Astroglide To The Rescue!

This pattern of urban debris tells a story. I’m not sure what that story is, but there’s gotta be one:

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Hand Me Some Crisco

As I’ve noted before, kids these days (by which I mean, anybody who came of their sexual maturity post-AIDS-crisis) often don’t understand the properly-filthy connotations of a good wad of Crisco:

From BJ’s Gay Porno-Crazed Ramblings.

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Squirting Cum Lube

It’s no secret that some people have a sexual appetite for playing with cum that exceeds the volume of cum one man can readily produce on any given evening. Lining up more men to produce more cum is certainly possible, but can be logistically challenging and/or tiresome; and sometimes — amazingly — there’s a shortage of ready volunteers. Thus is born the market demand filled by a product called Squirting Cum Lube:

The new Squirting Cum Lube is specially designed and colored to duplicate the appearance and the feel of real cum! This water-based lubricant can be used inside a realistic squirting cock dildo, on a genuine real life cock for stimulation, or to lube up a dildo or vibrator for easy insertion.

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Condoms In Porn: The Aesthetics

Given that condoms-in-porn have been the subject of controversy (artistic, political, medical, legal) ever since the early days of the AIDS epidemic and continue to be so, it’s perhaps remarkable that ErosBlog has never (so far as I know) covered any aspect of the issue. Mostly it’s because this blog’s mostly R-rated approach to modern photographic porn makes dicks with raincoats rara avis around here. In much larger part, it’s because I’m ignorant about the legal, medical, and political issues, while I’m mostly apathetic (Ron White’s penetrating observation notwithstanding) about the aesthetics of penises, with or without rubber covers.

Thus I was startled to (s)tumble over an anal sex pic from Explicite Art (see it here) where the visual of the condom struck me as strongly improving the appearance of the porn. Exactly why this might be so, I’m not certain; my best guess is that the slick appearance of the latex stands in for a slippery wet look that (in other sexual contexts, though it’s illogical in this one) suggests natural arousal, which is always sexy. As always, your mileage may vary.

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Verbal Self-Defense, Anal Edition

A tweet from @AdeleHaze:

Got harrassed in the street with offer of anal sex. Informed the dickhead that I had a plastic cock and lots of lube if he was keen.

Too gentle, though. Dude wouldn’t have offered lube if things played out the way he meant it…

Here Comes The Strap-On!

This YouTube clip from the TV show Weeds can’t be embedded, which is no skin off my nose as I am not a big fan of embedding things that won’t be here a few months later anyway. But it’s worth linking nonetheless, just for watching the rapid deterioration of the smug look on his face as she pulls out her strap-on and starts strapping it on…

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The Scent Of Machine Oil And Pussy

Once our new mechanical sex overlords figured out that soft fleshy minions require even more lubrication than the machine intelligences whose reproductive processes they were evolved to hijack, their conquest began to proceed more smoothly:

Image credit: Fucking Machines.

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Medical Fetish

There’s a lot of extreme closeup shots to be seen at the gyno/medical fetish site Exclusive Club, but as usual for me, I found myself more entertained by some of the establishing shots. Does the doctor really need such a firm hold on her chin to look at her tonsils? Or is he, like, planning to anoint them?

And I also like this next shot (below), chaste though it is despite the schmear of KY jelly on her butt. I can just hear the doctor booming “We are done, thou well-greased wench! Begone from my exam table!”

(Upon mature reflection, it’s probably just as well I didn’t pursue a medical career.)

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Enema: Do Not Want!

The other day Bondage Blog ran some pictures that look like somebody’s sordid fantasy of an East German enema clinic, circa 1972. But (butt?) there was one picture that cried out for a LOL-treatment:

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Words Fail Her

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

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

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

“Um, my arse?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buttering Him Up

Remember the infamous kitchen fisting scene in the movie Caligula? The scene with the crock of butter, Rome not having yet invented Crisco?

Sure you do:

From Butter Lubed.

Soap Is Not Lube

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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Pussy Foot

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

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

Behold!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Desert Islands Have Sand. Lube Wisely.

Susie Bright has created an Amazon list of must-have sex stuff, and in explaining the list, she’s dashed off several valuable mini essays on vibrators (wall current rules, battery-operated sucks, The Rabbit isn’t all that), lube, and the history of the sex toy industry. The lube portion I particularly like, because she simplifies down to the essentials:

Sex educators are famous for a particular cliche: “communication and lubrication” are what make people happy in bed. But truer words were never spoken.

So, given that essential fact, what lube do you get? My Amazon list is a little truncated because of what I could list on their site.

Vegetable oil is fantastic. Pre-AIDS, it was my lube of choice. If you’re aren’t using condoms, get your favorite oil– almond is really nice, maybe add a little coconut to make it creamy– and go at it. Or just grab the olive oil off the kitchen counter if time is of the essence. It feels great, it won’t hurt you, it’s sexy…. who could ask for more?

For water-soluble lubes, I always liked Probe because it has no taste! The biggest hassle with commercial lubes is that they usually taste AWFUL and make oral sex completely undesirable.

Are there other taste and scent-free lubes? Yes, Probe is my old tried-and-true. Works great with condoms, doesn’t make you ill, doesn’t cause cancer… what a treasure!

However, sometimes you need a lube that goes BEYOND. Sometimes the drugs you’re on, or menopause, can turn you into a prune. How do you get that high-flying crazy slippery feeling that goes on and on and on?

Silicone lube.

That’s why I recommended Liquid Silk for my desert island. It also is the first lube that makes hot tub and shower sex possible and even fun. It’s not water soluble– you’ll have that slippery feeling in your vagina or ass for several hours. But the slickness is so intoxicating. Just don’t use it with other silicone products or they gum each other up! Get that spatula out of your hot tub!

I do, however, find an important omission in Susie’s discussion of power sources for vibrators. She writes:

1) Electricity is essential. I don’t care what sex toy retailers say about battery-operated vibes– the main reason they push them is because they are dirt cheap, (wholesale), and they are lightweight to ship and transport (without the batts, of course!). A Hitachi magic wand is only marked up double its cost to the retailer… so if it’s $40, maybe they paid $20.

But a battery vibe might be a dollar to them and they’ll sell it for $10 or $20.

This reasoning has nothing to do with how it feels, or if women can get off on it. And the “sound” of batteries vibrating against plastic doesn’t mean it’s powerful. They can make an awful racket and not deliver any appreciable sensation.

Can women get off on battery-vibes? YES, some can, some are their mother’s darlings– I’m not on a crusade to get rid of them. But the reason they are hyped the way they are is because of money, not because of universal sexual satisfaction.

The vibrators that are produced by the mainstream appliance manufacturers like Hitachi and Wahl, were originally introduced as “massagers.” They’re quality appliances that will last years and years. I still have the first ones I ever bought in 1981. They have warranties. They have a following that’s been going for decades, based on technology that’s over a century old now.

I always hated selling a woman a battery-operated model for her first vibrator because there was a 50% chance she’d find the whole thing a hoax. However, if I sold her a motor-driven or coil-operated electric model, she’d come out of the ‘try-out’ room with this amazed look on her face, and say, ‘OH! I GET IT NOW!”

I agree wholeheartedly about the puny vibrations you can get from a couple of “C” or even “AA” batteries. When I’ve got a vibrator in one hand and a lady’s labia and clitoral hood in the other, I want some serious jiggle and buzz. “Can you feel it now?” is not the game I am here to play. I have pink bits to vibrate and I want them V*i*B*R*a*T*e*D, not tickled. (For tickling, I have feathers.)

On the other hand, as any roofer can tell you, there isn’t an electrical outlet handy under every current bush, and dragging a power cord behind you is a pain in the ass. The same technology that lets a guy with a tool belt and a hairy ass crack drive sheet metal screws for forty minutes at the top of a sixteen foot ladder (rechargeable ni-cad or lithium-ion batteries, ta-dah!) makes a perfectly acceptable power source for a vibrator. I’ve raved before about the Phantasy Sinnflut, which is a tool-grade rechargeable vibrator that any man could be proud to dock on its charging base in the garage next to his DeWalt drill and his Makita reciprocal saw. It’s nobody’s budget option, but it’s handier than anything with a cord, safer in the shower, and functionally far beyond anything with a disposable dry cell in it.

Being Handy

Remember what Red says: “If the women don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy.”

I rather suspect they find Monmouth to be both:

“With a little patience, you could probably get your whole hand in there.”

Audrey had invited me over for an afternoon of fun and games. Now she was lying back on a pile of pillows, legs spread, and her pussy dripping all over my fingers and tongue.

I pulled back and looked at her beautifully proportioned slit. Her pussy felt so small and tight around my two fingers. I had been licking and fingering her for a good while already, and I was in no rush. Carefully, I massaged around her pussy, stroking, licking and insinuating my way in with three, then four fingers, a bit of lube, and a lot of attention to her clit along the way.

Gradually, she opened up more and more.

After she had gotten accustomed to four fingers and most of my hand, it was time to get my thumb in. I pulled out part of the way and added more lube to everything. Her eyes, wide and glistening, followed the way I spread the lubricant all over my hand. She wanted, and yet…

My fingers formed a wedge, thumb pressed against the palm as tightly as possible. It was easier than I thought. The whole hand slid in. Suddenly, shockingly, I could cup her entire cervix in my palm.

Then I formed a fist.

Audrey let out a deep growl or groan or some other noise that came all the way from down below. She reached up to grab me by the neck and pulled me in for a wet, deep kiss, unbalancing me so that the weight of my body shifted on to the hand now fully buried inside her.

Staring into my eyes, hers wide, not quite focused. she let go of my neck. “Take a look…”

I pulled back and saw, incredibly, the naked lips of her pussy wrapped all the way around my wrist.

My hand was fully inside her. I moved it around, carefully, starting to fuck her with my clenched fist….

Poor Old Tom

I love it when artists (unknown, in this case; picture found at Edinburgh Erotica) dirty up the old cartoon characters. In this case, it looks like a spot of “forced feminization” for poor old Tom (don’t he clean up nice?) and a little strap-on action. Trust Jerry, he’s holding Tom’s tail out of the way, and probably looking around for the bottle of Habenero lube:

Update: Looks like the artist is “Bathgate 21” or maybe just Bathgate.

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Butt Plug Birthday Present

In which Monmouth demonstrates the fine art of gift-giving:

For her 40th birthday, I gave Betty a belated present: A shiny, black hand-poured silicone buttplug, tapered in shape, with a generous bell end at the bottom, just above the recess.

It was destined to fit snugly into her tight, pink anus.

…

I smeared some lube on the puckered opening of her ass, and buried my cock again in the wet depths of her pussy. Betty pressed back against me, driving herself onto my hard shaft, and I slid my thumb experimentally into the lubricated tightness. She let out a deep groan.

“Fuck…” she muttered, and I pulled my thumb out to reach for the plug. Teasing her, I slid it down the slippery crack of her ass, down to the waiting anus, and began to massage her with it, gently. With one hand on her hip, I kept her still, just the tip of my cock still inside her, and pressed the tapered smoothness of the buttplug against the resisting muscle.

“Open up,” I purred. “Show me how you take it in your ass.”

The Pleasures Of The Ass

A woman inquired recently in the comments on another post what the big deal is, with the whole anal sex thing. Of which I was reminded, when I found a woman with an enthusiastic answer:

I love having my ass filled. The plug we have, although adequate, could be a bit bigger. When I read about vibrating plugs, my little sphincter reacts with a happy twinge. The feeling of cold lube touching the rim of my ass is so divine. The first finger inserted changes the rate of my heart, I find my entire being focused on the sensations I’m receiving and the ecstasy that will soon follow. The first resistance as MoJo’s cock slides in to meet my tight ring prompts me to relax and welcome him into my body. God, I love having my ass filled.

From the Giardino Del Piacere archives.

Dealing With Penis-Bearing Overlords

I guffawed (yes, I did, and when was the last time you heard a good old-fashioned guffaw?) when reading A Henchwoman’s Survivalists Guide to Laying Down the Hardline in the Bedroom:

Here are some examples of “unsavoryâ€? male behaviors, questions, and criticisms, and suggested ways to combat them. Take note, I have found a great deal of success using these modes of combat in the sexual battlefield.

Penis-bearing overlord: “Honey, I would really like to do/try anal sex.â€?
Upstart female: “Really? Me too! Why don’t you assume the position, I will be right back with the toys and lube / bar of butter and a broom handle. You’re going to want to relax, babe.â€?

…

Penis-bearing overlord: “I wish you had bigger tits.â€?
Upstart Female: “Well, I wish you had smaller tits and a bigger cock, but I don’t make a big deal about it now, do I?â€?

…

Penis-bearing overlord: “You don’t cook/clean as well as my mom.â€?
Upstart female: “I am sure I don’t suck dick as well as she does either.â€?

Thanks to Mistress Matisse for the link.

Real Sex In Space

I clicked past the recent micro-rash of speculation about sex in space — it struck me as being more of the usual tired empty mealy-mouthed nonsense, devoid of any new insight or sex-positive suggestions. It never even crossed my mind that there was anything to blog about in it. “The moisture associated with sexual congress could pool as floating droplets…” Bah! Who needs it?

But hark! Violet Blue has the straight dope on zero gravity sex:

Sex in zero (or reduced) gravity is going to change the way we fuck for many reasons — primarily because while floating in zero G you need to use stationary objects to move, period. Getting cock into pussy, into mouth, into ass — getting pussy into face, or getting the strap-on into his ass — is all going to be a coordinated effort, Your partner’s body will wander no matter how hard they try to keep still. And you better bet you’ll need to tether that bottle of lube (and its cap). In fact, all your sex toys will need wrist straps.

Ahh, that’s much better.

What It Feels Like To Deep Throat

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Who Shall Be Master?

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

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

jblack: whoa

mia: *attaches 14″ dildo to strap-on*

mia: *lubes the dildo up*

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

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

jblack: master does not approve

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

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

mia: and to prove it

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

jblack: master says no

mia: no, YOUR MASTER says yes

mia: bend the fuck over

jblack: i don’t like this

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

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

jblack: no i don’t want this

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

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

jblack: yes

mia: and why is that

jblack: because i aint a fag

mia: oh but i am?

jblack: different. your a bitch

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

mia: *slams my big dildo into your ass*

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

jblack: this is rape

mia: “shut up, bitch. enjoy it”

mia: oh yeah, you like that?

mia: you like Master’s cock?

*jblack has signed off*

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Keep Your Eyes On The Naked Lady

If my dentist used one of these on me, it would probably work:

A male one would work better, except I’d probably be trying to lick its cock, which would not make the dentist’s job any easier.

I found this at clube dos Malandros. I don’t understand a lick of Spanish, nor can I tell Spanish from Portuguese, but I like a lot of his pictures!

Lubed And Ready

Sometimes Hot Action makes me snort my iced tea out my nostrils, with drollery like this:

A bunch of lube leaked all over the inside of my backpack. Awesome! Now everything I own can be inserted anywhere.

ESC, Enhanced For Your Pleasure-Now With Sex Toy Reviews

You read it here first! Evil Science Chick is increasing her science empire by doing sex toy reviews. Last time she just teased us with a mention of the toy. This time she went all Consumer Reports for us, dishing it out on the Top-Tough rabbit vibrator.

amusing aside: the woman who rung up the toy informed me that this was a very good jackrabbit toy for “beginners.” Apparently, only EXPERIENCED jackrabbit users should utilize the purple colored ones with the plasta-chromed bottom that cost $10 more. Remember that, folks. Stick to sex toys APPROPRIATE for your skill level.

Find out how she rated it yourself, and be amused by images of little crockpots for lube in the process! ESC also asks for information, so leave a comment about your rabbit experiences. It’s for science, people! :hehe:

Sex Under The Desk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

Get Over Your Ass

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sneeze For Me, Baby…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um…” I responded brilliantly.

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

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

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

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

It just doesn’t get any kinkier than this.

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

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Whooping Cough Sex

Dancing, Idleness, And Anal Sex

Two tidbits today from the vast and tasty smorgasbord that is Panties Panties Panties. First, the anal sex. There’s a recent post called “Ass: The Gateway Drug“. The post combines plenty of prurient detail with an anal sex tip that’s not always found in those dry how-to articles; namely, that good humor is at least as important as the standard “use oceans of lube” advice. But it’s the title that amused me most. It reminded me of the ancient joke: “Why don’t [insert your favorite moralistic prigs here] have sex standing up? Because it could lead to dancing!”

Tidbit the second, nonsexual: In a spiritual echo of my recent slam against office work, Hiromi posted about idleness and wage slavery and included a vignette about soul-crushing commutes:

Today I was stuck in Austin rush hour traffic. Grey-faced, prune-lipped, baggy-eyed commuters with cell phones grafted to their heads crammed in their metal hutches inching along in the 105 degree heat. And for what?

Werk. Jaabs. Wage slavery.

Folks, the horrifying thing about all of this is that it’s voluntary; there are ways out of the rat race, but you have to look hard and perhaps be willing to give up (at least temporarily) some of the excellent pellets they feed you.

Test Riding A Fucking Machine

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

Dacia vs. The Machine

or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Robocock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dildoes In The Subway

Thanks to Waking Vixen for her report from the front lines in the war on terror, aka the dreaded New York Subway random bag searches:

Yesterday, the bag search finally happened to me. As luck would have it, I was carrying a bag full of dildos, butt plugs, lube, condoms, a strap on harness and spiky high heels. I got pulled aside and the cop asked me to open my (black! suspicious!) bag. I obliged, and the collection of silicone toys was right on top, with a stiletto poking straight up in the air. The cop didn’t even bat an eye, just nodded and waved me through the turnstile.

The Man Who Drank Lube

From Rollertrain comes a set of hilarious stories documenting certain calls placed to the customer service department at a sex toy mail order emporium. My favorite is The Man Who Drank Lube:

Customer: I took this an hour ago and nothing is happening.

Hez: What was it that you took, sir?

Customer: It said two pumps. I bought the 32 ounce bottle Thin Lube, and I took two pumps of it, but nothing is happening.

Hez: You drank lube?

Customer: I drank it an hour ago and nothing is happening.

Hez: Sir, you actually drank the lube?

Customer: Yes, and I’m not lubricated yet.

Hez: Sir, do you understand that you’re supposed to apply lubricant topically?

Customer: It says to take two pumps.

Hez: Sir, does the bottle say that it’s a water-based lube, or a silicon-based lube?

Customer: [Fumbling for minutes] Water soluble. But I am not lubricated.

Hez: Sir, you’ll be lubricated in about four hours.

The End Of The R Story

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.

An Ode To Handjobs

Violet Blue has had a busy week, but she’s not complaining because:

I worked on perfecting one of my other favorite activities: the handjob. Ah, an ode to handjobs. My hands become like these heat-seeking missles, roaming all over the crotch of his jeans, squeezing and kneading and then finally getting inside. Unwrapping the erection from the boxers is always an exquisite moment, the heat radiates from his cock in waves. I love to run my hands all over him dry, squeezing at the base, stroking beneath the tip with the flat of my thumb. Then I drown him in lube, making a wet, slurpy-sounding, sloppy mess that I rub everywhere, even his balls. I’ve been experimenting with different lubes for different handjob styles; you can buy these dry-feeling cream lubes that create a little drag, heat and friction on his cock (Eros Power Cream), or my favorite standby, really runny silicone lube that acts like oil but cleans up with soap and water (Eros Pur; doesn’t break latex). Now all I need is a female research assistant, though I doubt Craigslist has the lab bunny I’m looking for.

In the same post, she’s also got a modest proposal about blowjob education. But it’s not gonna be real popular in the red states….

Sex Melons

Remember the sex melon? Apparently melon sex is not just for guys any more:

I should think, however, that she’ll need some lube on that thing if she hopes to make any progress.

Nix To The Warming Liquid

From wik3dchick, this damning mini-review of KY Warming Liquid:

I gave away my KY Warming Liquid to a deserving person. That stuff only got warm but didnt lube at all… So its like having anal sex w/a lighter in your asshole. Sucks.

All righty, then.

Happy Tax Day

Anyone in the unhappy situation of owing personal income taxes in the United States might appreciate today’s post on Bondage Blog. Poor taste alert: tax collectors are shown doing what they do best, using a compliant horse and (apparently) no lube.

Time To Lube Up For Violet Blue

Huzzah! With her unequaled flair, the One and Only Violet Blue slides from enthusing on the joys of lubed sex to announcing her new RSS feed:

I know that everyone within a 10-mile radius of San Francisco is thinking right now, “Sex sans lube? Barbaric!” But seriously, I really need to make a point out of this — sex is great without it (mmm, friction), but it’s slippery and slick and yummy and Nirvana-achieving when you use lube.

There are a couple reasons I’m bringing this up. One reason is that if you rubbed your mouse ever-so-carefully over the sensitive bits of my blog today, you’ll notice, well, that she’s a bit more excitable now. Eager, if you will. That’s because we’ve gone all RSS/atom on you.

There’s more on the, er, ins and outs of lubes, and other juicy items too.

And gents, it isn’t too late to submit your photo for tomorrow’s Top Cock. I’ve gotten some yummy entries…..and some that look, just, weird. Guys, if you want to impress a girl with your tool, whether in the flesh or in the photo, odd color distortions aren’t the way to do it. A picture of a penis that looks like it’s dotted pink and yellow isn’t hot. :(

We Got Noticed!

No, not R and me … although I am on my way out to share some sunrise sex with him (at least, I hope that’s part of his diabolical plan). The SWAT team over in Austria must have noticed the traffic from here, because they provided some comments on my post about their products.

The drinks all sound good to me, and the “Dark Glide” lube has tickled my fancy. I’d love to play with that stuff! One question that the nice Austrians didn’t answer is whether they’ll ship to other countries…..

Fun With Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil

I don’t recall ever linking to a description of fisting before, which is enough reason to do it now. (There’s also the faint hope of getting risible letters from the trained attack lawyers of the J.M. Smucker Company.) From Diary of a Slut (November 7 entry):

Ealain got out her big strap-on and harness and some high heeled boots. Her dick is so much bigger than mine or any guy I know, and it never gets limp. That boy can take some buttloving, with me just kinda playing with his nips while Ealain fucked the daylights out of him. Now he had told us that he enjoyed fisting, and told me I could sit in after she was done, so I gloved up, stuck a few more Crisco balls in his bomb bay doors, and covered my gloves with silicon lube. His butt was really inviting, and it was fun to put a few fingers in the back door to play with the prostate from the inside while I was putting a couple of fingers of the other hand in through the scrotum to play with the prostate from the outside, and apparently that was a new experience for him. Yippie kay yay!

Crisco balls? Oh my! I guess it’s not just for biscuits any more.

Thanks to Karl Elvis for the link.

Where Did That Weekend Go?

After finishing the database project, I thought I’d have plenty of time to do some juicy writing this weekend. But no …. between spending some time with Contender #1 (nice time, no sex yet) and helping a friend with computer problems (don’t get me started), it slipped away.

In addition, the thought of writing out this fantasy leaves me hornier than ever … so, I guess I’m gonna do it. That’s right, I’ve been browsing sex toy sites. I like Sex Toys because they have reviews.

So, at the risk of getting overloaded with TMI, I’m inviting feedback. What products do you like best, and what ones aren’t worth the money? You can leave feedback here, via comments, or (preferably) send me an email. Warning: I can receive email fine, but there’s a glitch in sending, so I won’t be able to reply through email. If you don’t want your email shared here, please say so when you write.

Maybe I should give this quest a catchy slogan …
How about “Help the Pathetic Sex Goddess Buy Her First Toy”? Nah ….
“Lubes for Nubes”? Nope …
“Get the Goddess Off!” Has possibilities. :blush:

Hands On (In?) Sex Education

Tristan Taormino writes of a class she gave at a swinger convention in the Big Easy:

The transforming moment for me came in my class on G-spot stimulation and female ejaculation when over a hundred people crammed themselves into a small room to hear me talk. I took advantage of the venue and offered a hands-on section at the end of the class. The next thing I knew, women were dropping their drawers, lube was being passed around, and I was moving from one pussy to the next. One woman in her sixties confessed that orgasms eluded her most of the time. When I got done with her, she was coming like a banshee, and her husband was taking notes on my technique. I located the G-spots of more than two dozen women, and made sure to show their partners how to find them.

Nothing like getting right to heart of the matter!

Soon To Be a Daddy

First of all, a disclaimer: I am not a safe sex nazi, and this is not a safe sex blog. The web is awash with info on ways to avoid STDs and pregnancy, and although such info is useful and necessary, it’s often not terribly arousing, so I do my readers the courtesy of assuming they already know what they need to know. At least, that is, until my nose is rubbed in the fact that sometimes, they don’t.

Rambling aside: Back when I linked with affirmation to Red-Headed Slut’s positive comments about Johnson’s Baby Oil gel, I got numerous emails from folks who were eager to be sure that I know that mineral oil destroys latex. Some of these were low-key “just want to be sure you know” sorts of emails, but several were high-energy strident “oh-my-god-I-can’t-believe-you-didn’t-warn-everyone” type emails. I found this puzzling, even a bit patronizing, considering that
(a) I knew this;
(b) I assume that most of my readers know it;
(c) I have never undertaken to be the safe sex education for those readers who don’t have basic safe sex information; and
(d) the effect of mineral oil on a latex condom is not terribly relevant in the context of a discussion of a lube recommendation for a hand-job where no condom was mentioned.

In short, I felt that I got spammed by knee-jerk safe sex activist warrior partisans, who have for whatever reason been conditioned to be uncomfortable hearing any mention of oil-based lube unless “destroys condoms” is uttered immediately thereafter, even if that’s not relevant to the discussion. With all due thanks and appreciation for their good and noble intentions, I don’t want to be like those people.

But just this once, I’ll take the risk.

So now, in the fifth paragraph of this post, I’ll get to the point. I got a nice email from a young man who has started a new sex blog [now defunct], and who wants a link. Now, young male voices being quite the minority in the sex blogging world, I naturally went and had a look.

It’s worth a visit. There are two honest-sounding tales so far of young sexual encounters. But (and you knew there was a “but”, didn’t you?) I was immediately struck by the first post, in which the narrator says:

“I guided her into a position so I could spoon with her, lowered her pants, and slipped myself inside. We continued for a while, and then (as a matter of anti-pregnancy) I pulled out and put on a condom.”

When read this, my inner safe sex nazi started yelling and screaming. Given the existence of precum (that droplet of clear fluid that shows up shortly after erection, which can contain sperm and is perfectly capable of making a girl pregnant) this simply is not a good way to avoid unwanted babies. The condom really needs to go on the dick before it touches the pussy; exceptions aren’t a good idea unless one wants a family.

Sorry, I just had to say that.

Olfactory Delights

Michelle at Sweetness Follows bought a new dildo, and Mike, well, this is what Mike did:

“Slipped it in nice and slow, and teased her with it, giving her it in small portions, till the whole thing was inside her.

Tried out the new bottle of lube she bought, slipped my finger in her ass, and she moaned that it was on “that spot”. Kept rubbing, and fucked her with her toy, and well, she squirted.

Love that taste – still smell it on my fingers a bit…”

It’s funny, word is some women don’t like guys to lick them because they worry about the taste and smell. I can’t understand this, there’s nothing better in all the world. When I’ve got that lovely girl scent all over my face and chin and so forth, I can’t bring myself to wash my face. I’ll walk around all day, catching hints of that smell at unexpected moments and grinning like a fool every time.

Trust me, ladies — it’s not a problem.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Momo Analyzes Her Shio
• Female Ejaculation, The Susie Bright Take
• Sniff Your Fingers...And Grin

Violet Blue’s RealDoll Fantasy

Gosh, Violet Blue’s Real Doll Fantasy (or as one potential sugar daddy venture capitalist calls it, her RDF) is getting more concrete by the day:

My mind has been absolutely in the gutter contemplating the possibilities. (Scroll down to the original 6/10 entry for my latest sex fantasy weirdness.) A big boy toy, all-silicone, all-man, and all-pliant. Glassy eyes, posable limbs, just begging for it. And a girl, too — a dense silicone sister to hump like an unblinking, horny little love monkey.
…
There would be lots of lube, and toys, too — how else will I pillage silicone boy’s village and storm his shores? First, I’d have to draw a bath to warm up my new guests, and then I’d enjoy toweling them off, oh yeah, baby. Then I’d drag their heavy bodies to my bedroom, sort of like Igor heading to the lab. Maybe then I’d have my helpful assistant jump in… Oh, it’s just too much to think about, but I can tell you that the fantasy ends with everyone covered in gallons of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, wrapped in at least twenty feet of rope, a popped and squashed inflatable St. Bernard, four melted vibrators, a silicone male Real Doll wearing a mullet wig and with “BITCH” tattooed on his ass, a female Real Doll with a big permanent silicone smile, one set each of soiled cheerleader, cop and Hot Dog On A Stick uniforms, and several visits from real officers due to concerned neighbors about the noise.

I swear, this needs to happen. The world needs to watch this video.

RealDoll Cannon Fodder In The RSS Wars

I know, because daily I read and mostly fail to comprehend Scripting News, that there’s some sort of techie war-for-hearts-and-minds going on over RSS and all those other perplexing abbreviations having to do with syndication. Someone’s ox is being gored, and Winer and Ev and Google and the BlogSpot people are in it up to their ears, and all I know for sure is that my pathetic RSS headline feed is probably funky when it’s not downright broken, and that I can’t put any content in my feed at all because my blogging software doesn’t know the difference between properly formed XML and the steaming putrid droppings of Thor’s middle chariot goat. (I’m talking about the mean one, Blitzen, who, with his brother Donner, later put on some fake antlers and got a job with Santa Claus. I am not making this up.) Oh yeah, and there’s something afoot that’s somehow related to all of this (well, not related to the reindeer impersonators so far as I know) called Echo, which is so horrible that Adam Curry has offered to pay ten thousand clams to some assortment of individuals or entities, if they will just display good taste by ignoring and failing to support this Echo business, whatever it is.

Confused yet? Good. Welcome to the club. We’re just getting to the good part.

So here I am, smurfing happily down the trail between the smurfberry bushes following a trail of Smurfette’s undergarmets, when I make this post here suggesting that some rich benefactor give Violet Blue the ten thousand clams she needs to have a RealDoll orgy and write home about it.

Little did I know that I’d wandered into the crossfire of the RSS wars.

Comes now Dan Lyke over at Flutterby, who for some reason I haven’t been reading lately even though he very kindly in his comments way back when this was a wee bitty baby sex blog, and offers up this brilliant idea: Why not get Adam to put his ten thousand clams toward Violet Blue’s noble social experiment?

I don’t have a dog in this RSS/Echo fight, and I’m clearly not smart enough to have an opinion as to how all that should come out. But I know what I know. And what I know is, I really want four guys with names on their shirts to show up at Violet Blue’s apartment at seven in the morning with two huge packing crates full of carefully packaged Real Doll. And a five gallon bucket of Liquid Silk, to go, complete with electric immersion heater. So I’m getting solidly behind Dan Lyke’s proposal.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Violet Blue's RealDoll Fantasy
• Wealthy Benefactor Sought For RealDoll Orgy

Vibrating Cock Rings: A Consumer’s Report

Although I’ve long been pleased to link to Violet Blue’s blog, the blog itself is not all there is to see at her Tiny Nibbles site. For instance, she offers that all-too-rare beast, real sex toy reviews with nitty-gritty details of the things in actual use. Here’s a paragraph from her article on vibrating cock rings, just to give you the flavor:

I had been very curious about the Neptune Ring Vibe, the vibrating cock ring that has been around Good Vibes almost as long as I have. I’ve sold more of those little pink dolphins than there are fish in the Steinhart Aquarium and I’ve been dreaming about wrapping that little pink ring around some lucky guy and going for a ride. My day had come, and hopefully so would I. Batteries in, dolphin working great, and onto him it went. We tried it on his lubed-up shaft (hint: lube the boy, not the toy — ahhh!) and attempted a fit. One of the things I was beginning to notice was that he needed to be all the way inside me for me to feel the buzz, so as delicious as thrusting was, the vibration was intermittent. I was on top and the dolphin still wasn’t hitting my clit in that just-so way, and my bright boy had an idea: doggie-style.

As anyone who’s ever been disappointed by a sex toy can tell you (and who hasn’t?) the world needs more of this sort of research and writing.

Christian Sexual Guilt

Here’s a site that’s a little sad: “Answers to Recent Anonymous Questions” from a site devoted to “Sex and Intimacy for Married Christians.”

It’s not sad because because so many of the questions display an appalling level of sexual ignorance, although they do. There’s plenty of sexual ignorance in the world, and I don’t think Christians have any corner on it.

It’s sad because so many of the questions reveal people wracked, for periods of years, by terrible feelings of guilt and dirtiness, over things as harmless as a little bit of heavy petting. A worldview that generates this sort of mental pathos from harmless sexual play has much to answer for:

I and my wife are Christians. We have been married for 7 years. We have two children. We come from very conservative background therefore likewise towards sexual matters. However just before we were married, out of some loosness, we had a sexual experience but short of intercourse. However both of us reached organsm (She reached organsm with my caressing and mine through mine). Although it has been so many years and we have asked God for forgivness, I still feel that I cannot get over with it and most importantly feel not in a proper sexual relationship with her ie that experience mar i think my intimacy with her. I guess “What you sow is what you reap.” What do you think? And do you think that this sin has made our body unclean?

The answers given are actually quite sex-positive, to the extent that a sex-positive attitude can shoe-horned (use a lot of lube, you’ll need it) into the constraints of sex within marriage that does not involve any sort of fantasizing.

As you read the site, try not to snicker at the dozen different creative spellings of “orgasm”. It ain’t the least bit funny, when you stop to think of the reason why it’s happening.

Or Perhaps They Just (Don’t) Suck

This post addressed Eugene Volokh’s provocative question about the seeming double standard by which women’s vibrators are considered fairly cool by reasonably enlightened, sex-positive members of society, while devices designed for male masturbation are not.

Here’s an article about one such device, the $895 Motorized Orgasmic Release Machine, which suggests that the tech just isn’t up to snuff:

Well, according to the instructions, you don’t have to be hard to enter the sleeve. That’s bullshit. I found that keeping my soft cock snugly inside the sleeve was nearly impossible, especially with all of that lube. But the next instruction concerned me: “Squeeze the suction ball and slip it back on the coupling at the end of the plastic tubing.” I glanced at my hands. They were covered with Wet.

Maybe I’m totally uncoordinated, but the ball kept slipping out of my hand, and I had to force it onto the tubing, and everything kept sliding, and meanwhile, my hard-on had turned into something like a greased eel and had fallen out of the sleeve and Fuck, what ever happened to good ol’ fashioned grabbing and jerking?

So I worked to regain my hard-on, stuffed it back into the sleeve and grabbed a towel. I wiped the lube off the ball, squeezed it and finally forced it onto the tube. When I released the ball, I was supposed to feel suction around my cock, something like Monica you-know-who giving me a blow job, and the suction was supposed to keep me snug in the sleeve, but I felt only a little bit of suction, certainly nothing like a real, live mouth. Not Monica’s mouth.

Thanks to Erotic Blog for the link.

The Fleshlight: Better Living Through Technology

(Better than what? Fair question. Better than living with Mother Palm and her five daughters, by all accounts. Bacchus avidly and sincerely doubts that companionable ladies have anything to fear from this form of competition.)

Now, is that a backwards and indirect way to start a sex blog entry, or what? Enough pussyfooting (if the expression may be forgiven) around and beating about the bush. (Hmm, forgiveness for inapt expressions probably getting to be an impossible dream by now. Stay tuned, it only gets worse from here.)

The web is awash with tales of The Fleshlight — a male masturbation toy that apparently doesn’t suck. (Literally or figuratively — can we just stop noticing the inapt turns of phrase for a while? If Bacchus was a competent writer, he’d be getting paid for all this.)

Anyway, this toy is all over the web, has been since about 1998 or so, but given the nature of things it’s tough to find a guy who will admit to having tried it. (Personal reviews in the comments are hereby solicited.) However, many of the reviews are positive. For instance:

About a week later it arrived. I was instantly worried when I felt how heavy it was, but that ended up being a plus. Once it was unwrapped, I ran a finger over the pink lips. The feeling was soft and malleable, “Real Feel Super Skin” is simply amazing. It’s light mild sent of vanilla was pleasant and not over powering. I followed the easy instructions and got to work. A few moments later I was moaning in ecstasy.

Is the “Fleshlight” better than the real thing? No. But if you had the real thing, you wouldn’t be reading this. Is it better then your hand? Oh yes! I couldn’t believe how good it felt, so close to the real thing, but no need to buy flowers.

The folks over at Clean Sheets were a little more reserved in their endorsement, but they still gave this item a thumb (or something) up:

Our reviewer’s first impressions of the product were “I GOTTA have this” and “very unusual feel.” Said one man; “The appearance was relatively life-like. The vanilla scent was oddly pleasing.” Indeed. Closing your eyes and touching the material is eerie; like touching the real thing. One man said “Closest thing to the real thing I ever felt.”

In use, they seem to cull all kinds of honors. “With the right lube, the feel is very nice.”

Overall, this product received very handsome commentary: “Not as good as the real thing but definitely better than your hand. I like using it while watching videos.” “This is tons of fun and feels great. It’s almost the perfect sex toy!”

Bacchus has not yet tried this device — it’s not exactly cheap, and there’s an “ick factor” (reported on by the folks at Nerve) that’s impossible to ignore. (However, even the Nerve reviewer appears to have enjoyed the Fleshlight once he, uhm, “screwed his courage to the sticking point” and got down to business.)

So: Any fans of this thing out there who want to tell us how it feels?

In Which Catherine The Great Channels Obi Wan

“Use the horse, Luke, use the horse!”

Er, maybe not.

The image had to be shared, so here it is:

The truly frightening thing, however, is that somebody, somewhere, is selling these shirts. What’s so scary about that, you may well ask? (You may, as long as you do it well.)

Simply this. If George Lucas’s lawyers catch them, they (the lawyers) will try to do to them (the sellers) what the horse is doing to the naked silhouette girl on the shirt.

Only probably with less lube.

Update: The Reverse Cowgirl says T-Shirt Hell sells the shirt. Why am I not surprised?