oblivious to everything.

He probably ate girls like her for breakfast. They all did. They all had. She had no intention of being eaten for breakfast, ever again. Her naughty brain took that thought, twirled it around and had a party with it.

Is that what he was initiating, then? Playing roles? The libertine duke and the naughty serving girl? Well... After about two seconds' pause, Pauline decided she could get inspired for that.

Are you enjoying your company so far?" "Yes! It's been a pleasure getting to know these ladies." "Are they all the sweet, gentle ladies they appear to be?" Gavril asked. Before Maxon replied, the answer brought a smile to my face. Because I knew that it was yes...sort of. "Umm..." Maxon looked past Gavril at me. "Almost." "Almost?" Gavril asked, surprised. He turned to us. "Is someone over there being naughty?" Mercifully, all the girls let out light giggles, so I blended in. The little traitor! "What exactly did these girls do that isn't so sweet?" Gavril asked Maxon. "Oh, well, let me tell you." Maxon crossed his legs and got very comfortable in his chair. It was probably the most relaxed I'd ever seen him, sitting there poking fun at me. I liked this side of him. I wished it would come out more often. "One of them had the nerve to yell at me rather forcefully the first time we met. I was given a very severe scolding." Above Maxon's head, the king and queen exchanged a glance. It seemed they were hearing this story for the first time, too. Beside me the girls were looking at one another, confused. I didn't get it until Marlee said something. "I don't remember anyone yelling at him in the Great Room. Do you?" Maxon seemed to have forgotten that our first meeting was meant to be a secret. "I think he's talking it up to make it funnier. I did say some serious things to him. I think he might mean me." "A scolding, you say? Whatever for?" Gavril continued. "Honestly, I wasn't really sure. I think it was a bout of homesickness. Which is why I forgave her, of course." Maxon was loose and easy now, talking to Gavril as if he were the only person in the room. I'd have to tell him later how wonderful he did. "So she's still with us, then?" Gavril looked over at the collection of girls, grinning widely, and then returned to face his prince. "Oh, yes. She's still here," Maxon said, not letting his eyes wander from Gavril's face. "And I plan on keeping her here for quite a while.

No the world's too crazy, it might never come true But before I give up I'm gonna fight for you My heart beats fast and my face is all flushed Darn I'd marry you tomorrow, I don't wanna seemed rushed.

The girl who played Gwendolen stood out like a good deed in a naughty world.

Girl ... you're seriously crackin' a moisty right now, aren't you?

The woman desires the bad boy that is only good for her. The man desires the good girl that is only naughty for him.

Are you scared?" she purrs. "Been too long? Out of practice?" Her head cocks to the side, a bad-girl grin on her face. And then her words register. Too scared to shag her? I can't even dignify that with a response. I can't even sputter. And then she gives me a purple-nurple, twisting my nipple. "Oy!" I grab her wrist, the mad little cat. I should spank her arse for that. Suddenly my towel is gone and my body is announcing just how much I've enjoyed her naughty act, complete with the ripping-off-of-the-towel finale.

If Nana thinks you're trying to scam her, she'll tell you, and if she thinks you ruined her life by discontinuing Arnold's Thin bread, she'll let you know that, too. I guess when you spend eighty-seven years swallowing other people's bullshit, there comes a time when you gotta spit some back.

He liked the girls, liked to hold them around the waist, felt like a man when he did. But as for talking with them, no, no! Then he felt as though he were dealing with another species of human being, in some cases a higher one, in others a lower. He secretly admired the weak, pale, little girl and had picked her to be his wife. That was still the only way he could think of a woman - as a wife. He danced in a very chaste and proper manner, but he heard awful stories about his pals, stories he didn't understand until later. They could dance the waltz backwards around the room in a very indecent way, and they told naughty stories about the girls.

But you’re a naughty girl. Last holidays you licked the paint off my lozenge box, and the holidays before that you let the boat drag my fish-line down when I’d set you to watch it, and you pushed your head through my kite, all for nothing.

He agreed with the captain of a New York sloop for my passage, under the notion of my being a young acquaintance of his that had got a naughty girl with child, whose friends would compel me to marry her, and therefore I could not appear or come away publicly.

As I observed earlier, the greatest evils are, with alarming regularity, done in the name of goodness. When we finally fry this planet in a nuclear holocaust, it will not have been done by a bunch of naughty little boys and girls; it will have been done by grave, respectable types who loved their high ideals too much to lay them down for the mere preservation of life on earth. And lesser evils follow the same rule.

It was 1976. It was one of the darkest days of my life when that nurse, Mrs. Shimmer, pulled out a maxi pad that measured the width and depth of a mattress and showed us how to use it. It had a belt with it that looked like a slingshot that possessed the jaw-dropping potential to pop a man's head like a gourd. As she stretched the belt between the fingers of her two hands, Mrs. Shimmer told us becoming a woman was a magical and beautiful experience. I remember thinking to myself, You're damn right it had better be magic, because that's what it's going to take to get me to wear something like that, Tinkerbell! It looked like a saddle. Weighed as much as one, too. Some girls even cried. I didn't. I raised my hand. "Mrs. Shimmer," I asked the cautiously, "so what kind of security napkins do boys wear when their flower pollinates? Does it have a belt, too?" The room got quiet except for a bubbling round of giggles. "You haven't been paying attention, have you?" Mrs. Shimmer accused sharply. "Boys have stamens, and stamens do not require sanitary napkins. They require self control, but you'll learn that soon enough." I was certainly hoping my naughty bits (what Mrs. Shimmer explained to us was like the pistil of a flower) didn't get out of control, because I had no idea what to do if they did.

By the time I’ve opened up that part of you, you’ll be happy to become the naughty and dirty girl I know you want to be.” Ethan White, Reluctant Surrender.

I love you like the woman I am now. Not the girl I was. I’m battered and bruised and I’m tougher, but I’m still here. I’m scared to death, but I’m more frightened of a life without you.

My sweet naughty girl I got your hot letter tonight and have been trying to picture you frigging your cunt in the closet. How do you do it? Do you stand against the wall with your hand tickling up under your clothes or do you squat down on the hole with your skirts up and your hand hard at work in through the slit of your drawers? Does it give you the horn now to shit? I wonder how you can do it. Do you come in the act of shitting or do you frig yourself off first and then shit? It must be a fearfully lecherous thing to see a girl with her clothes up frigging furiously at her cunt, to see her pretty white drawers pulled open behind and her bum sticking out and a fat brown thing stuck half-way out of her hole. You say you will shit your drawers, dear, and let me fuck you then. I would like to hear you shit them, dear, first and then fuck you. Some night when we are somewhere in the dark and talking dirty and you feel your shite ready to fall put your arms round my neck in shame and shit it down softly. The sound will madden me and when I pull up your dress.

...sick, my brothers are sending me home. This place infects me. Templeton my smooth little pill... such images I have. Such voices, that high voice, the little girl's so naughty, talking to me, all the time now. How I hate her... the train is empty, Albany a small, spangled fish... this train is all brown velvet... the train slows, I am in Templeton, oh. Templeton, Templeton, the train says, slowing down. The lake, the blue, is an embrace.

You’ve been difficult today, princess—very naughty. You’re lucky I’m going to let you come at all today. You may suck my cock, but you’ll have to make yourself come. Naughty girls don’t get a good fucking, do you understand?

And then we heard a branch break. It might have been a deer, but the Colonel busted out anyway. A voice directly behind us said, "Don't run, Chipper," and the Colonel stopped, turned around, and returned to us sheepishly. The Eagle walked toward us slowly, his lips pursed in disgust. He wore a white shirt and a black tie, like always. He gave each of us in turn the Look of Doom. "Y'all smell like a North Carolina tobacco field in a wildfire," he said. We stood silent. I felt disproportionately terrible, like I had just been caught fleeing the scene of a murder. Would he call my parents? "I'll see you in Jury tomorrow at five," he announced, and then walked away. Alaska crouched down, picked up the cigarette she had thrown away, and started smoking again. The Eagle wheeled around, his sixth sense detecting Insubordination To Authority Figures. Alaska dropped the cigarette and stepped on it. The Eagle shook his head, and even though he must have been crazy mad, I swear to God he smiled. "He loves me," Alaska told me as we walked back to the dorm circle. "He loves all y'all, too. He just loves the school more. That's the thing. He thinks busting us is good for the school and good for us. It's the eternal struggle, Pudge. The Good versus the Naughty." "You're awfully philosophical for a girl that just got busted," I told her. "Sometimes you lose a battle. But mischief always wins the war.

It’s a good thing you didn’t get out of the workshop much. The girls of Rome would have been in trouble!” He grinned and waggled his brows. “Do you think so?” She pushed his shoulder. “Naughty boy.” “I could be much naughtier.” Caitlyn sucked in a breath, alarmed and thrilled by the dangerous look in his eyes. She clasped her hands primly in front of her

No sight so sad as that of a naughty child,” he began, “especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?” “They go to hell,” was my ready and orthodox answer. “And what is hell? Can you tell me that?” “A pit full of fire.” “And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there forever?” “No, sir.” “What must you do to avoid it?” I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: “I must keep in good health, and not die.

He gave her a slow but somehow very naughty smile. “Only very bad girls lie to their mothers.

Good,” he hissed. “Fucking bad girl, doing all those naughty things before you even knew me. What the fuck were you thinking?” ~Woods Donahue

The woman desires the bad boy that is only good for her and the man desires the good girl that is only naughty for him.

The world will wonder if you’re a sweet girl or a naughty woman

I bite my bottom lip, feeling naughty. I lean into him, kissing his jaw and stroking him. “Jordan…” he growls through his teeth. I laugh quietly.

Five minutes or less?” I laugh. “So, are you just selfish or is this a medical problem?

Remind me to sneak you out of the bedroom window of your dad’s house more often. Look at Belle getting white-girl wasted,

I know what you want to watch, Rika,” he gritted out. “I know you like to watch me. School girls shouldn’t be so naughty.

The woman desires the bad boy who is only good for her. The man desires the good girl who is only naughty for him.

I'll be right here. Good luck, or break a leg, or something.” As Jay and Gregory turned and headed into the crowd, my traitorous eyes returned to the corner and found another pair or eyes staring darkly back. I dropped my gaze for three full seconds, and then lifted my eyes again, hesitant. The drummer was still staring at me, oblivious to the three girls trying to win back his attention. He put up one finger at the girls and said something that looked like, “Excuse me.” Oh, my goodness. Was he...? Oh, no. Yes, he was walking this way. My nerves shot into high alert. I looked around, but nobody else was near. When I looked back up, there he was, standing right in front of me. Good gracious, he was sexy-a word that had not existed in my personal vocabulary until that moment. This guy was sexy like it was his job or something. He looked straight into my eyes, which threw me off guard, because nobody ever looked me in the eye like that. Maybe Patti and Jay, but they didn't hold my stare like he was doing now. He didn't look away, and I found that I couldn't take my gaze off those blue eyes. “Who are you?” he asked in a blunt, almost confrontational way. I blinked. It was the strangest greeting I'd ever received. “I'm...Anna.” “Right. Anna. How very nice.” I tried to focus on his words and not his luxuriously accented voice, which made everything sound lovely. He leaned in closer. “But who are you?” What did that mean? Did I need to have some sort of title or social standing to enter his presence? “I just came with my friend Jay?” Oh, I hated when I got nervous and started talking in questions. I pointed in the general direction of the guys, but he didn't take his eyes off me. I began rambling. “They just wrote some songs. Jay and Gregory. That they wanted you to hear. Your band, I mean. They're really...good?” His eyes roamed all around my body, stopping to evaluate my sad, meager chest. I crossed my arms. When his gaze landed on that stupid freckle above my lip, I was hit by the scent of oranges and limes and something earthy, like the forest floor. It was pleasant in a masculine way. “Uh-huh.” He was closer to my face now, growling in that deep voice, but looking into my eyes again. “Very cute. And where is your angel?” My what? Was that some kind of British slang for boyfriend? I didn't know how to answer without continuing to sound pitiful. He lifted his dark eyebrows, waiting. “If you mean Jay, he's over there talking to some man in a suit. But he's not my boyfriend or my angel or whatever.” My face flushed with heat and I tightened my arms over my chest. I'd never met anyone with an accent like his, and I was ashamed of the effect it had on me. He was obviously rude, and yet I wanted him to keep talking to me. It didn't make any sense. His stance softened and he took a step back, seeming confused, although I still couldn't read his emotions. Why didn't he show any colors? He didn't seem drunk or high. And that red thing...what was that? It was hard not to stare at it. He finally looked over at Jay, who was deep in conversation with the manager-type man. “Not your boyfriend, eh?” He was smirking at me now. I looked away, refusing to answer. “Are you certain he doesn't fancy you?” Kaidan asked. I looked at him again. His smirk was now a naughty smile. “Yes,” I assured him with confidence. “I am.” “How do you know?” I couldn't very well tell him that the only time Jay's color had shown mild attraction to me was when I accidentally flashed him one day as I was taking off my sweatshirt, and my undershirt got pulled up too high. And even then it lasted only a few seconds before our embarrassment set in.

her sight seems turned in, gone down into her heart: she is looking at what she can remember, I believe; not at what is really present. I wonder what sort of a girl she is—whether good or naughty.

You were in the trunk while they —” This time, Gentry closed his eyes. “Please. I’m going to have flashbacks. I don’t want flashbacks.” Sophie couldn’t contain their amusement any longer and broke out into laughter. “Odette, you naughty girl!” “I didn’t know he was back there!” She didn’t turn around. Odette didn’t want to see the look on Sophie’s face. “If I did, I wouldn’t have climbed into Keahi’s lap in the first place!” “Okay!,” Gentry said. “I don’t need visuals, either.

No sight so sad as that of a naughty child,” he began, “especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?” “They go to hell,” was my ready and orthodox answer. “And what is hell? Can you tell me that?” “A pit full of fire.” “And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?” “No, sir.” “What must you do to avoid it?” I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: “I must keep in good health, and not die.

I try to ignore the fact that I can feel Kieren's hard-on against my ass and that it's perfectly pressing into me. I tell my suddenly happy cunny to stop quivering with excitement. Naughty, puss, that's creepy Kieren rubbing on you. Stop purring, dammit!

in hospital, actually.” “Oh, Eleanor,” she said, her voice oozingly oleaginous, “you don’t have friends, darling. Now come on, tell me where you really were, and I want the truth this time. Were you doing something naughty? Tell Mummy, there’s a good girl.

We all know you’re already on the naughty list, yet like to be told you’re a good girl by a man with a deep voice and a penchant for giving hand necklaces. Am I wrong? Didn’t think so. Now turn the page and read your hockey smut. Show me how beautifully you listen.

When I reach the doorway, I stop and thank every higher power for putting this woman in my life. Because, holy fucking Christ, there is nothing I did to deserve this. Banner is spread out on top of my sheets like some kind of fantasy come to life, wearing nothing but a scrap of red lace that she might call a bra, but I can see her nipples through. Her legs are splayed wide, and there’s a toy buried inside her pussy. Her eyes are closed as she throws her head back and lets out a moan. She doesn’t even realize I’m here, and she’s already getting off. Naughty girl.

I'll kiss you when I want to kiss you, not when it's convenient for you. Not because you're lonely and I'm the only hot-blooded man your brother allows you to see. Never because it's safe. I know you don't love me now, but I aim to change that. I can't fix your way of thinking if you put me in a little box like a trinket you take out when the mood suits you." She stared agape at him. "I never—" "Yes, you did. That's what you want, isn't it? That's what an arrangement means. It's clean for you. A tidy way for you to have your cake and eat your cake, and a ghastly misuse of some damned fine cake.

It was the gift that every girl dreams of, to be dead long enough for your parents to realize how meaningless their lives were without you, how they were suddenly and at once deeply sorrowed at all of the horrible injustices they caused you, how they had truly never appreciated your natural gifts of beauty and grace, being that their beautiful angel would have such a short time on earth and should have spent that time driving the restored 1965 convertible Mustang she had openly AND PUBLICLY desired. But nope, she spent her last, short, fleeting moments driving a 1980 Chevy Citation, every so clearly a GRANDMA car, with fake red-velvet upholstery, a hatchback, and an interior that smelled like spoiled milk and sometimes meat. Being temporarily run over by a car was the best present I had ever received, and I didn't even have to do anything dramatic to get it, like write a note or buy some rope.

Later, the family, led ferociously by the father, forces Gregor into his room like a naughty child. And Gregor, for his part, has no interest in adult matters. He loathes his profession. He has no intention of finding a companion; the only woman in his life, besides his sister and mother, is the pin-up girl in the guilt frame.

Sweetness peppered with spice. A smidgen of naughtiness with the nice. Toss in some goofiness with the smart. Throw in some strength to support the heart. Cupfuls of love to even it all out and tenaciousness sprinkled in to combat the doubt. Cook over some fire to meld it all in and you've got one good woman underneath this skin. 2012

It occurred to him, for the first time, that it did unflattering things to a person when affection was taken away from them. For there had been a time when she had seemed gorgeous, and fun, and all of her naughtiness had had for him a kind of irresistible pull. It was only after he decided he didn't want her anymore that she became a shrew, and obliterated his memory of the girl she used to be.

Cletus Byron Winston, you are being rude.” I might have my own less than glowing thoughts about my father, but he was my father. He opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut and did a double take, his eyes narrowing on me. “First of all, how do you know my middle name?” “Your momma used to use it when you were naughty, when you boys would help her shelve books in the library. ‘Cletus Byron! Stop stuffing Astrophysics Monthly down your pants!’” Cletus grinned. Then he chuckled. His eyes lost some of their zealous focus as he pushed away from the tree and strolled closer. “Oh yeah. She did, didn’t she?” “I felt sorry for Billy, though.” I scooched to one side as he sat down. “His name always confused everyone, like your momma was trying to talk to Shakespeare’s ghost. ‘William Shakespeare, would you please stop Beauford from pulling down his pants in front of the girls?’” Cletus laughed harder, leaning backward and holding his stomach. “I remember that. How old was Beau?” “He was ten. He was trying to show us his new Tarzan underwear. I don’t think he meant any harm.” “He sure did love that underwear.” Cletus nodded and he scratched his beard. “I’m going to have to find him some Tarzanunderwear in adult size.” “So you can torture him about it?” He pretended to be shocked by my accusation. “Certainly not. I don’t torture my siblings.” “Yeah, right.” I gave him my side-eye. “You forget, I’m a people watcher. I know you sell embarrassing pictures of them onstock photo sites. Jethro was griping about it after church over the summer. If it’s not torture, what do you call it then?” He lifted his chin proudly. “I offer invaluable character building opportunities. I help them reach their true potential through suffering.” “Oh, please

The universe gives what the universe gives, yes. Cheap thrills, plenty of those, enough to get you through until Halloween when the Catholic school girls come out in full force and wink as they ask you to spank them (they’ve been very naughty). I’m going to sleep now and dream of deeper waters with treasure at the bottom. This junk has rendered me catatonic. I’m a mermaid, goddamn it, not the tooth fairy existing solely to place silver dollars beneath your crybaby pillow.

Who’s the naughty little rascal, then, who couldn’t care less about what his old granny wants?” “I adore her, monsieur!” “Monsieur,” he said icily, stepping back, “you are young! But you should take advantage of your youth to learn two things: The first is that you should abstain from expressing sentiments that are too natural not to be taken for granted. And the second is that it is a mistake to get on one’s high horse and take offense at things said to one before one has properly understood their meaning.

Well, my lord," she started to answer, then was surprised to find herself tongue-tied. With Trestin watching, she was free to enjoy Roman's company without worry she might lose her head, and that presented something of an unforeseen problem. What did one say to a rake? "I've come to London—" A flaxen brow rose. He slid a glance at her. "You've come to London? Why, I must be deep in your confidence to have merited so intimate a revelation as that. Pray, what other secrets can you share? Are you by chance out of doors? Is it Tuesday?

People write tragedies in which fatal blondes betray their paramours to ruin, which Cressidas, Cleopatras, Delilahs, and sometimes even naughty daughters like Jessica bring their lovers or their parents to distress: but these are not the heart of tragedy. They are fripperies to the soul of man. What does it matter if Antony did fall upon his sword? It only killed him. It is the mother's not the lover's lust that rots the mind. It is that which condemns the tragic character to his walking death. It is Jocasta, not Juliet, who dwells in the inner chamber. It is Gertrude, not the silly Ophelia, who sends Hamlet to his madness. The heart of tragedy does not lie in stealing or taking away. Any featherpated girl can steal a heart. It lies in giving, in putting on, in adding, in smothering without pillows. Desdemona robbed of life or honour is nothing to a Mordred, robbed of himself--his soul stolen, overlaid, wizened, while the mother-character lives in triumph, superfluously and with stifling love endowed on him, seemingly innocent of ill-intention. Mordred was the only son of Orkney who never married. He, while his brothers fled to England, was the one who stayed alone with her for twenty years--her living larder. Now that she was dead, he had become her grave. She existed in him like the vampire. When he moved, when he blew his nose, he did it with her movement. When he acted he became as unreal as she had been, pretending to be a virgin for the unicorn. He dabbled in the same cruel magic. He had even begun to keep lap dogs like her--although he had always hated hers with the same bitter jealousy as that with which he had hated her lovers.

Mother Mary, help me. You are not bisexual. You're just a confused straight dude.” Spencer looks down at me, and I glance back, meeting his eyes. He narrows them on me, and I grin sheepishly. “He's probably right,” I tell him, reaching up to push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “You should just leave me alone, and find a nice girl at the party.” “I've had plenty of nice girls,” he says in a way that makes me bristle like a porcupine. “Not to mention naughty ones. I want to try …” He pauses and chokes on his words for a second. “Dating introverted nerd boys instead.

Parting the clinging fabric from her skin, he reached beneath to encircle her bare ankle with his hand. As he swept his touch up her calf, she jerked in surprise. Her hand caught his, trapping it just below her knee. He paused at once. "Ticklish?" He could scarcely scrape the word from his throat. She shook her head. "What is it?" "I..." Her kiss-flushed lips curved in a coy little smile. "I think it's the urges." He couldn't help but grin in response. These teasing hints of her naughty side were driving him mad with curiosity. He wanted to pry her open at the delicate pink seams and explore the sensual woman within.

Sarah sits up and reaches over, plucking a string on my guitar. It’s propped against the nightstand on her side of the bed. “So . . . do you actually know how to play this thing?” “I do.” She lies down on her side, arm bent, resting her head in her hand, regarding me curiously. “You mean like, ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,’ the ‘ABC’s,’ and such?” I roll my eyes. “You do realize that’s the same song, don’t you?” Her nose scrunches as she thinks about it, and her lips move as she silently sings the tunes in her head. It’s fucking adorable. Then she covers her face and laughs out loud. “Oh my God, I’m an imbecile!” “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, but if you say so.” She narrows her eyes. “Bully.” Then she sticks out her tongue. Big mistake. Because it’s soft and pink and very wet . . . and it makes me want to suck on it. And then that makes me think of other pink, soft, and wet places on her sweet-smelling body . . . and then I’m hard. Painfully, achingly hard. Thank God for thick bedcovers. If this innocent, blushing bird realized there was a hot, hard, raging boner in her bed, mere inches away from her, she would either pass out from all the blood rushing to her cheeks or hit the ceiling in shock—clinging to it by her fingernails like a petrified cat over water. “Well, you learn something new every day.” She chuckles. “But you really know how to play the guitar?” “You sound doubtful.” She shrugs. “A lot has been written about you, but I’ve never once heard that you play an instrument.” I lean in close and whisper, “It’s a secret. I’m good at a lot of things that no one knows about.” Her eyes roll again. “Let me guess—you’re fantastic in bed . . . but everybody knows that.” Then she makes like she’s playing the drums and does the sound effects for the punch-line rim shot. “Ba dumb ba, chhhh.” And I laugh hard—almost as hard as my cock is. “Shy, clever, a naughty sense of humor, and a total nutter. That’s a damn strange combo, Titebottum.” “Wait till you get to know me—I’m definitely one of a kind.” The funny thing is, I’m starting to think that’s absolutely true. I rub my hands together, then gesture to the guitar. “Anyway, pass it here. And name a musician. Any musician.” “Umm . . . Ed Sheeran.” I shake my head. “All the girls love Ed Sheeran.” “He’s a great singer. And he has the whole ginger thing going for him,” she teases. “If you were born a prince with red hair? Women everywhere would adore you.” “Women everywhere already adore me.” “If you were a ginger prince, there’d be more.” “All right, hush now smartarse-bottum. And listen.” Then I play “Thinking Out Loud.” About halfway through, I glance over at Sarah. She has the most beautiful smile, and I think something to myself that I’ve never thought in all my twenty-five years: this is how it feels to be Ed Sheeran.

LAST FALL UNIVERSITY OF MERIT The music was loud enough to shake the pictures on the walls. An angel and a wizard made out on the stairs. Two naughty cats tugged a vampire between them, a guy with yellow contacts howled, and someone spilled a Solo cup of cheap beer near Eli’s feet. He snagged the horns from a devil by the front door, and set them on top of his head. He’d seen the girl walk in, flanked by a Barbie and a Catholic schoolgirl flaunting numerous uniform infractions, but she was in jeans and a polo, blond hair loose, falling over her shoulders. He’d lost sight of her for only a moment, and now her friends were there, weaving through the crowd with interlocking fingers held over their heads, but she was gone. She should have stood out, the lack of costume conspicuous at a Halloween party, but she was nowhere to be found.

Two women friends are having a Girls’ Night Out, and have been decidedly overenthusiastic on the cocktails. Weaving their way home, they realize that they need to pee. They’re near a graveyard—so they decide to do their business behind a headstone. The first woman has nothing to wipe with so she takes off her panties, uses them, and throws them away. Her friend, however, is wearing a rather expensive pair and doesn’t want to ruin hers. She manages to salvage a large ribbon from a wreath on one of the graves and proceeds to wipe herself with that. Soon, they’re heading for home. The next day the first woman’s husband phones the other husband and says, “These damn girls’ nights out have got to stop. My wife came home last night without her panties.” “That’s nothing,” says the other husband. “Mine came back with a card stuck between the cheeks of her ass that said, “From All of Us at the Fire Station, We’ll Never Forget You.

Cynnie’s disappeared while I’ve shut up shop. So has Ty, without even giving me a hug. He’s getting a dozen noogies for that the next time I see him. I lock up, checking and double-checking my security. On the way back from checking the manual lock on the fire escape door, I find the dress Cynnie was wearing draped across the foot of the staircase up into the loft like a fallen flower petal. “Baby?” Her wild giggle answers me. Grinning, I scoop up the dress and carry it up the stairs. I expect her to be n*ked in the bed, but she’s not. There’s no sign of her. “Baby, where are you?” Another wild giggle. With the open plan of my apartment, the stairwell, and the screen of trees in the loft, the acoustics can be weird. I was sure the first giggle came from upstairs. Now, it sounds like her giggle is coming from downstairs. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, bumble baby,” I call. Insane giggles. I spin around in place on the landing, trying to locate the source of those irresistible giggles. “When I find you, I’m going to b*te my bumble very hard on her b*ttom,” I growl. “I sting you!” That was definitely from my bedroom. I tear through the doorway and look around. No naughty bumble in my bed. I yank open the closet doors. No naughty bumble in my closets. There aren’t many hiding places in my bedroom. There’s no way she could fit between the trees. Then I spot the black rectangle half-hidden in the rumpled bedding. A phone. She’s put it on speaker and dimmed the screen. That sneaky little bee. I grab the phone and growl into it. “I’m going to find you.” “I fly away!” “You’ll never get away from me, little girl. And when I catch you, I’m going to eat you up.” I grip the phone, so turned on my hand shakes, muscles bunching. I pant into the phone. “I’m going to find you, wherever you are, and rail you into the ground.” She squees. There’s a very faint echo, and I realize where she is. Game on.

What do we have here?” Grant slurs at me. He seems different and it raises flags in my mind. His fingers wrap around a section of my hair and it scares me. His face is flushed red and his eyes are glassy and bright. I can smell the smoky scent of whiskey or scotch rolling off his tongue as he speaks and breathes heavily. “I’m lost and I need a ride home.” My voice wavers as I speak and I hate it. I fist my hands in the hem of my blazer. “I’ll get Albert for you, but first spend some time with me,” he slurs again, sounding like his tongue is too large for his mouth. As if sensing my attention, the tip of his tongue sneaks out and slides along his supple bottom lip. He smiles as he tastes the alcohol that’s staining his mouth. His eyes are bright and shiny and glazed over. He has a smirk on his face that shows off his dimple. It no longer reminds me of Whitt. It seems sinister and dangerous- promising something I’m not ready to experience. The feel of his fingers playing with my hair gives me goosebumps and I shiver as my scalp tightens, sucking up the pleasant attention. I do my first stupid-girl moment of my life. I shameless crush on a guy and let it turn my thoughts to mush. “Okay, if you promise to call Albert first.” I try to negotiate with him and he gives me a naughty smirk for agreeing. He backs me up with his physical presence. His front touches mine- chest-to-chest. His lips part and breathes the smoky, whiskey scent onto my chin. My back hits the door behind me with an audible thump. He reaches around me and I don’t wince. I anticipate him touching me and crave it. Instead, his hand twists the doorknob by my hip and I fall backwards. I’m pushed into a dark room until my legs connect with the edge of a bed. I can’t see anything, and the only sound is our combined breathing. I feel alive with caution. I’m aware of every hair, every nerve on my flesh. My senses are so in-tuned that I can feel my system pumping the blood through my veins nourishing my whole body.

But the very fact that she took such a foolish trifle so seriously moved me, and, in order to calm her, I took refuge in a playful tone. ‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ I said teasingly, ‘nothing of any consequence. A naughty child upset some tea over me.’ Her eyes were still troubled. But she gratefully jumped at the opportunity of turning the whole thing into a joke. ‘And did you give the naughty child a good whacking?’ ‘No,’ I replied, keeping the ball rolling. ‘It wasn’t necessary. The child has been good again for a long time now.’ ‘And you’re really not angry with her any more?’ ‘Not a bit. You should have heard how prettily she asked to be forgiven.’ ‘You won’t bear her any grudge?’ ‘No, it’s all forgiven and forgotten. But she must go on being a good girl and do as she’s told.’ ‘And what is the child to do?’ ‘To be always patient, always friendly, and always merry. Not to sit in the sun too long, to go out for lots of drives and obey the doctor’s orders to the letter. And now the child must go to sleep and not talk or worry her head any more. Good night.

She wraps her legs around my waist, and I walk us slowly down the hall. "Mmm, wait," she whines against my mouth. "I haven't showered. I'm so gross, and I don't..." She trails off as I turn into my bathroom, then set her down. She shuffles her bare feet against the gray stone tile, an inquisitive look on her face as she looks around the narrow space bathed in neutral hues. I push open the glass door and turn on the shower. Water cascades from the waterfall showered. "Oh," she says as she grins and bites her bottom lip. By the time we've helped each other out of our clothes, the water's warm. I help her in first, then step in. And then, under the hot stream of water, we resume our dirty kissing and grabbing. "Wait, wait." She presses a hand against my chest, then reaches for the shampoo bottle on the ledge. "I do need to get clean first." I laugh and follow her lead by shampooing my own hair and doing a quick rinse with body wash. She holds her hand out for the loofah, but I shake my head. "Let me?" A devilish smirk tugs at her perfect mouth. When she nods and licks her lips, I have to take a second. God, this woman. The way she's sweet and filthy all at once is enough to make me lose it right here. But I refuse. Not before she gets what I'm dying to give her. I work up a lather and run the loofah all over her body. I take my time, paying attention to every part of her. These beautifully curved hips, the fullness of her thighs, the gentle curve of her waist, her arms, her hands, the swell of her boobs. And then I lather up my hands and slowly work between her legs. She clutches both hands around my biceps, and her toes curl against the earthen-hued river rock that lines the shower floor. Her eyes go wide and pleading as she looks up at me. I lean down to kiss her. "Tell me what you want." "You. Just you. Please." With her breathy request, I'm ready to burst. Not yet, though. She reaches down to palm me, but I gently push her hand away. I want this to be one hundred percent about her. When she presses her mouth against my shoulder and her sounds go louder and more frantic, I work my hand faster. She's panting, pleading, shouting. When I feel the sting of her teeth against my skin, I grin. Fuck yeah, my girl is rough when she loses it and I love it. I love her. She explodes against my palm, the weight of her body shuddering against me. I've got her, though. I've always, always got you. When she starts to ease back down, she lets out a breathy laugh. "Oh my god." I nod down at her, which only makes her laugh harder. Then she glances down at what I'm sporting between my legs and flashes a naughty smirk. "Let's do something about that." Soon it's me at the mercy of her hands. My head spins at the pleasure she delivers so confidently, like she knows every single one of my buttons to push. When I lose it, I'm shuddering and grunting. For a few seconds, my vision's blurry. She's that incredible.

A couple is invited to a swanky masked Halloween party but she gets a terrible headache and tells him to go to the party alone. Being a devoted husband, he protests, but she insists that she is going to take some aspirin and go to bed, and there is no reason he shouldn’t go ahead and have a good time. So he takes his costume and off he goes. The wife, after sleeping soundly for one hour, awakens without pain and decides to go to the party after all. Since her husband won’t recognize her in her costume, she thinks she might have some fun watching him in secret. She soon spots her husband cavorting on the dance floor, dancing with every pretty girl he can, copping a little feel here and a little kiss there. Being a rather seductive babe herself, the wife ventures onto the dance floor to entice her own husband away from his current partner. She lets him go as far as he wishes, naturally, since he is, after all, her husband. Finally he whispers a little proposition in her ear and she agrees. Off they go to his parked car for a little bang. Just before midnight, when the party guests are planning to unmask and reveal their identities, she slips away, goes home, stashes her costume, and gets into bed, wondering what his husband will report about the evening. She is sitting up reading when he comes in. “How was it?” she asks, nonchalantly. “Oh, the same old thing. You know I never have a good time when you’re not there.” “Did you dance much?” “I never even danced one dance. When I got there I met Pete, Bill Brown, and some other guys, so we went into the den and played poker all evening. But I’ll tell you... the guy I loaned my costume to sure had a real good time!

Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?” Impossible to reply to this in the affirmative: my little world held a contrary opinion: I was silent. Mrs. Reed answered for me by an expressive shake of the head, adding soon, “Perhaps the less said on that subject the better, Mr. Brocklehurst.” “Sorry indeed to hear it! she and I must have some talk;” and bending from the perpendicular, he installed his person in the arm-chair opposite Mrs. Reed’s. “Come here,” he said. I stepped across the rug; he placed me square and straight before him. What a face he had, now that it was almost on a level with mine! what a great nose! and what a mouth! and what large prominent teeth! “No sight so sad as that of a naughty child,” he began, “especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?” “They go to hell,” was my ready and orthodox answer. “And what is hell? Can you tell me that?” “A pit full of fire.” “And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?” “No, sir.” “What must you do to avoid it?” I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: “I must keep in good health, and not die.” “How can you keep in good health? Children younger than you die daily. I buried a little child of five years old only a day or two since,—a good little child, whose soul is now in heaven. It is to be feared the same could not be said of you were you to be called hence.” Not being in a condition to remove his doubt, I only cast my eyes down on the two large feet planted on the rug, and sighed, wishing myself far enough away. “I hope that sigh is from the heart, and that you repent of ever having been the occasion of discomfort to your excellent benefactress.

I raised two daughters,” Ronica pointed out gently. “I know how painful victory can be sometimes.” “Not over me,” Keffria said dully. There was self-loathing in her tone as she added, “I don’t think I ever gave you and Father a sleepless night. I was a model child, never challenging anything you told me, keeping all the rules, and earning the rewards of such virtue. Or so I thought.” “You were my easy daughter,” Ronica conceded. “Perhaps because of that, I under-valued you. Over-looked you.” She shook her head to herself. “But in those days, Althea worried me so that I seldom had a moment to think of what was going right…” Keffria exhaled sharply. “And you didn’t know the half of what she was doing! As her sister, I… but in all the years, it hasn’t changed. She still worries us, both of us. When she was a little girl, her willfulness and naughtiness always made her Papa’s favorite. And now that he has gone, she has disappeared, and so managed to capture your heart as well, simply by being absent.” “Keffria!” Ronica rebuked her for the heartless words. Her sister was missing, and all she could be was jealous of Ronica worrying about her? But after a moment, Ronica asked hesitantly, “You truly feel that I give no thoughts to you, simply because Althea is gone?” “You scarcely speak to me,” Keffria pointed out. “When I muddled the ledger books for what I had inherited, you simply took them back from me and did them yourself. You run the household as if I was not there. When Cerwin showed up on the doorstep today, you charged directly into battle, only sending Rache to tell me about it as an afterthought. Mother, were I to disappear as Althea has, I think the household would only run more smoothly. You are so capable of managing it all.” She paused and her voice was almost choked as she added, “You leave no room for me to matter.” She hastily lifted her mug and took a long sip of coffee. She stared deep into the fireplace. Ronica found herself wordless. She drank from her own mug. She knew she was making excuses when she said, “But I was always just waiting for you to take things over from me.” “And always so busy holding the reins that you had no time to teach me how. ‘Here, give me that, it’s easier if I just do it myself.’ How many times have you said that to me? Do you know how stupid and helpless it always made me feel?” The anger in her voice was very old.

Bobby ran up on the deck and skidded to a stop in front of them. “It’s time for the Kowalski Fourth of July Football Game of Doom!” Cat laughed and pushed herself out of her seat. “We’ll talk about this some other time, Emma. Go have fun.” “I’m not sure I want to play football. Especially if there’s doom involved,” she said, but Bobby grabbed her hand and dragged her off the deck. They were divvied up into teams roughly by size, each with an assortment of men, women and children. Emma was on Sean’s team, which was good. She’d just hide behind him, because the only thing she knew about football was that it involved a lot of hitting. It only took a few plays to see that the Kowalskis played by their own rules and the few they had were fluid. Mostly they served to ensure the smaller kids didn’t get plowed over, victims of the adults’ competitive streak. Five minutes into the game, Emma somehow ended up with the ball. She squealed and looked around for somebody—anybody—to hand it off to, but there was nobody. Well, there was Danny, but he was doubled over in laughter. “Run, Emma,” Lisa yelled. She ran in the direction her friend was frantically waving her hand, but she only went a few feet before two very strong arms wrapped around her waist and then she was falling. Luckily, she landed on a body instead of the ground. “I love football,” Mitch said, grinning up at her. Emma grimaced and managed to get one of her knees on solid ground so she could push herself to her feet. He was quicker and freed himself to stand and help her up. “They should give you the ball more often,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling and the grin so like Sean’s—but not quite as naughty—in full force. “Hands off my girl,” Sean told him, pulling on Emma’s elbow. “You should do a better job of blocking for her. “Let’s go,” Brian shouted. The very next play, Mitch intercepted Mike’s pass to Evan and turned to run toward the other end zone. He was halfway there when Sean took him down hard. They hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud that made Emma wince, and came up pushing and shoving. When Sean drew back his arm to throw the first punch, Mary blew her whistle from the sidelines. “Boys! Enough!” Instead of heading straight for the huddle, Sean walked to Emma and pulled her into his arms for a hard, almost punishing caveman kiss that made her skin sizzle and her knees go wobbly. Then he glared at his brother for a few long seconds and went back to his team, leaving Emma standing there breathless and discombobulated.

Daddy (feat. Naughty Boy) He's out your system, yeah it took you a while You got your family back and you got your smile And you promised your sister that you'd never go back again But friends keep telling you what he did last night How many girls he kissed, how many he liked And you try to remember that there's no way you could ever be friends But now you're You're looking like you really like him, like him And now you're feeling like you miss him, miss him You're speaking like you really love him, love him And now you're dancing like you need him, need him Put it in your pocket, don't tell anyone I gave ya It will be the one you run to, the one that saves ya It could be your daddy daddy, if you take it gladly gladly Daddy daddy He kissed you on the lips and opened your eyes You had to catch your breath, got such a surprise And you almost forgot how it feels to live in his lie He pulled you closer, said he'll never let go You couldn't trust him, but you never said no In that moment we may just forget how it feels when he's gone But now you're You're looking like you really like him, like him And now you're feeling like you miss him, miss him You're speaking like you really love him, love him And now you're dancing like you need him, need him Put it in your pocket, don't tell anyone I gave ya It could be the one you run to, the one that saves you It could be your daddy daddy, if you take it gladly gladly Daddy daddy You're looking like you really like him, like him And now you're feeling like you miss him, miss him You're looking like you really love him, love him And now you're dancing like you need him, need him Put it in your pocket, don't tell anyone I gave ya It could be the one you run to, the one that saves you It could be your daddy daddy, if you take it gladly gladly Daddy daddy

Ulysses, darling,” she whispered, “you don’t mind that I’m a round-heeled tart.” “Nonsense. You’re my cherry tart. Ripe and oh-so sweet, you naughty girl.” -Angelia Sparrow, Cherry Tart

A guy is on his first date with a notoriously loose girl. He parks the car and starts kissing and fondling her, and, as befits her reputation, she is quite responsive. The petting continues, and soon he puts his hand inside her panties. She seems to be enjoying it, but suddenly she pushes him away, screaming, “Ouch! That ring is hurting me!” “That’s not a ring. That’s my watch!

A guy and his date are parked on a back road some distance from town. They are messing around when the girl stops the boy abruptly. “I really should have mentioned this earlier, but I’m actually a hooker and I charge twenty dollars for sex.” The boy reluctantly pays her, and they carry on. After the obligatory cigarette, the boy sits in the driver’s seat, staring out the window. “Why aren’t we going anywhere?” asks the girl. “Well, I really should have mentioned this earlier, but I’m actually a taxi driver, and the fare back to town is twenty-five dollars.

A boy and girl have been out on a date. As they pull into the girl’s driveway, she invites him to come over for dinner the next night to meet her parents. He agrees, and the girl promises that after dinner they will make love. The boy is pretty excited, as it will be his very first time having sex—so on his way home, he decides to stop by the pharmacy and buy some condoms. The next night at dinner, the girl’s mother asks the boy to say grace before dinner. He obliges with great enthusiasm, going on and on about repentance, forgiveness, mercy, and salvation. “I didn’t know you were such a religious person,” says the girl. “I didn’t know your dad was a pharmacist.

A young woman who worked as a prostitute was very careful to keep this a secret from her grandmother. One day, the police raided a brothel and rounded up the working girls, including the young woman. The prostitutes were instructed to line up single-file on the sidewalk. Well, who should be walking through the neighborhood just then but little old Grandma. The young woman was frantic—and sure enough, Grandma noticed her and asked curiously, “What are you lining up for, dear?” Thinking quickly, the young woman told her that some people were passing out free oranges and that she was lining up for some. Mmm, sounds lovely,” said Grandma. “I think I’ll get some myself.” And with that, she made her way to the back of the line. A police officer was working his way down the line, questioning each girl. When he got to Grandma, he was bewildered. “But you’re so old, how do you do it?” “Oh, it’s quite easy, sonny, I just remove my dentures and suck ‘em dry!

A guy goes up to a girl in a bar and says, “You want to play ‘Magic’?” “What’s that?” she asks. “We go to my house and fuck, and then you disappear.

A guy meets a girl at a disco and she invites him back to her house for the night. Her parents are out of town, so she figures it is the perfect opportunity. They get home and go into her bedroom, where the guy notices that every surface is covered with stuffed toys. There are hundreds of them, fluffy animals and dolls everywhere: on top of the wardrobe, on the bookshelves, covering the windowsills, all over the floor, and of course covering the bed. Somehow, they manage to find space to have sex and afterward he turns to her and says, “So, how was I?” “Well, you can take anything from the bottom shelf.

A young Amish girl is going on her first date and her mother is helping her get ready. She puts on gloves, because it is cold out that night and the Amish still ride in buggies. Asks her mother, “Why are you wearing gloves? It isn’t ladylike to wear gloves.” “It’s supposed to be cold tonight. What do I do with my hands if they get cold?” “Just stick your hands between your knees, and they will get warm.” Reluctantly, the girl agrees. Her date picks her up and they go on their way. On the way home the girl’s hands get cold so, following her mother’s orders, she sticks them between her knees. Her date looks over and says, “Why on earth do you have your hands between your legs?” “My mother told me that if my hands got cold, I should stick them between my legs.” “Well, my dick is frozen solid; do you care if I stick it between your legs to get it warm?” “Hmmm...well, I guess I don’t see any harm in it.” After returning home from her date the girl asks her mother, “What do you know about dicks?” “Why?” asks the concerned mother. “What do YOU know about dicks?” “All I know is that when they thaw out they make an awful mess!

Mr. White is a biology professor at a posh suburban girl’s school. One day during class he says, “Miss Smith, would you name the organ in the human body which, under the appropriate conditions, expands to six times its normal size? And please define the conditions.” “Mr. White,” the student gasps, “I don’t think that is a proper question to ask me. I assure you that my parents will hear of this.” With that, she sits down red faced. Unperturbed, Mr. White asks Miss Jones the same question. With complete composure she replies, “Why, of course, it is the pupil of the eye, which expands in dim light.” “Correct,” says the teacher. “Now, Miss Smith, I have three things to say to you: one, you have not studied your lessons. Two, you have a dirty mind. And three, you will someday be faced with a dreadful disappointment.

A young guy walks his girlfriend home after a date. When they reach her front door he leans up against the house with one hand and says to her, “How about a blow job?” “What! Are you crazy?” “Don’t worry, it will be quick.” “No! Someone might see us.” “It’s just a little blow job,” he insists, “and I know you like it.” “No! I said no!” “Baby. . . don’t be like that.” Suddenly, the girl’s younger sister shows up at the door in her nightgown, with her hair a mess, rubbing her eyes. She says to her sister, “Dad says either you blow him, I blow him, or he’ll come downstairs and blow the guy himself—but for God’s sake tell your boyfriend to take his hand off the intercom.

A beautiful young woman wants to meet Santa Claus, so she puts on a robe and stays up late on Christmas Eve. Santa arrives, climbs down the chimney, and begins filling the stockings. He is about to move on to the next house when the gorgeous redhead says in a sexy voice, “Oh, Santa, please stay. Keep the chill away.” Santa replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” The girl drops her robe to reveal a sexy bra and panties, and says in her most flirtatious tone, “Oh, Santa, don’t run a mile; just stay for a while...” Santa begins to sweat but replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” The girl takes off her bra and says, “Oh, Santa... please... stay.” Santa wipes his brow but replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” She loses the panties and says, “Oh, Santa... please... stay....” Santa, trembling, says, “HEY HEY HEY, gotta stay, gotta stay! Can’t get up the chimney with my pecker this way!!!

A guy was riding through the desert on his camel. He had been traveling so long that he felt really horny. There were no women in the desert, so the man turned to his camel—but every time he tried to have sex with his camel, the animal ran away. The man had no choice but to run after the camel, get back on, and start to ride again. After crossing the entire desert, still feeling frustrated, the man came to a road. There was a broken-down car sitting there with three voluptuous and beautiful blondes sitting in it. He asked the women if they needed any help. The hottest girl said, “If you fix our car, we will do anything you want.” Luckily, the man knew a thing or two about cars and fixed it in a flash. When he finished, the three girls asked, “How can we ever repay you?” After thinking it over for a few minutes, the man replied, “Could you hold my camel?

A guy has been asking the prettiest girl in town for a date and finally she agrees to go out with him. He takes her to a nice restaurant and buys her a fancy dinner with expensive wine. On the way home, he finds a secluded spot and pulls over to the side of the road. They start necking and he’s getting pretty excited. He starts to reach under her skirt and she stops him, saying she’s a virgin and wants to stay that way. “Well, okay,” he says, “how about a blow job?” “Yuck!” she screams. “I’m not putting that thing in my mouth!” “Well then... how about a hand job?” “I’ve never done that. What do I have to do?” “Well, remember when you were a kid and you used to shake up a Coke bottle and spray your brother with it?” She nods. “Well, it’s just like that.” So, he pulls out his dick and she grabs hold of it and starts shaking it. A few seconds later, his head snaps back against the headrest, his eyes roll up in his head, wax blows out of his ears, and he screams in pain. “What’s wrong?” she cries out. “Take your thumb off the end!!!

Three girls all have boyfriends with the same name. In order to keep themselves from getting confused when they talk about them, the girls decided to give their boyfriends nicknames. The first girl says, “I think I’ll call my man 7-up.” “Why do you want to call your man that?” the second girl asks. “Because he’s seven inches long and he’s always up.” The second girl says, “I’m going to call my man Mountain Dew.” “Why do you want to call your man that?” asks the third girl. “Because he likes to mount me and to do me.” Finally, the third girl says, “I’d like to call my man Jack Daniels.” “Why do you want to call your man Jack Daniels?” the first girl asks. “That’s hard liquor.

Noelle, would you mind grabbing the other phone?” The silver clattered as the girl set it down. “Turn down the heat, set the table, answer the phone . . .” she grumbled playfully. As soon as Noelle left the room, Jake pulled Meridith close. “You just wanted to be alone with me.” She thought of denying it, but then she looked into his eyes. Oh, who was she kidding? He brushed his lips across hers. Heaven. She heard Noelle’s muted answer from the other room. “Summer Place, may I help you?” Jake deepened the kiss and Meridith slid her arms around his waist. “Hi, Rita,” Noelle continued. “Yeah, she’s here. Just a minute.” Meridith forced herself to push Jake away. “Naughty boy,” she whispered. She dragged her eyes from his and retrieved the salad dressing, trying to gather her wits before Noelle entered. “It’s

Naughty girls do not get off after they've been spanked.

Well, well; I’m starting to see what a bad, little thing you truly are, and I wonder if making you recreate your deviant act will not be nearly enough of a punishment.

It is common to refer to a female who has not yet had sex as a “good girl” or “innocent.” Otherwise she is “bad” or “naughty,” implying that she has done something wrong and is guilty of something, even if she has not committed any crime.