You Gotta Ask Right!

There’s a right way and a wrong way, apparently, to ask her if she wants to fuck:

Learn the difference!

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Helpful Cat Is… Unhelpful

This is most of an “ink and color on silk” hanging scroll painting by Japanese artist Kawanabe Kyôsai (1831 – 1889) that’s in the collection of the Honolulu Museum of Art. It reminds me of this post from a dozen years ago:

I will not bat at my male human’s family jewels while he is engaged in the act of mating with my female human, no matter how tempting the danglies are. My humans get mad and I might get free flying lessons.

In several of the places where this artwork appears on the internet, it’s tagged as “gay” or “homoerotic”. Given that we see nothing of the penetrated figure except feet and legs, I wonder whether this is simply the natural tendency of the taggers to see the scene they wanted to see in an ambiguous work of art, or whether it’s art-historian stuff based on evidence extrinsic to the work?

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Don’t Look Now…

…but something horrible is sneaking up on you while you are busy fucking:

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Merry Christmas 2014

And by “merry”, I mean the very special sort of merriment Santa and his helper are enjoying here:

The festive fucking art is by Zimmerman.

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Dancers Fucking

It’s really hard for somebody to be a great dancer without them also presenting to the world as a highly sexual being. This, we non-dancers imagine, is the sort of thing that goes on non-stop in the back room at every dance studio in the world:

Artist not known.

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Celestial Hanky-Panky

This is from a promotional poster by Marek. Via Kinky Delight.

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Holly On Fucking And Feminism

Holly at The Pervocracy:

I’m also a feminist because I like to fuck, and I resent everything and everyone that would make that a secret shame. I fuck not to make marriages or babies but simply to fuck, and I am sick and fucking tired of the government and beer ads and my friends and fucking Cosmopolitan telling me there’s something wrong with that.

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A Fucking Manifesto

From Yes Means Yes:

I love to fuck, and I love to get fucked, with whom and how and when I and they want, and I’m not alone.

When we use fuck like it’s a bad thing we’re buying a connotation and a construction. It connotes unfairness and unpleasantness and aggression. We almost always mean that to do it is to defile the person or thing fucked; to harm it, devalue it; that the fucker is a ruiner and what is fucked is ruined. That the fucker is an agent doing an active thing, doing the fucking, subjecting the fucked thing to the fucking, and not itself fucked by the fucking. That the fuckee is getting fucked, is passive, is the object not just of the sentence but the act, is subjected to the fucking by the subject and is not itself (in the process of getting fucked) fucking the fucker.

…

I need to decline to adopt that construction. I must. The only person I’m fucking lately is my spouse, my partner, my copilot in scary parenting adventures and my support no matter how crazy things get. I fuck her because she likes for me to fuck her, and I like to fuck her. I don’t want to harm or devalue her by fucking her and I damned sure don’t want her ruined.

Common sense… that’s oddly uncommon.

Cicciolina On Fucking

Its called “fucking” for a reason, I never wanted a boy afraid of breaking me, I want a man that will grab my flesh firmly and fuck me properly. If my breasts are not moving while I am getting fucked on all fours, it means I am not getting pounded properly.”

— Cicciolina

Shooting For Kink.com

Over at Catalina Loves I found the longest and most detailed description I’ve yet seen about what it’s like to shoot for Kink.com. Model Coco writes at length about what her first shoot (for their Fucking Machines site) was like, and makes it sound like a lot of fun indeed. These are just tiny excerpts from a much longer piece:

TC the director came down to introduce himself to me and told me to meet him upstairs when I was finished. After some inspiring words I went up stairs to make-up. Isis Love the girl that pretty much got me this gig, was there to give me a thumbs up and wish me good luck. This made me even MORE nervous. I tried to calm myself down. There was a girl was in the middle of getting her make-up done and so I sat in the little lunch/waiting room. TC came in and asked me how I was feeling and if I had any questions. I started eating as he explained what would happen. He asked what I was nervous about. I said “all of the people that are going to be in the room, the more, the more nerve-wrecking” He mentioned there would be 4-5 people in the room. That must have gotten a surprised look out of me and he said, “If at any time you want to stop then we will stop and go get a beer. No harm, no foul and we’ll still pay ya.” That was relaxing. Haha. While the make-up artist was doing the other girls face, she told me I should “freshen up” I looked at her perplexed and after about 2 seconds I realized she was talking about douching. I have only douched a couple times before so I wandered my way into the bathroom. MY GOD! There was soooo much girl stuff in that bathroom, from hair ties, to douches to self enema thingys and like 4 different kinds of baby wipes and deodorants and razors, shampoos and just EVERYTHING you could think of that girls would need. So I did my deed.

…

So I was fixed on my back with my legs over the arm of the couch and the Satisfyher on it’s side. I was feeling SO ready to come and SO worked at this point I was excited and nervous. After getting warmed up quickly I just layed there and let it fuck me and took it all in. It was pretty fucking rad. Since I come faster from clitoral stimulation we decided to pull the satisfyher out and let it hit me on the clit instead of being inside me. TC manned the controls and we let her fly at 1800stokes per minute. All hell broke loose. There was no man in the world that would have stopped me from my orgasm at that point. I was sweating and shaking and moaning and right when I was in the middle of my orgasm I BROKE THE MACHINE. It just BUSTED. I have no clue I wasn’t watching it all I know is I came then I looked down and realized it was broke. OOPS!

After that I was ready for another orgasm and I was running around all energized and excited because everyone was saying how sweet it was that I broke the machine with my vagina. I felt pretty cool after that like a rockstar.

…

He happily handed over the new magic wand. TC assumed his position manning the drill and I had the vibrator. I was loose and ready. It was INTENSE. I mean getting fucked and playing with my clit usually gets me off, but this was fucking ridiculous. Every muscle in my legs and arms started shivering and aching and screaming MORE MORE MORE. It was almost too much. I was definitely overwhelmed. It didn’t take too long after that to send me into a screaming orgasm. And when I say screaming, I mean SCREAMING. I think I cussed more then anything. “oh FUCK” seemed to be the favorite of the day. I got fucked into a jerking moaning completely earth shaking orgasm. You know the kind that make you wanna write it down because you don’t want to forget that moment EVER. Ya that. I even squirted. I got some on the directors face. I was watching his face as he was watching my pussy and the look of amazement when I squirted made me feel even better.

…

After I got my paycheck, I went to my car and sat there and screamed. Screamed from how fucking cool it is to orgasm for a living. Screamed from doing something I’d never thought I’d have the balls to do. Screamed from being utterly brutalized in front of people I just met. I screamed for nothing and for everything.

And that is all I have to say about that. Take it how you want to. I know how I took it. HARD FAST and WITH EVERYTHING I HAVE.

xo-

Coco.

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Heavenly Ecstasy

This drawing by Almery Lobel Riche is having quite a lot of fun mixing the symbol sets of religion with the symbol sets of sex:

A religious experience, indeed!

Butthurt After Being Rejected By A Porn Star

I know this is supposed to be a sex blog and not a porn industry blog, dammit, but I’ve published ErosBlog for long enough to put me in the porn industry if you look at things just right, and this is where I blog. Anyway, I’m sharing this porn industry link for its sad sad comedy value. What happened is that a self-described “independent film maker” with “friends who work in your industry” posted a long rambling article to the leading adult webmaster board entitled “Porner’s Manifesto: How To Fix Your Industry“.

Some of the guy’s points are sort of obvious “how to do business” advice, but all mixed up with the unsolicited business advice were angry off-topic ranty bits about how porn stars should be more willing to sleep with their fans. I’ve excerpted heavily and taken liberties with paragraph order:

I know its hard but try to care about your fans. Afterall, if you did not have them, where would you be other than in some club trying to get noticed? Give something back to those who pay your bills and I am not talking about the director or producer. They get laid enough. You want to make a difference, try laying one of your fans. Get passed the fact that they do not look like your normal porn partners. So what? In a few years, you will not be as hot as the chick they will be supporting with their hard earned cash then. Build for your future. Ensure a fan for life. I promise you, one day your current fame or vision of fame will fade and what will you be?

Let’s get one thing straight. You have sex for money. Pure and simple. While I would agree this is an art form, it what it is. The only difference between a porn star and an escort is there is a camera involved. Yet, many of these stars tend to smoke the diva hash pipe. These so called stars are hot the day they arrive but once they have been around for awhile, a new girl comes right in to replace you. It doesn’t mean to get an attitude.

I overheard this porn chick one day at Starbucks in LA. Her and her agent were talking about how to increase her popularity and you can imagine the same bullshit. Go on KSex, web sites, radio, etc… So I mention the same things I just did above and the porner looked back at me and said and I quote: “Are you fucking stupid? Why would I ever want to fuck any of my fans? Have you ever seen my fans? They are fucking gross and fat. Why do you think they have to jerk off to me? The day I fuck my fans is the day I become a whore.â€? Now imagine that. I simply replied, you fuck for money, youre a whore.

Seriously, I have never seen an industry that ignores their fans the way porn stars do. Not to mention, these same stars are the ones who think they should be immune to the down times by charging the same rates to producers. I am unsure if anyone has tried to sit them down and explain that what they do isn’t that difficult to find someone else to do. Unless you shoot fireworks out of your vagina, you have sex on camera. It’s not something you went to college for. You do not need a special degree for it. You lay down, you have sex, and then take a brick in the mouth. But to listen to some girls, you would think they are curing world hunger or cancer. The only cancer they may be preventing is prostate cancer but thats still open to debate.

Anybody want to take odds that this guy has (or had) himself in mind as one of the fans “the talent” should be fucking for free? No, too easy? OK, what are the odds he’s actually tried, and failed miserably, to seduce a porn girl? (For “seduce” you could read “make a crude and lazy pass at” with, I suspect, great accuracy.)

Susie On Marriage

Susie Bright has a wide-ranging essay up about marriage and weddings, straight and gay (yay, California!). Impossible to summarize but worth your time. A couple of random excerpts:

This time, even Arnold Schwarzenegger, our improbable governor, cannot put on the pretense that he gives a shit about the Haters. (This is a guy who gave Oui Magazine an interview in 1977, his weightlifting prime, boasting that American men were too uptight about getting their dicks sucked by other guys; that it’s not such a big deal in Austria… really!)

And:

Weddings make your long-lost friends come out of the woodwork. There are people in my life, miles away, who I miss terribly, and yet the only time they travel to California is when some high school pal is getting married. I could fucking give birth to a chicken and it wouldn’t inspire them to budge an inch. Only weddings get their ass on the tarmac.

The Best Cunts In Christendom

A while after I published the ancient bit of smut called Signior Dildo, an erudite friend made me a gift of a book called The Complete Poems of John Wilmot, Earl Of Rochester. And, indeed, the book has a very complete feel to it, as one would expect of a scholarly tome published by Yale University Press.

I won’t say that Signior Dildo is the dirtiest poem Wilmot ever wrote, but it would be a mistake to assume that his complete works are chock-full of erotica. No indeed, like most poets in his age his output ranged widely across many topics, some of them impossibly obscure to the modern reader. But there remain a number of raunchy gems to be found in The Complete Poems.

My favorite is the dangerous Satyr on Charles II. Wilmot is said to have been forced to flee from court after he delivered it “by mistake into the King’s hands…instead of another the King asked him for.” Oops…

A Satyre on Charles II

In th’ isle of Britain, long since famous grown
For breeding the best cunts in Christendom,
There reigns, and oh! long may he reign and thrive,
The easiest King and best bred man alive.
Him no ambition moves to get renown
Like the French fool, that wanders up and down
Starving his people, hazarding his crown.
Peace is his aim, his gentleness is such,
And love he loves, for he loves fucking much.

Nor are his high desires above his strength:
His scepter and his prick are of a length;
And she may sway the one who plays with th’ other,
And make him little wiser than his brother.
Poor Prince! thy prick, like thy buffoons at court,
Will govern thee because it makes thee sport.
‘Tis sure the sauciest prick that e’er did swive,
The proudest, peremptoriest prick alive.
Though safety, law, religion, life lay on ‘t,
‘Twould break through all to make its way to cunt.
Restless he rolls about from whore to whore,
A merry monarch, scandalous and poor.

To Carwell, the most dear of all his dears,
The best relief of his declining years,
Oft he bewails his fortune, and her fate:
To love so well, and be beloved so late.
For though in her he settles well his tarse,
Yet his dull, graceless bollocks hang an arse.
This you’d believe, had I but time to tell ye
The pains it costs to poor, laborious Nelly,
Whilst she employs hands, fingers, mouth, and thighs,
Ere she can raise the member she enjoys.

All monarchs I hate, and the thrones they sit on,
From the hector of France to the cully of Britain.

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Feminist Porn Wars

With a few notable exceptions, this sex blog generally stays away from the feminist porn wars, which always strike me as being in the nature of unhappy negotiations over the way political correctness ought to be defined by and among its most cutting-edge advocates and devotees.

Still, the wars continue, whether I blog about them or not. Case in point: this account from Audacia Ray, about some flack she took for allowing oppressive patriarchal semen to touch women’s bodies in a porn movie she made:

I was on a panel called “Good Porn for Good Girls” that featured some female porn directors. When I first found out about the panel, I was a little apprehensive — the idea of me being a good girl is kind of funny (to say the least), and it’s also annoying that despite the fact that I’ve never called The Bi Apple “porn for women,” other people enthusiastically slap that label on it. I’m a woman, and a self-identified feminist. Ergo, my porn must be for women.

Really, I find this tiresome — I made The Bi Apple for people who want to see a slightly different vision of sexual interaction, people who are queer or pansexual or just plain curious about people and bodies and fucking. Women are of course invited — but so is everyone.

…

Anyway … the panel quickly devolved into an argument about blowjobs. A few audience members questioned the prevalence of blowjobs in Erika Lust’s films and the extent to which giving a blowjob is a feminist act. Erika quickly said that she personally likes giving blowjobs, which is why they are in her films so much, and she personally is a feminist, so do the math. It definitely seemed like the crowd didn’t buy this explanation.

I’ve seen this happen too when people ask “Why do the men in your movie ejaculate on the women’s bodies?” and my answer “I asked the female performers where they wanted the cum, so it’s all up to them where it’s deposited” is often greeted with skepticism. This kind of skepticism is the stuff of “false consciousness” — or the belief that if only we (being Erika, me, and female porn performers who like getting cum on them) were radicalized to better understand our oppression, we would know that cocksucking and money shots are Bad For Women.

Enforcing The Social Contract

There’s a video up at Atlanta Bondage under the title Can’t A Girl Pee In Peace? (Backup link.) I’m not going to re-publish it here, because it’s not, to my eye, erotic, nor funny either. However, it has some interesting social implications that aren’t likely to get mentioned anywhere else, there not being very many places that combine occasional social analysis with comfort in referencing a video clip featuring bare boobies and mildly kinky porn.

The “girl” in question is pretty clearly, to my eye at least, a model for one of the many porn sites that cater to the public urination fetish (subfetish category: women squatting to pee in the public streets). This model is bare breasted, smiling, and squatted-down right in the middle of some sort of street or public way (perhaps a wharf, or pedestrian mall). Here’s a cropped still from the beginning of the clip, in which I’ve highlighted the villain of the piece, to whom I am semi-arbitrarily assigning a male pronoun:

In the clip, he strides forward and kicks our incontinent heroine solidly in the ass, nearly knocking her over. The remainder of the clip shows her steadying herself with a hand, then turning and standing up to confront her attacker.

So, what’s going on here, and why is it interesting?

As it happens, I just read a piece by Chuck Klosterman in Esquire magazine about declining interest in professional boxing. As Klosterman explains it, people have lost interest in the sport of boxing because they no longer have a visceral relationship with the idea of hitting people or getting hit. A fine theory about which I have little opinion, never having been a fan myself of hitting people or being hit or watching big burly dudes do either one. But I was fascinated by Klosterman’s next line of speculation:

Now, I realize all of this is (obviously) more good than bad. I’m happy that avoiding physical confrontation has become so easy that I don’t even have to think about it. But I wonder: If the decline of boxing is the product of civilization’s detachment from physical fear, what is the accompanying downside? I think one possible answer might be a depressing brand of social overconfidence.

It is impossible to deny that the culture is coarsening. Everyone concedes this — even the people who are happy about it. It is now acceptable to say almost anything, about almost anyone, in a public space, and for no reason whatsoever. There is no line to step over, because such lines no longer exist. And I think those boundaries disappeared the moment people really, truly lost the fear of getting punched in the face. Americans have understood this intellectually for decades, but I don’t think we accepted it in totality until now. Adults are now so insulated by technology (and so protected by modernity) that the possibility of a physical consequence for any action is a psychological nonfactor. We have removed interpersonal fear from day-to-day behavior. Today, boxers are the only people who get hit for fucking up.

So, what does this have to do with our punted piddle-princess? Everything! His foot hitting her ass is a classic example of generation-gapped cultural conflict.

By my own lights, the peeing porn starlet was misbehaving. People who enjoy seeing girls peeing in public have a fetish, a modestly rare one. Most everybody else doesn’t want to see it, and they surely don’t want to step in it, or walk around it. At best, it’s horribly rude and socially transgressive to be doing what she was doing. Responsible pornographers would secure a movie set and provide sufficient extras to achieve the same visual effect without imposing their fetish on unwilling passers-by. And they would hire a dude with a mop, to clean up after.

I think it’s fair to speculate further that she and her photographer knew she was violating the social contract, but were sanguine about getting away with it. They probably worried about police intervention — perhaps they had a spotter watching for cops and ready to call a warning — but I suspect that it never occurred to her that any of the passers-by upon whom she was imposing her bare breasts and pussy and urine stream would take physical action against her to interrupt or to punish the imposition. People of her generation, or mine, just don’t do that sort of thing.

But our man (and I do think it’s a man, but I’m not sure) with the crazed white Einstein hair and the armload of files is not from our generation. He’s from a generation in which people cared a lot more about public propriety, and frequently took it upon themselves to enforce it with direct action. Doubtless he was offended by some half-naked [four letter term of derision] pissing in his path. Doubtless he considered he was doing a public service by applying a swift kick in the ass to both interrupt and punish the breach of the social contract. I have no doubt he felt good about doing it, and the way he stops and squares his stance after the kick suggests that he was ready to do it again if need be, or to stay and defend his actions otherwise. If we had an audio track, we’d be hearing somebody getting a piece of his mind about now.

So, who is really the villain of the piece? The pisser, or the kicker?

I’d like to weasel out with “a pox on both their houses”, but I need to acknowledge that it’s really not quite that simple. The trouble with enforcing social contracts with fists and feet is that social contracts aren’t really contracts, and they tend to get made up on the spot by cultural bigots and then enforced on people who never consented to them. (Don’t believe me? Ask Matthew Shepard.) I don’t really want people in my society feeling free to piss on my toes for profit, but I’m a lot more worried about living in a society where disagreements about appropriate public behavior get “settled” by sudden assault.

So, I guess my bottom line is, ix-nay on the ass-kicking. But I do agree with Klosterman that by creating a world where the ass-kicking is improbable, we’ve also created a world full of people who feel free to (metaphorically, most days) pee on your toes and tell you to go fuck yourself. That’s good more often than it’s bad, but it’s definitely a mixed blessing.

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The Porn We Don’t Show You

It sounds like the Girl With A One Track Mind has been getting some of the same emails ErosBlog gets, trying to promote some of the porn I try not to promote:

During the four years I have been writing this blog I have regularly received emails from one particular contingent of the internet. It doesn’t take much guessing who: porn sites who want me to link, plug and promote their products. Usually I just scan these emails and deposit them straight into my spam folder. Why? I’ll explain, using an email I received last night as a good example.

“Dear Abby,” it begins, “Like you, I am very interested in getting discussion of sex, naughtiness ad [sic] all things deeed [sic] taboo by the Great British public [sic] into the wide world.”

Even given the atrocious spelling, this sounded promising.

However, the email then continued and asked me to plug a certain satellite television station where there would be “lezzed-up action,” “two girls will get seriously hardcore,” and where the show would include “full-frontal bean-flicking, boob bouncing, cunt lapping fun.”

As soon as I read that the email got junked, along with all the other offers to extend the size of my penis or buy generic viagra.

Yeah, you can bet I get mail like this every day. The Girl has a variety of issues with it, but I pick up here with her third issue, which I endorse wholeheartedly:

I might be willing to plug some porn, if the stuff recommended to me wasn’t so dreadfully offensive and insulting to my sex. Clicking on the link the porn webmaster (and yes, besides wonderful people like Ms Naughty, there are very few porn webmistresses) sent me, I found the following titles:

“Hotel Bitches”
“Bitch in a box”
“Cunt suckers”
“Babe spotting”
“Dirty pig”

And this is a sample that is relatively pleasant; there’s also the usual labelling of women as sluts or whores, alongside the bitches, babes, cunts and nymphos. Whichever it is, it’s the same thing overall: if there is sex onscreen, it’s likely to be focussed on the women, and those women have to be insulted and degraded (in words and/or perhaps actions) in some way. To my mind, this is just as offensive to men as it is to women – suggesting that men can not get off on explicit imagery that is not disrespecting women. Excuse me, but I think that is utter bollocks. Naked people fucking are naked people fucking and it’s hot to watch – so why bring in the sexist and misogynist titles?

It’s this position that most porn defaults to, that I find so offensive. And, let me be frank, a turn off too. There’s nothing like a bit of sexism (and racism) to put a girl off her stroke – and this girl likes her stroke very fucking much, thanks, hence why I am so particular about the porn I consume.

I’ve called this the “bitch-cunt-slut” porn marketing syndrome, and frankly it baffles me. Who enjoys that? Obviously some pornographers think that’s what heats up their male market, but are they right? Who are these men supposedly buying this stuff? The men I know love women. Yeah, some of them have old fashioned redneck attitudes and don’t really respect women as equals, but they still love them.

They don’t want a “bitch in a box” — even in a bondage fantasy, they want a hot babe in a box.

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Orgasmic Rape In Fiction

Offered for discussion, an excerpt from “Nicole Gets An Education” by Vulgus. It (the excerpt, not the story, which is very long and somewhat tedious in the common manner of free internet sex fiction) is a short fictional account of a woman who has her best orgasm ever while being raped, so some of you may want to pass it by:

I am very aware, however, that the second best orgasm I ever had was when Bill Harris was making love to me. He held my hands over my head in one of his strong hands and I felt totally helpless. He stared into my eyes and I felt well and truly taken. He was large and strong and I felt overpowered. It was very exciting.

My best orgasm, however, was when I said “No” to Tom Phillips. We had gone out to dinner and spent a little time at a club. I had to get up early so we couldn’t stay too long. He grudgingly took me home and somehow wormed his way into my new apartment. It was my only experience with ‘date rape’. He took control as soon as my door closed. We had been dating for a month or so and we had sex a couple of times. Tonight, though, I was not in the mood. I was tired and a little pissed at him for being such an ass.

But he started pushing me toward my couch and pulling my clothes off. I was fighting him off, but not screaming or trying to hurt him. Finally he got tired of it and he used the cloth belt from my dress to tie my hands behind my back and he pulled my dress down to my elbows and pulled by bra up over my breasts and roughly mauled them while he held me close and forced his tongue into my mouth. I was struggling and begging him to stop, but he just ignored me.

Finally he pushed me to the floor and bent me over the sofa. He pulled my dress up in back and ripped my panties off violently. Then he held me down while he unbuckled his belt and slid it out of his belt loops.

As soon as it was free he doubled it over and started beating my ass. As he was beating me he was yelling at me, “Don’t you ever say no to be again, god damn it. You fucking tease, you bitches are all alike. You just use men to get what you want and send them home with blue balls and think that it is just great fun. Fucking bitch!”

I was crying hysterically, but he didn’t care, he must have beat my ass for several minutes before he pulled his pants off and raped me from behind.

I knelt there helplessly, my hands tied behind my back, his hand holding my hair in his firm grip and pulling my head up so that he could see my face while he fucked me. His other hand kept moving under me and squeezing and pinching my by breasts and my nipples. It was horrible. And I came harder than I had ever come in my life! Over and over. I lost track of how many times I came. I had never been so aroused in my life. Some of those rape stories I read on the internet flashed through my mind as Tom violently raped me and I screamed in pleasure.

Tom finally came in me. He stood up and wiped his cock clean in my hair. Then he dressed and left without ever saying another word. It took me almost fifteen minutes to get my hands free!

I sat on my dress on the floor for a long time sobbing and sad and furious and confused.

Finally I got up and took a shower and as I washed my sore body I pictured what had happened tonight in my mind and as I washed my sore pussy I was on the edge of another orgasm. Well, I had no reason to disappoint me, so I rubbed myself until I came again. But then I was mad at myself for doing it.

This excerpt is a fairly stark and unequivocal example of a blindingly common meme — the meme of the woman who is overpowered by brute male force, raped with a modicum of violence, and, on a sexual level at least, enjoys it.

There are plenty of controversies swirling around this meme. Many men, for example, enjoy pointing out that it’s a predominantly female fantasy, at least measured by sales dollars — because, lightly prettied up, it’s at the heart (or somewhere lower) of an entire genre of commercial fiction marketed to and mostly consumed by women. In certain feminist circles, this fused grenado gets lit and tossed back over the wall by means of various arguments to the effect that the fantasy is thrust upon women or defensively adopted by them in response to the miscellaneous oppressive mechanisms of patriarchy.

But my interest is not in the question of whether the meme is prevalent — for it surely is — or whether it is popular with women — for it surely is that, also. Readers of this blog will know by now that I am predictable to this extent: memes expressed in erotic fiction, consumed and enjoyed as such, will attract no condemnation from me.

No, my question is: What do you think is the propagandistic effect, if any, of the meme? Do you think expressions of it are intended to convince (or, regardless of intent, do have the effect of convincing) anyone (male or female) that real world rapes are less evil or pernicious than they actually are? In other words, does fiction like this have the intent or effect of reducing the power of “No”?

Of course the forces of censorship — against which ErosBlog lives in opposition — are quick to say yes, and to assume that a “yes” should end the conversation. I think erotic expression is important enough to defend even in the face of real-world negative consequences, could they be established, so I will doubtless continue to oppose censorious impulses. But it remains an important question. Is there danger in the expression of such fantasies? And if so, what’s the appropriate reaction, given the toxic sexual pressure cooker environment you get when a society chooses repression and censorship?

Gawker Media Goes To Vegas

Apparently there was just a big porn convention in Vegas, and Gawker Media was there. You may know Gawker Media for its several stylish blog titles, but it’s Fleshbot you’ll be most familiar with as an ErosBlog reader. Well, now I’ve been introduced to one of their newer titles, which also looks very promising indeed. Here now via Jezebel is Jezebel editor Tracie “Slut Machine” Egan’s Last Night I Boned An AVN Award Nominee, complete with “pictures or STFU” proof in the form of her triumphal hickie photograph:

They had this dude — the one I blew for a little bit in the bathroom — who was very easy to convince to come back to my hotel with me.

…

Back in the hotel, I decided I could use another drink (I really didn’t need it at all), and the dude I brought back with me said he wanted french fries, so we went to the Grand Lux Cafe (which is like the same thing as Cheesecake Factory) in the casino of the Venetian. We didn’t even touch what we ordered. We just drunkenly made out hardcore in the booth, and then I put my hand under the napkin on his lap and started jerking him off. Nobody blinked an eye. People weren’t even looking at us. When I remembered for a minute that I was in public and came up for air, I looked around and saw that people were too immersed in their own 3 AM dramas played out over extra large servings of fried food. One lady was crying next to a tight-jawed man, who was looking anywhere but at her face. The middle-aged gay couple next to us were arguing over whether to share or get their own meals. And the waiters were just happy that we weren’t bothering them with requests.

The dude put his dick back in his pants, we got the check and went back up to my room. (I’m sharing it with Jonno and Dash from Fleshbot.) We have an awesome suite; there are two beds and a sofa bed. Since I was the last one home, I got the sofa bed in the living room area, but that was fine for my purposes. Me and the dude went into the bathroom (I don’t have a picture of it, but it’s pretty grand) and just went at it. He lifted me onto the marble counter top. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, koala-bear style, and he fucked the shit out of me. He ruled and his dick was nice. I told him that he should maybe consider working in front of the camera instead of behind it.

We stayed in there for a little bit more and he finger banged me. I ended up squirting all over the damn place — which hasn’t happened to me in what seems like ages. It was shooting out sideways and shit, getting on both of our legs. I’m always a little afraid for that to happen in front of dudes, ’cause it’s such a fucking mess sometimes, but he seemed to be really into it.

Then we went to the sofa bed and I had every intention of falling asleep and not fooling around (the boys were just like 10 or 20 feet away), but he kept kissing me, and he was really too cute to turn down. I ended up blowing him again, and then he came on my tits. What the hay! We’re in Vegas!

We passed out, but I think I was only sleeping for like an hour before I felt his boner pressing up on my ass again. I pushed back, and before I knew it, we were spoon-fucking. Seriously, this guy is more of a machine than I am. I woke up in the morning with this:

I was kinda pissed about it. I’m not thirteen, you know. But Jonno put it into perspective for me when he said, “Consider yourself lucky that you fucked someone at the porn convention and all you got was a hickey.”

Words Fail Her

In which Fifi fails to use her words, but Monmouth figures it out anyway:

Fifi pulled away and lunged for the toy box, pulling out a small, flexible vibrator and a lube dispenser. She put her hands around my neck and kissed me, still holding these things. Then, cocking her head in a faux coy manner she held up the vibe and smiled prettily.

“What? What do you want me to do with this?”

“Um, my arse?”

“You want me to put this in your ass?”

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, eyes wide, and got back on all fours, wiggling her bum at me in a most applealing manner.

I lubed the vibrator thoroughly, enjoying the view of her open and waiting like that, the glistening pink of her pussy waiting for my cock to return.

“Oh fuck… mmmm.” Fifi was impatient. My cock slid easily into the wet tightness of her cunt. I began to fuck her slowly. Then, when she seemed to start getting a little frustrated, I twisted the knob on the vibe to the lowest setting and placed it against the pouting circle of her ass.

Pushing the toy in slowly, carefully, I enjoyed the vibrating sensation traveling down to the base of my cock. Fifi was quiet, concentrating on the spreading, tightening, pressing sensation filling her pussy and arse at the same time with throbbing, vibrating pleasure.

The soft vibe was bendy enough to fit up her bum without getting in my way while I fucked her. Once it was in as far as it went, the fat base resting against the stretched rim of her anus, I dialed up the intensity of the vibration. Fifi moaned deeply, burying her face in the cushions and pressing back against me, taking my cock in as far as possible. Her orgasm was building, and I couldn’t hold back much longer with the twitching tightness of her cunt clutching my cock and the vibrations tickling me all along the top. It was too intense to last.

Suddenly Fifi reached back with her hand and grasped the base of the vibrator. Firmly, rhythmically she began to fuck herself with it, in time with the thrusting of my hips.

“Harder… fuckfuck…” she growled, letting go of the buzzing sex toy to allow me to pound into her with the full force of my weight. Her orgasm seemed to last and last, rolling on with moans and whimpers, gripping my cock with an irresistible invitation to let go and come inside her.

I withdrew very slowly, removing both my cock and the buzzing toy carefully.

On our backs, recovering, Fifi sighed. “When fucking, it’s incredible how difficult it is to just say the simplest things, don’t you think?”

George Carlin On Strip Nation

From an interview in Playboy, kindly typed in by Hump Jones, this observation by the guru George Carlin:

It’s actually a weird time for sex. Sex is all over the place in this culture. It’s wide open. Compared with the 1960’s, when it was merely an aspect of youth culture — free love and all that –it’s a virtual sexual carnival right now. You’ve got the internet, strip clubs, porn stars on the radio. Even regular television is all cleavage and legs and asses and hot policewomen on CSI. You got into any hotel and you can buy movies in which the mailman shows up with a big hard-on and suddenly he’s fucking three women at a tupperware party — and it all goes straight to your hotel bill.

Pumpkin Sex On Halloween Night

OK, it’s good to get invited to the sexy Halloween party with all the latex nuns, naughty schoolgirls, and sexy hookers in fishnet. But hey, not everybody is so lucky. Here’s a fellow who’s responding resourcefully:

Happy Halloween!

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So, Are You Dr. Fucker?

He moves so well. How did he learn, I wondered. Did he go to school for sex? If so, he’d have a post-graduate degree in fucking. Did he have a coach, someone who coolly looked over his shoulder, critiquing his performance until it was perfect?

From our dear Always Aroused Girl. Her words made me remember some past lovers. One guy that was geeky and clumsy, hitting my head with his elbow and stuff, but he still got me off and had me coming back for more. Another guy might have been Dr. Fucker, the most educated best trained lovemaker around. But for all his great technique, it felt like fucking a machine. There was no spark between us. (I cried afterward, sad and very disappointed.)

Is good technique better than enthusiasm and a less than topnotch technique? Does good chemistry make all the rest unimportant?

I think for me the answer to the second question is yes.

Client Gets Screwed

The thing about erotic story repositories on the internet that makes them so interesting is that they are structurally noncommercial. Which is to say, for the most part, they accumulate the sort of erotic fiction that nobody wants to be in the business of selling in print.

It would be easy to say more generally that amateur erotic fiction isn’t of commercial quality, but that’s a cop-out; it’s so hard to make money selling erotic fiction that, strictly speaking, virtually all of it that exists isn’t “commercial quality” if you define that as “you could sell enough of this to be worth publishing it.” No, I’m talking about thematic elements that would, at the very least, complicate any commercial distribution, themes and scenarios that make business people nervous and/or queasy. Rape, incest, sex at any age, bestiality, rare fetishes, social taboos, and every imaginable combination thereof: “I caught my teacher fucking her dog and blackmailed her with the photos, I made her wear sweaty rubber boots, call me Master, and suck my cock in the supply closet — and then I made her take my little brother and his Nintendo buddies on a field trip to the petting zoo!”

This, of course, is a specific instance of the general case, the root nature of the internet that makes it so wonderful and terrible. No matter how narrow your interest, you can get anything you want, but you’ll find it cheek-by-jowl with a million things that will raise your eyebrows until they ache.

Doubt me? Go have a look at The Kristen Archives. If there’s a better place on the internet to find sex stories, I haven’t seen it. But you simply must be adult about it. Skim the summaries; if a story’s not for you, don’t read it. For extra credit and true advancement toward mastery, cultivate the ability to appreciate what’s hot about a story while disregarding the elements (stylistic or thematic) that aren’t.

Your example for the day is Screwed, featuring an amoral attorney who’s clearly more excited by the financial screwing he gives his client than he is by the blowjob he enjoys from her. If you’re a professional of any kind, you might find yourself too outraged to enjoy the story. Which would be a shame, because there’s no law that says villains can’t be funny in the conduct of their villainy:

I wound my hand in her hair and jerked her head back and forth, each time forcing more of my dick into her mouth until she was almost choking, but she never pulled back. When she reached between her legs and began playing with her pussy as I roughly jerked her head onto my cock, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She was getting off on the rough treatment. I would like to have experimented more, but the tremendous mental and physical stimulation pushed me over the top, and with almost painful jets, I shot a copious load of jism down her throat, my cock unbelievably huge and purple looking, the orgasm without a doubt the best I’d ever experienced in a woman’s mouth, making it feel even better.

I collapsed backward onto my elbows, basking in the after-glow, my cock still twitching in her hand as she licked her lips and swallowed the remains of my wad. Then, squeezing up the length of my cock, she forced up a final dollop of sperm, and looking at me, and squeezing the huge drip onto her tongue, she let me watch her spread it around her mouth and slowly and with a sensuous grin, swallowed the entire thing. Then, as though not yet satisfied, she sucked my cock clean of every last drop of cum, kissed my balls tenderly and sat back in her chair with a brilliant smile, rearranging her skirt, giving me a shot of her unpantied beaver before dropping the skirt primly into place.

I let my head drop back onto the desk, eyes closed, trying to regain my strength. I’d never had a head shot like that. The woman was a vampire — she positively loved cum. I glanced at the clock and with a shock realized that she’d sucked me for almost 20 minutes, and that we were almost through the lunch hour. Quickly, I refigured her bill. I’d need to get paid for that extra hour now, and — what the hell — she’d just had her lunch on me! I tacked $50.00 dollars onto her bill. That would make it $350.00. But then I realized that she’d probably dicker with me, so I threw on another $100.00 to give me something to work with, for a total of $450.00 less her discount. I’d just gotten paid $150.00 for blowing my wad down my client’s throat!

As I watched her repair her lipstick, I thought about the glimpse of her hairy cooze I’d gotten as she’d pulled the skirt down. I was still excited and the thought of fucking this ‘respectable’ mother of two made my cock start to stand up again. I didn’t bother to put it away.

“Well, Karen, that was great — you certainly have talent — but now there’s the matter of your bill.”

Well, of course, she’d expected that the entire bill would be forgiven based on her performance, but I gave her a lecture on overhead travel fees, etc., then made my pitch for the discount. But before I did it, a perverse streak caused me to quote her $550.00 as my bill to see what she’d say. She seemed taken aback, but I pointed out that I’d done a lot of research before we’d gone to court. I gently explained to her that just because she’d assumed that I’d dismiss the whole bill didn’t constitute a contract because we’d had no discussion beforehand. Then I asked her what she thought her services had been worth. Just as I thought, she undervalued them-obviously low self esteem-and dubiously quoted $100.00. I could have backed her down, but I had another plan in mind. I accepted her offer, and generously knocked off another $50.00 to show good faith. That term always gets them, even though it meant nothing in this case. Now we were down to $400.00.

She had brightened appreciably. I then offered her a chance to knock the bill down another $50.00 if I could fuck her — and I said it just like that. She acted as though the very words turned her on. But, believe it or not, she was getting bolder, and came back with $100.00. We finally settled on $75.00. I was on a roll, and I could have gotten her down to $50.00 — but, what the hell, I’m not totally devoid of conscience!

Fish Fucking And Eel Sex

In Japan, natch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Strap On Sex

From the Red Sneaker Diaries, we have this description of what it feels like for a woman to fuck another woman with a strap-on:

This was one of the first few times I fucked Anna with the feeldoe strapped on — and this time, it felt natural. Strap-on sex has a learning curve – much like any other sex act, really. The “strap-er” can’t be expected to fuck like a Casanova the first time out of the gates, but after some awkward first times, it gets easier. And after it gets easier, it starts to feel natural. When it feels natural, you’re there — no more flubs, no more hesitation, no more mistakes. Just good, hearty strap on sex

Coupling the feeldoe with a harness is truly brilliant. The feeldoe will stay in place on its own, but only with decently closed legs. This limits its usefulness. Strapped into place, its stays put — perky, firm and ready to fuck. In fact, even though the straps felt awkward at first, the fact that they allow the feeldoe to cradle so firmly into me makes me forget that they’re there. Void of distracting worries of it falling out, I am free the let the feeldoe become part of me, to become an extension of my cunt. The silicone is inert, but it allows the quivers and shakes and strokes of a fuck to channel deep within me, fueling the the burning desire of my sex.

It’s a real trip, you know, fucking a girl with a strap on. My inert cock, spreading sensation to me, elicits reactions from her. Everything is delayed, sensations conveyed by proxy through the blue silicone cock between my legs. Her body tenses under me — I see her orgasm before I feel the jolting of the feeldoe on my gspot. For the briefest of seconds, I am simply an observer — watching transfixed as her orgasm washes over her. Then, suddenly, my world is flooded with that feeling — my own thighs flutter in response as I thrust again.

(I think she’s using the word “feeldoe” in reference to this product.)

A Spammer’s View Of Porn Stars

As you all know, I filter the comments aggressively. Anybody with a blog knows about automated comment spammers who drop various text nuggets designed to pass as real comments.

I thought this one was worth pulling out and sharing, because it appears to be human-written rather than purely machine generated (which is to say, it isn’t just random keywords slung together), and because its narrative is classic old-school bitch-slut-whore porn marketing, the sort of thing this sex blog exists in reaction against:

When it comes to porn bitches with big tits getting their cunts and asses stretched and stuffed by huge dicks and getting their faces and jugs covered by hot spunk, Ava Devine has almost no equal. A regular on [url deleted] and [url deleted], Ava is one cock loving, cum loving, fuck loving slut. Whether she’s getting double penetrated or just getting drilled by massive meat, I swear this girl’s pussy has seen more action in the dirt and taken more of a pounding than a U.S. Marine. What a whore. I really think that she, along with wonderfully like-minded souls Carmella Bing and Shyla Stylez, are among the leaders of the pack when it comes to no-frills, low glamour, raw, hardcore porn. Ava Devine loves fucking and really doesn’t give a fuck what people think. This bitch should be a hero. See the action for yourself at [url deleted].

I cannot deny that Ava is sexy, but whence the leap from that to bitch, slut, and whore? I always wonder what these guys are thinking. Is this how they really feel about porn stars? Or is it merely how they think their intended audience feels?

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Bad Date (With A Homeless Pirate?)

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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Firmly Sticks It In

From the same source as the infamous Hitler’s Penis post comes this bit of British wartime propaganda aimed at making the German common soldier wonder what his fraulein is getting up to:

The caption, loosely translated, reads “Firmly and true the foreign worker sticks it in.”

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Pussy Foot

Has anybody stopped to marvel, lately, at what a wonderful world it has become for folks with numerically minor fetishes? There’s the internet for finding and meeting (and fucking) kindred souls, there’s a growing “whatever floats your boat” sentiment among civilized people, and there’s a robust world economy for sex toys of every description.

And boy, when I say every description, I’m not kidding. The latest sex miracle in silicone is … well, let’s go to the visual, or you won’t believe me.

Behold!

Ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at the SiFeet Pussy Foot. [2012 update: Sadly the Pussy Foot is no longer sold. But be ye not forlorn! There’s always the Cyberskin Foot Job Stroker or the Belladonna Foot Soldiers.]

The marketing text is like a syllabus for aspiring foot fetish marketers, fascinating therefore in its own right:

The SiFeet Pussy Foot is the ultimate fantasy sex toy for foot fetishists. This size 6, 100% silicone foot is cast in pure silicone from a real life actual, beautiful female foot. In the sole of this lovely foot is a fully functional and totally fuckable silicone vagina.

This pure silicone foot is soft, smooth, and incredibly sexy. The toes are decorated with acrylic toenails painted glossy pink, making the Pussy Foot seem even more real.

From the toes to the heel and ankle, great time and effort has been taken to insure that the Pussy Foot seems real.

The feature that makes the Pussy Foot even better than an actual foot is the pussy located on the sole of the foot. You can passionately fuck the foot in a way you’ve never been able to before. It is the perfect combination of foot and vagina.

From the toe to heel the pussy foot is 9″ long. The ankle has a 2½” diameter. The distance from the entrance in the vagina to the exit-hole at the top of the ankle is 6½”.

Anyone who appreciates beautifully sexy feet should love the Pussy Foot. This silicone foot is terrific for massaging and erotic rubbing as well as for having hot sex with it.

This silicone sex toy is also a convenient practice tool for preparing to get hot and kinky with actual feet. You are sure to have your technique down to a science when you train with the Pussy Foot.

The silicone SiFeet Pussy Foot cleans easily with soap and warm water or After Glow Toy Wipes.

The SiFeet Pussy Foot is available in a left or a right, sold separately.

If you were looking for “the perfect combination of foot and vagina”, well, now you’ve found it. But it’s the last line, in bold text, that gets me. Left foot or right? Or do you want to collect the whole set?

Let the implications of that photo sink in for a moment.

I’m not going to pussyfoot around, here. (Face it, you knew you weren’t getting out of this blog post until I’d made that pun.) The pussy foot comes in left foot and right foot? Why in all the Stygian depths would someone care whether they are boning a silicone vagina in a left foot, instead of a right one? “No, no, it has to be a left foot, or it’s no good!”

But, in the end, that’s the point. It doesn’t matter why. With fetishes, there usually isn’t a good why. What matters is, if you’ve got a thing for slipping it to a pretty left foot, we live in a world where you can get one, with just a little help from your buddy Benjamin. Don’t let anybody tell you that’s not an excellent world to be living in.

FemDom Gor

I gotta quote Bitchy Jones again. Unlike most of the folks who love to hate the splendidly cheesy literary phenomenon that is Gor, she gets why those books sold about a zillion copies and still go for megabucks on eBay, gets it well enough that’s she’s moved to give it a complete “vertical flip” in her mental fantasy editing software:

Gor is easy to take the piss out of, but the real truth is that deep down in my heart I know that if I were a male dom I would fucking love Gor to tiny bits. I would be in those chat rooms wanking and sweating and wanking some more while some middle aged housewife going through an identity crisis talked about herself in third person whilst pretending to serve me a mythical drink.

Yeah, like every other person in the world who believes in equality but gets off on inequity, I have the insane conflicted love for a bit of gender supremacy fantasy and I secretly in my dark heart wish that we had something as ridiculously camp and ritualised and sprawling as Gor over on our side of the river.

…

So, basically, it’s all hot and dusty and badly written and stuff. Women live in big castles and are tough and sexy and mean. But fair and honourable. And, yeah, they’re sexy, but it’s no big deal, no one’s looking at them because:

OMG the hot slaves!

Literally and metaphorically hot. Built like Greek gods and covered in sweat (from doing hard *hard* labour).

Yes, the men are, like the women’s slaves. Oh a few aren’t, but they’re weird. But also hot if you capture them and make them be slaves. So although these not-slave men are freaks they are kind of useful when complicity gets dull ’cause they have to be all *forced* and broken and whipped to shit and stuff.

Gosh, isn’t *forced* a nice word.

Anyway, on upside down Gor slave men are traded — bought and sold. There are markets. Men who transgress are punished. Viciously, mercilessly and publicly. (Which is nice.) Or maybe just punished for entertainment. Such awful punishments, predicament bondage and heavily ritualised whipping and stocks and cages and stuff like that. Really dehumanising hot stuff.

Some of the poor things are just kicked around like dogs, or made to whore themselves on the streets, butchly pretty ones wear humiliating skimpy clothes and get prodded to perform bondagey semi-naked suggestive dances with whipping. While drunken women molest them. And they would have to do all this over elaborate honourific address stuff, please, ma’am, may this slave please have permission to…

Golly, I really do like ma’am in the right context. It’s the apostrophe. You can see where his voice cracks even when the word is written on the page.

Anyway, they better get that formal address stuff right or else more whipping. Yeah. Pretty much any excuse for the whipping. And the, you know, submissive positions to vocal commands, and the bondage and… did I already say the bondage? Well I should probably say it a few times because there is so much of it.

Oh, and the key thing is that by doing this they would come to realise that they had never felt more masculine or desirable than when, er, being whipped, and sexually used and whipped a bit more.

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Insane Sex Maniac? Pot, Kettle, Black

A long time ago, my sometimes co-blogger Aphrodite was experimenting with web tech and she created an innocent and innocuous heart shaped favicon for Eros Blog:

It was never intended to be the final and perfect 16×16 pixel representation of ErosBlog’s deepest philosophies of love, lust, and sex, just a neat and harmless graphical flourish, good enough to “do” until something better turned up. (Any volunteer graphic artists out there who can do sexual magic in 256 pixels?)

So look what the Magic Comment Bunny just had to eat:

i liked this blog, apparently this is my first visit to the webpage and i m already writing on it….basically the blog is about sex in almost all forms ranging from the grose the spiritual and sensual….but one thing i really dislike about this blog is: when you open any web page in your Inetrnet explorer 6, there is a small tab assigned to each page, and it shows a small picture which has been assigned by the page maker. In case of the webpage for this blog a yellow coloured heart appears. Now, this blog is all about sex, and that too of the most exciting and grose forms, then it should not in anyway be associated by love, which is in the most basic way represented by a heart. This blog deals only with sex and desires similar to it, so why the fuck has a picture of a heart been associated with it. This is an insult to love. you wont realize it now, but you would understand when you go through the blogs at this page, they are fucking insane and plainly related to sex without any attachment to love. I dont condemn sex or the articles in this blog, nor am I a kind of person who hates sex, but then , this blog is just about plain sex and should not have a heart associated with it. The fucker who initiated this blog must have used something more represenatative of sex like a penis pic or a pair of tits. Change this thing about your webpage , u insane sex maniac.

Did I mention the bunny had to eat it eleven times? Yup, there were eleven of these identical comments sitting in my moderation cue this morning.

Magic Comment Bunny would like a Rolaids, please.

In all seriousness, it saddens me that there are people in this world who fervently believe that sex “is an insult to love.”

Hurting Him

You’ve got to love any essay on kinky sex that starts out:

I didn’t just want to write a wank post. There are plenty of posts on the internet about how kinky sex is all whee and shiny and woah, just look at me go!

I. Win. At! Perverted! SEX!

I didn’t want to write one of those. But I wanted to write something that was as real and close and true as I could get it.

That’s from What it Feels Like to Hurt a Man Until it Makes You Have an Orgasm. (Thanks to Bondage Blog for the link.)

From the essay:

I rush the start. The shortest sharpest route to hurter and hurtee. Most often: hair pulling. I love hair pulling. It hurts, you can move the head around, it’s dehumanising. It has everything. It always seems to make the mouth go squooshy and limp. Open and aroused. That mouth thing again.

There is only one problem with hair pulling – aesthetically I love the shaved head look on a guy. It’s that stupid submissive+masculinity fetish I have. Imagine my dilemma. Oh, the quandary. Shaved-head vs pulling-hair. The trial of my life. Who’d be me?

Anyway, so if he has no hair or a super short crop (mmm, joy/frustration/joy), I’ll twist his nipples or find some other hair to pull. ‘Cause he’s naked, right, you knew that? I’m probably not naked, but probably not dressed. And certainly not *dressed* *up*.

Oh, and this stage is really *the* *best* if he is on a chair, in the cuffs and I am on his lap. *The* *best*. All interrogationy – and super hot to the power of motherfuck.

I like to kiss him while I hurt him. I love kissing. This type of kissing is compulsory. Some guys seem to like cold and calculated. Not actually visibly turned on. With me no kissing is a deal breaker. I mean that for real. I have stopped a thing before it started because he had a girlfriend who was fine with play but not kissing — or so he said — and that was probably a lucky escape.

Anyway that icy thing, that isn’t what you get with me. I get very turned on very fast. I am usually more turned on than the guy I am with from quite early on. And doing most of the panting and moaning.

…

I get a lot turned having d/s sex (that being mostly the reason why we are all here) on and when I am turned on I like to kiss. Mouth fetish. I like sticking things in men’s mouths. My tongue is my favourite of those things. These pain flavoured kisses while he’s *hurting* are the best kisses.

I like it when he screams into my mouth.

Like?

I *adore* it when he screams into my mouth

I often keep going with the hurting and kissing until he can’t hold it together to kiss me back anymore. Assuming he’s a submissive or a masochist he’s usually very hard at this point if he wasn’t already very hard, like, you know, when I met him at the railway station.

I often put clamps on him now and if he doesn’t scream really fucking loud, I take them off and put them on him again. And that’s really painful.

And then there’s the hitting:

The hitting, I think, is kind of the equivalent of your earth foreplay. It’s not instead of kissing or fingering or oral — ’cause I might do any or all of those things too. But it’s kind of like that. Another layer. Sometimes more than one body part is required — but most men have more than one body part.

This — I want to be clear — is where it is. This is the point where I know who I am and what I am with absolute abiding clarity. Whatever else I say. All my other fancies and frills. You could take them all if you left me this. I hurt a man and I feel the most intensely pleasurable sensations I think my body is capable of. There is no intrigued here. No one else could have made this of me. I live here. This is home. This I know.

I am a sadist. I get turned on hurting people.

I like pain. I like it quite simple. I don’t want to be distracted or have my concentration focused outside of my body. I don’t do anything flash. I’m generally uncoordinated and clumsy. I know there is little point in me trying to be all fancy with whips or anything too clever or hard to handle. I’m not dexterous. I can’t put on a show. I don’t insert things in his urethra or breathe fire. I don’t tap dance. I miss sometimes. The first ten are always practice. I lose my grip. My skill set is tiny. What I do is often unaesthetic and messy and awkward. But I’ve been doing this a while and what I do works. It hurts and it doesn’t rupture internal organs. It turns me on and I am now at point where I know that that is fine. That hurting men can be something that is decidedly not performance art and that is fucking damn okay. It’s sex, not cabaret.

The Deprivation Game

Sounds to me like somebody’s just itching for a spanking, but hey, maybe that’s just me:

I created a game in my head one day when Gadget was plunging his most needy part inside my most needy bit. I thought,

Men can get so heated when it comes to sex, and I love that. How can I inspire him to become more heated, even if we’re both a little down, and while at the same time, have a little bit of fun?

The game is called The Deprivation Game and is composed of just that, momentary sexual deprivation. When he strives to fuck me ever harder, I thrust down my pelvis so that his energetically pumping cock slips out. His usual reaction is along the lines of,

Oh no please baby, please! No, no, no, please. Please baby.

Accompanied by whimpering, a scrunched up emotional face and phantom fucking, as my strong thighs push down on his, barring access to the bits he wants most to plunge into. His struggle against me can get quite heated at times, and then one of two things happen:

1. Just as he starts to give up and rest his forehead against my shoulder, I slip my hips down agasint him and he slides in, and happily restarts his rhythm against me.

2. Or, (my favorite) he grabs my shoulder and under my neck and pushes down on top of me, conquering my sex with a forceful thrust and begins his pace once again.

Either way its bravo for both of us because the sex continues. Though I’m not a fan of violence or rape, as I’ve been a victim to both, I love how his carnal side comes out in full force. I also love the flip side of it: He becomes a whimpering sex deprived little boy.

So again either way I’m turned on and entertained. Wicked am I.

Ass To Mouth, Sorta

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.

More On Fisting

There was enough interesting in last week’s fisting post I thought I’d post this bit from Kaya on the sensation of fisting the way she and her master do it:

There’s a point when the widest portion of Master’s hand begins it’s slow but forceful entrance where I think I can feel tissue tearing, a sharp blooming pain. I can see it in my mind’s eye, the skin stretch so tightly, so thin, that it’s almost transparent around His fist. Though I don’t know if I have ever ripped, or if it simply feels as if I should have.

It’s at that point that I want desperately to quit, to snap my legs together with my hands cupped around my poor battered pussy and breathe the pain away. But I don’t. Not only because I can’t, but because I know what pleasures lay over this agonizing hump.

Once my skin reluctantly grants His hand passage, there is a transfer of pain. What was once highly concentrated on the ‘ring of entrance’, now rolls and fills the whole of my vagina. A deep pressure, a pressure that shifts along with the movement of His hand and fingers, sometimes sharp if He pokes a spot, sometimes dull when He rubs. But constant, always.

He likes to poke and prod, to press up as far as He can get, until my eyes pop open in stunned panic, half-believing that He’s attempting to tickle my throat. He likes to pump, a genuine fist-fucking, so hard and so fast that I no longer control my own breathing. I’m forced to exhale when He pushes in and up… and I gasp in air when He pulls back and out.

The pressure and the pain slide and mix together to create the delicious blend that is pleasure. I can’t think beyond my cunt. I’m nothing more than one giant pulsating vagina, with no thoughts outside of His hand and the throbbing need to cum.

I much prefer to be allowed to stimulate my clit when He’s fisting me. Otherwise, the intense sensations are too overwhelming. It’s system overload to the max. But give me a clit to manipulate, to direct the course and timing of the orgasms and I’m one incredibly happy girl.

Orgasms while being fisted are sensational. They’re the strongest, deepest, whole body consuming orgasms that I ever have. I don’t know if it’s because He’s in there touching and rubbing and slamming on spots otherwise left unstimulated, or if it’s because my cunt is so full, so stretched by His hand and wrist that there is no room left in there for my cunt to spasm so it shoots it out, sending it zinging across the whole rest of my body. It brings cerebral orgasm to a new meaning.

Orgasm recovery time is lengthy. My eyes do not want to uncross, my mouth doesn’t want to close. My toes stay curled, fingers clenched. Milk that orgasm for all it’s worth, twitching still against His arm.

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Warning, Sex In Progress

Oh, the fun you can have with your printer:

Practical, in a few contexts. Practical joke, in a great many more. Fun either way!

I For One Welcome Our New Sex Robot Overlords

Outside of the hentai realm you don’t see a lot of science fiction pornography, and what you do see is usually hilariously awful. I’m not sure exactly why that is, given all the fun you could have with big hard shiny implacable stainless steel sex robots and lustful tentacle-y aliens and autonomous anal probes and mind control rays and force whips and … oh, wait, am I talking out loud here?

Moving rapidly along.

Anyway, the folks at FuckingMachines.com may not be making science fiction, but they do understand the attraction of cruel implacable hard steel sex robot machinery and the considerable advantages of the indefatigable electric motor. Nor do they shrink from restraining mere human flesh when it might otherwise flinch away from and thus miss out on the intense mechanical pleasures of the machine age. In space, it is said, no one can hear you scream. But why go all the way to space when you can achieve the same effect with a high quality latex vacuum bondage bed?

Princess Leia in chains was cute. Han Solo in carbonite was novel. But this, I submit, would have been a better fate for either one of them, and would have immensely livened up the movie theater of my youth. Besides, wouldn’t old Jabba the Hut have enjoyed the heck out of a implacable robotic tongue-saw?

Science fiction this may not be, but it sure is entertaining!

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Sex With An English Major

In which The Barmaid proves that you do learn useful things as an English major:

When he joins me, I strip him down and do for him what he’s done for me. He’s a little hard to read sometimes, but that’s true of a lot of men – it’s tough for them to ask for what they want, they think it makes them look weak or picky or something. But my ex Peter once told me that when it comes to going down on guys, effort and enthusiasm go a long way even when technique and preferences might be a question-mark. And the way I’ve been treated tonight, I’ve got enthusiasm to spare. He doesn’t last long – not even as long as I did.

We’re lying there a few minutes later, curled up together, my head on his shoulder, when I feel his arm twitch a little and sense a change in his breathing. “No you don’t,” I say, shaking him. “There’s a condom in the pocket of my jeans, and we’re not breaking Chekhov’s Law tonight.”

He laughs. “What?”

“Chekhov’s Law of economy in narrative. If there’s a gun on stage in the first act, it has to be fired by the end of the third act.”

“Fucking English major,” he says, shaking his head.

“That’s right, I’m a fucking English major, and you’re a fucking executive, so don’t fall asleep on me!”

He rolls over on top of me and starts making out with me, and by about ten minutes later, he’s ready to go, and we do.

Vintage Lesbian Porn

OK, I used that title just so I could pick on it. But first, the vintage porn:

Now, what’s wrong with my title? In general, there’s a number of reasons why I don’t normally throw the word “lesbian” around loosely when characterizing what Rick Santorum might call “woman on woman” porn.

First of all, there’s the moron factor. Thirty years of greasy-idiot pornographers shouting “Hot Lesbo Fucking!” every time they get two naked ladies in the same photographic frame has sort of polluted the swimming pool.

At a deeper level, even when you’ve got two women actually doing sexual things to each other in a photograph, it’s never clear to me that you’ve got enough information to attach that “lesbian” label. Yeah, lesbian women have sex with each other (by all reports, anyway, I haven’t witnessed it with my own eyes) but even with my dim and primitive grasp of gender politics, I’m reasonably confident that there might be greater depth to lesbian identification. I don’t think you can reliably attach labels like that based on photographic evidence alone.

And finally, there’s the fundamental deceit present in all posed photographic art. Porn models tend to do what they’re paid to do, and it doesn’t say much about who they are. Calling a woman a lesbian because she poses sexually with another woman is like calling an author a Catholic because he writes a story with a priest in it.

Which is really my point about this picture. The suggestive touching is one thing, but I’m not seeing any enthusiasm in the faces of the models. Which would make this bad lesbian porn, if lesbian porn it were.

Over-analyze much? Why, yes thank you, I don’t mind if I do.

A Good Start

From 1000 Orgasms:

My beloved woke me up pulling my pants down this morning. When his pants came down his cock pounced up and popped in from behind. Ahhh lovely, lush and sweet. We rocked there as waves of pleasure and sweetness rode the edges of my body. Up went the pants and our eyes closed for another few hours of sleep.

Later that morning I’m tugging at his pants, and pull them down around his hips. I plunge my lips over his cock, and suck him and jerk him until he’s hard as a rock. He’s moaning so fine. Phone ringing, kids on their way, I grab a condom out of the drawer. I take his cock in my mouth again, until he unwraps the condom. Riding my baby brings me the sweetest pleasure! We’re fucking fucking fucking loving sweet, and I come over and over. The one to mention is when he rocks me pushing my ass up and down on him. He turns me over and grinds hard, and comes. Another beautiful day, I say…

Having A Sexy, Single Christmas

I’ve been kind of depressed about being by myself this Christmas. Being with my family last weekend was nice but remembering fun Christmases past got me lonely. That is, I was feeling sorry for myself until I read Steff’s good advice:

Being single’s hard, and I’m as human as you are, and sometimes I wish I weren’t a party of one. But the days when I roll out the red carpet and treat myself like the royalty I deserve to be, well, being single’s feeling pretty fucking fab those days.

So why not Christmas, too? I’ll have eggnog, great food, do something special for myself. GayBoy will probably come by and misbehave a little in the late, late hours, and that’s just fine, too.

Point is, Christmas looms. Are you alone and hating it? Fucking do something for yourself. Do something you love. Plan it out. Put the plan in action. Anticipate it.

I’m not gonna find a sexy Santa like this guy under my tree this year…..well, because I don’t have a tree.

But I’m going to get one, and I’m going to get some eggnog and rum. On Christmas day, I’m going to light a fire in my fireplace, get all cozy in front of it with some spiked eggnog, and read stories at Sssh.com until I’m so hot I can’t take any more. Whatever happens after that will be fun, guaranteed. Merry Christmas everybody!

And here’s a special present for the PhotoShop spotters that drop by – a whole page full of holiday-modded art. Most are nice, but some are naughty!

Blowjob, Described

It’s actually rather rare to find a man who puts this much effort into describing the sensations of a good blowjob:

I stood there as she dropped to her knees and started to furiously fellate me. Her mouth sucking on my head, her hands moving up and down the shaft lubricated with her saliva. I could only watch with awe as she stared up up me, a smile twisting the corners of her mouth as she sucked and nibbled away at my cock.

This wasn’t a long, slow, sensuous blow job. This was a fast, furious, “you are going to cum now” blow job. This was for my pleasure. I was moving my hips backwards and forwards, fucking her face as her head bobbed up and down. After only a few minutes I felt the pressure growing in my balls as I got ready to blow.

And then I came, my hot cum spurting into her mouth, her sucking harder to get the last drop out of me, swallowing each and every drop apart from the few bits that dribbled out and slid down her chin. I grabbed her arms and pulled her up to me, planting my mouth firmly over hers to express my thanks with a long hard kiss, the taste of my cum heavy on her breath and skin.

My knees were almost buckling with pleasure. I felt as if every drop of energy had been sapped from me. My skin tingled from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I felt as if I had no energy and masses of energy at the same time. It was one of the most fantastic, satisfying and erotic sexual experiences I have ever had. So totally different to anything I’d experienced before. Magical.

From Edinburgh Erotica.

One Smile

This post-orgasmic photograph reminded me of my Two Smiles post. Isn’t she pretty?

We’re looking at model Annette Schwarz, and to obtain that smile she’s been playing with the fucking machines at FuckingMachines.com.

Buttery Butt Sex

This anecdote from The Butterfly Temptress gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “buttering her up”:

His kisses became more insistent and soon we were naked in the moonlight. He’s not big on foreplay but just being close to him was doing enough to warm me up. I laid against him and stroked his hard cock, wishing for all I was worth that I could have him inside of me but I knew it couldn’t happen. He’d never go for making love in my parents house.

He whispered into my ear “I want to be in you. I need to be in your ass.”

I thought I misheard him. I giggled and moved to put my mouth on him. Oral sex wasn’t intercourse, so it didn’t count as sex, right? Yeah right. I was willing to tell myself anything to keep from feeling guilty for being such a hot little whore.

“Get the lube out of the suitcase and hurry up.”

I let his cock slip from my lips and I mumbled something about not packing it because he told me not to worry about it. He pulled me up where I could repeat it again. Then I mentioned that there might be Vaseline in the bathroom in an attempt to keep him in the mood while I thought of something else.

“Go look then come back. I want to fuck your ass so bad.”

I wrapped a blanket around me sarong style and tiptoed into the bathroom. On my hands and knees I rummaged under the sink without success. The medicine cabinet was also without Vaseline or anything that would have worked as lubricant. Knowing full well that I was out of luck, I dashed back to the bedroom to report in.

“There wasn’t anything? Not even baby oil?” he asked in a tone that told me he was quickly losing patience.

I giggled for a minute then replied, “We could always use butter. Or vegetable oil. Maybe even Crisco shortening.” I collapsed against him in a fit of full out laughter. The thought of fucking with baking supplies cracked me up.

“Go get some. Butter or vegetable oil, I don’t care. I’m going to fuck your ass.”

I didn’t believe him until he swatted me on the ass. Then I dressed in my pajama shirt and went to the kitchen. It was quiet as a tomb and I was sure that Mama would appear any minute and ask what I was doing with my hand in her butter bowl. I scooped a rather large amount onto a paper towel then scampered back to our room. For the love of God, I knew right then and there that I was going to hell.

Not only was I about to fornicate in my parents house, I was unmarried. To top it all off, I was about to have unmarried butt sex in my parents house. Now you tell me how the world I was going to answer for that on Judgment Day?

He kissed me full on the mouth and took the paper towel from my hand. My cunt was dripping wet and I wanted him more than ever. I needed him.

He urged me onto all fours and situated himself between my legs. I felt the slippery coolness of the Blue Bonnet at my opening as he fingered my ass. Doing something so shameless made me hotter than I’d been in a long time and he knew it. His breathing was as erratic as mine and I knew that once he had his beautifully buttered cock in my ass he would fill me to overflowing in no time.

With minimal thrusting his cock was in me. Though it was odd, the knowledge that I was having buttered butt sex, it was more comfortable than anal sex had ever been. I felt every twitch, every pulse of him as he worked his manhood in and out of me.

In a matter of seconds we were both on the edge. I felt his slippery fingers slide against my clit and my cunt began to milk his cock in earnest. Moments later he came harder than I can ever remember him coming before.

He laid beside me as I cleaned his now relaxed cock. My body was on fire and my heart was full of love for the man who had just once again helped me check off yet another item on my “To Do Before I Die” list. As he pulled me onto his chest and we drifted off to sleep I couldn’t help but wonder how many other people had intimate and literal knowledge of being buttered up.

Thanks to Sexoteric for the link.

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A Prince Among Men

Er, like, so totally NOT.

I’m talking about a character sketched by Girl With A One Track Mind:

This was, after all, the man who when his orgasm was achieved, would stand up, put his clothes on, and tell me he had to leave. When I pointed out that I was pre-orgasmic, and needed some relief, he responded with,

“I’m sure you can sort yourself out.â€?

Well yes, of course I can, multiple times over, but that’s not the fucking point, is it?

No. No, it isn’t.

A sad day for all manhood when this feller’s parents neglected to drown him in the slop bucket.

Big Fake Boobs

If it’s possible to talk about big fake boobs without condemning anybody’s choices or tastes, I’ll kick off by admitting that I do not like them, Sam I am. I’ve said this before here on my humble little sex blog.

It’s rather a strong preference. I don’t like the way they look in naked pictures, I don’t like the way they sometimes jut out in bad directions and look like lost sports equipment buried under overtaxed skin, and I imagine I wouldn’t like the way they feel, though I reserve the right to change my mind if I ever actually get my hands on any (not very likely, given predictable objections The Nymph might have). They are, simply put, not to my taste.

But more than that, I don’t like the opportunity cost they represent. Wrapped around every fake boob is the residual flesh of — it seemeth to me — a mutilated boob, one that I, or somebody else, might have liked, but will never get to see.

Of course, it’s important to remember: they weren’t, they aren’t, my boobs. Nothing “lost” that I had any say about, none of my business, et cetera. One man’s mutilation is another woman’s joyful body modification, and of course it’s her body. Body modification, however extreme, is clearly well within the self-ownership rights of every free being, no matter how much it may squick me. And so forth.

None of which prevents me from feeling, in a visceral way, bewildered every time I see them. “What was she thinking?” I wonder. “How could she?” “Why, o great but diminished gods of Olympus, why?”

Pretty Dumb Things to the rescue! Chelsea Girl says why:

I am for myself a fan of the big breasts. However, that preference is merely for my own; I find other women’s breasts beautiful in all sizes and shapes. I have found myself equally attracted to women who burgeoned with double-scooped sundaes of breasts and to whose who were flat as a grey-glass sea. I am an equal-opportunity bisexual when it comes to other women’s breasts. But for myself, I’ve always liked myself best as a big-breasted chick.

Always. Even when I was somewhere in between an A and a B cup, the size that my genetics gave me. My breasts grew suddenly, one night when I was twelve. It felt as if one day I had those telltale puffy areolas of nascent pubescence and the next morning I had a gently cupped palm full of breast. Which would have been fine, except that in addition to growing my fresh spanky shiny boobs, I had also grown blighted bright red stretch marks that emanated out from my mallowmar areolas like ugly stringy weedy flowers.

That night when I was twelve and finally grew my boobs, when I woke that morning to find them, like stingy treats from a cranky titfairy, I felt severely cheated. From having grown up with fresh-air loving, naked-in-the-rain-dancing hippie parents and grown up around my mother’s brothers and their 60s and 70s-era Playboy and Penthouse magazines, I knew full fucking well what boobs were supposed to look like, and I knew these striped things on my chest weren’t it.

Moreover, I had, from the time I was very young, known that great big American breasts were my birthright. When I played grown up with my little friends, and we all shoved socks into our tanktops or bathing suits, I always stuck three or four pairs against each flat brown nipple, stretching my top out to tent-strained excess, and then I would stand back and admire my body. Growing up, I thought Raquel Welch, Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield owned the body that I myself would grow to inhabit.

My own breasts, the ones my DNA gave me, were a mystifying disappointment.

Of course she’s just getting going when I stop quoting, there’s much more. Enlightening and useful, even if, at the end of the day, we must fall back upon the ancient wisdom: de gustibus non disputandem.

She Tied Him Up And Slipped Him A Finger

Some motel room bondage sex from Joy’s Compost, with a moral — if you play bondage games with an army girl who’s been through Mountain Rescue training, don’t expect to get loose:

I threatened him. “For taking my picture *and* for laughing, you’re getting tied to the bed.” “With what?” he asks. He didn’t take me seriously. I let him know I was serious with an evil look. To his credit, he didn’t even pause to consider being a chicken shit and saying ‘no’. Now, I should insert that neither of us had been serious about *anything* happening. It was just harmless flirting. But we were getting interested in *something* right after he saw I was serious about tying him up. Btw, he was almost 6 foot(iirc), dark hair/eyes, moderately muscled, dressed like a college jock when he was in civilian clothes.

I told him, “Well, with what do you think?” and I brought out the old stand-by that’s pretty damn dangerous if you’re not careful: pantyhose. He dared me, said he could get loose. Heh.

I’ve got his wrists tied to the knobs at the headboard posts and I *know* he’s going nowhere(training for Mountain Rescue had me remembering certain knots). He’s continuing to try and get loose, but he can’t. And he’s getting frustrated. So I took advantage, straddled him and began to tease. And he stopped trying to get loose. Both of us were still dressed, but not for long. He was the first one I’d applied the ol’ “finger up the ass” thing when I blew him. Came like a fucking freight train. Waited an hour, during which he was untied and went about giving me some serious foreplay, then we got down to the fucking. In many varied, wonderfully distracting ways. He made my entire stay in that hellhole State completely worthwhile. ;)

Male Soldiers Fucking

I’ve been reluctant to post this image, because I don’t know enough about its history and context. Probably propaganda judging by the style, possibly racist in effect if not in artistic intent, perhaps depicting a rape (given the different uniforms, and the common theme of rape in military propaganda as a metaphor for brutal victory/defeat), though there are no overt indications thereof and both men have their weapons handy.

So why post? Because it’s two men in uniform fucking, that’s why. Guaranteed hotness for a certain fairly large fraction of the ErosBlog readership. Without further ado:

If anybody with the appropriate linguistic skills cares to comment on the meaning of the visible text, that would be appreciated. Larger version is here.

Toe Sex

It sounds like this guy had a really good weekend — the toe sucking and fucking being only one of his highlights:

And then my date showed me a trick that was, well, a bit stupefying.

So at some point during the second round of sex, she gets up in a Reverse Cowgirl position, and bends down to A) give me a good view, and B) suck my toes while she fucks me. For those of you not into Shrimping, I don’t know how you can’t love it. A toe suck & cock stimulation combo is almost too much for my nervous system. I’ve had this before, but it’s a rare treat. My date, however, felt the need to show me that despite my travels and adventures, I have not seen it all.

She dismounts, turns around, and lowers her cunt onto my toes — Ummm.. ok. She starts fucking my big toe and lowers her head down to start sucking my cock. My toes were already electrified from the sucking — so I loved how her wet pussy felt all over my feet, and her face dropping all the way down to my pubic bone, burying my cock in her throat… I was just stupid with glee. This felt so good, so amazing, I simply can’t describe it. All the wires were shorting out. Loved it. And she was pretty pleased to have thrown me something new.

Sexy Cop

We’ve all known ladies who think they can bat their eyelashes, flirt a bit, and get away with anything. Here’s one such who got the tables turned on her:

So yes, I got PLAYED. Fucking cop pulls me over on the way back from Augusta. I’m all set to talk my way out of yet another ticket- its no secret in my family that I’ve NEVER gotten one that I couldn’t sweet talk my way out of. Its MAINE. Its not hard.

Guy saunters up to my car and I’m hit with a blast of cologne and a pair of blue eyes.

Uniform + cologne combo.
CLEVER BASTARD.

So yes, I’m a little too embarassed to go into much detail, but there was some drooling and stuttering on my part, and yes, I got my very first ticket. $185. Fuck. I’m officially destitute. In my defense, when I got home, my sister could still SMELL HIS COLOGNE on my shirt. (Pixie back me up here!) I got played by the cop. Fine. I accept this. He knew what he was doing. I’ve gotten away scot-free with some crazy shit before. He was fucking HOT and had handcuffs hanging from his belt. How was I to resist? I just nodded and mumbled along simply because anything else that came out of my mouth probably would have ended me up in jail for solicitation.

Turnabout is fair play!

What It Feels Like To Deep Throat

Lots of yummy female perspective on the sensation of deep throating, from Pretty Dumb Things:

The art of deep-throating lies in two things: creating enough high-quality viscous porn-starry spit, and relaxing your throat to accommodating proportions. Both take time. The gag reflex is my friend, I know, and so I court it with a wily coquettishness. I take the dick in as far as it just uncomfortably will go, and I wait, holding my breath, until I find my throat begin to relax and until I need to breathe. Then I’ll slide my mouth to the tip, do a little do-si-do with my tongue at the end, and slide back up until I just barely begin to gag and hold again, swallowing the tip.

At these moments what I feel is a mixture of challenge and trust and pride. I trust the man not to thrust and fuck up my prep time. I challenge myself to see how much I can put in my throat, how long I can hold it, how easily I can get ready. And I feel pride in a blowjob well begun. When a guy does thrust and fuck my face before I have properly lubed my throat, it hurts. It feels a lot like when you swallow very hot soup or too big a piece of lamb shank. It sometimes makes me gag a bit, and other times it makes me gag a lot.

After a few minutes of warm up, I can feel my throat begin to relax. Usually then I find an angle that will work for sustained deep-throat with this particular cock — and all are different. Sometimes I like to control the blowjob, and sometimes I like to be face-fucked. And other times, like when I’m tied up, I don’t really have a choice but enjoy being face-fucked. In all cases, finding a comfy spatial relationship is key. Bad angles make for bad fellatio– it’s simple human geometry,

When I’m in control, I feel like I’m choreographing an elaborate underwater ballet with my mouth, my hands, and the dick at hand and mouth. The slurpy noises, the imagined visual, the occasional eye contact, the hushed bated breath, the timely exhale, the fingers sliding the mix of saliva and pre-cum, the cock that pauses, filling my mouth and my throat, my throat fluttering little swallows around its tip. I love the feel of having my mouth full. If I’m really into it, it makes me wish that the guy had two or three other dicks to fill me with simultaneously. This strange feral compulsion washes over me and I wish I could take him into me everywhere all at once, even as I’m trying to keep my head while I’m giving head.

When I’m being face-fucked, however, the sense of control is lost and in its place comes a wild ride. When face-fucked, I feel like I have to keep a delicate balance between my breathing, my relaxed throat, and this relentless pneumatic cock that is drilling my mouth. Much of my experience then is completely wrapped up in my submitting to the moment, of finding my slender balance in this overwhelming crash of sensation. It, too, is pleasurable, though rhythm is important, for if the man isn’t aware of what he’s doing, he can make me gag, and then I have to fight to control that urge, to will it to stop and to find my calm center in his pheromone storm. My throat is almost always sore the day after a rigorous face-fucking.

Girl Fisting

Mistress Matisse’s latest column offers instruction on The Gentle Art of Girl Fisting:

I vividly recall the first time I ever had my whole hand inside a woman’s pussy. I was 19, and my girlfriend was a sexy butch woman with an appetite for deep penetration. One night — we were on the living room floor, I believe — I had all four fingers inside her and was fucking her as hard as I could, trying to match the tempo of her fast-pumping hips. In our thrashing tangle of limbs, my hand pivoted from the usual thumb-to-the-clit position to a diagonal approach. I instinctively pressed my thumb against my palm so my fingernail wouldn’t jab her. As I did, she thrust herself against me like a roller-derby queen butting aside a competitor, and to my surprise and momentary alarm, I felt my whole hand slide into her.

“Baby, are you okay?”

“Don’t fucking stop!”

So I didn’t.

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Stripper Rant

I found this posted without an author credit on an adult webmaster board. It was presented as if it were supposed to be funny, and acclaimed as such by a chunk of the online-pornographer audience. Me, I didn’t find it so — it encapsulates a lot of the reasons I never could find much value in the strip club experience. Of course I know of folks in the blog community who’ve stripped (or who are still stripping) and who present a much more nuanced view of the profession. But still. Strong and unpleasant stuff, it seems to me:

1) Hey you over there, holding that one dollar bill in your hand with a death grip and waving it around at me like it’s the fucking deed to Trump Towers… what the fuck do you want me to do, grow another pussy?!? It’s a fuckin’ dollar, put it down on the tiprail and blow my world away already.

2) You losers that come into the club for a lapdance with NO underwear or boxers and thin-ass, nylon shorts, so we slip and slide on your hard-on (which always feel like a sharpie pen ~ fine point)…fuck you.

3) You with the thick-ass jeans, this was an impromptu visit, eh?

4) Don’t pull my thong up during a dance and ask me if it felt good. IT DOES NOT FEEL GOOD.

5) Hey you, Loser, the one counting out the 20 bucks in one dollar increments, rubbing your fingers between each one to make sure you are giving me just that one dollar. Yes, you.

6) No I will not just let you “slip it in real quick” for $50 more bucks.

7) Yeah, my tits are real. As real as my affection for you.

8)If you cum in your pants, you have to tip me an extra $100 for being a lame-ass who can cum in their pants from a lapdance.

9) Stop asking me out. You’re a smelly, fat loser and the only reason I’m smiling and cooing at you is because I want your money. Outside of the club I wouldn’t even fart your way.

11) Stop bitching at me about the goddamn two drink minimum. First of all, your breath ranks (what’d you have for dinner, garlic and shit?), you’re about 172 lbs. overweight, and you look like Jay Leno. More importantly: I don’t give a shit.

12) Don’t bitch at me about the $10 non-alchoholic beer either. Hide a bottle of Jack in your coat pocket next time like everyone else does.

13) My horniness is in direct proportion to your income.

14) No, you CAN’T SMOKE. Dumb. Ass.

15 )Boys, don’t sit in the front row with your “homies” and act all engrossed in some deep conversation during a girls performance because you want to look like you’re too “cool” to notice the hot, naked girl in front of you. It’s a clear sign that you ain’t getting any.

16) DON’T SIT IN THE FRONT ROW IF YOU ARE NOT GOING TO TIP. Fer chrissakes!!!!!!!!!!!

17) “So what do you guys do when you’re on your period?” Answer: I lap dance with guys in dark pants.

18) STOP trying to grab my tits!!!!!!! That’s extra.

19) SHOWER FIRST, you nasty fuck!

20) I had a feeling you weren’t going to tip me, so I took extra care to rub my lip gloss on your collar and wear extra glitter lotion and obnoxious perfume before our dance.

21) Hey cheapasses: please don’t come to my work. Just stay home and jack off to “Desperate Housewives” instead. It will save us a both a lot of unpleasantry.

22) Stop asking me why I do this job and try to get all psychologically analytical on me. For the money, you moron, that’s why.

23) No seriously, my real name is Sparkle.

24) NO, I will not take a dime sac for payment. I can tell it’s oregano anyway you stupid mutherfucker!

25) Sorry, I don’t do that. Ask the ugly girl at the bar with the black roots and overbite.

26) I can see it’s your first time at a strip club. Let me explain the dynamics to you. If you want a fuck or a blow-job, go to the ugly chicks. Hot girls don’t have to do “extra services.” I can give you some recommendations for a small fee.

27) It is not okay for you to bounce me on your cock like a baby on a knee. Not okay.

28) Stop complaining about how short the song was. It felt like the fucking maxi-single to me.

29)Yes I will fuck you, but only for 10 grand. More if you’re ugly. So basically, more.

30) DO NOT come into the club looking for a girlfriend/date. It’s like me going to PETA looking for a steak.

31) Girls–what’s with the pole smell? Can we do a little hygiene check? Nothing than worse than twirling around the pole and getting a whiff of stale pussy.

32) Girls–stop lip-syncing to the song you’re dancing to on stage. Especially if you don’t know all the words.

33) Girls–if your toes curl and hang over your platform shoes a la’ Fred Flinstone, you need to go up a size.

34) Girls–drowning yourself in Angel perfume is just as bad if not worse than the BO you’re trying to cover. Take a goddamn shower, you smell like lapdance funk.

35) Hey DJ! You suck!

36)Girls–may I suggest complete sobriety before getting tatted up? Tattoos should be meaningful, or at least semi-meaningful, or at least semi semi-meaningful. That fucking dancing llama on your ass is so lame.

37)Girls–some songs just should not be stripped to. Please. No Disney soundtracks (you know who you are, you fucking weirdo), Sade, Boys II Men, or Bjork. For the love of God, Please.

By the way, if this was ripped from a blog or website and you know the original source, please drop me an email so I can credit it properly. No links in the comments, please.

Vanilla Or Slut?

J and I both have the whole weekend off, yippeeee! The weather’s supposed to be good, so I told him I’d come over and help with a big project of his (he’s the friend I mentioned here). You know I’ll be doing my best to work on my “big project” too, which is his lovely cock. So far J’s been a darling, pretty much what I said I wanted, so it’s more than just good great sex.

And that’s the thing. I’m ready to move beyond the regular sex, I want to experiment some, I want his eyes to roll back in his head and to hear him say “That was amazing!” What I don’t want to hear, or for him to think, is “What a slut.” Like Steff said in a post on titty fucking:

There’s an interesting dichotomy in the sexual world. One aspect is the woman who enjoys almost any sexual act. She’s often portrayed as lewd, slutty, easy, or loose, just because she’s an enthusiast. And that’s bullshit, my friends. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the activities you enjoy surrounding sex should not judge who you are as a person.

But then there’s the flipside. If you’re hesitant to do some of the so-called edgier/pornified things, you get painted a bit as a vanilla lover, or someone who’s “conservative” in the bedroom, which is also bullshit, my friends.

How do you find that happy in between? Can somebody who’s a sexblogger avoid the slut tag?

J’s still going through the divorce dance, so it’s too early to say what will happen between us. I don’t want to rush him but I do want to explore some sex stuff. God, what a minefield this is!

More…… J just sent me some beautiful flowers! They’re those curvey tulips with the pointy petals, and the card says “Looking forward to bucking rivets – and more – with you!” Keep your fingers crossed for me!

And Who Shall Be Master?

Here’s a hilarious transcript of cybersex gone terribly … right? Some goon tries to pretend to be a master, but he seems to think it mostly involves virtual punches and namecalling. And then the hunter becomes the hunted:

mia: *gets out strap-on, and slips it on*

jblack: whoa

mia: *attaches 14″ dildo to strap-on*

mia: *lubes the dildo up*

jblack: where’s the girl? you’re going to fuck a girl right?

mia: you’re the girl. i’m going to fuck you.

jblack: master does not approve

mia: no, see. this whole time you’re under the assumption that i needed to be dominated

mia: the truth of the matter is, I do the dominating.

mia: and to prove it

mia: i’m going to fuck your cyber ass until it cyber bleeds

jblack: master says no

mia: no, YOUR MASTER says yes

mia: bend the fuck over

jblack: i don’t like this

mia: too fucking bad, worm. you’re gonna get it now

mia: *bends you over. spreads your ass.*

jblack: no i don’t want this

mia: he doesn’t WANT this, he says. what about what i said, before you cyber raped me, DICK?

mia: all i’m doing is what you did to me. you think that’s unfair?

jblack: yes

mia: and why is that

jblack: because i aint a fag

mia: oh but i am?

jblack: different. your a bitch

mia: no, actually, YOU’RE the bitch right now

mia: *slams my big dildo into your ass*

mia: oh that feels so good doesn’t it, bitch?

jblack: this is rape

mia: “shut up, bitch. enjoy it”

mia: oh yeah, you like that?

mia: you like Master’s cock?

*jblack has signed off*

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Doggie Style Sex Art

I’m not sure if drawing this fellow’s head to be shaped like a splitting maul was supposed to be some sort of racist caricature, or not. But regardless, the lady with her face buried in her pillow is absolutely delectable:

Did Santa Bring You A Video iPod?

Perhaps if you were very good (or very naughty, but in a good way) you found a video iPod in your stocking yesterday morning. Lucky you! It’s a nifty toy.

However, in that case you’ll looking for “stuff” to watch on it, so I wanted to remind you of some of the porn resources for the video iPod that I’ve stumbled over in recent weeks. I did a long post about using GUBA to find iPod porn, plus I’ve mentioned (here and here) that two of the kinky sites I sometimes promote have started putting iPod-ready video content in their members areas.

A few more sites where iPod porn is now available to members:

Sex And Submission: (Real bondage sex)

Whipped Ass: (Female/female spanking and domination)

Fucking Machines: (Heavily modified power “tools”)

Men In Pain: (Female domination of men)

Water Bondage: (Just what it sounds like)

Ultimate Surrender: (Nude girls wrestle; winner dominates loser)

Fair warning: Most of these sites have just begun offering their movie clips in iPod format, and they haven’t (yet) converted their archives. So you won’t find hundreds of iPod-ready movies, just the ones from recent updates.

Enjoy!

Update from the future: Hi, this is the future. We have smartphones now. Video iPods? What the hell were those? The good news is, Kink.com now has everything in .mp4 format, in five different sizes. If you’ve got a screen the size of your thumbnail on your watch, or or a TV the size of your living room wall, they’ve got you covered. Ain’t progress grand?

Sex Under The Desk

This is a pretty challenging bit of sex writing — challenging to read and to appreciate. It’s very vivid and real, but possibly disturbing as well, depending on how you do with potentially degrading master/slave sex. Kaya writes:

I was put under the desk. Getting put under there is just as you imagine it would be. On my hands and knees, ass in the air, in the space where the chair should be. And while Master does His thing online…He’s fucking me. Sometimes brutally, sometimes not. Because He’s not really concentrating on fucking, or cumming, this can last for a really, really long time. He mostly ignores me under there, except to occasionally tell me to stop moving, or to remind me of how I am a cunt, a filthy slut, a dirty bitch…good for little more than a place to dump His cum.

The floor is linoleum and most times I’ll be awarded a pillow to put under my knees. Sometimes, just a towel. Sometimes, nothing…and the fact that my knees are hurting as He rocks me back and forth is appealing to Him. If I can orgasm it’s no concern to Him. He doesn’t care if I do or not, as He reminds me that it’s about His pleasure, not mine. I often try not to orgasm (which isn’t too hard since He isnt trying to make me anyway) as a way to hold on to a tiny bit of myself, control myself, unwilling to give Him the satisfaction. But if He wants me to, if He tries to make me, I can’t stop it. And that pisses me off to no end. All it earns me is some disparaging remark about the “mess” I make on His cock.

It’s very cramped under there (and though I make a conscious effort to clean there, it gets dusty and dirty). If I’m lucky I’ll have already had my hair in a ponytail. Otherwise it’s in my face, being sucked into my mouth and nose, in my eyes, and just generally a pain. My hands go numb from holding myself up, or my elbows get sore if I rest on those. And I am constantly having my head banged into the back of the desk. Purposely. It’s His attempt (I think) at making me press backwards against Him. And it works.

It’s stuffy down there…very little airflow. It’s hot. My pussy dries up and depending on how much it’s hurting Him, He’ll get some lube. Depending on how much He enjoys that it’s hurting me, He won’t. Sometimes He adds nipple clamps, which hurt like fuck when your tits are swinging and swaying, and the time they are on is typically long. If I remind Him they are there, He yanks them off quite cruelly. I’ve learned it’s best to suffer through them, and ask to remove them myself after He cums. He’s in a much more friendly mood after an orgasm.

You’ll feel about that…however you feel about that. To me, the interesting question is how Kaya feels about it:

It’s another one of those “I’ll love it tomorrow” things. And I do. Thinking about it after the fact, makes me twitch and squirm and generally soak my panties. I like being used, I like that He is pleased. I like that He uses me to please Himself, that is my job after all. Sure, I like being used in other, funner (for me), ways to please Him better but that’s not my choice. And I like that I have no choice about it. I’ve yet to be able to talk Him into something else when He swats my ass and points under the desk. And I have tried.

…

The stuff my fantasies are made of. Be careful the things you wish for.

Get Over Your Ass

There’s a heck of a rantish sex essay over at Rollertrain, covering many sexual topics, but this little bit jumped out:

Every straight guy has a magic cum button: That amazing little spot tucked just inside the most feared orifice of mankind. If I was the boss of Sexyland, I’d start an ad campaign:

Prostate as Male Clitoris; No Longer Just a Dude’s G(ay) Spot.

Have your lover get a manicure, lube up a finger, massage your sphincter and gently penetrate that scary place, one millimeter at a time. Ask them to bend their finger into the famous “come hither” curve until they feel the firm bump of your prostate. Let and feel them tease it till your man-clitoris get bigger and harder, which leads me to the campaign’s tagline:

It works kind of like your boner! And feels just as good.

Ask them to suck your cock while they’re at it. This tip leads to the customer benefit points:

Orgasm is a physical inevitability when you mix prostate stimulation with fellatio.

There are three key issues to deal with before you grant ass access to your lover’s pointer finger. First, shit. Second, wash. Third, stop being so fucking gay. The more afraid you are, the more you’re going to love it, and the sooner you should figure out how to try it. Prostate play feels too good to pass off as something that shouldn’t be enjoyed. Life is short, gentlemen. Get over your ass. Encourage your lovers to do the same thing.

Mandroid The Sex Android (RoboCop Gone Bad?)

Since Violet and Xeni are both going mad for Timothy Archibald’s new book on Sex Machines, I figured it might be time once again to honor the visual innovators in the field, namely, the mechanical geniuses at Fucking Machines. They build (beg? borrow? steal? I don’t really know) some of the best-looking sex machines in the porn world, and put ’em together with hot models. I particularly like this mandroid they’ve been featuring lately — it’s like high-camp erotic horror, only the girls are smiling:

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“Sneeze For Me, Baby…”

It seems that Annie’s husband has discovered the silver lining, er, behind having an allergic wife:

I was likely snoring alluringly – we all know how sexy a good snort and snotty sniff is – which naturally drove my man wild with desire and, no longer able to restrain his need, I felt him get on the bed behind me and spoon, the rowdy beast poking at his lair’s door insistently. Herein lies another effect of “severe allergy” pills. Being antihistimines, they dry everything up – everything except my nose that is – requiring the horny, and now grumbling, man to get up and rummage the nightstand drawer for the lube.

At that point he was truly a man on a mission, he was gonna Get Some and Get It Now. He lifted me up onto my knees and elbows and was quickly home with a virile plunge. The thing about hay fever is that as long as ya stay really still with your eyes closed, the symptoms can be held at bay. The minute ya move and open your eyes, It’s All Over. With Robert fucking happily away, I sneezed and Robert says, “Whoa! Sneeze again!”

“Huh? What happened to gezundheit?” I query in disbelief.

“Gezundheit. Now sneeze again. Man, that feels amazing!” he sez, thrusting the beast in to the hilt and holding, waiting for the next sneeze. “Come on, look at the light or something… sneeze for me, baby.”

Sneeze for me, baby? I’ve heard of cumming on command, but sneezing on command? Now, this is kinky.

“Um…” I responded brilliantly.

“Come on, baby, SNEEZE!” he commanded, slapping my ass hard. Then again.

Damned if that didn’t work. The stimulation did indeed set off a new round of sneeze – or maybe it was just convenient timing – but Robert got his desire. The way he moaned it must have been pretty darned good.

“It would be even better in your ass,” I heard through the nose pill haze. Soon, the beast had poked his head into my tight, unprepped bottom.

“OWWW-choo! Shit, Robert!” Aaahhh-choo! My hay fever attack was officially exerting itself again in full force. So I’m sneezing and bugfuck stupid with a cock up my ass and my man is moaning “oooh baby, it’s sooo good”.

It just doesn’t get any kinkier than this.

I suppose you could try this at home (even without allergies) using a bit of black pepper. Or, for the truly retro Victorian shopgirl experience, snuff.

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No More Cum Buckets, Please

Over on Donny’s Ramblings, softcore porn producer Donovan Phillips makes some suggestions for hard-core porn producers about things to include in hard-core porn. This one set me to to musing:

Kissing – doesn’t have to be lovey, dovey kissing. Some firm, “Oh my God I want to fuck you!” type kissing helps get the women I know going. The male shows some aggression but in an “I really fucking want you!” way instead of a “You’re my cum bucket” type way. Know what I mean?

I think that distinction between aggression and contempt is important. What’s with all the contempt for the talent in American porn, anyway? It’s possible, perhaps even normal, for people to enjoy depictions of sexual aggression, but I don’t really know all that many men who buy into the “cum bucket” contemptuousness and distaste. In my life to date, I’ve heard only one man actually utter that phrase in all seriousness, and he’s widely known to be an exceptional asshole. When I see pornography that buys into the whole adolescent large-talking locker room “bitch/whore/cunt/slut” foulness, I’m always tempted to assume that the pornographers in question are letting their own personal issues cloud their understanding of their market. Most men (all real men) can readily distinguish between sexual aggressiveness and sexual contempt. The former is good dirty fun in appropriate contexts, and often quite well appreciated by the women in question. The latter just leaves us thinking “What the fuck?!”

Test Riding A Fucking Machine

Long ago I blogged about fucking machines, but in the years since, this post by Audacia Ray at Waking Vixen is the first detailed account I’ve seen from a woman who has gamely taken one of the machines for a good test ride:

Dacia vs. The Machine

or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Robocock

So in the quest to make my life experience increasingly peculiar, last night I had an, um, encounter with a fucking machine. How, you may ask, would this come about? Well, I was contacted a while ago by a photographer who is interested in the intersection between sexuality and machines… an interesting conversation resulted and the revelation that said photographer is in possession of a fucking machine (you know, one of these things). Was I intrigued? Well, considering that I was already intrigued by his project, yes I certainly was.

So, fast forward to last night, when I filled my suitcase with clothes, shoes and sex toys and made my way to the studio we were shooting in. We started out with some still pics for a bit of warm up and utilized my very red wardrobe and collection of high heels. I was amused to find that it’s becoming much easier to walk in 5 inch stilettos; when I put on my platforms I felt almost like I was wearing sneakers, they were so easy to move around in. Hey, strutting in 5 inch heels is a useful life skill for me.

After a while, the photographer took out the fucking machine for me to admire and ponder. It was basically a metal suitcase like the kind you see carrying millions of dollars in those gangster movies. Except inside of it was the metal that makes the hump possible, and it had a metal pole sticking out of it. It came with a collection of dildos (the icky flesh colored, veiny jelly rubber ones) but I was delighted to find out that my favorite silicone dildo happened to have a hollowed out space perfectly sized for said metal attachment. Well then. We turned the machine on its end so the dildo was pointing skywards, twisted its control on, and watched mesmerized as it pumped at the ceiling. Another twist of the knob and it pumped faster.

The photographer turned to me and said, “So what do you think?”

My eyes still locked on the machine, I responded, “Well, it’s kind of scary. But the noises it makes are less terrifying than I thought they’d be; I thought it would sound more like a jackhammer. Let’s do it.”

He raised his eyebrows at me and said, “You’ll be the first to have a go with it. Other models have been curious about it, but everyone’s been too afraid of it to actually use it.”

Leave it to me to take the machine’s virginity and give it my robot love virginity in exchange.

To warm myself up for the machine, I did a bit of a strip tease with the video camera trained on me, unzipped my dress (hey, I’m a class act, what can I say?), sat down in a comfy chair and began to play with my pussy. I dipped my fingers in my mouth and then smeared the wetness on my freshly shaved labia. By this time I was distracted by the task at hand, so I forgot about being careful with my lipstick and probably fucked it all up, but who cares — I was getting ready to make sweet robot love. I lingered with my fingers pulling at my labia, mixing spit and cunt juices together, rubbing my clit into the awakened state that always makes my piercing jut at an odd angle. I reached beside my chair for my trusty lube and toys and started to use the mini slimline all over my vulva; its hard plastic occasionally chattering over my piercing. I felt my labia plump up and the area just above my pubic bone swell. I pressed down on it and slid the vibe inside me at an angle so that I’d touch my g-spot while also bearing down on it from above. Good, cross-eyed stuff. While keeping the vibe in place with one hand, I reached for my lumina wand with the other. I was ready for some harder g-spot banging. Chatter chatter chatter was the sound of the moment as the slimline collided with my piercing and the lumina wand, and sometimes both at once. I felt my juices start to drip out of me and expand down the insides of my thighs — I was ready for robot love. I tapered off with the vibrator and announced, “I’m ready for it.”

We shuffled things around a bit and tried to figure out the optimal position for machine fuckery. Since the floor was looking none too comfy for laying or kneeling on, we decided that it would be best if I stood over the machine, with it poking me from below. I had to take my fabulous stilettos off for this portion of the evening’s program so that I could balance better. I lubed up my dildo and inserted it before turning the machine on, and then slowly twisted the knob. With a click and a grind, the machine sprung to life, and on its first upward thrust popped out of my pussy. This much I can say — though the machine repetitively thrusts in the exact same way, it is still no easier to keep the cock-pussy connection going than it is with a real live cock. Or maybe I just need more machine-fucking practice.

After getting the hang of the machine for a while, we decided that I should turn around and angle the thing so that I would be getting fucked from behind, though still standing up. We put a stool in front of me for leaning against, and this position worked much better, partly due to the fact that I was no long looking directly at the machine and being fascinated by the hump mechanism (yes, that’s a technical term). I could concentrate more on the solid fucking the thing was administering once I was propped up on my elbows and pointing my ass at machine (and camera). I dropped my left hand down onto my clit and realized that my pussy was a sopping mess (in a good way).

I closed my eyes, listened to the steady hum of the machine behind me, and went to town on my clit. That dildo isn’t my favorite for nothing — its smooth swells rubbed my g-spot in just the right way, and the wide base stretched my cunt wide for a spilt second as the machine penetrated me to the hilt. Though at first I had been too concerned with the mechanics of the operation (and I’ll admit, a little self-conscious about being on camera) to think that I’d be able to make an orgasm happen, it was becoming a reality. I felt myself slip into my head and body a bit more, and I looked down to see my legs violently shaking.

The gears inside the suitcase groaned against my pulsing cunt muscles. It made a bit of a cranking noise and I wondered for a second if my orgasm was going to push the cock out (it didn’t), but then I got lost in the feeling of coming. With a soft sigh, my body began to go slack, and I slowed the machine to a stop. I disengaged, still shaking and a little flushed. The photographer watched me shaking subtly before him for a second, and then asked, “So, how was it?”

“It was… good. Interesting. I was able to get into it more when I wasn’t looking at the shiny metal of the machine.”

So, it wasn’t the most fearsome orgasm ever, and I didn’t go totally nuts about the machine, but I think given some practice and a different position (how about not standing up), my robot love skills could increase exponentially. Now there’s a useful life skill to have.

Penis Worship

Oh fuck, it feels so good having my lips wrapped around you. Your taste… your smell… It’s been too long since I’ve had your beautiful cock hot, hard and pulsing in my mouth. I moan because this feel so fucking good and the vibration against your cock has your fists pressing down hard against my scalp.

“Mm, you like that?”

“Yes.”

Your voice is a strained whisper and God, that excites me.

More available at Salacious Desires. I’d love to be doing this tonight…..any night.

An Orgy At Disneyland

You’ve probably seen the famous Wally Wood “Disneyland Memorial Orgy” picture before, but the LA Weekly is showing a fairly-high-quality version of it on the web just now. But what caught my eye was the straightforward description of the image. It reads something like an obscenity indictment and something like the the poem an acid-head might write:

Pluto is pissing on a portrait of Mickey Mouse, while the real, bedraggled Mickey is shooting up heroin. His nephews are jerking off as they watch Goofy fucking Minnie Mouse on a combination bed and cash register. The beams shining out from Sleeping Beauty’s Castle are actually dollar signs. Dumbo is simultaneously flying and shitting on an infuriated Donald Duck. Huey, Dewey and Louie are peeking at Daisy Duck’s asshole as she watches the Seven Dwarfs groping Snow White. The prince is snatching a peek of Cinderella’s snatch while trying a glass slipper on her foot. The Three Little Pigs are humping each other in a daisy chain. Jiminy Cricket leers as Tinker Bell does a striptease and Pinocchio’s nose gets longer.

Thanks to Boing Boing for the link.

A Pornographer Who Gets It

I’ve repeatedly railed against porn sites that are all “slut” this, “cunt” that, and “whores and bitches” over there. In my experience, guys who talk like that aren’t getting any, and no wonder! I doubt it’s any different for guys who enjoy their porn labelled in that ugly fashion.

So imagine my delight in discovering a pornographer who “gets it”. Donovan Phillips writes (in his blog Donny’s Ramblings: Diary of a Pornographer):

I fucking hate going to websites that use words like whores and sluts. There’s nothing at all wrong with a woman showing her sexuality. The way our society encourages women to repress the evidence of their sex drive really bothers me. Men are encouraged to boast about their strong libido, but a woman with a strong sex drive who agressively goes for what she wants is labeled with one of those words I so hate.

And you know what else? There’s nothing at all wrong with a man being aroused by a woman showing her sexuality, even to the point of masturbation. Why do I mention this? Because I’m sure that you, like me, may have a background influenced by religious individuals that tell you anything pleasant in life is a sin of some sort. Masturbation’s a sin, ya know. Fuck them.

Preach it, Brother Donny!

Public Sex … With Himself

Here’s the end of a funny tale from a couple of club bouncers who catch someone having fun beside the parking garage:

Sure enough, our friend Anthony had been caught midstroke, rubbing one out behind the wheel of his friend’s car while waiting for the rest of his group to come out of the club.

“Holy Christ is this guy a fucking idiot,” I said, rapping on the window with my flashlight. “Hey! You okay in there, dude?”

Without missing a ‘beat,’ Anthony, his eyes remaining closed and his right hand still hard at work, gave me the thumbs-up with his left.

“Guess so.”

Peeling Root Vegetables During Sex

I realize that the casual reader is going to be distracted by the impending figging (“Ginger? Why’s he peeling ginger? Where’s it going?”), but to me the fantastic part of this post is the multi-tasking ability of the man in question. Here he’s managing to keep up the old in-out-in-out while doing a tricky task involving manual dexterity and a sharp implement:

This time I have a pretty good idea of what is going to happen. Something we’d been discussing for a while. He runs out to the living room and back, and returns to fucking me. However, this time he’s rearranged the garbage can, and is peeling a chunk of ginger at the same time…. Some ginger juice got dripped on my back, and it was just this nice pleasant sharp cold sensation, like rubbing alcohol on healthy skin. Soon that same sensation was in my crotch as he was fucking me. I remember being a little concerned about whether it would be hurting him or not, but mostly thinking that I was enjoying it. Soon the ginger was ready and he was pressing it against me.

From here via Figging.com.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• The Ginger Went Up Her Butt
• Drinking, Driving, Singing, Fornication
• The Definitive Figging Collection
• More Gingerotica
• Gingerotica

Get On The Rollertrain

Tell me how, how in the name of Hera’s humongous hotbox, did I manage to miss Rollertrain for more than a year? The engineer of the train calls herself “Charges”, and I just love her foul-mouthed ranting style. Example, from Top 10 Reasons Why I Hate Fake Lesbian Porno:

Answer me this, bitches: If a dick devotee like myself can figure out that all clitori pretty much require the same kind of stimulation that mine does, then why – you eighteen-year-old Californian cretins, with your sexual boundary issues and your ass tattoos and your daddy deficits and your navel rings and those cheap plastic stripper shoes – shouldn’t you? We’re watching you.

If you don’t know how to eat a pussy, why are you trying to eat one? And why don’t you try a little harder? It’s your JOB. That girl’s dirty crotch is bringing home your bacon. If you want to do porn without eating pussy, there’s no shame in that! But please, just go straight to the 5-man gang bangs. Skip the snatch. I am tired of watching you pussy amateurs trying to act like you enjoy screwing around with girls.

Or how about this observation about porn stars?

I’m critical of pornstars, especially the high-school graduates who jump into their Jenna Jameson fantasies without any prior research. It always amazes me to catch stories about these dodo birds showing up at gonzo studios without any idea of what to expect. I mean no idea. When I hear little gonzo bitches bawl over what happened to them in Golden Guzzlers #17, all I can think is didn’t you at least rent Golden Guzzlers #1? How could you decide to start doing porno without doing any homework?

Being a pornstar is probably the easiest way for unmotivated young girls to make a lot of money. All they have to do is show up. Being a good pornstar, however, is a very hard job that takes endurance, intelligence and a lot of balls, and the few women who do it well should be commended and highly compensated. I am still critical of good pornstars; once your privates become part of public domain, the images no longer belong to you. But I deeply respect women who succeed in the sex industry, because they have bigger balls than me, and because they’re fucking beautiful.

Too much fun!

Fluids and Frolicking and Fun, Oh My!

Goodness. I didn’t realize that my post of yesterday would prompt such a response. Several comments deserve a more prominent response than just a follow-up comment … So, strap yourselves in, and have barf bags at the ready if you get squicked by talk of fluids and fucking. (Or, don’t peek behind the “more” link.)The first commenter posted:

All you say makes sense, but I don’t know that you’d want me to put my bleeding cock in you.. would you?

No, but that comparison confuses the issues. Menstruation is a normal, natural part of a woman’s body functioning — a bleeding penis isn’t. And yes, CID, there can be a difference in the “feel” of sex, menstrual fluid being thicker, if one plunges in without allowing time for natural lubrication to occur (or even if you do allow for that, just ’cause that other stuff is present too). I was somewhat tongue-in-cheek pointing out an advantage of having sex during menses.

Another individual commented, in part:

HOWEVER, I do have a problem with a lady, who after I go down on her refuses to kiss me… :boo hiss:

Boo hiss indeed! I’ve had a similar experience from the other side, so to speak. That is to say, a gentleman reacted with shock and displeasure when, after I’d admitted him to my “sacred sanctum” and he withdrew prior to orgasm, I went down on him. To me, the taste of commingled male and female fluids is scrumptious … but he apparently didn’t agree.

I’m not out to belittle anyone who has tried some of these things and not liked them. What I was challenging is the idea (which seemed to be implicit in Wanton Male’s blog entry, and I apologize to him if I read more into it than was intended) that there’s something inherently wrong/bad/harmful/unpleasant in menstrual sex — or, for that matter, enjoying other normal bodily fluids that happen as part of the sexual process.

If you’ve tried it, and not liked it, well, good on ya for trying. We all gotta follow our bliss, and thank the goddesses, there are lots of ways to do that. But if you’re among those who absolutely reject something relatively benign like this …. well, consider yourselves challenged by me to reconsider. “Try it — you just might like it!” :)

Saturday Sex Picture: Hair-Pulling Sex

A gratuitous sex picture to brighten your weekend, courtesy of Real Fucking Couples:

Isn’t that some hot sexual hair pulling?

Note: Real Fucking Couples is defunct and no longer exists, but it was an early effort to go vanilla/mainstream by the company that became Kink.com.

Real People Sex

Here’s a porn site that seems to do a better than usual job of showing sex that looks like real sex, with smiles and attractive-but-not-plastic bodies and backgrounds that aren’t obviously porn sets. I quite enjoyed this bit of backyard nookie, courtesy of Real Fucking Couples:

This is a scenario any humble citizen can place himself into. Just hangin’ with the wife in the backyard on a sunny day, when she smiles over real nice. One thing leads to another…

And so forth. A bit more honest than the over-produced stuff, and a lot hotter!

Note: Real Fucking Couples is defunct and no longer exists, but it was an early effort to go mainstream by the company that became Kink.com.

Setting Phone Sex Expections

Diablo from Pussy Ranch has been doing working the phone sex lines lately, and she offers trenchant advice:

Note to callers: If you’re sharing an elaborate gay buttfuck fantasy with me, don’t randomly interject “Oh, and while the one guy is fucking me up the ass, I want Jennifer Love Hewitt to suck my dick.” I will bust a gut laughing, so don’t act all wounded about it.

And some etiquette as well, complete with grammar tips:

In an awkward attempt to transition to the action-packed phase of our interaction, I will say, “So, what do you like to do for fun?”

You always — always! — reply, “You.”

Excuse me while I heave with laughter. I’ve never heard anything quite so clever! Except, you know, the last four guys said the exact same thing.

Variations on this reply include “Green-eyed blondes,” “Hot chicks,” or, my personal favorite, “Watch girls suck my cock.”

Allow me to explain something: When I asked you what you like to do, I was using the implied imperfective tense of the verb. As in, “What do you like to do, as an ongoing thing, meaning something you have actually done.” I didn’t say “What would you like to do?” I didn’t say, “In a perfect world, where you look like Heath Ledger and don’t live with your mother, what might you enjoy doing?

Intentional Porn Advertising

Here’s a quick digital snapshot of a portion of a Scotch whiskey ad from Forbes Magazine. Ignore the damned deer for a second. What’s your first impression? Pot stills? Or a vigorous butt-fucking?

There’s no way you can convince me the photographer didn’t frame this shot with lust in his heart.

The Cure For Gonzo Porn

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?

Pussy Power

Violet Blue reveals the martial arts secrets of the sex shop ninja-babe:

To make a highly specialized weapon out of a pocket pussy is a simple feat. But it is a deadly and sure weapon, the weapon of choice for evildoers and one-woman army-types — so you must take care that it doesn’t fall into your opponent’s hands. Remarkably devastating and packed with tacky flair, a blue cyberskin anus or lavender molded softskin pussy harnesses the powers of painful cuffing unlike the world has never seen. Plus, they’re handy and portable. And guys like to fuck them. Should anyone displease you, or try to make you ring up customers while on the clock, grasp the pocket pussy firmly by the base — away from the end you would stick your cock into, if you have one. The fucking end is the dangerous end, the weighty striking end, and you should handle the puckers and folds as if they were made of sensitive and explosive nitroglycerin. With a small degree of skill, grip the soft end and begin to swing the heavy Smurf-orifice in a circle — any technique is fine; overhand, underhand, or wildly over your head like a helicopter. If you have a battle cry, this is a fine time to use it. Advance upon your enemy, brandishing the wild swing of your now-lethal pocket pussy, inching closer to deliver stunning blows. Caution: pay special attention to the swing of your deadly pussy, as it requires slight athletic ability, and you do not want your secret weapon to accidentally take you out with a blow of painfully dense fake pussy or ass to the head.

Ouchies!

Baloop, Bump

Last Man Dancing writes regarding the perils of too much vibration. Real fun with a vibrator:

You see, if I love doing one thing in sex, that’s playing my lover’s body like a keyboard. I had picked out my five worst ties and had her firmly tied to the four corners of the bed. On my hand, I had one of those Swedish massagers that straps to the back of the hand. I looked down at her tied to the bed and decided that she looked good enough to eat. I bent down and grabbed a mouthful of her breast and twirled her stiffening nipple with my hot wet tounge. She wiggled and leaned toward me moaning softly as I sucked her breast further into her mouth. As I slid over to suck on her other nipple I gently trace her aerola with the very tip of my saliva slick finger tip. I switched the massager on and grabbed her nipple between my vibrating fingers and squeezed. The little fucker swelled up like a fucking cherry and the Bitch went nuts. She’s lying there moaning and writhing against her ties, fucking the air with her cunt. So I stopped.

You stopped!

What are you fucking nuts?

Yeah, I fucking stopped. Nobody told her she could cum yet.

So I take my buzzy little fingers and go on a little adventure. I slid my vibrating digits and traced a windy road to her mound. Briefly, barely, I gave her clit a brief taste of what was yet to come and made a sharp right down her legs to the bottoms of her feet.

I kept this up for about a half an hour and when I finally got to her pussy, she was so dripping wet that two of my fingers just slid right in and I just squeezed and massaged her g-spot. I reached down and turned the dial up as far as it would go and palpatated The Perfect Bitch goes into what could best be described as a seizure. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She stopped breathing and her body lept about two feet into the air and stayed there as she did a wrestler’s bridge off the bed for a good 20 seconds. She then released, let out 5 or 6 loud “Oh-Oh-OH’s”, and an “uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh” when I asked her if she was okay. She then went stiff and locked up again for another 15 seconds. She comes down and she’s screaming like a banshee fucking my hand. I’m getting a little worried at this point so as ask her “More?” and she keeps nodding and pantiing and jerking her hips whispering “more, more, fuck me more, more, more.” I’ve got 4 meaty fingers up inside of her and she tightens up one last time and she’s writhing and screaming on the bed and her cunt is just squeezing the shit out of my hand in spasm after spasm.

Finally, she just passes out on the bed. She just laid there and didn’t move a muscle. She scared the shit out of me, I had to check if she was still breathing. I untied her. She had pulled so tightly against the restraints she had bruised her wrists. She’d live.

I threw a blanket over her and let her sleep.

A few hours later she woke up and tried to get out of bed to go take a piss. As she tried to stand, her legs gave out from underneath her. I fucking cracked up as she went “baloop, bump” on her naked ass. Her legs were numb and her knees were so weak she couldn’t stand. She complained that she had no feelings below her waist whatsoever. I helped her to the bathroom and she was okay after she started walking around a bit.

Christ, it took me almost an entire week to relearn how to just hold a pencil.

Submissive Sex

Submissive sex appears to be the conversational topic o’ the week in the sex blogosphere. First our man at Moving On wrote a fantasy and a follow-up piece, and then Lilith weighed in with an “it’s not for me” reaction that treaded perilously close to being an “it’s icky and so are dominant guys” piece. To be clear: she didn’t say that; but she said “it’s not for me” several ways and then went on a digression (that was unfortunately not obviously a digression) about why she can’t stand domineering guys, and she did it in a way that made it seem like she was lumping all dominant guys into a domineering jerk category. This, it turns out, was apparently not the point she was trying to make — as discussion in her comment area, and a later follow-up that’s much more in line with her normal tone of acceptance of alternate lifestyle approaches, make clear. (Really, it was a fine example of that old Usenet netiquette principle: If someone says something that seems surprisingly out of character for them, or looks like a radical change to the philosophy you expect from them, they are probably being misunderstood and you ought to wait for them to clarify before you jump all over them. I’m glad I waited.)

I myself am enormously entertained by a dominance-and-submission dynamic, even though (and I see no contradictions, although many do) I’m as radical as any you’ll find in my support of self-ownership, personal autonomy, and equality-of-everything-that-matters between men and women. If a woman submits to me, it’s a matter of meta-consent as far as I’m concerned; I’m not uncomfortable (quite the contrary!) taking an atavistic dominant role that would be philosophically horrifying, but for my knowledge that at root, she’s free to change the terms of our relationship, or end it, if it isn’t fulfilling her.

And speaking of fulfilling her, I can’t resist stirring the pot with a sexy submissive report from Sarah at Submissive Reflections, whose nice email to me indicated she only has three readers. Well, Sarah, I’m pleased to share my three thousand or so with you, at least for a day or two:

The first time W/we had sex was a week after He had kissed me and accepted that I was His. It happened to be my birthday. Neither of U/us were waiting for it, it just happened to be the first chance W/we had to be alone together as work was keeping Him busy and out of town. When He came to my place He simply said hello and bit my neck and pulled my skirt up and my panties down and pushed me to the floor and fucked me. There was no foreplay and no words of tenderness. It was just a matter of raw hungry sex. Within minutes He withdrew from me and turned me to my stomach, pulling me to my knees and hands while growling at me to ‘present’ and whilst I was still trying to get my bearings I felt His cock press against my ass. I felt so incredibly turned on. He slid His cock slowly inside my ass, stopping when I clenched and gasped, then pushing into my ass again. I couldn’t believe He was ass fucking me without a word being spoken about it between U/us. When His cock was fully inside me He lay over me and bit my shoulders and neck. He used one hand in my hair to pull my head back and reached for my mouth with His tongue. I closed my lips over it and sucked on His tongue and He came in my ass, growling and grunting and filling me with semen. He collapsed against me and I collapsed against the floor and He kept Himself inside me while He licked and bit and sucked at my neck. He whispered ‘Happy birthday Princess’ in my ear and I felt like I was the luckiest girl alive.

When W/we talked about it later He told me that He hadn’t asked if I liked anal sex because His kind of woman prefered not to be given options. He also knew that I would do anything to please Him, and that had been what pleased Him. Had it repulsed me, He said He would have had to rethink what He wanted as anything that did not make me ‘pant with lust’ would not please Him either. I remember feeling tinier than I had ever felt when I was lying wrapped up in His arms. I had never felt so safe and protected and loved.

Caught In The Act

This picture is funny for the expressions on their faces:

Vanilla Phone Sex

Doxy writes about the joys of vanilla phone sex Johns:

Please, any of you guys reading this — whether you ever intend to call me or not — don’t sell yourselves short because you don’t want to anally rape aardvarks with Japanese-anime elastic penises. Phone sex, or any sex for that matter, isn’t all about what’s new and different or what’s wilder than the last. Sexuality isn’t about keeping up with the Joneses (or getting up with the Joneses for that matter).

It’s about getting hot and getting up with what you HAVE. It’s about stretching the intensity of what already gets you going. It’s about that trembling rush that shudders through you after you’ve cum in buckets and that last tremulous whimper of exhaustion. And it’s about feeling so fucking content that you whistle and head for the shower with a grin on your mug.

If phone sex is anything, it needs to be FUN first and everything else second. And if fun for you is fantasizing about cumming on a cheerleader’s perky tits or shoving jellyfish sushi tentacles up Lucy Liu’s twat, neither is better or worse than the other.

Which is all fine and good. But the real reason I quoted it was to honor and celebrate the unforgettable turn of phrase “shoving jellyfish sushi tentacles up Lucy Liu’s twat”.

Let the search engine hits commence!

Competing With Porn

I have been ignoring the Naomi Wolf antiporn article as utter nonsense. No need to rail against it for this crowd.

But I simply must link to Eric Raymond’s cogent comments — they are too blunt and too true to ignore. I’ve excerpted heavily, you need to read the whole thing:

You show me a young woman who makes herself sexually available but has trouble attracting the interest of a young man away from porn, and I’ll show you a young man who is either homosexual or stone dead.
…
Show me a young woman who thinks she can’t compete with porn for a man’s attention and I’ll show you one of two things. Either (a), she’s having galloping insecurity for some other reason and doesn’t notice that the man enjoys having sex with real women a hell of a lot more than he enjoys porn, or (b) she’s not having sex with that man.

There is one truth buried, oblique and nearly invisible, in Ms. Wolf’s informants’ reports. Sex with a real woman trumps porn, but porn trumps women who dangle sex in front of men and don’t deliver.
…
Ms. Wolf, here is some simple advice you can give any woman who thinks she can’t compete with porn. First item on the checklist: is she fucking him? If the answer is “no”, then I regret to inform you that her grounds for complaint against the fact that he likes to jack off while looking at or thinking about pictures of porn babes are nil. Zip. Zero. You might as well try resenting water for flowing downhill.

On the other hand, if she is fucking him, he is not going to swap that for feelthy pixels. Trust me on this.

This is pretty basic stuff. Some women object to porn the way wives object to the idea of prostitutes, and for the same reason: it means they have to use actual sex, rather than their erstwhile monopoly over the possibility of access to sexual stimulus, in order to maintain and enjoy the sexual attention of their men. Women who want to have that attention without having the actual sex for which most men will cheerfully trade it are teases, in all the negative and none of the positive senses of the word.

The Gordon Gecko of Porn

Carly at Pornblography knows the most interesting people! Recently she asked her readers:

MILFs.

I don’t get it.

What’s the big deal?

Which generated the most amazing response in Carly’s comments from the infamous Skeeter Kerkove. This is like the “Greed is Good” speech Gordon Gecko delivered in “Wall Street”. This is worth reading:

MILF!!! Why? Mothers I’d Like to Fuck is the number one money maker on the web currently!

The DVD’s are flying off the shelves. MILF is making more money then any other niche on the market worldwide on the web!

MILF Hunter is getting more traffic then any other sex website in the world.

MILF Hunter is averaging over 2 thousand sign ups per day at $24.95 per membership! No other site in the world is making this much money!

Alexa rankings, god bless the Alexa rankings, the lower the number, the more people are going to the site.

go to: www.alexa.com, type in the website, then you will see the traffic people are getting. This will give you an idea.

Samantha Sterlyng 271,371
Nikita Denise 182,133
Gauge 131,310
Jade Marcella 91,601
Jill Kelly 54,652
Briana Banks 36,117
Tera Patrick 34,555
Bridgette Kerkove 30,417
Penthouse 4,285
Hustler 4,016
Playboy 535
Milf Hunter 441

MILF Hunter is # 1, that is why MILF is all the rage! Money! Money! Money! Boatloads of money! The American dream! MILF Hunter has 3,269 sites that link to it.

So that is your answer, we are all in porn to make money! We love money! MILF Hunter is processing over 16 million dollars per month, that is why MILF is selling, now everybody gets it! Money, lots of money!

If Carley or Quasar would have started MILF Hunter 12 months ago, they would be worth net over 40 million dollars. They could buy a 4000 square foot home in Malibu inside the colony for 13 million cash. Invest the other 27 million in commercial property, pay for it outright, collect the leases which would be 89% profit and take home at least 487 thousand dollars per month.

Sometimes we do not understand other peoples art, freedom, sweet liberty, however we quickly learn there is a sea of money out there for YOU to have, it is yours for the taking. You just have to figure out how to get it, MILF was one of the many ways. Will a person get rich shooting regular porn these days? Not if you are just starting out.

There has always been hundreds and thousands of men and young men, fantasizing about fucking somebody’s mother, somebody was smart enough to make millions off of it.

I have already shot 2 MILF style movies that are in the can, I will be shooting more also. Love is in the air, God Bless the United States! It is so easy to make lots of money in the U.S. without an education! Hooray for the United States! God Bless Pornography, sodomy, America and MILF Hunter. “Don’t tread on me”

Skeeter Kerkove

Damn if that didn’t make me want to jump up and salute the flag. No kidding.

Fucking Machines Present and Past

Vikki has just discovered Fucking Machines — and she’s fascinated. This is a porn site that’s taken “fun with power tools” to a whole new level. (They also have a site featuring guys using the same machines – the bluntly named Butt Machine Boys.)

Vikki, where were you when I first posted pictures of some of these fucking machines? Just think, if you had been a faithful ErosBlog reader back then you would have known about them seven whole months ago!

Not that the idea is new. I’m sure this steam powered model (complete with carefully filed rivet heads for her pleasure) was a big seller in the 1903 Sears Catalog:

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Erotic Truth

What is it about this summer? Seems like good new sex blogs are sprouting up all over. This one’s called Erotic Truth [since gone defunct] and it’s a multi-author blog with lots of posts, all of them quite explicit and interesting.

You know that too-common complaint women have about some guy who tried to get them to do anal sex by “accidentally” just trying to slip it in when they weren’t expecting it? Well, one of the early posts on Erotic Truth is a very graphic, very bad example:

My first time was somewhat of an accident (or so he says). Scott and I are in the shower at his older cousins house doing the nasty. Little tub, and a shower curtain hanging from the ceiling. I am bent over, ass in the air (as usual) and he is fucking me harder than a raped ape. Suddenly he pulls out and with all the fucking force one man could muster he rams it into my ass. Shower curtain flies off, I scream…tears well in my eyes…ass bleeds. I was like WHAT THE HELL were you thinking about? He looks back at me as if I am on drugs and says…what? What? you stupid fucking waste of skin….you just rammed a good sized piece of meat into my virgin asshole. He’s like”I did?” YOU COULDNT TELL? No says he…..it felt just like the other hole. Alrighty then, either my pussy is so tight it feels like an ass or my ass is loose enough to feel like a pussy. Either way, he did not earn brownie points that day. Assfuck.

A gentleman, adept navigator, and credit to his gender. Not.

How To Fuck Up Polyamory

I’ll come right out and say it, I’ve never understood polyamory. To be blunt, I’m not incredibly facile at building and maintaining loving relationships with one person at a time. (Yes, folks, Bacchus is available, and has been for… well… crap, I’m out of fingers and toes, uh… er, for a long time.) Start upping the numbers, and in my limited experience, things get ugly fast.

That “experience”, I will confess, consists of only one single train of events, which unfolded over two years and involved five friends of mine, three of them quite close friends. By the end of the matter two previously happy couplings were history, and I had witnessed a wedding, two divorces, one suicide attempt, several more contemplated suicides, and many many many hours of anguished conversation and tearful soul searching. Nobody, and I do mean nobody, appeared to enjoy much of this process, although the central figure is, or was when last heard from, happily living in a poly family and community on a different coast.

Now, that said, I’m sympathetic to the idea of polyamory. It’s just that I’m pessimistic about its prospects and stability. So I tend to be drawn to accounts of poly lifestyles, and I try to be polite about the fact that my fascination is akin to the fascination of a train-loving bystander at a really juicy train wreck.

Ever since I first linked to Lilith’s Note of the Day, I have noticed that Lilith has interesting stuff to say about the poly lifestyle. Her blog, and the network of linked blogs of some of the people dear to her, make for fascinating reading, at least if you are interested in human relationships and the rich complex ways in which they overlap.

All of which is by way of incredibly long-winded introduction to this item, entitled simply “How to Fuck Up” by Elise Matthesen. Lilith notes that this helpful guide has been circulating since 1997, but she doesn’t personally think it’s gotten quite enough exposure. Of the nine enumerated methods for fucking up, I saw at least seven put to effective use during the one poly train wreck I witnessed. So I’d have to agree, a little more exposure couldn’t hurt. Go read it already, it’s full of gems like Method One:

1. Lie. This is basic and effective. To maximize bad results, lie about something important to the other person(s) and arrange to be caught in the lie in such a way as to produce maximum shock. Additional stress points awarded for keeping the lie going for a while before discovery, which increases the disorientation and sense of betrayal in the deceived person(s). Lying about sex gets double points. Lying about being married gets triple fuck-up points. Creative lies of omission (i.e. “not telling”) with fancy rationalizations and condescension get gold stars.

And now it’s truly the deep dark middle of the night, and time for sleep.

[links removed due to ancient rot]

Oh What a Weekend

From DeeGee Girl we have tales of wild weekends and at least two threesomes, one of which she herself compares to those stories in Penthouse Forum. An entertaining read to be sure:

We were all in the middle of our menage a trois, languidly lying in bed. I decided that it was time to deep throat JR. I moved between his legs and took his hard cock all the way into my throat and slowly started fucking him with my mouth. My pal moved to kiss him deeply at the same time, muffling his moans. I moved my hand out to play with her pussy at the same time which caused her to start moaning.

At some point she got up and walked over to get a 10 inch dildo from my toy bag. She came back to bed, got on her knees, put the dildo on the bed and started fucking it while she watched me blow JR. JR opened his eyes and looked over at her and almost blew his load into my mouth.

The Thinking Woman’s Guide To Buttfucking

I didn’t make up that title; the article is here. A sample:

You can feel everything. Your asshole is very sensitive; a lot more sensitive than your cunt in fact, and of course a lot tighter. Every move, every nuance, every twist and turn of the finger or dildo or cock goes right through your ass and into your brain. It doesn’t take much to feel completely filled up, and it rarely leaves you feeling like you didn’t get enough.
…
Getting buttfucked also forces you to slow down, loosen up, and enjoy the moment. You can’t be too goal-oriented about it — it simply doesn’t work. You have to relax, mentally as well as physically, and you have to be willing to enjoy as much as you enjoy and not push yourself to take more than you can. If you approach getting assfucked like you’re training for a marathon, you’re going to wind up with an extremely sore asshole. For someone like me, an instant-gratification junkie who has to get there right now and wants to be at the next place as soon as she arrives, it’s very valuable to get fucked in a way that forces me to stay in the moment.

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Work Is The Curse Of the Drinking Classes

Ellie over at Girls In The Bag (which sounds sorta fun all by its own self) wonders:

it’s my fucking job that is killing me. all weekend i was a tattooed, belly hanging out, wind blown sexpot. now i am a dumpy office worker.

what the hell is up with that?

Damn fine question. Get enough people asking it and we’ll have a whole new economy, too.

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Of Lip Gloss and Power Exchange

Tristan Taomino writes in The Village Voice:

“I’ve got a theory: The blowjob is the ultimate act of sexual dominance and submission. Forget bondage, ball gags, and buttfucking — sucking cock is pure power exchange.”

She’s also got makeup advice:

“Which reminds me of a story a makeup artist told me about the Barbara Walters-Monica Lewinsky interview. She said, “It was an important media appearance, and so much preparation went into how Monica would look: her clothes, her hair, her makeup. I was shocked to see that Monica’s lips were done up wet and shiny. It just called so much attention to them. You simply do not use gloss on the mouth of a woman known for the most famous blowjob in the world.”

Thanks to Daze for the link.

Whoops! Back Up That Hay Wagon, Isiah!

Whilst surfing blogrolls I found the promisingly-named blog “Pussy Ranch” engaged in the ever-popular sport of berating the wierdos who generate some of the more, um, unusual search word combos in the log files. Pussy Rancher Jon had this to say:

To our friends searching “Amish Pussy” — good fucking luck. There are NO sites out there which feature nude photos of Amish girls. Quite what’s so fascinating about some woman named Jubal-Cain splaying naked in her log cabin I don’t know, but hey — neat that it gets you off. Try branching out — maybe Baptist girls? Hell, the Mennonites are even more likely to spread ’em on the internet than the Amish, they don’t have the anti-technology thing.

Er, Jon, I hate to burst your Minneapolitan bubble, but as the lieutenant said to the emperor, that turns out not to be the case. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” To wit: not just Amish pussy, but Amish bondage porn, complete with a menacingly brandished corn-cob.

Please, no quibbling about whether these models are “really” Amish. I doubt the original searcher was unduly concerned about the spiritual purity of the Amish pussy he was seeking….

Of Course She Knew What You Were Thinking

Michelle from Sweetness Follows discovered the “Secret S & M Section” at the tack shop and it totally disrupted her lunch break:

Looked at the whips and bats up on the wall… okay so they were actually intended for horses, not for S & M. There was a basket full of riding crops. All different lengths and sizes, with different tips — some with big flat parts on the ends, some with a long leather whip-like cord, some with smaller flat parts (I realize I don’t have the terminology correct).

And I stood there, and thought of all the uses they could be put to.

“This one,” I thought, looking at one with the whip-like end “could be used on my tits and my nipples. This one,” (the one with the bigger flat part on the end) “is for my ass and my pussy. And this one,” (the one with the small flat end) “would be for when Mike has me hold open my ass so that he can spank my asshole”.

I stood there, looking through them, picking them up, feeling their weight and texture in my hands. I imagined myself, spread open in front of Mike while he spanked me with that riding crop, making my outer lips all red, until he had me open my cunt so that he could slap my inner lips, my pussy hole, even fucking me with the handle, and calling me a bad, dirty, slutty little girl the whole time. I imagined him having me stand in front of him, hands behind my back, back arched, presenting my tits to him, and the sting of that leather cord on my nipples, the undersides of my breasts…. I imagined how it would feel, after 20 minutes of being spanked mercilessly on the ass with that first riding crop, only to have him tell me to spread my ass open and slap my asshole with that last, smaller crop. The one that would sting the most, I think.

To make sure, I tested them all, slapping them against my palm.

At that point I was glad I was wearing a skirt because the wetness from my pussy had already soaked through my underpants, and would surely be showing through pants, had I been wearing them. As it was I could feel my thighs, slick with pussy juice.

“Do you need some help choosing one?” I nearly jumped out of my skin, then turned to face the girl who worked there. I know she didn’t know what I’d been thinking, but still… I blushed a little. “Oh… no, just looking…”

Dollars to doughnuts, more than half the riding crops that store sells never touch a horse. And they know it.

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Dixie Chicks: Nude, Proud, Defiant

The Dixie Chicks, who took a lot of heat lately for speaking their minds, have apparently decided not to stop. This surely is a case where a (nekkid) picture is worth a hundred thousand words. From Yahoo:

As a PR move, it’s fucking brilliant. Anyone who just sees the magazine will know where they stand, without reading a word, except perhaps for the words written on their fair skins. It doesn’t matter what you think of their politics or their music; the genius on display here (along with all that yummy flesh) is pure public relations.

Brilliant. Beautiful. Proud. Naked. Bacchus is in love awe.

Pornographers of Gor

A spiffy online magazine sorta thing called Wrong Way Go Back has published Three Unerotic Tales. One is too scientific, one is too euphemistic, and one is just downright over the top. The scientific one reads frighteningly like what John Norman would sound like if he tried to write hard-core straight porn:

His penis slid into her vagina and she secreted more vaginal discharge. Luckily the discharge was not irritating or blood-stained, nor did it have an unpleasant odour, the cause of which is usually foreign bodies, cervical erosion or cervical polyp.

Luckily, too, she was on the pill, a type which built a wall between the cervix and fallopian tube that prevented sperm from entering her uterus and impregnating her ovum upon ejaculation.

She was simply having sex with him for the pleasure of it, having successfully passed through her oral and anal phase of psychosexual development to fully centre upon exploration of her genetalia.

There’s also a snarky article about how web logs are nothing new, nothing special, and nothing revolutionary. Which is fucking hilarious ironic coming from a website that is slavishly imitating a dead tree magazine, right down to page numbers and two-page advertising spreads for sport utility vehicles. [It’s also ironic that all the links in this post died and had to be removed.]

“So I REWIRED it, gave it MORE POWER!”

Hokay, so this post is about an honest-to-goodness porn site. Boys gone wild, if you like — adapting power tools to their highest and best use. That’s right, me hearties: we present Fucking Machines.

If you follow that link (no popups, which is generally a good sign in a porn site) and then click on “Machines” you’ll be presented with an amusing list of fucking machines:

The Intruder
The Monster
The Fucksall
The Crane
The Sybian
The Trespasser
The Probe
The Jetaime
The Double Jetaime
The Loving Chair
The Hammer
The Drilldo
The Double Crane
The Goat Milker
The Tit Sucker

The Snake
The Portafuck
The Cathedral
The Toolbox
The Crystal Palace

The Antique Intruder
The Twinserter
The Airstorm
The Lighthouse
The Concrete Vibrator
The Fucking Chair
The Predator
The Reactor

Complete with horsepower ratings.

But of course any dweeb in his basement can glue a dildo to a power tool and claim it’s a sex toy. Where the rubber meets the, er, road, however, is actually using them for sex, or at least a well-photographed facsimile thereof. And that’s what makes this a porn site. Lots and lots of good looking models playing with these toys and managing to look like they are having fun doing it.

And finally, for the guys out there who think such fine machinery is wasted on women, there is a sister site (brother site?) called, with all the subtlety of a brick: Butt Machine Boys. This may be the true target market for these ambitiously mechanical porn purveyors. After all, why let the girls play with the cool toys and spoil all that raw male power tool fun?

Phone Sex: A Tutorial

Shell, who’s been more or less missing in action, resurfaces with a brief guide to what makes phone sex work:

The answer is words. Lots of words. Never stop talking. Tell your lover what you are touching, smelling, tasting. Tell him where your hands are. Tell him where you want his hands to be. It doesn’t matter if the position you’re simulating makes talking impossible–talk anyway. “Mmmmphh mmmmmhhh” doesn’t have the same impact as “Oh God, I love the way you taste when you’re fucking my mouth. Can you feel my nails digging into your ass?”

Phone sex is best when it’s with someone you know and love well. When you know which grunt means “faster” and which one means “yes, perfect!” When you know that if you describe dragging your hair across his nipples, he can actually feel it. When you know the shape of him, the taste of him, the scent of his skin, the parts that sweat first.

Did you know it is possible to orgasm without touching yourself? A lover especially skilled with words can talk you into an orgasm. I know. I just spent 2 1/2 hours on the phone with my lover and I can’t count the number of times I climaxed. I may have touched my nipples once. I didn’t touch my clit at all.

But Do You Have To Check Them Through To Your Destination?

Alert readers will have noticed the recent appearance on the sex blog list of Pornblography, a fun new blog [since gone defunct] that’s all about the movers and shakers in the porn biz. Frankly, to an outsider it’s just a bit bewildering — these people are not most of them household names, although they will be familiar in some cases to heavy porn consumers and regular readers of Adult Video News, the New York Times of the adult entertainment industry. But it’s a delightful and eye-opening read all the same. Do you know what a suitcase pimp is? Nope, neither did your humble scribe. It turns out:

A “Suitcase Pimp” is the industry term for any boyfriend or husband of a porn chick. They are often, but not always, jobless….

Suitcase Pimps can usually be seen carrying the bags of the actresses when they arrive on a set (hence the term Suitcase), and they are often to be found on the cell phone handling the business affairs of the girls (i.e. “pimping” them out to whichever producer will pay the most money for a scene). This activity takes place much to the consternation of various film producers and directors, who would MUCH rather deal with the porno chicks themselves, for various reasons.

Carly, who writes Pornblography, also has great taste, having averred that ErosBlog “fucking rocks”. Thanks Carly!

Sphincters On Red Alert, Captain!

I just stumbled across an amusingly-written weekly sex advice column called Love Bites that comes from Toronto’s weekly, The Eye. Here’s a sample:

Q. I have a girlfriend who would like to have anal sex, but she is afraid it will hurt a lot. We were wondering if there is any kind of cream or some product that would relax the sphincter, allowing an easy penetration? Any collateral negative effects if this is used?

A. There are several products on the market designed to numb the sphincter, but they are generally considered a bad idea by ass-fucking authorities. One of the things your ass does when you’re doing something it doesn’t like is warn you in a way that’s hard to ignore. You do not want to Roofie your sphincter. You want your sphincter on red alert. If your ass is numb, you might do something that can really fuck it up, so to speak. Best to take things slow. Tristan Taormino’s The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women (the book, not the film, which is awesome but really just a jazzy porno) is a much wiser prelude.

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