Face Slapping

Just one of those tender little moments Monmouth is so good at describing:

When I got up to find the condoms, she lunged for my cock with her mouth. Playing the game, I couldn’t let her get what she wanted so easily. I slapped her face softly but firmly with the flat of my hand.

“Restrain yourself, or you’ll get punished.”

She smirked and took another shot, her mouth open, hungry.

I slapped her again across the face, harder, back and forth, the palm and the back of my hand striking the warm, flushed cheeks. To keep her still I held her head by clutching a handful of her brown curls between my fingers.

Sexy, Surreal… Bunny Hoods?

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!

Vintage Sixty-Nine

I found this florid description of mutual oral sex in Sadopaideia, so called because most of the 1907 book involves whipping and spanking. (The subtitle is “Being the experiences of Cecil Prendergast, undergraduate of the University of Oxford, shewing how he was led through the pleasant paths of Masochism to the supreme joys of Sadism.”) But, for that sort of thing, you often need an initial seduction, and in this passage that’s going swimmingly:

I felt her right arm round my waist and her left hand began to unbutton my fly from the top. Before she had time to undo the last button John Thomas leapt forth ready and eager, but she slapped it and pushed it in again and undid the last button and fumbled for my balls and gently drew them out. I drew back a little from her and lifted her petticoat right up, disclosing the daintiest of black silk openwork stockings with pale green satin garters, and above them filmy lawn drawers with beautiful lace and insertion, through which the fair satin skin of her thighs gleamed most provokingly. At the top there appeared just between the opening of the drawers the most fascinating brown curls imaginable.

I feasted my eyes on this lovely sight, undoing my braces and slipping my trousers down. Her hand immediately left my balls and began to fondle my bottom, stroking and pinching the cheeks while she murmured, “You darling boy, oh, what a lovely bottom.”

I was eager to be in her, but the brown curls fascinated me so much that I could not resist the temptation to stoop down and kiss them. I was rather shy of doing this, as I had never done it before, and though I knew it was usual with tarts, I was not sure if it would be welcome here. Judge of my surprise, then, when I felt Mrs. Harcourt’s hand on my head gently pressing it down and heard her saying, “How did you guess I wanted that?”

She opened her legs wider, disclosing the most adorable pussy, with pouting lips just slightly opening and showing the bright coral inner lips, which seemed to ask for my kisses. I buried my head in the soft curls, and with eager tongue explored every part of her mossy grot. She squirmed and wriggled with pleasure, opening her legs quite wide and twisting them round me. I followed all her movements, backing away on my knees as she slipped off the chair, until at last, when she drenched my lips with love, she slipped on the hearth rug. Then, as I could scarcely reach her with my tongue in that position, and didn’t wish to lose a drop of the maddening juice, I disengaged my legs from hers and knelt down to one side so that my head could dive right between her legs. This naturally presented my naked bottom and thighs to her gaze.

“You rude naughty boy,” she said, smacking me gently, “to show me this bare bottom. I’m shocked at you.”

Her hands again fondled my balls and bottom, and I had all I could do to prevent John Thomas from showing conclusively what he had in store for her.

I had no intention of wasting good material, however, and was just about to change my position so that I could arrive at the desired summit of joy when I felt her trying to pull my right leg towards her. I let myself go and she eventually succeeded in lifting it right over, so that I was straddling right across her, and we were in the position I knew quite well from photographs, known as sixty-nine.

My heart beat high. Was it possible I was to experience this supreme pleasure of which I had heard so much? I buried my head between her thighs, my tongue redoubled its efforts, searching out every corner and nook it could find, and just as it was rewarded by another flow of warm life I felt round my own weapon, not the fondling of her hand, but something softer, more clinging, and then unmistakably the tip of a velvet tongue from the top right down to the balls and back again, and then I felt the lips close round it and the gentle nip of teeth. This was too much, John Thomas could restrain himself no longer, and as I seized her bottom with both hands and sucked the whole of her pussy into my mouth, he spurted forth with convulsive jerks his hidden treasure. When the spasm was over I collapsed limply on her, my lips still straining her life.

Link via Spanking Blog.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Cupid Gets A Spanking

Butthurt After Being Rejected By A Porn Star

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It Gets Up The Nose

One of the things I like about reading a diversity of sex blogs is that you get sexual accounts that are written in historic, rather than fictive, voice. Commercial porn is most often told in the voices we reserve for telling tales. Sex blogs, by contrast, are often written in the voices we use to retell our lives and histories. It can be refreshingly different, because it allows for real moments that would usually be edited out of the smooth story arc of competent fiction, but which are really the heart and soul and flavor of a good history.

Today’s example: Always Aroused Girl writing about what got up her nose.

“I want to come on your face.”

My head already hung half-way over the edge of the bed, so I quickly swiveled under him. “Give it to me,” I demanded, and I didn’t have to wait long. Before I could hoist my tits into what I thought would be the most attractive position, hot come splashed over me.

And then it obeyed the call of gravity, as fluids are wont to do. If I’d have moved I would have destroyed the tail end of his orgasm and possibly run head first into his nut-sack. So I laid still, but I couldn’t control my laughter as the come found its way into my hair.

And into my eyes. And up my nose.

He came to from the pleasure and noticed the state of my face. Immediately a stream of apologies shot forth from his mouth. I assured him that I loved – nay, lived for – being covered in come. “Can I get you a towel?” he asked, heading toward the bathroom.

“Yes please, and a nasal aspirator, if you have one.”

The Best Cunts In Christendom

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

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

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

A Satyre on Charles II

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

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

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

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

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Leda And The Swan
• A Love Poem
• Hand Me Down That Can Of Beans
• It's Good To Be King
• Is This Sex Blog Thing On?

George Clooney Views “2 Girls 1 Cup”

From an interview story in the April 2008 Esquire magazine:

I realize that I’ve spent a couple of hours showing Clooney sites about Clooney, but I haven’t asked him, Does he ever go on the Internet?

“I go on YouTube when somebody says to look something up,” he answers. “There was one a few years ago that killed me. Look up ‘monkey smells butt.’ ”

I type it in. Up pops a video of a chimp sticking his finger up his butt, smelling it, then promptly passing out.

Clooney roars with laughter. “He just smells it and goes woooah and flops off the side. That always kills me.”

At this point, I make a segue that seemed relevant at the time but in retrospect was probably a very bad idea. “You know,” I tell him, “I asked the guy who does the Esquire Web site what I should show George Clooney, and he said, ‘Show him 2 Girls 1 Cup.’ ”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the most disturbing video in the history of videos.”

“Show it to me.”

“Really? I don’t know.”

“I can take it,” Clooney says. “I’m a grown-up. We’re all grown-ups.”

“It’s scarring. It’ll scar you forever.”

“Is it long?” he asks.

“No,” I tell him, “but it’s so disturbing. I saw it once and can never get it out of my mind. I can’t watch it again.”

“I want to see it.”

Well, he asked. After a bit of searching, I find the link. I click it.

After several seconds: “It’s not so bad,” he says.

Three seconds later: “Oh.”

Another two seconds: “Oh, my GOD! Oh, my God!! Oh, my God!”

Clooney puts his hand over his mouth like he’s going to throw up. He bolts from his chair and walks out of the room.

Clooney’s longtime PR guy, Stan Rosenfield, wants to know what the fuss is about. Clooney tells him he just watched the most repulsive video he’s ever seen. Rosenfield wants to see it.

“I want to go at least one second more than George.”

“I’ve got to watch Stan watch it,” Clooney says, recomposing himself. “It’s like the rodeo — see how long you can last.”

Rosenfield lasts three full seconds before walking out.

Clooney, having regarded himself all morning, now just watches, doubled over with laughter.

Warning to mercifully innocent readers: Don’t try this at home. Or, at all.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• George Clooney's Sex Pillow

Rimming Molly In The Basement

You don’t see too many fictional accounts of rimming, and this is the first I’ve ever seen that has a little funny twist at the end. It’s from this story by Vinnie Tesla:

Impulsively, I bury my face in an armpit, and drink in her sharp animal smell. She’s moaning and laughing at once as my beard tickles her delicate skin. I lick along the line of her shoulder blade, the muscles there flexing as she struggles playfully. I throw her tee-shirt to the ground, and push her against one of the basement’s grimy cinderblock walls. I pin her arms above her head, and give the other armpit a more thorough treatment.

She starts out laughing and twitching, but this gives way to quiet moans, that get louder when I bite. I release her arms and run my lips over the pale, freckled flesh above her bra. Impatiently I pull the bra up over her tits, and fix my mouth over one of her nipples, crinkled tight in the basement’s chill air. My hands find the catch of her bra, and it joins her tee shirt on the floor. Once again she grabs my head and holds it tightly as I worry and suck at her fat little bud. I hold her other breast in my hand. The flesh is breathtakingly soft, and fever-hot. I pull the nipple roughly, stretching the crinkles smooth. “Yeah,” she whispers in my ear, her hot breath sending shivers down my spine, “yeah.”

Still cradling my head with one hand, her other strokes the front of my jeans, and cups my cock with her open palm. “Mmm, nice,” she purrs.

“You like it?” I ask, my hands kneading her breasts, “soon it’s going to be buried in your cunt.”

She looks me in the eye teasingly. “Just my cunt?”

I open and close my mouth several times like a goldfish. So much for my attempt at the suave dirty-talker.

Molly laughs at my expression and begins struggling to get the legs of her overalls over her boots. Watching her breasts sway as she works, bent over, is irresistible. She tugs the overalls down her thighs, and sits on the floor to pull them off. Then, with a yelp, she’s up off the cold, damp concrete again, rubbing her chilled ass.

“Here, let me help with that,” I volunteer, and squat behind her. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Molly, you have got an amazing ass.” Broader than I expected, exquisitely round and smooth. Dusted with pale freckles. Flawless, so far as I can see. Groaning, I grab her hips and bury my face in that exquisite butt, licking and biting at the smooth, taut flesh. She presses back against me, and wiggles her hips slowly and sexily, enjoying the attention. Eventually, though: “Weren’t you gonna help me get my clothes off?”

“I got sidetracked,” I admit, and jerk her panties down to her knees before resuming my feast.

She begins skeptically, “That’s not a whole lot of– oooh, that feels good.” I’m kneading her cheeks hard with my hands now, while licking teasingly around the top of her crack.

“Bend over,” I tell her.

“Yes, sir!” she says sarcastically, but does so, resting her hands against the wall, and spreading her legs as much as her bunched clothes will allow. I stroke her ass lightly

“You want me to?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, almost inaudibly.

I pull at one of her cheeks, exposing her hidden parts. The skin of her anus is surprisingly dark, and fringed with wispy reddish hair. Below, the lips of her cunt are fat and swollen. She flinches a little when the wet handiwipe from my pocket touches the sensitive flesh of her asshole. I run it over the surface a few times, and then drop it onto the floor. My hands spread her cheeks, and I begin running my tongue along the skin just above her anus. Then I move down, and lick at her perineum, drawing a gasp from Molly. Finally I bring my tongue to her clenched little orifice, and rub against it with gentle pressure.

She lets a little shriek escape, followed by a low moan. I feel goosepimples rise on her muscular thighs, as she reaches down and cups her cunt in one hand. I’m alternating broad, spiraling licks with tighter, more aggressive ones, loving the feel of her soft flesh against my face. She’s slowly undulating her hips; each breath out is a long quiet moan.

The rocking of her hips accelerates; her voice rises in pitch. I (teasing bastard) rise to my feet and draw her up too. It takes a moment for her eyes to focus again, and then I’m seized in a bruising hug. “Oh, wow,” she says dreamily, “Oh, that was really nice. I haven’t done that before.”

“My *pleasure*,” I say emphatically. “But I’m a little confused. You said you wanted me to rim you, right?”

She grins. “I wanted you to *spank* me, you twit.” Before the blood can stop roaring in my ears, she continues: “Now help me get these off!”

Of course she does eventually get her spanking, which is how (via Spanking Blog) I came upon this story.

Dynamite Fumetti

I’m not a comics guy, so I don’t know much about fumetti comics except that the vintage ones I keep stumbling over tend to be Italian and feature sex and violence combined in shocking and politically incorrect ways.

Lately I have several times run across the Groovy Age of Horror blog while doing Google image searches. It’s a resource for all manner of vintage pulpy wonderfulness, but the excerpted fumetti comics (complete with high quality scans of every panel) are one of the best features of the site. Example: all the good parts from Macho #3 as reprinted in Pecatti #1. You really need to follow the link, because while I’m “borrowing” Jaakko’s dry commentary in the block-quoting below, I’m only reprinting cropped and reduced details from a few panels of the artwork; the commentary-plus-complete-panels is a much more vivid experience. As Jaakko tells the story:

It’s called Il Clan Dei Centurioni (The Clan of Centurions), and it teaches us a new, fun way of defusing a stick of dynamite stuffed into a bodily orifice. Watch and learn, kids! First the bad guys chain Macho to the roof. Then they rape him, much to his delight. Then they stick a dynamite stick up his butt. Fortunately Macho is bisexual, and his girlfriend soon rushes to help him.

Wait a minute, what the hell?

Apparently this girl really loves using her mouth.

And thus, when Macho’s gay friends arrive, they find a horrifying sight: Macho is getting a blow-job… from a woman. Oh, the humanity! The End.

Orgasmic Rape In Fiction

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Christmas Rebellion

I’ve got to share this vignette from Mistress Matisse’s much longer article about the ups and downs of sex work around Christmas time. I simply can’t read these paragraphs without cracking up:

It was midafternoon on Christmas Eve. The client and I had never met before, but I showed up at his house at the appointed time, and he quickly ushered me inside. The man of the house was thin and pale, with faded blond hair, and he looked nervous. I could understand why: There’s a reason married guys rarely have whores come to their homes.

How could I tell he was married? Well, the fact that the house was decorated in a nauseatingly cutesy-country-crafty style was a big tip-off. Not just decorated–the place was stuffed full of ruffled chintz and gingham, designer teddy bears and American primitive wooden plaques with bunnies and angels and hearts burned on them. There was a flowered platter of homemade iced cookies sitting on the hall table. And there were a lot of family portraits on the foyer wall, with Mom, Dad, and three little rug rats.

“So you can be gone by six, right?” he asked.

“Sweetie, I’ll leave whenever you want,” I replied.

I paused before asking the obvious question.

“Is your wife coming home?”

He nodded jerkily. “She and the kids are at church.”

I couldn’t believe it. This guy had a hooker come to his house on Christmas Eve while his wife and kids were at church? He is so going to hell for this, I thought, and I’ll undoubtedly see him there.

“Well, let’s not waste playtime,” I said, moving toward the stairs. “Where would you like to…?”

“No, not upstairs!” he said, practically panicking. “I don’t want to mess up the bed. Let’s just–do it in the living room.”

Easier said than done. We edged around the eight-foot Christmas tree that dominated the room and sat down on the powder-blue couch. He handed me an envelope with the cash in it. I tucked it into my purse and then looked at him, waiting for him to give me some sign of how he wanted to proceed. But he just stared at me like a trapped rabbit. The room was dim, and the lights from the tree threw alternating red and green splotches on his face. The effect made him look like he had some kind of facial tic, and I doubted that it was enhancing my complexion, either.

“Okay,” I thought to myself, “if I have to be gone soon, I am going to have to take control of this fuck.”

I stripped down to my tarty black lace lingerie and stockings, got his pants around his knees, and started unrolling a condom onto his dick with my mouth. He moaned and leaned back on the couch–and then we both gasped and jumped as the tinkling strains of “White Christmas” suddenly rose into the air. He looked wildly around the room for a moment, then relaxed and said, “Oh, wait, it’s this pillow. It’s got a music box in it, when you lean on it, it plays…” He fished a red-and-green throw pillow from behind his back and tossed it away. It played on for a minute, before ceasing abruptly with a mechanical click.

He lay back again, but it seemed that our musical interruption had made his little Saint Nick unhappy. Or maybe it’s this house, I thought, as I sucked him. It’s completely antisexual. Interior decor as visual saltpeter.

I stood up, pulled off my panties, and bent over the couch. I knew I should give him some dirty verbal encouragement, but my vast repertoire of porn talk had deserted me, and the best I could manage was a come-hither expression that felt as painted-on as the faces of the knee-high nutcrackers flanking the fireplace. I watched him maneuver into position behind me in the gilt-framed, holly-draped mirror over the mantel. In my black bra and stockings, I was jarringly out of place in the room, an affront to the relentless, smothering cozy cuteness. It was hard to even breathe. As he fumbled around behind me, the bowls of cloyingly sweet potpourri that sat on both end tables began to make my eyes water and my nose itch. I was going to start sneezing uncontrollably in a minute, I thought, and my mascara was going to run down my face in black streaks. It was like a Stephen King Christmas house, where it looks all sweet, but if you don’t behave, it kills you.

At first impression, this story is sad. But the more I read it, the funnier it gets. This guy was a fool (“I pity the fool!”) but he was also a rebel. What, he couldn’t sneak out and rent a room where he didn’t have to worry about the sheets? No, he was in rebellion. His wife had made his house uninhabitable (trust me, ladies, there’s only so much chintz and gingham we can tolerate, and those stanky bowls of boiled flower petals are nasty!) for him, and this was his way of trying to reclaim it, if only for forty minutes.

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?”

An Apology For All The Horny Teenage Guys I Dissed

Awhile ago I had a birthday, one of those “milestone” birthdays that everybody likes to make a big deal out of. Everybody was telling me that my ovaries would start twitching and I’d get baby fever. I’ve never wanted a baby so I think my biological clock is broken…..that didn’t change but I have noticed something different. I’ve started obsessing about sex and fantasizing about it, like, constantly. Any guy that’s halfway good looking that I see, I wonder about his wood. When I see a really hot guy I think, “I’d ride that.” I have wet dreams (are girls allowed to call their orgasm causing dreams wet dreams?) at least once a week.

When I was younger the horndogs made me mad. All they talked about were tits and ass, and trying to score. It seemed like all they thought about was sex. I didn’t understand that and I didn’t like it that they looked at me like I was only good for sex.

Well, now I understand. And around the big mouthfull of crow I’m chewing on, I want to say I’m sorry to all those guys.
(more…)

Client Gets Screwed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fish Fucking And Eel Sex

In Japan, natch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Eel Sex And Octopus Underwear
• Yet Another Sort Of Tentacle Sex
• I'd Rather Go Naked Than Wear Fish Eggs

Susie Bright Interviews Chelsea Girl

This is fun: Susie Bright interviews Chelsea Girl and publishes part of the transcript on 10 Zen Monkeys. (Alas, the complete interview has apparently not been transcribed, and is available only in that brutally slow and notoriously linear 20th century format, audio.)

SB: I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you to talk about your oral sex discussion.

CG: The “deep throat” post.

SB: I learned so much from that. There are all these people writing “deep throat this” and “deep throat that.” And there’s even porn how-to films. But it never gets beyond the sort of Linda Lovelace fanfare of deep throat. Until you, no one talked about how you really get things…

CG: Down.

SB: How the nature of your saliva changes once you get in the right… You call it the viscous stuff.

CG: Yeah, the viscous, porn star-y spit.

SB: How did you learn how to give spectacular deep throat sex? Who taught you?

CG: My pediatrician.

SB: Oh, come on! No, stop!

CG: I had strep throat a lot as a kid. And I hated tongue depressors. And every winter I would have my throat swabbed over and over again. And so I learned how to control my gag reflex so that I didn’t have to have a tongue depressor in my mouth when they swabbed my throat. That’s essentially the same technique I use when I deep throat. I had no idea it would come in handy. But seriously, the first time I gave head, it just went down.

SB: Well, did you realize that the nature of one’s saliva and mucus would change and that you’d get more lubrication?

CG: Oh, that came from Jenna Jameson – I was reading Jenna Jameson’s book, which was ghostwritten by Neil Strauss, of course. Anyway, Jenna sort of articulated how, once you start, your gag reflex is your friend. And once you start to have the gagging happen, that’s when you get that nice thick viscous spit.

Smothered In Peanut Butter

This is like that hoary old story about the girl and the dog and the basement. Only, presumably true. (Because why would Dominatrix Next Door make this up?)

Yesterday a client asked me to smother him with peanut butter.

This was bewildering, but it was not objectionable, either. I gamely put on a pair of gloves, smeared peanut butter on my palms, and clamped them over his mouth.

He squirmed a lot and carried on some vague, muffled roleplay about punishment and begging. “Can’t hear you! No one’s going to help you! You’re just going to have to take it,â€? I declared, refreshing the peanut butter whenever it looked like it was melting down his chin.

He seemed happy. I couldn’t understand what he was on about, but I’m never too worried about a man whose hands are both free to jerk off.

Reprinted here as a reminder. You don’t have to understand a kink to be sanguine about it.

I’m never too worried about anybody whose hands are both free to jerk off.

Thanks to Spanking Blog for the link.

Agonizing Pleasure

I think this may be the best “first line of a sex blog post” I’ve ever seen:

“It had about it some of the agonizing pleasure of sodomy.”

Hurting Him

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

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

I. Win. At! Perverted! SEX!

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

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

From the essay:

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

I like it when he screams into my mouth.

Like?

I *adore* it when he screams into my mouth

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

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

And then there’s the hitting:

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

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

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

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

Ass To Mouth, Sorta

From Journey Into Submission, a conversation on what happens when you attempt to economize on sex toys:

Somehow the conversation veered way off track.

“Butt plug and ball gag?” someone asked, echoing the last person’s statement.

“How about a butt plug ball gag?” another person asked.

“Ewwww! That’s gross!” a third chimed in.

I tried to hide my face in my hand and ignore the flush rising to my cheeks. Mr Stern looked down at me kneeling at his feet, taking in the banter.

“A butt plug ball gag. Hmmm…” he said, tapping my forehead with his finger. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

Two nights before I had been laying naked on his bed, tied wrists to thighs, with Rachel on one side and Mr Stern on the other…

“Did I tell you what I did to her a few weeks ago?” Mr Stern asked Rachel. I had my eyes closed so I didn’t see but I assume she shook her head.

“I sent her to the grocery store with a butt plug in her cunt,” he said. Rachel laughed.

“Did she keep it in the whole time or did it fall out at the store?” she asked.

“Tell her, slut. Open your eyes, look at Rachel, and tell her if it stayed in the whole time,” he ordered, pulling my hair to force my head back. I swallowed hard, tried to focus and suppressed a giggle that suddenly threatened to bubble up.

“It stayed in the whole time,” I said, meeting her eyes. She nodded wisely. I’m sure I was blushing fiercely at the crudeness of the conversation.

“Which one was it, slut? Was it this one?” Mr Stern asked after a minute, climbing back onto the bed. I shifted my gaze back to him and saw the black butt plug in his hand.

“Yes, Mr Stern, that’s it,” I said. He reached over and pressed it against my lips. I instinctively opened my mouth and he slid it in. Since I had been the one to clean it, I was as sure as I could be that it was clean. Besides, Mr Stern is a self proclaimed germophobe, he was not liable to do anything that actually exposed me to yickiness.

“Have you been practicing deep throating your dildos so you can take my whole cock in?” he asked as the toy went past my tongue.

I shook my head no, unable to speak with the butt plug deep in my throat. It was just small enough to fit in my mouth but there was no room to talk.

“Slut, you need to practice. Let’s see what you can do with this. I’m going to fuck your face with it,” he said, forcing it to the back of my throat. I tilted my head back to allow deeper access. The flared end of the plug rested against my lips and Mr Stern held it with his fingertips. I moaned as he shoved it in and out.

“Does that turn you on, you fucking slut?” he asked. He loomed over me, watching my reaction.

I nodded as well as I could considering my position.

“I bet she’s imagining it’s my cock. That gets her wetter than anything else,” Mr Stern told Rachel. “Is that what you’re doing, slut?”

I nodded again. It was that very idea – of his cock in my mouth – that was turning me on. I wanted to deep throat his cock the way I was letting the plug slide all the way in. I stuck my tongue out a little further, wrapping it around the widest part of the plug.

Mr Stern started telling Rachel how much he enjoys it when I suck his cock, about how I do something with my tongue that is just perfect, and how I was showing off now in hopes of enticing him into putting his cock in my mouth. I concentrated on not gagging and making my display look good, for exactly the reason he had guessed.

More On Fisting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Similar Sex Blogging:

• The Details Of Sodomy
• Girl Fisting
• Fun With Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil
• Kinky Links

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….

Signior Dildo

I have a confessed weakness for antique smut, so I was delighted when Chelsea Girl at Pretty Dumb Things linked to (as part of her own fine salute to the humble dildo) a raunchy dildo poem that’s a mere 335 years old. Like any poem a third of a millennium old, it cannot avoid seeming quaint, and the political satires that once gave the poem life are now every bit as dead as the targets thereof. To the modern reader the poem may labor mightily under these burdens, but it’s still a refreshing reminder that smut is not a modern invention:

Signior Dildo
(1673)

by Lord John Wilmot

You ladies of merry England
Who have been to kiss the Duchess’s hand,
Pray, did you not lately observe in the show
A noble Italian called Signior Dildo?

This signior was one of the Duchess’s train
And helped to conduct her over the main;
But now she cries out, ‘To the Duke I will go,
I have no more need for Signior Dildo.’

At the Sign of the Cross in St James’s Street,
When next you go thither to make yourselves sweet
By buying of powder, gloves, essence, or so,
You may chance to get a sight of Signior Dildo.

You would take him at first for no person of note,
Because he appears in a plain leather coat,
But when you his virtuous abilities know,
You’ll fall down and worship Signior Dildo.

My Lady Southesk, heaven prosper her for’t,
First clothed him in satin, then brought him to court;
But his head in the circle he scarcely durst show,
So modest a youth was Signior Dildo.

The good Lady Suffolk, thinking no harm,
Had got this poor stranger hid under her arm.
Lady Betty by chance came the secret to know
And from her own mother stole Signior Dildo.

The Countess of Falmouth, of whom people tell
Her footmen wear shirts of a guinea an ell,
Might save that expense, if she did but know
How lusty a swinger is Signior Dildo.

By the help of this gallant the Countess of Rafe
Against the fierce Harris preserved herself safe;
She stifled him almost beneath her pillow,
So closely she embraced Signior Dildo.

The pattern of virtue, Her Grace of Cleveland,
Has swallowed more pricks than the ocean has sand;
But by rubbing and scrubbing so wide does it grow,
It is fit for just nothing but Signior Dildo.

Our dainty fine duchesses have got a trick
To dote on a fool for the sake of his prick,
The fops were undone did their graces but know
The discretion and vigour of Signior Dildo.

The Duchess of Modena, though she looks so high,
With such a gallant is content to lie,
And for fear that the English her secrets should know,
For her gentleman usher took Signior Dildo.

The Countess o’th’Cockpit (who knows not her name?
She’s famous in story for a killing dame),
When all her old lovers forsake her, I trow,
She’ll then be contented with Signior Dildo.

Red Howard, red Sheldon, and Temple so tall
Complain of his absence so long from Whitehall.
Signior Barnard has promised a journey to go
And bring back his countryman, Signior Dildo.

Doll Howard no longer with His Highness must range,
And therefore is proferred this civil exchange:
Her teeth being rotten, she smells best below,
And needs must be fitted for Signior Dildo.

St Albans with wrinkles and smiles in his face,
Whose kindness to strangers becomes his high place,
In his coach and six horses is gone to Bergo
To take the fresh air with Signior Dildo.

Were this signior but known to the citizen fops,
He’d keep their fine wives from the foremen o’their shops;
But the rascals deserve their horns should still grow
For burning the Pope and his nephew, Dildo.

Tom Killigrew’s wife, that Holland fine flower,
At the sight of this signior did fart and belch sour,
And her Dutch breeding the further to show,
Says, ‘Welcome to England, Mynheer Van Dildo.’

He civilly came to the Cockpit one night,
And proferred his service to fair Madam Knight.
Quoth she, ‘I intrigue with Captain Cazzo;
Your nose in mine arse, good Signior Dildo.’

This signior is sound, safe, ready, and dumb
As ever was candle, carrot, or thumb;
Then away with these nasty devices, and show
How you rate the just merit of Signior Dildo.

Count Cazzo, who carries his nose very high,
In passion he swore his rival should die;
Then shut himself up to let the world know
Flesh and blood could not bear it from Signior Dildo.

A rabble of pricks who were welcome before,
Now finding the porter denied them the door,
Maliciously waited his coming below
And inhumanly fell on Signior Dildo.

Nigh wearied out, the poor stranger did fly,
And along the Pall Mall they followed full cry;
The women concerned from every window
Cried, ‘For heaven’s sake, save Signior Dildo.’

The good Lady Sandys burst into a laughter
To see how the ballocks came wobbling after,
And had not their weight retarded the foe,
Indeed’t had gone hard with Signior Dildo.

Man In Chains

Lately, as I’m sure some of you have noticed, I’ve been giving in to my evil nature by posting pictures that are, if not designed to stir up trouble, at least likely to do so. (Like the man said, art is either plagiarism or revolution; me, I’m with the re-mixers, who are trying to prove it can be both at once.)

This picture of a man in chains, from Bondage Blog, is another one:

Some of my readers are going to enjoy, as Rope Guy puts it, “the very buff dude, in chains.” That’s all the reason I need to publish this picture.

I’m aware that some folks are likely to condemn any suggestion that we might find eroticism in a still photograph of an actor getting paid SAG scale for standing around sweating attractively in Hollywood during the production of a movie adaptation of a lurid fiction that, at least one one level, mocked long-dead racist bastards by suggesting that their women were fornicating lavishly with the buff guys they were trying so hard to oppress and exploit. Oh well, have fun with that.

But be nice about it, or I’ll move on to my ultimate weapon. Do you really want to see the cartoon drawing I’ve got of a sweet young lady making a mouthful (and what a mouthful!) of a horse’s cock? You’ll need Johnson’s Extra Strong Eye-and-Brain Soap after seeing that one!

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Naked Guys At Play

On A Date With Trouble

Monmouth went on a date with Trouble. And nearly got in some, however you want to take that:

After this our conversation quickly and unavoidably degenerated into an exchange of flirtatious double-entendres, wayward glances and suggestive strokings of fingers, knees and lips.

Trouble made her intentions even clearer when she pushed an olive, gently but firmly into my mouth, her flawlessly laquered fingernail trailing along my top lip before she pulled away, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle out of the hem of her skirt.

And I was hard. Very, and obviously, the fabric on the front of my trousers miserably failing to conceal anything but the minor details of my erect shape.

Her eyes lingered on the naughty bump. “I’d love to see…” she whispered.

The thought crossed my mind to just flash her – unzip, a couple of strokes, cover up. Twenty seconds of pure delight, but the art deco bar was an impossible space for discreet hanky-panky. Mirrors everywhere, no dark corners.

Fortunately, they found a solution in technology.

Honey, Flies, Bondage

A while back I noticed a Bondage Blog post called Hanging Like Ripe Fruit. The post (illustrated by some bondage porn from Hogtied.com) featured a suspension tie reminiscent of a scene from The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, a famous BDSM novel by Ann Rice. Unfortunately Bondage Blog only posted one picture, so in a moment of boredom, I went back to Anne Rice to help flesh it out:

“Double her, for punishment,” said Lord Gregory. “I think a real punishment is in order.”

Princess Lizetta gave several high-pitched groans. They seemed both anger and protest. She seemed not to have bargained for this, and as she was carried ahead of Beauty and Lord Gregory into the Hall of Punishments, the Pages quickly affixed leather cuffs to her wrists and ankles, each cuff with a heavy metal hook imbedded in it.

Now she was raised, struggling, to a great low beam that spanned the room, her wrists hung from a hook above her head and then her legs brought straight up in front of her so that her ankles were fixed to the same hook. The was, in fact, bent double. Her head was then forced between her calves, so that Beauty could see her face clearly. And a leather strap was bound around here, securely pressing her upturned legs against her torso.

But the most cruel and frightening aspect of it for Beauty was the exposure of the Princess’s secret parts, for she was hung so that anyone could see her full sex with its pink lips and its dark hair even to the tiny brown orifice between her buttocks. And all this just below her scarlet face. Beauty could imagine no worse exposure and she looked down timidly, glancing up again and again to the girl whose suspended body moved slightly as with a current in the air, the leather links at her wrists and ankles creaking.

…

The man in velvet had begun to stroke Princess LIzetta’s sex with a small instrument that was, as so much here, covered in smooth black leather. This was a three-pronged rod that somewhat resembled a hand, and as soon as he teased the helpless Princess, she began to struggle in her bonds.

Beauty understood at once what was happening. The Princess’s pink sex, terrifying to Beauty as it hung so unprotected, appeared to swell, to ripen. Beauty could see tiny droplets of moisture appear on it.

…

“Lord Gregory,” the Lady said, “you must think of something special.” Then to Beauty’s horror, the lady reached out delicately and fastidiously and pinched Princess LIzetta’s pubic lips hard so that they exuded moisture. Then she pinched the right lip and the left, and the girl winced with pain and misery.

Lord Gregory had meantime snapped his fingers for the Lord with the iron clawlike hand, and whispered something Beauty could not hear. “It will strengthen her punishment.”

And now the Lord appeared with a little pot and a brush and as the Lady stepped back, he took the brush and bathed Princess LIzetta’s naked organ in a heavy syrup. A few droplets fell to the floor, and the princess again made known her misery. She sobbed softly behind her gag, but the Lady only smiled rather innocently and shook her head. “It will attract any flies we have about,” Lord Gregory said, “and if we have none it shall produce its inevitable itching as it dries. It is quite uncomfortable.”

The Lady did not seem satisfied. Her pretty and innocent face was smooth however and she sighed. “I suppose it will do for now, but I wish she were bound with her legs apart to a stake in the garden. Then let the flies and the little insects of the air find her honeyed mouth. She deserves it.”

Although there are no dramatically better views in the short trailer and sample views visible for free without whipping out your credit card, a membership will get you rather a lot more!

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Butt Hook Bondage Theater
• Your ErosBlog Valentine
• Bondage Yoga In Mexico
• Bill Grogan's Girl

A Good Start

From 1000 Orgasms:

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

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

Blowjob, Described

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

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

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

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

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

From Edinburgh Erotica.

Sucking The Bronze Penises

Here’s yet another way to appreciate fine art:

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Stallion, Rampant, With Female Admirer
• Arc de Triomphe

Buttery Butt Sex

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks to Sexoteric for the link.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Anal Ice
• The Price Of Anal Sex
• Options For Teen Lust
• Submissive Sex

Egyptian Erotic Art: Blowjob

I’ve seen a fair bit of Egyptian erotic art, but this is the first Egyptian blowjob I’ve seen. Looks like our man / king / god is getting a little morning mouth service while his valet / lackey / priest equivalent puts his clothing or armor on:

Alas, I have no provenance for this piece.

Blowjob Frills

Yes, she’s arguably gilding the lily. Heck, she says as much herself, it’s hardly a secret. But sometimes a little gilt paint helps rock the world.

We’re talking, of course, about a pile of advanced blowjob tips from Pretty Dumb Things, with a side order of suggested anal/oral entertainment:

The paper frills on the ends of the lamb chops aren’t necessary, but they’re nice. The umbrella in your adult beverage doesn’t make it taste any better, but it’s festive. The balconette push-up bra doesn’t really give you perkier breasts, but it’s alluring. None of these things–not the paper frills, the wee umbrella, the naughty lingerie–actually makes the decorated item any better, but they seem as if they do. The lamb chop seems more succulent; the frozen piña colada appears more decadent; the breasts look as if they’re ripe for the plucking.

In the spirit of sexy similitude, let me present you with a few things you can do that will put the icing on the cake, the gild on the lily, the pastie on the nipple, if you will, of your blow job.

…

Eyes on the Prize: One thing a dude likes is if you look as if you’re enjoying sucking his dick. One way you can perform your enjoyment is to make eye contact. Especially at the beginning of the blow job, before you’re getting all hot and heavy and the guy’s eyes are lolling back in his head in full-on pleasure mode, get yourself in a position to look at him over the head of his cock as it rubs against your lips, as your tongue twirls around its head, as it slowly enters your mouth. It’s not something you can–or want–to spend your entire blow job doing, but it’s a great beginning, or a fine punctuation in the middle, especially if you want to slow things down while simultaneously heating things up.

Say It With Me, “Pruneâ€?: When Marilyn Monroe wanted to make the perfect kissy mouth for photos, she said, “prune,â€? as legend as it. Your turn to be a siren. Say “pruneâ€? and see what your lips do. Now put a nice tumescent cock in front of your mouth and say it over and over, each time more lasciviously. Let your tongue escape like a naughty little wet monkey and flick at the rim of your man’s cock head. Imagine you’re French, and say it again.

You can also wrap the head of the cock in your lips and make tiny, fluttering sucking motions with your mouth as you slowly pop the cock out of your mouth to say “Pruneâ€? again. “Dried Plumâ€? just doesn’t have the same erotic resonance.

Und so weiter.

Tasty Looking Penis

Bacchus may think he’s satisfied reader requests for penis pix with his gingerbread bukkake, but he didn’t satisfy me so I’ll take matters into my own hands. And mouth, and cunt…..

The only thing wrong with this picture is we can’t see his tummy.

Lots more goodies at The Penis.

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.”

He’s Bested Her Spaniard…

…so we can see he must have studied.

Ah, studying. Being, as I was, one of those bookish lads who got all his theoretical sex education out of books long before he got any hands-on training, I’ve got a soft spot in my heart for the sexual self-help book. But rarely do you hear such a positive testimonial as this one from Pretty Dumb Things:

“What do you think of this?â€? Donny said to me, waving the shiny book in front of my face.

What is it? Ten bucks? I asked. Get it if you want it, I said, feeling unimpressed by the cover and the title and the book’s general slick ambiance, and yet wanting to encourage Donny’s erotic education. So buy it he did.

Apparently, he’s read it. I first noticed a seismic shift in Donny’s Headsmanship the night I returned from Fire Island. Donny, an engineer, had always tended to just head immediately for my clit, apparently assuming the shortest trip between him and my orgasm was a straight line to my most sensitive bits. This time, however, he nibbled, he nuzzled, he licked and he toyed with my labia. He worked slowly and teasingly toward my tiny Greta Garbo reclusive clit and when he finally, finally got there I was goddamn ready and willing to open up and go all Ah! all over.

That wasn’t the only change, however. Donny had discovered rhythm. He did clever little change-ups, but he stayed with a beat long enough that I could enjoy it. He didn’t fumble all frustrated and fruit-fly attention-like with my clit. He had assurance. He held a stroke long enough for me to ride it and then, amazingly, he switched to something even better. He played me like he liked it and like he felt confident.

The Berlin walls tumbling down did not indicate a greater change than this sudden ability of Donny’s to lick my pussy. Ok, perhaps they did, but in my world, this moment was epic. Under the open, knowing, sucking and tongue-twiddling mouth of my lover, I came with the intensity of a joyful natural disaster.

At first I chalked up the crashing success of the experience to our having been away from each other for a week. But he has done it, and done it again, and done it once more, each time with new techniques and an ever-ascending crescendoing level of skill.

Last night, splayed on Donny’s bed, my orgasm did not hover as it usually does like a flotilla of rose-petal weather balloons. It did not, creeping in on cat’s paws, cover me in a rosy pleasure fog. It did not crash like a tsunami or rise up like a fjord or shoot like a nova.

It rose with the intense beat beat beat of hundreds of birds, an immense fluttering flock of wings taking off together, their crazy primal synchronicity pounding the air to rise fluttery upward, up, up, up in the beat beat beat of their wings upward, out and beyond.

Girl Eating Her Vegetables

Time for another funny picture to help make the administrivia go away. Here’s a hungry-looking girl who obviously took her mother’s “Eat your vegetables, dear” advice to heart, and to mouth:

Women who love cucumbers, what’s not to like?

Pearls of Ecstasy

In which Femme Fatale demonstrates why girlfriends have nothing to fear from strippers:

To return to the moment: the moon is outside my window and my sleepy mind is fuzzy as I think about strippers and lap dances and how I must be better than a skanky exotic dancer. But how can I show him? How can I prove my worth not only as a good, loving girlfriend but as a versatile sexual being with so much to give? My mind slithers over possibilities in my sexually creative head, my voice is soft, sweet, yet full of need and unbridled interest,

Babe, I’m into cock-bondage. Don’t worry, its not the crazy kind, just the fun kind and I promise you’ll like it.

Without waiting for a response, I reach behind his head to my jewelry rack that hangs on the wall of my currently being-re-decorated room and take my 35 inch strand of antique natural pearls. His waiting cock is standing forth like a monument to the night and to all his little sex driven mind can conceive. Delicately and with small, soft hands, I wrap the pearls around his cock, starting at the bottom of his thick shaft and twining up, completely encasing his hard flesh in pearls. When at last the pearls were in place, I took both ends and pulled gently, flicking the head of his cock with my tongue.

His reaction was palpable as his hand covered his mouth, his breath coming harsh and thick, fast. His cock too was reacting, pulsing and swelling against the pearls. With each surge of his flesh, the pearls ripples into it exciting him even further. As I sucked and licked away at his sensitive head, he became like stone inside my mouth, harder and thicker than he’s ever been before, the head showing red and swollen in the blue tinted light of the dappled moonlight.

His breath was coming harsh and his comments rippled forth like curses to God as his body tensed and he writhed on the bed,

Oh baby, this is the best sensation I’ve ever felt in my entire life, I swear. Oh my god. It just feels so awesome.

I smiled gently with satisfaction as my mouth luxuriated over his cock, his body, his mouth and his pulsing cock giving me feedback that only increased my need to make him come hard and finalize his grand sensation.

Without warning I pulled the end of the pearl strand up and over his cock and away, the pearls rubbing him as the streamed upwards, massaging his already maniacally aroused cock. He moaned and his body tensed the nth degree, his words only grunts and a long streaming moan issuing from his mouth followed by a laugh of sheer pleasure and amazement.

His moan was even deeper as I slid his whole length into my mouth, letting the tip of him touch the back of my throat before sucking upwards. After a few moments and his fingertips sliding at the base of his engorged cock, his hips bucked before he came with a force that nearly drowned me, his come hitting the inside of my throat and causing me to hold back gagging as he came stronger than he ever has.

Random Fetish Image: Armpit Licking

Er, yes, armpit licking:

Oh, and a reminder to the recent influx of new readers: it’s my habitual practice to deliberately feature a photo from time to time that is likely to appeal only to folks with rare or unusual fetishes. Hell, sometimes (like today) I put up a photo simply because I imagine, without any evidence, that there must be a fetishist somewhere who will think it’s hot. If you think such a photo is “gross” or “sick” — as some of you apparently do, judging by the comments I’ve been catching in moderation lately — please keep those opinions to yourself, or express them elsewhere. ErosBlog (meaning me) does not welcome sex-negative or judgmental commentary. You don’t like something you see here? Fine, whatever rubs your crank. But we (meaning me, again) are not interested in hearing about your revulsion.

We don’t strictly enforce Thumper’s rule; you don’t have to say something nice, or keep your mouth shut. But if you don’t have anything nice to say, you must at least find a nice way to say whatcha got.

The Mistress Guide

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!

Sexy Cop

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

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

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

Uniform + cologne combo.
CLEVER BASTARD.

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

Turnabout is fair play!

Summer Sex

Summer picnics in the park, blowjobs on the picnic tables, what could be more summery than that?

Sir and I met up after work. We drove to one of favorite parks since parks are pretty much all we have right now till summers over. It was a nice night to be outside. It was hot and humid but it was comfortable at the park near the water.

We sat on the bench together and started kissing. Our kisses grew more and more passionate. My whole body surged with excitement as I could feel Sir’s passionate burning desire for me there in his kiss.

…

Anyway back to that burning passionate kissing that left me a melting dripping slut. We kissed like that for a good while and then I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to have some cock. I reached down and felt the stiff pole through his shorts. God it was hard! God I wanted it. We got his pants unfastened and I held his cock in my hand. “Do you want to go over on the picnic table?” He asked. “Yeah, that would be nice.” I answered. Then I added, “Come on hurry up! I want to suck that cock!” He laughed at me and we walked up to the picnic table. He sat up on the table. I sat on the bench and opened my mouth and took in that nice hard delicious cock and sucked it hard. Mmm, my lover has one tasty cock! I felt that steel like shaft with the silky smooth skin sliding across my tongue as the swollen head worked its way into my throat. Oh how I love to have a mouthful of cock! It’s the best!

From Desireous.

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.

Upskirt Photography For Prudes

No, no, it’s not quite what you think. It’s just, MonMouth got accused of being a prude, all evidence to the contrary:

“Spread,” I said to Coco, sitting on a bench in a busy public park. She was wearing a tantalizingly short skirt, no knickers, and I knew that her pussy would still be throbbing from the hard fuck that started our day.

Slightly startled, she didn’t uncross her legs immediately. I could see that the idea appealed to her, but she needed another prod – needed me to tell her to do it. For her, the joy of being told is half the pleasure of indulgence.

Coco spread her legs and looked around to see if anyone noticed what we were up to. Phone in hand, camera on, I reached in between her muscular thighs and the mechanical eye made a satisfying synthesized click.

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.

Blowjob History

Vanity Fair has published (popup warning) a sort of literary history of the blowjob, overwritten by Christopher Hitchens in his erudite but often-annoying cult-crit style:

“The magic and might of her own soft mouth ? ” Erotic poets have hymned it down the ages, though often substituting the word “his.” The menu of brothel offerings in ancient Pompeii, preserved through centuries of volcanic burial, features it in the frescoes. It was considered, as poor Humbert well knew, to be worth paying for. The temple carvings of India and the Kamasutra make rather a lavish point of it, and Sigmund Freud wondered if a passage in Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks might not betray an early attachment to that “which in respectable society is considered a loathsome perversion.” Da Vinci may have chosen to write in “code” and Nabokov may have chosen to dissolve into French, as he usually did when touching on the risque — but the well-known word “fellatio” comes from the Latin verb “to suck.”

Disappointingly, I really only learned one new thing, and that was only a hint, archly delivered in a word-to-the-wise-is-sufficient sort of way:

…gay men like to keep their tonsils for a reason that I would not dream of mentioning…

Oh really?

She Is Delicious

Yes, ladies, you really can wash too much:

Coco was naked. Her dark skin glistened with sweat as she stretched out on the bed and pushed my head away from her crotch.

“Stop, please…” she laughed, weakly. She loves oral – she can come repeatedly, in waves upon waves of growing intensity, until she’s sitting in a puddle of her own juices. Which is why I put a towel under her arse before I tied her wrists to the headboard and dove down between her thighs.

I stayed there for a long time.

Coco is very clean. To the point of neurotic over-washing, trimming, shaving and deodorizing – but whatever. What would I gain by objecting? She smells nice. And I mean the underlying smell of her, the real breathing, sweating, self-lubricating woman that she is.

Whatever Coco thinks, she is delicious.

But fortunately, you can’t wash away the delicious.

Double Blowjob

Sounds like Lex had a really good day, even for him:

It’s been said there’s no such thing as a bad blowjob. This is surely a lie. Anyone who makes this claim has never squirmed under a row of sharp teeth, nor suffered friction burns at the hands of a partner who just wants to get it over with, nor endured the lazy manipulations of a mouth that would rather be wrapped around something — anything — else.

There really isn’t such a thing as a bad double blow job, however. For one, any girl who teams up with a playmate to work you over is arguably well acquainted with the act of fellatio. And neither girl wants to look bad in front of the other, so they both bring their A games to the, er, court. If having two women at once is like winning the lottery, then having two women worship the knobbed idol of your masculinity is like winning the lottery and the Nobel Prize on the same afternoon.

Leslie and Peggy. Each one, in her own right, an accomplished flautist in the skin section of the orchestra; Leslie with her soft, silky lips and Peggy with her tongue ring and talented fingers. Both of them with their little tricks — a slight flick of the wrist or curl of the tongue. Both of them only too happy to fish Mr. Penis out of my trousers. Unprompted, naturally.

I kneeled and they had me together….

Similar Sex Blogging:

• A Discussion Of Phlebotomy
• Girls Who Share
• Two Girls, One Common Purpose

A Pain In The Nipples

It’s news to no one that the female orgasm can sometimes be a slippery and elusive critter. Kaya finds it’s easiest to catch one when she uses her nipple clamps:

Every once in awhile, orgasm eludes me, even with my pocket rockets, the hitchi and my imagination. I’ll be deep into a fantasy, humming along industriously and all of sudden, 10 or 20 minutes have passed and I’ll realize I’m contemplating the next American Idol cut. Or planning next week’s menu. So I mentally shake myself, refocus my head back to cages and whips and cocks….. and “wake up” some 10 or 20 minutes later designing my dream house.

Now, I don’t give up on an orgasm. That’s a road of despair that I am not willing to travel just yet. Seriously, it starts with just one. One time, you lay the vibe down and decide you just can’t cum tonight. Then it’s twice. Pretty soon, cobwebs and moths have taken up roost in your cootchie. No. Nuh uh. Not me. If I start it, I will finish it. And trust me when I say I’ve battled it a time or two. Stinky, sweating, cramped legs and arms and fingers and a sore, battered clit. But I won. My clit waved the white flag and spit out a pathetic little orgasm because I.will.not.be.defeated.

That’s bothered me a time or two. That seems an unhealthy obsession in the light of day. But let’s not go there, ok? :P

My most favored way of grasping a wayward orgasm is nipple torture. It amazes me how quickly I can cum once I start seriously hurting my nips. Because it’s so easy, I don’t do it every night. I don’t want to ruin that. I love it too much. (The marathon battles mentioned above would not take as long if I’d get my lazy ass out of bed and get the clamps out the toy box.)

I like when I get into a place where I just can’t hurt them enough. A clamp doesn’t cut it. Several clamps might. And then only if they are pulled off numerous times and reapplied. Twisted and yanked and pulled. When it’s really good, I don’t even need the vibe. Once the pain gets high enough, sharp enough, all I’ve got to do is touch my finger to my clit and I pop.

One of those mind-blowing orgasms that stretch out forever… and leave your mouth gaping open and your eyes crossed for awhile.

Foot Fetish Fishhooking?

From time to time in porn towards the gonzo end of the spectrum you’ll see someone reach forward from behind the performer and hook his fingers into the corners of her mouth, pulling it into a grimace. This is called “fish-hooking” and its intended erotic significance is opaque to me.

Fingers are one thing. Feet are another. Here now from Wired Pussy comes a photograph that takes fish-hooking to a whole new toe-fetish level:

As my father used to say, I don’t know too much and I don’t understand all I know.

Sexual Science

Here’s a sort of fun link, courtesy of Violet Blue. The Taste Tester: One Woman’s Attempt To Help Men Taste Better chronicles Ava’s attempts to make her boyfriend’s semen taste better through dietary changes. Should be fun to see what she learns.

Fair warning, though: by the sex positive standards of this audience, Ava’s a bit porn-negative and quick to call her boyfriend an idiot for wanting to come on her tits. On the one hand, she’s being a fine sport about the whole semen-in-the-mouth business; but on the other hand, a man ought to be able to express a fantasy without having his lady want to “smack some sense into him.” Hint: When a man tells you he’s “horrified with himself” and “acting like an idiot”, he’s most likely backpedalling furiously and regretting his moment of honesty, rather than feeling actually repentant. Good luck getting the next fantasy out of him!

The Center Of Sexual Attention

Here are a few words from Chelsea Girl about the prospect of a threesome:

This is the story of being the girlmeat in a boybread sandwich.

…

In the grand spirit of nothing exceeding like excess, the threesome promises a surfeit of pleasures. More hands, more mouths, more flesh, more limbs, and, in this case, more cocks. I’d had the girl/boy/girl threesome a couple of times–and in fact the week after my boy/girl/boy threesome I’d have another g/b/g one–but I’d never been with two boys at once, and I liked the idea.

I liked the idea of being the warm womanly center of the all male maelstrom. I liked too the idea of being doubly objectified, doubly penetrated, doubly used and doubly pleasured. I liked the idea of having a cock in my mouth while a mouth was at my pussy, and while that scenario is obviously open to the g/b/g threesome, I liked the idea that I could then be fucked by the cock belonging to the mouth that was at my pussy.

I didn’t really think a lot about the boys kissing, touching or whatever together. It would be exciting–I like hot boy-on-boy action as much as the next sexually progressive chick–but it hadn’t really entered into my fantasy extensively, to be honest. Mostly this fantasy centered on me, my body, and those two boys who would in tandem be doing their utmost to pleasure it.

Of course, as is the way of things, the reality was a little different than the anticipation.

Playing Pinball In The Nude

To wash the taste of spam out of my mouth, how about some nice vintage nude women playing pinball?

The Bad Honeymoon

Author John Ross, who wrote a quite readable novel about guns and politics called Unintended Consequences, when asked about his proudest moment as an author, reported that it was:

…when I listened to my voicemail messages one day and heard the following message:

[Agitated woman] “John Ross? Is this thing recording? I just thought you’d like to know that you and your goddamn book have ruined my honeymoon. Probably my marriage, too. I can’t believe my-” [muffled sound, a second voice, faint, as if a hand is over the receiver, then the hand being pried off] “Give me that… you bastard, you haven’t even-” [more muffled noises, then a man’s voice on the phone:

[Man] “Mr. Ross?”

[The woman, from several feet away] “It’s his answering machine.”

[Man] “Oh.” [relieved] “Uh…Mr. Ross, this is, uh, well, never mind my name, but-”

[Woman in background, yelling] “His name’s _! [name deleted for privacy]

[Man] “Yeah, uh it’s_, that’s right. Uh, Mr. Ross, I’m kind of on my honeymoon, and-”

[Woman, screaming now] “KIND OF on your honeymoon?” [muffled sound of hand covering receiver, alternating screaming and soothing tones, but I can’t make out the words]

[Man] “Listen, I started reading your book on the plane ’cause it was a four hour flight, you know, and now I just can’t put it down. And it’s pretty long, you know, so I’m still not finished, and my wife, well, I haven’t been paying enough attention to her, and-”

[Woman, screaming loud enough for me to hear even though the man quickly covers the mouthpiece again] “IT’S THE SECOND DAY OF OUR HONEYMOON AND YOU HAVEN’T EVEN FUCKED ME YET!”

[Man] Um, I guess you heard that, Mr. Ross. Look, everything’s going to be okay, I’m almost finished with it and I can’t tell you how much I’m enj- GIVE ME THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!” [Sound of scuffle and phone being hung up].

I got a follow-up call a day later, where the husband assured me that everything was all right and his wife wasn’t going to file for an annulment.

Sex Blog Roundup (Exclusive ErosBlog Edition)

I put together a Sex Blog Roundup for Fleshbot a week ago, but for some reason they didn’t publish it. So I thought I’d put it here for you to enjoy. Without further ado, here it is.

Feels Like Home from My Not So Secret Self:

“I tugged at my honey’s shorts and within moments he was naked, his cock–already hard from the warmth of my breasts rubbing and pressing against his flesh–was standing tall in the warm glow of the bedroom. I hesitated for a moment before stripping my own panties off and joining him in nakedness.”

Purple Silk Boxers from Urban Gypsy:

“He strides over to where I stand; lets his tongue bathe my lips and then nuzzles his face into my neck, licking that most sensitive area that seems hot wired directly to my clit, eliciting soft moans. A greater whimper escapes my lips as he grabs my hair at the roots, pushing me to my knees so that my mouth aligned with his cock which so insistently pushes the purple silk towards me. ‘Suck,’ he says simply.”

Head Hanging Over the Edge of the Bed from Always Aroused Girl:

“In the distant past, I had the pleasure of sharing the bed of a young man who (among many other things) loved to come all over my breasts. I think if I were a man, even for a few days, ‘come all over lover’s breasts’ would have to be on my list of Manly Things to Do.”

Fantasome from Emerging On The Other Side:

“Tonight, my husband made sweet passionate love to me. As did my lover and muse. Simultaneously. Except my husband was unaware of his presence, since a threesome involving two men and myself is not his idea of bliss. But it’s definitely one of mine.”

Storming The Fortress from Late Starter:

“When we got to the castle around midday it was fairly deserted, with probably no more than half a dozen visitors…. The room was dimly lit by daylight coming through a very small slit window…. We’d started to kiss passionately and to loosen one another’s clothing when we heard the couple from the floor above coming down the stone staircase. We hastily made ourselves as respectable as possible in the few seconds available, but we were both red-faced and breathing heavily when the couple reached the open doorway.”

Candy Cane For Des from Desireous:

“I sucked him and licked him and sucked his tasty freshly shaven balls. I had him moaning and squirming beneath me. I love that! Nothing like making a man moan, it?s one of my favorite things! He had his hands in my hair holding tight. I sucked him good. I know I had him pretty close to orgasm a few times but he held back and kind of distracted me, sneaky guy!”

Tranny Surprise from Bad Sex:

“I was at the Cat Club in San Francisco, I think it was Bondage-a-go-go that night, I was in latex, my first outfit. I think it was second or third time out in rubber. I was having an OK time, but not really getting any attention….”

Midwest As Seductress from Kiss and Blog:

“A month into living together, we acknowledged our sex life was stale as Noah’s doggie bagels and pledged to liven things up. One night, about an hour after we’d gone to sleep, I woke up with a plan to spark the embers. Rolling toward Nathan, I began lightly nibbling his ear. He swatted me away.”

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.

Fingered On Holloway Road

The Girl With The One Track Mind has been oh so busy lately. Not only has she been flirting with cops (when she’s usually a “what’s a penny made of?” sort of girl), but she’s also been getting fingered in public, and liking it:

So, we’re standing on Holloway road, kissing like two drunken teenagers on a night out; snogging away, oblivious to the people milling around us trying to get the last tube home. The warm summery air is making us both frisky: our hands explored each other eagerly as our mouths moved in synch. We stood there and kissed, and the world revolved around us. Magical.

I was it is fair to say, very turned on. And from the feel of him pressed up hard against my thigh, he was too. The heat between us was intense, the passion fired up. So when he asked me, if he could “feel” me, I didn’t question what he meant: it felt only natural to go with the flow (so to speak).

Even when he slid his hand underneath my jeans and pushed two fingers inside me.

As we stood on Holloway road.

With people walking all around us.

My, oh, my.

Sexy Male Stars

I don’t normally swoon over stars. But Tasty Trixie dialed me in with her comments on Ed Harris:

Oh . . . FUCK me, Ed Harris!! I recently read that most men would rather be impotent than be bald. STUPID. Bald is beautiful. Ed. Harris. I don’t usually think of blue-eyed blondes as my “type”, but Ed Harris moves me to panty-wetting excitement.

Oh yes, bald IS beautiful. For anyone getting moist at the thought of Ed Harris, Trixie’s entry includes a very sexy photo, in which his mouth looks so kissable that I think I might swoon if I think about it too much. And Trixie, I agree, Ed wins over Viggo by miles. (I’m also in the Sean-Astin-as-sex-stud-of-LOTR camp.)

Tentacle Sex, Shunga Style

In case you thought tentacle sex was a modern Japanese kink, this vintage shunga image ought to disabuse you:

The artist is the famous Katsushika Hokusai, who died in 1849. What’s more, there’s a link at Tentacle Porn to a putative translation of the script surrounding the image. No warranties, express or implied:

OCTOPUS MAXIMUS: My wish comes true at last, this day of days; finally I
have you in my grasp! Your “bobo” is ripe and full, how wonderful! Superior
to all others! To suck and suck and suck some more. After we do ot
masterfully, I’ll guide yo to the Dragon Palace of the Sea God and envelope
you. “Zuu sufu sufu chyu chyu chyu tsu zuu fufufuuu…”

MAIDEN: You hateful octopus! Your sucking at the mouth of my womb makes me
gasp for breath! Aah! yes… it’s… There.!!! With the sucker, the
sucker!! inside, squiggle, squiggle, Oooh! Oooh, good, Oooh good! There,
there! Theeeeere! Goood! Whew! Aah! Good, good, Aaaaaaaaaah! Not yet!
Until now it was I that men called an octopus! An octopus! Ooh! Whew! How
are you able…!? Ooh! “yoyoyooh, Saa… Hicha hicha gucha gucha, yuchyuu
chyu guzu guzu suu suuu….”

OCTOPUS MAXIMUS: All eigth legs (arms?) to interwine with!! How do you like
it htis way? Ah, look! The inside has swollen, moistened by the warm waters
of lust. “Nura nura doku doku doku…”

MAIDEN: Yes, it tingles now; soon there will be no sensation at all left my
hips. Ooooooh! Boundaries and borders gone! I ‘ve Vanished….!!!!!!

OCTOPUS MINIMUM: After daddy finishes, I too want to rub and rub my suckers
at the ridge of your furry place until you disappear and then I’ll suck
some more, “chyu chyu..”

Penis Worship

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

“Mm, you like that?”

“Yes.”

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

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

Time for some words

I’d intended to write in this space, but time and tide, as they say. I’ve done nothing but post pictures.

Thus, words.

This could be a true story.

We meet at a party.

We’re not supposed to know each other, but we do. Know each other’s words, minds, souls. Yet we’ve never met.

Drink in my hand, I pretend to ignore her as I chat up some lovely ladies who are intent upon being mine for the evening. She’s nervous never at ease in crowds. I know her eyes are on me, but I do not turn to look. Music plays. I fetch drinks for my erstwhile dates. Lush women, to my taste, normally, but there’s only one woman in the room tonight.

I circulate away from her, but I know where she is. I wait.

I catch her when she goes down the hall to use the bathroom; timing it, I am there behind her just as the door opens, and then in a rush I have her in my arms, and am shutting the door behind us. I turn out the light, and we’re lit only softly, moonlight through a high window.

First kiss. She knows it’s me. Knows my touch before ever a hand is laid on her. I take her mouth, roughly. We speak no words. It’s not time for talk, that’s yesterday. That’s tomorrow.

I guide her down; she’s told me this story, written a script, and for now, that’s how I play it. She’s on her knees, and her hands free my cock, and her mouth takes me. I hold her head, fuck into her mouth. I gag her, make her choke. Later, I’ll touch her gently, but now, we need it to hurt.

She wants my come. She won’t get it yet. I stop her, and she squeals in frustration. I put my cock away, and make her stand.

“Fix your makeup,” I say, and tell her to do whatever else she’s in here for. She does, and I watch her, the lights back on. Her face is flushed, red. Her lipstick is smeared, her lips invitingly puffy. I almost take her again, from behind this time. But not yet; I open the door, distract two people in line while she slips out behind me.

I catch her by the elbow and steer her toward the stairs. There’s a guest room. The door has a lock. I sweep coats and purses off the bed, lock the door behind us. She protests – someone might come looking. I don’t care. I push her down on the bed, rip a filmy thong from her and put it in my pocket as she gasps.

I put a finger in her; she’s incredibly wet, and incredibly tight. It’s going to hurt her when I take her, And I’m looking forward to that. I hold her down, and kiss her, and rub my cock against her slick wetness. Then I’m forcing myself inside, holding her face with one hand, making her look at me so I can see her pain.

God, she’s tight. I can feel her body fighting to keep me out. I fight harder, then kiss her to contain the scream. I thrust in, each stroke deeper, making her fit me, making her yield to me. She screams into my mouth, and kisses, and screams.

I want to take time. I want to make her come. But it’s too much. I give in to her, abandon restraint, and stab her with my cock. My scream meets hers and I come, and keep thrusting, my fingers on her clit, my cock only half hard but still inside.

“Come for me, you little whore,” I whisper, and she’s howling, screaming, her pussy clenching on me. Anyone outside would think murder is being done, and I fantasize the whole house knows how I’ve just taken her. Her screams turn to sobs, and her body shakes, and she begins to whisper that she loves me.

We’ve only started. She thinks I’m going to let her go. I’m not.

DionysusBlog@gmail.com

Truant Teen Girls With Mouths

Today I needed to take a long ride on a city bus to retrieve my vehicle from my mechanics. When the bus stopped in front of the local high school just after 8:00 AM, it quickly became clear that scholastics were not a priority on this sunny spring morning, as a horde of teen girls got aboard talking animatedly about their planned day at the mall.

The bus being crowded, we were all pressed in pretty close. The following conversation and events took place about eighteen inches in front of my face:

Girl #1: “Do you want a drink?” (offers 20 ounce Coke bottle)

Girl #2: “Sure!” (takes bottle, opens, stuffs it deep in her mouth so her lips are on the shoulders of the bottle, and begins swigging long and hard, glug glug glug glug.)

Girl #1: “Geeze, Fellatia, don’t get so excited, it’s only a rum and coke!”

Normally I’m unmoved by what passes for witty teen sarcasm, but I thought “Fellatia” was funny.

Make Mine Peanut Butter And Onion

Jon says Guys Are Not Crafty. Perhaps some of my female readers would argue, but this summary matches my own experience pretty closely:

The things we say don’t have secret meanings. Guys do one of three things. We either say what we mean, flat out lie or say nothing at all. There is no hidden meaning. We really are not that deep.

Here is an example. If a guy says “I am not horny tonight” it means one of two things:

1) “I am not horny tonight.”

2) “I am horny but I am lying just because sometimes guys are stupid and lie for no reason.”

Now to make sense of the difference, lets look at what a woman might mean:

1) “I am not horny tonight.”

2) “We are in a fight so I am cutting you off.”

3) “I know you will still try something and I want you to do all the work tonight.”

4) “I will tease you with sex until you promise to buy that necklace we saw today.”

5) “I am going to call my ex, I just went out with you for the free dinner.”

6) “I was horny until you kissed me with the same mouth that ate the peanut butter and mustard sandwich that disgusts me so much.”

Marriage: “The Shit Changes”

My sister, who’s been married a couple of times without finding much joy in it, has a number of complaints about married life. But her biggest gripe is the way, as she puts it, that “Once you get married, the shit changes! No matter how good all your love shit is, once you marry, the shit just changes.”

I was reminded of this by a comic essay on marriage, which includes this bit of wisdom:

During the first year of togetherness, you probably wondered if you were a bad partner for fantasizing about someone else to get off as your partner slept next to you, but now you’re able to say “I’d hit that” and have a serious conversation about whether or not Penelope Cruz’s accent would spoil sex with her. FYI, my husband and I agreed that we’d make it a bondage thing and ask her if we could duct tape her mouth shut.

Yup, that’s a change, all right.

Anal Sex Video That Will Make Your Jaw Drop

…her mother said “Nelly,

there’s more in your belly

than ever went in by your mouth!”

This next link, when clicked, delivers a grainy postage-stamp-sized anal sex video, an extremely explicit one. That’s all the warning you are going to get:

(Link)

Thanks (I think) to Marylu for emailing the link.

Too Sexy For His Flashlights

Porn Publisher Rask can be funny as hell, and today he has a question for his readers:

When I go out, I often wear a leather Harley Davidson cap with a long brim. It keeps the sun out of my eyes and it keeps my hair from blowing into my mouth. And it advertises the fact that I’m a biker and ride a big Harley. When I was at Lowes last week, I found some cute little flashlights with clips on them. Perfect to attach to the brim of my cap. Now I can see in the dark, hands-free. When I wear the cap now, the slave gives me a Look. The vibe I’m getting from her is like, “I can’t sleep with a man who wears flashlights on his head.” Now my question is this: Doesn’t the machismo of wearing a Harley Davidson cap offset the geekiness of wearing flashlights on your head? I need to know, just in case I want to have sex again someday. For now, though, being able to see in the dark is gratifying enough.

A tough call, I’d say….

Another Pussy Speaks

This week’s Friday Pussy Blogging is from Mercurial Girl:

Hi! Kim’s pussy here. Well girls, tell me, shall we dish? Yes, I thought so.

When she was little I had this thing going with her mouth. We had this agreement that we would keep her hands busy. Her thumb was always in her mouth and her other hand in the diaper.

:laugh: She could be my sister!

I enjoyed her pussy blogging alot, and then visited her own blog, also much fun. Mercurial Girl is an American prostitute in Paris–go on, you know you want to check her out!

Pussy and the Past

Today’s Friday Pussy Blog entry is from Hiromi of panties panties panties. Lovely job showing off her nice ass while keeping things centered on pussy-talk.

I’m a bit older than Hiromi and her comments hit home with me. I’m not aging gracefully either, but not in the good way she’s talking about. Mon Mouth’s post on reuniting with a teenage love reminded me that part of it is being alone, especially after the brief thing with R. I need to get back to that story…..but the next part is hard to tell.

Ahem…. Wonderful contribution to FPB, Hiromi! :)

Get On The Rollertrain

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

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

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

Or how about this observation about porn stars?

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

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

Too much fun!

Please Stuff It Up My RSS, Again And Again!

This is the best link advertising an RSS feed I’ve ever seen:

“Click here to have my big hard blog stuffed lovingly up your RSS”

Who can resist that? So get yourself over to Rentboy Diaries and assume the proper position already! :D

[And, Bacchus, the photo wasn’t found on a gay porn site, despite my terminology suggesting otherwise. Would you consider a nude shot of yourself (your smile can match his any day, you know) “gay porn?”]

Virtues Of Cooperation: Triple Blowjob

Apologies for the lack of substantial posts lately. When things get busy, I like to fob you off with images, because they are quick and easy. This next one demonstrates the old adage “Many hands make light work.” Or should that be “Many mouths”?

An Egg In A Pretty Mouth

I don’t like looking at ambiguously-gendered asses any more than Aphrodite likes spider porn, so I have to bump her latest down the page with something. Why not some innocent food photography?

This reminds me of a scene from the notorious Japanese food movie Tampopo.

The Story of R: Further Thanksgiving Sexploits

[Continuing my story….. Here’s the first part, Unexpected Reunion, in case you haven’t read it.]

I awaken the next morning in a lingering, warm glow from R’s and my passion. I feel more rested and energized than I have in a long time….then I slip in to wondering what will happen next between us. Was that it–one night of hot sex–or is there more in store for us? If there is, what will it be like? Reliving the crazed teenage lust was fun, but that won’t–can’t–last.

As I’m sitting at the kitchen table, having a cup of coffee and talking with Mom, someone raps on the front door. It’s R.Mom knows some stuff about the unrequited feelings between R and me in school, and she’s been kind of charmed by him too. Now he stands at her door, well-dressed and smiling that smile, loosely holding two white roses in one hand. After they hug, he presents her with one rose, then sees me and his smile widens. R asks Mom for permission to see me, which she enthusiastically gives. He steps in to the kitchen and offers me the other rose. It’s exquisite in both appearance and heady scent.

In response to my mother’s questions regarding how he knew I was home, R coolly covers our chance meeting at the store. He makes the entire encounter sound totally innocent, as if his interest is solely in re-establishing friendship with a longlost bud…but there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye that I wonder if my mom sees. Talk then turns to catching up between them…..like any well-meaning mom, she’s probably thinking matchmaker thoughts and a lot of the talk focuses on what he’s doing, and how well he’s doing at it. Turns out he’s doing quite well as an executive for a fairly big tech company. Not Mr. Millionaire himself, but he’s well-paid and he has a lot of corporate perks available to him. As they talk, I observe…..and see that, while R’s being genuine, it’s also obvious he’s mastered a lot of people-handling skills.

R’s visit concludes with asking my mom to take some of the family’s already-limited time with me over the Thanksgiving weekend so that he and I can catch up. Utterly charmed, she says of course he can spend time with me. R turns to me, green eyes ablaze with impish sparks, and asks if I’d like to go for a walk with him tonight. I agree, and the date is set.

——-

What a “next move”! I think to myself afterward. I decide to try to ride the youthful-lust energy for one more night. When R appears precisely at the appointed time, he sees me in my best attempt to recapture my typical high-school appearance…..soft flannel shirt, tight jeans, my hair caught in a ponytail (much shorter than back then), even my old high-tops (thanks, Mom, for not throwing them out!)….a sharp intake of breath signals a momentary lapse in his poise. My composure is similarly thrown off. He hadn’t used the “wayback machine” like I did, but is just gorgeous in a simple white turtleneck sweater, light blue jeans, and black leather jacket.

As we stroll to the park, I notice that few people are out….it’s a cool night for the locals. R and I aren’t saying much–more general talk, filling in all those missing years–but he’s taken my hand, and caresses it as we walk. I sense real caring from R, and an undercurrent of passion, in both his touch and talk. Forgetting my decision to let him lead, I impetuously steer us to “The Wet Spot”….a small clearing in an overgrown corner of the park, long rumored to be a hot spot used by teens and grownups alike for furtive encounters.

I stop in front of it and turn to face him with my question: “You ever make it with anybody here?” The unexpected challenge brings a lovely flush to his lightly-tanned face, and as he tries to stammer a reply I press on with, “Ya want to tonight?” and crawl in without waiting for his reply.

He follows immediately, surprising me with a bite on the ass as he does. I yip, then wheel around so that he can see my face as I peel off my clothes. The moonlight lends its soft glow to my skin, and R greedily drinks in the sight. At last I’m naked, cool but comfortable in the night air….and R finally breaks his spell with a murmur of something like, “You’re better than I dreamed …” Then his warm hands are upon me, stroking and exploring in a way that seems almost worshipful to me. Awed, I slip out of the teenage tart role and enjoy his attentions.

With a muffled growl, R abruptly changes the pace, pulling me to him hard, then kneading my ass as his tongue fills my mouth. His taste and scent fill my head…the heat of his erection warms my belly even through his jeans…..and we’re back in passion’s thrall, squeezing, sucking, tasting, teasing….exploring and riding the heat more fully than we did the previous night.

After getting my first taste of R’s cock and fluids, bringing him almost to orgasm with my teasing tongue, he pushes me down onto my hands and knees, then moves behind me for entry. We both groan at the immediate pleasure of filling and being filled….with just a few flicks to my clit and a couple of pumps, I’m shuddering with the intensity of my orgasm. R’s only a few moments behind me, gasping as my vagina squeezes around him. I collapse to the ground, R blanketing me, both lost in the twilight of pleasure.

Finally, R chuckles and pulls out. “You’re quite the sexpot, sweetie, but this carelessness really isn’t a good idea.” I laugh and agree, and we have the sex-history and protection talks. Even though tests taken during his marriage some years back indicated he has a low sperm count, we agree that tempting fate isn’t smart, and work out a contraceptive arrangement. Through the conversation our hands continue to explore each other’s bodies, ultimately causing our talk to falter.

R’s incessant pinching and teasing of my nipples is enough to bring me to another, small orgasm. I decide to reward him in kind, with a blow job….and end up in the most amazing 69 session I’ve had. R comes first, shooting a decent amount of fluid for having already come once. The lull in action while he orgasms serves only as a tortuous tease for me….so when R resumes his oral attentions I’m easily brought off again by his hot, deft tongue. He barely allows me to climax before rolling atop me and filling me again with his still-hard member, pounding me as wave after wave of pleasure pours through me…..finally ending in his orgasm.

Much later, as we’re walking back to my parents’ house, we agree to not get together the next day…..but it’s clearly understood that we’re both enjoying this….whatever it is, and want it to continue.

Fellatio Factory

OK, so I’ll grant that the costume is eye-catching; and sure, the little bit of (fake?) spooge at the edge of the mouth-hole earns realism points. If that’s really a tissue dispenser on the top of her head, I suppose there’s a certain gonzo panache to that, as well. But at the end of the day, all I can do is shake my head and wonder: “What was she thinking?” Or maybe: “Is that you, Charlotte Simmons?”

Picture found here on Little Midgets.

Venturing Out To Say “Hello”

Hello, everyone! This is The Nymph with my very first post. I’ve been a little slow to get with the program but here goes nothing.

First of all, I’m not going to be posting a lot of pics or links – mainly because I don’t have a lot of either of those. My style is more of a talkative one. You can expect to read more about what’s going on with Bacchus and me. We have a lot of fun and I don’t mind sharing with friends, so come into our grove, pick out a comfy spot, and let me pour you a glass of wine before I get started.

It’s been six months since I moved in with him, and it’s only getting better. Can you believe he remembered our six month anniversary? That earned him BJ points like he never expected! Or did he? Doesn’t matter, he still earned them – and I’m happy to make sure he cashes them in. Yum!

Did I mention we have fun?

I honestly don’t understand the women who think giving a blow job to the man they love isn’t fun. I love it! Honestly, I do. It’s amazing getting that close and personal with his most erogenous parts and having him respond like he does. I love making him feel good in that special way. It’s a strange combination of power and submission when I have him in my mouth. The power to control his pleasure and submission I show by giving him that pleasure unselfishly. Mmmm it makes my mouth water just thinking about it!

I think that might be enough “sharing” for now…and before I embarrass Bacchus too much!

Dessert Pornography

No man can resist a woman who likes her food this much. It’s such a refreshing change from the “I’ll have the odor-of-lettuce salad” girls:

The dessert menu announced donut holes, and we had ordered them before I could even consider how full I was. They came in a basket, wrapped in a piece of cloth, still warm, made of the lightest dough, with the crispiest exterior coated in the best cinnamon sugar ever. A bowl of strained strawberry sauce was put out to dip them. When I broke one open, I found inside a piece of melted bittersweet chocolate. Melted. Bittersweet. Chocolate.

“I’m going to stick my tongue in it.”
“No,” he taunted me.
“Oh, I will you don’t believe me?”

And I did. And the gooey warm chocolate ran all over my mouth. The warm dough clung to my tongue. The strawberry sauce made me roll my eyes back. I was somewhere else.

When I came to, he was staring at me as if I were a specimen of unquantifiable mystery.
“You think I’m weird, don’t you!”
He smiled.
I flushed with angst, “You think I’m crazy! You think I’m cuckoo. You can’t believe I just jammed my tongue inside a donut hole in a restaurant. You ordered a girlfriend of the non-whackaloon variety and you got stuck with me. You want to trade me in for a sane model. You ”

“I think you’re adorable.”

And so I stuck my tongue back in it again.

From Smitten.

The Blushing Nymph

I made The Nymph blush this morning.

We were snuggling as she was waking up, and she seemed to be biting my elbow. I asked “What are you doing, dear?”

She said “I’m measuring your elbow.”

I said: “Huh?” (I’m not at my witty best in the morning.)

Her: “I’m measuring it. I’m trying to see how much of it I can get in my mouth, it’s the only way I have to measure anything right now.”

I think about this for a moment. “I’ve got something else you can measure if you like….”

The Cure For Gonzo Porn

If you look at very much porn, you’ll know there’s a sort of extreme genre out there these days that involves a lot of over-the-top aggression and degrading grossness, including in various mixes things like face-slapping, spitting, shoving girls’ heads in toilets while shoving other stuff up their orifices, and so forth. It’s mostly not for me. So I was entertained when Eden wrote:

I’ve been forced to gag by having a cock pushed down my throat during rough sex and BDSM scenes. It was unpleasant, but that was part of the mood of the moment, and as such it was incredibly exciting. But a whole site (and there are several now) devoted to fucking a woman’s mouth so hard and deep that she vomits around the cock… and he keeps going? I certainly won’t say it should be banned — to each his own — but I’d pay to see those women allowed to force cucumbers down the throats of the men who had just been using them.

So would I. “Max Hardcore Vegetable Revenge” anyone?

The Blowjob Letters: A Correspondence With Aliens

Over at Smitten she writes about an event I’m always pleased to be present for — but what in the painted deserts of Barsoom is she talking about?

I can’t imagine why any of you boys like to look down.

1. Well, first there’s the whole breathing issue. If you have any luck at all with genetics or pills, she won’t be doing much of it through her mouth. Leaving only the nose for that overrated O2 exchange, I’d hope hers isn’t stopped up all of the time like mine is, as this will make her even shorter of breath. I find myself making little gasps every few moments, like when you are swimming underwater and you come up to the surface for just a split-second before you go back under. Sexy, eh?
2. Then, of course, there’s the suction. Let’s say you’re really enjoying a lollipop, and you pull it from your mouth quickly (like when you have to gasp for air), it makes almost a popping noise from the pressure released.
3. Additionally, your mouth waters, since you have likely activated your digestive system by putting something in your mouth, and taking quick breaths with a watery mouth makes that’s right slurping noises.
4. And let’s not forget the gag reflex; the majority of us who are not ‘independent art film actresses’ still have one. When I gag, my whole body lurches a little, forward, which causes, that’s right more gagging.
5. Plus, there’s the crying. I have the most sensitive eyes in the world, I cry when I laugh, I cry when I’m mad, and I find little tears forming when I’m working really really hard at pulling a golf ball through a garden hose. Sometimes they even spill over. In joy, of course, pure joy. Eventually all of this effort, and crying, will loosen something in my nasal passage, and I will begin to sniffle.

Given all the gasping, suction noises, slurping, lurching, gagging, crying and sniffling, you really have one indelicate and kind of gross girl kneeling in front of you. But you boys never seem to mind.

1. Gasping. Sexy. This is news?
2. Suction noises. Sexier. Sex noise is always hot.
3. Slurping. This is supposed to be a catalog of undesirables?
4. Gagging. OK, not sexy. But the lurching? We thought you were just lunging forward so you could fit more in your mouth. That’s sexy. 
5. Crying. Haven’t seen this one. (I’m imagining six macho guys out there saying “Dude, you never made her cry? You must have a tiny wiener.”)

Mind? What’s to mind?

The Dangers Of Cold

Canadians naturally enough have a heightened sense of awareness of the terrible danger posed by cold. Mike proves it:

It started on the couch. Chelle was just wearing one of my t-shirts, and was all bundled up watching a movie. I came over, sat with her, her feet in my lap. Rubbed them a little, and then peaked under the blanket. No undies. Eeeeeep.

My biggest fear was that her pussy would get cold, and she’d catch a flu, and then she’d be miserable for weeks. Sure she was covered up, but there still could be drafts blowing underneath or something. It was very much an emergency, so I did the only thing I could think of – I put my mouth on her.

Yes I’m silly. What of it?
…
It was even worse then I feared – she wasn’t wearing a bra.

As an object lesson I pulled the shirt up over her head, and got up for some supplies. When I got back, I applied an ice cube to her nipples, to show her the danger that cold represents. Then because I needed her out of danger I applied some of that warming massage oil and breathed on them. The way her back arched, my goodness.

Baloop, Bump

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

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

You stopped!

What are you fucking nuts?

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

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

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

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

I threw a blanket over her and let her sleep.

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

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

A Blow Job And A Prediction

Over at Diary of a Porn Publisher, I found this account of a clever attempt to evade the laws against prostitution:

“So, I’m walking down the sidewalk and a woman asks me if I want her to tell my fortune. When I pause, she tells me that she can tell my fortune from the taste of my cum, for $50. I ask, “just how does that work?” It turns out that she’ll give me a blow job and after I cum in her mouth, she can tell my future. It wasn’t a good time to dally to have my fortune told, but I’ve been thinking about this. Is it fortune-telling then, instead of prostitution? If it’s not illegal, maybe I should try to put together a stable of psychic cock-suckers for a new business venture.”

That could almost work.

Dangerous Sex In The Laundry Room

Pagan Moss posted a teaser paragraph over at Peep Show Stories from her “sex filled, campy thriller called Laundry” — inspired by her “scary-ass basement laundry room.” It sounds like fun all right:

Kate took the wet laundry out of the washer and put it into the dryer, along with some fabric softener. She put four quarters into the slot. The dryer started up, sounding like a rolling drum. She stood there for a moment, sensing something wasn’t quite right. Before she could move, her head was covered by a sheet and a hand pressed hard against her mouth. A man’s voice whispered, “I’m not going to hurt you.” She couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. She struggled to get away, but the man just pulled her into his body tighter, dragging her backwards. Her feet kicked wildly and came off the ground. He pulled her into the room off the corridor and closed the door behind him. All was silent expect for the rolling drum of the dryer. The smell of fabric softener filled the air.

I want to see the part where she is molested by Snuggles the fabric softener bear.

A Large Cold Mouthful

Here’s what happens when hot-blooded young ladies in northern climates are forced to amuse themselves, with nothing but snow to work with:

A Mouthful of Meat In Her Fridge

And one box of Ramen in her cupboards, I don’t doubt:

Left Behind Lingerie

Philip at Hot Action shares a long reverie. A reverie about laundry, you could say, if you had no soul at all. The reverie begins:

I went upstairs and started to tidy up my room. I was sorting my laundry when I found the bra you’d been asking about. Yes, I still have it. So you want it back, do you?

I raised the bra to my mouth and and took a bit of the shiny black material in my teeth. I imagined biting through to the hard, sensitive nipple on the other side.

The smell of your breasts was still powerful on the garment….

Gagged Blonde

Here’s another cute bondage picture from the Bondage Blog, a gagged blonde pixie of a girl this time:

The tape may be a good idea, she looks like she might bite!

Submissive Sex

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

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

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

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

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

Azure Loves Men

And how! She writes:

Men make me melt, they put me in a totally subservient place just by their existence, they make me glad i’m a woman, full of soft curves and plush flesh, deep valleys and high mounds for them to explore w/their rough hands, hot mouths, hard bodies…i open my arms and welcome a man to fall into them, wrap their solidity within my fragility like a warm blanket on a cold night…

The scent of a man drives me insane, their sweat, their heat, their hunger, you can smell it like animals do…their lust, it makes me want to swallow them whole, taste them in the hope that i can taste their lust and desire…i love it when a man’s been working hard and has gotten all sweaty, i want to touch it, taste it, kiss it off, feel that sweaty body against mine, claiming me, making me his…

Of the things that make a man, i love their cocks the best…

Belle De Jour

The most astonishingly delicious new blog just linked to me: Belle De Jour: Diary of a London Callgirl. The writing sparkles – so much so that one is tempted to believe this might be a literary endeavour. But the voice is authentic-sounding, so I take this one at face value. Very readable! I loved this:

Located what sounded like an excellent, small, discreet agency (word of mouth, as they say). After email contact and sending my photos, I finally arranged to meet the manager at the dining room of a central London hotel….

“How will I know you?” I asked. “What do you look like?”

“When I was younger everyone used to say I looked like Brooke Shields,” she said.

“Ah, you must be very beautiful then.”

“No, I am old and decrepit. Now people say I look like Daryl Hannah.”

What fun.

99 And 44/100ths Percent Soap Free

You think showering is just an efficient way to get clean? You’re missing out on a lot. Here’s how civilized people take a shower:

He crouches and I spread my legs allowing him access to wash me from my hips to my feet, giggling as he tickles my soles and my toes.

When he’s done with my feet, I again turn around so I am facing him. He removes the gloves &amp puts more soap on his hands. I put one foot up on the safety rail. He takes a step forward and slips one hand to my pussy while the other hand slides around my hips to my backside. He twiddles his soapy fingers in, on and around my bijou, being sure to clean every nook and cranny, until I am shuddering with orgasm after orgasm. His other hand has not been idle. He slides one slippery finger into my asshole and in conjunction with his first hand sends me climbing to ever-higher heights of orgasmic bliss until I slump into his arms &amp he must steady me to keep me from falling.
…
I rub the suds into his hair, cupping his balls in one hand and gripping his swelling shaft with the other. I slide my hand to the head of his cock and then back again, holding the foreskin back so that his glans is exposed and I can rub my soapy fingers and palm around its crown. As his cock grows, it becomes easier and easier to wash – less wrinkles! – and he moans with pleasure and leans against the shower wall, sometimes twitching as I touch a more sensitive spot. Back and forth I rub my hands over and around and under his cock and balls, being sure that every bit of it is clean. Finally he rinses – but has he gotten all the soap off? Only one way to tell! I take his cock into my mouth for a “soap check”; I must be 100% certain that everything is soap-free before we can get out of the shower.

She’s Salivating…

What do you suppose she’s hungry for?

Fun With Twiddly Bits

There’s a fun new sex blog on the block – Twiddly Bits, being “The Ramblings of a Very Horny Woman.” She and her husband like to play:

So, in accordance with our plan, when it was time for us all to retire for the evening, I asked A, “You have a choice. Whatever you decide is fine with us; we won’t be offended either way. We have a Queen-sized air mattress which you can sleep on out here or, you’re welcome to share our bed with us.” She chose to share our bed! Yay!

We all got cleaned up for bed (ie. brushing teeth, etc.) and A &amp I snuggled up on either side of P under the covers. We chatted a bit and after a while I reached for P’s cock. Well, surprise! A’s hand was already there! No wonder he seemed a little “out of” the conversation! LOL Things proceeded from there – it’s been a while so the details are fuzzy – but I remember sucking on A’s ample bosom and playing with her sensitive nipples and then she slid over to take P’s cock in her mouth. P twisted around to tongue my pussy, so I figured what the hell? and dove into her muff.

Hers is completely different from mine. Her labia are much smaller than mine and, while she also has a piercing, she’s built such that a vertical piercing works better for her. Her pussy was very sweet, not musky at all, and quite wet already. *yum*

Oh What a Weekend

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

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

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

Of Lip Gloss and Power Exchange

Tristan Taomino writes in The Village Voice:

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

She’s also got makeup advice:

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

Thanks to Daze for the link.

First, Strangest, Worst, Best

From Makura No Soshi, a long catalog of sexual experiences, well written and pleasing to any voyeuristic eye. I like this bit the best, because it’s the one that she makes sound like the most fun:

The first time I kiss a woman it rocks me all the way down to my knees. Later, when I am alone, I burst into tears. I think about it over and over again. I want to go around singing that stupid song that was on MTV for awhile, “I Kissed A Girl.” I lock myself in the bathroom and think about it some more, and touch myself. The first time I have sex with a woman I am terrified that I won’t know what to do. I think that I will do to her all the things that I like to have done to me, for starters, and that perhaps she can tell me all the rest. Her skin is so unbelievably smooth, her breasts so soft, and she is wet and plush-velvety, and red, and deep. Her clitoris rises toward my mouth like a sweet, dark fig. It is the best sex. Ever.

How To Put On A Condom With Your Mouth

This blog entry used to link to a short photographic how-to course in putting a condom on your lover’s penis with your mouth, a handy skill that should be practiced more widely. Alas, the links died long ago, and in those distant days [2003], there wasn’t an Internet Archive to preserve them. Except for one tiny thumbnail the photos were lost to us, and I had more than one reader write to me over the years, asking where to find them.

Fortunately, that’s not the end of our story about the technology of broken links and lost images. After the fortuitous invention of the reverse image search engine, I was once again able [in 2015] to track down the photos on an archived copy of a Czech-language malware-installing page. So here they are, back from the dead:

If anybody knows the true origin of this set of photos (I’m guessing an adult print magazine) I’d very much like to hear about it.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Kink University: Deep Kissing, Bathtub Sex
• Kink University: Anal Sex 101
• Kink University
• It Can Be Orgy Time Now
• The Cautious Lover

More Nestle Bon Bons Will Do The Trick

I am home sick today. Head cold, yucky but not too miserable. Yesterday, on my way home early to take a nap, I stopped to grab some liquids and a pint of ice cream for comfort food. Wound up with a little tub of Nestle Bon Bons, which are rich little nuggets of vanilla ice cream dipped in a chocolate shell. The ice cream is heavily whipped with air so it’s soft as silk even at freezer temperature, and the chocolate shell is thin, fragile, and apt to break or melt in your fingers during the brief journey from tub to mouth. Both ice cream and chocolate are very yummy.

Gentlemen, I’m telling you, these things are sex pills!

So far that’s an untested theory. But I’m convinced. Get a tub of these things and sit down on a couch next to any woman. If she has even the slightest touch of warm inclination toward you, or feels she should, and you play your cards right, you should have her eating out of your hand (literally) inside of three minutes.

Better yet, since these things are fragile and melty and too good to let go to waste, there’s going to be some licking of (at least) fingers within another two minutes.

Lick her sticky fingers. Get her to lick yours. Tease her with a bon bon, put it between your lips instead of into her mouth. Crack the chocolate shell visibly with a light-but-firm press of your lips so that the ice cream starts to melt along with the chocolate shell. If she kisses you at this time, give the bon bon back. If not, feed her another one, but slowly….

Dammit, if you have to be a peacock, be a good one!

As soon as this head cold clears up I’m going to have to find me a lady friend with whom to experiment. The Nestle Bon Bon theory of seduction must be tested.

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.

Porn-Get works!

Back in December ErosBlog discussed a linux package called porn-get. Now from Jenny comes word that it works, and works well:

Porn-get does nothing else than download "sexual education material"[1]
found on the internet more effeciently than you would manually
with a browser.

The thing is it really works, well. I've heard of people downloading
more than 100 GB porn, pity my hd had not enough space to get every-
thing, neither is my internet connectivity too good.
[1] bad mouths call it porn
Yours
Jenny
-- 
Windoze not found: (C)heer, (P)arty or (D)ance?

Got Orange Juice?

The above picture makes Bacchus thirsty. It also puts him in mind of the following extremely explicit but wildly implausible passage about anal sex and ripe oranges, from the book Captive by Aishling Morgan. Don’t read on if you are likely to be offended by this sort of thing:

Aisla sighed as the warm grease from the roast duck touched her bottom hole, then gave a little gasp as her anus was penetrated. Yarath began to wriggle his finger about in her rectum, exploring her and greasing her ring, then feeling the shape of the tangerines through the membrane between vagina and rectum. Aisla pushed her bottom back, eager for buggery, but was given a gentle slap for her trouble. Yareth’s finger pulled from her anus and something replaced it, not his cock, but another tangerine. 

With her eyes and mouth wide in shock, Aisla struggled to accept the fruit in her back passage. She felt her ring stretch and a complaining stab of pain, but even as she cried out her anus gave and the fruit had popped inside. She accepted it with a long groan. Juice had splashed between her buttocks and was trickling down her thighs, showing that the tangerine had burst as it went up her. Sulitea giggled again as another fruit was pressed to Aisla’s anus, again stretching, hurting and popping inside just when she thought she could not take it. A third followed, leaving both vagina and rectum bloated and straining, while she felt an urgent need to evacuate herself.

Only then did Yarath take her by the hips, and she realised she was to be buggered with the tangerines still in her rectum. His cock went in slowly, forcing the fruit aside and increasing the straining feeling in her bowels. By the time he was in her to the hilt she was panting and struggling for breath, overwhelmed by the bloated sensation in her gut and up her vagina.

Yarath began to bugger her, with the fruit rolling and bumping in her rectum with each push. Aisla’s control went quickly, and as Sulitea came to stroke her hair, she panted and grunted her way through the sodomy. Her hands were locked hard on the table top at first, gripped tight in a futile attempt to control herself. Soon they slipped, first back to her buttocks to stretch them open, then beneath herself to find her clitoris and start on the climb to orgasm.

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Victorian Anal Sex
• Squeezing An Orange
• Goose Grease Prepares The Way!
• The Erotics of Citrus
• Speaking of Oranges

Bukkake Feminism: A Critical Analysis

The Reverse Cowgirl is back with actual words on her blog (Yay!) and she links to a story from a college newspaper that’s sort of an overview of the bukkake thing, with a review of a specific American Bukkake title.

All of which is reproduced here because, as noted previously, bukkake is one of those fringe porn things that doesn’t get written about much with any degree of honesty. There are a bunch of wierd, odd, unusual, or downright gross things happening out on the fringes of porn, and folks with the courage to discuss them (perhaps thereby making them more comprehensible to the rest of us) should be encouraged.

However, all that is by way of disclaimer, because the article itself is exactly the sort of sex writing that ErosBlog usually avoids like the plague. When nominally pro-sex authors take great pains to mention and then reinforce that they are not aroused by the subject at hand, and then digress several times into discourses on the feminist implications of their topic, all while maintaining an intellectualized tone intended to remind everyone that they are, ya know, serious… well, the result tends not to be very interesting to anyone who is more interested in sexual topics than in academic pretension.

Having said all that, however, this particular article also contains the history of bukkake according to a director thereof, presented with all due skepticism:

Director [of the American Bukkake series] Jim Powers says, “Bukkake is about discipline.” He also provides background on the practice’s mock Asiatic name. “Bukkake is an ancient Japanese custom where if a woman cheated on her husband, the rest of the village men would take her off to a cave somewhere and jack off on her face and in her mouth. And usually what would happen is the woman would kill herself afterwards,” Powers says with an earnest expression and voice that make you eventually realize he actually believes what he’s saying.

Phone Sex: A Tutorial

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

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

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

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

Learn Something New Every Day

From part one of a two part article on Tantric sex in a South African publication called Women24, this handy tip for delaying male ejaculation:

At the point where you feel you might be reaching your peak, press your tongue against the top of your palate. “By tensing muscles in your mouth, you move blood away from your groin, giving you a chance to recover,” Sampson says. “Don’t feel embarrassed, though – it’s unlikely to cause too much of a distraction for your partner.”

From part two, instructions for the Thrust of the Phoenix:

Perhaps the most widely known tantric technique, this little winner can be used with any position. When you start thrusting, go in shallow (around two centimetres) for nine strokes, then one deep, then eight shallow, then one deep, working your way down to one shallow. “This has been known to give women who claim to never orgasm their first taste of the big ‘O’,” says Johnson. “Building slowly up to a big crescendo will have her willing you to reach the climax.”

“Your Wife…Is She A Goer?”

In an oddly banal report, The Spectator describes an English farm wife who went “on the game” (as the Brits apparently say) to support the posh lifestyle to which her family had become accustomed before the hoof-and-mouth police came around and slaughtered the family herds. Hubby was surprisingly supportive:

“Mike and I talked about it for days. Neither of us had ever done anything like this before. At the beginning we worked as a team. We would do sex displays and threesomes, and it was perhaps a way of making it easier for him to accept what was happening. Then, after a while, I just started doing it on my own.”

To the delight of British accountants, this woman’s tale is not that uncommon:

“That’s how I met my accountant. He has three working girls on his books, and I don’t know about the arrangements he has with the others, but I pay him in kind and he seems quite happy.”

What Women Want In South Africa

Here’s a long article on kissing from South Africa. Now, articles on kissing are like “how to pick up girls” books — they are everywhere and they all repeat the same six stale chunks of received wisdom that are necessary to getting the job done but not sufficient to really teach anything useful. This one, at least, offers up some suggestions (for better or for worse) that aren’t on that tired old standard list:

Use each other’s mouths to recreate the motions of sex, with lots of thrusting. It can be especially stimulating if the woman’s the one doing the thrusting, as this reverses the roles of intercourse. She inserts her tongue between his loosely closed lips and slides it in and out. To enjoy this technique to its best effect, try it when you’re actually in the missionary position.

Spanking A Spice Girl For Jesus

It is reliably reported (er, in People Magazine) that Spice Girl Mel B likes a good sex spanking. Her ex-boyfriend, who reportedly is a bit peeved that she violated their mutual confidences, tells all:

“She particularly liked to be spanked on the bottom in the middle of it. She loved to talk dirty and learnt lots of dirty words in Icelandic and would shout them out when we had sex.”

And Mel loved the thrill of sex outdoors. Fjolnir said: “We made a point of doing it outdoors in the famous Blue Lagoon hot springs in Iceland.”

“We also joined the Mile High Club on a flight to America. We sneaked into the toilets and were at it for probably 10 minutes. She was moaning so much I put my hand over her mouth.”When we came out a stewardess gave us a knowing smile. Mel didn’t care and shared it all with the other Spice Girls when we saw them next.”

Man Does Not Come By Kisses Alone

I once knew a woman who seemingly didn’t know that hands could contribute to this most worthwhile of projects. I was too young and dumb to even consider trying something so sensible as actual sexual communication, so she carried on, when we carried on, with her soft mouth ministrations that felt great but were far too gentle to actually ever get the job done this way. Eventually she traded me in for a married guy she met on the internet. But that’s a story for another day.

Anyway, Shell knows better:

I suck on the head and the first few inches, using my hand on the rest of the shaft (which is already well lubricated with saliva). I take his balls in my other hand, lightly flicking my nails through the hair, cupping them reverently, perhaps squeezing or tugging gently if I know he likes it. I vary the amount of suction, keep my tongue moving. If he wants to set the pace, then I comply, letting him use his hands to move my head at the rate he chooses. I love the feeling of having my mouth fucked. But if he prefers to let me remain in charge, then I am happy to continue worshipping him with my lips and tongue, continue squeezing and caressing his shaft with one hand, continue using the other hand to tease and tickle whatever parts of his body I can reach. I like to run it over the top of his mscular thigh, feel the place where it meets his hips, travel up across his torso to feel his chest, shoulders, neck. Then his face.

I touch his lips. My own lips are stretched wetly around him, moving up and down, sucking his shaft in and out, my tongue acting as a textured carpet. If he starts kissing and licking my fingertips, I go crazy with lust. If he sucks on my fingers, I usually come. Sometimes he’s so into the moment that he doesn’t pay any attention to my fingertips, and that’s okay too. I’ll just drag them down his body again and plan on getting my turn later.

When I sense he’s close to climax, I remove my hand and let him go deeper into my mouth. I grab his ass with both hands and suck hard, suck wet, suck until I feel him jerk and pulse on my tongue.

I give him as much time as he needs to finish, then I slowly pull off and kiss his penis adoringly. I sink into a pleasantly exhausted slump against his thigh, sometimes kissing and nuzzling the object of my worship, the tool that gives me so much pleasure, my lover’s penis.

Somewhere, right now, some lucky young man is benefiting in a very personal way from the communications miracle that is the internet.