|
|
The Sex Blog Of Record
Wednesday, May 3rd, 2023 -- by Bacchus
“And now let me show you the gag we like to call ‘The Safeword Generator’…”
When the word “ovipositor” comes up in your discussion of sex toys, you know you’re getting into the good stuff! (See also “alarmingly fleshy in the mouth”.)
From Franklin Veaux on Twitter.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, June 8th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
I’ve always been fascinated by artwork showing fantastic and impractical sex toys. This one is the Deep Throat 5200 from xxxx52:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Tuesday, February 4th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
It’s just an innocent little twist of stainless steel jewelry wire, but this may be the perfect gag:
It comes from Tumblr with the caption: “For when you want her companionship, but not her conversation.”
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, March 29th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Silent cat girl, from Japan:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Saturday, December 19th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
There I was, trying to create myself a nice Christmas elf using 3D SexVilla for a post to be published (maybe, if it comes out right) next week. But I just couldn’t get her to make the facial expressions I was looking for. The character editor has many undocumented options and although the level of control is amazing, getting the precise “look” you want is not always easy. And meanwhile, while I tinkered, my elf-girl kept repeating “PLAY with me!” over and over, in a most demanding fashion. A jolly elf, she is not:
So, I got frustrated and added a ball gag. Blissful silence! Plus, no more snotty expression:
Note: To a sharply limited extent, this ball gag trick also works in real life. (Your mileage may vary.)
I do regret that the official 3D SexVilla gag, like early Ford automobiles, is available only in black. No festive Christmas colors!
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, December 11th, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Here’s another approach to the sexy phone problem explored the other day. Instead of a sexy phone made of crappy plastic, just use the solid old black rotary (just like Mistress Matisse!) but get yourself a sexy telephone table:
Leather straps and ball gag not included; no batteries required.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, November 21st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Business Week reports that during the height of the mortgage boom, bank employees would sometimes swap sexual favors to mortgage brokers in exchange for their lucrative portfolio of potential borrowers:
[N]ot long ago the mortgage industry was turning ordinary people into millionaires. One of them was Sharmen Lane, a high school dropout who, like many other young women during the boom, found her way into an obscure banking job with the clunky title “mortgage wholesaler.” … The wholesaler’s job is to buy loan applications from independent mortgage brokers so that lenders can turn them into loans. Wholesalers are paid on commission: the more loans they generate, the more money they make.
…
As the housing bubble inflated, wholesalers–though hidden from public view–became high-earning superstars. Lane, a manicurist before joining now-defunct subprime lender New Century Mortgage in 1997, says she brought home $1 million in 2002 and $1.2 million in 2003.
Eventually the deal-making turned frenetic. Multiple wholesalers began inundating mortgage brokers with offers for the same applications. Some brokers chose to exercise their power by asking for something extra in exchange for their business: sex.
Dozens of former brokers and wholesalers say the trading of sexual favors was so common that it came to be expected. Lane recalls one visit to a mortgage brokerage near San Jose (Calif.) in which the manager lewdly propositioned her in his office. She says she declined the advance, and he didn’t sell her any applications. But other female wholesalers didn’t have the same qualms about crossing the line. “Women who had sex for loans were known very quickly,” says Lane, who left New Century before it failed in 2007 and now works as a $200-an-hour life coach and motivational speaker in New York. “I didn’t want to be a mortgage slut.”
Wednesday, October 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember about two weeks ago, when I mentioned the new public bondage site, coming from our kinky friends at Kink.com?
Well, Public Disgrace is now live, and looks to be living up to (some of) its promises.
About half the pictures in the sample galleries are close-in shots of hardcore bondage sex in what look to be protected, semi-outdoor spaces. To be honest, those aren’t terribly interesting to me, because I have a harder time with suspension of disbelief, and so there isn’t a lot of newness there. To me it’s “just porn”, with (by 21st century standards) no particularly transgressive edge.
On the other hand, I find the soft-core “pure” public bondage shots to be more interesting, because they seem to occur in genuinely public settings, complete with interested onlookers:
I will confess I find the branding for this new site a little confusing. If the goal is, to use their words, “unique street scenes of erotic humiliation”, what’s disgraceful about that? If the fantasy of a woman in chains is that she has to do what you make her do, I get that she may be embarrassed or humiliated by the public exposure, but I don’t see any disgrace in it; to me, disgrace connotes an aspect of guilt or sin or wrongdoing or bad behavior, and one of the essential transactions at the core of BDSM is that the submissive is liberated of responsibility for the things he or she is “made” to do. Hence, no disgrace. Unless the disgrace is supposed to be in the eye of the beholder, the putative onlooker shouting “that’s disgraceful!” or getting violent, like this guy?
Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I found this florid description of mutual oral sex in Sadopaideia, so called because most of the 1907 book involves whipping and spanking. (The subtitle is “Being the experiences of Cecil Prendergast, undergraduate of the University of Oxford, shewing how he was led through the pleasant paths of Masochism to the supreme joys of Sadism.”) But, for that sort of thing, you often need an initial seduction, and in this passage that’s going swimmingly:
I felt her right arm round my waist and her left hand began to unbutton my fly from the top. Before she had time to undo the last button John Thomas leapt forth ready and eager, but she slapped it and pushed it in again and undid the last button and fumbled for my balls and gently drew them out. I drew back a little from her and lifted her petticoat right up, disclosing the daintiest of black silk openwork stockings with pale green satin garters, and above them filmy lawn drawers with beautiful lace and insertion, through which the fair satin skin of her thighs gleamed most provokingly. At the top there appeared just between the opening of the drawers the most fascinating brown curls imaginable.
I feasted my eyes on this lovely sight, undoing my braces and slipping my trousers down. Her hand immediately left my balls and began to fondle my bottom, stroking and pinching the cheeks while she murmured, “You darling boy, oh, what a lovely bottom.”
I was eager to be in her, but the brown curls fascinated me so much that I could not resist the temptation to stoop down and kiss them. I was rather shy of doing this, as I had never done it before, and though I knew it was usual with tarts, I was not sure if it would be welcome here. Judge of my surprise, then, when I felt Mrs. Harcourt’s hand on my head gently pressing it down and heard her saying, “How did you guess I wanted that?”
She opened her legs wider, disclosing the most adorable pussy, with pouting lips just slightly opening and showing the bright coral inner lips, which seemed to ask for my kisses. I buried my head in the soft curls, and with eager tongue explored every part of her mossy grot. She squirmed and wriggled with pleasure, opening her legs quite wide and twisting them round me. I followed all her movements, backing away on my knees as she slipped off the chair, until at last, when she drenched my lips with love, she slipped on the hearth rug. Then, as I could scarcely reach her with my tongue in that position, and didn’t wish to lose a drop of the maddening juice, I disengaged my legs from hers and knelt down to one side so that my head could dive right between her legs. This naturally presented my naked bottom and thighs to her gaze.
“You rude naughty boy,” she said, smacking me gently, “to show me this bare bottom. I’m shocked at you.”
Her hands again fondled my balls and bottom, and I had all I could do to prevent John Thomas from showing conclusively what he had in store for her.
I had no intention of wasting good material, however, and was just about to change my position so that I could arrive at the desired summit of joy when I felt her trying to pull my right leg towards her. I let myself go and she eventually succeeded in lifting it right over, so that I was straddling right across her, and we were in the position I knew quite well from photographs, known as sixty-nine.
My heart beat high. Was it possible I was to experience this supreme pleasure of which I had heard so much? I buried my head between her thighs, my tongue redoubled its efforts, searching out every corner and nook it could find, and just as it was rewarded by another flow of warm life I felt round my own weapon, not the fondling of her hand, but something softer, more clinging, and then unmistakably the tip of a velvet tongue from the top right down to the balls and back again, and then I felt the lips close round it and the gentle nip of teeth. This was too much, John Thomas could restrain himself no longer, and as I seized her bottom with both hands and sucked the whole of her pussy into my mouth, he spurted forth with convulsive jerks his hidden treasure. When the spasm was over I collapsed limply on her, my lips still straining her life.
Link via Spanking Blog.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, July 31st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m sure it’s never been easy being the girlfriend of a stage magician — if you’re not double careful, before you know it you’re chained in a glass box wearing a thong and two pasties, being sawed in half in front of an audience of strangers. But unexpected sexual practices? In a word, yes.
In the July issue of Harper’s magazine, professional magician Alex Stone has a long article about his trip to the World Championship of Magic, where he competed in the “Olympics of Magic” against the best stage magicians in the world. Earlier in the article, he mentions his new girlfriend Rachel, whose frequent attentions kept him from practicing his routine as much as he perhaps ought to have. Then, he begins to describe his own competition routine, and gets to talking about the practice of palming coins:
After the vanish, I press the coin with the middle and index fingers into the center of my palm, where it’s held in place by a slight contraction of the muscles. This is the Classic Palm, the most important concealment in all of coin magic. Read the coin worker’s bible, J. B. Bobo’s Modern Coin Magic: “This is one of the most difficult of all concealments to master but one of magic’s finest secrets. The layman cannot imagine it possible to conceal a coin in this way.”
…
Part of mastering a palm involves learning to conceal objects while the hands are otherwise engaged. Following the advice of the masters, I go through much of my daily life with coins classic-palmed in both hands — on the subway, at dinner parties, and even during sex.
Emphasis added.
As I said, it must be a challenge to be a magician’s girlfriend. Some women, you come to bed with a dollar in each hand, they aren’t going to take it kindly. I’m just sayin’.
Wednesday, July 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There is no sex in this post — it’s a post about the business of blogging. Feel free to skip it.
Short version: this is a warning to my fellow adult bloggers about a very dubious pitch you may have received recently. Etology.com is sending out spammy emails to adult bloggers in which the company feigns an interest in buying ads, only to abandon that pretense once you answer the email. Without further ado, having confirmed your interest in selling ads, they begin giving the hard sell for ad brokerage services — not buying any ads at all, but rather, offering your ad space to their network of potential advertisers. Classic bait-and-switch: first the false offer (the bait) to get your attention, then the switch to the real offer. Illegal in some jurisdictions, scummy everywhere.
Long version follows.
On Monday, I received a curious email:
Subject: I want to Buy Ad Space on erosblog.com
Greetings,
I would like to buy advertising space on your website erosblog.com. Do you have anything available? Please let me know.
Best Regards,
Tai Kinney
Account Manager
www.Etology.com
Emails like this are not uncommon. What made this one curious is that Etology.com is an advertising broker; they act as a middleman between web publishers and web advertisers, collecting a commission on all the advertising transactions they touch, and helping to facilitate those transactions. I would expect them to be making a pitch to broker any available ad space ErosBlog might have, but buying advertising space here? It didn’t make sense. The “spam or con job” hairs on the back of my neck went up.
No matter; they got one of my standard responses, the low-effort one I save for leads I don’t think will amount to anything:
Hi, Tai. Ad space on Erosblog is available through the Blogads “advertise on ErosBlog” links in the ErosBlog sidebars. Prices and availability are visible when you follow those links.
Thanks for your interest!
I will confess to sending the above in a spirit of modest mischief. Even if Etology.com had a genuine interest in buying advertising space on ErosBlog, the idea that they might wish to do so via the services of a competing ad brokerage service (BlogAds) is, perhaps, implausible.
When I sent the above email, my “send-and-receive” email operation brought an identically worded email addressed to another one of my sites, with the only word of difference being the domain name. Asking about buying ad space via bulk email? Really? The unlikely inquiry now began to seem downright implausible.
And sure enough, my next communique from Etology.com was strangely silent about the ad space they wanted to buy just three hours and twenty-seven minutes previously:
Thank you for your quick response. I just want to mention that we are the largest adult advertising network and we have great relationships with big advertisers like rude.com, redtube.com, youporn.com, and many others. We offer the highest industry publisher payouts and I would like the opportunity to help you better monetize your ad space. I’m very interested in working with you and your website, please contact me so that we can see if we are a good fit.
Regards,
Tai Kinney
Account Manager
www.Etology.com
That’s a form letter, an email macro, and it contains the standard ad brokerage sales pitch: “to help you better monetize your ad space.” Which, it may surprise you to learn, I am not against. Monetization buys me beer and bacon and dinners out with The Nymph. But there’s the little matter of the bait and switch, which is so offensively blatant and dishonest that it has — not to put too fine a point on things — righteously pissed me off. What, am I supposed to be too stupid to notice that the bait has been yanked away?
More serious than me being pissed off is the issue of trust. Ad brokers, like affiliate programs, are notorious for collecting services from webmasters (in this case, ad inventory, page views for web ads) and then being slow to pay, or finding some lame excuse (“bad traffic” is the vague classic) not to pay at all, or simply getting behind on payments and then going out of business without paying anybody. It happens all the time.
Which means, of course, that if you do business on the web, business that involves collecting, holding, and transmitting money on behalf of webmasters, you need to be (or at least to look) as trustworthy as a bank. Your fundamental business challenge is to convince webmasters to trust you with their money. And that’s not easy. Webmasters who have been been repeatedly burned are a hostile and suspicious lot, when it comes to trying the next great new program. We’ve heard all the monetization promises before, and been burned by too many of them.
One way in which you do NOT gain a reputation for being trustworthy is to lie to your potential business associates in your very first freaking email to them. As J.P. Morgan once famously said, “A man I do not trust could not get money from me on all the bonds in Christendom.” Thus, my interest in pursuing Etology’s offer to broker my ad inventory, an interest that was never very high, is now … how shall I put this delicately? … very low.
Nonetheless, I was fascinated by the blatant nature of the initial deception, and amused by the slight dissonance resulting from the macro/form-letter nature of their brokerage pitch. In response to my response, they sent me a standard brokerage marketing pitch with out-of-place “please contact me” phrasing. Let’s ask about that, aggressively:
Er, I’m confused. I just DID contact you in response to a request from you to buy ad space. Why are you asking me to contact you a second time? Was your first email just a bait-and-switch spam to advertise your ad brokerage service? If so, that’s an exceptionally dubious business practice that’s not encouraging me to explore doing business with you.
In all honesty, I never expected to hear from them again. I was forgetting that it never pays to underestimate the tenacity, or overestimate the chutzpah, of a commissioned salesperson:
I apologize for the confusion. I just wanted to see if there was any interest in me helping you monetize your ad space on your website. Like I said before we are the largest adult advertising network and we have the highest industry publisher payouts. My intention is to help pair up our advertisers with publishers that have great sites like yours. Please let me know if there is any interest.
Thank you for your time,
Tai Kinney
Account Manager
www.Etology.com
Well, there we have it — a bare apology (for my confusion, natch, not for anything Tai actually did) and the sales pitch a second time. At least it’s now fairly clear that Tai never had any interest in buying ad space; the deceptive intent in the first email is now confirmed.
Sometimes the devil gets in me, and I write challenging emails to people. This was one of those times:
I’m sorry, Tailynn, but I’m still not sure I understand what’s going on here. The first email from you had the following subject line: “I want to Buy Ad Space on erosblog.com.” The first sentence of that email was “I would like to buy advertising space on your website erosblog.com.”
You are now saying “I just wanted to see if there was any interest in me helping you monetize your ad space.” That’s really quite different, and not, I think, a matter of “confusion” if your only interest is in brokering sales of ad space on behalf of third-party advertisers. That would not be confusion on my part, but rather, deception on yours.
So, which is it? Was your initial inquiry in respect to buying ad space, or brokering it?
I note with interest that I am now receiving queries identical to your first at some of my other blog properties. Right now it looks very much to me like you are engaging in deceptive spam practices, unless there’s some aspect to our communications which I am misunderstanding. I hope you can clear this up for me?
At this point, Tai’s best plan would have been to fess up to the deception, apologize for it, wish me a nice day, and move on, hoping I would forget all about it and never mention it to anyone.
What I got was the first two things in eight words, a miraculous verbal economy. This full and fair but extremely sparse apology was followed by — you guessed it! — more sales pitch. First sentence: I’m sorry I lied to you. Next seven sentences: now let me tell you how great it’s going to be doing business with you!
I apologize for being misleading in my inquiries. Let me start over. My company Etology.com is an adult advertising network that helps pair up advertisers with publishers like yourself that have great sites. We’ve developed extensive relationships with big advertisers like youporn, rude.com, and redtube to name a few. We also have a large selection of network ads. My offering to you is to place advertising on your site to help monetize your ad space, thus helping you make money from your site. The types of ads available to you are GTBs, text, banner, commercial breaks, and in-video XML. Please let me know if you have any questions.
Best Regards,
Tai Kinney
Account Manager
www.Etology.com
Astonishing. Shorter Tai: “I lied, I’m sorry, but I don’t see why we can’t still do business.”
I decided to decline the invitation to let Tai start over. Churlish of me, I suppose. Instead, I offered Tai the short lecture on business ethics, along with modest foreshadowing as to why it’s not smart to lie to bloggers on behalf of your internet company:
Tailynn, thank you for being — on your fourth try — straightforward with me. I’ll try to be as straightforward with you.
As it happens, I am interested in finding another ad broker. I had previously looked at Etology, but your website contains no information suggesting that it is an adult-advertising friendly network, so I had dismissed it as a possibility.
However, your initial contact with me was, as you have now admitted, a deliberate lie. You are spamming bloggers with a false and misleading inquiry in an attempt to get attention, and then you are baiting and switching, disclaiming any interest in buying ad space and instead offering your brokerage services.
Not only is that unconscionable as a spamming technique, it is laughably stupid. It establishes you and your company as untrustworthy, which is a very poor basis for attracting new publishers to your network. A publisher has to trust an ad broker with collection and remission of funds. How on earth could I trust your company with my money, when your initial business contact with me consisted of a blatant and deliberate lie?
I am planning to complain publicly about your mendacious business practices to provide warning to the blogging community, but before I do so, I’d like to give someone in a position of higher authority in your organization an opportunity to comment on whether this sort of mendacious business practice is consistent with your corporate policies. Do you have any suggestions as to whom I should forward my complaint and request for corporate comment? Or shall I simply start with your abuse and support emails and work from there?
That one was sent after close of business Monday. A couple of hours into Tuesday’s business day, there was no response. As I was indeed planning to make this blog post, it seemed only fair to Etology to give them at least one shot to spin this their way. So I sent the following email to support@, abuse@, Tai, and to Brock Purpura, Etology CEO, whose email I deduced from press releases and from the Etology.com standard email conventions:
Subject: Complaint And Request For Corporate Comment
Hello. I have a complaint about Etology’s email marketing practices. Specifically, one of your Account Managers is spamming adult bloggers with a deceptive come-on, claiming that Etology wants to “buy” ad space and then, once this lie gets a blogger response, switching over to the standard “we’d like to help you monetize your ad space” broker sales pitch. As you are in the brokerage business, there can be no doubt that your sales managers know the difference between “buy” and “help monetize”, so the initial email appears to be an obvious and deliberate lie.
I consider lying to prospective customers to be an abusive and deceptive marketing practice that reflects extremely badly on Etology.com. I will, for whatever little it may be worth, be making my disgust at this marketing practice public, on my blog, tomorrow morning.
However, I am conscious that in a competitive sales environment, sales personnel sometimes do things that are not in accord with company policy. Accordingly, I have decided to hold off on making my complaint public until tomorrow morning, and to send this email in the interim. Please forward this email to whomever in your company might wish to comment on whether lying to generate sales leads comports with Etology’s accepted business ethics and policies.
The “abuse” email address bounced, no such address. None of the others bounced. Thirty six minutes later, I had my answer. There is a {snip} in the middle; I have elided (for brevity) four more paragraphs of sales pitch about Etology’s ad brokerage services:
I know that you are upset and I apologize for the choice of words that were used in the emails below. Tailynn is fairly new and may have overstepped with her first few emails.
I would like to provide an explanation of what Etology does. We are an online ad network that pairs up advertisers and publishers. Simple as that. We broker the ads and pay the publishers 75% of all the earnings. We pay our internally managed publishers twice a month, as opposed to net 30, like other ad networks.
{snip}
I apologize again, but hope I have cleared up any misunderstandings about our service and practices. I will be here to answer any questions or address concerns that you have about our service and practices. Feel free to contact me through instant message if that is easier for you. Thank you.
Jeff Sue
Account Manager
www.etology.com
This is standard PR smoothing, consisting of an acknowledging my aggrieved status followed by a non-apology apology. The “choice of words” is apologized for, but the underlying deception? Nope. This was a matter of unfortunate phrasing, nothing more, now let me tell you how we are going to get rich together!
Those of you in the adult industry will also recognize, and be laughing at, that phrase “Tailynn is fairly new.” Whenever an adult industry company is caught spamming, shaving, stealing web page designs, or doing anything else unsavory, the standard PR response is that “it was a new employee, and we didn’t know about the behavior.” It’s such a predictable response that it’s become something of an inside joke.
To be fair, in this case I wouldn’t be surprised if the bog-standard excuse also turned out to be actually true. The bait-and-switch deception is such a phenomenally bad idea from a business standpoint that it very well might be the act of a new employee desperate and eager to make a tough sales quota. But in that case, shouldn’t I be hearing an unequivocal disavowal of the practice, and an apology for something more substantial than “choice of words”? No, Jeff said “Tailynn … may have overstepped with her first few emails.” Or maybe not; for Jeff, it’s a wobbler. Maybe we really do approve of lying to sales leads? Jeff doesn’t know; Jeff can’t say.
Of course you know I had to write back to him:
Jeff, I appreciate your email, and I’ll be including the pertinent paragraphs in the blog post I make about this matter. Unfortunately, I find your reaction to this problem to show a disturbing lack of concern.
This is not a “choice of words” issue. One of your people is *lying* to prospective business contacts. Your response fails to indicate whether Etology condones that behavior; when you say she “may have overstepped” you leave open that she may *not* have. I’m looking for an unequivocal response from Etology.com as to whether, as a matter of corporate policy, she did.
Let me be explicit. Like everyone who does business on the internet, I prioritize my email responses. Spammish emails offering me business services like your ad brokerage receive attention at a much lower priority than requests to purchase advertising. By sending a fraudulent request to buy advertising, your person is deliberately exploiting this difference in priorities — lying to get to the head of the line. Obviously, when the lie is discovered, it creates anger and resentment, along with a fundamental lack of trust that — one would think — is a problem for a company that’s expected to collect and remit funds to its publisher customers.
I used to work in an office where salesmen would lie to our receptionist, claiming to be clients, in order to get their sales calls forwarded to my desk. Obviously, they and their companies went on my permanent blacklist for this behavior. My current complaint — and my reaction to it — is analogous. But, now that we live in the era of blogs and Google, I can more easily “share my blacklist” (and the reasons for it) with the world, in the interest of making this sort of behavior off limits for reputable companies.
Accordingly, I think it would be in Etology’s best interest to disavow this marketing practice in unequivocal words.
Thanks for your time.
Writing that email forced me to figure out why I care as much about this as I do. We live in an attention economy these days, and prioritizing our attention is vital to business success. I (well, me and my filters) sort four or five thousand emails a day, most of them spam and most of the rest, bacn. Sorting out the tiny but significant fraction of business email from people who actually want to send me money? That’s a vital business function that takes a lot of time and effort. Lying to me in an effort to subvert my vital business functions? Way to piss me off.
Lying for attention is theft of attention, and it’s not just a minor offense. Time is money, and stealing one is as bad as stealing the other. If the corporate culture at Etology.com is honestly supportive of this type of deception, they are not a company I’d enjoy having to trust for a monthly check.
Jeff’s response, this morning:
I am very concerned about all customers of Etology/AVN. Without our customers being happy and satisfied, we would not exist as the largest adult ad network.
As I mentioned Tailynn is fairly new here. It was not that she was lying, it’s just that she took the wrong approach and didn’t explain herself properly (as we do offer to buy adspace out right for a flat rate). I’m sure you can understand how issues happen when you are new on a job. Regardless, the lack of information resulted in your time used on deciphering, which ultimately led to mistrust. Again, I apologize for that.
We have addressed the issue with Tailynn and management and offer our customer support to your questions and concerns.
Jeff Sue
Account Manager
www.etology.com
So there you have it, another non-apology apology, apologizing for my reaction and my “mistrust” rather than for the actual wrong done. No, wait, I forgot, Jeff says “I would like to buy advertising space” was not a lie, even though the person writing it had no intention of buying advertising space, because the company more broadly does sometimes (but not this time) “offer to buy adspace.” Sorry, Jeff, but Tailynn herself told me “I just wanted to see if there was any interest in me helping you monetize your ad space.” Tailynn herself said “I apologize for being misleading in my inquiries.” If there was ever any intention to “buy” ad space on Erosblog, I gave Tailynn three chances to say so. She never did. If Etology.com cannot recognize the deliberately deceptive bait-and-switch, and acknowledge that it was problematic, Etology.com is not a safe company to do business with.
If any other webmasters have received dishonest solicitations from Etology.com, I’d be interested in hearing about it in the comments. And especially, if there’s any adult blogger from whom Etology.com has actually bought advertising space outright (as opposed to brokering it through their network) I’d like to hear about it.
Wednesday, June 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Mistress Matisse addresses the ancient question of what to do about emergent diversity of sexual tastes within marriage:
I can just lay out your options as I see them…
You can accept that your wife isn’t currently into this, stop asking, and not get this desire met.
You can accept that your wife isn’t currently into this, but ask her to go see a couple’s therapist with you to talk about your sex life.
You can accept that your wife isn’t currently into this and tell her that you’re going to get the need met elsewhere. (And deal with her response to that.)
You can accept that your wife isn’t currently into this and get the need met elsewhere without telling her about it.
Note that all these options begin with you accepting that your wife isn’t currently into this. I don’t know of any magic way of getting people to like what they don’t like, sexually. If I did, I would not be keeping it a secret. I’d write a book, sell a ton of copies, and be on Oprah, because mismatched sexual desires of all kinds are a huge issue in a society that claims to prize sexual monogamy.
I get reader letters too, and although I don’t tend to engage very much with the ones seeking advice the way Matisse sometimes does, I can confirm from my own mail that this sort of question is a big deal for a lot of people out there.
Saturday, May 31st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I still remember thinking in my naive pre-internet youth that “kinky stuff” had to be a purely male thing, that “no woman would want that sort of thing”. And of course, from there it would follow that male kinkiness was a sort of dangerous perversion, if it could have no expression with willing partners.
Ah, how little I knew!
Of course, these days anybody who reads sex blogs written by women (as are a large majority of the ones that have, you know, actual words) knows better.
As pointless as it can be for a man to speculate or generalize about the complex mental machineries of female arousal, you ladies should be aware that we still do it. I’m not sure we could refrain from doing it, to be honest; if anything’s hardwired into male behavior, modeling and attempting to game female sexual arousal is probably that thing. And one outcome of all the speculating and generalizing, for me, has been a partial theory of what women enjoy about rough kinky sex, bondage, and BDSM — really, that whole spectrum of sexuality that doesn’t quite fit the traditional hearts-and-flowers romance model.
I haven’t got time for a thousand words, so how about a picture?
It’s from Sex And Submission, and the rest of the shoot has plenty of ropes and gags and whips and toys and power-tool vibrators and bondage blowjobs and complex rigging with pulleys and all of the other overcomplicated gadgetry that men bring to the hobbies they really enjoy. But this one picture, I think, captures the essence of what’s in it for the ladies. Sometimes (maybe often, but I’m still trying not to overgeneralize here) women want to feel like a strong man like Mark Davis wants them, wants them so intensely that his own “better impulses” and socially-conditioned docility are just overwhelmed by his desire and lust for them. And they enjoy the idea, perhaps embodied in the photo above, that such a man will simply grab them and do what he will — because for the woman, that outcome is the ultimate proof of her own irresistible sexual attraction and desirability.
Where fantasy and reality differ, of course, is that a strong man who lacks that much self-control is dangerous — he cannot safely be allowed within about thirty miles of any human settlement. But a trustworthy man who can still project that aura of dangerous uncontrolled lust? He, it turns out, is a popular fellow indeed.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, April 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Hobo Stripper is always good at providing a level-headed view of life “behind the scenes” in small-town strip clubs. This post has more info than usual about money, and how she makes it. But I’ll start with my dude, WTF? moment in the post:
I realised on my way here that I wasn’t going to make it in time to get a stripper license, so I slowed down. Cooked liver and onions, played with Bro. Why rush? I got into town just after dark, and established myself in a good parking spot at the local truckstop. Since I’m probably going to be here for a while, I just payed the money for a month of wi-fi at the truckstop, and then I settled into the back of my van and got a bunch of writing and web stuff done.
…
[The next day] I got a free shower at the truckstop (friends who network with truckers), and went to get my stripper license. They were really cool about it here, as opposed to the last few places I’ve gotten them, where the clerks have stared at me like, “whore!!!,â€? the whole time. The cop who fingerprinted me was even nice.”
Something about the concept of “stripper license” is making my little head hurt. Is this like, a revenue measure, a way to tax the itinerant and untaxable? But if it were about money, why the fingerprints?
I honestly had no idea that there was any place in what we used to call “the land of the free” without irony, where you had to be licensed and fingerprinted in order to dance and take your clothes off for money. My mind is expanded, and not in a good way.
And speaking of “for money”, here’s what I found to be the real interesting meat of the post:
Five minutes later I was prancing around their mostly empty club half naked when my hardcore ho friend walked in. We did the girly shreek and ran to each other. We did it totally ironically. Harcore ho (HCH from here on out) is an incredible hustler. Unlike most incredible hustlers, she wants to spread the knowledge, and I’ve learned so much from working with her all over the country in the last few years. She filled me in on the prices. Like most clubs, it was twenty a dance, but like in most clubs HCH was charging more for a “betterâ€? dance.
…
Using HCH’s method I was able to mostly get fifty dollars a dance, although there were a few twenty dollar ones. She pulled me in on one double dance, I pulled her in on another. We hustle good together cause I’m all subtle with the neurolinguistic programming and she’s all in your face with doing dances.
This is a pure booty shaking in your face sexuality-not-sensuality kind of club. There is none of the seduction, none of the sweetness, no cuddlers, none of what I usually love about dancing. But I don’t seem to mind. I am engaged in pure capitalism, and it feels good after being broke for the last couple weeks. You want more? You want this? More money. You want that? Hell no, but I bet you really want this. The cash just stacked up. Like always when I’m in a new place I was very conscious of my boundaries, how I felt and what I was okay with. If I have learned anything from stripping it’s that we have an absolute responsibility to ourselves not to do anything we don’t want to, and that there is no excuse (other than force) for doing something we don’t want.
I was suprised halfway through the night to find myself doing more contact than I’ve done probably since I was fifteen, working at crazy little bars that would hire a fifteen year old who pretended to be sixteen. I kept double checking, am I really okay with this? I really was.
…
It’s almost the end of the night when I see him. You know, that magic customer that you have great chemistry with who also has tons of money. I hear violins and see money signs over his head. He’s there with his wife. She’s bi, and he promises she’s not jealous. We bring her some drinks and head straight for the couches. After a few dances he goes to the ATM for more money, and I grab HCH and drag her over to him. “Look, isn’t she hot! Don’t you want both of us in your lap? Get double the money out and you can have us both!â€?
Of course he did, and when we ran through that money we went back to the ATM again. By the third ATM trip he was a little reluctant and I would have lost him, but HCH works her magic. “Let’s do another… that sounds good… yes, let’s do another… mmm, we’re having so much fun… yes… that sounds good…â€? she repeats, nodding, until he gets more cash. It’s like magic.
Three trips to the ATM sounds like a bad day at the casino, to me. I had one of those, once, when I was younger and more foolish, and I’ll never forget that terrible stupid/screwed feeling I had the next morning. This is no slam on the strippers, of course, nor my casino either; there’s no censure to be found in tempting grownups to spend their money. It’s just interesting to hear what the transaction “feels like” from the seller’s end.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, April 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
So of course, my skepticism of yesterday’s Marilyn Monroe blowjob movie report was shared by others, some of whom now claim to be “debunking” the “hoax”. To me, the “debunking” sounds like skeptical experts explaining why skepticism is in order, but you can’t really establish “hoax” unless you have evidence or a confession, which the skeptical experts do not (yet) appear to have. It wouldn’t be fair for us to expect debunkers to do the impossible (“Prove that the movie doesn’t exist!) but it’s still cheating for them to engage in their informed arm-waving and then claim that’s the same as if they did prove the movie doesn’t exist. I’ll chalk this up to Defamer’s over-hyperbolic headline writing, and wait to see what else develops.
Meanwhile, there’s much internet talk of a tame old porno loop called The Apple, Knockers, and the Coke Bottle, starring Arline (or Arlene?) Hunter, who (some people say) looks a bit like Marilyn. If anybody out there is treasuring that loop in a format suitable for emailing, ErosBlog stands ready to share it with a broader public. My Google-Fu is weak today, and has so far yielded only this:
Source is a Marilyn Monroe fan site with this to say:
The actress in this film is named Arlene Hunter who was a 1954 playmate for Playboy magazine. In it Miss Hunter removes her clothes, rolls an apple around her breasts, and then provocatively sips from a Coke Bottle.
I can’t believe that people are making money off of this stag film by ripping off unsuspecting fans. I personally don’t even see how someone could mistake the two women, Arlene Hunter has a faint resemblence to Norma Jeane but is certainly no look alike.
Interestingly, there may be another stag film out there that’s commonly claimed to feature Marilyn. This site is adamant that it’s not the Apple/Coke Bottle movie, and has the best compilation I found of stills, links to magazine coverage, and the like. I myself don’t find the stills to be all that compelling:
Open season:
I hereby declare that the usual Erosblog rules against the “Is it real? Is it fake? Is it Photoshop?” game in the comments DO NOT APPLY to this post, or to the previous one. Hell, for this story, that’s got to be at least half the fun. Go wild, but remember this — unless you are the photographer of one of the images in question and want to share your first hand knowledge, your opinion is not fact and should not be presented as such, or with unwarranted certitude.
Tuesday, April 15th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I don’t really know how much of this to believe, even if it is a Reuters story. But I’d watch the film:
A 15-minute film of Marilyn Monroe engaging in an oral sex act with an unidentified man will be kept from public view by a New York businessman who has bought it for $1.5 million, the broker of the deal said today.
Memorabilia collector Keya Morgan said he recently arranged the sale of the silent, black-and-white film from the son of a dead FBI informant who possessed it to a wealthy Manhattan businessman who wants to protect Monroe’s privacy.
“The gentleman who bought it said out respect for Marilyn he’s not going to make a joke of it and put it on the internet and try to exploit her,” said Morgan.
“That’s not his intention and I would never get my name involved if that were to happen.”
Monroe is clothed and the man’s head remains out of the frame for the entire 15 minutes of the film, said Morgan, who viewed the footage.
Monroe was rumoured to have had an affair with former US President John F Kennedy, and Morgan said former FBI director J Edgar Hoover, a Kennedy rival, went to great lengths to try to prove it was Kennedy in the film.
One of Monroe’s ex-husbands, the late baseball great Joe DiMaggio, once tried to buy it from the collector for $25,000 (£12,500) but “he would not part with it”, according to declassified FBI files provided by Morgan.
Morgan is a well-known collector who owns memorabilia from the estates of Monroe and DiMaggio and said he was friends with Monroe’s other two husbands, Jim Dougherty and Arthur Miller.
He said he learned of the existence of the film while working on a documentary about Monroe, who died in August 1962 at age 36. A former FBI agent told him about it, and Morgan said he confirmed it by tracking down the son of the FBI informant, who had provided a copy to the FBI.
The late informant’s son had the original while the copy remains classified in the FBI files, said Morgan, whose deal was first reported by the New York Post today.
“The FBI agent that I interviewed said J Edgar Hoover was completely obsessed. A team of nine individuals were analysing the tape inside a lab. J Edgar Hoover brought in a few prostitutes who allegedly had been with President Kennedy and they tried to … see if that was really President Kennedy.”
Lots of folks would love to watch Marilyn Monroe giving a blowjob, it’s true. But a good great many would like to get a look at John F. Kennedy’s dick, too, even if they could never be quite sure.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wednesday, March 12th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
While hitching rides in Germany, that is:
I can see how this would work for the young lady. But I should think her two boyfriends and their trashbag luggage would be slowing her down.
Update: I’m sorry to report that I’ve had to delete at least four comments from people who managed to be rude or superior or condescending about pointing out that this image was photoshopped from a non-nude scene in a movie. However, I’m quite grateful for the information, and especially for the original image provided by Azi in a comment that nicely avoided all the “ZOMG! Internet points for me!” attitudes I was busily moderating away. Thanks, Azi!
Anyway, here’s the unmodified real deal, which I like every bit as much:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Sunday, March 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Just in case you missed it, Violet Blue did a talk at the big Etech 2008 shindig, a talk that ranges widely across the big topic of sexual identity online and how we construct it, shape it, and especially, defend it (and ourselves, where there’s a difference) from online trolls, stalkers, and haters of all sorts. Here’s Violet Blue about her talk, here’s the transcript.
It’s juicy chewy idea-rich media, the sort of thing that makes me worry about the decline in printed magazines, because I like to buy printed magazines with this sort of info-dense article in them (Wired used to do a lot of this) to read when I’m traveling and have a lot of time to read and think. Just pulling out a random useful and true paragraph:
I’ve been a blogger and occasional full-time editor at Fleshbot.com almost since its inception, a job when full time requires me to scour the internets for explicit sexual content of reasonable quality. We endeavor to cover a wide range of sexual expression and all genders and orientations; one of our regular features is the Sex Blog Roundup. When I did it weekly, I had upwards of 300 text-only sex blogs written by individuals worldwide in my RSS reader — outside the 50 or so usual suspects of variety sex blogs, mainstream media news, linkdumps and sex news blogs. Every week I’d have to cull for new blogs to add to my feeds because invariably a handful of sex bloggers who were blogging “anonymously” had to quit blogging — meaning they were for one reason or another, no longer anonymous. It was such a regular occurrence I developed a snarky attitude toward the anonymous sex blogger, even though they often offered up the juiciest and most explicit posts about sex. Time and again, they are a sure bet for being outed or discovered, have the shortest life span, and are the least reliable for following as a human narrative.
(That paragraph is also nostalgic for me, because I compiled the first of Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundups, and immensely enjoyed doing them until I ran out of time to keep up with the extra work. Sadly, I don’t think I understood the full power of RSS back then, or I might be doing them yet.)
One thing that struck me about Violet’s talk, however, was that it describes a dangerous-sounding online world for sex bloggers, full of hatred and weird jealousies and stalker trolls and malevolent creeps, so much so that she’s got an entire array of procedures and tactics for defending herself and returning the fight to her attackers. And that’s bizarre to me; in more the five years of blogging, the worst I’ve seen from that list is ranting commenters who are deeply threatened by a world — the world I advocate — in which no sexuality is condemned or forcibly closeted or judged by any standard other than who gets hurt. Death threats she gets? It’s been months since I so much as got one of those “you’re going to burn in hell” invitations to attend church services.
So, why the difference? I trust Violet innately — as far as I’m concerned, she’s one of the most honest voices on the Internet — so she’s not exaggerating or being oversensitive or doing anything else from the “there there, little lady, don’t be hysterical” laundry list of excuses for men to ignore surprising and unwelcome female narratives. Of course, she is a woman and I’m not. And equally of course, she’s got ten thousand times more skin in the game, literally and figuratively. She doesn’t use a pseudonym, she’s active in print and broadcast media, she lives and works visibly in a vital and media-connected city, she talks about her real and actual life, she gives people handles by which to grab for her, and she bares experiences online that actually matter to her, stuff her enemies can use against her.
Whereas, I sit in my undisclosed location in Red-State America and upload an endless stream of pointers to, and scanty commentary on, sexually entertaining stuff that’s happening somewhere else in the vast internet information ecology. When I started this blog, I didn’t even have a personal sex life to blog about. I was temporarily unemployed and sitting in a studio apartment sharing badly microwaved nachos with an unsympathetic parrot who perched on my shoulder and chewed holes in my undershirt while I blogged. (I know that sounds sad, but I was actually enjoying life quite a lot, apart from the “no girlfriend” thing.) By the time I fell in with The Nymph, I was comfortable with my pattern; sex blogging is something I do about other people, using information they’ve already made public. It makes things much safer and more comfortable, and (combined with the male versus female thing) explains a great deal of the difference between Violet’s and my experiences of the sex-blogging life.
So, that’s a lot of the explanation, but is it all of it? While pondering the matter, and reading reactions to Violet’s talk, I found Ethan Zuckerman’s blog and especially, his notes from his own Etech talk on The Cute Cat Theory Of Digital Activism. He was apparently at Tripod back in those dark ages where most folks needed a service like Tripod in order to “have a web page”, and he formulated the theory that
Any sufficiently advanced read/write technology will get used for two purposes: pornography and activism. Porn is a weak test for the success of participatory media – it’s like tapping a mike and asking, “Is it on?” If you’re not getting porn in your system, it doesn’t work. Activism is a stronger test – if activists are using your tools, it’s a pretty good indication that your tools are useful and usable.
Reading that paragraph was an “ah-ha!” moment for me. Because another huge difference between Violet and me is that, although we are both sex bloggers by any reasonable definition, I’m more of a pornographer and she’s more of an activist.
We both do stuff that blurs the lines, of course; sometimes I make posts that have at least a whiff of activist sentiment in them, and often she links to pretty pr0n pictures. But at any given blogging moment, my first thought is “will this amuse, entertain, or turn somebody on?” And, while I can’t speak for what happens in Violet’s thoughts, she’s clearly got causes — like sex education, to name just one — that animate and drive her blogging, her published writing, her public appearances, whole swathes of her professional life.
Perversely, I think her activism makes her sex blogging even more interesting and entertaining than my detached approach, so it’s not like there’s a sharp division between entertainer and activist. It’s just that — and this is the not-very-startling hypothesis you’ve waded through many long paragraphs to hear about — activists are more threatening than entertainers. They upset more apple carts, gore more oxen, get more done, make more enemies because they threat more status quos. Activists piss people off. Their fans and enemies alike are more animated and engaged.
And that, maybe, is why Violet Blue needs police contacts at the SFPD, while I make do with a lightly tweaked comment moderation plugin for my WordPress install.
Wednesday, February 27th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’ve long felt that public fears (mostly among folks who aren’t particularly computer-literate) about internet sex predators were mostly press-fueled frenzy — the normal sensationalism that we get served with any new technology, where the press tries to “sell papers” (or whatever it is they are selling these days) by taking a tiny tiny handful of crimes that involve the new technology and turning that tiny handful into an endless parade of breathless handwringing and fear-mongering. All of which is eagerly devoured by the sort of casual Luddites who don’t much like the new technology and sort of wish it didn’t exist because then they wouldn’t have to deal with.
Well, it turns out I was right. Research by sociologists at the Crimes against Children Research Center, University of New Hampshire in Durham has debunked several widely-believed myths:
Myth: Internet predators are driving up child sex crime rates.
Reality: Sex assaults on teens fell 52 percent from 1993 to 2005, according to the Justice Department’s National Crime Victimization Survey, the best measure of U.S. crime trends. “The Internet may not be as risky as a lot of other things that parents do without concern, such as driving kids to the mall and leaving them there for two hours,” Wolak said.
Myth: Internet predators are pedophiles.
Reality: Internet predators don’t hit on the prepubescent children whom pedophiles target. They target adolescents, who have more access to computers, more privacy and more interest in sex and romance, Wolak’s team determined from interviews with investigators.
Myth: Internet predators represent a new dimension of child sexual abuse.
Reality: The means of communication is new, according to Wolak, but most Internet-linked offenses are essentially statutory rape: nonforcible sex crimes against minors too young to consent to sexual relationships with adults.
Myth: Internet predators trick or abduct their victims.
Reality: Most victims meet online offenders face-to-face and go to those meetings expecting to engage in sex. Nearly three-quarters have sex with partners they met on the Internet more than once.
Myth: Internet predators meet their victims by posing online as other teens.
Reality: Only 5 percent of predators did that, according to the survey of investigators.
Myth: Online interactions with strangers are risky.
Reality: Many teens interact online all the time with people they don’t know. What’s risky, according to Wolak, is giving out names, phone numbers and pictures to strangers and talking online with them about sex.
Myth: Internet predators go after any child.
Reality: Usually their targets are adolescent girls or adolescent boys of uncertain sexual orientation, according to Wolak. Youths with histories of sexual abuse, sexual orientation concerns and patterns of off- and online risk-taking are especially at risk.
Thanks to Bruce Schneier for the link.
Sunday, February 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Does anybody remember Pussy Ranch, the original Diablo Cody blog from back when she was a stripper and phone sex worker? It was an early ErosBlog favorite, when she still called herself “Darling” and long before she took up writing Oscar-winning screenplays for genuinely excellent movies with great if quirky music.
Sadly, Cody was also one of the people who was an early and influential progenitor of my distaste for blog vandals. The original Pussy Ranch vanished overnight, and subsequent projects (for awhile she had a blog-like thing in one of those “city newspaper” community sites, there was a more recent blogspot blog, and she does MySpace now) haven’t resurrected any of her old posts. I haven’t checked the archive sites, but it’s possible ErosBlog is now the only place you can read what she wrote about her 2003 engagement:
On Friday, Jonny presented me with a saucy new ensemble from Wet Seal (the man has some seriously excellent taste) and told me I should wear it for a “surprise date” on Saturday. But of course! I adore surprises.
So I donned the beaded top, miniskirt and pink fishnet tights on Saturday evening (Jonny wore an extremely hot new outfit as well) and we headed out. It turned out he had made reservations at our favorite sushi restaurant. We ordered cocktails and nigiri and commenced a fabulous meal. After finishing, we decided we were still hungry and ordered a second round of sushi.
So you can imagine my shock when the waitress arrived with a tray not bearing spicy tuna rolls, but a white ring box. “Here’s your special roll,” she said, barely able to contain her glee. Jonny dropped to his knee as I began bawling my fool eyes out in front of many gawking diners, and popped the question.
I had a surprise planned too: See, we’d been talking about getting engaged a lot recently, and I had a hunch a proposal was forthcoming. So several days earlier (as it turns out, the exact day Jonny had purchased the ring), I had secretly had the word “yes” tattooed on the inside of my wrist. I’d hidden it with an AC/DC wristband and hoped my surprise wouldn’t be blown.
And it wasn’t; I whipped off the wristband and flashed Jonny my wrist. “Yes!” Onlookers applauded, and my feet haven’t touched the ground since.
I wanted my answer to last forever, and now it will. (In fact, it’s healing nicely.)
We’ve also got her advice for guys who call phone sex lines, as well as a short discourse on punching men in the stomach for money. And let’s not forget what she said about poor Michelle Branch, who got so roughly used by Maxim’s art department!
Wednesday, February 20th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The diversity of expressions on Sex And Submission model Charley Chase’s face in this shoot impressed me, so I thought it would be fun to whip up a matrix (bigger version here) showing just her expressive face:
Not shown: the one that’s mostly penis.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Tuesday, September 4th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
In Japan, natch.
I’m not sure how any sourced stories could possibly be less reliable. These fishy sex stories come from a comedian, as reported in a notoriously unreliable tabloid. There’s a lot of room for skepticism here.
Still, a good traveler’s tale about sex with wild beasts is not to be passed up:
“Almost everybody in the fishing business has had sex with a manta at some point,” Makeburu asserts.
What!!! A manta??? You mean one of those enormous, intimidating winged things with a stinger on their tail that looks like an aquatic Batman?
Yep. After all, fisherman out on ships spend a loooonggg time at sea without ever encountering a woman, and, well, let’s face it, they can get pretty horny. No, dammit, let’s make that incredibly horny. Even desperate enough to do it with a manta. Right?
“Nah,” shrugs Makeburu. “Coastal fishermen poke them too.”
Apparently it’s a ritual of manhood, done out of recognition of the dangers of life on the sea.
Before mounting one of these intimidating creatures, points out J.K. special, it is “absolutely essential” that its stinger be removed. Yes, that certainly would make sense.
And of course, there’s the matter of protocol. To wit, the ship’s captain, if he so chooses, is entitled to go first.
Is your mind suitably boggled? No? Ready for some more?
“A manta’s … thing is kind of similar to a human’s,” Makeburu says.
Okay, well … not exactly. More than a reproductive organ, it’s basically an organ of elimination. So engaging in sex with a manta is basically an act of deep-sea sodomy.
“It’s shallow and there’s resistance at the other end, so the feeling isn’t that good,” is how he describes it.
At least the manta survives the violation. “With most fish, we just whack ’em, but we release the manta’s we screw back into the ocean,” Makeburu relates.
A curious Matsuzawa wonders … if the captain had an STD, wouldn’t the other crew members who had sex with the manta contract it too?
“That’s right,” grins Makeburu. “So some guys slip on condoms before they do it. Once I came down with the clap. But we were in port around that time and I did it with a woman, so I don’t have any way of knowing if I picked it up from her, or from the manta.”
Is it common, then, for marine students to lose their virginity to a manta?
“Well, no, actually it’s more common for them to lose it to a moray eel,” he confides.
What??!! Isn’t that, like, dangerous, as in crazy?
“You can stick it in until it bites,” he says. “But if you pull it away too fast the skin on your cock will tear.”
Apparently once out of the water a moray becomes less aggressive. So you can force its mouth open with your hands, and then stick in your cock…
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, August 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Well, dang if my jaw didn’t drop to the floor when I discovered that legendary porn star Ginger Lynn has come out of retirement to shoot a bondage scene with Mark Davis for Kink.com’s Sex and Submission:
It’s fun for a number of reasons, not least of which is that Ginger is old enough to have developed that whole soft, well-rounded, mature / MILF-y look. Rode hard and put away wet? Sure. But don’t say that like it’s a bad thing. This is a woman who knows how to have fun:
From the Kink.com marketing copy:
Sex and Submission proudly presents pornstar legend Ginger Lynn in her first real BDSM sex scene with boyfriend Mark Davis. With much excitement and anticipation she explores her submissive side in great depth. Mark is tough with her at times and brings her to that breaking point where she struggles to fight through the pain and discomfort. But the pleasurable rewards and lovingness displayed throughout makes Ginger a very happy submissive. The chemistry between the two and the genuine reactions from porn celebrity Ginger Lynn is really something special!
Googling around for more information about the shoot, I found this, including some great quotes by Ginger:
“I’ve fallen madly in love. I have finally met a man who can keep up with me, who is my match in bed, and that man is Mark Davis. We met at a fundraiser for Nicki Hunter and have been inseparable ever since,” Lynn told XBIZ. “I figured if I was ever to make a comeback, I would do something I have never done before, show something I have never shown before, to express myself the same way I do at home. Very few men – none – have been able to bring that out of me the way Mark Davis has.”
“I’ve always been known as the girl next door, naughty-but-nice. At home, I’m sick, twisted, kinky and I have no boundaries. I don’t want to go into detail, but I will be living out my fantasies on film that I have only been able to do in my private life up until now. I may alienate some fans. They may be scared off, they may be fabulously surprised. At this point in my career and my life, it really doesn’t matter to me. I am going to do something I want to do.
“I’m a naughty girl.”
Ready for more? The Submission of Ginger Lynn is a 48 minute move, for members.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, August 17th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This is fun: Susie Bright interviews Chelsea Girl and publishes part of the transcript on 10 Zen Monkeys. (Alas, the complete interview has apparently not been transcribed, and is available only in that brutally slow and notoriously linear 20th century format, audio.)
SB: I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you to talk about your oral sex discussion.
CG: The “deep throat” post.
SB: I learned so much from that. There are all these people writing “deep throat this” and “deep throat that.” And there’s even porn how-to films. But it never gets beyond the sort of Linda Lovelace fanfare of deep throat. Until you, no one talked about how you really get things…
CG: Down.
SB: How the nature of your saliva changes once you get in the right… You call it the viscous stuff.
CG: Yeah, the viscous, porn star-y spit.
SB: How did you learn how to give spectacular deep throat sex? Who taught you?
CG: My pediatrician.
SB: Oh, come on! No, stop!
CG: I had strep throat a lot as a kid. And I hated tongue depressors. And every winter I would have my throat swabbed over and over again. And so I learned how to control my gag reflex so that I didn’t have to have a tongue depressor in my mouth when they swabbed my throat. That’s essentially the same technique I use when I deep throat. I had no idea it would come in handy. But seriously, the first time I gave head, it just went down.
SB: Well, did you realize that the nature of one’s saliva and mucus would change and that you’d get more lubrication?
CG: Oh, that came from Jenna Jameson – I was reading Jenna Jameson’s book, which was ghostwritten by Neil Strauss, of course. Anyway, Jenna sort of articulated how, once you start, your gag reflex is your friend. And once you start to have the gagging happen, that’s when you get that nice thick viscous spit.
Wednesday, May 2nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I’ve commented before on the strange labeling and odd packaging of transsexuals in the porn industry. And I’ve shaken my head at the odd ways guys use transsexual porn in internet games of oneupsmanship. But for all of that, I don’t claim to understand the “tranny porn” genre. And my bafflement is surely compounded by the fact that most of what I’ve seen has been poorly produced and badly marketed by pornographers who don’t seem to have been very engaged with the content.
Well, that last problem, at least, seems to have become ancient history, now that Kink.com has announced its new site: TS Seduction – Where Straight Men Take TS Cock For The First Time. It ought to be very interesting to see their special brand of San Francisco values applied to a historically neglected, traditionally crappy porn genre.
From the press release:
Leader in fetish entertainment leader, Kink.com announced the launch of their 11th all exclusive video and photo content site, TSSeduction.com, featuring hot transsexual women seducing straight men in the first site of its kind. With a new weekly video shoot update, the site boasts the hottest TS girls in action, dominating, seducing and enticing men into first time TS adventures.
Webmaster of TSS, Isis Love has been in the adult entertainment industry for over 7 years. She has worked on both sides of the camera and has been a model and guest director for Kink.com’s woman dominating men site, MenInPain.com for over 3 years.
“With one foot already in the door, I took this opportunity to join the team at Kink.com. After talking to the crew, I came in and directed some test shoots for the developing site,” said Isis Love. “I am totally excited.”
One thing’s for sure, when they advertise (to use their terms) hot transsexual women, they aren’t kidding about the hot part:
Friday, April 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
From Journey Into Submission, a conversation on what happens when you attempt to economize on sex toys:
Somehow the conversation veered way off track.
“Butt plug and ball gag?” someone asked, echoing the last person’s statement.
“How about a butt plug ball gag?” another person asked.
“Ewwww! That’s gross!” a third chimed in.
I tried to hide my face in my hand and ignore the flush rising to my cheeks. Mr Stern looked down at me kneeling at his feet, taking in the banter.
“A butt plug ball gag. Hmmm…” he said, tapping my forehead with his finger. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
Two nights before I had been laying naked on his bed, tied wrists to thighs, with Rachel on one side and Mr Stern on the other…
“Did I tell you what I did to her a few weeks ago?” Mr Stern asked Rachel. I had my eyes closed so I didn’t see but I assume she shook her head.
“I sent her to the grocery store with a butt plug in her cunt,” he said. Rachel laughed.
“Did she keep it in the whole time or did it fall out at the store?” she asked.
“Tell her, slut. Open your eyes, look at Rachel, and tell her if it stayed in the whole time,” he ordered, pulling my hair to force my head back. I swallowed hard, tried to focus and suppressed a giggle that suddenly threatened to bubble up.
“It stayed in the whole time,” I said, meeting her eyes. She nodded wisely. I’m sure I was blushing fiercely at the crudeness of the conversation.
“Which one was it, slut? Was it this one?” Mr Stern asked after a minute, climbing back onto the bed. I shifted my gaze back to him and saw the black butt plug in his hand.
“Yes, Mr Stern, that’s it,” I said. He reached over and pressed it against my lips. I instinctively opened my mouth and he slid it in. Since I had been the one to clean it, I was as sure as I could be that it was clean. Besides, Mr Stern is a self proclaimed germophobe, he was not liable to do anything that actually exposed me to yickiness.
“Have you been practicing deep throating your dildos so you can take my whole cock in?” he asked as the toy went past my tongue.
I shook my head no, unable to speak with the butt plug deep in my throat. It was just small enough to fit in my mouth but there was no room to talk.
“Slut, you need to practice. Let’s see what you can do with this. I’m going to fuck your face with it,” he said, forcing it to the back of my throat. I tilted my head back to allow deeper access. The flared end of the plug rested against my lips and Mr Stern held it with his fingertips. I moaned as he shoved it in and out.
“Does that turn you on, you fucking slut?” he asked. He loomed over me, watching my reaction.
I nodded as well as I could considering my position.
“I bet she’s imagining it’s my cock. That gets her wetter than anything else,” Mr Stern told Rachel. “Is that what you’re doing, slut?”
I nodded again. It was that very idea – of his cock in my mouth – that was turning me on. I wanted to deep throat his cock the way I was letting the plug slide all the way in. I stuck my tongue out a little further, wrapping it around the widest part of the plug.
Mr Stern started telling Rachel how much he enjoys it when I suck his cock, about how I do something with my tongue that is just perfect, and how I was showing off now in hopes of enticing him into putting his cock in my mouth. I concentrated on not gagging and making my display look good, for exactly the reason he had guessed.
Wednesday, January 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
A while back I noticed a Bondage Blog post called Hanging Like Ripe Fruit. The post (illustrated by some bondage porn from Hogtied.com) featured a suspension tie reminiscent of a scene from The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, a famous BDSM novel by Ann Rice. Unfortunately Bondage Blog only posted one picture, so in a moment of boredom, I went back to Anne Rice to help flesh it out:
“Double her, for punishment,” said Lord Gregory. “I think a real punishment is in order.”
Princess Lizetta gave several high-pitched groans. They seemed both anger and protest. She seemed not to have bargained for this, and as she was carried ahead of Beauty and Lord Gregory into the Hall of Punishments, the Pages quickly affixed leather cuffs to her wrists and ankles, each cuff with a heavy metal hook imbedded in it.
Now she was raised, struggling, to a great low beam that spanned the room, her wrists hung from a hook above her head and then her legs brought straight up in front of her so that her ankles were fixed to the same hook. The was, in fact, bent double. Her head was then forced between her calves, so that Beauty could see her face clearly. And a leather strap was bound around here, securely pressing her upturned legs against her torso.
But the most cruel and frightening aspect of it for Beauty was the exposure of the Princess’s secret parts, for she was hung so that anyone could see her full sex with its pink lips and its dark hair even to the tiny brown orifice between her buttocks. And all this just below her scarlet face. Beauty could imagine no worse exposure and she looked down timidly, glancing up again and again to the girl whose suspended body moved slightly as with a current in the air, the leather links at her wrists and ankles creaking.
…
The man in velvet had begun to stroke Princess LIzetta’s sex with a small instrument that was, as so much here, covered in smooth black leather. This was a three-pronged rod that somewhat resembled a hand, and as soon as he teased the helpless Princess, she began to struggle in her bonds.
Beauty understood at once what was happening. The Princess’s pink sex, terrifying to Beauty as it hung so unprotected, appeared to swell, to ripen. Beauty could see tiny droplets of moisture appear on it.
…
“Lord Gregory,” the Lady said, “you must think of something special.” Then to Beauty’s horror, the lady reached out delicately and fastidiously and pinched Princess LIzetta’s pubic lips hard so that they exuded moisture. Then she pinched the right lip and the left, and the girl winced with pain and misery.
Lord Gregory had meantime snapped his fingers for the Lord with the iron clawlike hand, and whispered something Beauty could not hear. “It will strengthen her punishment.”
And now the Lord appeared with a little pot and a brush and as the Lady stepped back, he took the brush and bathed Princess LIzetta’s naked organ in a heavy syrup. A few droplets fell to the floor, and the princess again made known her misery. She sobbed softly behind her gag, but the Lady only smiled rather innocently and shook her head. “It will attract any flies we have about,” Lord Gregory said, “and if we have none it shall produce its inevitable itching as it dries. It is quite uncomfortable.”
The Lady did not seem satisfied. Her pretty and innocent face was smooth however and she sighed. “I suppose it will do for now, but I wish she were bound with her legs apart to a stake in the garden. Then let the flies and the little insects of the air find her honeyed mouth. She deserves it.”
Although there are no dramatically better views in the short trailer and sample views visible for free without whipping out your credit card, a membership will get you rather a lot more!
Similar Sex Blogging:
Sunday, November 19th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
I’ve been known to have fun spotting erotically-charged road signs, and it isn’t surprising to discover I’m not alone. (If you read the comments there you’ll see that the Photoshopped picture has already been identified as a fake, so let’s not bring that subject up here, k thanx.) As the poster at Get Along Gang says, some businesses choose such a name because they know it will get them attention.
Whatever. It would sure be nice to go into a Cocks store and let my eyes linger over their selection…..maybe even choose a thick one to take home since I don’t have a boyfriend. What I’d like best is for this poster (from AllPosters.com) to be predicting my future:
Thanks to my sister (the hippie-type cool one, not the one that’s making me get into a bridesmaids dress next month) for the sign link.
Wednesday, November 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
We got some shock value some time back out of a photograph of one of those heavily-modified penises with the plastic lumps inserted under the skin. But, in case you were wondering about the subjective experience of the thing, there’s some info to be found on Bad Sex:
So he just went down on me which was fun, and he starts fingering me again really intensely (like 3 fingers?!) and I finally get my hands down to his cock. OOookay. It’s definitely a respectable appendage all on its own, and I’m pretty surprised because I’ve never really encountered one quite that size. But? BUT he has an inch-and-a-half long barbell THROUGH the head of his cock, AND he has 32 (he said) beaded implants actually GRAFTED under the skin of his penis. I mean this thing is like a custom order dildo, and I have no idea what to make of it. Forget going down on him, because I can already tell that solid inch-and-a-half barbell would do a number on my gag reflex. And the implants?? Hmmm. All I can say is that it all vaguely resembled the head of this particular dinosaur.
…
But he’s doing some seriously amazing work with his hands, and at this point I really couldn’t care less about dino-cock, because hey I was already there, right? Might as well see what all the hubub is about. I’m thinking this is bound to be some amazing, rough and tumble rowdy sex, because up until that point it was all I could do not to scream.
…
I am completely wet and just dying for him to put it in already (again I’m thinking this is going to be all hot and rowdy etc), but suddenly he kind of stops and gets really bizarrely clinical about it. I was thinking okay.. maybe out of consideration for me he’s being super gentle because he’s probably had girls tell him it hurts like a bitch or something before. On my end it really wasn’t uncomfortable at all, and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have hurt even if he wasn’t being so careful. So I kind of let him know I’m good, and I’m trying to encourage him to just go at it (and I’m doing most of the work..) but he’s still just being really careful. So FINALLY he says, “sorry, it’s still a little sensitive, I just got it repierced like two weeks ago.”
…
I want to clarify that I am in no way knocking dino-cock, because I do have to say that would have made one hell of a ride. I just take exception to the fact that it’s totally wasted if you can’t even get a good rowdy fuck out of it because it’s got a freaking stainless steel BAR through it.
Sunday, October 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Although most of the sex commentators I like and respect appear to have climbed on the “Fortuny Is Evil” fleshpile in connection with The Great Craigslist Sex Personals Massacre Of 2006 (I include without limitation Violet Blue (who started out thoughtful but is now namecalling), Mistress Matisse, and Dan Savage), I’ve been disappointed that their united condemnation of Fortuny has been intensely personal, without really coming to grips with the interesting question of what, in a rigorous ethical sense, his great crimes seem to have been. OK, so he’s a “prick” and what he did was wrong” (Matisse), but what moral obligation did he violate? He “sucks” (Savage) and he’s a “creepy guy” and a “jerk” (Violet) — all of which may be true, I don’t know the guy, but what does it have to do with what he actually did?
The more I think about this, the more I come around to thinking that what he did to get the howling mob after him (and by howling mob, I refer more broadly to others who have weighed in on the controversy; the folks I’ve quoted here are the calm and thoughtful ones) was he violated outdated and unreasonable social expectations.
Savage talks about “privacy violations”, Violet about “basic privacy and communication rules of conduct”, but neither of them come to grips with my point, which is that it’s not inherently reasonable to expect random strangers to preserve your privacy. You don’t have any expectation of privacy in an email you send to a stranger; or, if you do, there’s something wrong in your thinking. At best, you’re relying on their social graces — I’ll go so far as to agree that it’s polite to protect the confidences of strangers — but how many random strangers exhibit the manners you’d prefer? Not enough, never enough, especially not when something important — like your privacy — is on the line.
I am heartened to see some understanding of my other point, which is that a lot of responders to sex ads are misbehaving in various ways, and thus are exposing themselves (heh) to more risk than they are comfortable accepting. These miscreants (and I refer specifically to the virtual flashers who slammed the comments on my last post with “the slut was asking for it” self-justifications) seem to be the most outraged, because (like virtually everyone else except me, it seems) they feel their misbehaviour ought to be cloaked by the privacy-protecting practices of their intended victims, and they aren’t happy to learn that their expectations of privacy aren’t as reasonable as they’d hoped.
To which I say, “Waah.”
Violet seems to get this part, writing:
Think of it like this: when you upload a porn photo to Flickr, you are in violation of their Terms of Use rules and they take it down. When you use your work email address to answer an explicit sex ad, you are essentially in violation of your employer’s TOU. If you cheat on your wife, you’re in violation of your marriage’s TOU. In his “experiment”, Jason Fortuny violated several ethical and social TOUs that many of us accept as basic privacy and communication rules of conduct.
But not everyone outed in The Craigslist Experiment was violating one of life’s TOUs — I’ll even argue that the majority of the people who had their personal info revealed didn’t care, or notice.
I don’t, obviously, agree that Fortuny violated any TOUs — if anything, he merely ignored one of those meaningless and overreaching shrinkwrap EULAs on boxed software, one that others are attempting but failing to impose on him, one that he never agreed with and which consequently has no moral or ethical juice. (There’s a huge difference between breaking a promise and failing to behave as expected. The ad in question did not say “All replies kept confidential.” If it had, this argument wouldn’t be happening. Then Fortuny’d be the obvious jerk everyone says he is.)
But I do agree with Violet that folks who were using Craigslist in an ethically appropriate way — which is to say, folks who were ethically free to be looking for rough kinky sex, and who weren’t simply using their response as a vessel for their virtual self-exposure kink “because the slut was obviously asking for it”, folks who weren’t violating any of life’s TOUs, folks with nothing to be ashamed of — these people couldn’t be hurt in the Massacre, and weren’t.
Leaving my sympathy for the remainder muted at best.
Why, exactly, is everyone in favor of a social privacy rule that primarily benefits adulturers, virtual flashers, and other people who engage in online sexual behavior that they can’t defend, proudly and publicly, in their own lives and communities? Why is it so hard to understand that all online behavior is public?
Tuesday, September 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
In which Femme Fatale demonstrates why girlfriends have nothing to fear from strippers:
To return to the moment: the moon is outside my window and my sleepy mind is fuzzy as I think about strippers and lap dances and how I must be better than a skanky exotic dancer. But how can I show him? How can I prove my worth not only as a good, loving girlfriend but as a versatile sexual being with so much to give? My mind slithers over possibilities in my sexually creative head, my voice is soft, sweet, yet full of need and unbridled interest,
Babe, I’m into cock-bondage. Don’t worry, its not the crazy kind, just the fun kind and I promise you’ll like it.
Without waiting for a response, I reach behind his head to my jewelry rack that hangs on the wall of my currently being-re-decorated room and take my 35 inch strand of antique natural pearls. His waiting cock is standing forth like a monument to the night and to all his little sex driven mind can conceive. Delicately and with small, soft hands, I wrap the pearls around his cock, starting at the bottom of his thick shaft and twining up, completely encasing his hard flesh in pearls. When at last the pearls were in place, I took both ends and pulled gently, flicking the head of his cock with my tongue.
His reaction was palpable as his hand covered his mouth, his breath coming harsh and thick, fast. His cock too was reacting, pulsing and swelling against the pearls. With each surge of his flesh, the pearls ripples into it exciting him even further. As I sucked and licked away at his sensitive head, he became like stone inside my mouth, harder and thicker than he’s ever been before, the head showing red and swollen in the blue tinted light of the dappled moonlight.
His breath was coming harsh and his comments rippled forth like curses to God as his body tensed and he writhed on the bed,
Oh baby, this is the best sensation I’ve ever felt in my entire life, I swear. Oh my god. It just feels so awesome.
I smiled gently with satisfaction as my mouth luxuriated over his cock, his body, his mouth and his pulsing cock giving me feedback that only increased my need to make him come hard and finalize his grand sensation.
Without warning I pulled the end of the pearl strand up and over his cock and away, the pearls rubbing him as the streamed upwards, massaging his already maniacally aroused cock. He moaned and his body tensed the nth degree, his words only grunts and a long streaming moan issuing from his mouth followed by a laugh of sheer pleasure and amazement.
His moan was even deeper as I slid his whole length into my mouth, letting the tip of him touch the back of my throat before sucking upwards. After a few moments and his fingertips sliding at the base of his engorged cock, his hips bucked before he came with a force that nearly drowned me, his come hitting the inside of my throat and causing me to hold back gagging as he came stronger than he ever has.
Tuesday, August 22nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I do so love porn that tells a story, don’t you? Here’s the lovely bondage model Star, looking at a Hogtied.com photographer with what can only be described as gentle scepticism. I imagine he’s telling her what they are going to do on today’s shoot:
Fast forward several steps — hey, look at porn your own self if you want the whole story — and we find lovely Star on a soft bed in her ball gag and head harness. Very peaceful, very calm, only… does it look to you like she might be a little wide-eyed? Is that a bunny-in-the-road look, would you say?
It turns out, she has good reason to stay very still.
There’s a rope, you see. (Could this be bondage porn without a rope?) One end’s tied to the back of her head harness. The other? Well, turns out it’s tied to, um, er… well, I’m afraid there’s really no way to put this gently. It’s tied to a stainless steel butt hook. Which goes… exactly where you are afraid it goes. See for yourself. See?
So now, a great many of us can go on about our daily duties while knowing more about the depths of human kinkiness and perversity than we knew when we woke up this morning. And if you get bored sitting at your desk today, just nod your head a little bit and try to imagine how it would feel at the other end of the rope.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Tuesday, July 4th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
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.
Thursday, June 29th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I was cleaning out some old files the other day and stumbled over this gem. It’s a classic example of how Hogtied exploded onto the internet bondage erotica scene, and established a quality lead that’s rarely if ever been challenged. Simplicity itself: A beautiful women (look at her lovely hair, mmmm) in strict-but-not-complex bondage, holding her in a sexually available pose. What’s not to like?
See also: very flexible hogtied beauty.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, March 31st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This vintage Irving Klaw bondage photo is from Bondage Blog. I like her wide-eyed expression, but as usual with these vintage pictures, it’s the impressive layers of armoring lingerie that steal the show:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, March 6th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
A while back I mocked a sex spam missive that began “Has your cum ever dribbled and you wish it had shot out?” I wondered:
Nobody expects very much from spam. But most of it makes at least a certain sort of sense. Bigger penis? Sure, there’s a market. Harder penis? Why not? Breast enlargements? Cheaper mortgages? Debt reduction? Fake Rolex watches? I probably know somebody who wants each of these things.
But an increased ejaculate volume? Who do I know that worries about their inability to make a big enough mess during sex? No, on second thought, don’t tell me.
The comments then were sufficient to suggest to me that this particular sexual anxiety is out there, even though it had never crossed my own mind during the course of a long and anxious life. Now comes Perge Modo addressing the same question with actual sensible suggestions, as opposed to dubious herbal solutions. He offers up the possibility of engaging in temporary and strategic abstinence to build up a metaphorical head of steam, and further suggests prostate manipulation and/or interruption of ejaculation as possible approaches. A flavor of his sophisticated prose:
Have you tried having your prostate manipulated while preparing to shoot? Most guys who want to stick a finger up your butt have no idea what they are looking for. They are as rude as firemen hatcheting their way into a burning house without so much as a pause at the door. (“Hey! It’s not locked, you jerks, just turn the handle.”) Every so often though, you’ll encounter an expert who can find your prostate and apply just the right amount of coaxing pressure to send you into a state of total and subjegated disarmament that will enhance the finale.
I guess that’s further proof (if the spam were not enough) that some guys really do worry about this.
Friday, February 24th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I don’t know whether this ever-so-cute underdressed skier is engaged in a demure mooning, or whether she suffered a failure of her outerwear. Either way, I thought it was a great image to share in honor of the concluding Winter Olympics:
Saturday, February 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This is a post about two smiles:
Those are the two smiles of the lovely Sarah Blake, who does bondage modeling for Hogtied.com. I want you to look at those smiles and study the differences between them. No matter if you’re kinky or vanilla (but especially if you’re vanilla) I want you to remember those smiles the next time you hear a preacher or a politician ranting and raving against the evils of sadomasochism, sexual depravity, and sadistic abuse. He’s talking about Sarah and her delicious, joyful smile.
All the pictures in this post come from this shoot, which you can view for yourself if you want to see Sarah tied up and, er, entertained, in some astonishing ways. I’m not going to reproduce those pictures here, although I will be describing the entertainment. All I’m showing you are her smiles (and one gasp of ecstasy.)
Let’s start with the first smile:
This is the “before” picture, taken at the beginning of the photo shoot. It’s a pretty smile — Sarah’s a pretty woman — but it’s a professional model’s smile. A little bit forced, a lot posed, and as artificial as a flower arrangement. This could be the yearbook photo, the portfolio photo, even the drivers license photo. This smile started when Sarah was young, and you can still see in it the obedient girl who learned what to do when the nice man behind the camera told her to smile.
Sarah covers a lot of kinky miles between that smile and the next one.
If you view more of the shoot, you’ll see Sarah with her ankles crossed and tied in front of her chin. Her miniskirt has puddled around her hips, but her panties are still on, so it’s a fairly innocent bondage image. Sarah’s wild ride is just beginning.
Moving rapidly along, we soon see her in the same pose without her undies, with a glass vacuum jar firmly secured to her tenderest bits. The ride accelerates; in another view, she’s on her knees wearing a heavy wooden set of stocks, with her pony tail tied back to — is there a nicer word for this device? — a butt hook that’s securely hooked in (you guessed it) her butt. The rear view of the same scene shows some welts where she’s been caned.
Moving along. In the next view, she’s been stood up, and a metal-pipe-and-ball-gag arrangement has been affixed to her wooden stocks to complicate her life. Some nipple clips with heavy round lead fishing weights are being clamped onto her nipples. When the cameraman steps back, we can see that she’s balanced on tiptoes, with a pole-and-dildo arrangement to encourage her to stay there.
The next couple of photos show a new scene, with Sarah on her stomach in a tight hogtie on two butcher-block tables. Her hands and feet are pressed and tied together, there’s a suspension rope around her elbows pulling her up in what have to be uncomfortable ways, and she’s wearing a red ball gag in a harness that’s making her drool.
*CLICK* Now she’s on her side, in rope bondage, with clothespins on her nipples and a big vibrator working her tender bits.
*CLICK* Now she’s in suspension — an astonishing upside-down posture that looks like gymnastics, only much sexier. Still with clothespins on her nipples.
Moving on. The website describes and explains the next scene thusly:
Sarah also has a tragic secret, she cannot stop cumming if she is stuck on a vibrator. So viewers, be warned! The last scene is a long intense forced orgasm scene until Sarah is vibrated senseless.
What we see is a hard wooden chair with a big vibrator duct-taped to it. Sarah’s strapped onto the chair (and the vibrator) with some well-worn and very-impressive-looking leather belts. She’s clearly enjoying herself, if a bit lost in the sensation:
So what’s been the point of all this lurid description? Quite simply this. Unless you’re a serious bondage fiend, someone who plays hard and invests serious time and money into your dungeon equipment, I’ve probably described more than you’re comfortable with. If you’ve got no interest in bondage, if you’ve never even seen a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, you might be pretty horrified by most of what I’ve described. If you’ve played at bedroom bondage, own one pair of cuffs and a riding crop, you might be fascinated by some of the pictures but scared or repelled by others of them. If you’re seriously kinky and have a home dungeon of your own, you might appreciate most or all the photos, but even then there’s probably something that’s not quite your cup of tea, or that’s too risky or troublesome to be worth trying in your book. But, whereever you fall on that spectrum, and however sincerely you might say of one of the depicted activities “that’s not for me”, I want you to focus on the last picture in the photoset, Sarah wearing nothing but her rope marks. Here’s Sarah’s exhausted-but-exhilarated second smile:
That’s not just a smile, it’s a grin. There’s more joy and enthusiasm and life in that photo than there is in a dozen of the professional smiles we saw at the top. Sarah, despite having suffered through some intensely uncomfortable bondage positions, has had a wonderful time.
And that visible joy, my friends, is what the Grundies want to kill when they rail against “sadism, masochism, and abuse.” I suppose they don’t even know about the joy — they may honestly think it’s all about objectification and degradation and money and feelthy perverts — but I don’t want you, dear readers, to have the same excuse. You’ve seen the two smiles. Now you know.
The next time you hear somebody railing against the feelthy perverts, you’re to remember the smiles. Even if the specific activity under discussion grosses you out, because it’s not your kink and you can’t understand why it could be anyone’s, remember the smiles. Remember Sarah’s visible joy. We don’t need to understand or appreciate a kink to understand that smile.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Saturday, December 17th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
If you thought Red made playing with a cattle prod sound like fun, you might also like this shoot from the first and best electrosex porn site, Wired Pussy:
Friday, September 16th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
OK, OK, so there’s like, a jillion oral sex guides out there on the internet. I fondly recall reading one back when I really needed one, back before there was a World Wide Web, when the best internet resources took the form of huge lovingly-crafted ASCII text files. After a few years of sex blogging, though, the oral sex guides all start to run together and feel the same.
Which is why this one is worth linking to: It’s not so much about technique as it is about etiquette, and it’s written in a fresh and entertaining voice:
Okay, pervs and pervettes. It’s time for Chow Yun Smut to step up and testify on the importance of manners. I don’t care which fork you use at the dinner table, I don’t care if you hold the door open for the ladies, I don’t care about the ongoing debate on who pays for a date. This is all about giving head.
DISCLAIMER: This is NOT a primer for technique…. Manners, folks. Etiquette. Because I was recently confronted with a person who has apparently been allowed to be sexually active with more than one person, and yet nobody has taken the time to inform this person of some very basic rules of engagement.
Of course, I didn’t find this first; I found the link over at Fleshbot, where the skilled professional sex bloggers tend to find all the goodies before I do. But hey, Violet Blue did write the book on oral sex (well, two of them, actually) and so if she recommends it, it’s surely worth your time.
Wednesday, September 7th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I’m very impressed by the quoted portion of this article:
It’s time someone praised and defended reckless teenage girls and young women who behave badly, dress provocatively, engage in risky sex, and get pregnant. They are the normal ones. The rest of us are the deviants. They are behaving in the most natural way. The rest of us are mutants.
There is nothing wrong with pelvic display, push-up bras, Gosford miniskirts, spray-on jeans, low-cut tops, bare legs, bare arms, bare ankles, G-strings or even buttock cleavage, providing the displayer is young enough to get away with it. A woman’s body is at its fertility peak between the ages of 17 and 23. So when young women advertise or flaunt their sexuality they are being driven by a force far stronger than the Judeo-Christian ethic. They are driven by the power of peak fertility and a million years of evolutionary biology. Nature has programmed them for pregnancy, genetic diversity and keeping the species going. A big job.
Sexually active teenage girls, and sexually promiscuous women of any age, carry the greatest social burden of judgements, punishments, restrictions and risks because we haven’t got the child-care equation right. These women are just doing their job. They are real, while the rest of the equation is artificial. Society is the collective weight of traditions, conventions, laws, habits, fears, tribes, taboos and technologies, permeated by a Judeo-Christian ethic dominated by men and designed to curb female sexual power. Our norms are also dominated by the ideology of materialism that is moving women further and further towards unnatural behaviour, pressuring them to have babies later rather than sooner.
This is society’s real problem. Teenage pregnancy is trivial by comparison to suppressed pregnancy.
In other words, it’s not those damned horny kids who have the problem, it’s us grownups, who’ve built a society where you have to study and train and work your way up for far too many years, before you finally gain the economic power necessary to have children responsibly without depending on anybody else.
Tuesday, August 2nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Never let it be said that I don’t enjoy free swag. Here’s the latest goodie to land in my mailbox: a reproduction of an antique hand-carved die featuring a man and a woman engaged in the ancient art of mutual oral sex. Like the man says, any way you throw this die, it will come up 69:
This, and other naughty dice, come from the novelty dice page at Ellesh’s Closet, where they specialize in “Naughty Historic Novelties for Adults.” I don’t get to Renaissance fairs often enough, but now, through the miracle of the Internet and the good offices of the United States Postal Service, some of the fun stuff there has come to me. Now if only somebody could perfect a “mail order wenches” service….
Tuesday, July 19th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Sometimes I miss San Francisco, even though the three years I lived there I was too young and callow and lonely and broke and chickenshit to take advantage of even five percent of its true charms. Despite being the most populous place I’ve ever resided, some of my better memories of SF are of its natural spaces; one vivid memory is the Halloween night I spent wandering in the moonlight on Ocean Beach, enjoying the surf air but lacking the social mojo to crash any of the bonfire parties scattered up and down the beach. I always did enjoy Golden Gate Park when my hikes took me over that way, and I often mourned the lack of frolicking naked people that my father reported were prevalent when he frequented the place some thirty years before me.
The great wheel turns, or I didn’t keep my eyes open wide enough, or the times they are a-changin’…again. Violet Blue knows how to run a picnic:
Then we meandered home, where we made afternoon cocktails and put all the produce and fresh bread into a picnic basket and headed off to Golden Gate Park. We spread out a packing blanket I stole a few SRL shows ago and sat in the trees, on grass and little tiny white flowers, along a secluded stretch of winding duck pond. For a few minutes a couple and a photographer wandered through out little corner of bliss, taking their engagement photos. We sipped Campari and soda with lemon, and nibbled on everything in and out of the picnic basket. At one point, I even took dessert in the form of a quick and nasty blowjob while Hornboy writhed on the blanket — a very daring thing for me, to do this in public. A first. Such a huge turn-on, too; but how can a girl resist seeing a nice hard knob in a pair of pants and not want to take a sample? A girl just can’t.
Saturday, May 28th, 2005 -- by Dionysus
I’d intended to write in this space, but time and tide, as they say. I’ve done nothing but post pictures.
Thus, words.
This could be a true story.
We meet at a party.
We’re not supposed to know each other, but we do. Know each other’s words, minds, souls. Yet we’ve never met.
Drink in my hand, I pretend to ignore her as I chat up some lovely ladies who are intent upon being mine for the evening. She’s nervous never at ease in crowds. I know her eyes are on me, but I do not turn to look. Music plays. I fetch drinks for my erstwhile dates. Lush women, to my taste, normally, but there’s only one woman in the room tonight.
I circulate away from her, but I know where she is. I wait.
I catch her when she goes down the hall to use the bathroom; timing it, I am there behind her just as the door opens, and then in a rush I have her in my arms, and am shutting the door behind us. I turn out the light, and we’re lit only softly, moonlight through a high window.
First kiss. She knows it’s me. Knows my touch before ever a hand is laid on her. I take her mouth, roughly. We speak no words. It’s not time for talk, that’s yesterday. That’s tomorrow.
I guide her down; she’s told me this story, written a script, and for now, that’s how I play it. She’s on her knees, and her hands free my cock, and her mouth takes me. I hold her head, fuck into her mouth. I gag her, make her choke. Later, I’ll touch her gently, but now, we need it to hurt.
She wants my come. She won’t get it yet. I stop her, and she squeals in frustration. I put my cock away, and make her stand.
“Fix your makeup,” I say, and tell her to do whatever else she’s in here for. She does, and I watch her, the lights back on. Her face is flushed, red. Her lipstick is smeared, her lips invitingly puffy. I almost take her again, from behind this time. But not yet; I open the door, distract two people in line while she slips out behind me.
I catch her by the elbow and steer her toward the stairs. There’s a guest room. The door has a lock. I sweep coats and purses off the bed, lock the door behind us. She protests – someone might come looking. I don’t care. I push her down on the bed, rip a filmy thong from her and put it in my pocket as she gasps.
I put a finger in her; she’s incredibly wet, and incredibly tight. It’s going to hurt her when I take her, And I’m looking forward to that. I hold her down, and kiss her, and rub my cock against her slick wetness. Then I’m forcing myself inside, holding her face with one hand, making her look at me so I can see her pain.
God, she’s tight. I can feel her body fighting to keep me out. I fight harder, then kiss her to contain the scream. I thrust in, each stroke deeper, making her fit me, making her yield to me. She screams into my mouth, and kisses, and screams.
I want to take time. I want to make her come. But it’s too much. I give in to her, abandon restraint, and stab her with my cock. My scream meets hers and I come, and keep thrusting, my fingers on her clit, my cock only half hard but still inside.
“Come for me, you little whore,” I whisper, and she’s howling, screaming, her pussy clenching on me. Anyone outside would think murder is being done, and I fantasize the whole house knows how I’ve just taken her. Her screams turn to sobs, and her body shakes, and she begins to whisper that she loves me.
We’ve only started. She thinks I’m going to let her go. I’m not.
DionysusBlog@gmail.com
Tuesday, January 4th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Nobody expects very much from spam. But most of it makes at least a certain sort of sense. Bigger penis? Sure, there’s a market. Harder penis? Why not? Breast enlargements? Cheaper mortgages? Debt reduction? Fake Rolex watches? I probably know somebody who wants each of these things.
But an increased ejaculate volume? Who do I know that worries about their inability to make a big enough mess during sex? No, on second thought, don’t tell me.
This is an actual spam I just got, with editorial comments in brackets:
Has your cum ever dribbled and you wish it had shot out?
[Er, no. Or, I’m not sure about the dribbling. Usually I’m not looking; usually it’s in a warm moist place that I can’t see into. As for wishing it had shot out, why? This ain’t a peeing contest, boys. There are, so far as I know, no prizes for volume or velocity.]
Have you ever wanted to impress your girl with a huge cumshot?
[I’ve frequently wanted to impress my girl, yes. But is she impressed by a huge cumshot? Uh, Nymph? Is there something you haven’t been telling me? Is there in fact any woman in the whole freakin’ world who cares whether a cumshot is huge or not?]
[. . . . . sound of crickets . . . . . ]
[PRODUCT] is the only site to offer an all natural male enhancement
formula that is proven to increase your sperm volume by up to 500%.
Our highly potent, volume enhancing formula will give our results
in days and comes with an impressive 100% guarantee.
Imagine the difference (look and feel) between dribbling your cum
compared to shooting out burst after burst.
[The look? Where exactly is this wanker ejaculating? And exactly how little sensation is he getting from sex, that he’s worring about the feel of his ejaculation? Hello, you’re supposed to be in sensory overload just then!]
Try [PRODUCT] now! and with our money back guarantee you have absolutely nothing to lose!
[Riiiight — because taking pills with absolutely no information on what’s in them is never dangerous. “Your herbal poison eroded my heart valves, can I have my $19.99 back please?]
But seriously, folks, and all ridicule aside — is there anybody among my readers, male or female, who worries about the force and volume of male ejaculate? If so, please chime in with a comment and an explanation!
Monday, October 4th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Although it can make free-thinkers mutter about mindless puritanism, prudent folk will frequently exclude their pets from important personal business. It’s not about worrying that your cat will see you naked. No, there’s a practical side, as you will see when reading these excerpts from a long list of cat resolutions:
When my human is taking a bubble bath, the two pinkish-brown things sticking up out of the bubbles in her chest region are NOT to be played with!
I will cease my obsession with the box my humans keep their condoms in. This box is not for me. I will not knock it on the ground, I will not sit on it, I will not try to scratch it open. Especially when my humans are using the condoms.
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.
Saturday, June 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Free-Market.Net in its Spotlight on Sexual Freedom quotes libertarian activist and former prostitute Norma Jean Almodovar on one of the many arguments that get raised against a free market in sex:
“If the reason society continues to arrest men and women who engage in prostitution is that it is degrading, then perhaps someone could explain how going to jail, being strip-searched, checked for lice, and asked to undress in front of dozens of insensitive guards and inmates somehow resolves this problem.”
Of course the answer is that cops and prison guards would demand higher pay if they didn’t get free peep shows in the workplace.
Just kidding. The real answer is that society doesn’t criminalize hooking because it’s degrading to the participants. Society criminalizes hooking because too many “respectable” women hate competition. More precisely, they hate the fact that prostitution puts limits on the ancient game of “do what I want or you won’t get any tonight.”
Monday, April 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
If you look at very much porn, you’ll know there’s a sort of extreme genre out there these days that involves a lot of over-the-top aggression and degrading grossness, including in various mixes things like face-slapping, spitting, shoving girls’ heads in toilets while shoving other stuff up their orifices, and so forth. It’s mostly not for me. So I was entertained when Eden wrote:
I’ve been forced to gag by having a cock pushed down my throat during rough sex and BDSM scenes. It was unpleasant, but that was part of the mood of the moment, and as such it was incredibly exciting. But a whole site (and there are several now) devoted to fucking a woman’s mouth so hard and deep that she vomits around the cock… and he keeps going? I certainly won’t say it should be banned — to each his own — but I’d pay to see those women allowed to force cucumbers down the throats of the men who had just been using them.
So would I. “Max Hardcore Vegetable Revenge” anyone?
Friday, April 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Several of you have emailed with the comment that the blogging here is of a lower quality lately, and I’d cheerfully have to agree. One possible explanation is that frolicking with The Nymph has blunted the keenest part of whatever horny edge I once brought to the sex blogging project. However, for the most part, I blame lack of time. The aforesaid frolicking is certainly a factor, but I’m also engaged in a significant reorganization of what I do to pay my bills. That’s eating a lot of my remaining free time in the short run, but in the long run it should (fingers crossed) free up more time for frolicking, blogging, and general whatnot, while simultaneously (crossing toes now) improving the cash flow picture.
So do please hang in there. I may spend another month or three stuck in this “one desultory link per day” blog mode, but I hope to resume normal service by high summertime.
Wednesday, March 31st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here are some photos from the 419 Eaters Trophy Room. These people make it their business to engage the Nigerian scammers and waste their time. For style points, they convince the Nigerians to pose with various objects and scurrilous signs, and post the resulting photographs in the trophy room. Some samples:
Monday, March 29th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I suppose it’s a little surprising it took all this time for the fire and brimstone brigade to come around here. In case you missed it, my comments were graced with this lovely sentiment, unburdened by any actual discussion of or engagement with the topic of my post:
“Whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.”
Which is from Revelations 20:15, although the commenter with the barbecue fetish was apparently too busy visualizing roasted human flesh to bother saying so. Having assumed, for blogging purposes, the identity of the Roman god of intoxication and orgies, I naturally find this sort of badly-directed preaching to be at least as funny as Io in her heifer suit.
Although this particular sex blog is not the place for discussions of Christian religion, me being neither Christian nor convertible, there’s no particular reason why sex blogs (even kinky ones) can’t handle the subject with grace, intelligence, and wit when it comes up. Alas, that’s apparently too much to expect from the littering pamphleteers with the sulphurous savor of burning flesh in their nostrils.
Saturday, March 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Over at Smitten she writes about an event I’m always pleased to be present for — but what in the painted deserts of Barsoom is she talking about?
I can’t imagine why any of you boys like to look down.
- Well, first there’s the whole breathing issue. If you have any luck at all with genetics or pills, she won’t be doing much of it through her mouth. Leaving only the nose for that overrated O2 exchange, I’d hope hers isn’t stopped up all of the time like mine is, as this will make her even shorter of breath. I find myself making little gasps every few moments, like when you are swimming underwater and you come up to the surface for just a split-second before you go back under. Sexy, eh?
- Then, of course, there’s the suction. Let’s say you’re really enjoying a lollipop, and you pull it from your mouth quickly (like when you have to gasp for air), it makes almost a popping noise from the pressure released.
- Additionally, your mouth waters, since you have likely activated your digestive system by putting something in your mouth, and taking quick breaths with a watery mouth makes that’s right slurping noises.
- And let’s not forget the gag reflex; the majority of us who are not ‘independent art film actresses’ still have one. When I gag, my whole body lurches a little, forward, which causes, that’s right more gagging.
- Plus, there’s the crying. I have the most sensitive eyes in the world, I cry when I laugh, I cry when I’m mad, and I find little tears forming when I’m working really really hard at pulling a golf ball through a garden hose. Sometimes they even spill over. In joy, of course, pure joy. Eventually all of this effort, and crying, will loosen something in my nasal passage, and I will begin to sniffle.
Given all the gasping, suction noises, slurping, lurching, gagging, crying and sniffling, you really have one indelicate and kind of gross girl kneeling in front of you. But you boys never seem to mind.
- Gasping. Sexy. This is news?
- Suction noises. Sexier. Sex noise is always hot.
- Slurping. This is supposed to be a catalog of undesirables?
- Gagging. OK, not sexy. But the lurching? We thought you were just lunging forward so you could fit more in your mouth. That’s sexy.
- Crying. Haven’t seen this one. (I’m imagining six macho guys out there saying “Dude, you never made her cry? You must have a tiny wiener.”)
Mind? What’s to mind?
Sunday, March 7th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
I’m posting this picture (ganked from Bondage Blog) because the duct tape gag provides a perfect opportunity to see what the writers mean when they say “her eyes were smiling”:
Isn’t that pretty? She obviously needs the gag because she has a delicious secret she can’t wait to tell.
Tuesday, January 27th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Doxy the Phone Slut is back. She writes in her usual entertaining style about the challenge of receiving phone sex calls from couples:
Couple calls are always fascinating to me because, well, it’s not just a guy jacking off into his old Slayer t-shirt in his parents’ basement. At the very minimum the guy has to be able to bag or rent a person willing to engage in sex acts with him.
…
[S]ometimes it is people who have pretty much worn out their own ideas and are looking for new ones which can be a tricky dance of the first water. Because if they haven’t tried it before that means they didn’t think of it. And is that because they would be adverse to it, or because they just haven’t been exposed to it? I once really freaked out a woman by suggesting she rim her husband’s asshole. Another guy got angry because I asked him if he’d ever spanked his wife. Knowing what is out of bounds for people is hard. And if it’s “out of bounds” is it REALLY out of bounds, or do they just want to pretend it’s out of bounds so that you can “force” them to do things they’re trying to pretend they don’t want to do?
…
So much of this job is tightrope walking. Dominate me, but don’t fuck me in the ass. Have my sister catch me jerking off, but NOT my mom. I wanna fuck the high school cheerleader down the block, and the girl scout up the road, but the brownie is OUT of the question. There is serious Forrest Gump “phone sex is like a box of chocolates” karma in the mix. And that challenge is what keeps the job fun and exciting.
Which of course reminds me of the old joke:
Q: “How does a Cub Scout get to become a Boy Scout?”
A: “He just has to eat a Brownie.”
Sunday, December 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
It’s hard to imagine a more embarrassing situation, especially given the impossibility of fleeing the scene:
A RANDY couple on a holiday jet were cheered by 250 passengers when they were exposed bonking in the loo.
The lovers sneaked into a tiny cubicle during a four-hour flight home from Tenerife.
When the 757’s cabin crew noticed it had been engaged for more than 15 minutes, a steward went to investigate.
After hearing grunts and groans through the door, he decided to unlock it from the outside and revealed the naked couple in mid-romp.
One passenger by the loo said: “There was a woman facing the wall and her companion standing behind with his trousers round his ankles.
“When they realised someone had opened the door, they just froze.
“And when it dawned on them that half the aeroplane was watching, their faces went beetroot red.
There were at least 60 of us in stitches. Even the three cabin staff burst out laughing.”
The couple in their late thirties then got a round of applause as they made their way back to their seats.
From The Sun via J. Orlin Grabbe.
Wednesday, December 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Diablo from Pussy Ranch is getting married! “Diablo and Jonny, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then two little babies in a baby carriage….”
Here’s how it went down, since I know you ladies need the details about this sort of thing. And besides, it’s pretty cool:
On Friday, Jonny presented me with a saucy new ensemble from Wet Seal (the man has some seriously excellent taste) and told me I should wear it for a “surprise date” on Saturday. But of course! I adore surprises.
So I donned the beaded top, miniskirt and pink fishnet tights on Saturday evening (Jonny wore an extremely hot new outfit as well) and we headed out. It turned out he had made reservations at our favorite sushi restaurant. We ordered cocktails and nigiri and commenced a fabulous meal. After finishing, we decided we were still hungry and ordered a second round of sushi.
So you can imagine my shock when the waitress arrived with a tray not bearing spicy tuna rolls, but a white ring box. “Here’s your special roll,” she said, barely able to contain her glee. Jonny dropped to his knee as I began bawling my fool eyes out in front of many gawking diners, and popped the question.
I had a surprise planned too: See, we’d been talking about getting engaged a lot recently, and I had a hunch a proposal was forthcoming. So several days earlier (as it turns out, the exact day Jonny had purchased the ring), I had secretly had the word “yes” tattooed on the inside of my wrist. I’d hidden it with an AC/DC wristband and hoped my surprise wouldn’t be blown.
And it wasn’t; I whipped off the wristband and flashed Jonny my wrist. “Yes!” Onlookers applauded, and my feet haven’t touched the ground since.
I wanted my answer to last forever, and now it will. (In fact, it’s healing nicely.)
Congratulations to the both of ya!
Sunday, November 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s another cute bondage picture from the Bondage Blog, a gagged blonde pixie of a girl this time:
The tape may be a good idea, she looks like she might bite!
Tuesday, November 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Slash fiction isn’t usually much on the menu around here. But in keeping with the theme from Sunday, I can’t resist posting this little gem involving the practical jokes of elves. Herewith: What to Do with a Tied Up Marchwarden by Khylaren and Larien Elengasse:
The proud marchwarden of Lothl?rien was nude and trussed neatly like a wild turkey, left for the seneschal of Rivendell to find.
“Well,” he drawled softly, crouching down next to Haldir. “Someone left me a wee gift.” He grinned inwardly as he saw the Marchwarden stiffen at the insult. There was nothing small about the L?rien Elf, and Glorfindel knew it. Broad shouldered and slim hipped; the other warrior was easily as tall as the Vanya.
Haldir’s eyes narrowed above the gag that prevented him from speaking, but his expression was plainly read; this was not his idea.
…
His perfect lips pursed slightly as he considered his options. Ravishment? No, he did not think that would do at all, for Haldir did not seem to be the type to be ravished. Seduction? Ah, yes, that was the answer. It was the key to unlocking the chains of composure that bound Haldir so tightly. The question was, how to seduce such a creature, and make him give into the need he so obviously suffered from? And to make him delight in giving in to it.
Haldir turned his head to the side, studying the shadowed profile of the Elf lying next to him, wondering if Glorfindel had fallen into reverie. He was embarrassed, humiliated, and angry at the seneschal’s treatment of him; swatting his behind like a naughty Elfling! And then leaving him this way, trussed up with nowhere to go, and nothing to do but feel the delicious ache of desire that had build steadily within him. He closed his eyes in frustration, and felt the mattress dip slightly as Glorfindel rolled to face him.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Friday, October 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Emmie at Girls in the Bag doesn’t worry about sex toy baggage, mostly, but she does have her limits:
the person whose toys i will refuse to use is the one to whom i have to explain why we can’t have anal sex and then regular sex in that order.
I do believe this question is setting an all-time ErosBlog record for interested and interesting responses!
Thursday, October 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Two responses so far to the question below. One correspondent assures me that cuffs (and paddles) are not like sex toys — as long as they are clean, she avers, a guy is safe to keep them and use them serially.
Another lady writes in with the sensible proposal that toys kept should be only those which were and are to be used on or in the person doing the keeping. If a guy had a buttplug that his last girlfriend used on him, and wanted her to carry on the tradtion, she wouldn’t freak; but if he had a vibrator that…well, I’ll let her speak for herself:
“But if he produced a vibrator that he’d used to insert into his previous girlfriend, would I want to have it inserted into me? Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! No thank you!!!!!!!! I don’t care
how many times you’ve washed it! Icky baggage!”
Just so. Unfortunately, this lady isn’t much help on the cuffs question and other toys where the distinction between his-n-hers is less clear. As she puts it: “Don’t ask me what to do with the sex sling. :-)”
Wednesday, October 8th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Tara and Jeff (more horny Canadians!) at Naughty Secrets have asked an interesting question:
When you buy sex toys in a relationship and then break up, who gets the toys?
They go on to say “Obviously the woman” (which I’m not so sure about, depending on the toys) and then ask more questions:
Should she keep the toys? Should she bring them to the next relationship? Do toys have baggage?
From time to time I’ve pondered that very question. See, I happen to be possessed of a quality set of Velcro-fastened fuzzy-lined wrist and ankle cuffs with handy D-rings for attaching to things. She bought them for me as a gift – and of course the real gift was her wearing them for me. We had some fun with them, too. (It’s good that I don’t have any photos of her wearing them, or the blogging reflex to link one to “we had some fun” would be overwhelming.) And then of course we split up and I kept the cuffs — after all, they were mine.
However, every time I’ve moved them or seen them since, it’s caused me to wonder: “Why am I keeping these?” Seriously, if I met another lady who wanted to play that way, wouldn’t it freak her out to be tied up with lightly used cuffs? Lightly used, that is, by the ex girlfriend? They’re clean and they don’t smell, but still. I am not wise in the ways of women, but my spidey sense is giving me hell over the idea. Possibly not the smartest move, Lothario.
I hate to say it, because it means I should throw away that perfectly good set of cuffs: But yeah, I’d say toys have baggage.
Monday, July 14th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
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.
Wednesday, July 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
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….
Monday, May 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
In case you were curious, an Interview with an Autofellator. A highlight:
Imagine having someone suck on your cock who knows exactly what you’re feeling at every moment; who can adjust every variable instantly to provide you with maximum pleasure. Imagine (this one is going to be more of a stretch for non-cocksuckers) sucking on the cock of a man who knows exactly how hard and fast to push, and when to pull out (for those of us who still have a gag-reflex). Having that much control means that I can have a variety of kinds of orgasms and can easily separate orgasm from ejaculation, and shoot a number of loads before having the final orgasm. It isn’t a substitute for sex with other people; it’s a completely different thing, like masturbation squared. It’s like any good sex: Sometimes it’s cerebral, sometimes the body takes over.
Wednesday, March 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Reuters reports that “O” Magazine (“The Art, the Fashion, The Fantasy”) has lost its lawsuit against Oprah, who “borrowed” the name for her magazine.
[The judge] said readers could not confuse Brockmeyer’s magazine containing photos of “whip-bearing, naked women engaged in sadomasochistic and lesbian acts” with Winfrey’s publication aimed at helping women improve their lives guided by the performer’s values.
…
“No ordinary prudent reader would view the contents of the magazines as similar and no reasonable reader seeking the contents of one magazine would turn to the other,” he said.
Playboy watch out! By this logic, the Boy Scouts of America could rename “Boy’s Life“, call it “Playboy”, and sell it with impunity.
Monday, January 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a cute site for your viewing pleasure: Bondage in Everyday Life.
No porn here, nor nudity even. Just a collection of photographs of real life bondage situations – college dorm pranks, women getting arrested, gagged-mouth protesters, people chaining themselves to things for causes, bondage in amateur theater, that sort of thing:
Sorry ladies, this site seems to collect female bondage pictures exclusively.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, November 14th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
This is too cute. From the twisted perverts (Bacchus means this only in the nicest possible way) over at BDSM Cafe we have Beanies in Bondage. Once again, Bacchus is not making this up.
Folks, this is why you read ErosBlog. Admit it, you know it’s true. While those other sex blogs (and most of the other blogs in the blogosphere) were linking to the done-to-death Bondage Barbie story, Bacchus went out and slaved away over hot link lists until he could bring you a hogtied furry stuffed bear wearing a ring gag and and a blindfold. Why you would want to see this remains a mystery, but at least it’s different.
Friday, October 11th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
The loquacious Fred on Everything advises young men that marriage is overrated:
As you ponder snuggling forever with Moon Pie, compare the lives of your bachelor and your married friends. The bachelors come and go as the mood strikes them, order their apartments with squalid abandon, drive Miatas or Harleys if they choose, and live in such pleasant dissolution as is consonant with continued employment. The married guy lives in a vast echoing mortgage beyond his means, drives sensible cars he doesn’t like, and loses his old friends because he isn’t allowed to hang out with them.
Self-help books to the contrary, marriage does not rest on compromises, but on concessions. You will make all of them. Perhaps it doesn’t have to be this way. But it is this way.
Moon Pie has only one reason for marriage: to get her legal hooks into you. She doesn’t think of it in these terms, yet, and she has no evil intentions. She just wants a nice quiet home in the remote suburbs where she can live uneventfully, raise progeny, and keep her eye on you.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
|
|
