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The Sex Blog Of Record
Wednesday, July 17th, 2024 -- by Bacchus
Whilst rummaging through one of my older backup folders, I happened upon an original sex story that was posted by its author to alt.sex.stories.moderated back in March of 2000. Because I saved it (for some long-forgotten reason that no doubt boils down to “I’m a data hoarder”) in its original Usenet email-like format with all headers, I’ll link to a copy of that .txt file for archival benefit, and for the edification of readers who were not around back then and may never have seen such a thing.
The story is titled “The Barn” and it’s by Paulinus Fang (aka “The Dirty Dentist”). A quick search of Google, Bing, Duck Duck Go, and Yandex turns up no trace of this story left anywhere on the searchable/living web, but the original ASSM posting contains a .sig/tagline with a link to Mr. Fang’s story page on Lycos. (Amazingly, the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine has a pretty good 2001 copy of his page, which is why I was able to drop that link.)
I’ll also post the story below, with fair warning that it’s a heavy BDSM/kidnap story that presents as noncon (which is to say, it reads as if it were depicting kidnapping and rape). Its original tagging includes a “NC? anal” tag, and that question mark is significant. As was common in those times, a plot twist late in the story implies, but does not 100% establish, the consent that initially seems absent from the text. In this, the story is truly an authentic artifact of its time and place. If you don’t want to read a story like that, now is your time to stop. (The full set of tags included in the original posting looks very incomplete to modern eyes; it was in its entirety “nc? anal, bdsm”.)
The Barn
The candles flickered as the air currents moved, stirred by the swing of the girl suspended by her wrists from the hook long ago driven into the beams of the old barn.
She waited, limply, no longer willing to try to break the bonds linking her to the ancient structure.
Few thoughts passed through her brain, her mind long since blank through deprivation of her senses. The blindfold smelt of him, the one who had dragged her to the barn, bound her and hung her like curing ham. She remembered it being placed around her face, the red pattern blurring as it passed closer to her, then only the dull light passing through the cloth.
She heard footsteps in the edge of her senses: was he back? What would happen? A sound, something hitting the floor, yet what? She did not know, would never know.
Hands touched her face, tracing slowly down her cheek below the blindfold, a finger nail scraping slowly down her neck. She shivered, shrank back, yet could not because of her bindings.
The hands were gone, silence, then they returned to her neck, touching her dress, two hands in the neck of the simple cotton dress. The fingers tightened then moved apart, stripping the dress from her back, tearing textiles asunder. The shriek of the cloth, destroyed, was the only noise.
The cooler air caressed her back, chilling the beads of sweat breaking her skin. The wait, the dread, the thoughts of what could happen, what price he would extract from her, were almost unbearable.
She felt the warmth of his breath on her ear before he spoke, softly to her. “You shouldn’t be here, you know that, don’t you?” he hissed. She swallowed, unable to speak through her dry mouth, but nodded her head.
“Nobody knows that you’re here,” he paused, the breath returned to her other ear, “you’re just a missing person. I can do as I please.” She felt him move away from her. Her ears strained for sounds indicating his intentions, but she heard nothing, only silence.
She arched her back, wracked with pain. Her brain screamed with shock yet was unable to register the site of the pain. After a few seconds the burn shot across her shoulders, followed instantly by sweat on her top lip. A second bolt of pain across her buttocks caused her to jerk again, then relax. She swung slowly, revolving on her rope with the tips of her toes touching the dusty floor. Then silence.
Braced for the next blow, she waited; the seconds passed slowly, becoming minutes, still waiting. Would she be released? Would she be free again? When would he strike her again? What had he used on her?
Still hanging by her wrists with the ache in her arms returning after becoming overridden by the two blows, she felt his presence. She thought how strange it was that she should become so tuned in to her environment even when deprived of the use of her eyes.
His hands were on her hips, turning her on the end of the rope, holding her firmly. Was this when he would finally cut her down? No! She felt his warm, naked body press against her from the rear, his fingers searching between her buttocks, touching the delicate flesh, the paper thin skin in her cleft, the thicker feel of his penis, the blunt end pushing, probing, searching. She clenched her buttocks, determined to stop his entry but could feel his fist, wrapped around his penis, holding it in position against her anus, his knuckles pushed into her firm buttocks. He pushed, slowly, steadily against her anus. Unable to resist the force her anus stretched until, with a sudden pop, he was inside her, his groan drowned out by her cry.
The sharp stinging of her anus increased as he entered her, turned to a burning, then eased as he slid in, his penis disappearing as he pushed. She felt full, full enough to burst, slightly uncomfortable with the fullness yet he unexpectedly did not start to thrust, he just waited with his penis buried deep in her rectum. The tears soaked into the blindfold.
After a few minutes he started to move slowly, backwards and forwards, sawing into her, deeply, his breathing rate increasing audibly behind her. She was powerless to offer any resistance, with her hands tied above her head and her feet hardly touching the ground. He stopped; she felt him adjust his position, then holding her firmly he started to move her forwards and backwards, pulling her further onto his penis, then pushing her away: it was as if he were masturbating with her anus. The sensation of fullness changed with her swinging motion on the rope. The rate increased until her held her firmly against him, his penis jerking in her bowels and he shot deeply into her. He pushed her forward, and his penis withdrew from her anus, the semen leaking out.
The girl was left hanging for a few moments, then without warning she collapsed to the floor, tasting dust in her mouth from the barn. She could feel the severed rope around her wrists being untied, as the pressure was released she felt the blood rush into her hands, the tingling pins and needles adding to her day of discomfort. As feeling returned, she reached up and slid the blindfold up her forehead. The light bursting into her eyes caused her to close them. Slowly she squinted though eyes half closed, adjusting to the light, trying to focus on her captor who stood over by a table, packing a riding crop and rope into a bag. He turned, saw her looking at him and spoke again in his soft voice. “Is it next weekend that we are going to visit your parents?”
And there you have it: an authentic sample of BDSM porn the way it was, back at the dawn of the new century!
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Monday, December 25th, 2017 -- by Bacchus
Did you wait up for Santa Claus last night? Was he in an unusually frisky mood, perhaps from drinking one of his antique North Pole stashes of Coca Cola with actual cocaine in it?
According to Spanking Blog this vintage Santa Claus Christmas advertising image is by Haddon Sundblom.
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Saturday, September 3rd, 2016 -- by Bacchus
“Honey? When I agreed to try couples therapy, this is NOT what I had in mind!”
Art by Bill Ward.
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Sunday, September 13th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
Hey, as a way to spend Thursday evening it beats going to the movies:
Thursday, January 22nd, 2015 -- by Bacchus
This probably isn’t effective pedagogy for a sex education class. But it looks like a fair amount of fun:
Pay attention: if you show a ruler in the first act, there should be a ruler spanking by the third act, right?
By now we can be sure that today’s volunteer guest lecturer has put in some time on the stripper pole. Also: it’s time for the spanking part of our demonstration!
Enough preliminaries. This is what you all came to see. Are you ready?
Photos are from the Fetish Network.
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Friday, April 19th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
During the many years I have been a fan, Kink.com has added and removed dozens of kink sites and partner channels of kinky adult entertainment. Navigating it all on the Kink homepage can be a challenge, even on a big screen. If you hit their home page in a state of wide-eyed horny confusion on a little phone? You may have a navigation problem!
For as long as I’ve had smart mobile phone, I’ve found that actually using just about any website is quite practical, even if I have to do a lot of pinching and swiping to zoom in on stuff. But navigating and searching? That’s a pain. I can thumb-type URLs and search terms, but it’s slow, and it adds friction, and it’s not as easy to scan search results en mass for the things I’m looking for. The result is, I now value portal sites in a way that reminds me of life before search engines. A short list of useful links in a mobile-friendly format (one column, no sidebars, large print) is the sort of thing I’ll actually “bookmark” and put on one of my home screens as an icon.
Thus, Kink Sites. It’s a mobile-device-friendly launchpad to every website and channel published by Kink.com:
Want a Kink Sites icon on your active iPhone screen? Just hit that little “arrow escaping from the screen” forwarding icon that’s bottom-center, and then selecting “Add to Home Screen” from the list of options that pops up. If you’ve got the ErosBlog iPhone wallpaper already, it will look something like this:
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Monday, November 19th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
Quote of the day:
“When people tell me that geeks are “virgins” or “don’t have sex,” I usually boggle at them and wonder if they have actually ever met any geeks.”
Annalee Newitz in “Why Do Geeks Like Kinky Sex?” at io9.com.
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Monday, December 26th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
The words I wrote six and a half years ago to celebrate the launch of Sex and Submission seem almost naive, now:
If you like your sex at all kinky, you’ll have noticed that genuinely kinky hard core porn is very hard to find. Bondage and spanking photos are a dime a dozen, but how often do you see a pretty woman in a leather collar with her wrists tied giving a big sloppy enthusiastic blowjob? Or bouncing happily up and down on some male porn star prong with her wrists clipped to the D-rings on her collar?
I’m not saying you can’t find it, but it’s not common and it’s rarely commercial.
Not only has the commercial production of explicitly-sexual BDSM porn exploded since I wrote that, but a great deal of stuff that already existed in obscure physical-format publications has found its way onto the web since then. And the web has continued to do its webby thing, constantly shuffling up and exposing to public view deep layers of our cultural history that were well-buried and almost completely invisible just a few years ago. So what once seemed radically uncommon now seems (in retrospect) to have been all over the place. Of course, it never actually was “all over the place”; it existed but it wasn’t available in any practical sense.
I was reminded of this by an old Europorn magazine cover I just encountered on Tumblr. The magazine is called Perverted Orgies #3 and the cover features a woman in bondage being screwed from behind while she sucks another man’s dick, while two more men fumble with details of her bondage. (You can see it here for however long the Tumblr link may last.)
I first saw that image before there was a World Wide Web. It was floating around on the Usenet image groups, in the form of a tiny little .gif about 250 pixels wide. It was a rectangle with an oval mask, so the actual image area was an oval about 200 pixels wide by maybe 110 pixels tall. But there was no way to tell that it was a magazine cover or what magazine cover it was — and even if you knew, the magazine it came from was doubtless long out of print, available only in the physical store of a dealer in old porn, if you could find one in your locale who had one of the sure-to-have-been-a-small-number that were ever printed.
The internet didn’t have a thing to do with the creation of this image. It’s older than the internet. But somebody with a primitive scanner liberated a low-resolution version of this “item of culture” from the bonds of paper, way back in the late 1980s, and put it on the internet. And then, with the marches of time and progress, somebody else with a better scanner did it again, in high resolution with better color fidelity, less cropping, and better preservation of the limited provenance info that is inherent to the magazine cover. And now the daily churn and ferment of the modern web brings it to the surface, from time to time and place to place, where it’s likely to be spotted, in time, by most everybody who is interested in seeing a thing like that. And I’ll wager (though I have not done the exercise) that a few minute’s effort spent typing that magazine information into torrent search engines would yield a more-or-less complete scan of the magazine.
For anybody with an interest in cultural history — and especially, aspects of cultural history that have ever been covert or officially suppressed, like porn — it’s this “everything floats up to the surface and becomes visible, in time” aspect of the Internet that is most miraculous. It’s far from complete, mind you — we have many centuries of recorded culture that have yet to be digitized and brought up from their buried layers of stone and canvas and paper and cellulose and vinyl and magnetic tape. But that’s a project that seems only to be accelerating. No day passes when I do not marvel at some internet find, some cultural treasure that “I can’t believe somebody put this on the internet!” But they do, and they (the whole world!) do more with every day that passes.
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Thursday, November 3rd, 2011 -- by Bacchus
As I’ve made abundantly clear before, I generally prefer porn that features models who are enjoying their work, and that’s especially true when the porn is BDSM porn. It’s hard to play Mr. Concern-Troll about a bondage model with such an infectious grin on her face:
Too, shots like that one help to balance out the reproachful looks she ends up giving the photographer, when she begins to suspect he’s going to make her do something especially kinky:
Photo Credits: Hard Tied.
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Friday, September 16th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
Did you ever get an old U.S. military veteran with Pacific experience talking about his experiences in Asian whorehouses? There’s a story I’ve heard more than once about something called “the basket trick.” It was supposedly expensive. The deal was, a girl sitting in a basket with a hole in it would be lowered onto a man’s dick while a couple of other girls would slowly spin the basket.
This animated .gif reminds me of that story. Only, no basket!
Link found on Bondage Blog.
Friday, January 8th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
When I stumbled over this random Kink.com gallery, my first thought was “What an ambitiously-proportioned strap-on to be sucking!”
My second thought: Isn’t it time for Isis Love to abandon the stereotypical dominatrix sneer?
Do professional dominant ladies sneer like this during sessions? Is there a market demand for it? Or is it just a porn thing?
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Sunday, February 1st, 2009 -- by Bacchus
Today when I wandered over to the Stockroom website I found a poetry contest with a prize worth more than professional poets tend to make upon publication these days. The booty is a special edition pink version of their Bolero Straightjacket:
Apparently if pink doesn’t work for you as a prize, they’ll substitute a black one, or even (you fussy winner, you!) their more standard-cut Premium Leather Straightjacket. (The black Bolero has been previously featured on ErosBlog; and now they have a red version as well.)
So fire up your poetical engines and start cranking out some (un)suitable verse! “There once was a man from Nantucket…”
Er, on second thought, I’m pretty sure a limerick is not going to win this one.
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Friday, December 26th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Penny Flame, in this picture, could pass as the very model of a 1950s pinup girl. Could she not?
However, this is the twenty-first century, and Penny’s apparently a twenty-first century sort of girl. For instance, you never got to see the 1950s pinups enjoy a spot of husband-spanking:
And this sort of thing? It would have been right out:
And as for pinup-girl blowjobs? Or ride-em cowboy kinky bondage sex? Nope, sorry. For that, you need a thoroughly modern pinup girl.
The pictures are courtesy of Men In Pain.
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Saturday, October 11th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I don’t do very many pure “go buy some shit” blog posts, because it’s very easy for sex blogs to go overboard that way. But sometimes I see something that’s just too deliciously bizarre not to point out.
Anyway, last night I went surfing to see what was new in sex toys, and what I discovered instead was new sexy stuff in the masks and BDSM hoods areas.
What caught my eyes in particular were these expensive, spectacular, and surreal leather bunny hoods, in black or white:
(Sadly the carrot dildo is not included.)
Continuing in the animal vein, check out this scary-but-very-handsome zippered dog-face hood:
You may or may not find these sexy, but you’ve got to admit they catch the eye!
Wednesday, October 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember about two weeks ago, when I mentioned the new public bondage site, coming from our kinky friends at Kink.com?
Well, Public Disgrace is now live, and looks to be living up to (some of) its promises.
About half the pictures in the sample galleries are close-in shots of hardcore bondage sex in what look to be protected, semi-outdoor spaces. To be honest, those aren’t terribly interesting to me, because I have a harder time with suspension of disbelief, and so there isn’t a lot of newness there. To me it’s “just porn”, with (by 21st century standards) no particularly transgressive edge.
On the other hand, I find the soft-core “pure” public bondage shots to be more interesting, because they seem to occur in genuinely public settings, complete with interested onlookers:
I will confess I find the branding for this new site a little confusing. If the goal is, to use their words, “unique street scenes of erotic humiliation”, what’s disgraceful about that? If the fantasy of a woman in chains is that she has to do what you make her do, I get that she may be embarrassed or humiliated by the public exposure, but I don’t see any disgrace in it; to me, disgrace connotes an aspect of guilt or sin or wrongdoing or bad behavior, and one of the essential transactions at the core of BDSM is that the submissive is liberated of responsibility for the things he or she is “made” to do. Hence, no disgrace. Unless the disgrace is supposed to be in the eye of the beholder, the putative onlooker shouting “that’s disgraceful!” or getting violent, like this guy?
Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I was reminded, Sunday night, of the strange way in which there’s no one truth about love or lust or romance or about anything else interesting to humans. The Nymph and I went to see Vicki Christina Barcelona, the latest Woody Allen movie. I enjoyed it right well — and Penelope Cruz is just brilliant in her role — but it also gave me a modest insight of sorts.
In the movie, there’s a love triangle that is brief, implausible, and complex. (“Complex” is my eighty-cent college word; my blue collar brother-in-law would be content to say “fucked up”, in a tone of voice suggesting an unacceptable depth of complexity but without any connotation of condemnation.) And yet, just as I was marveling at the very implausibility of the arrangement, I was startled to realize “no, this is just remarkable for being in a movie; it’s not the least bit more complicated than a thousand unusual romantic understandings I’ve seen people reach in the real world, or describe on their personal blogs.” People, real people even more so than scripted people, are willing and able to make the most astonishing compromises and bargains (physical, emotional, financial) in order to get the love, affection, validation (and, yes, sex!) that they need.
Hardly a deep or original insight, but then, I never claimed different. Still, it served to remind me of what I love about the sex blog genre (and to a lesser extent, blogs in general) — namely, that they provide a relatively unfiltered window into the inner romantic and emotional lives of a great many more people than we would normally know well enough (in meat space) to know on that level. And that’s just interesting.
Today’s example is an excerpt from Bitchy Jone’s Diary, in which she is talking about the big strong man she enjoys hurting, and the reasons he enjoys being hurt by her. That’s one of the categories of sexual bargains that usually overstrains the limited capacities my empathic sexual imagination; and so — despite bearing firmly in mind that an explanation of what’s going on for these people may not speak with authority about any other people — I found it fascinating and instructive:
I live in a small, papery ordinary house. I have radiators, I have chairs and tables, but these things are all built practicality, not practical evil. I do not have access to one of those fortresses built out of rusty steel columns where they make the kinky porno. I do not have a room with red walls. The only thing I can really tie Jack to and not have him killcrushdestroy (killcrushdestroy my soft nest of an IKEA catalogue interior that is) is other parts of himself.
‘Cause the trouble is, with him, resistance is fertile.
For all I try and say that submission and masculinity work with each other not against each other: that the whole world has got it wrong with its stupid prevailing ideology about which way round bondage goes. But, no one listens to Cassandra Jones, the world of people-tied-up is built for tying up women. Every guide book, every instructional video is about tying up women, pretty much. Bondage for sex means bondage for being penetrated. So what of me? I like it tough and scary. I like the great big man brought down, down, down. Works brilliantly in my head. In real life: hard work.
Because I like to feel a huge rush of power over a conquered kingdom of a man. But because I reach so high it’s so much harder to bring the thing down low.
Sometimes he feels unscaleable and more often *unbreakable*. And broken is a wonderful state. But so much harder to achieve when starting with an unbreakable thing.
There is that little moment when I hurt him. Right at the start. He makes it very obvious: He assesses what I’m doing and works out if he can deal with it. And he always can — always finds a place to put it — but right before that you see the tiny panic before he *knows* that he can. I’m happiest right there. The moment before either of us remember that he is unbreakable.
Not that I am not in love with that brave thing. That self sacrifice. Once I said to him, ‘I want to him you on the backs of your thighs with a metal ruler.’
And he said, ‘Fine.’ He said ‘fine’ like I’d said ‘I want to go make a cup of tea.’
So I said — more fierce, but more fierce for me just means my jaw sets a little hard — ‘And I want you to hate it.’
He’s rolled over ready for me by now, so he’s looking back over his shoulder. ‘Well I don’t expect I’m going to like it very much.’
And I swoon, there, at the stoic and the brave and the acceptance of me and the things that I need. But I still pine for something more fragile. For more doubt and fear.
I make him fake it. Make him ask for it to stop. Make him ask me not to hurt him. But that’s a level up on the unreality game. And I know that if I wanted it the other way he’d ask me *to* do it too. He doesn’t like pain. He likes being brave. I honestly don’t know where his desire to feel brave would end. Where rationality would take over. I’d like to find out — let the bravery drive us, let it set the pace, decide when we stop – but it’s a frightening place I might end up.
Monday, September 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
“Google Suggest” Ignores Adult Search Preference Cookies
Google, as all sex blog readers probably know, filters porn (they call it “explicit sexual content”) out of your search results by default. They call this “Safe Search”, and you can turn if off by letting Google set a cookie in your browser. (Most ErosBlog readers have, presumably, done this.) No worries, it’s been like this for years. We’re used to it, and in many contexts it’s useful to have the filtered option.
Recently, however, Google introduced a dynamic on-the-fly search suggestion feature called Google Suggest. When you type Britney Spears into the search box, a drop-down appears with what Google calls “relevant suggested search terms” in real time:
Nerd response: Cool!
Sex blogger response: Hey, wait a minute! Isn’t something missing from that search box? Wouldn’t you expect to see “Britney Spears nude” on that list?
Let’s check. The list changes with every character you type, so let’s go “britney spears nu” and see if it fills in the suggestion:
Suspicious, but maybe all those “number one” sites are just crowding it out? Let’s make this impossible to miss, let’s try “britney spears nud”:
Whoa! Is that the sound of crickets I’m hearing? “Mom, Google Suggest won’t come out and play with me any more!”
At this point I hit the “Preferences” link and went to check my Safe Search setting; it forgets the “Do not filter my search results” setting every time I clean out all my cookies, and resetting it is the first thing I do after that. Nope, “Do not filter my search results” is checked! That’s not the problem.
And make no mistake, this is a problem, and not just for feelthy perverts like me. This is the sort of thing that sets mild-mannered eyeglasses-wearing librarians sputtering with rage, because once you start filtering out words, like “nude”, that do double duty as erotic signifiers and, you know, plain old information tags, you begin to muck up basic research of the sort that any high school civics class might legitimately be doing. Allow me to illustrate.
Does anybody remember John Ashcroft, and his infamous prudery that had him covering up fine art at the Department of Justice because the bare breasts offended him? Imagine you were trying to write a high school essay about public art and needed to reference that incident. If you actually Google John Ashcroft nude (shudder) you’ll get 39,000-ish results. But start typing that request into Google, and you’ll learn that while John Ashcroft singing “Let The Eagle Soar” might be relevant to your search request (with 10,500 results), “John Ashcroft nude” could not possibly be, even though there are four times as many potential results out there:
Again, we need to check to make sure it didn’t just get choked by having to select between too many potentially relevant suggestions. We can do that by typing more letters; “john ashcroft n” gets me “john ashcroft news” as the sole suggestion, and with “john ashcroft nu” we’re back to the sound of crickets. Sorry, seeker after knowledge, nothing with “nude” in it could possibly be relevant to your search, EVER.
That’s search engine prudery right there, and it’s as stupid and mindless as automated mechanical prudery always is.
Of course, I’m not dealing with search results filtering, what I’m complaining about is search suggestions filtering. But that’s a distinction without a difference, a nit only a lawyer could enjoy picking. Google already has a cookie on my computer telling them that I don’t want them to protect me from the pollution of my vital essences that is the adult internet; what earthly reason could they have for ignoring that preference in determining which searches to show me in the suggestion box?
Just to show the full ridiculousness that is Mrs Grundy as played by The Mechanical Turk, let’s search for dear old Jenna, once said to be the most-searched woman on the internet:
That settles it. The Mechanical Turk “knows” damned well who I’m searching for, knows when I’m two characters into her last name, but it can’t mechanically imagine that “jenna jameson nude” (with nearly half a million search results out there) might be at least as relevant as “jenna jameson neck tattoo”? Sorry my friends, but inside the amazing Mechanical Turk there sits a very human prude.
Again, it’s easy to imagine lots of good business reasons why Google might want to filter even the mildest adult topics out of its search suggestion tool. That’s not my point.
My point is that for many people, Google is only useful if they can get the unfiltered version. Google knows this. Google makes it easy to set the “don’t filter me” button. But what good is that, if they then silently ignore the setting?
OK, now let’s have some fun looking at all the things Google Suggest refuses to suggest.
How about a good spanking? That’s only about as kinky as six inches of your average garden hose these days, plus there’s the whole universe of information out there about why you shouldn’t do it to your kids. Surely Google Suggest has something for the spanking searcher?
Google Suggest says: No spankings for you!
How about porn? If I type “por” into my search bar, you think maybe “porn” might be a relevant search to suggest?
Duh, no, silly me.
Ok, would you like to look at some fine rubber nipples? Or, you know, buy some, for your baby’s bottle or for your plumbing supply store? Sorry, you’re shit outta luck — Google Suggest can offer you “nippleplay” (presumably because the guy writing the filter didn’t get warned against it), but the Mechanical Prude has never heard of a nipple that was relevant to anybody:
That’s enough for now, although readers are invited to find other, especially laughable “never relevant” stop words that choke Google Suggest. Have fun teasing the Mechanical Prude!
Wednesday, September 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Bondage Blog, which can be trusted to stay on top of important developments in the kinky porn department, reports here on the newest project from Kink.com. It’s a public bondage extravaganza by the name of Public Disgrace, and it’s going to make a lot of you think you’re not living in the right cities:
Site goes live on October 1, but there’s a preview shoot you can buy if you just can’t wait.
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Saturday, May 31st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I still remember thinking in my naive pre-internet youth that “kinky stuff” had to be a purely male thing, that “no woman would want that sort of thing”. And of course, from there it would follow that male kinkiness was a sort of dangerous perversion, if it could have no expression with willing partners.
Ah, how little I knew!
Of course, these days anybody who reads sex blogs written by women (as are a large majority of the ones that have, you know, actual words) knows better.
As pointless as it can be for a man to speculate or generalize about the complex mental machineries of female arousal, you ladies should be aware that we still do it. I’m not sure we could refrain from doing it, to be honest; if anything’s hardwired into male behavior, modeling and attempting to game female sexual arousal is probably that thing. And one outcome of all the speculating and generalizing, for me, has been a partial theory of what women enjoy about rough kinky sex, bondage, and BDSM — really, that whole spectrum of sexuality that doesn’t quite fit the traditional hearts-and-flowers romance model.
I haven’t got time for a thousand words, so how about a picture?
It’s from Sex And Submission, and the rest of the shoot has plenty of ropes and gags and whips and toys and power-tool vibrators and bondage blowjobs and complex rigging with pulleys and all of the other overcomplicated gadgetry that men bring to the hobbies they really enjoy. But this one picture, I think, captures the essence of what’s in it for the ladies. Sometimes (maybe often, but I’m still trying not to overgeneralize here) women want to feel like a strong man like Mark Davis wants them, wants them so intensely that his own “better impulses” and socially-conditioned docility are just overwhelmed by his desire and lust for them. And they enjoy the idea, perhaps embodied in the photo above, that such a man will simply grab them and do what he will — because for the woman, that outcome is the ultimate proof of her own irresistible sexual attraction and desirability.
Where fantasy and reality differ, of course, is that a strong man who lacks that much self-control is dangerous — he cannot safely be allowed within about thirty miles of any human settlement. But a trustworthy man who can still project that aura of dangerous uncontrolled lust? He, it turns out, is a popular fellow indeed.
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Thursday, May 15th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
One thing I like about writing a sex blog, in this era of increasing porn saturation, is that as the competition heats up, and production values increase, I’m seeing more and more porn that looks like art, especially from the high-quality porn producers like Kink.com or (for your non-kinky examples) Femjoy or Domai.
It used to be that a shot like this one, of Candice Nicole enjoying an enforced contemplative post-ejaculatory moment during a Sex And Submission shoot, would have come only from the studio of one of the “arty” guys like Craig Morey or Richard Kern:
My problem with erotic art photography is that, historically, it has tended to strike me as self-conscious and defensive, and in its defensiveness, it often grew boring. In its worst form, we get that endless flood of semi-abstract nudes that congest web galleries and college sophomore life photography classes. You know what I’m talking about: the curve of a buttock or breast, usually upside down or at an odd angle, often pressed against some random implausible texture like old roofing tin, presented in black and white with funky lighting so as to make the whole project safely non-sexual.)
Luckily, as the standards and technology of porn photography get better, I’m seeing a best-of-both-worlds convergence, with your favorite subscription porn shack pumping out art-quality photos of a volume and diversity and unapologetic lustful sexuality that even the best “erotic art” photographers never seemed to manage. And I love it!
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Thursday, May 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is a little bit gross (OK, it’s a lot gross) so I think I’ll just link you. Beware of festering zombie dick!
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Tuesday, March 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Camping in the desert with fetish model Adriana Sage is not like any camping you’ve ever seen. It’s getting dark when she gets to camp, so she pitches her tent, half-wearing a fetching rubber number:
In the morning, it’s time to haul some water. Nipple clamps are for style, we assume:
Then it’s out onto the sand for the day’s entertainment, with horsey tail buttplug and saliva-lubricated crystal dildo:
From the August 2004 edition of Taboo magazine.
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Sunday, March 16th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This is an oil-on-copper work by an artist (Adam Johan Braun) who lived between 1748 and 1827, so it’s from at least 180 years ago, minimum. If the artist painted this work before he turned sixty, it’s a cool two centuries old. Talk about kinky themes being timeless:
Found by a Spanking Blog reader in a European auction catalog. Details here.
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Saturday, February 23rd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
From Bondage Blog. Commentary seems superfluous:
Saturday, February 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There’s a video up at Atlanta Bondage under the title Can’t A Girl Pee In Peace? (Backup link.) I’m not going to re-publish it here, because it’s not, to my eye, erotic, nor funny either. However, it has some interesting social implications that aren’t likely to get mentioned anywhere else, there not being very many places that combine occasional social analysis with comfort in referencing a video clip featuring bare boobies and mildly kinky porn.
The “girl” in question is pretty clearly, to my eye at least, a model for one of the many porn sites that cater to the public urination fetish (subfetish category: women squatting to pee in the public streets). This model is bare breasted, smiling, and squatted-down right in the middle of some sort of street or public way (perhaps a wharf, or pedestrian mall). Here’s a cropped still from the beginning of the clip, in which I’ve highlighted the villain of the piece, to whom I am semi-arbitrarily assigning a male pronoun:
In the clip, he strides forward and kicks our incontinent heroine solidly in the ass, nearly knocking her over. The remainder of the clip shows her steadying herself with a hand, then turning and standing up to confront her attacker.
So, what’s going on here, and why is it interesting?
As it happens, I just read a piece by Chuck Klosterman in Esquire magazine about declining interest in professional boxing. As Klosterman explains it, people have lost interest in the sport of boxing because they no longer have a visceral relationship with the idea of hitting people or getting hit. A fine theory about which I have little opinion, never having been a fan myself of hitting people or being hit or watching big burly dudes do either one. But I was fascinated by Klosterman’s next line of speculation:
Now, I realize all of this is (obviously) more good than bad. I’m happy that avoiding physical confrontation has become so easy that I don’t even have to think about it. But I wonder: If the decline of boxing is the product of civilization’s detachment from physical fear, what is the accompanying downside? I think one possible answer might be a depressing brand of social overconfidence.
It is impossible to deny that the culture is coarsening. Everyone concedes this — even the people who are happy about it. It is now acceptable to say almost anything, about almost anyone, in a public space, and for no reason whatsoever. There is no line to step over, because such lines no longer exist. And I think those boundaries disappeared the moment people really, truly lost the fear of getting punched in the face. Americans have understood this intellectually for decades, but I don’t think we accepted it in totality until now. Adults are now so insulated by technology (and so protected by modernity) that the possibility of a physical consequence for any action is a psychological nonfactor. We have removed interpersonal fear from day-to-day behavior. Today, boxers are the only people who get hit for fucking up.
So, what does this have to do with our punted piddle-princess? Everything! His foot hitting her ass is a classic example of generation-gapped cultural conflict.
By my own lights, the peeing porn starlet was misbehaving. People who enjoy seeing girls peeing in public have a fetish, a modestly rare one. Most everybody else doesn’t want to see it, and they surely don’t want to step in it, or walk around it. At best, it’s horribly rude and socially transgressive to be doing what she was doing. Responsible pornographers would secure a movie set and provide sufficient extras to achieve the same visual effect without imposing their fetish on unwilling passers-by. And they would hire a dude with a mop, to clean up after.
I think it’s fair to speculate further that she and her photographer knew she was violating the social contract, but were sanguine about getting away with it. They probably worried about police intervention — perhaps they had a spotter watching for cops and ready to call a warning — but I suspect that it never occurred to her that any of the passers-by upon whom she was imposing her bare breasts and pussy and urine stream would take physical action against her to interrupt or to punish the imposition. People of her generation, or mine, just don’t do that sort of thing.
But our man (and I do think it’s a man, but I’m not sure) with the crazed white Einstein hair and the armload of files is not from our generation. He’s from a generation in which people cared a lot more about public propriety, and frequently took it upon themselves to enforce it with direct action. Doubtless he was offended by some half-naked [four letter term of derision] pissing in his path. Doubtless he considered he was doing a public service by applying a swift kick in the ass to both interrupt and punish the breach of the social contract. I have no doubt he felt good about doing it, and the way he stops and squares his stance after the kick suggests that he was ready to do it again if need be, or to stay and defend his actions otherwise. If we had an audio track, we’d be hearing somebody getting a piece of his mind about now.
So, who is really the villain of the piece? The pisser, or the kicker?
I’d like to weasel out with “a pox on both their houses”, but I need to acknowledge that it’s really not quite that simple. The trouble with enforcing social contracts with fists and feet is that social contracts aren’t really contracts, and they tend to get made up on the spot by cultural bigots and then enforced on people who never consented to them. (Don’t believe me? Ask Matthew Shepard.) I don’t really want people in my society feeling free to piss on my toes for profit, but I’m a lot more worried about living in a society where disagreements about appropriate public behavior get “settled” by sudden assault.
So, I guess my bottom line is, ix-nay on the ass-kicking. But I do agree with Klosterman that by creating a world where the ass-kicking is improbable, we’ve also created a world full of people who feel free to (metaphorically, most days) pee on your toes and tell you to go fuck yourself. That’s good more often than it’s bad, but it’s definitely a mixed blessing.
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Friday, February 8th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This kinky anime cartoon with LOLcats-styled caption from Spanking Blog (post and larger version here) made me laugh:
Hey, if cute animals can talk, why not cute cartoon girls?
Tuesday, January 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There are certain sights that convey more than they show. This one, for instance, shows Berlin and Madison Young kneeling attentively, and not overdressed. But what does it say?
It says “somebody is going to have a good weekend!”
Which, if you look at the rest of the shoot, turns out to be the case.
From The Training Of O.
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Monday, January 7th, 2008 -- by Aphrodite
 I’m pretty sure that picture is a photoshop job (remember, we don’t play the Photoshop game here, kthx). But I found it last night as I was looking through my folder of naughty pictures and it fit my mood.
The end of 2007 sucked. J and I broke up, for good this time. My mother is sick and I moved back home to help take care of her. Home is a small town in a part of the US where good girls don’t have sex, much less kinky sex, and there aren’t many good guys available anyway. I’m getting older and it’s starting to show, I have some gray hair and wrinkles around my eyes. Not many chicks can rock that look.
So I saw this picture last night and I guess because I’m feeling sorry for myself I thought, “I’ll never stand at that corner again.” I hope that isn’t true, I’d like my last time having sex to be way better than it was. But it could happen. That got me thinking about what I would do different if I knew a session would be my last time having sex.
1. It wouldn’t be a pity fuck.
2. It would need to be somebody I care about, no anonymous pickups or drunk fucks.
3. I would try harder, to make sure I had fun and that my partner did too.
4. I would try to make sure it was as hot as possible for both of us (like, being outside or maybe some bondage, whatever my partner and I both like and want to do or try).
My list isn’t very flattering on me, but thinking about it will hopefully make me a better sexual partner, if I get another chance.
What would you want to do for your last time having sex?
Monday, December 3rd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
ErosBlog is late, as usual, with the kinky celebrity sex news. But it doesn’t matter, because there’s no particular reason to actually believe these sorts of tabloid accounts:
Britney Spears’ Mulholland Drive mansion is equipped with a double-locked, X-rated “Fantasy Room” filled with ticklers, whips and fur-trimmed handcuffs hanging from the metal bedframe.
The second-floor room also features a mirrored ceiling, a glass jar containing spanking paddles and a closet full of kinky outfits, according to an “insider” who stumbled into the den of sin.
“She wears Catholic schoolgirl uniforms, a maid’s uniform and a Cinderella outfit,” claims the mole.
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Sunday, September 9th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
In which Slave Barb seduces someone who’s not into “that kinky submission stuff” into letting her polish his boots:
“You are not going to the show wearing those boots are you?”
I teased.
“Why not? What’s wrong with them?” he looked down, turning his foot from side to side.
“They’re filthy and they look like hell. You should let me clean them up for you.”
He stared hard at me. “Look, I know you’re in to all that kinky submission stuff, but I am not. And I am not interested.”
“I offered to clean and shine your boots for you, I didn’t offer to be your slave or for you to spank me. Piss off!”
“Hey, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t understand all the stuff you’ve been getting in to. It’s…weird.”
“Weird? Have you ever seen me as happy and well adjusted as I have been in the past year? No? Well then, I guess I’m just weird.”
“Do my boots really look shitty?” Ahhh, appealing to his fashion sense is the way to his heart.
“Yes, you look like a perfectly disheveled crack addict, not the dashing punk you’re trying to look like.” I smirked at him. “Let me get myboot kit and work on them real quick. You like how shiny MY boots look, right?”
He glanced down at my feet. “You can make mine look like yours?”
“Well, yours won’t grow a high heel, but yes, I can make them look shiny and pretty.”
“Ok. But no kinky stuff”
“Oh, shut up and sit down and pour yourself some wine”
I hustled over to the cabinet and got out my boot kit. Crap, why did I push him so hard? I mean,
yeah, I’ve had a crush on him forever — he’s had a crush on me forever too, but… I swung by the kitchen to fill up a little bowl of water to go with the saddle soap.
He was sitting on the couch and was fidgeting with the cork screw.
I hiked up me skirt as I knelt down on the rug at his feet.
“What are you doing?” He asked, dropping the cork screw and backing up as far as the back of the couch would allow.
“I’m pulling up my skirt so it doesn’t get dirty — would you prefer that I take it off?” I asked wickedly, with a grin.
“N-n-no.” he replied.
“Good. Because I wasn’t intending on doing this nude.” He smiled back.
I picked up his boot. Well, I tried to pick it up. “Look, relax — I’m going to black your boots, not cut your foot off.”
“Sorry.” He let me pick up his boot this time.
I pulled his foot towards me and settled it on my thigh as I knelt. “Hmmm….”
“Hmm, What?”
“I was thinking ‘hmmm… what a mess’….”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
I picked up the lighter.
“What’s that for?” He started pulling away.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake! Sit still, drink your Shiraz and be quiet. Obviously you’re not interested in what I’m doing or your boots wouldn’t look like this.”
I looked over his boots and ah-ha! A loose thread. I lit that Zippo and melted it off.
“Oh!” He exclaimed.
“Yeah. Oh.” He grinned down sheepishly.
I checked out his other boot and burned off another 2 threads.
Back to the first boot… I opened my tin of saddle soap. “Want to smell?, I asked as I lifted the tin to his face.
“Mmmm, nice. Much nicer that I thought it would be.”
I picked up my little brush, dipped it in that little bowl of water and lathered up the saddle soap.
I spread it over his right boot, working it into all the crevices around the sole, the harness and up the shaft. I put down the brush and started rubbing the lather in with my moist hands. I looked up surreptitiously thru my bangs to see the expression on his face. Bingo! A lovely cross between ecstasy and bewilderment. What have we here? I laughed to myself — a Boot Top in the making?
There’s a lot more, complete with flaming boot polish.
Monday, August 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Well, dang if my jaw didn’t drop to the floor when I discovered that legendary porn star Ginger Lynn has come out of retirement to shoot a bondage scene with Mark Davis for Kink.com’s Sex and Submission:
It’s fun for a number of reasons, not least of which is that Ginger is old enough to have developed that whole soft, well-rounded, mature / MILF-y look. Rode hard and put away wet? Sure. But don’t say that like it’s a bad thing. This is a woman who knows how to have fun:
From the Kink.com marketing copy:
Sex and Submission proudly presents pornstar legend Ginger Lynn in her first real BDSM sex scene with boyfriend Mark Davis. With much excitement and anticipation she explores her submissive side in great depth. Mark is tough with her at times and brings her to that breaking point where she struggles to fight through the pain and discomfort. But the pleasurable rewards and lovingness displayed throughout makes Ginger a very happy submissive. The chemistry between the two and the genuine reactions from porn celebrity Ginger Lynn is really something special!
Googling around for more information about the shoot, I found this, including some great quotes by Ginger:
“I’ve fallen madly in love. I have finally met a man who can keep up with me, who is my match in bed, and that man is Mark Davis. We met at a fundraiser for Nicki Hunter and have been inseparable ever since,” Lynn told XBIZ. “I figured if I was ever to make a comeback, I would do something I have never done before, show something I have never shown before, to express myself the same way I do at home. Very few men – none – have been able to bring that out of me the way Mark Davis has.”
“I’ve always been known as the girl next door, naughty-but-nice. At home, I’m sick, twisted, kinky and I have no boundaries. I don’t want to go into detail, but I will be living out my fantasies on film that I have only been able to do in my private life up until now. I may alienate some fans. They may be scared off, they may be fabulously surprised. At this point in my career and my life, it really doesn’t matter to me. I am going to do something I want to do.
“I’m a naughty girl.”
Ready for more? The Submission of Ginger Lynn is a 48 minute move, for members.
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Friday, July 20th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
As any man who’s ever washed himself very very thoroughly in the shower can tell you, standard bar soap (I’m talking soap, regular soap, men soap for getting clean, like good old plain anti-bacterial yellow Dial, not the foo-foo stuff that women use that’s full of oat flakes and lavender oil and glycerin and lanolin and gentle moisturizers) can burn a bit if it gets up inside on the tender membranes. So this was a predictable result:
Next, we headed for the shower, which was our original plan. I had to brush my hair before getting in there, and as I studied my reflexion in the mirror, he prodded my ass with his entirely unlubricated, dry finger, which, you imagine, didn’t make it very far. He soaped it up and renewed the activity, and then soaped up his cock and plunged it inside as I bent over the sink. I could see both my pained and his ecstatic expression in the mirror, as he fucked me rough and raw with his soapy member.
It was uncomfortable – much like the way it used to be when we just started doing it – and even though I am quite comfortable with it after a generous application of lube, soap seemed to have gotten absorbed by the tissues or dried out, making it increasingly more uncomfortable with every thrust. I did try to breathe deeply and allow him to have me till the end, which he did.
We got into the shower, and after a few minutes I realized that my insiders WERE ON FIRE – at first I thought it was because of the roughness of the sex, but then I figured it was because of the soap, which is not designed for prolonged application to mucusy membranes. IT BURNED. It burned so much that I began to cry, got out of the shower, and placed myself over the toilet as I poured and poured water on myself in the attempts to alleviate the torture, all while crying the entire time. He got out of the shower too and squatted by my side, looking concerned. “It’s like having soap in your eyes,” I explained (only not quite SO bad). And it wasn’t a good kind, titillating, endorphine-friendly burn, like that produced by ginger. It was just a mean soapy burn, reminding me of Fight Club for some reason.
Thanks to Figging.com for the link.
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Monday, June 4th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
After some eroticized gardening, Farm Wife Amber moves on to sassing her husband:
And did I mention that beer bottle shoved up my cunt? My husband has this habit of leaving empty beer bottles in his office, and I get mad every single time. One time I emptied one onto his head, even.
When I complained about it one more time last night, he said he leaves them out for me to masturbate with. “Oh yeah?” I said provocatively, dropping my pants and underwear, spreading myself in a chair, and demonstrating exactly what he had described.
I don’t think he’d ever seen a beer bottle so crudely misappropriated, and he was quite fascinated. Sassy, you think?
Thursday, May 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Has anybody stopped to marvel, lately, at what a wonderful world it has become for folks with numerically minor fetishes? There’s the internet for finding and meeting (and fucking) kindred souls, there’s a growing “whatever floats your boat” sentiment among civilized people, and there’s a robust world economy for sex toys of every description.
And boy, when I say every description, I’m not kidding. The latest sex miracle in silicone is … well, let’s go to the visual, or you won’t believe me.
Behold!
Ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at the SiFeet Pussy Foot. [2012 update: Sadly the Pussy Foot is no longer sold. But be ye not forlorn! There’s always the Cyberskin Foot Job Stroker or the Belladonna Foot Soldiers.]
The marketing text is like a syllabus for aspiring foot fetish marketers, fascinating therefore in its own right:
The SiFeet Pussy Foot is the ultimate fantasy sex toy for foot fetishists. This size 6, 100% silicone foot is cast in pure silicone from a real life actual, beautiful female foot. In the sole of this lovely foot is a fully functional and totally fuckable silicone vagina.
This pure silicone foot is soft, smooth, and incredibly sexy. The toes are decorated with acrylic toenails painted glossy pink, making the Pussy Foot seem even more real.
From the toes to the heel and ankle, great time and effort has been taken to insure that the Pussy Foot seems real.
The feature that makes the Pussy Foot even better than an actual foot is the pussy located on the sole of the foot. You can passionately fuck the foot in a way you’ve never been able to before. It is the perfect combination of foot and vagina.
From the toe to heel the pussy foot is 9″ long. The ankle has a 2½” diameter. The distance from the entrance in the vagina to the exit-hole at the top of the ankle is 6½”.
Anyone who appreciates beautifully sexy feet should love the Pussy Foot. This silicone foot is terrific for massaging and erotic rubbing as well as for having hot sex with it.
This silicone sex toy is also a convenient practice tool for preparing to get hot and kinky with actual feet. You are sure to have your technique down to a science when you train with the Pussy Foot.
The silicone SiFeet Pussy Foot cleans easily with soap and warm water or After Glow Toy Wipes.
The SiFeet Pussy Foot is available in a left or a right, sold separately.
If you were looking for “the perfect combination of foot and vagina”, well, now you’ve found it. But it’s the last line, in bold text, that gets me. Left foot or right? Or do you want to collect the whole set?
Let the implications of that photo sink in for a moment.
I’m not going to pussyfoot around, here. (Face it, you knew you weren’t getting out of this blog post until I’d made that pun.) The pussy foot comes in left foot and right foot? Why in all the Stygian depths would someone care whether they are boning a silicone vagina in a left foot, instead of a right one? “No, no, it has to be a left foot, or it’s no good!”
But, in the end, that’s the point. It doesn’t matter why. With fetishes, there usually isn’t a good why. What matters is, if you’ve got a thing for slipping it to a pretty left foot, we live in a world where you can get one, with just a little help from your buddy Benjamin. Don’t let anybody tell you that’s not an excellent world to be living in.
Saturday, April 28th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
You’ve got to love any essay on kinky sex that starts out:
I didn’t just want to write a wank post. There are plenty of posts on the internet about how kinky sex is all whee and shiny and woah, just look at me go!
I. Win. At! Perverted! SEX!
I didn’t want to write one of those. But I wanted to write something that was as real and close and true as I could get it.
That’s from What it Feels Like to Hurt a Man Until it Makes You Have an Orgasm. (Thanks to Bondage Blog for the link.)
From the essay:
I rush the start. The shortest sharpest route to hurter and hurtee. Most often: hair pulling. I love hair pulling. It hurts, you can move the head around, it’s dehumanising. It has everything. It always seems to make the mouth go squooshy and limp. Open and aroused. That mouth thing again.
There is only one problem with hair pulling – aesthetically I love the shaved head look on a guy. It’s that stupid submissive+masculinity fetish I have. Imagine my dilemma. Oh, the quandary. Shaved-head vs pulling-hair. The trial of my life. Who’d be me?
Anyway, so if he has no hair or a super short crop (mmm, joy/frustration/joy), I’ll twist his nipples or find some other hair to pull. ‘Cause he’s naked, right, you knew that? I’m probably not naked, but probably not dressed. And certainly not *dressed* *up*.
Oh, and this stage is really *the* *best* if he is on a chair, in the cuffs and I am on his lap. *The* *best*. All interrogationy – and super hot to the power of motherfuck.
I like to kiss him while I hurt him. I love kissing. This type of kissing is compulsory. Some guys seem to like cold and calculated. Not actually visibly turned on. With me no kissing is a deal breaker. I mean that for real. I have stopped a thing before it started because he had a girlfriend who was fine with play but not kissing — or so he said — and that was probably a lucky escape.
Anyway that icy thing, that isn’t what you get with me. I get very turned on very fast. I am usually more turned on than the guy I am with from quite early on. And doing most of the panting and moaning.
…
I get a lot turned having d/s sex (that being mostly the reason why we are all here) on and when I am turned on I like to kiss. Mouth fetish. I like sticking things in men’s mouths. My tongue is my favourite of those things. These pain flavoured kisses while he’s *hurting* are the best kisses.
I like it when he screams into my mouth.
Like?
I *adore* it when he screams into my mouth
I often keep going with the hurting and kissing until he can’t hold it together to kiss me back anymore. Assuming he’s a submissive or a masochist he’s usually very hard at this point if he wasn’t already very hard, like, you know, when I met him at the railway station.
I often put clamps on him now and if he doesn’t scream really fucking loud, I take them off and put them on him again. And that’s really painful.
And then there’s the hitting:
The hitting, I think, is kind of the equivalent of your earth foreplay. It’s not instead of kissing or fingering or oral — ’cause I might do any or all of those things too. But it’s kind of like that. Another layer. Sometimes more than one body part is required — but most men have more than one body part.
This — I want to be clear — is where it is. This is the point where I know who I am and what I am with absolute abiding clarity. Whatever else I say. All my other fancies and frills. You could take them all if you left me this. I hurt a man and I feel the most intensely pleasurable sensations I think my body is capable of. There is no intrigued here. No one else could have made this of me. I live here. This is home. This I know.
I am a sadist. I get turned on hurting people.
I like pain. I like it quite simple. I don’t want to be distracted or have my concentration focused outside of my body. I don’t do anything flash. I’m generally uncoordinated and clumsy. I know there is little point in me trying to be all fancy with whips or anything too clever or hard to handle. I’m not dexterous. I can’t put on a show. I don’t insert things in his urethra or breathe fire. I don’t tap dance. I miss sometimes. The first ten are always practice. I lose my grip. My skill set is tiny. What I do is often unaesthetic and messy and awkward. But I’ve been doing this a while and what I do works. It hurts and it doesn’t rupture internal organs. It turns me on and I am now at point where I know that that is fine. That hurting men can be something that is decidedly not performance art and that is fucking damn okay. It’s sex, not cabaret.
Wednesday, March 14th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Say what you will, but married sex doesn’t have to be either rare or (when routine) boring:
We go through condoms like matches. I began buying the large packs – 24 is it? One pack probably lasts us about a month. I would say that we probably make love 4 to 7 times a week. Sometimes daily.
It can happen in the evening during and after a kinky session, or late at night, half-asleep in bed, always following the same routine – he wakes me up, half asleep himself, by rubbing my body, caressing my breasts and rolling my nipples between his fingers, pulling down my panties and even delivering something like a vague, sleepy spank. I expose my breasts, whether it means pulling something up or down, or taking something over my head and throwing it on the floor. I remove the comforter from my chest, to feel the chill of the cold bedroom (always cold) on my bare skin, contrasted with the heat of his palm and fingers. I slip my hand between my legs and masturbate.
Inevitably, I turn over, kneeling on the bed, with my legs wide apart, my face either in the pillows or next to his. He continues to play with my breasts, as I often replay in my head various master/slave scenarios, imagining the power exchange between us. I close my eyes. He would often put his fingers into the dewy, slippery territory between my wide-spread thighs – caressing, running his fingers up and down, plunging them inside, penetrating me roughly, firmly, confidently. Sometimes I would come right there, around his fingers – I wonder if he can feel the muscles contracting. Sometimes I would come from a slightest touch of my intimate areas, sometimes from the breast stimulation. Last night was especially “dramatic,” as he put it this morning. It was loud.
The night sessions are always followed by an intercourse, almost always with me on top – I reach for the dresser drawer in the darkness, feel the condom wrapper with my hand – scratchy edges, smooth surface. Pull it out and present it to him. Put my lips around his penis and suck on it as if my life depended on it. He would lift my head off himself, place the condom on. I’d throw away the remaining clothes, if any left, climb on top of him and ride him into bliss [his bliss]. He might kiss me along the way, or slap my bottom sharply with his palm, or hold me by my neck, which I find especially hot, or my hair, or hold on to my hips and guide my body, or wrap his arms around me. I never come from an intercourse, but I love it – I like it slow and sensual, I like it rough, I like it either way – by then I am well lubricated. Sometimes I try to clench my muscles around him. He comes inside, always inside.
From A Farmwife With A Twist.
Tuesday, December 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
For me, a Christmas stocking just isn’t a proper Christmas stocking if it doesn’t have some kind of sexy toy in it. Not even if it’s vinyl and has a heel:
So anyway, I had high hopes of doing a substantial and official ErosBlog sex toy Christmas Guide this year. But, sadly for my grand plan, I found myself responsible for some unanticipated family care-giving this December, and the big sex toy blogging plans have suffered. Suddenly I discover it’s December 19, I haven’t done any Christmas shopping at all, and the ship-in-time-for-Christmas dates have passed at almost all of my favorite online sex toy emporia. Drat!
However, all is not lost. My favorite online purveyor of sex toys ships so fast that there’s still plenty of time, if you don’t dawdle. Better yet, every year they have a “SeXmas” sale. It’s always got good discounts, too.
You can (of course) go kinky if you want to — how about a satin blindfold in Santa Claus Red?
But kinky is not required. They have every imaginable sex toy to tickle your fancy (or hers, or his).
Kinky not required, I said. But if it’s kinky you want, this place is the undisputed king of kinky. Forget crops and whips and leather cuffs. Did you ever imagine what you’d get if you took one of those paper Chinese finger trap toys and re-engineered it, using stainless steel wire, as a device for imprisoning penises?
Of course you did. Or maybe not. They think of these things so you won’t have to.
Anyway, behold! The Wire Cock Trap:
That’s not something everybody with a penis to play with is gonna want, no. But it would fit nicely in a stocking. And think of the the fun when he pulls it out and holds it up, all puzzled, and says “What’s this thing, and what’s it for?”
“Hold still, dear, and I’ll show you.”
Fair warning: you might wind up late for Christmas dinner at dear old Grandma’s house. And aren’t happy delays like that the best Christmas present of all?
Sunday, November 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I love the vintage porn. And here, from Bondage Blog, is a premium sample of it: nice hot rear-entry sex on the bed, with a blindfold to add just that little extra touch of kinky spice:
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
Wow, is this kinky or what?
On wednesday, I will walk up to one end of a long line of men. Sometimes there are women, but it’s always mostly men. They are there to watch me, and I am there to be watched. I start at one end, smile at the first man I encounter, and begin. Slowly. Carefully, I take off my glasses and fold them neatly, just like my nighttime bedroom ritual. Then I lean over and unzip one long black platform boot, and then the other. I present each piece of footwear as proof — as if the sudden shortness in my height, and its message of vulnerability isn’t evidence enough. I am now smaller, more feminine, and a little more helpless. I take off my earrings, my necklace, deliberately placing the girlish silver with my glasses. I’m usually still smiling now, because it’s time to take off my belt. I know what’s going to happen. I unbuckle the metal and leather, sliding the belt through its loops around my waist, which serves to loosen my pants and move the denim to and fro as I work the belt free. The top straps of my g-string always peek out; I can’t help this. I unzip my hoodie and peel it off, revealing the light cotton tank top I always wear. And even though it makes no sense, I always take off my stripey arm warmers, because if I don’t, they *make me* take them off. So I do it in a subtly slow demonstration, one opera-length glovelet at a time. Next, and last, I unclip my hair, letting my almost waist-length black and blonde locks down over my now-bare shoulders and arms.
They all watch. Then I wait for their commands, and their approval. I do what they say, unconditionally, and this is an unspoken agreement between me and the men. Hardly a word is said, and I make sure to smile as I softly pad past all eyes, which are on me, even if just for a flicker or two. Then at the end of the line, I slowly dress — I like to take my time putting my clothes back on.
That’s Violet Blue — well, anybody, really — going through airport security. As she explains:
[W]hat I related to you above is very much my experience when I go through security…. [W]hen you think about it, the modern process of going through pre-boarding security has far more kinky sexual elements than it should. Here’s why:
* You have to undress.
* While you undress, you are being watched and sized up.
* It’s a power-exchange scenario.
* Lots of uniforms.
* You are totally vulnerable, and it is humiliating.
* You are exposing intimate details of your person and dress in front of dozens of strangers.
* Your submission is unspoken, it is a rule, and it is unconditional. Your submission is for public consumption.
* There is a constant threat that a stranger will touch you. They can touch you anywhere, and in your most intimate places if they want to.
* There is an undercurrent and tension that they will open your posessions and touch your private items, such as your underwear, clean or dirty.
* It is nonconsensual. And in garden-variety BDSM practice, even this is forbidden territory.
As well it should be, in BDSM and at the airport.
Wednesday, August 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a fun article that may be of use to a number of you ladies: Miss Vanilla’s Guide to Being A Mistress. It’s a sort of Intro To Femdom 101:
I call it “Miss Vanilla’s” guide because I really want to give people who don’t consider themselves kinky a chance to enjoy this. When I first started getting into it, I was awfully confused and intimidated by the idea of being “dominant.” Would I lose my femininity? Would it make my man less masculine? Would it sour our non-sexual relationship? I will approach all of this from the perspective of someone beginning anew, as best as I can.
…
Techniques! What are some fun ways to let your man know that you’re in control?
“Bondage”. One of the easiest ways to get started is by tying him up. Pros: He’s physically helpless, so you get to focus on breaking his will with your sexiness. Cons: His hands aren’t free, so you have to take a very active role – you can’t easily kill time telling him to pleasure you with his hands!
…
“Pleasure overload.” Let’s face it: Your man thinks you’re hot. Now you’re going to use that to your utter advantage! Make him DESPERATE. Caress his entire body – with your fingers, your tongue, or your feet! Trace your fingertips up his inner thighs. Trace spirals around his penis but don’t touch it yet. Tease his butt, if you’re into that kind of thing (more on that later). Lick, suck and bite his nipples. Tease his dick with your mouth. Exhale deeply into his ear, and suck his earlobes. Be sexy, and he WILL be yours!
Monday, August 28th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It sounds like this guy had a really good weekend — the toe sucking and fucking being only one of his highlights:
And then my date showed me a trick that was, well, a bit stupefying.
So at some point during the second round of sex, she gets up in a Reverse Cowgirl position, and bends down to A) give me a good view, and B) suck my toes while she fucks me. For those of you not into Shrimping, I don’t know how you can’t love it. A toe suck & cock stimulation combo is almost too much for my nervous system. I’ve had this before, but it’s a rare treat. My date, however, felt the need to show me that despite my travels and adventures, I have not seen it all.
She dismounts, turns around, and lowers her cunt onto my toes — Ummm.. ok. She starts fucking my big toe and lowers her head down to start sucking my cock. My toes were already electrified from the sucking — so I loved how her wet pussy felt all over my feet, and her face dropping all the way down to my pubic bone, burying my cock in her throat… I was just stupid with glee. This felt so good, so amazing, I simply can’t describe it. All the wires were shorting out. Loved it. And she was pretty pleased to have thrown me something new.
Monday, April 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I know a number of ladies who are fascinated by the appearance and concept of the corset, but are intimidated by the sheer engineering and historical mystique of the things. Thus, when I stumbled over this no-nonsense basic guide to corsets by Am from Our Kinky Blog, I thought it might be worth sharing. Think of it as me just doing my little bit to help exaggerate the curvatures of English-speaking womanhood:
[Corsets] are incredibly comfortable to wear, so long as you take a bit of time in getting to know your corset, and letting it get to know you. A corset, like shoes, becomes more comfortable with wear; and – again like shoes – needs to adjust to your shape.
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Tuesday, April 4th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Oh, my. I was checking out a favorite place to shop for sex toys when I noticed they sell fitted leather sheets. King sized ones, even, if you’ve got the simoleans for it:
Leather freakin’ sheets. Just the feel would be sensuous enough. But as you and yours get all hot and sweaty and those sheets start to moisten and warm up, the room would fill with that lovely leather smell, and it would get all over the both of you, too. You’d be buried in the scent of leather.
Can you imagine? Breathe…. Mmmmmm.
Not cheap, no indeedy not. But I think I might just have to get me some.
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Sunday, March 19th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve commented before (most notably in the comments to this post about the production of spanking porn) that I don’t have much time for so-called feminists who can’t respect a woman’s sexual decisions. When feminists stop standing up for the choices women make, I stop recognizing them as feminists, it’s that simple.
Thus there’s some interest to be found in this Spanking and Feminism thread over at Spanking Blog. The post itself chides kinky men who won’t take ownership of their kinkiness, who can’t admit they want to spank and dominate for the fun of it, so they instead pretend (to themselves and to the world) that the women they are spanking are weak inferior creatures who would be lost without the “guidance and discipline” these ever-so-benevolent dudes are offering.
As discussion simmered in the comments, ranging wider and wider as discussions of BDSM and feminism tend to do, along came someone claiming to “respect individual choices” while simultaneously arguing that “it’s really hard to seperate out cultural expectations and personal choices.” Which, translated, means something like “You say you chose to do that, but I don’t believe you, and thus I’m free to condemn your choice.” I enjoyed the response:
No, it’s really not hard to separate out personal choices from cultural expectations. When someone says “This is my choice” you respect that, absolutely, or you just became part of the problem. If you retain niggling reservations, if you’re willing to question the individual’s self report of her choice, then you are failing to respect her personal choice and you are claiming, in effect, that you know better than the individual. Viewed charitably, the claim is still a version of “Your society has made it impossible for you to act as as a self-actualized individual adult human; you’re so messed up that you can’t even correctly determine or report what you want.” That’s an infantilizing, disempowering, patronizing claim and although it’s often made by folks who claim the badge of feminism, it’s no part of a true feminism that I could respect.
Just so.
Saturday, March 11th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
One feature of vintage pornography, now mostly vanished, is the anti-clerical, anti-papist depictions of Catholic clergy. Early erotic novels, which mostly tended to be contraband anyway, were chock-full of priests, nuns, and monks run sexually amok in orgiastic golcondas of kinky sex, rape, and flagellation involving each other, whatever innocent children they could seduce or kidnap from their flocks, and sundry nearby farm animals. One doesn’t see so much of that in modern pornography, but there was a bit of it remaining in the hardcore porn of the 1960s and 1970s, which this appears to be:
One could almost surmise, from the hopefully expectant expressions on the nuns’ faces, that they are praying for (and working for) a sudden shower of manna. Nun bukkake, anyone?
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Friday, March 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This week’s Pillowbook has a few words about a man with a hair fetish. Including a variant hair sex practice that may surprise even you, the sex blog readers who have seen it all:
let me briefly share with you an observation on the kinkiest hair sex i’ve had. so far.
it’s not really about pubic hair, but i still think it’s worth mentioning.
i had this guy once (well, quite a few times, actually), who was so besotted with my hair (head hair) that he wanted me to get on all fours over him and use it to stroke him to full erection, every single time we fucked. all over his body i’d stroke him, like he was a billiard table and i was sweeping him prior to a game or something. i would have to sweep him like that for however long it took for his cock to be standing fully to attention. which was usually about ten seconds, but could go on for a lot longer, depending on whether or not he wanted me to bypass penetration altogether and hair-sweep him to orgasm, as he sometimes did. then he’d shoot his load into my hair, and i’d have to go to sleep with a wet spot next to my cheek…
but that’s not the kinky part. that’s just normal.
you and your partner probly did that very thing last night.
no, the kinky part was when he wanted me to peel back his foreskin, take a single strand of living, still-attached hair, wrap it around his glans in a spiral from the base, roll the foreskin back over it, and then – ever so gently so that the hair didn’t break – pull away from him, dragging the hair out from beneath his foreskin like a rock climber’s line playing out of his ropebag.
the thing was, my hair is so fine that sometimes it *would* break, and then things would turn ugly.
let’s not go there.
but, if it didn’t break, he would end up so aroused that, when i tried to then mount him for penetration, he’d usually have come in my hand while i was still trying to place him against my slit.
we did that so often that my head hair was well and truly fetishised. i’d be sitting in a sidewalk cafe with him and the wind would riffle my fringe onto my face, and, when i went to brush it away with my hand, i could tell that he was boning up beneath his latte.
Saturday, February 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
This is a post about two smiles:
Those are the two smiles of the lovely Sarah Blake, who does bondage modeling for Hogtied.com. I want you to look at those smiles and study the differences between them. No matter if you’re kinky or vanilla (but especially if you’re vanilla) I want you to remember those smiles the next time you hear a preacher or a politician ranting and raving against the evils of sadomasochism, sexual depravity, and sadistic abuse. He’s talking about Sarah and her delicious, joyful smile.
All the pictures in this post come from this shoot, which you can view for yourself if you want to see Sarah tied up and, er, entertained, in some astonishing ways. I’m not going to reproduce those pictures here, although I will be describing the entertainment. All I’m showing you are her smiles (and one gasp of ecstasy.)
Let’s start with the first smile:
This is the “before” picture, taken at the beginning of the photo shoot. It’s a pretty smile — Sarah’s a pretty woman — but it’s a professional model’s smile. A little bit forced, a lot posed, and as artificial as a flower arrangement. This could be the yearbook photo, the portfolio photo, even the drivers license photo. This smile started when Sarah was young, and you can still see in it the obedient girl who learned what to do when the nice man behind the camera told her to smile.
Sarah covers a lot of kinky miles between that smile and the next one.
If you view more of the shoot, you’ll see Sarah with her ankles crossed and tied in front of her chin. Her miniskirt has puddled around her hips, but her panties are still on, so it’s a fairly innocent bondage image. Sarah’s wild ride is just beginning.
Moving rapidly along, we soon see her in the same pose without her undies, with a glass vacuum jar firmly secured to her tenderest bits. The ride accelerates; in another view, she’s on her knees wearing a heavy wooden set of stocks, with her pony tail tied back to — is there a nicer word for this device? — a butt hook that’s securely hooked in (you guessed it) her butt. The rear view of the same scene shows some welts where she’s been caned.
Moving along. In the next view, she’s been stood up, and a metal-pipe-and-ball-gag arrangement has been affixed to her wooden stocks to complicate her life. Some nipple clips with heavy round lead fishing weights are being clamped onto her nipples. When the cameraman steps back, we can see that she’s balanced on tiptoes, with a pole-and-dildo arrangement to encourage her to stay there.
The next couple of photos show a new scene, with Sarah on her stomach in a tight hogtie on two butcher-block tables. Her hands and feet are pressed and tied together, there’s a suspension rope around her elbows pulling her up in what have to be uncomfortable ways, and she’s wearing a red ball gag in a harness that’s making her drool.
*CLICK* Now she’s on her side, in rope bondage, with clothespins on her nipples and a big vibrator working her tender bits.
*CLICK* Now she’s in suspension — an astonishing upside-down posture that looks like gymnastics, only much sexier. Still with clothespins on her nipples.
Moving on. The website describes and explains the next scene thusly:
Sarah also has a tragic secret, she cannot stop cumming if she is stuck on a vibrator. So viewers, be warned! The last scene is a long intense forced orgasm scene until Sarah is vibrated senseless.
What we see is a hard wooden chair with a big vibrator duct-taped to it. Sarah’s strapped onto the chair (and the vibrator) with some well-worn and very-impressive-looking leather belts. She’s clearly enjoying herself, if a bit lost in the sensation:
So what’s been the point of all this lurid description? Quite simply this. Unless you’re a serious bondage fiend, someone who plays hard and invests serious time and money into your dungeon equipment, I’ve probably described more than you’re comfortable with. If you’ve got no interest in bondage, if you’ve never even seen a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, you might be pretty horrified by most of what I’ve described. If you’ve played at bedroom bondage, own one pair of cuffs and a riding crop, you might be fascinated by some of the pictures but scared or repelled by others of them. If you’re seriously kinky and have a home dungeon of your own, you might appreciate most or all the photos, but even then there’s probably something that’s not quite your cup of tea, or that’s too risky or troublesome to be worth trying in your book. But, whereever you fall on that spectrum, and however sincerely you might say of one of the depicted activities “that’s not for me”, I want you to focus on the last picture in the photoset, Sarah wearing nothing but her rope marks. Here’s Sarah’s exhausted-but-exhilarated second smile:
That’s not just a smile, it’s a grin. There’s more joy and enthusiasm and life in that photo than there is in a dozen of the professional smiles we saw at the top. Sarah, despite having suffered through some intensely uncomfortable bondage positions, has had a wonderful time.
And that visible joy, my friends, is what the Grundies want to kill when they rail against “sadism, masochism, and abuse.” I suppose they don’t even know about the joy — they may honestly think it’s all about objectification and degradation and money and feelthy perverts — but I don’t want you, dear readers, to have the same excuse. You’ve seen the two smiles. Now you know.
The next time you hear somebody railing against the feelthy perverts, you’re to remember the smiles. Even if the specific activity under discussion grosses you out, because it’s not your kink and you can’t understand why it could be anyone’s, remember the smiles. Remember Sarah’s visible joy. We don’t need to understand or appreciate a kink to understand that smile.
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Wednesday, February 1st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Isn’t this the sort of problem they’re supposed to catch in premarital counselling?
From alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. cartoons.
Saturday, January 7th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Difference. Variation. Contrast. In my humble view, this is one of the keys to good, mind consuming sex. To explore and use the sensory toolbox – on the body as well as the mind. And in vanilla as well as kinky joys.
One tasty nibble from a good post on how important doing things just a little differently can be, in Difference. Variation. Contrast., by Bliatz. For me, one or two guys stay in my mind because what they did was so different from all the others. But if they did that same thing every time, it would get old too. If any of my previous lovers could speak up, I bet they would say that I let them direct the action too much. Given how long I’ve been without, I don’t think that will be a problem for a while!
Monday, December 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Perhaps if you were very good (or very naughty, but in a good way) you found a video iPod in your stocking yesterday morning. Lucky you! It’s a nifty toy.
However, in that case you’ll looking for “stuff” to watch on it, so I wanted to remind you of some of the porn resources for the video iPod that I’ve stumbled over in recent weeks. I did a long post about using GUBA to find iPod porn, plus I’ve mentioned (here and here) that two of the kinky sites I sometimes promote have started putting iPod-ready video content in their members areas.
A few more sites where iPod porn is now available to members:
Sex And Submission: (Real bondage sex)
Whipped Ass: (Female/female spanking and domination)
Fucking Machines: (Heavily modified power “tools”)
Men In Pain: (Female domination of men)
Water Bondage: (Just what it sounds like)
Ultimate Surrender: (Nude girls wrestle; winner dominates loser)
Fair warning: Most of these sites have just begun offering their movie clips in iPod format, and they haven’t (yet) converted their archives. So you won’t find hundreds of iPod-ready movies, just the ones from recent updates.
Enjoy!
Update from the future: Hi, this is the future. We have smartphones now. Video iPods? What the hell were those? The good news is, Kink.com now has everything in .mp4 format, in five different sizes. If you’ve got a screen the size of your thumbnail on your watch, or or a TV the size of your living room wall, they’ve got you covered. Ain’t progress grand?
Monday, November 14th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It seems that Annie’s husband has discovered the silver lining, er, behind having an allergic wife:
I was likely snoring alluringly – we all know how sexy a good snort and snotty sniff is – which naturally drove my man wild with desire and, no longer able to restrain his need, I felt him get on the bed behind me and spoon, the rowdy beast poking at his lair’s door insistently. Herein lies another effect of “severe allergy” pills. Being antihistimines, they dry everything up – everything except my nose that is – requiring the horny, and now grumbling, man to get up and rummage the nightstand drawer for the lube.
At that point he was truly a man on a mission, he was gonna Get Some and Get It Now. He lifted me up onto my knees and elbows and was quickly home with a virile plunge. The thing about hay fever is that as long as ya stay really still with your eyes closed, the symptoms can be held at bay. The minute ya move and open your eyes, It’s All Over. With Robert fucking happily away, I sneezed and Robert says, “Whoa! Sneeze again!”
“Huh? What happened to gezundheit?” I query in disbelief.
“Gezundheit. Now sneeze again. Man, that feels amazing!” he sez, thrusting the beast in to the hilt and holding, waiting for the next sneeze. “Come on, look at the light or something… sneeze for me, baby.”
Sneeze for me, baby? I’ve heard of cumming on command, but sneezing on command? Now, this is kinky.
“Um…” I responded brilliantly.
“Come on, baby, SNEEZE!” he commanded, slapping my ass hard. Then again.
Damned if that didn’t work. The stimulation did indeed set off a new round of sneeze – or maybe it was just convenient timing – but Robert got his desire. The way he moaned it must have been pretty darned good.
“It would be even better in your ass,” I heard through the nose pill haze. Soon, the beast had poked his head into my tight, unprepped bottom.
“OWWW-choo! Shit, Robert!” Aaahhh-choo! My hay fever attack was officially exerting itself again in full force. So I’m sneezing and bugfuck stupid with a cock up my ass and my man is moaning “oooh baby, it’s sooo good”.
It just doesn’t get any kinkier than this.
I suppose you could try this at home (even without allergies) using a bit of black pepper. Or, for the truly retro Victorian shopgirl experience, snuff.
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Saturday, October 22nd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
One of the common mostly-false slams against porn in this era of globalisation is that the performers are mostly coerced sex slaves, or at least impoverished scared young girls with few options. (I’m not making this up as a straw man argument; see, e.g., the Biting Beaver (her term): “You CANNOT know if the girl you are masturbating to is, in reality, a sexual slave from Austria who has a gun pointed at her head just off camera.“)
Yeah. And you cannot know that the bottle of salad dressing you pour on your salad isn’t full of stale unpasteurized jizz from bored wanking food factory workers, either. But that doesn’t make it likely, or stop you from eating creamy salads. Why not? Because of branding. If you worry about funky jizz in your dressing, you buy a reputable brand from a company you trust, one that’s got white-coated vat inspectors and security cams all over the factory floor. And, if you really worry, you do research. You get a tour of the factory, or (more likely) read the article in Consumer Reports by the reporter who worked there for three days undercover. The point is, you check into it a little bit.
This is perfectly possible with porn. By way of local example, these issues came up in a peripheral way in this post about real sex in BDSM porn, where a couple of readers suggested in the comments that making such porn was degrading and unsafe for the models, only to be confronted by other readers who were able to vouch for the porn company in question based on personal acquaintance with the models and producers.
And that’s how you check out your porn brand. Research. You look for accounts (which are all over the web, since many models have blogs) of what it’s like to work for a particular porn company, how they treat their people, how the sets are run, whatever you’re worried about. Of course you can’t disprove sensationalist claims about porn factories full of enslaved Eastern European beauties this way — folks who want to cling to that fantasy will continue to do so, brandishing their “news” stories from The Weekly World News, National Enquirer, and Reader’s Digest — but you can satisfy yourself, along with any other reasonable people who might be curious, that the porn you buy is sex slave free.
To pick another flamboyantly outrageous example, how about the notoriously severe spanking and caning DVDs produced by Lupus Pictures? They are often cited as an example of a company that must abuse and exploit its models, because what right-thinking innocent girl would voluntarily consent to an ass-whipping that leaves her in tears with flaming red welts on her bottom? (Short answer: There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreampt of in your philosophy.)
Here are couple of a relatively mild screen capture samples so we know what we are talking about, courtesy of Lupus Spanking [2014 update: now defunct]:
And now some samples from an article by and an interview with Niki Flynn, who went to Prague to make a movie with these “evil werewolves from the East”. From the article (link broke awhile ago, see this .txt mirror):
I never thought of myself as a girl who could survive a Lupus-style caning. I cringe and wince when I watch the films and say, “There’s no way I could take that!” I’d heard the internet rumours, of course — about the innocent, impoverished Czech girls who are seduced by the money into being abused by the evil werewolves from the East. But I’d look at the “behind-the-scenes” pictures on the website and see everyone having a good time, laughing and horsing around, even after the canings. So the rumours never seemed to have any substance. Besides, the same girls turn up again and again to do films; they clearly know what to expect.
…
The thing that impressed me most of all was the consummate professionalism of everyone involved. This was not a group of pornographers making dirty pictures, nor was it a cruel band of misogynists delighting in taking advantage of girls who couldn’t say no. This was a real film crew working on a real film. In addition to the director, producer, script supervisor, makeup artist, properties and wardrobe mistress, caterer, cameramen, boom operator, still photographer, actors and (ahem) stunt girls, there were people on hand to offer us refreshments, comfort or anything else we needed.
…
Did it hurt? Of course. Did I enjoy it? Absolutely not. Do I regret it? Not for a moment. In fact, I had the time of my life. So did William. I knew exactly what I was getting into and I did it because this is what I like. And when it was over and I lay sobbing over the desk, I felt what mountain climbers must feel when they reach the peak. I was so high on the feeling of accomplishment and so lost in the roleplay that I nearly wished I could have some more! And when I look at the marks now I have a sense of pride and achievement. I savor the marks. No one who isn’t into this can ever truly understand. Boxers and footballers suffer broken noses and concussions. No one criticizes them or calls their sport unhealthy. What we do is so much safer. It’s really a shame so many people misunderstand.
Hmm, she doesn’t sound helpless or exploited, does she?
From her interview:
David: There are many rumors about the girls who perform in Lupus productions. Some believe that they attract poor, starving, drug-addicted Eastern European Girls. Now I know that this isn’t true. Prague is often referred to as ‘The Paris of the east”. The Czech Republic is not a third world country. What myths about Lupus would you most like to dispel?
Niki: (Sigh) Yes, the famous urban legends. I think that those rumors are insulting to the girls actually. It’s true, some people think of the Czech Republic as a third world country and that the girls are all uneducated and bullied into it. Or, they have no choice because they are so desperate for money they will do anything. The truth is that the Czech Republic isn’t a third world country; it’s a middle income country that has just joined the European Union. Most of the Lupus crew are friends on the Czech BDSM scene. Some of the girls do it because they are genuinely kinky — they come back again and again. Some may do it for money, but it’s not a crust of bread. They are paid a professional rate. On the set, they are treated as professional actors. The production team at Lupus couldn’t have been more professional or more concerned for my safety — for all of the performers’ safety.
And that’s how you know that the girl in your favorite video doesn’t have an off-camera gun pointed at her head.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Thursday, October 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
There’s something fascinating about watching an articulate fetishist of ordinary objects describe his (or her .. but it’s usually “his”) fetish. When the fetish is common enough to be deliberately recognized, acknowledged, and sexualized in mainstream media or porn (as with leather, rubber, shoes, pantyhose, and the like) the effect is lessened by our own recognition of the fetish; we can see a pretty lady rubbing a foot against her nylons and go “Mmm, a two-fer” even if we aren’t foot or nylons fetishists our own selves. But when the fetish is more uncommon (balloons, casts), there’s less sexual “noise” when the non-fetishist witnesses the fetishist in action. For me, at least, it offers insight into what fetish is and how it works.
But wait, I hear you saying. Did I say “casts”?
Indeed I did. Confessions of a Cast Fetishist [link broken and removed] is just what it sounds like; or, as the author of the blog puts it, “a description and continuing exploration of my erotic and aesthetic obsessions with leg casts, female feet — especially toes — and footwear.” No, really:
[The film] does happen to feature one rather important detail: a significant female character with a leg in a plaster cast. This might not necessarily be of great import to the vast majority of the movie-consuming public but, to the connoisseur fetishist, leg casts are not altogether common in cinema history, and so any one that may occur is something to be savoured. And, should the person sporting the leg cast happen to be quite as attractive as Famke Janssen, as is this particular instance, well, now we’re talking. Anyway, as a result, I’ve recently invested in a copy of the DVD of the film, to enjoy, again and again, the relevant scenes at my leisure, as it were.
…
I love to see a plaster cast being customized like that, in such a typical way — it’s what people do when they see a cast, and why not, who could blame them? I know that were I actually to be in that scene, I’d be snatching her crayons and pens from the kid and elbowing her out of the way in order to have my turn, and how I’d hog that plaster cast to my heart’s content, decorating it in my own special way, adding my very own personal dedications and hymns to its wonder and beauty. I should add that Famke spends a sizable part of the film wearing a skimpy, tight little vest top that is also hardly unbecoming to her charms. Here’s another little peek. How lovely it would be to keep her “entertained” under the circumstances.
Saturday, September 24th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Via Bondage Blog comes this link to an interesting discourse on advertising images of women. But I was amazed by the casual one-sentence dismissal of kinky people, in a line that calls an image of a “‘woman-in-pain-but-she-loves-it-really” “misogynist iconography”.
There is, of course, a vast community of women who enjoy bondage and/or pain, plus the people who love those women. So now all these people (a huge chunk of the BDSM community) are misogynists? I’ve read that passage several times, and I just can’t see any way to read it that doesn’t attribute misogyny to all BDSM erotica with female subjects. I thought those sorts of baseless generalizations went out of fashion when civilized people started laughing at Andrea Dworkin.
Here’s the “misogynist iconography” in question:
What grosses me out about that image is that it appears to be one of those advertising images where they’ve used Photoshop as a “digital rack” to stretch the model, so that she appears unnaturally long in the torso and limbs. That’s gotta hurt.
Saturday, July 16th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Don’t ever let anybody tell you that the ancients weren’t every bit as kinky as we modern types. Here’s a detail from a sketch of the fragmentary Turin Papyrus showing a charioteer boffing a woman while the chariot is being drawn by yet more scantily-clad women or girls, wearing masks or perhaps drawn as having animal heads.
The image comes from this article on ancient Egyptian sexuality, found via Good Shit.
2014 update: There’s an easier-to-see sketch of the ponygirl section, found here.
Friday, July 1st, 2005 -- by Bacchus
A new kinky site is out: Sex And Submission!
If you like your sex at all kinky, you’ll have noticed that genuinely kinky hard core porn is very hard to find. Bondage and spanking photos are a dime a dozen, but how often do you see a pretty woman in a leather collar with her wrists tied giving a big sloppy enthusiastic blowjob? Or bouncing happily up and down on some male porn star prong with her wrists clipped to the D-rings on her collar?
I’m not saying you can’t find it, but it’s not common and it’s rarely commercial. In the United States, this has something to do (I’m told) with porn-industry-standard “rules of thumb” designed to help porn producers avoid judicial unpleasantry in all the most sexually conservative corners of the country where their porn might get sold.
So imagine my suprise today to discover that one of my favorite porn producers (the folks who, from their bastion of permissive community standards in San Francisco, put out sites like the oddly transgressive Ultimate Surrender girl/girl wrestling site, the justly famous Hogtied bondage site, or the sadly-defunct Real Fucking Couples) has crossed the line in a big way with their new site called Sex and Submission. For the first time that I’ve seen, an American porn company is making real BDSM porn that includes tight bondage, hard spanking, and real unfaked sex.
Let me illustrate by pointing to this Sex And Submission shoot, which opens with an almost stereotypical, even banal, BDSM tableau. Here’s a pretty woman (Lori Alexia) on her knees, on a leash but not otherwise bound, looking hungrily in the direction of some fellow’s presumably masterful erection:
Of course, every two-bit BDSM pornographer in the last twenty years has shown you a picture like that, teasing you into hoping that she’ll be naked and tied (or chained, or whatever) in the next picture, and sucking like mad (still tied) in the picture after that. But if you bought the tease, you’d be disappointed. In the bad stuff, the leash is as good as the bondage gets; in the better stuff, her bondage gets more severe, and you might eventually see his penis held near her face, almost-but-not-quite in range of her tongue. And then in the next shot, you’ll looking at a blowjob closeup. And in the shot after that, they are going at it hammer and tongs — and she’s not tied any more. There are endless (and sometimes very creative) variations on the theme, but somehow the bondage and the sex never seem to make it into the same photographic frame.
In sharp contrast to those tired old ruses, Sex and Submission (astonishingly) appears to be delivering on the tease. In the shoot I took that photo from, it’s followed by a spanking photo, a picture of her being tied up tight with real rope, a display shot of her still leashed, but now topless with her hands tied behind, and then (philandering Zeus smite me if I lie!) two photos of her sucking intently on the man’s dick with her hands still tied and his tight grip on the leash “encouraging” her. I saw that and like to dropped my teeth. It’s a thing that (up until now) just wasn’t done.
Nor is it just a fluke. In this shoot, the Sex and Submission people have lovely Jamie all bent over in a short wooden pillory:
Again, every BDSM pornographer has got one of these pillories, and an endless supply of cute girls to put in it. You can find a hundred thousand versions of the inevitable weary flogging. But have you ever before seen the male talent take the obvious advantage of the situation and get a pillory blowjob? Perhaps I’ve led a sheltered life, because I haven’t. Until now.
When one does actually find this sort of real BDSM porn in odd foreign corners of the net, there’s always the additional worry that the scenes depicted might not be fully consensual. That’s the trouble with bondage sex — the vast majority of it as actually practiced in bedroooms and dungeons throughout the land is relentlessly consensual, but it’s neither easy nor desirable to portray that consent in a still photo. These galleries, made in America by a reputable producer of known fixed address, go a long way toward alleviating those sorts of concerns.
I’ll shut up now. It’s time to play one of my favorite games with The Nymph — the one where I show her pictures on my computer screen and she says “Eek!” (while observing avidly between widely-spaced fingers over her eyes). Y’see, she’s actually the carpenter of the family….
Update: There’s a rather heated comment to this post asking why “only the women are portrayed as submissives” and “will this company be fair and show men who are getting spanked and tied and fucked?” The answer, of course, is not “sexism” as the commenter proposes. In fact, the answer to the latter question is simply “Yes.” The company in question has had such a site for years, called Men in Pain. Here’s a shoot featuring a man in severe bondage being caned, flogged, and penetrated anally and orally by powerful women. Sorry, Michelle, that dog just won’t hunt. Unless the sexism runs the other way? Why has it long been OK to show this sort of explicit submissive bondage sex when the man is the recipient, but not when the woman is?
Similar Sex Blogging:
Monday, June 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Whenever you read those “all about how to have kinky sex” sites, they always emphasize the need to “negotiate your scene in advance”. Most such essays on how to conduct this eminently necessary negotiation makes the process sound stilted, complicated, wearisome, and awkward. Of course, that’s entirely at odds with my observations of the actual kinkiness that I’ve brushed into in my life — so I’ve wondered if this wasn’t some sort of “do as I say, not as I do” advice for newbies.
In partial answer to that question, I present Bret and Hiromi’s he-said-she-said dialog entitled “The Logistics Of Pee Sex.” It’s emphatically a scene negotiation, but not self-consciously so. In fact, I’d say it’s a blueprint for a frank light-hearted scene negotiation that also happens to sound like a fun conversation. Scales fall from the eyes.
Wednesday, June 1st, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
After being away for a while, I finally got it through my stupid head that I won’t have something better to say here until I finish the R story. It wasn’t easy to do, and it isn’t very pretty, but here it is, behind the “more” link. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, the third part of the story includes links to the first two parts.
R and I spent Christmas on a skiing trip that was awesome and horrible. I liked learning how to ski, and even made it down the hill once or twice without falling on my ass. The mountains were beautiful, and while we were in public R was his attentive, charming self. He told me to pack for a sexy cold trip…..I thought he meant the cold would be outside. But it was inside too. He told me we’d be together…..except that he never slept with me. In his house, in all the hotels we stayed in, R never stayed with me in bed all night. At first, at his house, I thought it was to give me some privacy, but since he constantly walked into the room I used without knocking whenever he wanted, I don’t think it was for that. At the hotels, we stayed in the same room, but always in seperate beds. But I’m getting ahead of things already.
That first night, at R’s house, was very different from our fun at Thanksgiving. He was formal, like he was trying to decide if he should hire me for a job or something. R welcomed me warmly, but it didn’t seem very sincere, more like it was what he had been taught to do and say to a woman that would be staying with him. He didn’t seem to like it if I touched him first, I found out quickly. After dinner, which was focused mostly on eating and small talk about family and high school friends, he said that he was tired from working so much and that the next night he’d give me a proper welcome. I offered to rub his back, the way I used to, but he said no, and said I should probably sleep too as jetlag would catch up with me and make learning to ski in the mountains harder. He walked me to the room where I’d put my bags, which I thought was his bedroom, barely kissed me, said goodnight and walked down the hall to his room.
I wasn’t expecting a romantic candle light bath, or rose petals all over the bed, but after the hot sex we had at Thanksgiving, this was a real shock. He wasn’t even going to sleep with me! One of the things I hate about being single is not having a nice-smelling man to snuggle with. Here I was with a guy that used to make my knees weak, I thought I did the same to him, and he barely touched me all evening! I went to bed thinking What the fuck?!
The first time we had sex was the second day of the ski trip, up until then it was one lame-ass excuse after another. R was skiing with me down one of the bigger beginner runs, and when I fell for the jillionth time, he started laughing at me. He was close enough that I pulled him over too, and he fell on top of me. We were both laughing, then the next thing I knew he was kissing me, hard. A small clump of pine trees was close by, and he rolled us over into it, laughing and kissing me the whole time. There wasn’t much to hide behind, but there weren’t many other skiers. I undid my entire front down to the sexy thermal top I bought specially for the trip, but he stayed mostly dressed, just undoing enough to release his very hard, very hot cock and plow it into me. I don’t know and don’t care if anybody saw us, I was so glad to finally be getting fucked that I didn’t even think about it. Fast and furious and hot and cold…..I didn’t come, but it was still damn good.
That night at dinner R started to explain what he meant when he said he didn’t know if he could show me how he is now. The way he said it, I thought he was into rough sex, and since that’s not something I’ve done a lot of except fantasize about, I told him that I thought we could work up to some things. After I said that he relaxed, and was very sweet and more like the highschool boy I’d fallen for.
Remember, I didn’t tell R that I contribute to a sex blog. So as far as he knew, I was just some normal chick that was willing to try some kinky new things. Some were fun and really got me going, like these vibrating nipple clamps. Most of the time it seemed like he didn’t care if I would like something, and didn’t bother to even think about that. R didn’t seem to understand the need for lube with some toys, or going slow, so it ended up sometimes that his stuff hurt, it wasn’t sexy, and when we did have sex, it was like, just get it over with so I can go to sleep.
On our last night, after a very fun day just hanging out together, he decided to do a twat test. I needed to keep whatever he put in my pussy totally inside it, or he’d punish me however he wanted. The idea was he’d keep trying smaller things, but the first thing he put in me was so small and smooth that even clenching my tightest, it peeked out. I tried to tell R that it would be a good start for a teenage virgin, but not someone like me, but I got spanked for my “sauciness.” We both ended up frustrated and mad because his game wasn’t working. He said he was going to tie me up, and when I asked about a safe word, he said that he’d be able to tell if he was pushing me too hard and that stuff like that was for chickens. My questions made him madder, and he finally yelled that no slave of his was going to get away with talking to him like that.
That pushed me over the edge, because I never said I’d be his slave, and he never asked. I went to the room I was staying in, and R came after me, telling me that I was his for the entire trip and I’d better start behaving properly if I didn’t want to get seriously punished for my insolence. I didn’t want to do it, but I was so mad and so frustrated by his impossible demands and not having much sex that I started crying. R had been so sweet and affectionate whenever we were out in public anywhere, but when it was just the two of us alone all that vanished. I tried to tell R that if he had shown me just a little of that sweetness in his house, I’d probably be licking his shoes that very minute, but with his Jeckyll-Hyde thing going I didn’t know what to think, and I didn’t trust him to tie me up. He said he did care for me, and he knew that I just needed some good discipline to see that, and that after he gave it, I’d know I could trust him. I told him I didn’t work that way, I had to trust before ropes or cuffs came anywhere near me, and if he wasn’t okay with that then this was it. R didn’t seem to get anything I was saying, he didn’t seem to even understand the difference I saw in him going from public to private, so, since I was almost all packed anyway I grabbed my stuff and left. I told him not to bother calling me or returning my other stuff, and walked out.
He didn’t call or anything, until April. He had a business trip, he said, that required that the men have female companions with them. He told me I’d be perfect for the trip, that I’d love it, that he’d let me set the rules this time, if only I’d agree to go on the trip with him. He was so sweet and so persuasive that I almost said yes……but then I remembered how it was over the holidays, and how confused and awful I felt for alot of the time. I also started wondering exactly what this “business trip” was, and wondering if he had some kind of kinky thing worked out. So I said no, told him not to call me anymore, and hung up.
But his call made me start thinking about all we had done…..Thanksgiving, which was totally hot and fun…..Christmas and New Years’, which had some fun stuff but mostly was wierd and scary to me. Did I do something wrong to make it all so bad? Maybe I am more of a prude than I think…….but I don’t really think so. And now I don’t know if I’ll find someone else to try with….if I can trust a guy again. I don’t like being like that.
Saturday, May 28th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Have you ever noticed that each new assault on adult society and culture is justifed by saying that adult behavior must be curbed “for the children”? Here’s a story of the prudish Swiss, invoking the precious kinder to keep kinky teddy bears off the public streets:
Of course, it’s “because of the children”:
A giant dominatrix teddy bear wearing a leather mask and brandishing hand-cuffs has been banned from sober Zurich’s street display of man-sized model bears, the project’s artistic director said Tuesday.
…
“This bear is perverse, dominatrix and hardcore. We had to ban it because of the children,” Beat Seeberger-Quin, the project’s art director, told Reuters.
Thanks to Sarah for mailing the link.
Wednesday, April 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
If you like playing “In The Dungeons Of The Inquisition” with your partner of choice, you’ll be impressed by this photograph from Water Bondage:
What caught my attention, after a moment’s thought, was the real-world dynamic of arranging to take this picture. Just exactly how trusted does a fetish photographer have to be, before his models will agree to an underwater bondage photo shoot? I don’t care how kinky you are or what the photo shoot pays: when the water closes over your head you’re going to want to have a lot of faith that the boys wearing the torturer’s cowls are paying close attention to your well-being.
Proof, if you need it, that there are still professions in the world where character and reputation matter.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Sunday, March 6th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Sure, there are lots of ways to not get laid. (Trust me, in my youth I practiced several.) But this method of replying to kinky personal ads has to rank WAY up there. “You eventually give me total access to your soul and I accept the responsibility as an honor….” Does that sound like a fellow who might be two people short of a threesome?
Thanks to Mistress Matisse for finding the link to total-access-man’s sarcastic tormenter.
Wednesday, January 19th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
As a visitor so nicely confirmed in a comment on my post yesterday, the picture is indeed from Burning Man. Nekkid Jim also recommended a stop by his Beastial Hump Camp photo page, which is, um, different. Think “Loch Ness Cock”…..
Anyway, the Cocky Bastard has other kinky playa pix too…..including one that makes me laugh every time I see it. It’s hidden behind the “more” link for this reason: Nymph, you might not want to look!
Yes people, it’s Bondage Bear!
Friday, January 7th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
I’m embarrassed because as I was crawling into my lonely bed last night I realized that I’ve now promised y’all two stories….my favorite fantasy and the tale of R and me and our holiday vacation. I’m still trying to get caught up on work that piled up while I was gone, and neither of these stories is going to be a fast writing job. But I am trying to get time for them, and you will see them at some point. If there’s more interest for one than the other (you can provide your “vote” in a comment) that’s the one I’ll do first.
Meantime, I was catching up on Bacchus’ older posts, and saw this one, that includes links to some kinky Harry Potter fanfic. Here’s one I found that is similar, but more focused on emotions than graphically describing acts. It’s called Remains, and it’s by RazorQueen. Scanning down her blog, I see links to more sexy Harry Potter stuff….and looking at her website, a whole section of adult fanfic. And dark poetry. Yowza. A couple of her love poems really got to me….if I had read them before R invited me out to play for the holidays I might not have gone.
Will that help hold you while I try to find time to write the stories I’ve promised you? :)
Saturday, December 18th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
In case you missed it, there is a set of funny conversation transcripts on the forums at Bondage.com that are making the rounds of the blogs. A kinky man gets surreal phone calls from his mother after she finds out about his kink, and begins to explore her own:
Mom — I mean it. We went out last night and he said it twice!
Me — Where did you go?
Mom — Well, just upstairs. But still.
Me — Did you like it?
Mom — It made me smile. But I think I was blushing.
Me — From that? Why?
Mom — Because I didn’t know how deep to go.
Me — You’re losin’ me. What?
Mom — You know, with my finger.
Me — Ummmmm, Uhh. Well� (Why do I bother? I don’t *have* to answer the phone.)
Mom — Well? I never did that before. I wasn’t sure if I would hurt him.
Me — Poop finger. (System shock is an ugly thing.)
Mom — What?
Me — You gave the poor guy the poop finger. Christ.
Mom — We’re experimenting. Isn’t your mother allowed to experiment??
Me — Exactly what did I do to deserve this?
Mom — Just tell me how far in I can do that.
Me — You really put your finger in his butt, huh? (Nothing surprises me anymore.)
Mom — Only a little ways. I was too embarrassed. I wanted to keep going.
Me — You won’t hurt him. Just buy some Astro Glide.
Mom — I brought a case home.
Me — Good fuckin’ god! You going to put a safety deposit box inside him? (Ok, I lied. Things still surprise me.)
Mom — Will you be serious?
Me — I am! That’s a lot of goop!
Mom — I have to get going, he’ll be back in a few minutes.
Me — Ok ok. He’ll know when it’s too far. Got a safe word?
Mom — It’s ‘Jingle.’
Me — Good enough. Love you. Don’t call back mkay?
Mom — Rotten kid.
Me — (Click)
Obviously this is one of those internet things to be taken with a grain of salt — this could easily be quality comic fiction. But remember, there’s no way to know for sure. Saying you are sure with too much certainty only makes you look like a bear of little brain.
Found via Bondage Blog.
Friday, December 10th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Is it kinky Friday? It must be! Here are some kinky links for you all:
First: That relative rarity, a male/female fisting pic. From a series on this page.
Second: A Harry Potter slash story. Harry-slash-Draco. With spanking. And figging. Found via Figging.com.
Third: A gallery of vintage (or at least black and white) enema pictures.
ErosBlog, your infallible source (today only!) of links about butt.
Wednesday, November 24th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Hi all. Sorry I’ve been absent. At the last minute I decided to go home for Thanksgiving…..which meant alot of driving deep into Bible-belt land. I didn’t think I’d have much to blog about from here, but last night a longtime dream/fantasy came true.
There was this guy I’d had a crush on in sixth grade; he was cute and cocky and not afraid to be nice to us girls. I didn’t think he knew I existed…..but I found out later that he liked me too. But, I found that out at a bad time, because I was going with somebody else. When we broke up, he was going with somebody….but by the time they broke up, I was going with somebody again, and that’s how it went. We were good friends throughout high school but lost touch after that. Even though our families are still here, we never met up.
Until last night, anyway. I was at a store getting some booze to hide in my room, and in he walked. Not quite as blond as I remember, not as skinny, either, but still with his self-confident strut–and a nicely balding top of the head. Even better than the version of him that was part of alot of my college fantasies.
I immediately felt a rush of warmth to my nether regions, along with a telltale moistness between my legs. Then he turned, saw me, and got the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
Making a long story short, we’re both single right now, so……we had a real fun time last night, steaming up the windows of his SUV. I can’t think of a better person to have unleashed all my stored-up horniness on. No matter what happens around the dinner table tomorrow, it’s been the best Thanksgiving ever for me already. :D
And speaking of Thanksgivings, here’s a small token of my appreciation for my fellow sex-bloggers, erotica enthusiasts, and kinky kindred spirits:
Saturday, November 20th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Wow. More than two years ago (how time flies!) I posted this rant (and this follow-up) about how lying Bardex lawyers were sending bogus demand letters around the net in an attempt to suppress discussion of the sexual uses of the Bardex balloon catheter.
Can you believe those donkey-raping smegma-sniffers are still at it?
Friday, September 24th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Okay, so this an entirely predictable post. I’ve been waiting seven days to see what Gina Lynn would write on in her first Wired Magazine “Sex Drive” column. So after I gulped down enough coffee for my eyes and fingers to work moderately well, I fired up the ol’ browser and mosied over, to read about a new remote-controlled dildo that is seriously remotely controlled:
In other words, a man can be thrusting in Cleveland while a woman is penetrated in Seattle, and the cybersex experience gets one step closer to the holodeck.
Here’s a link to the entire interesting column. As someone who’s never had a need for sex toys (but that day is getting closer), this whole idea is weirdly kinky-cool.
Wednesday, May 12th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
This card looks pretty innocuous on the outside, but it gets better as you read inside:
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.
Thursday, February 12th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Despite its title, the article “Why I Can’t Rape My Wife” is pretty damned funny:
I’ve always wanted to be the High Lord of Depravity, but being fundamentally lazy and naive, I’ve come to realize that frankly, kinky sex is just too much work.
I broke up laughing at this:
Here’s the secret of cheap bondage: Your partner’s faking it. That ad-libbed knot at the right bedpost slipped twenty minutes ago, and he’s been working overtime to keep his hand in place. That blindfold-cum-scarf? She’s been peeking out from under since you started. Unless you’re some kind of sadistic boy scout, your trivial attempts at impromptu bondage are doomed to failure. You need the professional equipment, pal.
Long but worth it.
Monday, December 22nd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
A new (to me) blog called Japaneze (dead link removed) — full of kinky links and small observations, like this one:
Latex examination gloves – every bedroom should have a box. Sadly, some people have a latex allergy and so miss out on the pleasure of rolling on a glove, letting the latex grip your skin before rubbing vaseline on the fingers and probing into a deep dark and tight hole. You know, using latex sometimes just makes it easier for both partners.
Tuesday, November 4th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
“There’s this woman I’ve been getting to know….”
When a man says that, you just know the story’s about to start getting good. The average man wouldn’t even bring it up unless things were about to get interesting.
So. There’s this woman I’ve been getting to know.
We started flirting on a bulletin board. Just playful stuff.
Then it was emails. Lots of emails. Long, friendly, intimate, funny, wide-ranging emails. Emails that said too much. And that was OK. Better than OK, it was fine. Fine and fun. Exciting.
Somewhere in there, an exchange of photos. Better and better. Yum. And she’s still talking to me after seeing my picture, so I guess she just thought I was wearing a Shrek costume. (That’s a joke, folks – my skin’s not that color. Ba-da-boom.)
Then the chats started. Are internet chats supposed to last that many hours? Who cares? Lots of teasing and comparing notes and swapping life stories and just talking about what happened today and yesterday and tomorrow. Wistful complaints about the time zones and latitudes separating us. Increasingly vociferous cursing at the ravages of geography. Talk (hints at first, running both ways, the careful feints of the anxious-not-to-be-too-eager) of a visit. Sex talk too, frank discussions about what we like, sharing of favorite stories and photos, even some cybersex… but this post is not about the juicy details.
Oh, stop giving me that look. Maybe next time. If you’re nice. It’s one thing for me to post salacious links and wisecrack about other people’s intimate disclosures, but in writing this post I’m swiftly gaining a whole new appreciation for the courage of the folks who write about the nitty gritty of their romantic lives and the pleasures and pitfalls and uncertainties thereof. Any fool can post a dirty link, but this game is not for sissies. Especially when – wave, everybody! – the nymph at the heart of the matter reads the blog.
So anyway. We both are vividly aware that it’s still early days. Nobody wants to be that guy, or that girl, who falls head over heels for a fantasy person who turns out never to have existed except in the imagination. Nobody wants to slink home, dejected, after a first meeting has been torpedoed by a cruelly unexpected lack of chemistry. We’ve been around the block, we both know how easily this story can end badly.
And yet….
She’s merry and delightful and at least as kinky as me – in several very fun ways. And a joy to talk to on the phone. Oh, did I not mention the phone calls? Four so far. The first one lasted about six hours. Mmmm, I haven’t laughed so well in… years. Last night, we chatted for three hours online, then she called and we spent another six or seven hours on the phone. Tonight we kept it to four hours. With difficulty.
What’s next? Damfino. Damfweeno, to coin a phrase. Let’s just say that when DW talks of her Aussie, and his conditional cases, and her own smiling calculations, I recognize where they both are coming from.
Updates, I promise you, as events warrant.
Friday, May 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Yesterday the Reverse Cowgirl posted a link to an appeal from Fantagraphics Books, which is in a dangerous cash flow crunch that might alternatively be described as a “bulging warehouse” crunch. Book rich and cash poor — who among us can’t be sympathetic to that universal plight of the literate?
Anyway, this whole matter cut no onions with Bacchus, because he’s not generally a comic book guy and the Fantagraphics guys apparently are. And here’s the mind-boggling part — nowhere in their “buy our books!” appeal did they mention their ownership of the Eros Comix imprint, to whom we all owe thanks for the kinky insectile slitherings, moanings, and writhings of comics like Bondage Fairies, not to mention the wholesome spankings and 1950s June Cleaver dildo shenanigans of Housewives at Play. And too many other quality erotic titles to count.
This oversight on Fantagraphics’ part is possibly forgivable, as they’ve doubtless got good reasons for separating out their adult business and being low-profile about it. But it’s inexcusable for the Cowgirl not to have mentioned this trivial detail (unless, like Bacchus, she did not know it.)
Fortunately for all concerned, a mysterious stranger who calls himself Sam dropped an email. So now we know: Go buy some dirty comics today, if you want to be able to buy them tomorrow! It’s a good cause….
Friday, May 23rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
The more vocal advocates for breast feeding argue that it’s an act that’s utterly without sexual significance, and that the sexual iconography of the exposed female breast is somehow destroyed by the proximity of a hungry infant. If they’re right, the following story has no place on a sex blog.
But who cares? This is just too deliciously kinky and European:
Woman who nursed puppies has no regrets
A young Norwegian mother who took a litter of puppies to her own breast when her dog died giving birth remains proud of her unusual move.
…
The drama began Friday November 8 when Skiaker’s Canarian Warren Hound, named Aida, started giving birth to a litter of 14 puppies. Suddenly the puppies stopped coming and the next stop was the vet’s office.
In the end, both Aida and three of the puppies died, while another three died later.
Those that survived were in desperate need of nourishment, and that’s when Skiaker impulsively took them to her breast. She fed them over that first weekend, until surrogate mother dogs could be found to take over.
Today, the eight surviving puppies (four males and four females) are back in the Skiaker’s home and in good health. So is baby Emil, now five months old and happy to play with his canine comrades in the Skiakers’ living room.
Deep in your heart you know that the video (if there were a video) of a blonde Norwegian lady breastfeeding puppies would sell for big bucks on Ebay.
Thursday, April 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
A while back ErosBlog linked to, and ridiculed, an alleged list of Rules For My Slave Girls. Now SpankBoss has posted a far more realistic sounding list of rules he found floating around somewhere:
1. I will not hum the theme from Jeopardy while Master decides which implement to spank me with.
…
6. Master does NOT hog the bed.
7. I will not refer to Master’s kitty as “snake food.”
…
14. I will not chew my collar.
15. I will not giggle during paddlings.
…
20. I will not make shadow puppets in the candlelight while Master is tying me up.
21. I will not critique how Master ties me up.
…
23. I will not go out-of-state when borrowing Master’s car during lunch.
…
29. It is unlikely that Master pushed all the covers onto my side of the bed so he could shiver all night.
…
48. I will not hoot with laughter when Master accidentally whacks himself on the back of the head with the flogger.
Now that sounds like a happy, if kinky, relationship. The rest are mostly just as fun, and funny, so go read ’em.
Friday, January 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s some hardcore stick figure porn from The Petting Zoo:
Don’t miss their unique version of the hamster dance.
“Recycling” is also…special.
Other people’s children…what can one do?
Thursday, November 21st, 2002 -- by Bacchus
By popular demand (hey, it’s safe to assume the person who asked is popular) the thumbnails of the comment enforcement bear have been linked to the full sized version of those files. Fans of kinky anime-style illustration may hereby commence rejoicing!
Thursday, November 7th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
 Bacchus is pissed off. As a casual Google search reveals, there are lots of kinky people out there who enjoy giving each other sex enemas. And like any other kinky sex practice, it helps to have good tools. One brand of “anal retention catheter” (you know, a rubber tube for shoving up the ass, usually with one or more inflatable balloons to keep it there) is Bardex.
One would think that the maker of such devices would appreciate free publicity. One would be wrong. One must have failed to consider the kind of lawyers likely to be hired by people who make things to shove up your ass.
The result? Threatening letters to kinky folk on the web.
“By using BARDEX in connection with goods and services that do not originate with C.R. Bard, Inc., You are misrepresenting the source of these goods and services as well as deceiving the public. This use of BARDEX is likely to cause confusion as to origin of the products or services identified and dilute the value of our client’s registered mark in violation of the trademark laws. Furthermore, the manner in which you promote and advertise the products or services creates a negative image, damaging the reputation and goodwill associated with our client’s mark and products”.
The result? Some quality sites have been forced to revise their content — not because there’s any real risk that Bardex would win a lawsuit, but simply because the people involved can’t afford (in money, in time, or in energy) to fight.
What’s wrong with that? Well, as it happens, these lawyers are bluffing. The trademark law in question is the one that lets Nike shut down Ebay auctions for cheap Chinese knockoff shoes. References to bootleg goods really does “deceive the public” and “dilutes the value of the brand.”
The law does NOT let a brand owner decide how its products will be used. Nor does it allow the brand owner to stop people from talking about what they like to do with the product.
What Bardex is doing here — trying to stamp out web references to “non-medical” uses of its enema gear — is just plain old-fashioned cheap bullying. They don’t want their medical customers finding out (as if they didn’t already know) that people use their product to have a little anal fun. And they have learned that they can threaten folks who do that, to get them to shut up about it.
Alas, it doesn’t usually make sense to fight these assholes when they send their threatening letters. Although you could win in court, it could easily cost tens of thousands of dollars to get that victory. No little site about pervy sex has that kind of revenue, and even kinky folks have families to feed.
These guys know they don’t have a legal leg to stand on, but they know that when they send out their insupportable legalistic nastygrams, most folks will have no choice but to comply. Even by the ethical standards for which lawyers are already infamous, that’s just disgusting. Weasels Lawyers who lie, and know they are lying, and do it deliberately and with intent to intimidate, are just rotten. And so are the folks who hire them.
This site has yet to make a dime. Your host has no assets that can readily be attached. And your host’s host can be replaced, complete with a DNS update, in under 24 hours. So, Bardex, this is for you:
BARDEX is BEST
for kinky enema butt sex!
Deal with it.
Wednesday, October 16th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
In a shameless bid for publicity, a notorious environmental organization has released a 10-point guide to environmentally friendly sex. No, I am afraid I am not making this up. The tips range from the ludicrously obvious to drop-in-the-bucket pointlessness (from an environmental standpoint, anyway):
Tips include turning off the lights to conserve energy (‘if you want to see your partner then have sex during the day’), making sure your garden is pesticide-free for alfresco activities (‘would you really want to set your bare bottom on weedkiller?’) and banning lubricants such as petroleum jelly (‘Esso’s screwing the planet but you don’t have to.’)
It gets worse:
And if you and your partner indulge in any spanking or bondage then Greenpeace advocate ‘looking for timber and paddles certified by the only internationally recognised ecological forest certification organisation, the Forest Stewardship Council.’
Kinky sex for the politically correct! Bah, give me a good old fashioned made-in-the-USA paddle chainsawed from the heart of a clear-cut old-growth Tongass National Forest yellow cedar tree any day. Guaranteed to give the nymphs that old fashioned personal tingle, while providing high-wage jobs for hard-working American loggers!
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