EverQuest Porn? You betcha!

Setting the scene:

The morning in Kelethin was crisp as always. High in the treetops the temperature was much cooler than down on the forest floor. Sunshine speared it’s way into the lofty wooden structures in narrow rays and sharp angles. Bird chirps and wolf cries filled the air in a gentle cacophony.

And occasionally, a mysterious song could be heard.

It took skill to hear it; you could only listen for it among the other sounds of nature if you knew precisely what you were listening for. Visitors to the vast Faydark never gave a second thought to the melodic wailing which seemed to whisper through the trees on occasion, the quiet cry never lasting much more than a minute or two, and always blending as though it were nothing more than the call of an owl, or the howl of a wolf.

But the Elves knew the sound and when one of them listened carefully, paid very close attention, they would hear the infrequent melody. A quiet, high-pitched tune, different every time, like a long feminine sigh that varied it’s pitch just enough to distinguish itself as musical. Then they would smile knowingly and go about their business.

And then getting down to business:

“Take me ” she whispered. “I will warm you both ”

With only a few languid strokes, she felt them grow hard at her touch. She briefly wondered why Barbarians never seemed to freeze in the arctic when they nothing beneath their kilts, but the thoughts were wiped from her mind as she suddenly felt their hands upon her. Big, strong hands, grasping her bare shoulders, their huge palms and fingers nearly covering her entire upper arms. She felt herself laid on her side.
…
“AH!” she cried out. He was so huge, his cock filling her delicate elven body completely. He was as hard as wood, and glided easily within her moistness. Tremors of pleasure rippled through her body.

At the same time, she finally felt the warm, nude body of the second Barbarian pressed up behind her. Joe’s body nestled against her own, his warm chest finally covering her back, chasing away the chilling air. His thighs rested just beneath hers, warming her even more. His arm draped over her hip, holding her steady while Gregor rhythmically slid in and out of her, his thick cock stretching her nether lips tight around it. “Yes Yes ” she grunted with each of his thrusts. Behind her, she felt Joe’s finger slide further back along her bottom, gently spreading her wetness along her tender flesh, pressing gently between her buttocks, into her tender hole.

“OH . OH TUNARE!!!” she cried out as she felt Joe slide his finger gently inside her forbidden region. She felt so very filled by the both of them, and they moved in time now, in and out, in and out. Gregor’s cock from in front, Joe’s finger from behind. It felt so perfect, her body was awash with sensations, the nipping cold still stinging her skin wherever and whenever it was uncovered, the fiery warmth of the two strong Barbarians around her, the wonderful sensations coming from her filled wetness and her behind. Her body shifted with each stroke, moving in time with each of their thrusts, over and over, the pleasure inside her building, and building…

This post addressed Eugene Volokh’s provocative question about the seeming double standard by which women’s vibrators are considered fairly cool by reasonably enlightened, sex-positive members of society, while devices designed for male masturbation are not.

Here’s an article about one such device, the $895 Motorized Orgasmic Release Machine, which suggests that the tech just isn’t up to snuff:

Well, according to the instructions, you don’t have to be hard to enter the sleeve. That’s bullshit. I found that keeping my soft cock snugly inside the sleeve was nearly impossible, especially with all of that lube. But the next instruction concerned me: “Squeeze the suction ball and slip it back on the coupling at the end of the plastic tubing.” I glanced at my hands. They were covered with Wet.

Maybe I’m totally uncoordinated, but the ball kept slipping out of my hand, and I had to force it onto the tubing, and everything kept sliding, and meanwhile, my hard-on had turned into something like a greased eel and had fallen out of the sleeve and Fuck, what ever happened to good ol’ fashioned grabbing and jerking?

So I worked to regain my hard-on, stuffed it back into the sleeve and grabbed a towel. I wiped the lube off the ball, squeezed it and finally forced it onto the tube. When I released the ball, I was supposed to feel suction around my cock, something like Monica you-know-who giving me a blow job, and the suction was supposed to keep me snug in the sleeve, but I felt only a little bit of suction, certainly nothing like a real, live mouth. Not Monica’s mouth.

Thanks to Erotic Blog for the link.

It’s hard. So very hard. Uh, life, that is.

Bacchus loves him some edible swimwear.

Spammer: “Pay the Rent With Your Ass Girl!”

Bacchus: “But I don’t have an ass girl!”

Moral: Punctuation matters.

Halley says so:

It IS about size — the size of the guy’s heart who happens to own that penis. It’s about the size of everything attached to that penis. The size of his kindness … and big big kindness matters. The size of the time he carves out of his life for you … and all of us find it harder and harder to drop everything and give a nice big full morning, afternoon or evening to the ones we love. The size of his laughter. The size of his eyes. The way they look at you, across a larged-sized room. The size of his courage.

Brutally ripped from context over at the ever-funny Marn’s Big Adventure, these observations on springtime:

“Once the tumult of spring is over and everyone is appropriately sexed up, things will settle down here immeasurably. But right now it’s pretty raucous.”

There’s an odd little flash movie on this page (direct .swf file link here) involving disembodied cartoon breasts that dance around to piano music. Yup. For real. And some of them wind up in a parfait glass, with spoons. And then at the end there’s a whole ball of them that explode, like the Death Star.

What does it mean? Hell if Bacchus knows. It’s Japanese, if that helps.