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December 18th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

The Polished Shaft: A Sermon

No, really, it’s the title of this man’s actual sermon:

Dan Savage found the story in Chicago Magazine:

In July 2010, an hour into the “Polished Shaft” sermon–in a church packed with thousands of teenagers there for a youth conference–Schaap went further. He lifted a stick in his left hand and a silver cloth in his right. He moved the bottom of the stick near his groin and angled it away from himself. Head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth gaping, he began rubbing the shaft rapidly with the cloth, up and down, up and down…. What he was doing was unmistakable: simulating masturbation, in front of thousands of children, in the middle of a church service. A row of white-coated high-ranking churchmen seated behind Schaap watched in silence.

If you’re thinking that demonstrates a dangerous level of hypersexualization in a Baptist pastor, you’d be right:

Last September, Schaap, 54, a married father of two, pleaded guilty to taking a 16-year-old girl he was counseling at First Baptist across state lines to have sex. Denied bond, he awaits sentencing in the Porter County Jail; the minimum term is ten years.

Folks, we see the pattern over and over. Folks who preach hard and heavily against sex (of whatever kind, it doesn’t matter) are almost always talking to themselves first and foremost. So whenever you hear a sermon (religious or secular, again it doesn’t matter) against sex of any kind, you might, as Dan Savage says, “wanna keep your kids the hell away.”

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December 17th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

Her Reason For Having A Threesome

I was both touched and fascinated by Kristine Shaw’s explanation of her reason for seeking out a threesome, as detailed in Salon:

A single woman with a trusting, wide-open heart spells disaster in our casual hookup culture.

My problem was this: I fell in love with all of them.

I fell in love with the ones who declared that they wanted to screw me senseless. I fell in love with the ones who declared that they loved someone else. I fell in love with the ones who lived thousands of miles away and fed me tequila shots in dank basement bars in strange European cities. I even fell in love with those I chose specifically because they were not appropriate to fall in love with.

Subconsciously holding onto my childhood ideals of loving purely and being loved in return, I emotionally latched onto every man who shared my bed, however fleetingly. I could not help myself. I could not stop myself. My vagina suffered from Stockholm syndrome.

Inevitably, I would run into these former lovers on the subway, at parties, in record shops, in grocery stores, and my thumping, traitor heart would leap into my throat. If I could manage to hide in throngs of people or cross the street in order to avoid them, I would. But hiding or running away would do little to quell aftershocks of perspiration and nausea, the inconvenient corporeal byproducts of seeing somebody you once loved who didn’t love you back.

There had to be another way. There had to be some way for a perpetually, achingly single woman to derive sexual pleasure and skin-on-skin contact and affection without consistently breaking her own heart.

I decided that I had to try something new, because what I was doing — what I have always done — was not exactly working out.

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December 16th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

The World’s Her Bidet

 
December 15th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

Triplets In Bondage

So the folks at Men On Edge went all the way to Berlin to shoot (and toy with) three hunky triplets. Meet Jason, Jimmy, and Joey Visconti, all tied up in an abandoned German warehouse:

Visconti brothers in bondage

Tied up is good. Tied up and blindfolded is better, right?

Visconti triplets tied up and blindfolded

The obvious next step for your garden-variety recreational sexual sadist is to deprive these fine young gentlemen of their trousers, and then maybe rope their ankles to keep their feet spread a bit. Thusly:

tied up Visconti triplets have lost their pants

Er… did I mention this was a boys-only party? No? Well, it is. “No girls allowed in our warehouse! Because, you know, reasons. Cooties and stuff.”

masturbating the Visconti brothers through their underwear with powerful cordless vibrators

“Hey, did we bring the cordless vibrators? We did? Awesome, break those bad boys out, turn ’em on, and maybe we’ll start to get an idea what we won.”

Events take a predictable course from there. Underwear is cut off with scissors, many dicks are sucked. (That last link takes you to a free pic from a the shoot. Most of the images in this post come from the Men On Edge member’s area.)

Fans of excellent facial expressions in porn will enjoy the “OMG what is he doing down there?” looks of concerned concentration the Visconti brothers are sporting in this next picture:

concerned faces: what\'s he doing down there?

Eventually the triplets are separated and tied to different pillars around the warehouse, for some individualized attention:

gay male bondage spanking

Look at that last picture again. I don’t care how straight you are or how vanilla you are or what gender you are. If you were there, you’d spank that too. You totally would. And anyway, he’s enjoying it

Meanwhile, some old chairs are pressed into use and the individualized attention continues:

naked man tied helplessly on a chair with two guys preparing to suck his dick

Finally, at last, there’s simply no more fun to be wrung from the exhausted, wrung-out Visconti brothers. So they’re left to rest, and to contemplate what just happened.

Visconti triplets tied naked in chairs and left in an abandoned Berlin warehouse

And to wonder: “Is anybody going to untie us?”

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December 14th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

The Rise Of The Sex Bots

Somebody is really looking forward to the rise of the sex robots:

Sexbots will electrocute our flesh with climaxes thrice as gigantic because they’ll be more desirable, patient, eager, and altruistic than their meat-bag competition, plus they’ll be uploaded with supreme sex-skills from millennia of erotic manuals, archives and academic experiments, and their anatomy will feature sexplosive devices. Sexbots will heighten our ecstasy until we have shrieking, frothy, bug-eyed, amnesia-inducing orgasms. They’ll offer us quadruple-tongued cunnilingus, open-throat silky fellatio, deliriously gentle kissing, transcendent nipple tweaking, g-spot massage & prostate milking dexterity, plus 2,000 varieties of coital rhythm with scented lubes – this will all be ours when the Sexbots arrive.

Ahh, grasshopper, but will they also be self-cleaning? That is the question!

Mind you, I’m being a bit snarky there. The objection is not entirely serious. As I wrote most of ten years ago:

Men have mastered cleaning tasks of a far more intricate nature, and will even voluntarily indulge when the object of their cleaning affections is, say, a much-beloved rifle. Nor is it implausible that a truly decent technology for assisted orgasm would command every bit as much gadgeteering enthusiasm as gun guys lavish on the contents of their gun safes.

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December 13th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

A Rough Lesbian Fingering

These ladies are playing hard, I’d say:

lesbian semi-fisting with BDSM

Panels are from Lesbación by Juan José.

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December 12th, 2012 -- by Bacchus

The Well-Enforced Squat

So you’ve probably all seen (online, anyway) the bondage device The Humbler that locks a man’s balls back behind his legs when he’s in a bent-over position, and thus tends to keep him bent over until released, while exposing his stretched scrotum for particular attention.

However it wasn’t until I saw this photo on Tumblr that I realized that it could also be used to enforce a squatting position, by locking his balls in front of his ankles.

I suspect that position is not terribly stable, and he can probably re-arrange himself a number of ways. But when the slightest motion is going to tug roughly on the already-strained family jewels, the incentive is probably to stay as docilely still as possible…

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