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The Sex Blog Of Record
Wednesday, July 17th, 2024 -- by Bacchus
Whilst rummaging through one of my older backup folders, I happened upon an original sex story that was posted by its author to alt.sex.stories.moderated back in March of 2000. Because I saved it (for some long-forgotten reason that no doubt boils down to “I’m a data hoarder”) in its original Usenet email-like format with all headers, I’ll link to a copy of that .txt file for archival benefit, and for the edification of readers who were not around back then and may never have seen such a thing.
The story is titled “The Barn” and it’s by Paulinus Fang (aka “The Dirty Dentist”). A quick search of Google, Bing, Duck Duck Go, and Yandex turns up no trace of this story left anywhere on the searchable/living web, but the original ASSM posting contains a .sig/tagline with a link to Mr. Fang’s story page on Lycos. (Amazingly, the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine has a pretty good 2001 copy of his page, which is why I was able to drop that link.)
I’ll also post the story below, with fair warning that it’s a heavy BDSM/kidnap story that presents as noncon (which is to say, it reads as if it were depicting kidnapping and rape). Its original tagging includes a “NC? anal” tag, and that question mark is significant. As was common in those times, a plot twist late in the story implies, but does not 100% establish, the consent that initially seems absent from the text. In this, the story is truly an authentic artifact of its time and place. If you don’t want to read a story like that, now is your time to stop. (The full set of tags included in the original posting looks very incomplete to modern eyes; it was in its entirety “nc? anal, bdsm”.)
The Barn
The candles flickered as the air currents moved, stirred by the swing of the girl suspended by her wrists from the hook long ago driven into the beams of the old barn.
She waited, limply, no longer willing to try to break the bonds linking her to the ancient structure.
Few thoughts passed through her brain, her mind long since blank through deprivation of her senses. The blindfold smelt of him, the one who had dragged her to the barn, bound her and hung her like curing ham. She remembered it being placed around her face, the red pattern blurring as it passed closer to her, then only the dull light passing through the cloth.
She heard footsteps in the edge of her senses: was he back? What would happen? A sound, something hitting the floor, yet what? She did not know, would never know.
Hands touched her face, tracing slowly down her cheek below the blindfold, a finger nail scraping slowly down her neck. She shivered, shrank back, yet could not because of her bindings.
The hands were gone, silence, then they returned to her neck, touching her dress, two hands in the neck of the simple cotton dress. The fingers tightened then moved apart, stripping the dress from her back, tearing textiles asunder. The shriek of the cloth, destroyed, was the only noise.
The cooler air caressed her back, chilling the beads of sweat breaking her skin. The wait, the dread, the thoughts of what could happen, what price he would extract from her, were almost unbearable.
She felt the warmth of his breath on her ear before he spoke, softly to her. “You shouldn’t be here, you know that, don’t you?” he hissed. She swallowed, unable to speak through her dry mouth, but nodded her head.
“Nobody knows that you’re here,” he paused, the breath returned to her other ear, “you’re just a missing person. I can do as I please.” She felt him move away from her. Her ears strained for sounds indicating his intentions, but she heard nothing, only silence.
She arched her back, wracked with pain. Her brain screamed with shock yet was unable to register the site of the pain. After a few seconds the burn shot across her shoulders, followed instantly by sweat on her top lip. A second bolt of pain across her buttocks caused her to jerk again, then relax. She swung slowly, revolving on her rope with the tips of her toes touching the dusty floor. Then silence.
Braced for the next blow, she waited; the seconds passed slowly, becoming minutes, still waiting. Would she be released? Would she be free again? When would he strike her again? What had he used on her?
Still hanging by her wrists with the ache in her arms returning after becoming overridden by the two blows, she felt his presence. She thought how strange it was that she should become so tuned in to her environment even when deprived of the use of her eyes.
His hands were on her hips, turning her on the end of the rope, holding her firmly. Was this when he would finally cut her down? No! She felt his warm, naked body press against her from the rear, his fingers searching between her buttocks, touching the delicate flesh, the paper thin skin in her cleft, the thicker feel of his penis, the blunt end pushing, probing, searching. She clenched her buttocks, determined to stop his entry but could feel his fist, wrapped around his penis, holding it in position against her anus, his knuckles pushed into her firm buttocks. He pushed, slowly, steadily against her anus. Unable to resist the force her anus stretched until, with a sudden pop, he was inside her, his groan drowned out by her cry.
The sharp stinging of her anus increased as he entered her, turned to a burning, then eased as he slid in, his penis disappearing as he pushed. She felt full, full enough to burst, slightly uncomfortable with the fullness yet he unexpectedly did not start to thrust, he just waited with his penis buried deep in her rectum. The tears soaked into the blindfold.
After a few minutes he started to move slowly, backwards and forwards, sawing into her, deeply, his breathing rate increasing audibly behind her. She was powerless to offer any resistance, with her hands tied above her head and her feet hardly touching the ground. He stopped; she felt him adjust his position, then holding her firmly he started to move her forwards and backwards, pulling her further onto his penis, then pushing her away: it was as if he were masturbating with her anus. The sensation of fullness changed with her swinging motion on the rope. The rate increased until her held her firmly against him, his penis jerking in her bowels and he shot deeply into her. He pushed her forward, and his penis withdrew from her anus, the semen leaking out.
The girl was left hanging for a few moments, then without warning she collapsed to the floor, tasting dust in her mouth from the barn. She could feel the severed rope around her wrists being untied, as the pressure was released she felt the blood rush into her hands, the tingling pins and needles adding to her day of discomfort. As feeling returned, she reached up and slid the blindfold up her forehead. The light bursting into her eyes caused her to close them. Slowly she squinted though eyes half closed, adjusting to the light, trying to focus on her captor who stood over by a table, packing a riding crop and rope into a bag. He turned, saw her looking at him and spoke again in his soft voice. “Is it next weekend that we are going to visit your parents?”
And there you have it: an authentic sample of BDSM porn the way it was, back at the dawn of the new century!
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Saturday, April 20th, 2024 -- by Bacchus
There’s a somewhat rough titty-fuck scene in Keeping Faith by Louise Taylor, which Faith turns out to rather enjoy:
She slept in the duke’s bed, which surprised her. She had assumed that she would return to the beautiful green bedroom and sleep alone. Instead the duke threaded a length of rope through the loops on her wrist cuffs and tied her to the headboard of the bed in the blue room. Once again, he wrapped himself around her as they slept and she woke refreshed and happy in the duke’s strong embrace.
She could feel the duke’s member already pressing against her thigh as she woke and half expected, in her drowsy state, that he would take her in that way, as if they were two spoons in a cutlery drawer. Instead she learned that her body could be used to sate the duke’s desires in a wholly new way. With her on her back, her arms pulled above her head, her breasts provided the duke with amusement. He’d brought clamps in his bag, and watching her squirm and wince as they bit into her nipples pleased him. He kneaded her breasts, holding them in his strong hands and pushing them together to form a valley for his member to push into. He’d needed some lubrication, which he found by straddling her chest and plunging his length into her open mouth. Once suitably slickened, he returned his attention to her breasts and began to thrust between them. His grip on them tightened as his excitement grew and he splattered his seed onto the red marks, already darkening into bruises that his hands had left on her.
Despite the fact that the duke had not allowed her the privilege of her own release, Faith felt a rush of happiness as she watched the duke flop sideways onto the bed, panting heavily. She had been the cause of this man’s reduction from towering mountain of masculinity to boneless puddle of pleasure. It was oddly gratifying to see the effect that she had on him.
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Thursday, November 2nd, 2023 -- by Bacchus
I’m not sure if our man is simply being well-behaved, or if his hands are bound behind his back to keep them out of her workspace. But either way, she has decided to take a triumphant photographic selfie-trophy of her excellent blowjob work:
Artist is Bow.
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Wednesday, May 3rd, 2023 -- by Bacchus
“And now let me show you the gag we like to call ‘The Safeword Generator’…”
When the word “ovipositor” comes up in your discussion of sex toys, you know you’re getting into the good stuff! (See also “alarmingly fleshy in the mouth”.)
From Franklin Veaux on Twitter.
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Tuesday, April 4th, 2023 -- by Bacchus
You know your smutty kinky book is getting to the good part when the heroine starts asking outraged rhetorical questions:
Max watched the little submissive’s eyes widen as she tugged ineffectually on her wrists. After a second, she asked in adorable outrage, “What kind of people have Velcro straps attached to their lounge chairs?”
“Doms, baby. Doms.”
Before anybody grows unduly outraged on behalf of our adorable heroine, she agreed to a safeword before the surprise Velcro moment, and she was not in fact laboring under any sort of misunderstanding about the kind of men whose lounge chair she’d sat down upon. Quote is from the BDSM romance novel “Mischief and the Masters” by Cherise Sinclair.
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Tuesday, February 7th, 2023 -- by Bacchus
It’s that time of year! The Love Hurts sale from Kink.com is back for 2023 with special Valentines discounts as low as $5.99 a month.
Although the sale price is great, I’m honestly even more excited to see signs that after a bit of pandemic slump, Kink.com is once again releasing some really fine shoots that are visually quite spectacular. Fans in the shoot comments are buzzing about fancy new cameras shooting at 60 frames per second, although I can’t find any official comment on that. I did find this promising tidbit:
We will be re-launching our kink blog soon to help with communicating new channels, shoots, series and some exciting new products. 2023 Kink is getting Kinkier.
All in all, it sounds like a good time to get a Kink Prime membership and take advantage of the Valentine’s Day sale pricing!
One of the new shoots I quite like features Tommy King and Tommy Pistol as husband and wife in Compromised: Interrogating His Spy Wife. It works for me as a sexy kinky-romance roleplay:
Professional spies Tommy King and Tommy Pistol are sleeper agents in deep cover as a married couple. When Tommy Pistol suspects King has been compromised, he has no choice but to conduct the kinkiest and most rigorous spousal interrogation. First he tries face fucking and a good spanking, but she won’t crack. So he ties her up extra-tight and goes to town on her pussy with his tongue, fingers, cock, and even his gloved fist. When that doesn’t work, he moves on to some rigorous anal penetration. He never does get anything out of her except orgasms, but it’s a hell of a way to spend date night at the safe house!
For this he probably didn’t even need to tie her up:
Perhaps the black rubber gloves are a bit menacing, though.
I might question his skill as an interrogator, but I’d say he’s really coming through (so to speak) as an attentive husband:
Splashy-splashy!
He gets husband points, I think, for putting another good “stay in for Valentine’s Day” date night on the books.
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Saturday, October 8th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
Whether your breath catches when you see this might be a measure of how much physical empathy you have:
Via Titty Blog.
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Friday, January 14th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
Elise Graves is a very scientific sadist, it turns out:
Mercy West’s head is trapped in a suspended thick clear acrylic box. Elise then shines a bright light in Mercy’s face so that every nuance of Mercy’s reactions to Elise’s grabbing, pulling, pinching, licking and sucking can be brought to light and studied. It’s a bit of a science experiment, with Mercy as the rat and Elise as the researcher. Elise’s scientific study.
Photos are from It’s All In Your Head, a Bondage Liberation shoot available via Kink Unlimited.
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Saturday, December 11th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
Cams performers need business advice just like anybody else does. However, it’s not always easy to find people who will give you the straight dope, or even the apocryphal solid dick. I know absolutely nothing whatsoever about the camming business, but I do look at a lot of hentai porn on the internet. Therefore I feel qualified (just like your typical middle-aged man who thinks he’s an expert because he started his day at a Holiday Inn Express) to offer these dubiously-useful tips:
Tip #1: Don’t Forget To Smile
No matter what’s happening to you, you’ll be more fun to watch if it looks like you’re having fun too. Unless, of course, all your highest-tipping customers are serious sadists, in which case you may want to try screaming and crying. But generally, go with the dreamy cock-drunk smile.
Tip #2: Ask For Help Getting Traffic
If you’re trying to break into the BDSM cams game and you’re scratching your head over the problem of getting traffic as a total unknown, it might be a good idea to ask your lover for help, especially if they have a good head for social media. However, you should pick your moment. For instance, it’s a terrible idea to ask them for help if you recently had a noisy blow-up and they are still grumpy about it:
Tip #3: Production Values Matter
It’s very important to make sure that your lighting is good, your face is in the frame, and the camera is at a good angle to catch all your sexy action. A helpful production partner is invaluable here, especially when you are all tied up.
Tip #4: Constantly Try New Things
If you haven’t been pegged in your ass by a mouthy dominatrix while strapped to a spanking bench, people will love watching your facial expressions while you discover for the first time what that feels like. Don’t pass up these opportunities for personal growth on camera!
Tip #5: Strive To Be “Extra”
If your faceless sugar-daddy volunteers to pierce your tongue live on camera and then chain it to your clit ring, let him do it! Your fans and patrons will appreciate you for going the extra mile to show them a good time.
Tip #6: Don’t Hog The Spotlight
Multi-performer shows are always popular. A lot of kink-themed camshows are just, you know, some girl and her outfits and her sex toys. Maybe some handcuffs or a gag. If you get a chance to get tied up properly and have filthy things done to you live on cam, don’t pass that up.
Tip #7: Cultivate Dramatic Moments
Everybody loves drama and dynamic action. Make sure it goes out over your stream. Do whatever it takes. Zap yourself with an electric toy turned all the way up. Catch your face during that exquisitely painful moment when a whole string of clothespins get ripped off your tender bits. Share that complex moment when a deeply-buried string of anal beads come out way too quickly. Be creatively dramatic, but like, with screaming and maybe a few definitely-not-forced tears.
Image credits, top to bottom: The smiling submissive with the heart locket on her collar is by Internet Slut Club. The helpless pillory babe giving a forced orgasm show is by Geknebelt. The lady in fuzzy handcuffs with the camera-savvy lesbian partner is by GGC. The raven-haired beauty having a rough time in the huge ball gag while she processes an enormous strap-on dildo pounding her bottom is by SleepyGimp. The manga pierced-tongue bondage camshow is by Onikubo Hirohisa in Hakudaku no Yami. The bondage camsex scene is by an unknown artist. The bent-over blonde having an anal-beads moment is by Heiyz.
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Friday, December 6th, 2019 -- by Bacchus
I wonder if these three young ladies drew straws to determine which one of them would be the bondage catgirl for the evening? Hey, it’s cheaper than paying for a streaming TV package:
Artist is Neongun.
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Thursday, April 5th, 2018 -- by Bacchus
There’s an old ironic joke that goes “I haven’t had sex in so long, I forget who gets tied up.” This most recent scene from Sex And Submission reminded me of that joke, because even though Raven Hart is the one with the tied wrists and Tommy Pistol is theoretically the dominant who ties her up and fucks her, you can’t hardly tell from these photos, in which she basically rides him down and devours him:
It’s a pretty amazing scene, and I’m pleased to see that even though Kink is no longer shooting at the Armory in San Francisco, they are still shooting fresh stuff that isn’t afraid to bend their own rules and formulas a little when the performer chemistry wobbles away from the standard script. In case you haven’t been tracking how the Kink porn products work these days, all of their channels (their former sites like Sex And Submission) are now part of their one-monthly-price Kink Unlimited product, which also includes an enormous number of promotional shoots and channels from other kinky porn companies with whom they have cross-marketing deals. The result is that you get a ridiculous amount when you join; they are calling it “over fifty channels”, and though it’s tough to get a precise count, that seems about right.
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Saturday, February 6th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a scene that may seem familiar to couples who have dabbled in playing at BDSM. Originally she was wearing some bondage gear, and maybe it was tied to something once, but now it’s just rattling on one wrist and there’s been a significant distraction:
Via The Wasteland.
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Sunday, October 25th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
Angie Rowntree’s Sssh.com “erotica for women” site has been on my radar here at ErosBlog since 2004, when my erstwhile co-blogger Aphrodite discovered it and mentioned it warmly on several occasions. Recently Angie asked me to take a look at her newest movie, which is a 35-minute “featurette” called Gone: A Story Of Love And Courage that’s also a moving and affecting erotic musing on the role sex plays in grief and loss.
That may sound like a bummer, but it’s really not. Gone is an authentically erotic movie, but more than that, it is real cinema, a film that engages your viewing attention with story and character even more than with the sex. The woman at the heart of the film (Rebecca, played by Madeline Blue) is strong and sympathetic; the first words we hear from her are:
“They say that it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Well, I don’t know who they think they are, but I say that’s bullshit.”
If normalization of kink matters to you, you’ll grin at another of Rebecca’s narrations early in the movie:
“We married right out of college, and bought a house. It was perfect. A white picket fence, surrounded by trees, a dungeon in the basement. We were living the real American Dream, we joked.”
I very much liked how the BDSM in their relationship is shown to be a low-key element of their sex life together, rather than an over-fetishized definition of their relationship. If you’re not too keen on BDSM, don’t worry; this is the kind of “movie BDSM” in which the riding crop is on screen for sixteen seconds caressing her naked body before it slaps her, softly, just twice.
Although we don’t learn until the end of the movie precisely what has become of Rebecca’s husband and of her marriage, the bulk of the action takes place in her mind, as she remembers her husband and struggles with the fact that he’s, ah, gone. There’s nice use of music throughout, and sometimes it’s rather clever. For instance, in a sequence where Rebecca and her husband are making out on the bed watching the New Years Eve ball drop, we can hear drunken revelers singing Auld Lang Syne on the unseen television. As the scene shifts in her mind from the mundane (clothes on, fast food boxes in the bed) to the idealized (fully naked, better lighting, clutter of daily life no longer visible), the sound of the rough TV singing fades and is replaced by an unaccompanied female vocalist singing Auld Lang Syne in a haunting ethereal voice, reminding us that these are literally scenes from “days gone by”.
It’s an emotionally compelling movie, and if it’s porn for women, it works for men too. Or at least it works for me. What’s more, there are nice visual details throughout. For instance, in a very hot closeup blowjob scene near the end of the movie, Madeline Blue’s oral work is complimented by the visual of a pretty blue amethyst or sapphire pendent, bouncing fetchingly off her chest as she bobs up and down:
As far as I know, the Gone movie/featurette is only available for viewing to members of Sssh.com. You can see a trailer here.
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Friday, September 4th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
I want to think that this enthusiastic and delighted young lady is having more fun at the play party than she ever imagined she would:
You’re looking at a detail from a photo on Tumblr by photographer Laurent Benaim. My discovery of Benaim’s Tumblr when sourcing this photo was an entirely unexpected delight; it has pages and pages of gritty (and sometimes transgressive) photography, mostly BDSM but featuring a variety of other fetishes as well. Normally I balk at “artsy” photographic styles that seem intent on subverting the clarity of reproduction that is photography’s chief benefit; but in this case I’m willing to make an exception.
Sunday, December 7th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
Somebody is tired of his wandering penis, and so they want it well-marked:
Art is by Sean.
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Saturday, May 31st, 2014 -- by Bacchus
About eight and a quarter years ago, I wrote a post I’m still proud of in defense of BDSM, relying for the bulk of my argument on BDSM’s capacity to produce joy, and using photographs of Sarah Blake to make my argument.
Thus you can imagine my sense of self-indulgent pride upon discovering a comment about that ancient post in a Reddit “forced orgasms” thread that links to a bit of grainy tube video of Sarah Blake from a Hogtied.com photoshoot:
Oh man, so much nostalgia.
She [Sarah] was my introduction to the world of kink, thanks to a wonderful “Why BDSM is awesome and not scary” blog post.
Pictures in this post are from some more recent work she did in 2013:
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Tuesday, February 4th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
It’s just an innocent little twist of stainless steel jewelry wire, but this may be the perfect gag:
It comes from Tumblr with the caption: “For when you want her companionship, but not her conversation.”
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Sunday, October 6th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
The more I use my smartphone, the more comfortable I am doing stuff natively on the phone. But I still find that searching and navigation are harder and more complicated than on my desktop; thumb typing will never be as fast for me (with my old fat thumbs) as keyboarding, and it’s just harder and slower to enter searches, type URLS, and follow links. For this reason I still find (as I mentioned last April) that I treasure my little collection of tiny, mobile-optimized, old-fashioned link lists that I can bookmark or place as an icon on one of my phone’s home screens.
This launchpad at BDSMgo.com is for the Intersec Studios family of BDSM websites.
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Friday, September 6th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
It doesn’t take a deep dive into BDSM imagery to discover that there’s a rich tradition of bondage art, photography, and (apparently) actual practice that involves binding a woman in a position where she’s astride a narrow wooden plank or sawhorse with all her weight painfully on her crotch. This is often called “riding the horse”. One can only imagine how much it “enhances” the experience when your horse is suspended from the ceiling and you find it being used as a kinetic battering ram. This gives the phrase “horsing around” a whole new meaning:
Found here.
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Monday, August 12th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
This is detail from the cover art on an old stroke book that apparently targeted swinger and BDSM fantasies in the same title:
The lurid cover copy (click image above for full view of the book cover) says “They were tied up with the Jones…and going down with the Smiths!”
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Thursday, May 16th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
If this article in The Atlantic by Conor Friedersdorf is any guide, there’s a sort of debate going on in the intellectual press, triggered by this article, which is a more-detailed-than-usual and fairly sympathetic exemplar of the increasingly-common “I went to a Kink.com porn shoot and had some deep thoughts about it” genre. From my fast skim-reading pass, it appears that the ensuing debate consists of a conversation where various persons disagree with each other about precisely why they ought to hate and disparage kinky sex and porn. It’s all somewhat interesting, but The Atlantic piece deserves quoting, because of some paragraphs on the value of consent as the lodestar of sexual ethics:
My generation doesn’t treat consent as a lodestar merely because consent permits pleasurable sexual activity that more traditional sexual codes would prohibit. The ethos of consent is regarded as a lodestar because its embrace is widely seen as an incredible improvement over much of human history; and because instances when the culture of consent is rejected are superlatively horrific. The average 30-something San Franciscan has had multiple friends confide to them about being raped, and multiple friends confide about participating in consensual BDSM. Only the former routinely plays out as extreme trauma that devastates the teller for decades. Little wonder that consent is treated as the preeminent ethos even by many who suspect that transgressive sex like what Witt describes is ultimately unwise or even immoral.
Let us imagine that, 50 years hence, we have a society where the ethos of consent and attendant norms of sexual conduct have triumphed so completely that rape is as rare as cannibalism. Everyone would regard that as a civilizational triumph. Would it be a bigger or smaller triumph of sexual mores than a culture where consent was valued exactly as much or little as it was in 1950, but BDSM and kink, extreme or tame, was so widely rejected as to render it as rare as cannibalism? That I’d strongly prefer the former triumph explains why I cannot agree with Alan Jacobs when he writes of the San Francisco pornographers, “I do not believe that it is possible to be more uncivilized than they are, though one might be equally uncivilized in different ways.”
I think rapists are far more uncivilized, and that every champion of consent, however myopic they are about other moral norms they ought to follow, are trying to build “structures of thought and practice that harness humankind’s sexual instincts and direct them in socially up-building ways.” Consent isn’t, after all, entirely separable from other widely accepted norms of civilized behavior. Taking it seriously means refusing to watch certain types of porn (the hidden up-skirt camera, for example); it means being forced to conceive of every potential sexual partner as an autonomous individual with inherent worth and desires so important that they frequently trump yours; it means, in at least that one respect, treating other people as you’d want to be treated.
None of that means one must approve of the acts described in the San Francisco basement. I happen to think it doesn’t in fact threaten civilization, that transgressive sex cannot, by definition, become the norm. Others may differ, and I’m just guessing there; but it is to say that, whatever you think of the porn shoot, the scattered, unconsensual sex that went down in the Bay Area that night was more worthy of condemnation, more uncivilized, more destructive and less moral.
To me, the fact that Friedersdorf felt consent culture needed defending in the conversation says rather a lot about the conversation itself. Friedersdorf himself is at pains to disclaim any suggestion that his interlocutors “are insufficiently horrified by rape” — but how else are we to parse that “impossible to be more uncivilized” remark by one of them?
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Thursday, November 8th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
The idea of putting spring-loaded clothes pins on somebody’s nipples is such a basic trope of BDSM that it’s usually encountered as an afterthought, a painful detail that’s barely noticed because of what’s going on with the riding crop or the hot wax or the complicated business with the cables and the pulley and the donkey. But if you’ve ever actually done this (or had it done to you, or done it to yourself) you’ll be aware that it’s quite worthy of a person’s full attention, all by itself:
(Click that image for a much larger version with a bonus third panel showing her facial reaction once the pins spring closed.)
Panels are from a comic called Celine Die Sklaven (Celine The Slave) by Jacobsen.
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Sunday, September 30th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Next Wednesday (October 3) will mark the first day of the eleventh year of operations here at ErosBlog. So it looks like this will the last of the “10 Years of Sex Blogging” retrospectives. That’s OK — covering the first five years has a decent symmetry to it. Without further ado, here’s 2006:
- My micro-rant on why lap dances in strip clubs are “DO NOT WANT” territory for me, plus somebody else’s tips for getting a good one: How To Get A Killer Lapdance
- I found possibly the best happy-exhibitionist photo I’ve ever seen: Half-Naked And Happy To Be There
- Of all the things I’ve ever written on ErosBlog, this essay on joy and BDSM acceptance is perhaps the post I’m most proud of: Two Smiles
- Remember that shower gel commercial with the tagline “How dirty girls get clean?” Yeah, me neither; or I wouldn’t, if I hadn’t managed to associate it in my mind with this memorable photo: Girl Washing
- I can’t recall laughing harder or longer over a web thing (unless maybe it was the immortal Dogs in Elk waaay back in the last century) than I did over this cybersex transcript that didn’t quite go the way the dude expected it to: And Who Shall Be Master?
- I don’t often lose myself in consumerist fantasies, but I confess I did the first time I saw this product for sale. It’s still for sale, but sadly, I still don’t have any: Leather Sheets
- I’ve softened my stance on the virtues of color blindness over the years (having been exposed to possibly-better arguments) but I haven’t come close to abandoning it. Here’s one of the places it got me griped at, especially in the comments: Nude Women, Skin Color, Huh?
- This post and its comments was one of the places I’ve tried to expound on the foolishness and impossibility of imposing our personal interpretations of art (here, pulpy sex comics) onto other people. Of course it got me snarled at, as it generally does: Whipped With A Hat On
- What’s going on when women dress themselves to be looked at, and then appear to resent the looks they get? I had a theory: On Looking At Women
- I think every sex blogger has taken a go at mocking the contents of sex spam. Here’s one of mine: Sex Spam Subject Lines
- This I still believe: “If you can’t see a person without having a racial classification for them pop into your head, you’re part of the problem.” Not Ignorant, Adamant
- Even a cartoon ’70s metrosexual (before they called them that) understood that a fist in her hair can make the blowjob better: Hair Pulling Blowjob
- In which I stand up for the proposition that not all men are dicks: No Gentlemen, No Sex Pictures
- I had forgotten until just now this back-and-forth with Susie Bright about the reasons for the gender imbalance in the sex blogging world: Sex Bias In Blogging
- I still want to know what happened to this sex doll: Sex Doll Accident
- I still don’t think Violet is wrong about a word of this: Public Submission Ritual
- Another effort on my part to demonstrate that the sexy elements in art are (and ought to be) available to the viewer no matter how reprehensible the artist, his motives, or his historical context: Male Soldiers Fucking
- My irritation with a certain class of creepy comments, it overfloweth: Flashing From A Window
- My opinion on fake boobs, followed by an opinion that arguably matters quite a bit more: Big Fake Boobs
- I still laugh every time I see this: Bill Versus The Penguin
- The topic of what it does (did) to our society to have porn go from “hard to get” to “available on all screens” is fascinating to me, and has been for a long time: Internet Porn For The Greater Good
- Title speaks for itself: Dirty Owl-Fucker!
- “Who wants to find herself covered with Winnie-the-Pooh BandAids after sex?” There’s always somebody: But Gardens Do Differ
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Friday, August 10th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
It’s funny how these little cultural/mimetic loops can thrash about for years before eventually reifying themselves. Remember Hunting For Bambi — the great “pay to hunt women with paint guns” breathless internet scandal of 2003 that I reminisced about a few months ago? That turned out to be real (as in, there was a porn made on that theme) but fake (there apparently weren’t any paying customers to do the hunting) and maybe-fake (it’s unclear if anybody actually ran naked through the woods getting shot at with paint guns, ouch).
Time marches on. Culture marches on. Memes breed and migrate and breed some more. The guys who used to do the once-notorious Insex.com bondage sex site are still out there. And so a decade passes until we get this, in connection with what is, I’m guessing from other hints in the twitter feed, a shoot for BDSM porn site Hard Tied:
Cultural/memetic progression doesn’t happen in a vacuum, of course. Notice in the final tweet the reference to the credit card processors? Even your porn is subject to the influence of the ogliarchic mega-banking corporations.
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Sunday, July 15th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Who has the prettiest slave boobies of them all?
I know I should put away childish things, but I could not resist. Picture is from the August 2004 edition of Hustler’s Taboo magazine.
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Monday, July 2nd, 2012 -- by Bacchus
There is a meme out there — perhaps a myth — that women are more sexually cruel than men. I tend to doubt it myself, but I’m thinking that BDSM artist Leon Frollo may have believed it:
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Saturday, May 12th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Remember all the cute pictures illustrating the “her panties fell down” fetish? Allow me to refresh your memories:
More Falling Panties
Badly Secured Clothing
Celery Plus Gravity Minus Panties Equals Art
Well, apparently the fetish has even infected that part of the BDSM community that likes to keep women handcuffed in crumbling brick basements:
Tumblr source: here.
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Thursday, March 29th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
From time to time I stumble over art photos hidden in the ocean of porn. Or so it sometimes seems to me — your mileage may vary. The latest are these pictures of blonde Alani Pi reacting to a hanging wall of electrified chains at Kink.com’s new Electrosluts site:
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Thursday, March 29th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
In which Kaya talks about sex with her master and the new girl:
The sex was phenomenal. I had been a little worried that I might have lost interest in women because I hadn’t been with one for so long, but no. Nope, it’s all still there. :)
She’s hot, and she’s sexy, and she’s warm and soft and beautiful, and good between the sheets.
And she tastes good. Yum.
She came prepared with condoms (we didn’t. Ha. The last time we used one was, um, never!). She came with creams. Tasty, tingly creams. Blow job creams. She rubbed me up and licked me off. She rubbed him up and we both licked him off. She rubbed herself up and me and him licked her off.
I liked sharing. I liked when she and I teamed up on him and shared his cock between us, taking turns licking and sucking. She’d take the balls while I took the cock, or vice versa. I’d take his nipples while she took his cock. We’d both take the cock, our tongues tangling together over the head.
I liked when she and Master teamed up on me. Her soft gentleness in such sharp contrast to Master’s hard roughness. She licks and nibbles; he bites and scratches. He’s gruff and demanding; she was sweet and considerate.
I liked when he and I teamed up on her and I licked her while he fucked her. He and I tasted her together. I sucked her nipples while he pounded her from behind. I cupped her ass cheeks, warm from a recent spanking, I gripped her hands, I kissed her lips, I moved her hair—all while Master took her, over and over again.
When M was fucking her, I kept waiting for a spark of jealousy. Or… something—but there was none of that. I spent a good bit of time off to the side watching them (and a good amount of time right there in the action, too, make no mistake) and I simply enjoyed their enjoyment. I enjoyed watching him; his face, his body. I enjoyed listening to the things he said to her, which were different to the things he says to me (surprisingly).
And I sure enjoyed the view she was giving me. So so much.
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Saturday, March 3rd, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Well, this announcement is a little bit awkward for a man who doesn’t believe in sluts.
Via the Electrosex Blog we find out that Kink.com’s newest site is an electrosex/electroplay site called Electrosluts. Here we see electroslut Mallory Malone wired up and about to be played like an electric organ. Or maybe like a theremin? Something noisy, anyway:
From this photoshoot.
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Sunday, February 5th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Dan Savage advice at its classic best:
In my opinion, the woman who informed you that you would be laughed out of “the community” for your choice of safe word is being a huge dickhead. In fact, it sounds like she has a bad case of You’re Doing It Wrong.
YDIW is a social-skills disorder that members of the BDSM community are at particular risk of acquiring. (Others at heightened risk: religious conservatives, sports fans, advice columnists.) BDSMers with YDIW feel they have a right to inform other BDSMers that they’re doing it wrong–whatever it might be–even if the “it” being done wrong poses no risk to the YDIW sufferer or anyone else.
…
YDIW in BDSMers–and social conservatives–can be treated and cured through the application of “NO ONE GIVES A FUCK WHAT YOU THINK, ASSHOLE.” It should be applied liberally whenever YDIW flares up.
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Wednesday, November 23rd, 2011 -- by Bacchus
I believe I have at least a few readers who would enjoy doing stuff like this to the incredibly-buff Dante:
From this photoshoot at Bound Gods.
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Thursday, August 25th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
I’ve always figured that the men who enjoy cock and ball torture (CBT for short) have bought in (a bit more seriously than most of us) to the old adage “There’s no such thing as bad attention.” I’m not with them — I want the wire brush, the electrified alligator clips, and the screw clamps kept the hell away from my tender bits!
Via Kinky Delight.
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Wednesday, July 20th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
One of the defining characteristics of sex comics is that they tend to be idealized. There are some notable exceptions (*cough* Crumb *cough*) but usually the nekked peeples in the comics are beyond physical perfection — they’re fantasy-proportioned beyond anything plastic Barbie ever dreamed of, and drawn as gorgeous as the artist could manage.
But exceptions do exist. This consensual BDSM panel from Pulp Story #2 is strikingly unusual for featuring a large soft woman with big doughy belly and breasts:
Found at Erectus.
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Monday, September 13th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Remember the ambiguous French peep show art I had for you back in June? Well, I’ve got some more for you, this time by Georges Topfer by way of Kinky Delight:
Given the BDSM themes for which Topfer is known, and especially when viewed small as presented here, you might be forgiven for assuming you are looking at some sort of en mass bondage device capturing the heads and hands of eight young women. And, indeed, you might be right; without access (both physical and linguistic) to the French-language adult novel I suspect this originally illustrated, I can’t say.
But if you click the image for a larger view at Kinky Delight, doubt is cast. First of all, the devices do appear to be vintage peep-show boxes of some sort, without obvious restraints; although why the girls’ hands would be going inside the curtains with their heads is not clear, for viewing purposes alone. And then there’s the caption, which I lack the wit to translate properly. It reads: “Le spectacle était certainement unique de ces huit corps de jeunes filles libérés de tout voile.” Google Translate mangles that badly, losing an important word that apparently costs us the sense of the business: “The show was certainly one of the eight bodies of young women freed from any sailing.” Perhaps when one of my French-literate readers tells us what these young women were truly freed from (I’d guess their apparel, were it not so obvious as to make the caption rather pointless), we’ll have a better sense of what’s going on here.
Friday, July 23rd, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Does it ever strike you as odd that in modern BDSM porn, the slave girls never actually slave?
Oh, sure, it’s sex and blowjobs night and day. But actually work? Labor? Drudge? Slave away?
It’s rare. Probably they don’t pay the models enough. But here’s a rare example, from The Training of O, of a slave girl actually doing something at least moderately industrious:
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Saturday, June 5th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
For as long as I’ve been downloading dirty pictures — and that’s quite a very long time indeed, if you count the years I spent dialing into bulletin board systems and running download robots against Usenet servers — I’ve been seeing little snippets of art with a distinctive theme. The first one, I think, was 8-bit greyscale, maybe 200×300 pixels. The subject matter would be variations on a consistent theme, namely, lushly drawn characters endowed with both boobs and penis, always in some kind of bondage.
I’ve been seeing this distinctive body of work by the same unknown and unattributed artist for close on to twenty years now, so it was a surprise to me when I tripped over a set of scans (in the usual place) that were better-than-usual quality and (for the first time ever!) associated with a name and a publication: The Exotic She-Male Art of Bruce Baker.
The art itself is, as it always was, lushly-drawn and very very consistent in theme:
I figure if nobody in twenty years has been willing to give this guy an artist credit when they broadcast his work around the internet, it’s high time I started.
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Thursday, May 6th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
I think this Sex And Submission gallery may feature more kinky sex practices and activities and overall different flavors of fetish fuel than I’ve ever seen in one free porn gallery before.
There’s chains, and shackles, and water hoses, and wet clothing, and ball gags, and spider gags, and a cage, and several different bondage blowjobs including one from inside the cage, and some buttsex of course, and an electric shock toy, and some boot licking, and some pussy fisting, and some forced orgasms with squirting (into her own mouth, even), and some cum on her face and… well, I’m sure I missed something.
The shoot stars Sindee Jennings, and she’s a very busy girl.
Saturday, December 12th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Attribution note: I found this thanks to Twitter, but can’t recreate the attribution flow. Quiet Saturday morning, looking at people in my stream, looking at who they follow, reading a few of those, looking at who they follow, seeing a couple of interesting tweets, hitting a profile link… and suddenly I’m reading this.
But first, more preface. The Hitachi Magic Wand is said to be the gold standard among powerful vibrators — too powerful for some, but the first, and in some cases only, way to fly for innumerable women who find orgasm tricky or difficult. And increasingly over the last couple of years, I’m seeing it used in BDSM porn, substituting “forced” real orgasms for the traditional lamely-faked ones. (See, e.g., bits of the trailer or the 4th, 8th, and 10th pictures from this shoot.) I’ve wondered about that on more than one occasion. And now (second run up to the lane, let’s see if I can hurl the bowling ball this time) here’s Post Modern Sleaze:
He’s wrapping me in plastic. I can hear the peel and coil of the wrap, the slight tackiness of it as it folds around my limbs. I’m still hooded, breathing through a tube and sometimes the air stops, rubber inflating and deflating uselessly, enough to bring me part way to a panic. Then released. After a short while, I’m done. Bagged and tagged. There’s only a couple of inches on show, arse and cunt. I’m two holes in nothingness. Squirming a little underneath, to see how it feels.
It feels good, tight enough to be held all over and nowhere to go. There’s the chill drizzle of lube over the exposed flesh, making me slick. I am made of concentrated anticipation. There’s something hard, large and seemingly spherical, pressing against my cunt. I tense as I hear mechanical buzzing and my thoughts race at memories of over-powerful magic wands. I become a little scared. The shape presses inside me, pushing slowly in and out, uncaringly pushing through taut, worried flesh. It’s hard and it hurts enough to mean something. It throbs with weight. And there’s something else, pushed close against my clit. I recognise the hitachi and barely have time to utter a pre-emptive yelp before it roars into life and my body explodes with sensation.
It’s too much. I know it’s too much after two or three miliseconds. It’s too much but it isn’t stopping and I can’t move. I can moan though, which I do, as if the pressure against my cunt and inside me is trying to come out of my mouth. It doesn’t help. I have never felt force like it and it is force, brute force, commanding deep responses. It’s not exactly pain, it’s not exactly pleasure, it pitches between the two, in waves equally unyielding and incessant. I cannot relax into it and I cannot get away from it. Sometimes I’m sucked down by it, other times I can edge myself away a little but then the pitch changes and it’s too strong again.
I tense, almost as if I’m about to orgasm, but the pressure is too much and I can’t. Something has to give. So I started to cry with the helpless frustration of it all. All this time when I thought I was tied up to be the object and instead I am a whimpering scrap of flesh plastered to a bench in thrall to the real machines.
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Wednesday, October 21st, 2009 -- by Bacchus
This is a little bit to the gonzo side of the usual ErosBlog fare, but as you know I can never resist a complicated facial expression:
From here at Kinky Delight.
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Thursday, September 10th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
When you hear the phrase “on her knees” in connection with a porn star as famous as Krissy Lynn, you’re probably expecting to find her gobbling, as they say in the vernacular, somebody’s knob. And that expectation grows more reasonable when you hear that the pictures are from a photo shoot she did for Sex And Submission. Nor, in truth, would you be unable to find a picture like that in the pertinent photo shoot. But here at ErosBlog, we like to sidestep the expected. So, herewith and as promised, three knob-free views of Krissy Lynn on her knees, being collared, and in rope bondage:
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Friday, May 29th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
The knowledge that these pictures are from the oh-so-innocent introduction to a steamy lesbian BDSM / dungeon fantasy detracts nothing from the harmless all-American pleasure of a nice low-angle closeup on a practicing cheerleader:
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Sunday, March 29th, 2009 -- by Dr. Faustus
A few months ago I had the pleasure of an edifying correspondence with an old friend who had recommended to me a trilogy written by Anne Rice (she of the vampire books fame) in which Rice re-imagines the old fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty as an extended BDSM scenario. A very extended, quarter-million words-long scenario, as it happens. Many ErosBlog readers are doubtless familiar with this trilogy already, but for those that aren’t and who like that sort of thing, I’m happy to report that all three books appear to be still in print.
In the course of our discussion, my learned friend grumbled a bit about the fact that, as of late, Ms. Rice appears to have turned her back on such agreeably lurid and salacious content. Once a self-described atheist, she has returned to the Roman Catholicism of her childhood and sworn off writing about vampires, flagellation, etc.
Tish-tosh, I responded. It’s a free country, isn’t it?
Indeed it is, or at least ought to be, my liberty-loving comrade hastened to reply. But isn’t Rice dissing her fans a bit, when she disparages the themes those fans embraced so loyally and profitably?
I turned this thought over in my mind for a while.
What came up was something rather odd. A memory (or possibly confabulation) from childhood, of being a ten year-old faculty brat tagging along with a group of American college students on a tour of a church in Rome called Santa Maria della Vittoria. As you art lovers should be aware, this church contains a famous sculpture by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598-1680) called The Ecstasy of St. Teresa.
Ten year-old me didn’t really understand why the big kids were elbowing each other and trying not to snicker. Later in life I discovered that Teresa of Avila left us a rather vivid account of her ecstasy, which makes what’s going on here a little clearer.
Beside me on the left appeared an angel in bodily form … He was not tall but short, and very beautiful; and his face was so aflame that he appeared to be one of the highest ranks of angels, who seem to be all on fire … In his hands I saw a great golden spear, and at the iron tip there appeared to be a point of fire. This he plunged into my heart several times so that it penetrated my entrails. When he pulled it out I felt that he took them with it, and left me utterly consumed by the great love of God. The pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans. The sweetness caused by this intense pain is so extreme that one can not possibly wish it to cease, nor is one’s soul content with anything but God. This is not a physical but a spiritual pain, though the body has some share in it — even a considerable share.
But it’s spiritual pain, so that’s okay, I guess.
Still I couldn’t help thinking more along these lines. I also remembered seeing a lot of renderings of the martyrdom of St. Sebastian. Pietro Perugino (1446-1524) is perhaps typical in his generous rendering of Sebastian’s arrow-violated flesh:
And one cannot help but notice what pretty flesh it is, too.
No one is safe from suffering in this grand artistic tradition, not even — especially not even — its central figure:
That’s by Caravaggio (1571-1610), a painter of genius who, for my money, would have extracted homoerotic interest from a still-life of a bed of gravel, had he chosen to paint one.
I’m not sure whether Albert von Keller (1844-1920) is mocking this tradition or part of it, but it’s pretty clear he was willing to take it a logical step forward in Mondschein (1894):
These are only four works, presented here only because they happened to catch my eye on a certain day. Other works of a similar inspiration and part of the same grand religio-visual narrative could easily be found by the truckload. I have no doubt that many ErosBlog readers can add their own favorites to the list. If you’re of a certain cast of mind, you will be led to the suspicion that an anthropologist from Alpha Centauri, given the record of humanity’s visual culture and tasked with identifying its largest and longest-lived fraternity of BDSM enthusiasts, might point to a certain institution headquartered in Rome.
For my part I shall confine myself to a more modest conjecture, in response to my friend, and addressed to any fan of Anne Rice who might be feeling dismayed by the current turn in her life. Without this particular grand narrative, in which Ms. Rice was reared, and back into which she has now written herself, there might never have been her own distinctive body of work at all.
Or to put it more simply: no Holy Mother Church, no Naughty Beauty Tales.
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Saturday, October 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I don’t do very many pure “go buy some shit” blog posts, because it’s very easy for sex blogs to go overboard that way. But sometimes I see something that’s just too deliciously bizarre not to point out.
Anyway, last night I went surfing to see what was new in sex toys, and what I discovered instead was new sexy stuff in the masks and BDSM hoods areas.
What caught my eyes in particular were these expensive, spectacular, and surreal leather bunny hoods, in black or white:
(Sadly the carrot dildo is not included.)
Continuing in the animal vein, check out this scary-but-very-handsome zippered dog-face hood:
You may or may not find these sexy, but you’ve got to admit they catch the eye!
Wednesday, October 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember about two weeks ago, when I mentioned the new public bondage site, coming from our kinky friends at Kink.com?
Well, Public Disgrace is now live, and looks to be living up to (some of) its promises.
About half the pictures in the sample galleries are close-in shots of hardcore bondage sex in what look to be protected, semi-outdoor spaces. To be honest, those aren’t terribly interesting to me, because I have a harder time with suspension of disbelief, and so there isn’t a lot of newness there. To me it’s “just porn”, with (by 21st century standards) no particularly transgressive edge.
On the other hand, I find the soft-core “pure” public bondage shots to be more interesting, because they seem to occur in genuinely public settings, complete with interested onlookers:
I will confess I find the branding for this new site a little confusing. If the goal is, to use their words, “unique street scenes of erotic humiliation”, what’s disgraceful about that? If the fantasy of a woman in chains is that she has to do what you make her do, I get that she may be embarrassed or humiliated by the public exposure, but I don’t see any disgrace in it; to me, disgrace connotes an aspect of guilt or sin or wrongdoing or bad behavior, and one of the essential transactions at the core of BDSM is that the submissive is liberated of responsibility for the things he or she is “made” to do. Hence, no disgrace. Unless the disgrace is supposed to be in the eye of the beholder, the putative onlooker shouting “that’s disgraceful!” or getting violent, like this guy?
Monday, August 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This could be coincidence, or I could be seeing similarities where none were intended. But I think one of Kink.com’s photographers remembers his art classes, and is laughing his ass off about getting this picture into a photoset (spotted at Spanking Blog) for the The Training Of O slave-training website:
Maya Matthews and Mona Lisa, separated at birth?
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Sunday, July 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Today’s news in my mailbox from Kink.com is the announcement of their new gay male BDSM site, Bound Gods. Although the new site does not go live until Friday, the first shoot is available now. From my initial look, I’d say the new site may not just be for gay men, but could also prove popular with those of you ladies who enjoy hunky men in bondage, but don’t want the distraction of a sneering dominatrix in every photograph and video frame. I repeat, hunky men in bondage, entirely free of girl-cooties:
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Tuesday, July 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Satyrs and Fauns (to the extent they are distinguishable) are of course notorious for their drunken sexual frolics. Here’s an interesting drawing by Marcantoine Raimondi from the 1500s showing that, in the artistic imagination of that time, those frolics included sexual spanking:
I find ancient (no scholarly quibbles please, I’m using ancient here to mean simply “centuries old”) depictions of sexual practices interesting because so much of the modern war against sex is based on repressive notions of what “proper” sex consists of. Examples from history and art demonstrate that “modern perversions” are anything but modern, which strikes at the core of the conservative delusion that proper “old-fashioned” sex consists solely of the missionary position, between spouses, in the dark.
With regard to this specific piece, it’s interesting because in many of the older depictions of BDSM-ish activities, the erotic context is only implied. In this piece, the spanking faun’s urgent erection leaves no room for trying to explain away the sexual nature of the spanking.
Thanks to Spanking Blog for the image.
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Saturday, May 31st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I still remember thinking in my naive pre-internet youth that “kinky stuff” had to be a purely male thing, that “no woman would want that sort of thing”. And of course, from there it would follow that male kinkiness was a sort of dangerous perversion, if it could have no expression with willing partners.
Ah, how little I knew!
Of course, these days anybody who reads sex blogs written by women (as are a large majority of the ones that have, you know, actual words) knows better.
As pointless as it can be for a man to speculate or generalize about the complex mental machineries of female arousal, you ladies should be aware that we still do it. I’m not sure we could refrain from doing it, to be honest; if anything’s hardwired into male behavior, modeling and attempting to game female sexual arousal is probably that thing. And one outcome of all the speculating and generalizing, for me, has been a partial theory of what women enjoy about rough kinky sex, bondage, and BDSM — really, that whole spectrum of sexuality that doesn’t quite fit the traditional hearts-and-flowers romance model.
I haven’t got time for a thousand words, so how about a picture?
It’s from Sex And Submission, and the rest of the shoot has plenty of ropes and gags and whips and toys and power-tool vibrators and bondage blowjobs and complex rigging with pulleys and all of the other overcomplicated gadgetry that men bring to the hobbies they really enjoy. But this one picture, I think, captures the essence of what’s in it for the ladies. Sometimes (maybe often, but I’m still trying not to overgeneralize here) women want to feel like a strong man like Mark Davis wants them, wants them so intensely that his own “better impulses” and socially-conditioned docility are just overwhelmed by his desire and lust for them. And they enjoy the idea, perhaps embodied in the photo above, that such a man will simply grab them and do what he will — because for the woman, that outcome is the ultimate proof of her own irresistible sexual attraction and desirability.
Where fantasy and reality differ, of course, is that a strong man who lacks that much self-control is dangerous — he cannot safely be allowed within about thirty miles of any human settlement. But a trustworthy man who can still project that aura of dangerous uncontrolled lust? He, it turns out, is a popular fellow indeed.
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Thursday, April 10th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Wearing a rope harness in public has its perils, as Red explains:
It’s funny, I would have thought that the rope harness peaking out from under my black halter-top dress would have made me blush deeply if seen in public, but for some reason it wasn’t phasing me. No, instead my attention was focused on the rope ends dangling down the inside of my legs, cresting just below the short hem of my dress. Every time they grazed across my skin, I was sure my jolt and my smile were obvious to anyone watching.
The coffee shop closed, so we left. Monk finished his coffee with a flourish — how he did it so damned quickly was beyond me. I continued to nurse mine as we drove down the road. This leg of the car ride was particularly difficult – not only was I steadying a hot cup of coffee, I was trying to stabilize my wiggles and movements as the car went over bumps, doing my best to stop the rope drawn tight between my legs from making me yelp *too* much. I’m pretty sure I only partially succeeded.
The space was quite busy when we arrived, but we found a spot quickly nonetheless. I watched intently as he prepared for the scene ahead, taking it in, letting my imagination get ahead of itself as I did so. Finally, he looked at me with eyes that spoke their intent very clearly. We were about to begin.
“Better make a pit stop,” he told me, “Cause once we start…”
Visions of my crotch rope danced before my eyes. It’s like he could tell what flew through my mind, because he looked at me with terribly amused eyes and said “I guess you’d better be careful.”
I no doubt flushed red, as my embarrassment burned in my cheeks before channeling down my spine, making me ache deep within. As I fumbled with the rope, trying desperately (and successfully) not to pee on it, I blushed deeper. My sex throbbed deeply against the line of hemp drawn across its core, calling for more struggles and more friction. More more more…
I doubt that the blushing had subsided before I was back before him, but I didn’t care. His eyes smiled as he drew the rope through his hands.
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Friday, April 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
A spam that made it through my filters today made me smile with the sheer excess of the offer in the subject line:
Hogtied Amateur Vacuum Tortured On Butt Hardcore
Gracious me, I sure wouldn’t want to settle for softcore vacuum torturing on the butts of hogtied amateurs!
The pitch inside the spam email was softened just a bit: “Brunette Bdsm Slave Vacuum Tortured Hardcore” and a link.
It’s possible they actually wanted to sell me some hogtied amateur brunettes, but I doubt it. Reputable porn sites eschew spam as a marketing method, because spam creates blind rage that tends to be an insurmountable marketing barrier. Plus, it’s illegal in the United States. Sometime I’ll get spam (not this one) that seems to be selling a porn site I know about, but it’s usually a form of social proof; if you think you’re familiar with the pitched product, you’re more likely to click through into unsuspected spyware browser-hijacking hell.
Anyway, I’ll never know for sure what this particular spam was selling, because I lacked the courage or foolhardiness to click the link. The domain had certain famous small fuzzy toy keywords in it (maybe so it would look safe?) and a .cn domain extension. Those Chinese domain names are notorious these days because spammers can buy them in bulk for cheap, which means that they can use them for hostile and malicious spam campaigns that lead directly to aggressive malware installers, browser hacks, and the like. Once the domain gets widely banned, or even deactivated, just move on to a new one!
The return email address looked like the email for some poor guy’s AT&T cell phone. That’s easily spoofed and was probably pure fiction, but it made me wonder. Is this yet another bad thing that can happen to you when you get your cell phone stolen?
Now, start your vacuum cleaners!
Friday, November 30th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a bit of artwork that looks like it might once have graced the cover of a BDSM strokebook. It came to me with the filename “Punished Wife”:
From Usenet.
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Wednesday, October 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Ladies and gentlemen and faithful readers and visitors, I’m pleased to announce that today marks the fifth anniversary of ErosBlog’s first post.
I’m rather proud to have been in continuous publication for half a decade. 1,853 posts spread over 1,825 days averages to 1.015 posts per day. Of course it wasn’t that regular — there are a couple of posting gaps that stretch close to a month in length. But a daily post has always been the goal, and if I never managed that much, I’ll settle for that 1.015 posts-per-day average.
When I started this thing, internet diaries had been around for at least as long as the web, and some of them (especially the BDSM lifestyle ones) had a lot of adult content. Blogs (known by that name, or by its then-still-in-use linguistic ancestor, “weblogs”) were a few years old, but had exploded in popularity and visibility just in the previous year. Sex blogs — as a genre — were unheard of. There was Daze Reader, there was World Sex News, there was BJ’s Gay Porno-Crazed Ramblings. There were pretty pictures every day at Sensual Liberation Army and some other places. Lots of proto-sex-blogs, but none that had adopted that characterization of themselves. So, as far as I know, Eros Blog was the first internet thing to claim that description.
I can’t claim to have invented the idea of a sex blog — whomever registered sexblog.com, before I tried to, can prove that — and I can’t claim to have invented the act of sex blogging, which was all over LiveJournal before I ever heard of blogging. But I think I was the first person, to think of it, do it, and call it by the name.
One possible exception — a sex blogger who was there before me by a few months, doing what I’d consider the first recognizable sex blog and conceptualizing her work in roughly that way, was Susannah Breslin. She did a blog called The Reverse Cowgirl, she was well connected with web heavyweights and early blogging gurus, and she blogged pretty exclusively about sex and culture. It was nice stuff, she was kind enough to link me early, but I simply cannot remember if she ever called her project a sex blog. She might have; certainly she could have, because that’s what it was.
Unfortunately it was from Susannah that I first learned to hate the destruction wrought by blog vandalism. She was linked all over the web, she was getting a lot of media attention, and then one day without a word of explanation her blog was gone and links all over the blogosphere were 404ing. Then a while later she had another project up, very artistic and overdesigned but having many bloglike features; it too vanished. After that I lost track, but there have been more; she’s got another “Reverse Cowgirl” blog going at the moment, with archives going all the way back to 2006, but not a single link to any of her earlier projects (presumably because they are all gone). I owe Susannah a considerable debt for inspiration and early traffic, but she’s also the one who taught me to be wary of folks who treat the web like a rented space for temporary performance art.
So! Five years. Two hosts. Three blog software platforms. At least half a dozen different templates. A metric buttload of spam and raging idiocy moderated out of the comments. Two web interviews, perhaps half a dozen press inquiries (ignored because I still enjoy psuedonymous posting). One hell of a lot of fun.
One of the fun things for me is to look at how my posts (and me) have changed over five years. When I started, writing about sexual stuff was very hard for me (even in my usual detached “look at those people over there and what they say they are doing” style). I was stilted and awkward. I was afraid that to write about a thing meant people would think I liked it. Worse yet, I cared about that, and would include horrid little disclaimers. Bacchus wrote about Bacchus in the third person for eight long months. I remain indebted to Eugene Volokh for providing me, a day too late, with the vocabulary word for that literary atrocity. Thanks to him, I now understand that I Am No Longer An Illeist.
As for me, when I started this blog I was single, lonely, and underemployed by my own choice due to increasing disillusionment with my profession (a little) and with the demands of the job culture (a lot). Now I’ve got The Nymph, we’re ridiculously happy together, and my adult web projects support me better than a job ever did, with me working only when it suits me. And it does suit me! I used to read in the business magazines about successful power suit types who would wake up in the morning full of enthusiasm for getting into the office to do whatever they did, and I’d boggle at that alien worldview. Now, I wake up in the morning, often as not, with an idea for tweaking or improving one of my websites, and I’m full of enthusiasm for the idea of getting up and tinkering with it. Life has never been better.
I couldn’t hope to thank properly all the other bloggers who deserve it, for providing me with support, encouragement, linkage, ideas, material, inspiration… but to list even the first fraction of them would require listing half my blog roll. All I can say is, thanks to you all. And thanks — even more thanks! — to the thousands of loyal readers who come back every day to see my blather and follow my links.
I owe special thanks to my regular guest blogger, Aphrodite, who has been backing me up and providing the woman’s touch around here for more than three years. Although her posts have never been frequent, she’s provided considerable invisible assistance, especially with comment spam filtering before we got it as automated as it tends to be today. I remain delighted and honored to have her help.
What about the future? Will there be a “Ten Candles” post on October 3, 2012?
At the speed technology, culture, and politics are changing in this crazy world, it’s hard to know for sure, but I truly do hope so! I love doing this blog and I can’t imagine stopping voluntarily. Five years ago it was still possible to claim that blogs were a fad. Five years from now, it’s possible we’ll all be considered impossibly old-fashioned, like paper magazines and network television and phones that plug into the wall. But this is about the sex, baby! And people don’t get bored with that, so I should still have an audience.
I’ll conclude with a list of some of my forgotten favorites — an even dozen sex blog posts I enjoyed writing and still enjoy reading, posts that seemed important to me, or posts that other people seemed particularly to enjoy.
Monday, August 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Well, dang if my jaw didn’t drop to the floor when I discovered that legendary porn star Ginger Lynn has come out of retirement to shoot a bondage scene with Mark Davis for Kink.com’s Sex and Submission:
It’s fun for a number of reasons, not least of which is that Ginger is old enough to have developed that whole soft, well-rounded, mature / MILF-y look. Rode hard and put away wet? Sure. But don’t say that like it’s a bad thing. This is a woman who knows how to have fun:
From the Kink.com marketing copy:
Sex and Submission proudly presents pornstar legend Ginger Lynn in her first real BDSM sex scene with boyfriend Mark Davis. With much excitement and anticipation she explores her submissive side in great depth. Mark is tough with her at times and brings her to that breaking point where she struggles to fight through the pain and discomfort. But the pleasurable rewards and lovingness displayed throughout makes Ginger a very happy submissive. The chemistry between the two and the genuine reactions from porn celebrity Ginger Lynn is really something special!
Googling around for more information about the shoot, I found this, including some great quotes by Ginger:
“I’ve fallen madly in love. I have finally met a man who can keep up with me, who is my match in bed, and that man is Mark Davis. We met at a fundraiser for Nicki Hunter and have been inseparable ever since,” Lynn told XBIZ. “I figured if I was ever to make a comeback, I would do something I have never done before, show something I have never shown before, to express myself the same way I do at home. Very few men – none – have been able to bring that out of me the way Mark Davis has.”
“I’ve always been known as the girl next door, naughty-but-nice. At home, I’m sick, twisted, kinky and I have no boundaries. I don’t want to go into detail, but I will be living out my fantasies on film that I have only been able to do in my private life up until now. I may alienate some fans. They may be scared off, they may be fabulously surprised. At this point in my career and my life, it really doesn’t matter to me. I am going to do something I want to do.
“I’m a naughty girl.”
Ready for more? The Submission of Ginger Lynn is a 48 minute move, for members.
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Saturday, July 7th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Ok, so that first get-together with the new internet prospect can be real awkward. We know this. But there are clues:
The constant signing of emails with master so-and-so was a huge fucking clue.
The request to call him sir after three email exchanges and one phone conversation was a clue.
The ridiculous comment that “even though I haven’t met you, I miss you — do you miss me?” was the motherfucking clue of clues.
Showing up to meet her in a public place with a fucking parrot (yes, a parrot…did I fucking stutter or something?) on his shoulder was a clue.
The couple sitting next to her who were gossiping…”
Stop! Whoa! All ahead stern! Screech! Stop the music! Nobody move!
Did she really say “parrot”?
Parrot? As in, like this?
In all the ink (real and virtual) that’s been devoted to “what not to do on the first date”, I don’t think anybody ever considered the need to write “Wait until the second date to introduce her to your parrot. Do not under any circumstances take take your bird when you go to meet a woman for the first time.”
Consider it written now.
Don’t get me wrong, I actually quite like the feathery little bastards. I bought one for a girlfriend once. I don’t miss her, but I sorta do miss that bird. And, like any pet, they can be pretty good company when you’re lonely.
Remind me, why were we going on that first date again? Oh, yeah, to find another freaking human to bond with / fuck / enslave / spend time with / preen my feathers. Which of these things is not like the others?
Why do pirates take their parrots everywhere? Because they don’t have any secure place they can leave the bird without it flying away or following them. Which is the same reason they carry all their doubloons in their underwear, or bury them in a sea chest on a moonless night (not such a good option for parrot housing).
If, like a pirate, you suffer from lack of a permanent place to park your parrot, it’s best you try to conceal this factoid from your new prospective internet submissive for as long as possible.
That is all.
Well, almost all. If your internet date brings a parrot to your first meeting, you know it’s going to wind up like this:
Yarrrr!
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Monday, July 2nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Fans of the leading edge porn from San Francisco’s Kink.com have been looking forward for weeks to today’s grand opening of the new “reality BDSM” site, The Training of O. According to the promo material, The Training of O documents real, gritty, multi-day training sessions with submissive models, who “earn their stripes in erotic servitude” and “prove their determination to train by enduring grueling tasks of initiation.”
“Grueling tasks”, indeed! I am delighted and amused to see an old BDSM print-fiction trope come alive: namely, the huge and pointless dirty job for the naked slavegirl to perform, an endless round of weary nude labor with no earthly hope of completion in time to avoid punishment. This is grit you would not be seeing in your typical San Fernando Valley “omigawd, I might break a fingernail” posed-and-phoney BDSM porn. Here’s the glamor shot (from this introductory shoot) of a poor naked girl who’s been handed a shovel and pointed at a very large pile of dirt somewhere in the bowels of the awesome Armory shooting location:
Indeed, I was so entertained by this earthmoving project that I grabbed a few screen captures from the video. Those white heels and frilly sock-stockings are never gonna make it through this day:
Adding insult to injury, our unfortunate submissive is being made to haul that dirt quite a ways, which is real work when you do it with a shovel, as any former day laborer knows:
But the life of a slave can always get worse! Now the poor thing has lost her shovel privileges (my guess would be for excessive whining):
Does she look sufficiently put-upon yet?
Try not to look so abject, m’dear. Cheer up, we haven’t even gotten to the chaining-and-caning part, starring about eighty pounds of steel chain and your pretty bottom! But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; a girl who gets that dirty has to be very thoroughly washed.
A detailed story at Xbiz.com sets out the new site concept in even greater detail:
“It’s a startling site,” director James Mogul told XBIZ. “It’s ‘reality BDSM’ so that elicits a lot of reactions, and I think the content is super-strong. I would say it’s realistic in terms of what you might expect to see in an actual BDSM exchange.”
The basic premise of the site involves models videotaped over a weeklong course in submission training. “I’ve actually developed a training program,” Mogul said. “We take applicants and interview them and develop a curriculum based on their experience. Some girls we worked with are very experienced and some girls are brand new and I think we’re hitting a wide range of the scope. We are going to mix it up. The plan is to go with about 75 percent fresh talent and about 25 percent of the content will be experienced, known talent that we can kind of push boundaries with a little bit.”
Shot at the company’s new production facility, the massive San Francisco Armory building, Mogul is able to utilize several different sets to create a gritty, authentic atmosphere.
The spaces are beautiful. The decay is beautiful. It’s like walking onto a movie set all made for you,” Mogul said. “There’s really nothing that needs to be done in terms of the aesthetics, but there is a lot that needs to be done in terms of making production practical and that’s coming together very, very quickly.”
As always, it’s the aesthetics of the production that will set The Training of O apart from what’s been done before. Just one more example: Here’s Sarah Jane Ceylon in the handiest-ever slavegirl head box, complete with portable glory hole and cork:
Just the thing for punishments or blowjobs, or even for providing the peace and quiet a weary slave needs after a hard day’s training.
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Friday, April 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
From Journey Into Submission, a conversation on what happens when you attempt to economize on sex toys:
Somehow the conversation veered way off track.
“Butt plug and ball gag?” someone asked, echoing the last person’s statement.
“How about a butt plug ball gag?” another person asked.
“Ewwww! That’s gross!” a third chimed in.
I tried to hide my face in my hand and ignore the flush rising to my cheeks. Mr Stern looked down at me kneeling at his feet, taking in the banter.
“A butt plug ball gag. Hmmm…” he said, tapping my forehead with his finger. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
Two nights before I had been laying naked on his bed, tied wrists to thighs, with Rachel on one side and Mr Stern on the other…
“Did I tell you what I did to her a few weeks ago?” Mr Stern asked Rachel. I had my eyes closed so I didn’t see but I assume she shook her head.
“I sent her to the grocery store with a butt plug in her cunt,” he said. Rachel laughed.
“Did she keep it in the whole time or did it fall out at the store?” she asked.
“Tell her, slut. Open your eyes, look at Rachel, and tell her if it stayed in the whole time,” he ordered, pulling my hair to force my head back. I swallowed hard, tried to focus and suppressed a giggle that suddenly threatened to bubble up.
“It stayed in the whole time,” I said, meeting her eyes. She nodded wisely. I’m sure I was blushing fiercely at the crudeness of the conversation.
“Which one was it, slut? Was it this one?” Mr Stern asked after a minute, climbing back onto the bed. I shifted my gaze back to him and saw the black butt plug in his hand.
“Yes, Mr Stern, that’s it,” I said. He reached over and pressed it against my lips. I instinctively opened my mouth and he slid it in. Since I had been the one to clean it, I was as sure as I could be that it was clean. Besides, Mr Stern is a self proclaimed germophobe, he was not liable to do anything that actually exposed me to yickiness.
“Have you been practicing deep throating your dildos so you can take my whole cock in?” he asked as the toy went past my tongue.
I shook my head no, unable to speak with the butt plug deep in my throat. It was just small enough to fit in my mouth but there was no room to talk.
“Slut, you need to practice. Let’s see what you can do with this. I’m going to fuck your face with it,” he said, forcing it to the back of my throat. I tilted my head back to allow deeper access. The flared end of the plug rested against my lips and Mr Stern held it with his fingertips. I moaned as he shoved it in and out.
“Does that turn you on, you fucking slut?” he asked. He loomed over me, watching my reaction.
I nodded as well as I could considering my position.
“I bet she’s imagining it’s my cock. That gets her wetter than anything else,” Mr Stern told Rachel. “Is that what you’re doing, slut?”
I nodded again. It was that very idea – of his cock in my mouth – that was turning me on. I wanted to deep throat his cock the way I was letting the plug slide all the way in. I stuck my tongue out a little further, wrapping it around the widest part of the plug.
Mr Stern started telling Rachel how much he enjoys it when I suck his cock, about how I do something with my tongue that is just perfect, and how I was showing off now in hopes of enticing him into putting his cock in my mouth. I concentrated on not gagging and making my display look good, for exactly the reason he had guessed.
Wednesday, January 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
A while back I noticed a Bondage Blog post called Hanging Like Ripe Fruit. The post (illustrated by some bondage porn from Hogtied.com) featured a suspension tie reminiscent of a scene from The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, a famous BDSM novel by Ann Rice. Unfortunately Bondage Blog only posted one picture, so in a moment of boredom, I went back to Anne Rice to help flesh it out:
“Double her, for punishment,” said Lord Gregory. “I think a real punishment is in order.”
Princess Lizetta gave several high-pitched groans. They seemed both anger and protest. She seemed not to have bargained for this, and as she was carried ahead of Beauty and Lord Gregory into the Hall of Punishments, the Pages quickly affixed leather cuffs to her wrists and ankles, each cuff with a heavy metal hook imbedded in it.
Now she was raised, struggling, to a great low beam that spanned the room, her wrists hung from a hook above her head and then her legs brought straight up in front of her so that her ankles were fixed to the same hook. The was, in fact, bent double. Her head was then forced between her calves, so that Beauty could see her face clearly. And a leather strap was bound around here, securely pressing her upturned legs against her torso.
But the most cruel and frightening aspect of it for Beauty was the exposure of the Princess’s secret parts, for she was hung so that anyone could see her full sex with its pink lips and its dark hair even to the tiny brown orifice between her buttocks. And all this just below her scarlet face. Beauty could imagine no worse exposure and she looked down timidly, glancing up again and again to the girl whose suspended body moved slightly as with a current in the air, the leather links at her wrists and ankles creaking.
…
The man in velvet had begun to stroke Princess LIzetta’s sex with a small instrument that was, as so much here, covered in smooth black leather. This was a three-pronged rod that somewhat resembled a hand, and as soon as he teased the helpless Princess, she began to struggle in her bonds.
Beauty understood at once what was happening. The Princess’s pink sex, terrifying to Beauty as it hung so unprotected, appeared to swell, to ripen. Beauty could see tiny droplets of moisture appear on it.
…
“Lord Gregory,” the Lady said, “you must think of something special.” Then to Beauty’s horror, the lady reached out delicately and fastidiously and pinched Princess LIzetta’s pubic lips hard so that they exuded moisture. Then she pinched the right lip and the left, and the girl winced with pain and misery.
Lord Gregory had meantime snapped his fingers for the Lord with the iron clawlike hand, and whispered something Beauty could not hear. “It will strengthen her punishment.”
And now the Lord appeared with a little pot and a brush and as the Lady stepped back, he took the brush and bathed Princess LIzetta’s naked organ in a heavy syrup. A few droplets fell to the floor, and the princess again made known her misery. She sobbed softly behind her gag, but the Lady only smiled rather innocently and shook her head. “It will attract any flies we have about,” Lord Gregory said, “and if we have none it shall produce its inevitable itching as it dries. It is quite uncomfortable.”
The Lady did not seem satisfied. Her pretty and innocent face was smooth however and she sighed. “I suppose it will do for now, but I wish she were bound with her legs apart to a stake in the garden. Then let the flies and the little insects of the air find her honeyed mouth. She deserves it.”
Although there are no dramatically better views in the short trailer and sample views visible for free without whipping out your credit card, a membership will get you rather a lot more!
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Sunday, December 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I imagine that tickling girls is probably the first experience most little boys get with anything remotely like power exchange or BDSM. Annoying critters like big sisters, powerful people like mom, those fascinating but dangerous girl-creatures at school — sometimes they can be disarmed, discombobulated, annoyed, whatever, it doesn’t matter, they are affected by a tickle, by just a little half-innocent touch. The result can be out of all proportion to the strength of the touch, and what’s more, the “victims” often laugh and seem to enjoy themselves, even as they are powerless to resist or ignore. Heady stuff!
Of course tickling is a fetish in its own right for some people, with commercial tickling porn and everything. But I sometimes have trouble imagining that the pro bondage pornographers (who usually seem to produce oh-so-serious tableaux featuring anguished faces, strained positions, and whistling whips) don’t tickle their models now and again, if only to produce a smile when they need one.
And, indeed, they do tickle, if this tickle-bondage photo from Hogtied.com is any indication:
That’s the lovely Veronica Jett getting tickled in her ropes, and you can see more of her here.
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Tuesday, September 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Wow, is this kinky or what?
On wednesday, I will walk up to one end of a long line of men. Sometimes there are women, but it’s always mostly men. They are there to watch me, and I am there to be watched. I start at one end, smile at the first man I encounter, and begin. Slowly. Carefully, I take off my glasses and fold them neatly, just like my nighttime bedroom ritual. Then I lean over and unzip one long black platform boot, and then the other. I present each piece of footwear as proof — as if the sudden shortness in my height, and its message of vulnerability isn’t evidence enough. I am now smaller, more feminine, and a little more helpless. I take off my earrings, my necklace, deliberately placing the girlish silver with my glasses. I’m usually still smiling now, because it’s time to take off my belt. I know what’s going to happen. I unbuckle the metal and leather, sliding the belt through its loops around my waist, which serves to loosen my pants and move the denim to and fro as I work the belt free. The top straps of my g-string always peek out; I can’t help this. I unzip my hoodie and peel it off, revealing the light cotton tank top I always wear. And even though it makes no sense, I always take off my stripey arm warmers, because if I don’t, they *make me* take them off. So I do it in a subtly slow demonstration, one opera-length glovelet at a time. Next, and last, I unclip my hair, letting my almost waist-length black and blonde locks down over my now-bare shoulders and arms.
They all watch. Then I wait for their commands, and their approval. I do what they say, unconditionally, and this is an unspoken agreement between me and the men. Hardly a word is said, and I make sure to smile as I softly pad past all eyes, which are on me, even if just for a flicker or two. Then at the end of the line, I slowly dress — I like to take my time putting my clothes back on.
That’s Violet Blue — well, anybody, really — going through airport security. As she explains:
[W]hat I related to you above is very much my experience when I go through security…. [W]hen you think about it, the modern process of going through pre-boarding security has far more kinky sexual elements than it should. Here’s why:
* You have to undress. br>
* While you undress, you are being watched and sized up. br>
* It’s a power-exchange scenario. br>
* Lots of uniforms. br>
* You are totally vulnerable, and it is humiliating. br>
* You are exposing intimate details of your person and dress in front of dozens of strangers. br>
* Your submission is unspoken, it is a rule, and it is unconditional. Your submission is for public consumption. br>
* There is a constant threat that a stranger will touch you. They can touch you anywhere, and in your most intimate places if they want to. br>
* There is an undercurrent and tension that they will open your posessions and touch your private items, such as your underwear, clean or dirty. br>
* It is nonconsensual. And in garden-variety BDSM practice, even this is forbidden territory. br>
As well it should be, in BDSM and at the airport.
Sunday, March 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve commented before (most notably in the comments to this post about the production of spanking porn) that I don’t have much time for so-called feminists who can’t respect a woman’s sexual decisions. When feminists stop standing up for the choices women make, I stop recognizing them as feminists, it’s that simple.
Thus there’s some interest to be found in this Spanking and Feminism thread over at Spanking Blog. The post itself chides kinky men who won’t take ownership of their kinkiness, who can’t admit they want to spank and dominate for the fun of it, so they instead pretend (to themselves and to the world) that the women they are spanking are weak inferior creatures who would be lost without the “guidance and discipline” these ever-so-benevolent dudes are offering.
As discussion simmered in the comments, ranging wider and wider as discussions of BDSM and feminism tend to do, along came someone claiming to “respect individual choices” while simultaneously arguing that “it’s really hard to seperate out cultural expectations and personal choices.” Which, translated, means something like “You say you chose to do that, but I don’t believe you, and thus I’m free to condemn your choice.” I enjoyed the response:
No, it’s really not hard to separate out personal choices from cultural expectations. When someone says “This is my choice” you respect that, absolutely, or you just became part of the problem. If you retain niggling reservations, if you’re willing to question the individual’s self report of her choice, then you are failing to respect her personal choice and you are claiming, in effect, that you know better than the individual. Viewed charitably, the claim is still a version of “Your society has made it impossible for you to act as as a self-actualized individual adult human; you’re so messed up that you can’t even correctly determine or report what you want.” That’s an infantilizing, disempowering, patronizing claim and although it’s often made by folks who claim the badge of feminism, it’s no part of a true feminism that I could respect.
Just so.
Saturday, February 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This is a post about two smiles:
Those are the two smiles of the lovely Sarah Blake, who does bondage modeling for Hogtied.com. I want you to look at those smiles and study the differences between them. No matter if you’re kinky or vanilla (but especially if you’re vanilla) I want you to remember those smiles the next time you hear a preacher or a politician ranting and raving against the evils of sadomasochism, sexual depravity, and sadistic abuse. He’s talking about Sarah and her delicious, joyful smile.
All the pictures in this post come from this shoot, which you can view for yourself if you want to see Sarah tied up and, er, entertained, in some astonishing ways. I’m not going to reproduce those pictures here, although I will be describing the entertainment. All I’m showing you are her smiles (and one gasp of ecstasy.)
Let’s start with the first smile:
This is the “before” picture, taken at the beginning of the photo shoot. It’s a pretty smile — Sarah’s a pretty woman — but it’s a professional model’s smile. A little bit forced, a lot posed, and as artificial as a flower arrangement. This could be the yearbook photo, the portfolio photo, even the drivers license photo. This smile started when Sarah was young, and you can still see in it the obedient girl who learned what to do when the nice man behind the camera told her to smile.
Sarah covers a lot of kinky miles between that smile and the next one.
If you view more of the shoot, you’ll see Sarah with her ankles crossed and tied in front of her chin. Her miniskirt has puddled around her hips, but her panties are still on, so it’s a fairly innocent bondage image. Sarah’s wild ride is just beginning.
Moving rapidly along, we soon see her in the same pose without her undies, with a glass vacuum jar firmly secured to her tenderest bits. The ride accelerates; in another view, she’s on her knees wearing a heavy wooden set of stocks, with her pony tail tied back to — is there a nicer word for this device? — a butt hook that’s securely hooked in (you guessed it) her butt. The rear view of the same scene shows some welts where she’s been caned.
Moving along. In the next view, she’s been stood up, and a metal-pipe-and-ball-gag arrangement has been affixed to her wooden stocks to complicate her life. Some nipple clips with heavy round lead fishing weights are being clamped onto her nipples. When the cameraman steps back, we can see that she’s balanced on tiptoes, with a pole-and-dildo arrangement to encourage her to stay there.
The next couple of photos show a new scene, with Sarah on her stomach in a tight hogtie on two butcher-block tables. Her hands and feet are pressed and tied together, there’s a suspension rope around her elbows pulling her up in what have to be uncomfortable ways, and she’s wearing a red ball gag in a harness that’s making her drool.
*CLICK* Now she’s on her side, in rope bondage, with clothespins on her nipples and a big vibrator working her tender bits.
*CLICK* Now she’s in suspension — an astonishing upside-down posture that looks like gymnastics, only much sexier. Still with clothespins on her nipples.
Moving on. The website describes and explains the next scene thusly:
Sarah also has a tragic secret, she cannot stop cumming if she is stuck on a vibrator. So viewers, be warned! The last scene is a long intense forced orgasm scene until Sarah is vibrated senseless.
What we see is a hard wooden chair with a big vibrator duct-taped to it. Sarah’s strapped onto the chair (and the vibrator) with some well-worn and very-impressive-looking leather belts. She’s clearly enjoying herself, if a bit lost in the sensation:
So what’s been the point of all this lurid description? Quite simply this. Unless you’re a serious bondage fiend, someone who plays hard and invests serious time and money into your dungeon equipment, I’ve probably described more than you’re comfortable with. If you’ve got no interest in bondage, if you’ve never even seen a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, you might be pretty horrified by most of what I’ve described. If you’ve played at bedroom bondage, own one pair of cuffs and a riding crop, you might be fascinated by some of the pictures but scared or repelled by others of them. If you’re seriously kinky and have a home dungeon of your own, you might appreciate most or all the photos, but even then there’s probably something that’s not quite your cup of tea, or that’s too risky or troublesome to be worth trying in your book. But, whereever you fall on that spectrum, and however sincerely you might say of one of the depicted activities “that’s not for me”, I want you to focus on the last picture in the photoset, Sarah wearing nothing but her rope marks. Here’s Sarah’s exhausted-but-exhilarated second smile:
That’s not just a smile, it’s a grin. There’s more joy and enthusiasm and life in that photo than there is in a dozen of the professional smiles we saw at the top. Sarah, despite having suffered through some intensely uncomfortable bondage positions, has had a wonderful time.
And that visible joy, my friends, is what the Grundies want to kill when they rail against “sadism, masochism, and abuse.” I suppose they don’t even know about the joy — they may honestly think it’s all about objectification and degradation and money and feelthy perverts — but I don’t want you, dear readers, to have the same excuse. You’ve seen the two smiles. Now you know.
The next time you hear somebody railing against the feelthy perverts, you’re to remember the smiles. Even if the specific activity under discussion grosses you out, because it’s not your kink and you can’t understand why it could be anyone’s, remember the smiles. Remember Sarah’s visible joy. We don’t need to understand or appreciate a kink to understand that smile.
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Saturday, October 22nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
One of the common mostly-false slams against porn in this era of globalisation is that the performers are mostly coerced sex slaves, or at least impoverished scared young girls with few options. (I’m not making this up as a straw man argument; see, e.g., the Biting Beaver (her term): “You CANNOT know if the girl you are masturbating to is, in reality, a sexual slave from Austria who has a gun pointed at her head just off camera.“)
Yeah. And you cannot know that the bottle of salad dressing you pour on your salad isn’t full of stale unpasteurized jizz from bored wanking food factory workers, either. But that doesn’t make it likely, or stop you from eating creamy salads. Why not? Because of branding. If you worry about funky jizz in your dressing, you buy a reputable brand from a company you trust, one that’s got white-coated vat inspectors and security cams all over the factory floor. And, if you really worry, you do research. You get a tour of the factory, or (more likely) read the article in Consumer Reports by the reporter who worked there for three days undercover. The point is, you check into it a little bit.
This is perfectly possible with porn. By way of local example, these issues came up in a peripheral way in this post about real sex in BDSM porn, where a couple of readers suggested in the comments that making such porn was degrading and unsafe for the models, only to be confronted by other readers who were able to vouch for the porn company in question based on personal acquaintance with the models and producers.
And that’s how you check out your porn brand. Research. You look for accounts (which are all over the web, since many models have blogs) of what it’s like to work for a particular porn company, how they treat their people, how the sets are run, whatever you’re worried about. Of course you can’t disprove sensationalist claims about porn factories full of enslaved Eastern European beauties this way — folks who want to cling to that fantasy will continue to do so, brandishing their “news” stories from The Weekly World News, National Enquirer, and Reader’s Digest — but you can satisfy yourself, along with any other reasonable people who might be curious, that the porn you buy is sex slave free.
To pick another flamboyantly outrageous example, how about the notoriously severe spanking and caning DVDs produced by Lupus Pictures? They are often cited as an example of a company that must abuse and exploit its models, because what right-thinking innocent girl would voluntarily consent to an ass-whipping that leaves her in tears with flaming red welts on her bottom? (Short answer: There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreampt of in your philosophy.)
Here are couple of a relatively mild screen capture samples so we know what we are talking about, courtesy of Lupus Spanking [2014 update: now defunct]:
And now some samples from an article by and an interview with Niki Flynn, who went to Prague to make a movie with these “evil werewolves from the East”. From the article (link broke awhile ago, see this .txt mirror):
I never thought of myself as a girl who could survive a Lupus-style caning. I cringe and wince when I watch the films and say, “There’s no way I could take that!” I’d heard the internet rumours, of course — about the innocent, impoverished Czech girls who are seduced by the money into being abused by the evil werewolves from the East. But I’d look at the “behind-the-scenes” pictures on the website and see everyone having a good time, laughing and horsing around, even after the canings. So the rumours never seemed to have any substance. Besides, the same girls turn up again and again to do films; they clearly know what to expect.
…
The thing that impressed me most of all was the consummate professionalism of everyone involved. This was not a group of pornographers making dirty pictures, nor was it a cruel band of misogynists delighting in taking advantage of girls who couldn’t say no. This was a real film crew working on a real film. In addition to the director, producer, script supervisor, makeup artist, properties and wardrobe mistress, caterer, cameramen, boom operator, still photographer, actors and (ahem) stunt girls, there were people on hand to offer us refreshments, comfort or anything else we needed.
…
Did it hurt? Of course. Did I enjoy it? Absolutely not. Do I regret it? Not for a moment. In fact, I had the time of my life. So did William. I knew exactly what I was getting into and I did it because this is what I like. And when it was over and I lay sobbing over the desk, I felt what mountain climbers must feel when they reach the peak. I was so high on the feeling of accomplishment and so lost in the roleplay that I nearly wished I could have some more! And when I look at the marks now I have a sense of pride and achievement. I savor the marks. No one who isn’t into this can ever truly understand. Boxers and footballers suffer broken noses and concussions. No one criticizes them or calls their sport unhealthy. What we do is so much safer. It’s really a shame so many people misunderstand.
Hmm, she doesn’t sound helpless or exploited, does she?
From her interview:
David: There are many rumors about the girls who perform in Lupus productions. Some believe that they attract poor, starving, drug-addicted Eastern European Girls. Now I know that this isn’t true. Prague is often referred to as ‘The Paris of the east”. The Czech Republic is not a third world country. What myths about Lupus would you most like to dispel?
Niki: (Sigh) Yes, the famous urban legends. I think that those rumors are insulting to the girls actually. It’s true, some people think of the Czech Republic as a third world country and that the girls are all uneducated and bullied into it. Or, they have no choice because they are so desperate for money they will do anything. The truth is that the Czech Republic isn’t a third world country; it’s a middle income country that has just joined the European Union. Most of the Lupus crew are friends on the Czech BDSM scene. Some of the girls do it because they are genuinely kinky — they come back again and again. Some may do it for money, but it’s not a crust of bread. They are paid a professional rate. On the set, they are treated as professional actors. The production team at Lupus couldn’t have been more professional or more concerned for my safety — for all of the performers’ safety.
And that’s how you know that the girl in your favorite video doesn’t have an off-camera gun pointed at her head.
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Friday, September 30th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
From Usenet:
Update: Added sardonic “not” to the post title because people were not catching the sarcasm.
Wednesday, September 28th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
After having wallowed in BDSM-and-porn hatred in the last couple of posts, it’s time for some good old fashioned unapologetic girl-on-girl bondage porn, with some toilet dunking to push a few more buttons:
From Wired Pussy. And there’s nary a patriarch (nor even a dick!) in sight. (Unless, of course, you count the electrified stainless steel butt plugs in the shoot this picture came from.)
Saturday, September 24th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Via Bondage Blog comes this link to an interesting discourse on advertising images of women. But I was amazed by the casual one-sentence dismissal of kinky people, in a line that calls an image of a “‘woman-in-pain-but-she-loves-it-really” “misogynist iconography”.
There is, of course, a vast community of women who enjoy bondage and/or pain, plus the people who love those women. So now all these people (a huge chunk of the BDSM community) are misogynists? I’ve read that passage several times, and I just can’t see any way to read it that doesn’t attribute misogyny to all BDSM erotica with female subjects. I thought those sorts of baseless generalizations went out of fashion when civilized people started laughing at Andrea Dworkin.
Here’s the “misogynist iconography” in question:
What grosses me out about that image is that it appears to be one of those advertising images where they’ve used Photoshop as a “digital rack” to stretch the model, so that she appears unnaturally long in the torso and limbs. That’s gotta hurt.
Thursday, August 11th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
The Girl With A One Track Mind recently got asked “What’s BDSM?” by her mother.
And it triggered a horrifying memory of an episode I had otherwise forgotten.
I grew up in a very small town a long way from anywhere. Social options were … limited. And girls? Forget about it. There was only one my age, and she didn’t like me. Hell, I didn’t even like her much. But she had brothers I got along with OK, so I hung at their house a lot.
Which is how, one day when I was perhaps fourteen, I found myself sitting at their kitchen table playing UNO with about six people ranging in age from littlest sister (age 9?) to The Mom, whose oldest kids were long gone from home. The Mom was a “fun” adult, tolerant of kids and never angry, made awesome chocolate eclairs and always with a kind word for everyone. She was also pretty for her age, blonde, and a devout, bury-all-her-problems-in-the-joy-of-Jesus fundamentalist Christian. Not preachy, but completely lost in belief, with no room in her worldview for other answers and no other way to cope with her many problems.
So one of the brothers made a particularly boneheaded move (hard to do while playing UNO) and Sister My Age made a derisive remark that concluded with “…you stupid dildo!”
Of course Littlest Sister pipes up from inside her cute little halo of blonde hair (these folks were all blonde Scandahoovians from Michigan): “What’s a dildo?”
Crickets.
The Mom got a curious look on her face, and in a completely friendly tone (no guile possible, just motherly interest) asked Sister My Age “Yes, dear, what’s a dildo?”
She meant the question honestly. She had no freakin’ idea.
I dunno how much Sister My Age knew. In that house, it’s possible she didn’t know any better than Mom. But she obviously knew it was something “bad”, because she stammered and blushed a bit, and then she protested that she didn’t know, it was just a name she’d heard someone call someone else in a movie (which she named).
And then, for my sins, The Mom turned her gaze on me. “[My Name], do you know what a dildo is?”
Did I mention my sins? My big one, here, was the sin of being smarter than any of the many children The Mom had ever popped from her loins. I was the big reader, the guy with the huge vocabulary, the guy who knew it all and (at fourteen) never failed to let everyone know it. The Mom knew I’d know, because she knew that I’d read every piece of printed matter that had every fallen under my eyes, whether I understood it or not.
Now it was my turn to blush and stammer. For indeed, I did know. I’d read The Joy Of Sex. Hell, I’d had to volunteer as librarian in our town’s little public library, just so I could smuggle it out of the place without having to write my name on the little paper slip in the front while being watched with basilisk eyes by the normal little-old-lady volunteers who’d known me since I was five. Also, there was an Older Brother of this family who used to hide his three porn magazines in the woods in a treehouse fort constructed for that very purpose. I’d invaded the fort and viewed them. I knew what was what.
And I was stuck. Claiming ignorance wouldn’t work. I had never been seen to do it. Nobody would believe me. Nor, looking back, do I think I was capable of it.
What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t very well look this nice eclair-baking Christian lady in the eye and say “It’s a big rubber penis.”
So I hemmed, and I hawed, and said I wasn’t sure, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t a very nice thing to call your little sister; I knew it was some sort of thing for married people, because wherever I had read the word (and, pious me, I could not remember where) it had also been called a “marital aid.”
That was the magic phrase; The Mom obviously knew what those were, because I saw the light dawn in her eyes, and then she said to Sister My Age “Don’t be calling your little sister that” and jumped up to offer some more eclairs.
Friday, July 1st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
A new kinky site is out: Sex And Submission!
If you like your sex at all kinky, you’ll have noticed that genuinely kinky hard core porn is very hard to find. Bondage and spanking photos are a dime a dozen, but how often do you see a pretty woman in a leather collar with her wrists tied giving a big sloppy enthusiastic blowjob? Or bouncing happily up and down on some male porn star prong with her wrists clipped to the D-rings on her collar?
I’m not saying you can’t find it, but it’s not common and it’s rarely commercial. In the United States, this has something to do (I’m told) with porn-industry-standard “rules of thumb” designed to help porn producers avoid judicial unpleasantry in all the most sexually conservative corners of the country where their porn might get sold.
So imagine my suprise today to discover that one of my favorite porn producers (the folks who, from their bastion of permissive community standards in San Francisco, put out sites like the oddly transgressive Ultimate Surrender girl/girl wrestling site, the justly famous Hogtied bondage site, or the sadly-defunct Real Fucking Couples) has crossed the line in a big way with their new site called Sex and Submission. For the first time that I’ve seen, an American porn company is making real BDSM porn that includes tight bondage, hard spanking, and real unfaked sex.
Let me illustrate by pointing to this Sex And Submission shoot, which opens with an almost stereotypical, even banal, BDSM tableau. Here’s a pretty woman (Lori Alexia) on her knees, on a leash but not otherwise bound, looking hungrily in the direction of some fellow’s presumably masterful erection:
Of course, every two-bit BDSM pornographer in the last twenty years has shown you a picture like that, teasing you into hoping that she’ll be naked and tied (or chained, or whatever) in the next picture, and sucking like mad (still tied) in the picture after that. But if you bought the tease, you’d be disappointed. In the bad stuff, the leash is as good as the bondage gets; in the better stuff, her bondage gets more severe, and you might eventually see his penis held near her face, almost-but-not-quite in range of her tongue. And then in the next shot, you’ll looking at a blowjob closeup. And in the shot after that, they are going at it hammer and tongs — and she’s not tied any more. There are endless (and sometimes very creative) variations on the theme, but somehow the bondage and the sex never seem to make it into the same photographic frame.
In sharp contrast to those tired old ruses, Sex and Submission (astonishingly) appears to be delivering on the tease. In the shoot I took that photo from, it’s followed by a spanking photo, a picture of her being tied up tight with real rope, a display shot of her still leashed, but now topless with her hands tied behind, and then (philandering Zeus smite me if I lie!) two photos of her sucking intently on the man’s dick with her hands still tied and his tight grip on the leash “encouraging” her. I saw that and like to dropped my teeth. It’s a thing that (up until now) just wasn’t done.
Nor is it just a fluke. In this shoot, the Sex and Submission people have lovely Jamie all bent over in a short wooden pillory:
Again, every BDSM pornographer has got one of these pillories, and an endless supply of cute girls to put in it. You can find a hundred thousand versions of the inevitable weary flogging. But have you ever before seen the male talent take the obvious advantage of the situation and get a pillory blowjob? Perhaps I’ve led a sheltered life, because I haven’t. Until now.
When one does actually find this sort of real BDSM porn in odd foreign corners of the net, there’s always the additional worry that the scenes depicted might not be fully consensual. That’s the trouble with bondage sex — the vast majority of it as actually practiced in bedroooms and dungeons throughout the land is relentlessly consensual, but it’s neither easy nor desirable to portray that consent in a still photo. These galleries, made in America by a reputable producer of known fixed address, go a long way toward alleviating those sorts of concerns.
I’ll shut up now. It’s time to play one of my favorite games with The Nymph — the one where I show her pictures on my computer screen and she says “Eek!” (while observing avidly between widely-spaced fingers over her eyes). Y’see, she’s actually the carpenter of the family….
Update: There’s a rather heated comment to this post asking why “only the women are portrayed as submissives” and “will this company be fair and show men who are getting spanked and tied and fucked?” The answer, of course, is not “sexism” as the commenter proposes. In fact, the answer to the latter question is simply “Yes.” The company in question has had such a site for years, called Men in Pain. Here’s a shoot featuring a man in severe bondage being caned, flogged, and penetrated anally and orally by powerful women. Sorry, Michelle, that dog just won’t hunt. Unless the sexism runs the other way? Why has it long been OK to show this sort of explicit submissive bondage sex when the man is the recipient, but not when the woman is?
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, June 3rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
If you can stop laughing long enough, these pictures of blow-up dolls in bondage may make you wonder whether the folks at Slave Sluts have enough to occupy their time:
I hope this doesn’t mean there’s a looming shortage of real live “slave sluts”!
Thanks to Bondage Blog for the link.
Tuesday, March 22nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
…her mother said “Nelly,
there’s more in your belly
than ever went in by your mouth!”
This next link, when clicked, delivers a grainy postage-stamp-sized anal sex video, an extremely explicit one. That’s all the warning you are going to get:
(Link)
Thanks (I think) to Marylu for emailing the link.
Sunday, May 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
And here is your pure-fun Sunday image:
Note the whip — I think doggy girl is in for it!
Friday, April 30th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I have heard tales that some of the serious body modification guys have suffered foreign objects to be introduced under the skins of their penises, with the purpose and intent of creating small lumpy scars or bumps “for her pleasure”. Well, in the course of a long internet surfing life one eventually sees pictures of almost everything, and now I’ve been sent pictures of this. I cannot suffer the trauma alone, I must share:
As for me, I’d think the girls willing to try it would be way outnumbered by the ones who would shun it as diseased-looking. But perhaps I’ve merely led a sheltered life.
Monday, April 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
If you look at very much porn, you’ll know there’s a sort of extreme genre out there these days that involves a lot of over-the-top aggression and degrading grossness, including in various mixes things like face-slapping, spitting, shoving girls’ heads in toilets while shoving other stuff up their orifices, and so forth. It’s mostly not for me. So I was entertained when Eden wrote:
I’ve been forced to gag by having a cock pushed down my throat during rough sex and BDSM scenes. It was unpleasant, but that was part of the mood of the moment, and as such it was incredibly exciting. But a whole site (and there are several now) devoted to fucking a woman’s mouth so hard and deep that she vomits around the cock… and he keeps going? I certainly won’t say it should be banned — to each his own — but I’d pay to see those women allowed to force cucumbers down the throats of the men who had just been using them.
So would I. “Max Hardcore Vegetable Revenge” anyone?
Saturday, December 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
This is just too funny. Plus, for some reason it makes me want to start singing “If I Had A Hammer”:
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Thursday, December 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Consult your herbals, ladies and gentlemen! Is it true that ginger is an aphrodisiac?
Buried in the links in a couple of recent posts over at Spanking Blog (where the discussion focuses on the painful effects of ginger when used in BDSM play) comes this startling assertion in an article called Figging: The Art of Anal Ginger Root Play:
Ginger also has a property that puts it far ahead of any ginger substitutes. So it is said, the juice of the root has the ability to cause incredible sexual desires. I have had subs begin to sob, begging to have something inserted into their female opening and to have orgasm. The reaction is tenfold if the ginger juice comes in contact with the clitoris. Cut a small slice of ginger, making sure it has one flat side. Place this side directly onto the clitoris and hold it there. Depending on anatomy, some women will be able to retain the slice on their own without assistance.
Apply ginger to the genitalia while the ginger plug is in place and watch to see if it brings the pleasure you both seek. I have experienced some of the most stunning results with submissives using this technique. I don’t have a perfect scientific explanation as to why ginger cause such an effect but suffices to say it works.
Update: Intrepid experimenters, check Figging.com for your instructions, then experiment and (please!) report back.
Monday, October 13th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s not at all unheard of for me to post BDSM-ish stuff on ErosBlog. However, I’m not sure I’ve ever posted any femdom (women dominating men) pictures. Why not? Well, what little fem/dom porn I’ve ever seen has had always had an extreme case of the common porn problem, namely, that the people shown in it too often aren’t smiling or appearing to have any fun. I’m a huge believer that porn in any genre is ten times as hot if the performers look like they are enjoying themselves.
Thus this rather cute drawing caught my eye, because it shows three lovely young blonde ladies having fun with a hapless but perhaps-not-unhappy young man. Two of the three ladies have pleased-looking smiles on their faces, and the lady with the whip looks more intense than mean:
There’s a slightly larger version over at the “free” (lots of affiliate links, but no pop-ups that I saw) porn site where this turned up.
Update: Reader Melissa let me know that the artist is Sardax (at sardax.com ).
Tuesday, December 24th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
“Merry Christmas to All, and To All, a Good Night!”
Saturday, November 23rd, 2002 -- by Bacchus
In one minor respect, the Gor books are like Scientologists. That is, there exist folks who object to any mention of them, unless it be a rousing and completely unequivocal denunciation.
It has been pointed out that the use of the word “yummy” in the previous entry disqualifies that entry from the “unequivocal” category. Accordingly, as a gesture of placation, please accept this link to a web classic, the ancient and notorious (but viciously accurate) parody: Houseplants of Gor.
An excerpt for flavor:
Borin picked up the watering can, and muchly watered the plant. The plant cried out. “No, Master! Do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. “Please, Master,” begged the plant, “do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. It was plant. It could be watered at will.
Thursday, November 14th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
This is too cute. From the twisted perverts (Bacchus means this only in the nicest possible way) over at BDSM Cafe we have Beanies in Bondage. Once again, Bacchus is not making this up.
Folks, this is why you read ErosBlog. Admit it, you know it’s true. While those other sex blogs (and most of the other blogs in the blogosphere) were linking to the done-to-death Bondage Barbie story, Bacchus went out and slaved away over hot link lists until he could bring you a hogtied furry stuffed bear wearing a ring gag and and a blindfold. Why you would want to see this remains a mystery, but at least it’s different.
Wednesday, October 9th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
An article called The Domme Next Door — San Francisco local color the San Francisco Bay Guardian way!
Vivian lies stretched out on the table in sequined hot pants and matching pasties. At more than six feet in heels, the voluptuous Morgana towers over her in a simple black dress and fishnets, her hair pulled back lest it get caught in the flame. She lights the menacing-looking torch and expertly moves it over Vivian, swiftly tapping the cotton on her chest, stomach, and thighs. She lets a low blue flame linger on each spot for a moment before stamping it out with her bare hand. As she explains, it’s actually the alcohol that’s burning, not Vivian’s lovely skin. Morgana teases the submissive with the heat, dancing the flame over her body. When it does finally make contact with her skin, Vivian arches her back slightly, and small gasps escape from her parted lips. As Morgana concentrates on the flame and Vivian’s responses, her eyes reflect the warm light and gleam with a ferocious intensity. This is one of Morgana’s favorite forms of S-M play, and it shows.
“It’s like a Tupperware party gone very, very bad,” Mistress Morgana says — and I, for one, am not inclined to argue!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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