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The Sex Blog Of Record
November 23rd, 2016 -- by Bacchus
Susan went to the hospital to ask her aunt a sex question. But when she got there, she found that her aunt was busy:
Just beyond an empty bed by the door, her aunt sat talking in low tones to a patient whose bed was screened off from the rest of the ward by curtains hanging from a curved rail projecting from the wall.
She was perched on the foot of the bed, her dark hair neatly coifed under the spreading Sister’s cap, her full, high breasts thrusting out the starched white apron she wore over her blue tunic, the light from the wall lamp gleaming dully on the black nylon sheathing her crossed legs.
Beside her there was a chromed trolley on rubber-tired wheels laden with basins and glass funnels and coils of plastic tubing. But Marian Templar was evidently not concerned with the tools of her trade just now; her steady gray eyes were fixed earnestly on the pleading face of the man who lay in the bed with both his heavily bandaged arms lying immobilized in splints.
” … and you know perfectly well that I can’t do any such thing!” she was murmuring as Susan opened the doors. Her tone was quietly reproving, but there was a hint of jest somewhere at the back of her voice and her eyes were twinkling.
Something told the watching teenager that she mustn’t on any account reveal her presence. Some obscure air of tension surrounding the two people on the bed, some indefinable atmosphere of mutual complicity, warned her that she was eavesdropping on a scene that was both private and secret as clearly as if there had been a “Keep Out!” notice posted there. Silently, she eased the swing door shut … and then at the last moment she stayed it so that there was still the merest crack through which she could see the bed.
“Aw, come on, Sister!” the man on the bed begged. He was a big guy of about forty with a lined face and laughing eyes. “Be a sport! Do it for me just this once!”
“I can’t. You know I can’t, Sergeant. Surely you must-”
“Just this once!” the patient interrupted pleadingly. “Hell–it’s not as though I could do anything about it myself, is it?” He raised his stiff bandaged hands together and allowed them to drop back uselessly on the covers.
“You’re not to talk like that!” Marian Templar admonished. But she was smiling.
“Buy you a nice dinner at the American Club as soon as I’m discharged!” the Sergeant coaxed.
“What kind of a girl d’you think I am!” Susan’s aunt was trying hard to sound shocked.
“That’s just what I want to find out sweetie!” the man in the bed exclaimed triumphantly. Licking his lips, he stared up at her from under his eyebrows.
Marian Templar shook her head in mock helplessness and shrugged. “You’re impossible!” she sighed.
“Then you will?”
“Just this once.” She rose abruptly to her feet and turned towards the door.
Oh God! Susan thought wildly. Whatever it is she’s going to do, she’s coming out here to do it! She’ll find me here and she’ll think I’m spying! She’ll never forgive me! Unable to move, she remained frozen to the spot, her eye staring compulsively through the narrow crack in the door.
But the voluptuous woman in her crisply starched uniform only went as far as the trolley. Picking up a surgical glove, she thrust the fingers of her right hand hard down into it. Susan could hear the dry squeak of the rubber as she eased it over her skin. She could hear something else too; the man on the bed was suddenly breathing fast and heavily. A glazed look had come over his eyes.
Marian Templar turned back to the bed. Reaching forward, she pulled the covers down between the patient’s arms and then folded them aside.
Susan almost gasped aloud. Spearing up through the fly of his pajama pants, the man’s massively erect penis throbbed in all its rigidness above the striped material covering his belly!
Above the iron-hard, veined stiffness of the shaft, the circumcised glans, smooth as the head of a giant mushroom, quivered imperceptibly in the diffuse light.
“My!” Aunt Marian said chidingly. “We are in a state, aren’t we!”
The breathing of the man in the bed had become more ragged still. “Go on!” he whispered hoarsely. “Do it to me! Do it to me now! Please!”
Lowering herself gently to the side of the bed, she reached across with her rubber gloved hand and grasped the pulsating shaft of his cock, moving the tip of the thumb caressingly over the plum-colored head to smear the seminal fluid seeping wetly from the slit at the top.
The Sergeant jerked convulsively at her touch and arched his loins slightly off the bed. “Ooooooooah!” he groaned “That’s so gooooooooood! Go on! Go on! Oh, you darling! Aaaaaaaah!”
Slowly she increased the movement of her thumb, spreading the viscous fluid over the acorned head, past the taut ridge of flesh separating it from the shaft, and then down the throbbing stiffness of the shaft itself.
He grunted, biting his lip and staring up into the light directly over his head. “Harder!” he gasped. “Hold me harder! Ohhhhhhhh!”
When the entire rigid length of his penis was gleaming greasily, Marian altered the position of her hand so that the head was nuzzling into her palm and her fingers and thumb were wrapped around the shaft like a close fitting sheath. Gently at first and then with increasing speed and force she began to milk his eagerly throbbing cock, pulling his loose skin up over the quivering head and then dragging it hard down until the whole pulsating penis was as stretched and tight as an over-fed balloon, the glistening skin almost transparent under the pressure of her hand.
Over a whisper of music from the earphones at the far end of the big room, Susan heard the harsh panting of the Sergeant’s breath and the lewd sucking squelch of her aunt’s rubber covered hand sliding rhythmically up and down the lustfully expanding staff of his penis. Behind her, the rain drummed incessantly against the windows of the empty office.
“There!” Marian whispered huskily to the wildly excited man. “That makes us feel better, doesn’t it? That’s what we needed, isn’t it? … It feels so gooood … to have Sister’s hand … giving us just a little bit of massage … in the right place …!”
“Christ!” the Sergeant whispered tremulously. “Oh, Christ!”
From an old stroke book by Omar Victorine. The title is Violated (Rampant Action Series 1405).
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November 22nd, 2016 -- by Bacchus
There’s a very real sense in which it’s not proper vintage porn unless everybody (but especially the male talent) has socks on. But did you notice the stylin’ garters our man is wearing to keep his pulled up tight and smooth?
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November 21st, 2016 -- by Bacchus
I’m just not into knife play. Searching tells me there are only a few references to it in all the years (fourteen now!) of ErosBlog archives, and one of those few is cautionary.
Not only don’t I like knife play because the frisson of blood and potential death the knife symbolizes and eroticizes for many people just leaves me cold, I also do not like it because there’s a sort of side-pool of knife enthusiasts for whom the knife is a symbol of their enthusiastic disregard of consent. These are the people who, at least in my imagination, can utter the phrase “cut a bitch” without irony, and whose Tumblrs seem to get deleted every few weeks for seriously over-the-top violent expressions of misogyny. I don’t want to encourage those people, nor to be mistaken for one of them.
Nope, I’m just not that into knife play.
However…
It turns out that there’s a tiny chink in my erotic armor where blades are concerned. The chink (microfetish?) involves using knives as sexual tools. Probably the most well-known example I can think of are those two scenes with the Captain’s dagger hilt, from Beauty’s Punishment by Anne Rice:
He held something dazzling and beautiful in the light before her, and she blinked to see it. It was the handle of his dagger, thick, encrusted with gold and emeralds and rubies.
It disappeared and quite suddenly she felt the cold metal against her wet vagina. “Ooooooh, yes…” she moaned and felt the handle slide in, a thousand times harder and crueler than the largest organ, it seemed, as it lifted her, crushing against her smoldering clitoris.
She almost screamed with desire, her head falling back, her eyes blind except for the Captain’s eyes looking down at her. Her hips undulated wildly against his lap, the dagger handle going back and forth, back and forth, until she could not endure it and the ecstasy came again paralyzing her and silencing her open mouth, the vision of the Captain vanishing in a moment of total deliverance.
And:
But something touched her pulsing clitoris, scraped it through the thick film of wetness. It plunged through her starved pubic lips. It was the rough, jeweled handle of the dagger again … surely it was … and it impaled her.
She came in a riot of soft muffled cries, pumping her hips up and up, all sight and sound and scent of the Inn dissolved in her frenzy. The dagger handle held her, the hilt pounding her pubis, not letting the orgasm stop, forcing cry after cry out of her.
Even as she was laid down on her back on the table, it tormented her, making her squirm and twist her hips. In a blur she saw the Captain’s face above her. And she writhed like a cat as the dagger handle rocked her up and down, her hips spanking the table.
A pedant might argue “That’s not really using the blade as a sexual tool; the dagger hilt’s just a fancy dildo with a knife on the other end.” Yeah, dude, whatever, you get back to me with that argument after it’s been up your hole. But sure, I get what you’re saying.
You want a better example? I have a better example. This is from the “Heavy Metal” shoot (November 4, 2016) at Infernal Restraints, starring Raquel Roper:
At least in my imagination, there’s nothing menacing about this knife. He’s not threatening to stab her, she’s not at risk of losing any body parts, there will not be blood tonight. However, he is about to use the knife to cut off her panties, which he has judged to be in excess of her immediate clothing needs. It’s a completely utilitarian act. Fuckin’ panties got to go. But she’s wiggling, the knife is sharp, tender bits are tender, we don’t want any accidents, we have big plans for those tender bits. All observers agree: the lady wants to be holding still for a moment. And so she feels right now the tiniest prick at her tender skin with the tip of the knife, a little touch that she can’t ignore, one that says “hold your horses, girl, calm down, you want to stop moving at this time, a sharp knife is on the field and in motion.” It’s a twofer; it’s knife-as-panty-remover and knife-as-safety-signal.
Other people may see it differently. But that’s how this picture grabbed me.
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November 20th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
Aw, he’s hiding from the camera:
From BJ’s.
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November 19th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
Not that we don’t have our own problems looming here in the United States when it comes to worrying about official hostility to online pornography, but this blog post by Pandora Blake explains in the bleakest imaginable terms how all but the most uncontroversial and bland corporate porn is in the process of being legislated off the internet in the United Kingdom. Pandora recently fought a protracted and successful legal battle for the right to sell her progressive and ethical spanking porn online in the UK, but her site was offline during that battle and so her victory was necessarily something of a Pyrrhic one. And now her site is once again under threat (along with pretty much every other porn site in the UK from the sound of things) from a proposed new law that imposes economically-ridiculous age verification requirements on porn websites while simultaneously just flatly banning from the internet a great deal of kinkier porn:
The Digital Economy Bill is currently going through Parliament, and has just come to the end of its committee stage. The section of the Bill introducing compulsory age verification for all adult sites accessible from the UK will have a serious impact on Dreams of Spanking, and on many other adult websites.
Complying with this legislation will be difficult, if not impossible. First of all, I’ll have to overhaul the whole site structure of Dreams of Spanking. Any content that would be classified as “18” or higher will be illegal to publish publicly, on the open internet. So video, images and audio that contain any nudity, bums or spanking will need to go behind intrusive, privacy-violating age checks.
To prove you’re over 18, you’ll have to type in sensitive personal details such as your legal name, credit card details, date of birth, address or phone number. That data will be visible not to me, but to whatever age verification system I install – private companies that are free to operate unregulated, and without having to safeguard the security and privacy of your personal data.
Not only is this terrible for you, it’s terrible for me. Every age check will cost me money – estimates range from £0.05 to £1.50 per check. Dreams of Spanking currently receives over two thousand visitors a day (under half the traffic we had before ATVOD forced us offline), so the cost of checking the age of every site visitor would add up to significantly more than the site’s total revenue – and that’s before we take into account existing costs such as production, paying my team members, and bandwidth. In other words, complying with the age verification law will immediately put the site out of business.
Even if I can somehow persuade enough of those two thousand visitors to buy memberships that I can afford to verify all their ages, the site will never be the same. This law will mean no more public previews. No free trailers, no preview images, no free hosted galleries, no birthday spanking giveaways, no Creative Commons projects and no charity caning films. No more getting around CCBill’s content restrictions by giving material away.
No more transparency, and no more free porn.
As bad as that sounds, we haven’t even gotten to the worst part. The new UK law proposes to outright prohibit whole swathes of BDSM and fetish porn:
Even if I somehow manage to fully comply with the legislation: hide everything spanking-themed on the site behind age checks; find the money to check the ID of every non-paying visitor who wants to browse my free previews; survive the loss of traffic and Googleability – even if I can stomach the disappearing of this blog, the behind the scenes videos, the performer interviews, and the discourse about ethics and consent – the site still can’t survive, because every scene that was criminalised by the AVMS regulations will be recriminalised by the Digital Economy Bill.
ATVOD found us in breach because they ruled that some of our videos depict corporal punishment that leaves ‘lasting’ marks. We won our appeal on the basis that the principle purpose of the site is not commercial, and it is not in competition with mainstream broadcast media. That victory won us an exemption to the AVMS Regulations 2014. But the AVMS didn’t invent the rules around what content is banned; it drew them from existing classification guidelines used by the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) for films and TV.
The guidelines prohibit any depiction of pain play that leaves marks on the body beyond those deemed “transient and trifling” from classification even as R18, the highest classification category in the UK. Basically, under the current rules you can’t show any act which would constitute assault or actual bodily harm, or any act which would risk injury to the viewer if it were imitated. So no caning, no belting, no welts, no bruises – and that’s before we get into the bans on things like facesitting, breath play, fisting, squirting, watersports and “full” bondage, defined as the restraint of all four limbs plus a gag.
The AVMS regulations were the first instrument of UK law to apply those classification guidelines to material published on the internet. We’ve enjoyed a heady few months of official exemption from them: but now the Digital Economy Bill uses those same guidelines to control what can and can’t be published online. If the Bill is passed it will be illegal to publish any ‘prohibited content’ even behind age checks. Let that sink in: even age-verified, consenting adults who have handed over their real names and addresses to prove their age won’t be allowed to look at spanking videos that show marks.
Pandora is an award-winning community-supported activist as well as a pornographer, and she isn’t giving up. No law is a sure thing before it’s final; things might go differently and better in the UK than Pandora and her lawyers currently expect. We may certainly hope so, but my point, in any case, is a larger one: the relative freedom pornographers have enjoyed to publish internet porn in the 21st century is more fragile than you probably imagined. When British porn goes dark and Great Britain vanishes from the kinky internet, we in the rest of the world may barely notice; it’s not like we don’t have our own fetish porn resources. The lesson, though, is clear. Laws and policies change, not always for the better. If we value the work of independent pornographers here in the United States (as I, for one, do), we’ve got to have their backs.
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November 18th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
It’s a wonderland all right, but not the one she was expecting. The sign said “suck me” but before she knew it…
Artist is Tram Pararam.
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November 17th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
Gently but thoroughly, that butt is getting washed both inside and out:
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