In which Slave Barb seduces someone who’s not into “that kinky submission stuff” into letting her polish his boots:

“You are not going to the show wearing those boots are you?”
I teased.

“Why not? What’s wrong with them?” he looked down, turning his foot from side to side.
“They’re filthy and they look like hell. You should let me clean them up for you.”

He stared hard at me. “Look, I know you’re in to all that kinky submission stuff, but I am not. And I am not interested.”
“I offered to clean and shine your boots for you, I didn’t offer to be your slave or for you to spank me. Piss off!”

“Hey, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t understand all the stuff you’ve been getting in to. It’s…weird.”

“Weird? Have you ever seen me as happy and well adjusted as I have been in the past year? No? Well then, I guess I’m just weird.”
“Do my boots really look shitty?” Ahhh, appealing to his fashion sense is the way to his heart.

“Yes, you look like a perfectly disheveled crack addict, not the dashing punk you’re trying to look like.” I smirked at him. “Let me get myboot kit and work on them real quick. You like how shiny MY boots look, right?”
He glanced down at my feet. “You can make mine look like yours?”

“Well, yours won’t grow a high heel, but yes, I can make them look shiny and pretty.”
“Ok. But no kinky stuff”

“Oh, shut up and sit down and pour yourself some wine”
I hustled over to the cabinet and got out my boot kit. Crap, why did I push him so hard? I mean,

yeah, I’ve had a crush on him forever — he’s had a crush on me forever too, but… I swung by the kitchen to fill up a little bowl of water to go with the saddle soap.
He was sitting on the couch and was fidgeting with the cork screw.

I hiked up me skirt as I knelt down on the rug at his feet.
“What are you doing?” He asked, dropping the cork screw and backing up as far as the back of the couch would allow.

“I’m pulling up my skirt so it doesn’t get dirty — would you prefer that I take it off?” I asked wickedly, with a grin.
“N-n-no.” he replied.

“Good. Because I wasn’t intending on doing this nude.” He smiled back.
I picked up his boot. Well, I tried to pick it up. “Look, relax — I’m going to black your boots, not cut your foot off.”

“Sorry.” He let me pick up his boot this time.
I pulled his foot towards me and settled it on my thigh as I knelt. “Hmmm….”

“Hmm, What?”

“I was thinking ‘hmmm… what a mess’….”
“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”
I picked up the lighter.

“What’s that for?” He started pulling away.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake! Sit still, drink your Shiraz and be quiet. Obviously you’re not interested in what I’m doing or your boots wouldn’t look like this.”

I looked over his boots and ah-ha! A loose thread. I lit that Zippo and melted it off.
“Oh!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah. Oh.” He grinned down sheepishly.
I checked out his other boot and burned off another 2 threads.

Back to the first boot… I opened my tin of saddle soap. “Want to smell?, I asked as I lifted the tin to his face.
“Mmmm, nice. Much nicer that I thought it would be.”

I picked up my little brush, dipped it in that little bowl of water and lathered up the saddle soap.
I spread it over his right boot, working it into all the crevices around the sole, the harness and up the shaft. I put down the brush and started rubbing the lather in with my moist hands. I looked up surreptitiously thru my bangs to see the expression on his face. Bingo! A lovely cross between ecstasy and bewilderment. What have we here? I laughed to myself — a Boot Top in the making?

There’s a lot more, complete with flaming boot polish.

This could only come from Spanking Blog: a vintage sex picture featuring two naked people and a whip, where everybody’s having fun:

I’m not sure it’s possible to be pimpin’ on a motor scooter. But if it’s possible, this guy’s on the trail of how to do it:

Looks like he’s enjoying the ride, too.

In Japan, natch.

I’m not sure how any sourced stories could possibly be less reliable. These fishy sex stories come from a comedian, as reported in a notoriously unreliable tabloid. There’s a lot of room for skepticism here.

Still, a good traveler’s tale about sex with wild beasts is not to be passed up:

“Almost everybody in the fishing business has had sex with a manta at some point,” Makeburu asserts.

What!!! A manta??? You mean one of those enormous, intimidating winged things with a stinger on their tail that looks like an aquatic Batman?

Yep. After all, fisherman out on ships spend a loooonggg time at sea without ever encountering a woman, and, well, let’s face it, they can get pretty horny. No, dammit, let’s make that incredibly horny. Even desperate enough to do it with a manta. Right?

“Nah,” shrugs Makeburu. “Coastal fishermen poke them too.”

Apparently it’s a ritual of manhood, done out of recognition of the dangers of life on the sea.

Before mounting one of these intimidating creatures, points out J.K. special, it is “absolutely essential” that its stinger be removed. Yes, that certainly would make sense.

And of course, there’s the matter of protocol. To wit, the ship’s captain, if he so chooses, is entitled to go first.

Is your mind suitably boggled? No? Ready for some more?

“A manta’s … thing is kind of similar to a human’s,” Makeburu says.

Okay, well … not exactly. More than a reproductive organ, it’s basically an organ of elimination. So engaging in sex with a manta is basically an act of deep-sea sodomy.

“It’s shallow and there’s resistance at the other end, so the feeling isn’t that good,” is how he describes it.

At least the manta survives the violation. “With most fish, we just whack ’em, but we release the manta’s we screw back into the ocean,” Makeburu relates.

A curious Matsuzawa wonders … if the captain had an STD, wouldn’t the other crew members who had sex with the manta contract it too?

“That’s right,” grins Makeburu. “So some guys slip on condoms before they do it. Once I came down with the clap. But we were in port around that time and I did it with a woman, so I don’t have any way of knowing if I picked it up from her, or from the manta.”

Is it common, then, for marine students to lose their virginity to a manta?

“Well, no, actually it’s more common for them to lose it to a moray eel,” he confides.

What??!! Isn’t that, like, dangerous, as in crazy?

“You can stick it in until it bites,” he says. “But if you pull it away too fast the skin on your cock will tear.”

Apparently once out of the water a moray becomes less aggressive. So you can force its mouth open with your hands, and then stick in your cock…

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Eel Sex And Octopus Underwear
• Yet Another Sort Of Tentacle Sex
• I'd Rather Go Naked Than Wear Fish Eggs

File this one under “if the press release is pretty enough, we’ll print it!” The Daily Mail did, and now, so did me.

Actress Maggie Gyllenhaal wearing pretty lingerie. Yesss.

She’s the new celeb underwear model for Agent Provocateur — a brand I never heard of until today. Of course, she’d be pretty in a moldy gunny sack. But silky sheer and lace doesn’t hurt.

They’ve even got a picture of her wearing handcuffs.

Thanks to Violet Blue for the link.

Here’s the comic book version of putting a slave collar on a pretty girl:

“Hey, mister, watch it with the spikes!”

Via Bondage Blog.

Update:Karl Elvis commented “I wanna see the brute who’d put that kinda slave collar on a girl.”

Easily done! The picture is, apparently, a detail from the cover of Marvel Mystery Comics #8, from waaay back in June of 1940, according to the Alien Slavegirl site where Bondage Blog found it. And the four-armed enslaving alien brute in question looks like this:

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I’ve gotten in minor trouble in the past for not participating in various efforts to “reclaim” derogatory words traditionally applied to various classes of women, words like “slut” and “cunt” and “whore” and the like. In particular, I’ve condemned low-imagination pornographers for calling porn models “sluts” far too often. I’m really condemning their business sense as much as anything; although some men surely fantasize about hooking up with a slut, it’s hardly universal.

So in a post like A Spammer’s View Of Porn Stars, my jeering at “old-school bitch-slut-whore porn marketing” triggered this comment:

You know, generally speaking, I’m all in favor of reclaiming these sorts of words. I call myself a slut happily, and while I’ve never had physical sex for money, the people I know who have done so call themselves whores (or retired whores) with no problem.

To which I responded:

Reclaiming is a whole ‘nuther issue, and frankly I don’t think it’s something that a second-person labeler can participate in. A woman with the qualifications can call herself a bitch or a slut or a whore and not mean anything bad by it, but I don’t think some random guy selling pictures of her has a prayer of pulling that off.

Which remains my position. There’s nothing wrong with being a slut, but I can’t get away with applying the word to any particular woman unless she does so first, because a man saying that word is tarred by association with a million other men who’ve tossed it around lightly as a synonym for “woman”. And standing behind that million men are another million women who’ve tossed it around just as lightly as a synonym for “woman who fucks too readily, and thus may pose a competitive danger to me”.

Of course, that doesn’t prevent me from quoting women like Kaya who cheerfully adopt the label:

I know that slut is supposed to be an insult. I hear my daughters refer to other classmates in that way. With wrinkled noses and disdain dripping from their voices. “Oh she is SUCH a slut. Look at her. Oh. My. Gawd.”

I asked Jes one time what criteria would get a girl labeled as a slut. I’m not sure if I have the formula down correctly but it was something along the lines of if you’ve slept with more than 3 people, you’re a bonafide slut. I guess I can see that, when applied to a 15 or 16 year old. I did not tell her that her mother was a certified slut though. Some things a child just doesn’t need to know about her mom’s activities. ;-)

…

I know without a doubt, without a millisecond of hesitation, that I AM a natural slut. Jezebel, a hussy, a tart, a tramp. I dressed the part, I acted the part, I performed the part.

I never associated the emotions with sex that other people do. It was always just sex. Not a commitment, no deeper hidden meaning. I wasn’t waiting for a proposal or a second date and it didn’t bother me in the least to have feelings for one person, and sleep with another. The two were entirely separate.

…

I like sex. The raunchier the better. I like to cock my ass up and wiggle it in the air. I like to spread my pussy lips wide and taunt whoever is looking. I like the wetness, the sloppiness, the grunts and slaps and other rude, raucous noises that emanate from between our two joined bodies. And I like it best when some pink part of mine is screaming in pain, pain that fiercely combats with the pleasure, until the two sensations meet and mix and become a tangled mass of exploding nerves that leave me abandoned in a puddled lump of used slut.

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