I’ve been tempted. Yes I have. I can’t deny it. When the government gets into the porn business, and makes a product that looks like surprisingly high-quality femdom and/or gay porn, it’s tough for a sex blogger to avoid comment. But I’ve been holding back.

I’ve written before about the reasons why “sexual atrocities are featured much less often on this blog than they might be.” Matisse makes the point much more succinctly. She has a wise policy: “I don’t eroticise non-consensual violence.” And this blog is, for the most part, supposed to be erotic.

Troll my archives, you might find a few places where I arguably have eroticised sexual atrocities. What can I say? Mistakes were made. I take full responsibility.

Whuh? No, I don’t think so. Of course nobody is going to lose their job over this. Are you nuts? Resign? Why bother, I already took responsibility, didn’t you hear me?

This card looks pretty innocuous on the outside, but it gets better as you read inside:

Over at The Orgy I found this tale of a threesome, no more remarkable than such tales always are, but entertaining nonetheless. It’s quoted here, however, for its illustration of the dynamics of a successful couple pickup. I especially like the two-handed handshake proffer:

Lauren and I sat at the table and talked, sobering up a little before we chanced the roads home.

From the crowd came a girl in a “demented schoolgirl” outfit. Short, with jet black hair that rested on her shoulders, this girl was wearing a black blouse, one button fastened around the mid-point of the shirt, a white bra, and a plaid schoolgirl skirt. White knee socks and Mary Janes rounded off the look. The girl was smoking hot, pale white skin with big, bright blue eyes. Her ears were pierced in a dozen places each, her eyebrow was pierced, her labret was pierced, and her belly button was pierced. She had a smile on her face as she walked over to our table and took a seat.

Lauren and I looked at each other, wondering who she was going to flirt with- she was eyeing Lauren pretty hard, and my bet was on her. Instead, she stuck her hands out, one to each of us, and said “I’m Anna. You two are a beautiful couple.”

We introduced ourselves, and there was some highly-charged conversation. After a few minutes, Anna slid under the table and came up on our side, pushing between the two of us. She rested her head on my shoulder and put her hand on Lauren’s bare knee, rubbing up towards her thigh. Anna whispered into my ear “Would you two like to take me home?”

Stylish.

Bacchus may just be a nom-de-keyboarde for me, but to these people he’s real:

Greek pagans battle government in fight for rites

In the distance, the Acropolis is bathed in the white light of the full moon as the chorus, with arms aloft, chants the name of Zeus into the night. Not an unusual sight in Athens, you might think, only they are not actors, this is not a theatre and there is no tragedy.

These are worshippers of the 12 Olympian gods, a hardy band of Hellenic pagans who have seen their main religious festival – the Olympics – become a bloated commercial extravaganza, their sacred flame sponsored by Coke.

Now they face an uphill battle for religious recognition from the Greek state. But they are having trouble getting anyone to take them seriously.

It is not hard to see why. As the moon reaches its eclipse, fully grown adults with coloured ribbons in their hair, screw their eyes shut to commemorate gods, men and monsters. A mainly middle-aged crowd mill about and incense floats around a plastic Apollo looking down from a blackened teak altar. On his right sits Athena, sporting a fetching, warlike helmet, and underneath, a bare-breasted Aphrodite plays up to her role as the goddess of love.

Thanks to Freedom News for the link.

I suppose it comes as no surprise to anyone that Old Nick is sexually depraved, although I doubt the young upstart could hold a candle to good old Zeus back when He (Zeus) was in one of his heifer-raping moods. And I’m aware that artistic depictions of devils and demons cavorting in obscene fashion became something of a pornographic tradition way back in the day when anything else so graphic could get an artist in a lot of trouble. But it was still something a shock to come across this detail from a scene by Fredillo, circa 1880:

Via Demon Bondage.

You think Tarzan sat around serving Jane tea in his treehouse, all prim and proper and polite? Heck no, I’m betting it went more like this:

Thanks to Bondage Blog for the link to Water Bondage where this photo comes from.

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Mistress Matisse had a party at her house the other day. Sounds like a fun one, too:

After a certain amount of negotiation, I convinced a man crouched on the floor next to my chair to bark like a dog for me. And not just any dog, either a collie, specifically. In return, I kissed him on the cheek. A satisfying exchange of pleasantries.