Tidepool Treasure
Wednesday, September 13th, 2023 -- by Bacchus
Look what we found in the tide pool! Can we bring it home and keep it?
From FemJoy.
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The Sex Blog Of Record
Adorned For Display
Tuesday, June 13th, 2023 -- by Bacchus
This would be a delightful view even without the piercing jewelry, the begemmed buttplug, and the tattoos. But with them? It’s a genuine work of art, as all must agree:
From Her Anal Toy on Kink Prime.
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Pussy In Oils
Friday, October 21st, 2022 -- by Bacchus
It’s not often that you see actual pussy, complete with a visible vertical slit, in a piece of “fine art” from the early 17th century, but Lazarus van der Borcht managed it (incestuously!) in a painting entitled Lot And His Daughters:
There’s a wisp of veil intervening, but it is so literally transparent as to be utterly metaphorical. I know some of you lazy gits won’t have clicked and zoomed to see the ridiculously high-resolution scan, so here’s the relevant detail:
All in all it’s just about as creepy as the Bible story it illustrates.
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Naughty Anikka
Sunday, September 4th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
If you met Anikka like this on the basement stairs of the admin building during a sleepy summer break when there was nobody in the building, you would know she was at least a little bit naughty. But the burning question in your mind — or perhaps the pressing question in your pants — would be: “Is she a lot naughty?”
Lucky you! The answer is oh-so-very yes:
Pictured is Anikka Albrite, all dolled up like a high-school girl in Destroying The Homecoming Queen. (Spoiler alert: confronting the mean girls does not go well, for her or for her other blonde friend.)
Update: A commenter says I’ve confused the two stars of this scene, and Ash Hollywood is actually the one pictured.
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Pussy Self-Portrait
Monday, July 11th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
Back in the days before everybody had a cell phone camera, if someone wanted to take a pussy self-portrait they needed a little bit of equipment and photographic skill. Nonetheless, worth doing:
Art is by James Lemay.
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Truth In Advertising: Alana’s Slippery Pussy
Sunday, June 26th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
This is a cute shot, with a cleverness that ought to be more encouraged in porn than it actually is:
Model is Alana from FTV Girls in a photo via Kinky Delight.
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Pussy And Pecker Door Hardware
Monday, June 20th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
This looks like the fixtures you would find on the secret door in the back of the coat closet at the gentlemen’s club. Trusted members only receive a key to the carefully-curated library of French pornography:
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Climbing On The Fancy Furniture
Sunday, June 12th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
When Natalia was a little girl, she was more of a tomboy than you would suspect, and was always climbing on the museum-quality furniture in her wealthy parents’ house. Her mother rightly despaired of ever getting her to stop. Eventually, Natalia grew up and moved on to other fancy houses, where she learned an essential truth: “If you’re pretty enough, they let you do it!”
The model is Natalia G from Met-Art.
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Cam Girl With A Pussy Problem
Thursday, May 19th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
Clink this link and you can watch for yourself: cams performer Wendy Fors is laying comfortably on her back in her bed with her knees beside her ears, blissfully dildoing herself with a large transparent sex toy for the amusement of her audience, when what to our wondering eyes should appear but a large fluffy black and white cat? Of course the cat climbs up on her boobs, flops down, and settles in for a comfy nap. Wendy peers past the cat to the camera and bemusedly asks “Seriously?” It’s a good question!
Ass And Pussy Valentine
Sunday, February 13th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
This may be the perfect Valentine’s Day porn photo. It’s like two chocolate candy hearts, and the little one has a creamy center. How many licks, et cetera?
Photo is from a photoset widely circulated on amateur and old-school user-upload sites. Model is usually identified as Sierra Banxxx.
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The Virtue Of Transparency (In Panties)
Sunday, January 2nd, 2022 -- by Bacchus
I could write a thousand words on why transparency is a virtue, but this picture is a perfectly adequate substitution:
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Your Well-Wrapped Pussy Present
Saturday, December 25th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
This Christmas present was wrapped with a deft touch. Not too much gift wrap, just a bit of ribbon and bunting to catch the eye and properly frame the gift:
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Her Fuzzy Christmas Sweater
Wednesday, December 15th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
She wants you to appreciate her Christmas sweater. She’s also pretty fond of that knitted top she has on:
Whatever you think, you’d best be polite. Because she’s got a shotgun, and she keeps it handy, right next to her vanity!
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Naughty Garlic
Thursday, April 1st, 2021 -- by Bacchus
It’s just a clove of garlic. And yet somehow, in the way of distorted vegetables, strangely naughty:
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Vagina Dentata
Friday, July 6th, 2018 -- by Bacchus
Yes, this pussy has teeth. But it’s less of an issue than you would think:
The photo is another hundred-year-old gem from that recently-blogged-about Four Bacchantes photoshoot by Jules Richard.
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His Ace In The Hole
Monday, February 12th, 2018 -- by Bacchus
“And now, audience, you see why I explained that this final trick would only work if I could manage to establish a very close rapport with this lovely volunteer from the audience. For the missing ace of hearts, you see, has been hiding right here, the little rascal!”
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A Bit Of Lickerish
Saturday, May 6th, 2017 -- by Bacchus
This utterly stylish bit of pussy artwork is from a poster announcing the completion of production of late film director Radley Metzger’s 1970 movie The Lickerish Quartet. Via The Rialto Report.
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The Pussy Checkup
Monday, May 16th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
In the immortal words of the FaceBook commercial on TV: “That’s not how this works! That’s not how any of this works!”
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Lesbian Breakfast
Saturday, February 13th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
Who needs warm buttered toast when there’s fresh hot pussy on the menu?
From Sssh.com.
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Freakish Inverted Pussy
Tuesday, February 9th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
I do not claim to be the world’s most experienced cocksman. I haven’t had more sex partners than I can remember. But I do feel I know my way around the basic parameters of female sexual geography. Which is why I became consternated when I saw the following panel in a Dofantasy sex comic called Down The Road, drawn by Templeton:
That roundish structure! If it’s not her clitoral parts (which we would never expect to find so near her anus) then what, exactly, is it supposed to be? We’ve all encountered internet sex writing that betrayed a certain lack of experience with female sexual anatomy, but artwork too? That’s a new one on me.
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Alternative Baptism
Thursday, July 16th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
From Kinky Delight:
Artwork is by Claudio Trinca.
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Organs Of Generation
Sunday, April 5th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
This illustration isn’t half bad considering it comes from an 1847 anatomy text:
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Pussies In Mirrors
Wednesday, February 25th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
Since the heyday of American feminism at least, women have been encouraging other women to inspect themselves with a small mirror. But long before that became trendy in progressive US circles, some unknown Japanese shunga artist was imagining what it must look like when the ladies in the bathhouse undertook the experiment;
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Sweet, Sticky Fruit
Saturday, October 4th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
Other artists before have played with this visual metaphor. But including the insects, I think, is very telling. These fruits are tempting and attractive, but also soon to be (if not even presently) rotting, decaying, and consumed. Somebody is not entirely comfortable with this particular sweet treat!
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Blowing Smoke Rings
Sunday, December 15th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
There’s a lot that I do not know about obsolete smoking technology, but I’ve seen enough examples of artwork featuring women with hookah nozzles in unexpected orifices to have started wondering. Is this just an erotic-art fantasy, or was there an actual smoking practice (perhaps involving something stronger than tobacco) like this in fashionable but dissolute salons?
From Kinky Delight.
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Self Inspection
Wednesday, November 6th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
According to Silent Porn Star, this is an item from the Bob Guccione collection that’s coming up for auction in a few days:
The model is Marianne Gordon, circa 1972.
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He’s Back From The Pussy War
Monday, July 22nd, 2013 -- by Bacchus
Or so he says:
I’m back from the pussy war. This is the war that men fight for 20 years, starting at around age 15. Maybe sooner. You spend 20 years thinking about nothing but pussy, how to get pussy, I need new pussy, where is there going to be pussy. You get out there in the trenches and you battle for pussy, you learn about the enemy, you try to take them down.
Now I’m thirty-five and a half and some hormonal switch has been thrown. Maybe it’s just age, maybe it’s my job crushing it out of me–who knows. But I no longer give a shit about pussy. I’m back from the pussy war.
I did well. Lots of confirmed kills. Not, you know — I didn’t take down the Osama of pussy. I didn’t fuck a lot of nineteen year old supermodels, but I did my part. And I didn’t get hurt. Didn’t get the wound that would take me out of the game — no STD that ever stuck, never impregnated a crazy chick, etc. If they gave out medals for the pussy war I would be decorated.
But I didn’t WIN the pussy war, either, because the objective was to go out and meet and get down with tons of girls, and one of them would be my future wife. I could retire from the pussy war honorably, having attained victory. But none of them were…
The Other Side Of The Wall
Monday, May 27th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
What’s going on, on the other side of the wall? Something sure has Rain DeGrey’s full attention:
Is it a man with a powerful vibrator and an insatiable forced-orgasms fetish?
Or, is it a pussy spanking that never seems to end?
The girl in the wall never knows what’s coming next, until it starts to happen. For all she knows, there could be a whole corridor full of playful perverts lined up over there…
Pictures are from the most recent shoot at Sexually Broken. Sorry, there’s no free samples gallery available yet.
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In Defense Of “Cunt”
Tuesday, February 26th, 2013 -- by Bacchus
I’m guessing it’s the New Statesmen editors who headlined this piece with the infantilizing phrase “C word” rather than the author (Laurie Penny) who wrote:
It’s a perfectly nice little word, a word with 800 years of history; a word used by Chaucer and by Shakespeare. It’s the only word we have to describe the female genitalia that is neither mawkish, nor medical, nor a function of pornography. Semantically, it serves the same function as “dick” or “prick” — a signifier for a sexual organ which can also be used as a descriptor or insult, a word that is not passive, but active, even aggressive.
There are no other truly empowering words for the female genitalia. ‘Pussy’ is nastily diminutive, as if every woman had a tame and purring pet between her legs, while the medical descriptor “vagina” refers only to a part of the organ, as if women’s sexuality were nothing more than a wet hole, or “sheath” in the Latin. Cunt, meanwhile, is a word for the whole thing, a wholesome word, an earthy, dank and lusty word with the merest hint of horny threat. Cunt. It’s fantastically difficult to pronounce without baring the teeth.
I must differ with the “nastily diminutive” description of the word “pussy”, though. I’ve heard “pussy” used that way, sure. But, more often, not. Is “pussy” diminutive? Sure. But we (men and women alike) can and often do use diminutives to express tenderness and affection. We also use them, sometimes, for nasty putdowns and diminution; context is everything.
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What A Memorial!
Friday, November 2nd, 2012 -- by Bacchus
A wife wants to be remembered:
Devoted widower Milan Marinkovic had his wife’s vagina engraved on her headstone saying it was her dying wish to make sure he never looked for another woman.
Wife Milena – from Velika Krusevica, Serbia – ordered him to hire a sculptor to create an exact replica of the real thing from a series of photographs she’d taken.
“I don’t want you chasing other women. This way you will always remember me,” she said in a letter explaining her bizarre last request.
Husband Milan, 72, explained: “The problem wasn’t finding the money but finding an artist who would do it. Most of them said it was blasphemy.”
“Now it’s finished I love it and it’s a really good likeness.
“And this way, a part of her will always be with me,” he added.
Bottle Inside Of Her
Sunday, June 17th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
I can’t tell whether the gentleman here is “merely” indulging in some harmless debauchery, or whether he thinks this is actually a viable method for removing a bottle cap:
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A Spark To The Nipple
Monday, September 12th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
Playing with violet wands and cheaper-but-similar plasma bulb electrosex toys offers a lot of possibilities — but it’s not easy to photograph. This shot from Wired Pussy does a better job than most:
(Don’t forget to click the photo for a larger view.)
Picture is from this photoshoot (see also this view and this one.)
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Make It Fit
Saturday, September 10th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
This is definitely on the top ten list of places I would not expect to find a football.
Flashing Her Pussy
Tuesday, September 6th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
The “classy dame” look makes this all the more awesome:
Via Vintage Lust.
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Towelling Off After Her Bath
Thursday, May 12th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
Of course it’s imperative that she dry herself very thoroughly:
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Eat It Or Wear It
Friday, April 29th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
Summer is coming, which means it’s time for ice cream!
Only, this girl seems to be a little confused about what ice cream is for. It’s not really supposed to be used as a pussy coolant…
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The Lost Past
Friday, January 7th, 2011 -- by Bacchus
And speaking, as I just was, of how things were done before the invention of the internet:
THIS is how they used to take a photograph of a pussy:
I’m not saying it was better, exactly. I’m not one of those living-in-the-past “in my day, sonny” people, oh no. Far be it from me to denigrate the dramatic progress of the pornographic arts and sciences.
But it sure was different.
Sonny, you know what they used to call a picture like that? “Split beaver”, I shit you not. I don’t miss that one little bit. Pornographic rodent metaphors, happily, are as dead as 8-track players.
Blindfolded Manga Girl
Wednesday, December 8th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
She’s on display, but she can’t see anything herself:
I found it here, and I think the title is [ã„ã®ã¾ã‚‹] 放é€å®¤ã®ãƒˆãƒ©ã‚¤ã‚¢ãƒ³ã‚°ãƒ« å…¨4話 (if that means anything to ya.)
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Guys Aren’t Looking For Something To Pollinate
Tuesday, September 28th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
So remember:
It’s supposed to smell like pussy.
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The Scent Of Machine Oil And Pussy
Monday, May 24th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Once our new mechanical sex overlords figured out that soft fleshy minions require even more lubrication than the machine intelligences whose reproductive processes they were evolved to hijack, their conquest began to proceed more smoothly:
Image credit: Fucking Machines.
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Showing A Little Leg…Plus!
Tuesday, March 9th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
The demure clothing makes this Vintage Lust pussy flash all the more enticing:
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Shooting For Kink.com
Sunday, December 7th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Over at Catalina Loves I found the longest and most detailed description I’ve yet seen about what it’s like to shoot for Kink.com. Model Coco writes at length about what her first shoot (for their Fucking Machines site) was like, and makes it sound like a lot of fun indeed. These are just tiny excerpts from a much longer piece:
TC the director came down to introduce himself to me and told me to meet him upstairs when I was finished. After some inspiring words I went up stairs to make-up. Isis Love the girl that pretty much got me this gig, was there to give me a thumbs up and wish me good luck. This made me even MORE nervous. I tried to calm myself down. There was a girl was in the middle of getting her make-up done and so I sat in the little lunch/waiting room. TC came in and asked me how I was feeling and if I had any questions. I started eating as he explained what would happen. He asked what I was nervous about. I said “all of the people that are going to be in the room, the more, the more nerve-wrecking” He mentioned there would be 4-5 people in the room. That must have gotten a surprised look out of me and he said, “If at any time you want to stop then we will stop and go get a beer. No harm, no foul and we’ll still pay ya.” That was relaxing. Haha. While the make-up artist was doing the other girls face, she told me I should “freshen up” I looked at her perplexed and after about 2 seconds I realized she was talking about douching. I have only douched a couple times before so I wandered my way into the bathroom. MY GOD! There was soooo much girl stuff in that bathroom, from hair ties, to douches to self enema thingys and like 4 different kinds of baby wipes and deodorants and razors, shampoos and just EVERYTHING you could think of that girls would need. So I did my deed.
…
So I was fixed on my back with my legs over the arm of the couch and the Satisfyher on it’s side. I was feeling SO ready to come and SO worked at this point I was excited and nervous. After getting warmed up quickly I just layed there and let it fuck me and took it all in. It was pretty fucking rad. Since I come faster from clitoral stimulation we decided to pull the satisfyher out and let it hit me on the clit instead of being inside me. TC manned the controls and we let her fly at 1800stokes per minute. All hell broke loose. There was no man in the world that would have stopped me from my orgasm at that point. I was sweating and shaking and moaning and right when I was in the middle of my orgasm I BROKE THE MACHINE. It just BUSTED. I have no clue I wasn’t watching it all I know is I came then I looked down and realized it was broke. OOPS!
After that I was ready for another orgasm and I was running around all energized and excited because everyone was saying how sweet it was that I broke the machine with my vagina. I felt pretty cool after that like a rockstar.
…
He happily handed over the new magic wand. TC assumed his position manning the drill and I had the vibrator. I was loose and ready. It was INTENSE. I mean getting fucked and playing with my clit usually gets me off, but this was fucking ridiculous. Every muscle in my legs and arms started shivering and aching and screaming MORE MORE MORE. It was almost too much. I was definitely overwhelmed. It didn’t take too long after that to send me into a screaming orgasm. And when I say screaming, I mean SCREAMING. I think I cussed more then anything. “oh FUCK” seemed to be the favorite of the day. I got fucked into a jerking moaning completely earth shaking orgasm. You know the kind that make you wanna write it down because you don’t want to forget that moment EVER. Ya that. I even squirted. I got some on the directors face. I was watching his face as he was watching my pussy and the look of amazement when I squirted made me feel even better.
…
After I got my paycheck, I went to my car and sat there and screamed. Screamed from how fucking cool it is to orgasm for a living. Screamed from doing something I’d never thought I’d have the balls to do. Screamed from being utterly brutalized in front of people I just met. I screamed for nothing and for everything.
And that is all I have to say about that. Take it how you want to. I know how I took it. HARD FAST and WITH EVERYTHING I HAVE.
xo-
Coco.
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Penis Versus Clitoris: Google Has Decided
Tuesday, November 25th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Since I wrote last week about Google’s Secret Sexual No-Fly List, Tony Comstock has been doing some more digging into the perversities of Google’s various admitted and secret adult keyword filters. He’s been blogging up a storm about it, with posts like this:
- Reverse Engineering Google Suggest “No Fly” List (Who is Google Protecting?)
- Talking to your children about sex. (How do you parse love?)
- Google Update (Is it safe?)
- Penis = Safe; Clitoris = Not Safe. (Why can’t the Googlebot find a single SafeSearch return for [clitoris]?)
In that last one, Tony shared the startling discovery that Google’s SafeSearch algorithm returns thirty three million “safe” results for [penis], but not a single one for [clitoris]. On top of all the other problems, Google’s filters are sexist! Tony expounded on this in his subsequent post, Dragged into Google’s Sex Ghetto, Kicking and Screaming:
As mentioned previously, I had been working on a post tentatively entitled “Does the Googlebot have Asperger’s Syndrome?” but I realize now that the analogy is too generous. People with Asperger’s see and understand the world differently from “normal” people, but I’ve never read anything about Asperger’s that suggests that Aspies are especially lazy or malfeasant.
The way that Google’s SafeSearch filter handles returns for [penis] vs. the way it handles them for [clitoris] isn’t a product of seeing things differently. It’s just plain lazy. Somewhere inside of Google, an engineer was tasked with filtering “adult” sites from returning under “strict filtering” searches. Somehow he (I’m going to have to assume this engineer is a man,) when confronted with the vagaries English language, was able to write an algorithm that allowed 30 million “safe” returns for [penis]. But when faced with the same problem for [clitoris] he found it easier to simply put clitoris on a list of banned words.
That’s not Aspie-ish, that’s just lazy and sexiest.
[Erotic] was too much trouble for him, so it got banned too. [Nude] and [naked] were too much trouble, so they were out. His algorithm couldn’t tell the difference between a nursery rhyme rooster and a raging hard-on, so [cock] got banned. Is this webpage talking about kitty-cats or cunts? His algorithm couldn’t tell, so [pussy] went on to the list, along with [bastard] and [anus]. For some reason his algorithm could find 4.7 million “safe” returns for [glans] and 2.5 million “safe” returns for [testicle], but not a single “safe” return for [fellatio] or [cunnilingus], so they went on the list as well.
That’s not the product of a odd blind spot to social interaction, that’s just lazy and ass-covering; not to mention laughable coming from a company that touts its “advance proprietary technology.” (I’ll leave it to someone else to decide whether or not it’s [evil].)
Now Susie Bright has gotten her teeth into the sexist implications of the penis versus clitoris filtering, and has written, in “Clitoris” on Google’s Banned Word List:
I recall the 1970s abortion rights poster that read “If men could get pregnant, abortion would be a sacrament.” The sexism of the Internet infrastructure is the same joke. There is no way that men would consider “prostate cancer” an inappropriate search or conversation item. They would never for a moment consider that their “penis” was a word that couldn’t be allowed in a respectable business or learning environment.
But women’s bodies? Oh, you’re familiar with the filthy and unspeakable territory those will lead you into. It’s in the Bible, right?
Let’s stop coddling Internet censorship as if it were an etiquette or a “children’s” issue. The people suffering from being firewalled and banned aren’t commercial porn-makers with some gonzo to pitch – they’re educators, healthcare professionals, midwives, nurses, doctors, researchers, artists, writers, filmmakers, political activists, critics and analysts– all of whom find their interest in women’s lives to be shrouded in the great Internet burqa of “safeness.”
Look. I write a blog with “sex” right up in the title, and I make part of a living at it. So it’s no surprise that I’ve always hated the lame and weak approach to filtering that Google (well, all the search engines, but who else matters?) uses to disrupt and marginalize the great internet conversation about sex. It’s also no surprise that I can’t talk about this without some mental genius popping up in my comments to suggest that I wouldn’t care about this if I didn’t want more visitors to my blog. Happens, I’ve got six years of blog posts that prove I care passionately about the free exchange of sexual ideas, so I don’t let the nattering slow me down much. All of which is preface to my point, which is that I’m freaking delighted to see the beginnings of a noisy conversation about this.
Is there any hope that the sex bloggers of America can shame Google into being less shame-faced about the sexual contents of its search index? Given the massively overwhelming numerical superiority of the prudish majority to whom Google is catering with searches “safe” from female sexuality, probably not. But it’s important to remember that the actual people at Google are unlikely to be all that prudish or sexist; they are just, as Tony has pointed out so well, taking the lazy way out when attempting to do something (catering to sexist prudes) that they’d probably rather not be doing anyway, but for their perception (or perhaps assumption?) that it’s a corporate necessity.
Thus, I see at least a faint hope that if the mockery of their weak and lame filtering shortcuts is loud enough, they’ll have to improve their filtering systems out of a mix of professional pride and a sense of public relations necessity. If we can just disrupt their comfortable assumption that all sexual discussion is acceptable collateral damage, to be readily sacrificed in their (very difficult and endless) war against spammy porn sites, that alone would be a worthwhile step in the right direction.
Vintage Sixty-Nine
Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I found this florid description of mutual oral sex in Sadopaideia, so called because most of the 1907 book involves whipping and spanking. (The subtitle is “Being the experiences of Cecil Prendergast, undergraduate of the University of Oxford, shewing how he was led through the pleasant paths of Masochism to the supreme joys of Sadism.”) But, for that sort of thing, you often need an initial seduction, and in this passage that’s going swimmingly:
I felt her right arm round my waist and her left hand began to unbutton my fly from the top. Before she had time to undo the last button John Thomas leapt forth ready and eager, but she slapped it and pushed it in again and undid the last button and fumbled for my balls and gently drew them out. I drew back a little from her and lifted her petticoat right up, disclosing the daintiest of black silk openwork stockings with pale green satin garters, and above them filmy lawn drawers with beautiful lace and insertion, through which the fair satin skin of her thighs gleamed most provokingly. At the top there appeared just between the opening of the drawers the most fascinating brown curls imaginable.
I feasted my eyes on this lovely sight, undoing my braces and slipping my trousers down. Her hand immediately left my balls and began to fondle my bottom, stroking and pinching the cheeks while she murmured, “You darling boy, oh, what a lovely bottom.”
I was eager to be in her, but the brown curls fascinated me so much that I could not resist the temptation to stoop down and kiss them. I was rather shy of doing this, as I had never done it before, and though I knew it was usual with tarts, I was not sure if it would be welcome here. Judge of my surprise, then, when I felt Mrs. Harcourt’s hand on my head gently pressing it down and heard her saying, “How did you guess I wanted that?”
She opened her legs wider, disclosing the most adorable pussy, with pouting lips just slightly opening and showing the bright coral inner lips, which seemed to ask for my kisses. I buried my head in the soft curls, and with eager tongue explored every part of her mossy grot. She squirmed and wriggled with pleasure, opening her legs quite wide and twisting them round me. I followed all her movements, backing away on my knees as she slipped off the chair, until at last, when she drenched my lips with love, she slipped on the hearth rug. Then, as I could scarcely reach her with my tongue in that position, and didn’t wish to lose a drop of the maddening juice, I disengaged my legs from hers and knelt down to one side so that my head could dive right between her legs. This naturally presented my naked bottom and thighs to her gaze.
“You rude naughty boy,” she said, smacking me gently, “to show me this bare bottom. I’m shocked at you.”
Her hands again fondled my balls and bottom, and I had all I could do to prevent John Thomas from showing conclusively what he had in store for her.
I had no intention of wasting good material, however, and was just about to change my position so that I could arrive at the desired summit of joy when I felt her trying to pull my right leg towards her. I let myself go and she eventually succeeded in lifting it right over, so that I was straddling right across her, and we were in the position I knew quite well from photographs, known as sixty-nine.
My heart beat high. Was it possible I was to experience this supreme pleasure of which I had heard so much? I buried my head between her thighs, my tongue redoubled its efforts, searching out every corner and nook it could find, and just as it was rewarded by another flow of warm life I felt round my own weapon, not the fondling of her hand, but something softer, more clinging, and then unmistakably the tip of a velvet tongue from the top right down to the balls and back again, and then I felt the lips close round it and the gentle nip of teeth. This was too much, John Thomas could restrain himself no longer, and as I seized her bottom with both hands and sucked the whole of her pussy into my mouth, he spurted forth with convulsive jerks his hidden treasure. When the spasm was over I collapsed limply on her, my lips still straining her life.
Link via Spanking Blog.
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Foot Nipple?
Friday, August 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Remember the foot with the pussy in it? That was a manufactured fetish object, sadly no longer available.
The foot nipple, on the other hand, just growed. It’s real, all right; there are pictures. The foot nipple even has those wayward nipple hairs growing out of it. (We’ve seen them before, too.)
Apparently nipples in unusual places are not that that unusual, in the grand scheme of things, but the foot nipple is a first in the medical literature:
A 22-year-old woman sought medical care for a lesion in the plantar region of her left foot, a well-formed nipple surrounded by areola and hair…. To our knowledge, this is the first report of supernumerary breast tissue on the foot.
…
Anomalies associated with breast development are not uncommon. Supernumerary nipples, and less frequently supernumerary breasts, are present in about 1-5 percent of the population. Such alterations are more common in women, usually occurring along the embryonic milk line, which extends from the axilla to the groin.
Supernumerary breast tissue (SBT) is rarely found beyond the mammary line. However, the back, shoulder, face, and thigh have been described as sites of SBT development.
Thanks to The Beautiful Kind for blogging this.
Enjoying Her Spanking
Friday, August 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
If you haven’t had your spankings lately, you might vicariously enjoy this very sexy account of a spanking. Excerpt:
I felt the hard plastic of my flat paddle brush against the crease of my ass and thighs, wide enough to get plenty of thud on both parts of my body. He’d occasionally stop and drag the bristles across my sore, red bottom; or use it on my pussy, raking it against my clit and swollen cunt. I’d shudder every time he raked my pussy, my legs buckling against the sensation—but not falling on my heels again lest he decide to add 10 more. I just wanted to drop to my knees and suck his cock. With a pussy so wet, how could he deny me a cock suck at this point? I was beyond horny, just dripping with lust, sex, lewdness. I wanted to be fucked and prodded.
When he noticed that I moved my pussy against the bristles of the hairbrush, he said, “So you like this, Slut? You like feeling your ass on fire? You enjoy getting a hairbrush used on your slutty little pussy?â€?
I turned my face to the side facing him, “Yes, Sir,â€? I breathed out heavily and groaned, almost crying with lust, “Please.â€?
“Please, what?â€?
“Please let me suck your cock.â€?
It’s on Spanking Blog, of course.
Cory Doctorow On The Value Of Links
Monday, August 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’m on record as being something of a grump and a curmudgeon about the value of internet links — I think they’re valuable even when they’re trivial, and I get pissed when people smash them needlessly and in job lots. Apparently this idea of “links as valuable structure” is incomprehensible to plenty of smart people; that seems to be why I got such a negative reaction to my “vandals” post, and also to be why I got treated as a troll during the great Xeni Deletes Violet Blue kerfluffle. In that latter case, my expressed disappointment at the wholesale smashing of links was apparently just not believed by the Boing Boing moderator — and since it was assumed that I was raising arguments I didn’t believe in, the natural explanation was that I was trolling and/or taking sides in the bizarre personal fight that was going on behind the scenes.
My point, then and now, was dismay that the folks at Boing Boing would smash a bunch of links despite having a better-than-average comprehension of their value. (My error seems to have been in assuming too much commonality of viewpoint among the Boing Boing principals, but that’s ancient history now.) Anyway, here’s an excerpt from a recent speech Cory gave that expounds on this “links as valuable structure” concept:
You and me and anyone who’s ever made a link between two web pages helped to create an underlying structure to the Internet – a citational structure that Google and other search engines come along and hoover up, and then analyse to see who links to which pages, which pages are most linked-to and therefore thought to be most authoritative, where those pages link to and how they’ve had their authority conferred on them. This sounds familiar to anyone who’s an academic – it’s more or less how citations work if you’re trying for a better job at the university, and of course Google was founded by a couple of PHD candidates; when all you’ve got is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.
What this means is that the old approach to organising knowledge which is embodied by the early Google competitors like Yahoo, who initially… You may remember that Yahoo used to stand for Yet Another Heirarchical… I think Obstreperous Oracle… Officious Oracle. Yet Another Heirarchical Officious Oracle, and the idea was that Yahoo would pay giant boiler rooms full of bored people to look at every page on the Internet and sort them into their proper single category (or multiple categories) in the One True Taxonomy of All Human Knowledge, and this was outstripped by the web’s growth so quickly that it just kind of fell behind a became a kind of sick joke until Google came along and figured out how to enlist every person on the Internet who ever makes a link between two web-pages to collaborate on teaching it what the underlying structure of the Internet is. You literally couldn’t pay enough money to organise the Internet – you can only do it for free – you can only do it by allowing people to make these links.
So, this the kind of post-web. This is the web of cheap collaboration, and its given us a billion Youtube videos, blog posts, Flickr photos and every imaginable piece of what we now call ‘user-generated content’, and most of them are shit! And this is fantastic, because it used to be that if something was likely to turn out to be shit, you couldn’t do it, and if you did do it, you certainly couldn’t do it in a way that would be reachable by other people.
So that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. The proposition is that the internet is a precious temple of information, built with links of (mostly) shit. If you smash the links, you damage the temple; whereupon saying “but I was just cleaning up shit!” won’t save you from my acid wrath. Especially when you should know better.
If you could care less about links and temples and the internet, you should still read Cory’s speech anyway; he also talks about Paris Hilton’s pussy. (True! Although he’s kind of a wimp and says “genitals” instead of “pussy”.)
Leda And The Swan, More Explicit
Tuesday, July 1st, 2008 -- by Bacchus
We have treaded before on the well-trod ground of Leda and her excessively friendly swan. But this circa 1740 painting attributed to François Boucher puts things in a more sexually vivid (not to mention, better shaved) perspective than we had formerly seen here on ErosBlog:
(Click the image for a larger and uncropped version.)
By the way, if you were so inclined you could use this bit of art to mock all the people who complain about the “modern trend” to show hairless pussies in porn.
The Groping Tutor
Friday, June 20th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
As any woodworker can tell you, it’s always important to keep a firm grasp on your work. This vintage photograph (which I found on alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. spanking) demonstrates the principle in the context of private education:
Declining educational standards are everywhere, I tell you! Surely Paris Hilton and Britney Spears didn’t have tutors who were this enthusiastic and involved?
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Amy Lee, Exposed
Monday, May 19th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
One of the first strong porn brands on the web was an outfit called ALS Scan, who, in the middle-late 1990s, pioneered a then-new aesthetic: the girl next door, pretty and fresh and freshly shaved all over, in a brightly-lit photoshoot with vibrant colors, doing astonishingly dirty deeds with whatever fruits, vegetables, or household objects are handy, all with a big come-hither smile. It’s not that other pornographers haven’t done the same thing before or since; it’s that ALS has always done it better than anybody else, for certain values of better.
Take Amy Lee:
She’s a pretty girl. She’s just as pretty with her shirt on (in a photo that proves she actually has arms) especially if you appreciate a girl who can cook:
So far, she’s just like a zillion other pretty internet ladies who prance around in and out of some cute undies, maybe flashing some pink at the end of the photoshoot so you don’t feel cheated out of the price of your subscription. You’ve seen it before, you’ve seen it all, ho hum.
What you’re not expecting — what nobody was expecting until ALS Scan pretty much invented the genre — is that this cute young model (who has not yet starred in half a dozen movies with names like Anal Ass-Bangers #22, and is not yet staring at the looming end of her porn career) will lick her lips with an excellent facsimile of honest lust, tuck her ankles cheerfully in behind her ears, look you straight in the eye, and use four fingers to stretch her pussy open until you’ve got a distinctly gynecological view of her assets. And yet, that’s exactly what she does.
It can be an eye-opener. And, for me at least, it makes every visit to ALS Scan a memorable one.
A Fetish For Commitment
Friday, May 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’ve commented before that anything can be a fetish, and that one of the things I like best about sex blogging is reading people try to explain why certain things turn them on, that we’d not usually expect would do so. Needless to say, this ring fingering thing from Chelsea at Pretty Dumb Things made my day:
Marriage is a contract that I may never make, and yet I like being fingered by men with wedding rings. It’s not that I can feel the ring. Wedding rings tend toward the slim and the flat. I’ve never had the experienced the interior wriggling of a finger with a ring rococo as Liberace’s , a skull bauble thick as Keith Richard’s, a chunk of metal clunky as Robert Lee Morris’s Superman. The rings that have been inside me have been modest, prudent, utilitarian bands signaling commitment.
There have been three of them in reality and one in my imagination.
…
Clearly, when the finger is diddling me, I can’t see the ring. I can’t even feel the ring. So the pleasure of the ring comes neither from the visual nor from the sensual. It’s a purely imaginative power. It’s a pleasure that rests in the seat of all pleasure–my pinky-grey and corrugated brain.
It’s difficult for me to put my finger on the exact spot of that imaginary pleasure. I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that part is powered by the shock of the illicit thrill, if indeed the finger belonging to the man fingering me is infidel. Like almost every other human, I do feel pleasure in transgression, and crossing this boundary, like all the strange others that for one reason or another give me the good down-low tingle, nudges whatever purely physical pleasure there is into electrically-charged territory. But the illicitness isn’t it in and of itself.
I know that it’s not because the man, the imagined man, the one without the ring, the one whose ring I imagined and in imagining it found great delight, was Donny, my now-X and then erstwhile fiancé. It was his imagined not-ring that prodded me to gyrate indecorously one sunny August afternoon, his naked fingers twisting and turning inside me. My mind furnished his finger with a ring. It bedighted his third finger on his left hand with a ring, and though neither the ring nor even possibly that exact finger was rubbing the walls of my pussy like a magic lamp, it was real enough to me, and I came from the concept as much as from the reality.
Which all leads me to believe it’s not the cheating that I like. It’s the abstract concept of commitment. It’s the symbolism of the ring, this piece of metal that our culture uses to denote those of us who have made a pact with another human from those of us who haven’t. It doesn’t matter whether the man has committed to me–though clearly my fetishization of the ring in general and my somatic response to Donny’s fictive ring in specific suggests that a commitment to me would be ideal–it’s that this man has committed, for good, bad, or ugly to someone.
It’s all very strange, though. Just as a gentlemen is advised to remove his socks before sexual congress with a woman, wouldn’t the usual rules of etiquette demand that he remove his wedding ring before fingering a woman not his wife? I’m not sure Emily Post ever covered that nuance.
Naughty In The Dressing Room
Friday, February 29th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
This has got to be absolutely the tamest / cutest photoset I’ve ever seen in the pages of Taboo magazine, which has been happily notorious for explicit bondage sex photography since well before anybody (well, it was Kink.com, actually) dared to do it on the web. But not in this photoset! Nope, this is just a fine lady and her maid, prepping for another hard day of languishing around the manor in outfits of loosely-arranged lace:
“Why, you careless hussy! You caught a tangle and hurt my pretty head! I ought to…”
The remonstrances continue: “You indolent wench! I’ll rip off your lingerie and slap some sense into your silly head!”
“Bah, slapping isn’t enough for course slatterns like you! Bend over, I’ll pretend to spank you with my silver hand mirror while secretly using it to peer at your pussy!”
And, then, inevitably, there has to be the kissing on the ear and the whispering of sweet nothings:
How else are they going to segue into the inevitable hot-and-sweaty lesbian makeup sex?
Pictures are from the August 2004 edition of Taboo magazine.
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Anal Manga
Thursday, February 28th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Apologies to those who find this too graphic, but there’s so much censored manga out there, it’s almost refreshing to find some so explicitly uncensored:
Via alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. anime.
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We Knew Her Way Back When: Diablo Cody
Sunday, February 24th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Does anybody remember Pussy Ranch, the original Diablo Cody blog from back when she was a stripper and phone sex worker? It was an early ErosBlog favorite, when she still called herself “Darling” and long before she took up writing Oscar-winning screenplays for genuinely excellent movies with great if quirky music.
Sadly, Cody was also one of the people who was an early and influential progenitor of my distaste for blog vandals. The original Pussy Ranch vanished overnight, and subsequent projects (for awhile she had a blog-like thing in one of those “city newspaper” community sites, there was a more recent blogspot blog, and she does MySpace now) haven’t resurrected any of her old posts. I haven’t checked the archive sites, but it’s possible ErosBlog is now the only place you can read what she wrote about her 2003 engagement:
On Friday, Jonny presented me with a saucy new ensemble from Wet Seal (the man has some seriously excellent taste) and told me I should wear it for a “surprise date” on Saturday. But of course! I adore surprises.
So I donned the beaded top, miniskirt and pink fishnet tights on Saturday evening (Jonny wore an extremely hot new outfit as well) and we headed out. It turned out he had made reservations at our favorite sushi restaurant. We ordered cocktails and nigiri and commenced a fabulous meal. After finishing, we decided we were still hungry and ordered a second round of sushi.
So you can imagine my shock when the waitress arrived with a tray not bearing spicy tuna rolls, but a white ring box. “Here’s your special roll,” she said, barely able to contain her glee. Jonny dropped to his knee as I began bawling my fool eyes out in front of many gawking diners, and popped the question.
I had a surprise planned too: See, we’d been talking about getting engaged a lot recently, and I had a hunch a proposal was forthcoming. So several days earlier (as it turns out, the exact day Jonny had purchased the ring), I had secretly had the word “yes” tattooed on the inside of my wrist. I’d hidden it with an AC/DC wristband and hoped my surprise wouldn’t be blown.
And it wasn’t; I whipped off the wristband and flashed Jonny my wrist. “Yes!” Onlookers applauded, and my feet haven’t touched the ground since.
I wanted my answer to last forever, and now it will. (In fact, it’s healing nicely.)
We’ve also got her advice for guys who call phone sex lines, as well as a short discourse on punching men in the stomach for money. And let’s not forget what she said about poor Michelle Branch, who got so roughly used by Maxim’s art department!
Enforcing The Social Contract
Saturday, February 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
There’s a video up at Atlanta Bondage under the title Can’t A Girl Pee In Peace? (Backup link.) I’m not going to re-publish it here, because it’s not, to my eye, erotic, nor funny either. However, it has some interesting social implications that aren’t likely to get mentioned anywhere else, there not being very many places that combine occasional social analysis with comfort in referencing a video clip featuring bare boobies and mildly kinky porn.
The “girl” in question is pretty clearly, to my eye at least, a model for one of the many porn sites that cater to the public urination fetish (subfetish category: women squatting to pee in the public streets). This model is bare breasted, smiling, and squatted-down right in the middle of some sort of street or public way (perhaps a wharf, or pedestrian mall). Here’s a cropped still from the beginning of the clip, in which I’ve highlighted the villain of the piece, to whom I am semi-arbitrarily assigning a male pronoun:
In the clip, he strides forward and kicks our incontinent heroine solidly in the ass, nearly knocking her over. The remainder of the clip shows her steadying herself with a hand, then turning and standing up to confront her attacker.
So, what’s going on here, and why is it interesting?
As it happens, I just read a piece by Chuck Klosterman in Esquire magazine about declining interest in professional boxing. As Klosterman explains it, people have lost interest in the sport of boxing because they no longer have a visceral relationship with the idea of hitting people or getting hit. A fine theory about which I have little opinion, never having been a fan myself of hitting people or being hit or watching big burly dudes do either one. But I was fascinated by Klosterman’s next line of speculation:
Now, I realize all of this is (obviously) more good than bad. I’m happy that avoiding physical confrontation has become so easy that I don’t even have to think about it. But I wonder: If the decline of boxing is the product of civilization’s detachment from physical fear, what is the accompanying downside? I think one possible answer might be a depressing brand of social overconfidence.
It is impossible to deny that the culture is coarsening. Everyone concedes this — even the people who are happy about it. It is now acceptable to say almost anything, about almost anyone, in a public space, and for no reason whatsoever. There is no line to step over, because such lines no longer exist. And I think those boundaries disappeared the moment people really, truly lost the fear of getting punched in the face. Americans have understood this intellectually for decades, but I don’t think we accepted it in totality until now. Adults are now so insulated by technology (and so protected by modernity) that the possibility of a physical consequence for any action is a psychological nonfactor. We have removed interpersonal fear from day-to-day behavior. Today, boxers are the only people who get hit for fucking up.
So, what does this have to do with our punted piddle-princess? Everything! His foot hitting her ass is a classic example of generation-gapped cultural conflict.
By my own lights, the peeing porn starlet was misbehaving. People who enjoy seeing girls peeing in public have a fetish, a modestly rare one. Most everybody else doesn’t want to see it, and they surely don’t want to step in it, or walk around it. At best, it’s horribly rude and socially transgressive to be doing what she was doing. Responsible pornographers would secure a movie set and provide sufficient extras to achieve the same visual effect without imposing their fetish on unwilling passers-by. And they would hire a dude with a mop, to clean up after.
I think it’s fair to speculate further that she and her photographer knew she was violating the social contract, but were sanguine about getting away with it. They probably worried about police intervention — perhaps they had a spotter watching for cops and ready to call a warning — but I suspect that it never occurred to her that any of the passers-by upon whom she was imposing her bare breasts and pussy and urine stream would take physical action against her to interrupt or to punish the imposition. People of her generation, or mine, just don’t do that sort of thing.
But our man (and I do think it’s a man, but I’m not sure) with the crazed white Einstein hair and the armload of files is not from our generation. He’s from a generation in which people cared a lot more about public propriety, and frequently took it upon themselves to enforce it with direct action. Doubtless he was offended by some half-naked [four letter term of derision] pissing in his path. Doubtless he considered he was doing a public service by applying a swift kick in the ass to both interrupt and punish the breach of the social contract. I have no doubt he felt good about doing it, and the way he stops and squares his stance after the kick suggests that he was ready to do it again if need be, or to stay and defend his actions otherwise. If we had an audio track, we’d be hearing somebody getting a piece of his mind about now.
So, who is really the villain of the piece? The pisser, or the kicker?
I’d like to weasel out with “a pox on both their houses”, but I need to acknowledge that it’s really not quite that simple. The trouble with enforcing social contracts with fists and feet is that social contracts aren’t really contracts, and they tend to get made up on the spot by cultural bigots and then enforced on people who never consented to them. (Don’t believe me? Ask Matthew Shepard.) I don’t really want people in my society feeling free to piss on my toes for profit, but I’m a lot more worried about living in a society where disagreements about appropriate public behavior get “settled” by sudden assault.
So, I guess my bottom line is, ix-nay on the ass-kicking. But I do agree with Klosterman that by creating a world where the ass-kicking is improbable, we’ve also created a world full of people who feel free to (metaphorically, most days) pee on your toes and tell you to go fuck yourself. That’s good more often than it’s bad, but it’s definitely a mixed blessing.
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Wedding Photographer Upskirt
Monday, February 4th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I am in love with the idea that “upskirt” has become a word in its own right. Truly we live in a most photographic world, if we coin words that serve primarily to specify a camera angle for voyeurs.
That said, there’s something about the inadvertent exposure of flesh at wedding festivities that I really enjoy. Sex is close to the surface at weddings, closer than at most of the other fancy parties we throw and attend, with both caution and inhibitions handicapped even before the booze starts to flow. The result is pictures like this:
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Girls Horsing Around
Saturday, February 2nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a great picture I found at Wired Pussy, but I’m not linking to any specific gallery or anything because this was “just” one of the establishing shots they take before and after the shoots to show that the models are happy to be there:
If my mother were there (better for everyone that she not be) I could imagine her saying “Girls! Stop horsing around! You need to get back to work.”
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Orgasmic Rape In Fiction
Friday, January 25th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
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?
Words Fail Her
Wednesday, December 19th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
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?”
Client Gets Screwed
Thursday, October 18th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
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!
Leaving “Slut” To The Happy Sluts
Wednesday, August 29th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I’ve gotten in minor trouble in the past for not participating in various efforts to “reclaim” derogatory words traditionally applied to various classes of women, words like “slut” and “cunt” and “whore” and the like. In particular, I’ve condemned low-imagination pornographers for calling porn models “sluts” far too often. I’m really condemning their business sense as much as anything; although some men surely fantasize about hooking up with a slut, it’s hardly universal.
So in a post like A Spammer’s View Of Porn Stars, my jeering at “old-school bitch-slut-whore porn marketing” triggered this comment:
You know, generally speaking, I’m all in favor of reclaiming these sorts of words. I call myself a slut happily, and while I’ve never had physical sex for money, the people I know who have done so call themselves whores (or retired whores) with no problem.
To which I responded:
Reclaiming is a whole ‘nuther issue, and frankly I don’t think it’s something that a second-person labeler can participate in. A woman with the qualifications can call herself a bitch or a slut or a whore and not mean anything bad by it, but I don’t think some random guy selling pictures of her has a prayer of pulling that off.
Which remains my position. There’s nothing wrong with being a slut, but I can’t get away with applying the word to any particular woman unless she does so first, because a man saying that word is tarred by association with a million other men who’ve tossed it around lightly as a synonym for “woman”. And standing behind that million men are another million women who’ve tossed it around just as lightly as a synonym for “woman who fucks too readily, and thus may pose a competitive danger to me”.
Of course, that doesn’t prevent me from quoting women like Kaya who cheerfully adopt the label:
I know that slut is supposed to be an insult. I hear my daughters refer to other classmates in that way. With wrinkled noses and disdain dripping from their voices. “Oh she is SUCH a slut. Look at her. Oh. My. Gawd.”
I asked Jes one time what criteria would get a girl labeled as a slut. I’m not sure if I have the formula down correctly but it was something along the lines of if you’ve slept with more than 3 people, you’re a bonafide slut. I guess I can see that, when applied to a 15 or 16 year old. I did not tell her that her mother was a certified slut though. Some things a child just doesn’t need to know about her mom’s activities. ;-)
…
I know without a doubt, without a millisecond of hesitation, that I AM a natural slut. Jezebel, a hussy, a tart, a tramp. I dressed the part, I acted the part, I performed the part.
I never associated the emotions with sex that other people do. It was always just sex. Not a commitment, no deeper hidden meaning. I wasn’t waiting for a proposal or a second date and it didn’t bother me in the least to have feelings for one person, and sleep with another. The two were entirely separate.
…
I like sex. The raunchier the better. I like to cock my ass up and wiggle it in the air. I like to spread my pussy lips wide and taunt whoever is looking. I like the wetness, the sloppiness, the grunts and slaps and other rude, raucous noises that emanate from between our two joined bodies. And I like it best when some pink part of mine is screaming in pain, pain that fiercely combats with the pleasure, until the two sensations meet and mix and become a tangled mass of exploding nerves that leave me abandoned in a puddled lump of used slut.
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A Spammer’s View Of Porn Stars
Thursday, August 2nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
As you all know, I filter the comments aggressively. Anybody with a blog knows about automated comment spammers who drop various text nuggets designed to pass as real comments.
I thought this one was worth pulling out and sharing, because it appears to be human-written rather than purely machine generated (which is to say, it isn’t just random keywords slung together), and because its narrative is classic old-school bitch-slut-whore porn marketing, the sort of thing this sex blog exists in reaction against:
When it comes to porn bitches with big tits getting their cunts and asses stretched and stuffed by huge dicks and getting their faces and jugs covered by hot spunk, Ava Devine has almost no equal. A regular on [url deleted] and [url deleted], Ava is one cock loving, cum loving, fuck loving slut. Whether she’s getting double penetrated or just getting drilled by massive meat, I swear this girl’s pussy has seen more action in the dirt and taken more of a pounding than a U.S. Marine. What a whore. I really think that she, along with wonderfully like-minded souls Carmella Bing and Shyla Stylez, are among the leaders of the pack when it comes to no-frills, low glamour, raw, hardcore porn. Ava Devine loves fucking and really doesn’t give a fuck what people think. This bitch should be a hero. See the action for yourself at [url deleted].
I cannot deny that Ava is sexy, but whence the leap from that to bitch, slut, and whore? I always wonder what these guys are thinking. Is this how they really feel about porn stars? Or is it merely how they think their intended audience feels?
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Sexually Suggestive Gesture
Sunday, July 1st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
I have a question for my readers. Namely, what is the significance and/or common cultural context of this sexually suggestive gesture-and-maneuver where a woman wags her tongue between her spread fingers?
I, myself, have only seen this done “in the wild” on one occasion, when it was directed at me by a street-walking prostitute outside the entrance to the Sputnik Hotel in Moscow in the late 1980s. In that context, it appeared to be a sexual come-on designed to transcend language barriers. But I’ve been told that it is also used, in certain times and places, as a rude gesture, like the almost universal “middle finger” or the old Roman fig.
It seems to suggest pussy licking, which strikes me as equally odd for a prostitute or for the deliverer of an insult. Unless, as in insult, it is supposed to suggest “you lick pussy” and stems from times or cultures where that might be considered an insult to a man’s virility?
I’d google it, but I don’t know what to call it. So, what’s the verdict? What does it mean to you, and why?
Pussy Foot
Thursday, May 24th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Has anybody stopped to marvel, lately, at what a wonderful world it has become for folks with numerically minor fetishes? There’s the internet for finding and meeting (and fucking) kindred souls, there’s a growing “whatever floats your boat” sentiment among civilized people, and there’s a robust world economy for sex toys of every description.
And boy, when I say every description, I’m not kidding. The latest sex miracle in silicone is … well, let’s go to the visual, or you won’t believe me.
Behold!
Ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at the SiFeet Pussy Foot. [2012 update: Sadly the Pussy Foot is no longer sold. But be ye not forlorn! There’s always the Cyberskin Foot Job Stroker or the Belladonna Foot Soldiers.]
The marketing text is like a syllabus for aspiring foot fetish marketers, fascinating therefore in its own right:
The SiFeet Pussy Foot is the ultimate fantasy sex toy for foot fetishists. This size 6, 100% silicone foot is cast in pure silicone from a real life actual, beautiful female foot. In the sole of this lovely foot is a fully functional and totally fuckable silicone vagina.
This pure silicone foot is soft, smooth, and incredibly sexy. The toes are decorated with acrylic toenails painted glossy pink, making the Pussy Foot seem even more real.
From the toes to the heel and ankle, great time and effort has been taken to insure that the Pussy Foot seems real.
The feature that makes the Pussy Foot even better than an actual foot is the pussy located on the sole of the foot. You can passionately fuck the foot in a way you’ve never been able to before. It is the perfect combination of foot and vagina.
From the toe to heel the pussy foot is 9″ long. The ankle has a 2½” diameter. The distance from the entrance in the vagina to the exit-hole at the top of the ankle is 6½”.
Anyone who appreciates beautifully sexy feet should love the Pussy Foot. This silicone foot is terrific for massaging and erotic rubbing as well as for having hot sex with it.
This silicone sex toy is also a convenient practice tool for preparing to get hot and kinky with actual feet. You are sure to have your technique down to a science when you train with the Pussy Foot.
The silicone SiFeet Pussy Foot cleans easily with soap and warm water or After Glow Toy Wipes.
The SiFeet Pussy Foot is available in a left or a right, sold separately.
If you were looking for “the perfect combination of foot and vagina”, well, now you’ve found it. But it’s the last line, in bold text, that gets me. Left foot or right? Or do you want to collect the whole set?
Let the implications of that photo sink in for a moment.
I’m not going to pussyfoot around, here. (Face it, you knew you weren’t getting out of this blog post until I’d made that pun.) The pussy foot comes in left foot and right foot? Why in all the Stygian depths would someone care whether they are boning a silicone vagina in a left foot, instead of a right one? “No, no, it has to be a left foot, or it’s no good!”
But, in the end, that’s the point. It doesn’t matter why. With fetishes, there usually isn’t a good why. What matters is, if you’ve got a thing for slipping it to a pretty left foot, we live in a world where you can get one, with just a little help from your buddy Benjamin. Don’t let anybody tell you that’s not an excellent world to be living in.
The Pussy Ultimatum
Wednesday, May 2nd, 2007 -- by Bacchus
This is why it’s a bad idea to deliver stupid ultimatums:
Thanks to Kaya for finding the pic.
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More On Fisting
Wednesday, April 11th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
There was enough interesting in last week’s fisting post I thought I’d post this bit from Kaya on the sensation of fisting the way she and her master do it:
There’s a point when the widest portion of Master’s hand begins it’s slow but forceful entrance where I think I can feel tissue tearing, a sharp blooming pain. I can see it in my mind’s eye, the skin stretch so tightly, so thin, that it’s almost transparent around His fist. Though I don’t know if I have ever ripped, or if it simply feels as if I should have.
It’s at that point that I want desperately to quit, to snap my legs together with my hands cupped around my poor battered pussy and breathe the pain away. But I don’t. Not only because I can’t, but because I know what pleasures lay over this agonizing hump.
Once my skin reluctantly grants His hand passage, there is a transfer of pain. What was once highly concentrated on the ‘ring of entrance’, now rolls and fills the whole of my vagina. A deep pressure, a pressure that shifts along with the movement of His hand and fingers, sometimes sharp if He pokes a spot, sometimes dull when He rubs. But constant, always.
He likes to poke and prod, to press up as far as He can get, until my eyes pop open in stunned panic, half-believing that He’s attempting to tickle my throat. He likes to pump, a genuine fist-fucking, so hard and so fast that I no longer control my own breathing. I’m forced to exhale when He pushes in and up… and I gasp in air when He pulls back and out.
The pressure and the pain slide and mix together to create the delicious blend that is pleasure. I can’t think beyond my cunt. I’m nothing more than one giant pulsating vagina, with no thoughts outside of His hand and the throbbing need to cum.
I much prefer to be allowed to stimulate my clit when He’s fisting me. Otherwise, the intense sensations are too overwhelming. It’s system overload to the max. But give me a clit to manipulate, to direct the course and timing of the orgasms and I’m one incredibly happy girl.
Orgasms while being fisted are sensational. They’re the strongest, deepest, whole body consuming orgasms that I ever have. I don’t know if it’s because He’s in there touching and rubbing and slamming on spots otherwise left unstimulated, or if it’s because my cunt is so full, so stretched by His hand and wrist that there is no room left in there for my cunt to spasm so it shoots it out, sending it zinging across the whole rest of my body. It brings cerebral orgasm to a new meaning.
Orgasm recovery time is lengthy. My eyes do not want to uncross, my mouth doesn’t want to close. My toes stay curled, fingers clenched. Milk that orgasm for all it’s worth, twitching still against His arm.
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Being Handy
Wednesday, April 4th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
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….
Sex Is Messy. Don’t Worry About It.
Monday, March 26th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
From a sex basics article for “guy virgins” about the practicalities of sex you don’t learn by reading, or by watching porn:
Messiness
You probably know this already, but overall sex is messier than what you see on TV or in porn.
- You’re going to get hot and sweaty of course.
- The woman’s lubrication is going to dribble all over the place and possibly stain the sheets. Someone is going to get semen on them at some point. Condom wrappers are going to litter the ground. You may kiss passionately and slobber all over each other.
- Sometimes when you’re doing a girl she’ll fart. I heard it has something to do with the thrusting pushing air into her abdomen but don’t quote me.
- Sometimes when you pull out and she changes positions she’ll fart out her pussy (queefing).
- If you have sex when she’s on her period, well use your imagination.
- If you have anal sex you may get some poo on your dick.
- If you have a good session, when you’re done you’re going to be sweaty, red faced, tired, and a bit out of it. Your hair will be messed up, gross stray hairs will be stuck to your skin, the girl will have a bit of white goop running out of her cootch. You’ll have a bit of cum dribbling out of your dick. There will be at least one condom wrapper on the floor, the sheets and pillows will be all over the place, and the bed will have a wet spot on it. If you cuddle after you’ll start to stick together and it’ll feel gross when you pull apart. It’s great.
Link via Sexoteric.
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A Hairy Licking
Wednesday, February 7th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Generally when I post vintage photos, I have to delete half a dozen comments bitching about body hair. Kids these days, you’d think their fashions were some sort of natural law. (Anyway, my solution to that is to post more vintage photographs; eventually maybe the lesson will soak in that fashions change, and that history is not automatically gross. Never mind the more subtle truth that fashions in body hair vary along demographic lines, even today. In short, your mom may have more pussy hair than your favorite waxed-and-plucked porn starlet, and your dad still thinks your mom is hot. Exercise coping skills.)
Moving rapidly along: but what is a body to do when the notable vintage hairdos in question are on heads?
For help in pondering that, I offer up this taxonomy of hairdos from a 70’s Ebony magazine. Enjoy!
On The Pleasures Of Pain
Monday, February 5th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Subbie Bunnie has something to say about erotic pain, starting with a practical tip:
you have a subbie that goes stoic? you have a girl that doesn’t cry out? i swear to god, this will fix it. take one normal ordinary chopstick. gently and sweetly take your bottom’s hand. place the chopstick across the nailbed (the root end, not the tip end). now, get ready, and press. HARD. and don’t stop pressing.. and listen to your subbie scream and scream and SCREAM. omigodpain. holy cow, holy shit, ow ow ow pain.
now, i should have taken it as a bad sign that his own slave (who takes a blade to her skin with barely a cry and the whip too) hold your head carefully in her lap and advises, “just scream. there’s really nothing else for it.”
…
i forget how the pain feels. i forget, and i need to feel it again. i’m addicted to it, to the heady spacey feeling of almost too much, of the breaths caught so hard my lungs rebel against the sharpness of the air. i long for the grey-sparkly blur of my vision when the whitehot flash of cane, or whip, or electric spark erases everything except for the heat in my pussy, the burn in my blood, the words on my lips, begging pleading for the almost otherwordly and almost equally agonizing burst of pleasure. like jumping in the deep end of the pool, when it’s not quite warm enough to swim yet, and the water is ice, and the shock is all you feel, all you can register, until your feet hit bottom , and bring you back, pushing, fighting, to the surface, and break out, gasping, into the glittering, blinding reality that is suddenly so much brighter.
hurt me again…
“…and I will make you fishers of men.”
Monday, January 1st, 2007 -- by Bacchus
Up for some Flirty Fishing, anyone?
Ouch, where exactly did the point of that fish hook go?
It seems that the religious organization (“cult”, to its detractors, but then every small marginal religion is a cult to its detractors) known as “The Children of God” or “The Family” used to practice a modern form of temple prostitution, both to gain new adherents and to earn revenue for the organization. They called this practice “Flirty Fishing”:
Flirty Fishing (FFing) was a form of religious prostitution practiced by the Children of God/The Family cult from 1974 until it was officially discontinued in 1987 (due, in part, to the AIDS scare). Its etymology can be traced to Matthew 4:19 where Jesus says “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”
Flirty Fishing was a subset of The Family’s love bombing activities and involved the use of sexual attraction and intercourse to win converts and favors. Female members were told to be “God’s whores” and “hookers for Jesus”, and soon after its launch as a method of witnessing, sex was given to complete strangers in combination with a request for a “donation”, or for a required fee in line with Escort Servicing (ESing) or freelance ESing.
There’s nothing new about fishing for converts using loving, available women as bait. But these people didn’t shrink from their metaphor:
Ouch, again. The text is explicit about this piercing business:
Art thou willing to become my bait? Then yield thyself therefore to be pierced through by many sorrows!
For the bait is placed again and again on the hook and pierced many times ere it is finally devoured, that it may catch many for my kingdom!
The bait is taken:
Make no mistake, though; this was not a joyous nor a sex-positive operation. Dig the text from the tract (my emphasis added):
“Art thou willing to kiss many with My kiss of life? Through thy death to thyself thou shalt bring life to many that would devour thee and feast upon thy flesh. You flirt to entice them that they may be caught!”
There are a great many more of these well-illustrated True Komix tracts on various subjects — apparently tract sales were another source of revenue — and sexual imagery was prevalent, and often very attractively presented:
But the whole sex / piercing / death theme is never very far away:
Did I say “Ouch” yet?
Given that we live in a world where popular religions are either actively hostile to sex (the sex people actually have all the time, I mean, not the limited subset involving marriage and procreation), or are (at best) tolerant of it, it’s a bit mind-warping to find religious advertising that makes graphic use of sexual imagery. Doubtless they got a lot of attention for themselves using these seductive tactics. But I think the “big-nail-driven-into-her-pussy” image says all we really need to know about the role of women in that church. Ugh.
Butt Plug Birthday Present
Saturday, September 30th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
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…
Wednesday, September 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
…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.
Drinking, Driving, Singing, Fornication
Friday, September 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
We all know better than to drink and drive. But there are worse things. (There are always worse things.) Here’s a cartoon object lesson on the perils of drinking (we may assume), driving (an applecart pulled by a donkey), singing, and fornicating, all at the same time:
Moral: Be careful when multi-tasking, lest you accidentally fuck a donkey up the ass.
Addendum: For some odd reason, this cartoon reminds me of humorist P.J. O’Rourke’s famous 1979 National Lampoon essay: “How To Drive Fast On Drugs While Getting Your Wing-Wang Squeezed Without Spilling Your Drink.”
Toe Sex
Monday, August 28th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
It sounds like this guy had a really good weekend — the toe sucking and fucking being only one of his highlights:
And then my date showed me a trick that was, well, a bit stupefying.
So at some point during the second round of sex, she gets up in a Reverse Cowgirl position, and bends down to A) give me a good view, and B) suck my toes while she fucks me. For those of you not into Shrimping, I don’t know how you can’t love it. A toe suck & cock stimulation combo is almost too much for my nervous system. I’ve had this before, but it’s a rare treat. My date, however, felt the need to show me that despite my travels and adventures, I have not seen it all.
She dismounts, turns around, and lowers her cunt onto my toes — Ummm.. ok. She starts fucking my big toe and lowers her head down to start sucking my cock. My toes were already electrified from the sucking — so I loved how her wet pussy felt all over my feet, and her face dropping all the way down to my pubic bone, burying my cock in her throat… I was just stupid with glee. This felt so good, so amazing, I simply can’t describe it. All the wires were shorting out. Loved it. And she was pretty pleased to have thrown me something new.
Hoisted By Hogan
Sunday, August 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Google tells me this image is so 2005, but hey, it’s new to me. That’s Hulk Hogan (for the three of you who grew up in a yurt) and his wife Lizzie Grubman, and yes, her pussy parts on open display for the cameras:
What’s in YOUR Panties?
Thursday, August 10th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Summertime, just sittin’ on the beach minding her own business, and suddenly she has to know: “Hey, what’s this in my panties?”
From Usenet.
Sex Bias In Blogging
Wednesday, August 2nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
A question that comes up repeatedly in the sex blog world is “Why aren’t there more male-written sex blogs?” Start clicking links, take a poll — it quickly becomes clear that there are a lot more women than men writing about sex in the blogging world. Focus on blogs that (unlike this one) are mostly introspective and personal, and the imbalance comes into even sharper focus.
Susie Bright, having recently returned from a Blogher conference of mostly female bloggers, touches on this question in the course of a long and interesting essay on gender bias in the blog world. Unfortunately, when she tries to answer the question, she hits us male sex bloggers up aside the head with a big chunk of her own gender bias, and I’m just not willing to sit here and take it quietly. She writes:
Why don’t straight men include sexuality in their blog writing– aside from the resolutely anonymous few that sex-blog professionally?
Because outside of the “adult” world, a straight man writing about his sexual life– his erotic self-reflection– is considered feminizing. It would make him a pussy to his peers.
I fall squarely within her category of the “resolutely anonymous few that sex-blog professionally”, and I’m calling bullshit. Read my archives, I could give a shit less what “my peers” (the male ones, or the subset of them who could use “pussy” as an insult) think of me. They aren’t right in the head, and they don’t seem to like women very much. Indeed, in Susie’s own interview with me, I spoke of my belief that a lot of guys are “broken” when it comes to their views of women. Why would I let the views of broken people affect my behavior?
Ironically enough, Susie gets a lot closer to the truth just two paragraphs down the page of her essay. Here, and she’s talking about women even though she says “folks”, she says:
Some folks at our panel talked about the risk of hurting loved ones if we blog about our sexual lives. They were concerned with boundaries, respect, and discretion– timeless issues for authors in any era.
Those concerns are about ETHICS.
Damn straight they are, and the ethical concern goes a lot further toward explaining why I don’t write much about my own sex life than the fanciful notion that I’m worried some misogynist male shithead is going to call me a pussy. Why aren’t these ethical concerns (expressed by the women at Susie’s conference) supposed to be available to me, a man?
This is really just an extension of the basic “Don’t kiss and tell” rule. Yes, there’s a gender bias built into that rule, or at least reflected by it, because it is (or, at least, was taught to me as) a rule for the protection of women. The women I know don’t seem to have been taught it, or taught that it should apply to their discussions of men. That’s because — I’m speculating — men aren’t seen as being so vulnerable to reputational damage when their sexuality becomes a matter of public discussion.
So there it is, male sex blogggers. You’re damned if you tell (because it’s just not safe for women to have the details of their sexual lives broadcast, and a real man doesn’t put a woman he loves, or even “just” fucks, at risk) and damned if you don’t (because, Susie says, you’re just a coward who remains silent because you fear “feminizing” censure from the lowest of other men). I know not what course others may take, but as for me, I’ll continue doing what I’ve always done — speaking when it seems right to me, and be damned what anybody else thinks.
Real Sex In Space
Wednesday, July 26th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
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.
Sex Talk
Tuesday, July 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Talking during sex — given the potential for enormous distraction — doesn’t always result in the smartest-sounding dialog. Even so, this exchange from Submissive Reflections made me smile:
“What are you doing?” I asked rather stupidly, as I was bent over grabbing the back of the couch while Mac’s fingers stole lubrication from my pussy to use on my ass.
“I am going to fuck your ass.” Mac answered in a very matter of fact manner.
“Why?” I asked, apparently unable to say anything smart at all when my panties were around my knees.
“Because I want to.” Mac said and managed not to laugh at me.
“Oh. Ok.” I said and then decided I should just shut up.
Upskirt Photography For Prudes
Saturday, July 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
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.
A Lot Of Sex And A Touch Of Class
Wednesday, July 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’m entertained by the juxtaposition in this image of a classic-but-crass pussy-in-your-face porn pose with the “classy” touch of the gloves and shoes. Of course this image (from alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage) is from the era when people like your mother wore spike heels like that:
Pussy Bondage
Friday, June 9th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
If you’ve had any experience at all with the adventure that is following blind links on the internet, then this will be exactly what you expect:
And here’s the ErosBlog equivalent of Boing Boing’s unicorn chaser:
Girl Fisting
Friday, May 26th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Mistress Matisse’s latest column offers instruction on The Gentle Art of Girl Fisting:
I vividly recall the first time I ever had my whole hand inside a woman’s pussy. I was 19, and my girlfriend was a sexy butch woman with an appetite for deep penetration. One night — we were on the living room floor, I believe — I had all four fingers inside her and was fucking her as hard as I could, trying to match the tempo of her fast-pumping hips. In our thrashing tangle of limbs, my hand pivoted from the usual thumb-to-the-clit position to a diagonal approach. I instinctively pressed my thumb against my palm so my fingernail wouldn’t jab her. As I did, she thrust herself against me like a roller-derby queen butting aside a competitor, and to my surprise and momentary alarm, I felt my whole hand slide into her.
“Baby, are you okay?”
“Don’t fucking stop!”
So I didn’t.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Nettles Are Naughty And Nutritious!
Thursday, May 4th, 2006 -- by Aphrodite
Oh, to be the nettle that knows the touch of a sub’s lips:
The picture of nettles at the Urtication site linked above got me thinking…..those nettles look so much like mint…..could nettles be edible? Why, yes! This Sado-botany nettle FAQ has alot more information, but alas, no recipes.
So don’t throw your greens away when you’re done playing with your sub – make some soup or a nettle fritatta. Sex juices on them would just add extra-yummy flavor.
Picture is from the Urtication website.
Stripper Rant
Friday, April 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I found this posted without an author credit on an adult webmaster board. It was presented as if it were supposed to be funny, and acclaimed as such by a chunk of the online-pornographer audience. Me, I didn’t find it so — it encapsulates a lot of the reasons I never could find much value in the strip club experience. Of course I know of folks in the blog community who’ve stripped (or who are still stripping) and who present a much more nuanced view of the profession. But still. Strong and unpleasant stuff, it seems to me:
1) Hey you over there, holding that one dollar bill in your hand with a death grip and waving it around at me like it’s the fucking deed to Trump Towers… what the fuck do you want me to do, grow another pussy?!? It’s a fuckin’ dollar, put it down on the tiprail and blow my world away already.
2) You losers that come into the club for a lapdance with NO underwear or boxers and thin-ass, nylon shorts, so we slip and slide on your hard-on (which always feel like a sharpie pen ~ fine point)…fuck you.
3) You with the thick-ass jeans, this was an impromptu visit, eh?
4) Don’t pull my thong up during a dance and ask me if it felt good. IT DOES NOT FEEL GOOD.
5) Hey you, Loser, the one counting out the 20 bucks in one dollar increments, rubbing your fingers between each one to make sure you are giving me just that one dollar. Yes, you.
6) No I will not just let you “slip it in real quick” for $50 more bucks.
7) Yeah, my tits are real. As real as my affection for you.
8)If you cum in your pants, you have to tip me an extra $100 for being a lame-ass who can cum in their pants from a lapdance.
9) Stop asking me out. You’re a smelly, fat loser and the only reason I’m smiling and cooing at you is because I want your money. Outside of the club I wouldn’t even fart your way.
11) Stop bitching at me about the goddamn two drink minimum. First of all, your breath ranks (what’d you have for dinner, garlic and shit?), you’re about 172 lbs. overweight, and you look like Jay Leno. More importantly: I don’t give a shit.
12) Don’t bitch at me about the $10 non-alchoholic beer either. Hide a bottle of Jack in your coat pocket next time like everyone else does.
13) My horniness is in direct proportion to your income.
14) No, you CAN’T SMOKE. Dumb. Ass.
15 )Boys, don’t sit in the front row with your “homies” and act all engrossed in some deep conversation during a girls performance because you want to look like you’re too “cool” to notice the hot, naked girl in front of you. It’s a clear sign that you ain’t getting any.
16) DON’T SIT IN THE FRONT ROW IF YOU ARE NOT GOING TO TIP. Fer chrissakes!!!!!!!!!!!
17) “So what do you guys do when you’re on your period?” Answer: I lap dance with guys in dark pants.
18) STOP trying to grab my tits!!!!!!! That’s extra.
19) SHOWER FIRST, you nasty fuck!
20) I had a feeling you weren’t going to tip me, so I took extra care to rub my lip gloss on your collar and wear extra glitter lotion and obnoxious perfume before our dance.
21) Hey cheapasses: please don’t come to my work. Just stay home and jack off to “Desperate Housewives” instead. It will save us a both a lot of unpleasantry.
22) Stop asking me why I do this job and try to get all psychologically analytical on me. For the money, you moron, that’s why.
23) No seriously, my real name is Sparkle.
24) NO, I will not take a dime sac for payment. I can tell it’s oregano anyway you stupid mutherfucker!
25) Sorry, I don’t do that. Ask the ugly girl at the bar with the black roots and overbite.
26) I can see it’s your first time at a strip club. Let me explain the dynamics to you. If you want a fuck or a blow-job, go to the ugly chicks. Hot girls don’t have to do “extra services.” I can give you some recommendations for a small fee.
27) It is not okay for you to bounce me on your cock like a baby on a knee. Not okay.
28) Stop complaining about how short the song was. It felt like the fucking maxi-single to me.
29)Yes I will fuck you, but only for 10 grand. More if you’re ugly. So basically, more.
30) DO NOT come into the club looking for a girlfriend/date. It’s like me going to PETA looking for a steak.
31) Girls–what’s with the pole smell? Can we do a little hygiene check? Nothing than worse than twirling around the pole and getting a whiff of stale pussy.
32) Girls–stop lip-syncing to the song you’re dancing to on stage. Especially if you don’t know all the words.
33) Girls–if your toes curl and hang over your platform shoes a la’ Fred Flinstone, you need to go up a size.
34) Girls–drowning yourself in Angel perfume is just as bad if not worse than the BO you’re trying to cover. Take a goddamn shower, you smell like lapdance funk.
35) Hey DJ! You suck!
36)Girls–may I suggest complete sobriety before getting tatted up? Tattoos should be meaningful, or at least semi-meaningful, or at least semi semi-meaningful. That fucking dancing llama on your ass is so lame.
37)Girls–some songs just should not be stripped to. Please. No Disney soundtracks (you know who you are, you fucking weirdo), Sade, Boys II Men, or Bjork. For the love of God, Please.
By the way, if this was ripped from a blog or website and you know the original source, please drop me an email so I can credit it properly. No links in the comments, please.
Foot Fetish Fishhooking?
Thursday, April 20th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
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.
Mango Sex
Wednesday, April 5th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
From Kiss & Blog, a one sentence fruit sex anecdote:
Another friend’s boyfriend was so hot for her while hiking alone in Hawaii that he fucked a mango in the jungle while imagining it to be her pussy.
Being a man (and having seen pictures of melon sex) I don’t have any trouble believing that the sticky business took place as described.
However. Pause.
I am having trouble imagining the conversation in which the boyfriend in question confessed the mango sex.
Phone Sex Talk
Wednesday, March 15th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
No, not quite what you think:
We went back to my apartment, and sat on my bed talking for hours. I’m great at getting girls onto my bed, but notoriously chicken about making the first move. We talked about sex to the point that I was squirming. I gave her a tour of my sex-toy drawer. It was obvious to me that we both wanted to do something but I just couldn’t.
By 5 am, we were naked in the dark, tucked under the covers in my big, soft, bed; still chaste, but so hot. The phone rang, and it was my boyfriend, calling me after his date, wanting to know about mine. I asked him all the questions I usually ask him after a playdate: Did you have fun? Did you fuck her? Did she suck your cock? Is she prettier than I am? And I answered his questions: Yes, it’s been a fun night. No, we haven’t kissed yet. Yes, she’s completely adorable and I really, really want to.
I felt her hand slide across my belly and up onto my breast. Her fingertips grazed my nipple and pulled. I arched up into her, smiled, and sighed with relief and pent up lust. “Nothing’s happened so far, but she just tweaked my nipple, so I’m taking that as a very good sign,” I told him. He and I talked for about 5 more minutes, with her hands roaming freely over my body. I guess she didn’t really know if it was okay for us to play until she heard exactly how okay it was with my lover, or maybe she just thought it was hot to distract me as I was talking. At any rate, she made the impossible first move and I was so happy that she did. I told him I loved him, hung up the phone, and we practically leaped on each other.
We kissed, touched, and squirmed, with our legs intertwined and hands everywhere. Neither of us vied for dominance; it was a sweet, exploratory makeout. She reached for my pussy and touched me tenatively, gently, and intuitively. I gasped to feel how wet I was. I knew that I would be, but that initial moment of discovery– the moment of finding just how swollen, slick and sensitive my cunt was, literally took my breath away.
From Suburban Sexpot.
The Center Of Sexual Attention
Wednesday, March 8th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
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.
A Shave Before Dinner
Monday, February 27th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
CeeCi over at Giardino del Piacere got herself a good shave with one of them newfangled vibrating razors. And then when the thing was done, it was time for the next course:
After finishing my shave, he treated me to a bit of fun. He popped the cartridge off the razor, turned it on, then turned me on. The little vibrator he had in his hand was a delight. He knows precisely where my most delicate spots are and gently placed the tip there. If he applied too much pressure I wouldn’t feel much, so he would tap me gently. He told me later that when he placed it directly on the tip of my clit, my eyes bugged out like Jim Carrey’s did in “The Mask”.
Before I could become over-sensitized he stopped teasing me with our new found toy. He turned off the overhead light and placed the table lamp on the floor. Taking a hand towel, he tucked it into the neck of his shirt like a napkin then pulled himself to the table to feast upon my pussy. Within moments I had my first screaming orgasm. I was a rather emotional release as I found myself crying once the spasms began settling down. I reassured my darling I was fine, just got a bit overwhelmed.
The Female Orgasm Porn Niche
Tuesday, February 21st, 2006 -- by Bacchus
From Rollertrain comes the depressing observation that “In the backward world of porn genres, female orgasm is a niche – not a given.” Supporting text:
Sativa, freshly waxed and moaning, looks lovely on the screen. The vibrator is buzzing at a low hum, making soft little surging noises as she pushes its tip against her clit. Sativa has beautiful skin, luscious tits and the kind of lips that cost hundreds of dollars. She’s awesome to behold so close up, but this isn’t anything I haven’t seen before.
“What’s awesome?” I ask. Isabelle turns up the sound. “Watch,” she says, and I listen. Sativa, movie-sized tribute to blessed Pussy, fills up all forty-two inches of Isabelle’s TV. Her face starts to look far away. She bites her lip and her cheeks flush. Her moaning falls into short pants of air and whimpering. The vibrator is working. Sativa’s entire vagina contracts six or seven times, like a giant heartbeat. Her pussy is shimmering. Sativa is clearly having an orgasm.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve actually seen a girl really cum in a porno,” says Isabelle.
Autocunnilingus?
Saturday, January 7th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
I’ve posted autofellatio pictures here before, but I think this may be the first autocunnilingus photo I’ve ever seen. Apologies for the poor quality, but we work with what we’ve got. The young lady certainly has!
Did Santa Bring You A Video iPod?
Monday, December 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Perhaps if you were very good (or very naughty, but in a good way) you found a video iPod in your stocking yesterday morning. Lucky you! It’s a nifty toy.
However, in that case you’ll looking for “stuff” to watch on it, so I wanted to remind you of some of the porn resources for the video iPod that I’ve stumbled over in recent weeks. I did a long post about using GUBA to find iPod porn, plus I’ve mentioned (here and here) that two of the kinky sites I sometimes promote have started putting iPod-ready video content in their members areas.
A few more sites where iPod porn is now available to members:
Sex And Submission: (Real bondage sex)
Whipped Ass: (Female/female spanking and domination)
Fucking Machines: (Heavily modified power “tools”)
Men In Pain: (Female domination of men)
Water Bondage: (Just what it sounds like)
Ultimate Surrender: (Nude girls wrestle; winner dominates loser)
Fair warning: Most of these sites have just begun offering their movie clips in iPod format, and they haven’t (yet) converted their archives. So you won’t find hundreds of iPod-ready movies, just the ones from recent updates.
Enjoy!
Update from the future: Hi, this is the future. We have smartphones now. Video iPods? What the hell were those? The good news is, Kink.com now has everything in .mp4 format, in five different sizes. If you’ve got a screen the size of your thumbnail on your watch, or or a TV the size of your living room wall, they’ve got you covered. Ain’t progress grand?
More Fun With Cattle Prods
Saturday, December 17th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
If you thought Red made playing with a cattle prod sound like fun, you might also like this shoot from the first and best electrosex porn site, Wired Pussy:
Sex Under The Desk
Wednesday, December 14th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
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.
That Sexy Cattle Prod
Wednesday, December 7th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Somehow Red makes a cattle prod sound like fun. Either it is, or she’s a heck of a good sex writer:
Her hand rubbed over my left bum cheek, over and over again. I felt pussy throbbed as excitement ran through me — anticipation of the jolt to come was giving me an unexpected rush. The I felt the prongs poking my bum — poking, readjusting, poking again. My breath was caught in my throat; it was the point of no return. I breathed deeply. I let the pain wash over me.
I could feel the surge — the peak of the electricity coursing through the muscle. Everything felt funny, like nothing was going to work properly — similar to that numb feeling that happens when limbs fall asleep. My nerves shrieked as the wave of pain washed over me — fast and furious and addictively alluring. I could feel it draining out of me as soon as it began — my jolted nerves sighing with relief. I felt jumpstarted and I felt consumed.
Smiling and giggling uncontrollably, I grabbed at the spot, rubbing it to preserve the tingling. I felt high — my head was floaty and relaxed and alert. Crazed like an addict, I knew I needed more.
Volunteers, anyone?
Dirty Picture
Tuesday, November 29th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It’s possible that this is the dirtiest picture I’ve ever put on Eros Blog. Mud bondage, anyone?
The picture is courtesy of Wired Pussy. Pretty naked girls playing in mud puddles, from this shoot. Good dirty fun.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Bondage Porn, Hold The Patriarchy
Wednesday, September 28th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
After having wallowed in BDSM-and-porn hatred in the last couple of posts, it’s time for some good old fashioned unapologetic girl-on-girl bondage porn, with some toilet dunking to push a few more buttons:
From Wired Pussy. And there’s nary a patriarch (nor even a dick!) in sight. (Unless, of course, you count the electrified stainless steel butt plugs in the shoot this picture came from.)
Test Riding A Fucking Machine
Thursday, September 8th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Long ago I blogged about fucking machines, but in the years since, this post by Audacia Ray at Waking Vixen is the first detailed account I’ve seen from a woman who has gamely taken one of the machines for a good test ride:
Dacia vs. The Machine
or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Robocock
So in the quest to make my life experience increasingly peculiar, last night I had an, um, encounter with a fucking machine. How, you may ask, would this come about? Well, I was contacted a while ago by a photographer who is interested in the intersection between sexuality and machines… an interesting conversation resulted and the revelation that said photographer is in possession of a fucking machine (you know, one of these things). Was I intrigued? Well, considering that I was already intrigued by his project, yes I certainly was.
So, fast forward to last night, when I filled my suitcase with clothes, shoes and sex toys and made my way to the studio we were shooting in. We started out with some still pics for a bit of warm up and utilized my very red wardrobe and collection of high heels. I was amused to find that it’s becoming much easier to walk in 5 inch stilettos; when I put on my platforms I felt almost like I was wearing sneakers, they were so easy to move around in. Hey, strutting in 5 inch heels is a useful life skill for me.
After a while, the photographer took out the fucking machine for me to admire and ponder. It was basically a metal suitcase like the kind you see carrying millions of dollars in those gangster movies. Except inside of it was the metal that makes the hump possible, and it had a metal pole sticking out of it. It came with a collection of dildos (the icky flesh colored, veiny jelly rubber ones) but I was delighted to find out that my favorite silicone dildo happened to have a hollowed out space perfectly sized for said metal attachment. Well then. We turned the machine on its end so the dildo was pointing skywards, twisted its control on, and watched mesmerized as it pumped at the ceiling. Another twist of the knob and it pumped faster.
The photographer turned to me and said, “So what do you think?”
My eyes still locked on the machine, I responded, “Well, it’s kind of scary. But the noises it makes are less terrifying than I thought they’d be; I thought it would sound more like a jackhammer. Let’s do it.”
He raised his eyebrows at me and said, “You’ll be the first to have a go with it. Other models have been curious about it, but everyone’s been too afraid of it to actually use it.”
Leave it to me to take the machine’s virginity and give it my robot love virginity in exchange.
To warm myself up for the machine, I did a bit of a strip tease with the video camera trained on me, unzipped my dress (hey, I’m a class act, what can I say?), sat down in a comfy chair and began to play with my pussy. I dipped my fingers in my mouth and then smeared the wetness on my freshly shaved labia. By this time I was distracted by the task at hand, so I forgot about being careful with my lipstick and probably fucked it all up, but who cares — I was getting ready to make sweet robot love. I lingered with my fingers pulling at my labia, mixing spit and cunt juices together, rubbing my clit into the awakened state that always makes my piercing jut at an odd angle. I reached beside my chair for my trusty lube and toys and started to use the mini slimline all over my vulva; its hard plastic occasionally chattering over my piercing. I felt my labia plump up and the area just above my pubic bone swell. I pressed down on it and slid the vibe inside me at an angle so that I’d touch my g-spot while also bearing down on it from above. Good, cross-eyed stuff. While keeping the vibe in place with one hand, I reached for my lumina wand with the other. I was ready for some harder g-spot banging. Chatter chatter chatter was the sound of the moment as the slimline collided with my piercing and the lumina wand, and sometimes both at once. I felt my juices start to drip out of me and expand down the insides of my thighs — I was ready for robot love. I tapered off with the vibrator and announced, “I’m ready for it.”
We shuffled things around a bit and tried to figure out the optimal position for machine fuckery. Since the floor was looking none too comfy for laying or kneeling on, we decided that it would be best if I stood over the machine, with it poking me from below. I had to take my fabulous stilettos off for this portion of the evening’s program so that I could balance better. I lubed up my dildo and inserted it before turning the machine on, and then slowly twisted the knob. With a click and a grind, the machine sprung to life, and on its first upward thrust popped out of my pussy. This much I can say — though the machine repetitively thrusts in the exact same way, it is still no easier to keep the cock-pussy connection going than it is with a real live cock. Or maybe I just need more machine-fucking practice.
After getting the hang of the machine for a while, we decided that I should turn around and angle the thing so that I would be getting fucked from behind, though still standing up. We put a stool in front of me for leaning against, and this position worked much better, partly due to the fact that I was no long looking directly at the machine and being fascinated by the hump mechanism (yes, that’s a technical term). I could concentrate more on the solid fucking the thing was administering once I was propped up on my elbows and pointing my ass at machine (and camera). I dropped my left hand down onto my clit and realized that my pussy was a sopping mess (in a good way).
I closed my eyes, listened to the steady hum of the machine behind me, and went to town on my clit. That dildo isn’t my favorite for nothing — its smooth swells rubbed my g-spot in just the right way, and the wide base stretched my cunt wide for a spilt second as the machine penetrated me to the hilt. Though at first I had been too concerned with the mechanics of the operation (and I’ll admit, a little self-conscious about being on camera) to think that I’d be able to make an orgasm happen, it was becoming a reality. I felt myself slip into my head and body a bit more, and I looked down to see my legs violently shaking.
The gears inside the suitcase groaned against my pulsing cunt muscles. It made a bit of a cranking noise and I wondered for a second if my orgasm was going to push the cock out (it didn’t), but then I got lost in the feeling of coming. With a soft sigh, my body began to go slack, and I slowed the machine to a stop. I disengaged, still shaking and a little flushed. The photographer watched me shaking subtly before him for a second, and then asked, “So, how was it?”
“It was… good. Interesting. I was able to get into it more when I wasn’t looking at the shiny metal of the machine.”
So, it wasn’t the most fearsome orgasm ever, and I didn’t go totally nuts about the machine, but I think given some practice and a different position (how about not standing up), my robot love skills could increase exponentially. Now there’s a useful life skill to have.
Purely Symbolic Censorship
Thursday, June 9th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
This detail from the Japanese manga The Red Flower That Blooms Wetly has got to be the single most gratuitously pointless example of symbolic censorship ever seen. I guess the narrow diagonal white line “conceals” the very tip of the cartoon clitoris, but the rest of the image is so revealing it’s very hard to see what the concealment accomplishes. A bizarre artifact of the Japanese legal system, we must presume:
Image via J-List.
Almost Ready For Dick Again
Thursday, June 2nd, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
It’s good to know that I wasn’t going crazy with R, but it’s still scary that I came so close to doing something totally stupid because of teenage lust.
I’m doing a little better, I even looked for some good cock shots, but didn’t find much yet. I did find some penises I’d like to suck….but the web site says no unapproved use of their pictures. :( Use your imagination until you get to the site to see these candy penises and penis macaronis. I don’t know if I’d like the Dicklick’s gum or the Lollicocks better….but then I found the page of chocolate penises! For those of you more interested in the female form, you can choose from stuff like titaroni, pussy pops, and boob cookies. Yum!
The End Of The R Story
Wednesday, June 1st, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
After being away for a while, I finally got it through my stupid head that I won’t have something better to say here until I finish the R story. It wasn’t easy to do, and it isn’t very pretty, but here it is, behind the “more” link. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, the third part of the story includes links to the first two parts.
R and I spent Christmas on a skiing trip that was awesome and horrible. I liked learning how to ski, and even made it down the hill once or twice without falling on my ass. The mountains were beautiful, and while we were in public R was his attentive, charming self. He told me to pack for a sexy cold trip…..I thought he meant the cold would be outside. But it was inside too. He told me we’d be together…..except that he never slept with me. In his house, in all the hotels we stayed in, R never stayed with me in bed all night. At first, at his house, I thought it was to give me some privacy, but since he constantly walked into the room I used without knocking whenever he wanted, I don’t think it was for that. At the hotels, we stayed in the same room, but always in seperate beds. But I’m getting ahead of things already.
That first night, at R’s house, was very different from our fun at Thanksgiving. He was formal, like he was trying to decide if he should hire me for a job or something. R welcomed me warmly, but it didn’t seem very sincere, more like it was what he had been taught to do and say to a woman that would be staying with him. He didn’t seem to like it if I touched him first, I found out quickly. After dinner, which was focused mostly on eating and small talk about family and high school friends, he said that he was tired from working so much and that the next night he’d give me a proper welcome. I offered to rub his back, the way I used to, but he said no, and said I should probably sleep too as jetlag would catch up with me and make learning to ski in the mountains harder. He walked me to the room where I’d put my bags, which I thought was his bedroom, barely kissed me, said goodnight and walked down the hall to his room.
I wasn’t expecting a romantic candle light bath, or rose petals all over the bed, but after the hot sex we had at Thanksgiving, this was a real shock. He wasn’t even going to sleep with me! One of the things I hate about being single is not having a nice-smelling man to snuggle with. Here I was with a guy that used to make my knees weak, I thought I did the same to him, and he barely touched me all evening! I went to bed thinking What the fuck?!
The first time we had sex was the second day of the ski trip, up until then it was one lame-ass excuse after another. R was skiing with me down one of the bigger beginner runs, and when I fell for the jillionth time, he started laughing at me. He was close enough that I pulled him over too, and he fell on top of me. We were both laughing, then the next thing I knew he was kissing me, hard. A small clump of pine trees was close by, and he rolled us over into it, laughing and kissing me the whole time. There wasn’t much to hide behind, but there weren’t many other skiers. I undid my entire front down to the sexy thermal top I bought specially for the trip, but he stayed mostly dressed, just undoing enough to release his very hard, very hot cock and plow it into me. I don’t know and don’t care if anybody saw us, I was so glad to finally be getting fucked that I didn’t even think about it. Fast and furious and hot and cold…..I didn’t come, but it was still damn good.
That night at dinner R started to explain what he meant when he said he didn’t know if he could show me how he is now. The way he said it, I thought he was into rough sex, and since that’s not something I’ve done a lot of except fantasize about, I told him that I thought we could work up to some things. After I said that he relaxed, and was very sweet and more like the highschool boy I’d fallen for.
Remember, I didn’t tell R that I contribute to a sex blog. So as far as he knew, I was just some normal chick that was willing to try some kinky new things. Some were fun and really got me going, like these vibrating nipple clamps. Most of the time it seemed like he didn’t care if I would like something, and didn’t bother to even think about that. R didn’t seem to understand the need for lube with some toys, or going slow, so it ended up sometimes that his stuff hurt, it wasn’t sexy, and when we did have sex, it was like, just get it over with so I can go to sleep.
On our last night, after a very fun day just hanging out together, he decided to do a twat test. I needed to keep whatever he put in my pussy totally inside it, or he’d punish me however he wanted. The idea was he’d keep trying smaller things, but the first thing he put in me was so small and smooth that even clenching my tightest, it peeked out. I tried to tell R that it would be a good start for a teenage virgin, but not someone like me, but I got spanked for my “sauciness.” We both ended up frustrated and mad because his game wasn’t working. He said he was going to tie me up, and when I asked about a safe word, he said that he’d be able to tell if he was pushing me too hard and that stuff like that was for chickens. My questions made him madder, and he finally yelled that no slave of his was going to get away with talking to him like that.
That pushed me over the edge, because I never said I’d be his slave, and he never asked. I went to the room I was staying in, and R came after me, telling me that I was his for the entire trip and I’d better start behaving properly if I didn’t want to get seriously punished for my insolence. I didn’t want to do it, but I was so mad and so frustrated by his impossible demands and not having much sex that I started crying. R had been so sweet and affectionate whenever we were out in public anywhere, but when it was just the two of us alone all that vanished. I tried to tell R that if he had shown me just a little of that sweetness in his house, I’d probably be licking his shoes that very minute, but with his Jeckyll-Hyde thing going I didn’t know what to think, and I didn’t trust him to tie me up. He said he did care for me, and he knew that I just needed some good discipline to see that, and that after he gave it, I’d know I could trust him. I told him I didn’t work that way, I had to trust before ropes or cuffs came anywhere near me, and if he wasn’t okay with that then this was it. R didn’t seem to get anything I was saying, he didn’t seem to even understand the difference I saw in him going from public to private, so, since I was almost all packed anyway I grabbed my stuff and left. I told him not to bother calling me or returning my other stuff, and walked out.
He didn’t call or anything, until April. He had a business trip, he said, that required that the men have female companions with them. He told me I’d be perfect for the trip, that I’d love it, that he’d let me set the rules this time, if only I’d agree to go on the trip with him. He was so sweet and so persuasive that I almost said yes……but then I remembered how it was over the holidays, and how confused and awful I felt for alot of the time. I also started wondering exactly what this “business trip” was, and wondering if he had some kind of kinky thing worked out. So I said no, told him not to call me anymore, and hung up.
But his call made me start thinking about all we had done…..Thanksgiving, which was totally hot and fun…..Christmas and New Years’, which had some fun stuff but mostly was wierd and scary to me. Did I do something wrong to make it all so bad? Maybe I am more of a prude than I think…….but I don’t really think so. And now I don’t know if I’ll find someone else to try with….if I can trust a guy again. I don’t like being like that.
Time for some words
Saturday, May 28th, 2005 -- by Dionysus
I’d intended to write in this space, but time and tide, as they say. I’ve done nothing but post pictures.
Thus, words.
This could be a true story.
We meet at a party.
We’re not supposed to know each other, but we do. Know each other’s words, minds, souls. Yet we’ve never met.
Drink in my hand, I pretend to ignore her as I chat up some lovely ladies who are intent upon being mine for the evening. She’s nervous never at ease in crowds. I know her eyes are on me, but I do not turn to look. Music plays. I fetch drinks for my erstwhile dates. Lush women, to my taste, normally, but there’s only one woman in the room tonight.
I circulate away from her, but I know where she is. I wait.
I catch her when she goes down the hall to use the bathroom; timing it, I am there behind her just as the door opens, and then in a rush I have her in my arms, and am shutting the door behind us. I turn out the light, and we’re lit only softly, moonlight through a high window.
First kiss. She knows it’s me. Knows my touch before ever a hand is laid on her. I take her mouth, roughly. We speak no words. It’s not time for talk, that’s yesterday. That’s tomorrow.
I guide her down; she’s told me this story, written a script, and for now, that’s how I play it. She’s on her knees, and her hands free my cock, and her mouth takes me. I hold her head, fuck into her mouth. I gag her, make her choke. Later, I’ll touch her gently, but now, we need it to hurt.
She wants my come. She won’t get it yet. I stop her, and she squeals in frustration. I put my cock away, and make her stand.
“Fix your makeup,” I say, and tell her to do whatever else she’s in here for. She does, and I watch her, the lights back on. Her face is flushed, red. Her lipstick is smeared, her lips invitingly puffy. I almost take her again, from behind this time. But not yet; I open the door, distract two people in line while she slips out behind me.
I catch her by the elbow and steer her toward the stairs. There’s a guest room. The door has a lock. I sweep coats and purses off the bed, lock the door behind us. She protests – someone might come looking. I don’t care. I push her down on the bed, rip a filmy thong from her and put it in my pocket as she gasps.
I put a finger in her; she’s incredibly wet, and incredibly tight. It’s going to hurt her when I take her, And I’m looking forward to that. I hold her down, and kiss her, and rub my cock against her slick wetness. Then I’m forcing myself inside, holding her face with one hand, making her look at me so I can see her pain.
God, she’s tight. I can feel her body fighting to keep me out. I fight harder, then kiss her to contain the scream. I thrust in, each stroke deeper, making her fit me, making her yield to me. She screams into my mouth, and kisses, and screams.
I want to take time. I want to make her come. But it’s too much. I give in to her, abandon restraint, and stab her with my cock. My scream meets hers and I come, and keep thrusting, my fingers on her clit, my cock only half hard but still inside.
“Come for me, you little whore,” I whisper, and she’s howling, screaming, her pussy clenching on me. Anyone outside would think murder is being done, and I fantasize the whole house knows how I’ve just taken her. Her screams turn to sobs, and her body shakes, and she begins to whisper that she loves me.
We’ve only started. She thinks I’m going to let her go. I’m not.
DionysusBlog@gmail.com
Girl…Where?
Monday, May 16th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Fun thing from Japan, via J-List: Girl In A Cup. Also called an “Onanie Hole”. Quoth the vendor: “This can best be described as Pussy in a Cup.”
Oral Sex Is Standard Equipment
Thursday, May 12th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Throughout my adult life, I’ve noticed that a standard question for sex advice columnists is the “my partner won’t orally pleasure me, what should I do?” question. And for years and years, I’ve been seeing the same sets of tired suggestions for cajoling him/her into it, leavened with the occasional “learn to do without if you really love them” advice.
Leave it to Dan Savage to put all the cards on the table and acknowledge that the head train has left the station. It’s a new century, folks, and standards are higher. The old hangups just won’t fly. Sez Dan, in a pair of word-for-word identical responses:
|
I’m a 24-year-old male and I lost my virginity to my girlfriend last year. She is three years younger than I am, but I am the 10th man that she has fucked. This is not a problem with me as I am not a jealous guy. What bothers me is that she is unwilling to perform oral sex on me. I enjoy giving oral to her. I am really in love with her and could see myself marrying her but I need to be assured that I will get a blowjob at some point in my life. She says she doesn’t like the taste of semen, which makes me just the slightest bit jealous because that means she has done this for other men but won’t do it for me, a man whom she is ostensibly considering marrying.
Been Lost Oral Woman |
I am a GGG girlfriend, and I’m up for pretty much anything my boyfriend wants to do. I also love giving head, and he loves receiving it. But he will not reciprocate. We talked about it, and he said he just doesn’t eat pussy. This really bothers me, but should I just deal with it if I like him, or is it a dump-worthy problem?
Wanting More |
| Dump her, BLOW. Sucking cock can no longer be regarded as some sort of above-and-beyond-the-call indulgence. Blowjobs are standard. Any make or model that doesn’t come with blowjobs should be immediately returned to the showroom. | Dump him, WM. Eating pussy can no longer be regarded as some sort of above-and-beyond-the-call indulgence. Cunnilingus is standard. Any make or model that doesn’t come with cunnilingus should be immediately returned to the showroom. |
About time somebody said it.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Another Pussy Speaks
Friday, March 4th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
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
Friday, February 18th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
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! :)
Evil Science Chick Comes Through!
Thursday, February 17th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Woot! Bacchus caught ESC promising a post on backdoor lovin’, politely calls her on it, and the Chick comes through! And wow, does she come through, even though her mom is staying at her place this week (she blogs from work, natch). A small sampling:
What IS it with guys and anal, anyway? Is it a “no hole left behind” policy I am unaware of? Is it the forbidden nature of it all? What? Are the other holes just not as fun anymore? Boredom setting in…”oh…not pussy again!”
And further along:
All this requires intense concentration…concentration that is NOT helped by the person who is causing all this stress asking things like “you ok? does it feel good, baby? tell me it feels good!”
Whole, fab post here. Well worth reading. Thanks again, Evil Science Chick!
Get On The Rollertrain
Sunday, February 13th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
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!
We Have the Nicest Friends
Thursday, January 6th, 2005 -- by Aphrodite
Expanding again on a post by my esteemed colleague…but we do have the nicest friends. In addition to those Bacchus mentioned in his post yesterday, and those who decloaked in the comments (DTG at PussyTalk, smooches and thanks for nominating ErosBlog as a best “big-name” blog, whatever that is), others share the loveliest stuff with us. A nice example follows; I found it yesterday when I checked my email from here for the first time since returning home:
She calls it a “Sugar Plum fairy” ensemble, but I see it as a beautiful snow or winter queen creation…..and although I understand why she did it, it’s too bad our thoughtful Stockings Diva of Corset Dreams and Lingerie Dreams didn’t provide a full shot of her obviously pretty face. Thanks in part to her, I’ve resolved to get back into better shape, even though I’ve nobody to show it off to right now….I want to wear sensuous stuff like this and look hot in it for myself! Perhaps I’ll return the photo favor some day, too. :)
Sex Toy For Men
Thursday, December 16th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Here’s something you don’t see every day: an animated .gif of a fellow making rather vigorous use of one of those plastic male masturbation aids (aka “pocket pussy”). It’s rather eye-catching.
News and Tease
Thursday, December 9th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
It took longer to iron out than I thought, but here’s the good news I mentioned yesterday–R and I are going on holiday together over Christmas. He’s being a bit mysterious about the details, but I’m flying out to meet up with him, then we’re going…somewhere. He won’t tell me where!! I’m excited and dying of curiosity. Now that it’s a done deal, I really have to get my ass in gear on work so that I don’t have to work while we’re…wherever. I’ll try to pop in as I’m able, and while we’re together.
Now for the tease….I’ve been following the adventures of Dirty Talkin Girl at Pussy Talk, and have become hooked. I really enjoy her posts in the Rodin series — the link goes to the most recent entry, from which you can click to each of the previous ones. Hot, hot stuff.
And the conclusion of the series is supposed to be published tomorrow. I’m wet with anticipation! :D
Penises on the Mind, and in the Tree?
Wednesday, December 8th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Having some steamy sex over Thanksgiving was great for me, but now I think I miss having a man around even more than ever. Not just for the sex, but mostly for the simple pleasures that I’d forgotten about. Cat over at Pussy Tales knows what I mean. She pegged one of my favorite things in her post he smells like yum:
and I know I’m not making ANY sense here but…that smell can be any smell of him…like shampoo or deodorant or after-shave or just that natural body smell…hmmm…that’s my favourite…that natural smell of a man…when he’s been working a bit too hard…or when he’s taken a long hot shower and his skin is fresh and tastes just like honey…he’s warm and tender and tastes SO yummy…
Girl, you are making loads of sense to me! Hooboy, do I ever miss the smell of a man! Sometimes I think they can be as bad as women about trying to cover their smells, although they do have less to obsess about, I guess.
While reading some news this morning, I came across another testament to people’s fascination with penises going way back. It’s a penis tree, although that’s really hard to see in this scaled-down picture:
The caption under the image (a Reuters image I found at Yahoo News) reads as follows:
An undated handout photograph shows the Massa Marittima mural in the Italian town Massa Marittima. At first glance the mural looks fairly similar to dozens of other medieval frescoes dotted across Tuscany, but a closer look at the spidery tree which dominates the centre of the painting shows its branches are covered in penises. Until now, it was assumed the phallus tree was a fertility symbol but according to a British-based expert, it is a actually a unique piece of political propaganda, commissioned by one Tuscan faction to sully the reputation of another.
The link will take you to a slightly larger version of the image…not large enough to see anything in sufficient detail, alas.
Hope all this makes up for my absence lately….trying to get ahead on some work, for reasons which I might be able to announce to y’all later today. :)
Electric Spice?
Thursday, November 25th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Earlier this year, I posted this post and this other post linking to sites covering the alleged joys of figging and electrical stimulation, respectively. Little did I imagine that somewhere out there, people were combining the two.
Pause to imagine that for a moment. Then unclench your wabbly bits, and read on!
Sure enough. In the comments to this post at Spanking Blog, one “mrstimm” writes:
There is another slick way to do it: there’s a company here in England which makes essential essence oils (including ginger and hot chili) which can be inserted in the anus or rubbed on a freshly thrashed bottom. And if you are exceptionally wicked and into electrosex as well you can coat the stainless steel electrode with the oil, insert that in the anus, turn the power on, and cane the subbie whilst restrained.
…
I have to say the figging oils are so much more convenient when you want to combine either buttplugs or electrosex probes with spanking/caning or severe judicial punishments which I prefer. Ten times more effective.
I say, old chap, that’s just not nice!
Cock O’lada and Hello Pussy!
Tuesday, November 16th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
First, a friendly Erosblog public service announcement for those who might have missed it. Rori, formerly of One Girl’s Life, has changed her blog home to Tuckle Rori. Hope you’re feeling better soon, sweetie! (And could we persuade you to share an explanation of what “tuckle” means? :) )
In catching up with her, I discovered another item that was instantly put on my “I want it!” list: Cock O’lada.
What is Cock O’lada? I’m not sure, really. The web site for the product is in German, which I cannot read. But check out this picture:
I agree with Rori, that swigging on this while cruising down the highway would be lots of fun. Or pulling it out of my backpack while hiking or biking, and taking a good long pull on it while others gape.
The Cock O’lada web site says that it’s “TropicErotic” flavored–fruit punch. Does “ohne” mean it does or doesn’t have alcohol?
If that doesn’t sound good, you can get other flavors; they come in different-colored cocktubes:
Or maybe those contain substances other than drinks…what would flavors called “Dark Glide” and “Hello Pussy” taste like?? Translation of the page into English (the link says their English page is “coming soon!”), anyone?
It’s True for Some Girls, Too
Monday, November 8th, 2004 -- by Aphrodite
Last night I had one of those feels-real dreams that I wish had been real…I was at a real hot bar, people hooking up all around me, and me just aching for some action of my own…then a muscular guy came over and went all dom on me, telling me he wanted me and wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Then he grabbed my hand and pulled (not too hard, because I wasn’t all that unwilling) me over to a table that was on the edge of the dance floor, where we could be seen and the lights played over us too. After some spanking that got me good and wet, he tied my hands together above my head, flipped me over, and slit my dress right up the middle, displaying me for anyone to see. Even though I was embarassed, it was arousing to see people watching…and enjoying the show…and I was so excited that when he began to pinch my nipples, I came. That led to lots of punishment, including him selling “pussy pokes”–fingers or tongues, $1, because I was “such an easy slut”. As soon as I’d start to get seriously worked up, he’d tell the person to stop, and laugh at me as I begged for more. Finally he unzipped and out came the hugest cock I’ve ever seen, and he plowed into me, just straight in all the way, which sent me over the edge. He pumped me hard until he came too…at which point I woke up, soaking wet and throbbing from coming in my sleep.
So that must mean that I’m living proof that some girls’ brains are a counterpart to the male brain shown here:
Don’t remember where I spotted this one.
Hardcore Porn On Fox News
Thursday, July 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
There’s a certain irony to this, given the way Fox commentators tend to froth away about porn. Notice the balls and cock entering a pussy there in the middle of the screen, under the text that says “slut chat”?
But what’s really funny is, the producers blurred out her left nipple.
Setting Phone Sex Expections
Wednesday, June 23rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Diablo from Pussy Ranch has been doing working the phone sex lines lately, and she offers trenchant advice:
Note to callers: If you’re sharing an elaborate gay buttfuck fantasy with me, don’t randomly interject “Oh, and while the one guy is fucking me up the ass, I want Jennifer Love Hewitt to suck my dick.” I will bust a gut laughing, so don’t act all wounded about it.
And some etiquette as well, complete with grammar tips:
In an awkward attempt to transition to the action-packed phase of our interaction, I will say, “So, what do you like to do for fun?”
You always — always! — reply, “You.”
Excuse me while I heave with laughter. I’ve never heard anything quite so clever! Except, you know, the last four guys said the exact same thing.
Variations on this reply include “Green-eyed blondes,” “Hot chicks,” or, my personal favorite, “Watch girls suck my cock.”
Allow me to explain something: When I asked you what you like to do, I was using the implied imperfective tense of the verb. As in, “What do you like to do, as an ongoing thing, meaning something you have actually done.” I didn’t say “What would you like to do?” I didn’t say, “In a perfect world, where you look like Heath Ledger and don’t live with your mother, what might you enjoy doing?
Electric Sex
Tuesday, June 22nd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
If you look at very much internet porn, you cannot possibly have avoided stumbling across an electro-sex site like Wired Pussy. If you ever wondered what e-stim was all about, Dan Savage explains it all. Since it’s Dan, dicks are involved. However, I am reliably informed they don’t have to be. For the ladies, electrically charged huge gleaming steel dildos are not unheard of:
Thanks to Matisse for the link.
National Penis Month Continues
Saturday, June 12th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
As the letters flow in, it becomes increasingly clear that I have for too long allowed my own fascination with the female form to obscure the longstanding ErosBlog editorial policy of inclusiveness. A subset of my male “readers” have apparently come to expect the nekkid wimmin and nothing but the nekkid wimmin. Some of the efforts to distract me from the parade of penii (note to commenters of a pedantic bent: the use of bogus latinate pluralii for humorous effect has a long and venerable pedigree) have now descended to the level of attempted bribery, as witnessed by this email I just got:
Dude.. enough with the penises,,,,heres a pic of my girlfriend taken last nite with a verizon phone
The pic itself is a grainy-but-attractive close-up of a bare pussy, and I ain’t talkin’ feline here. Nice try! But (even leaving aside the unresolved question about whether my comma-loving friend saw fit to tell his girlfriend about his public generosity with her pubic lips, and notwithstanding the fact that Verizon must die, this is National Penis Month, and I shall not be distracted until the crusade of rectification is at an end. There’s supposed to be something for everyone here at ErosBlog, and it would appear that I’ve been neglecting pictures of penises for too long.
Don’t worry, boys, this too shall pass. But meanwhile, a ghost penis spotted at Wisarts and sent in by an enthusiastic and supportive female friend:
Pussy Power
Thursday, April 15th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Violet Blue reveals the martial arts secrets of the sex shop ninja-babe:
To make a highly specialized weapon out of a pocket pussy is a simple feat. But it is a deadly and sure weapon, the weapon of choice for evildoers and one-woman army-types — so you must take care that it doesn’t fall into your opponent’s hands. Remarkably devastating and packed with tacky flair, a blue cyberskin anus or lavender molded softskin pussy harnesses the powers of painful cuffing unlike the world has never seen. Plus, they’re handy and portable. And guys like to fuck them. Should anyone displease you, or try to make you ring up customers while on the clock, grasp the pocket pussy firmly by the base — away from the end you would stick your cock into, if you have one. The fucking end is the dangerous end, the weighty striking end, and you should handle the puckers and folds as if they were made of sensitive and explosive nitroglycerin. With a small degree of skill, grip the soft end and begin to swing the heavy Smurf-orifice in a circle — any technique is fine; overhand, underhand, or wildly over your head like a helicopter. If you have a battle cry, this is a fine time to use it. Advance upon your enemy, brandishing the wild swing of your now-lethal pocket pussy, inching closer to deliver stunning blows. Caution: pay special attention to the swing of your deadly pussy, as it requires slight athletic ability, and you do not want your secret weapon to accidentally take you out with a blow of painfully dense fake pussy or ass to the head.
Ouchies!
Kermit Shaves Pussy
Wednesday, March 24th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
That nasty little amphibian is at it again:
No wonder Miss Piggy always seems so jealous!
“Honest, Officer, It Was Marital Advice I Read On A Blog”
Saturday, March 20th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
From time to time I can’t help revisiting Why Your Wife Won’t Have Sex With You (although I do it in the same spirit as a man goes to the racetrack to watch a demolition derby). The prevailing view over at Why Your Wife on this too-frequent lament of the modern American husband tends toward the “try acting more like a woman and she might … just might, so don’t get your hopes up … decide to have sex with you again someday” variety.
Like the flying squirrel said, “Aw, Bullwinkle, that trick never works.”
On the other hand, there’s a comment over in a “Sex And Marriage” post by Quiver. Quiver gives some potentially useful advice to a man in those unhappy sexless straits, only to have a commenter share a rather more robust strategy:
“If all else fails (or if you prefer, before trying anything else) put her over your knee and with one arm firmly around her waist to hold her in place, yank her knickers down and spank her bare bottom very hard until she howls. Then spank her vigorously again until she begs at the top of her voice to be allowed to spread her legs and offers her pussy (which will probably be glistening wet by now). Then allow her to service your cock in whichever way you please. A woman who has just been spanked often sucks exquisitely well, and on her knees doing it she can look deliciously beautiful, so that may be a good starting place.”
Kids, don’t try this at home. Enormous downside potential if it doesn’t work — complete with sirens and handcuffs and a well-deserved orange jumpsuit.
“Two Huge Boxes of Pussy”
Friday, March 19th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Word comes that able porn publicist Carly has lined up the intrepid Cly Maxwell to conduct The Great American Rubber Pussy Challenge. Cly says:
I’m on a quest to become the world’s leading authority on latex pussy. Caesar, Alexander and Napoleon wanted to rule the known world; I want to fuck rubber pussies. My mother must be proud.
And then he begins to write about the results of his product testing. First up: the “Tiffany Mynx Realistic Pussy And Ass”.
“And On The Table, A Jug of Punch”
Tuesday, March 9th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Diablo Cody from Pussy Ranch writes:
“Yesterday, a man paid me to punch him repeatedly in the stomach for ten straight minutes. He explained that an incident during his childhood had spawned the fetish, and told me to punch him as hard as I could. So I did. I’ve never slugged anyone before, and I must admit it felt good.”
There are more things under the sun, Horatio….
The Dangers Of Cold
Monday, March 8th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
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
Saturday, February 28th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
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.
Extreme Porn Warning
Thursday, February 5th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
OK. This link gets a disclaimer, because it’s way more explicit than I’m in the habit of posting. I mean, like, WAY more. But it’s so unusual, I cannot resist. Proceed at your own risk.
What we got here is a gallery of very close-up shots of a… what’s the non-judgmental word I’m searching for? Ah. Capacious. Yes, this link [now broken and gone, sorry] ought to lead you to pictures of a wide open and very (VERY!) capacious pussy.
Let’s see if those FleshBot weenies have the cojones to pick up this link! (Just kidding, Jonno!)
Gentle reminder to commenters: Be nice. Or keep it to yourself.
Cartoon Beauties
Sunday, February 1st, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Time to start February off right with a friendly Japanese CG image. I’m not one to use crude slang a lot, but I must confess that a phrase including the word “munching” inescapably interjects itself into my internal speech centers while viewing this image.
Thanks to Bondage Blog for finding the link.
Sniff Your Fingers…And Grin
Saturday, January 3rd, 2004 -- by Bacchus
On a message board I’m not going to link to because of the sheer weight of dumbassed adolescent misogyny over there, some troll posted the following query:
After you finger a girl what do you do to get the smell off your fingers?
Soap and water doesnt usually work….
I dont like shaking ppls hands knowing my hand smells like tuna lol.
Any suggestions?
Most responses were even stupider than the question. However, one grownup posted an answer that really made me grin:
Find a woman whose pussy you love, and you’ll never want to be without her scent on you… ever. Nothing like sniffing your fingers 3 hours after sex and reliving it all over again.
“If you don’t love pussy THIS MUCH you are not big enough to get on this ride.”
Constipation At The Muzzle Of An Airbrush
Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
I’m a pop culture illiterate, so it doesn’t surprise me that I’ve never heard of Michelle Branch or her music. That notwithstanding, Diablo from Pussy Ranch made me howl with laughter when she wrote:
This month’s Maxim cover features a half-naked Michelle Branch shielding her tender young breasts from a Photoshopped pillar of leaping flames. “Barbecutie!” the cover cleverly blares. I’ll bet earnest little Michelle Branch never thought she’d be likened to a McRib on the cover of a lad mag. She can strum a D chord, after all! She’s better than this, ostensibly! She wrote the theme song to Sorority Life, not that I pay attention to such things!
…
However, either Michelle’s asscrack has been airbrushed into nonexistence by Maxim’s art department, or she is, in fact, lacking a cleft between her buttocks. If the latter scenario is true, then we can assume that Michelle Branch cannot pass solid waste. That’s sad. Imagine you’re in the studio, recording your latest opus, and those knob-twiddlers from Maverick are pestering you. And all you can think is: I need to crap so bad. I wish I hadn’t loaned my colostomy bag to Madonna.I suppose it’s that kind of urgency that creates truly exquisite, D chord-driven albums.
Hands On (In?) Sex Education
Sunday, December 28th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Tristan Taormino writes of a class she gave at a swinger convention in the Big Easy:
The transforming moment for me came in my class on G-spot stimulation and female ejaculation when over a hundred people crammed themselves into a small room to hear me talk. I took advantage of the venue and offered a hands-on section at the end of the class. The next thing I knew, women were dropping their drawers, lube was being passed around, and I was moving from one pussy to the next. One woman in her sixties confessed that orgasms eluded her most of the time. When I got done with her, she was coming like a banshee, and her husband was taking notes on my technique. I located the G-spots of more than two dozen women, and made sure to show their partners how to find them.
Nothing like getting right to heart of the matter!
Doctor, I Have This Friend….
Thursday, December 18th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
A couple of days ago I got a request for help. Someone was trying without success to find the link to this cute kitty cat in my archives. But the thing that made me giggle was the disclaimer that came with the request: “I swear it’s not about some personal kink of mine!”
Congratulations Are In Order
Wednesday, December 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Diablo from Pussy Ranch is getting married! “Diablo and Jonny, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then two little babies in a baby carriage….”
Here’s how it went down, since I know you ladies need the details about this sort of thing. And besides, it’s pretty cool:
On Friday, Jonny presented me with a saucy new ensemble from Wet Seal (the man has some seriously excellent taste) and told me I should wear it for a “surprise date” on Saturday. But of course! I adore surprises.
So I donned the beaded top, miniskirt and pink fishnet tights on Saturday evening (Jonny wore an extremely hot new outfit as well) and we headed out. It turned out he had made reservations at our favorite sushi restaurant. We ordered cocktails and nigiri and commenced a fabulous meal. After finishing, we decided we were still hungry and ordered a second round of sushi.
So you can imagine my shock when the waitress arrived with a tray not bearing spicy tuna rolls, but a white ring box. “Here’s your special roll,” she said, barely able to contain her glee. Jonny dropped to his knee as I began bawling my fool eyes out in front of many gawking diners, and popped the question.
I had a surprise planned too: See, we’d been talking about getting engaged a lot recently, and I had a hunch a proposal was forthcoming. So several days earlier (as it turns out, the exact day Jonny had purchased the ring), I had secretly had the word “yes” tattooed on the inside of my wrist. I’d hidden it with an AC/DC wristband and hoped my surprise wouldn’t be blown.
And it wasn’t; I whipped off the wristband and flashed Jonny my wrist. “Yes!” Onlookers applauded, and my feet haven’t touched the ground since.
I wanted my answer to last forever, and now it will. (In fact, it’s healing nicely.)
Congratulations to the both of ya!
Box of Joy
Monday, November 24th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s another of those strange images that haunt my hard drive:
Puzzling as this picture is, it gets real odd if you think too hard about it. Why, for instance, does the box appear to be insulated / soundproofed?
Ancient Wax Anatomical Model (Female)
Thursday, November 6th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s an amusing item that’s supposed to be a ca. 17th-century “impressing rare and antique wax anatomical model representing the external feminine genital organ.”
Thanks to Boing Boing for the link.
The Valley Of Gustatory And Olfactory Delights
Tuesday, October 21st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
There has been talk here before about the excellent tastes and smells of a woman. Although some women worry (needlessly) about how they taste and smell, thankfully others know better:
And for that matter, I’m not pleased with men who do not enjoy my taste. I know what I taste like, and I taste good, clean and crisp and sexy. I am unimpressed by a man who does not enjoy my taste. And really there is no faking it. If you are only willing to touch my pussy with the tip of your tongue I notice and am immediately turned off. There is more to my pussy than my clit for your tongue and my vagina for your cock. And actually while we’re at it the whole nether region is an erogenous zone feel free to explore. I suspect it’s no different for men, but I know that it is not enough for one to have technique; I want to think you are enjoying licking my pussy too. Nothing turns me on more than when a man sticks two or three fingers in my drenched pussy and then sucks the juices off.
Thus spake the Vanilla Sex Goddess.
99 And 44/100ths Percent Soap Free
Friday, October 17th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
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 & 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 & 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.
All Laced Up And Tied With A Bow
Thursday, October 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Once you’ve got all those rings, what’s a person supposed to do with them? Well, if you’re a woman, there’s only one possible answer. Decorate!
And very decorative it is, too.
*GASP*
Tuesday, August 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Oh my. Oh, my.
It’s not very often that seeing a photograph makes me catch my breath (literally, audibly, painfully). This photo did that to me.
Thanks to Spanking Blog for linking to the very talented photographer who took that picture.
Soon To Be a Daddy
Tuesday, August 12th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
First of all, a disclaimer: I am not a safe sex nazi, and this is not a safe sex blog. The web is awash with info on ways to avoid STDs and pregnancy, and although such info is useful and necessary, it’s often not terribly arousing, so I do my readers the courtesy of assuming they already know what they need to know. At least, that is, until my nose is rubbed in the fact that sometimes, they don’t.
Rambling aside: Back when I linked with affirmation to Red-Headed Slut’s positive comments about Johnson’s Baby Oil gel, I got numerous emails from folks who were eager to be sure that I know that mineral oil destroys latex. Some of these were low-key “just want to be sure you know” sorts of emails, but several were high-energy strident “oh-my-god-I-can’t-believe-you-didn’t-warn-everyone” type emails. I found this puzzling, even a bit patronizing, considering that
(a) I knew this;
(b) I assume that most of my readers know it;
(c) I have never undertaken to be the safe sex education for those readers who don’t have basic safe sex information; and
(d) the effect of mineral oil on a latex condom is not terribly relevant in the context of a discussion of a lube recommendation for a hand-job where no condom was mentioned.
In short, I felt that I got spammed by knee-jerk safe sex activist warrior partisans, who have for whatever reason been conditioned to be uncomfortable hearing any mention of oil-based lube unless “destroys condoms” is uttered immediately thereafter, even if that’s not relevant to the discussion. With all due thanks and appreciation for their good and noble intentions, I don’t want to be like those people.
But just this once, I’ll take the risk.
So now, in the fifth paragraph of this post, I’ll get to the point. I got a nice email from a young man who has started a new sex blog [now defunct], and who wants a link. Now, young male voices being quite the minority in the sex blogging world, I naturally went and had a look.
It’s worth a visit. There are two honest-sounding tales so far of young sexual encounters. But (and you knew there was a “but”, didn’t you?) I was immediately struck by the first post, in which the narrator says:
“I guided her into a position so I could spoon with her, lowered her pants, and slipped myself inside. We continued for a while, and then (as a matter of anti-pregnancy) I pulled out and put on a condom.”
When read this, my inner safe sex nazi started yelling and screaming. Given the existence of precum (that droplet of clear fluid that shows up shortly after erection, which can contain sperm and is perfectly capable of making a girl pregnant) this simply is not a good way to avoid unwanted babies. The condom really needs to go on the dick before it touches the pussy; exceptions aren’t a good idea unless one wants a family.
Sorry, I just had to say that.
Way Hot!
Monday, August 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s the beginning of an absolutely sexy prose poem to be found at Black As My Soul:
I wouldn’t want to tie up your legs, necessarily…
Because I love having your thighs on my shoulders while I’m licking and sucking and using my fingers.
Maybe it would be more of a challenge while you tried to keep me away
Tried to keep me from putting my hands on your hips and taking you with my cock…
You calling me a fucker?
Maybe I’ll hold your legs together over one shoulder
Pushing your knees back toward you
Exposing your wet little pussy!
Your body betrays you?
Still holding your legs together.
You’re not getting away.
See this hard cock?
It could be yours.
Maybe I’ll just tease the outside of your wet pussy lips.
Rub your clit slowly with the head of my dick.
That’s not what you want?
Should push my hardness into you?
Just a little?
Spreading you now with my cock.
Stopping to savor the heat inside you…
Yummy!
Darling’s New Job
Thursday, August 7th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Darling at Pussy Ranch writes:
If I ever design a bra, I will call it “The Yum-Yum Holster” and it will have a charming center panel that says “Your Dick Here” in helpful embroidery.
Speaking on behalf of most of the men on the planet, this woman really needs to be a lingerie designer.
Erotic Truth
Tuesday, August 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
What is it about this summer? Seems like good new sex blogs are sprouting up all over. This one’s called Erotic Truth [since gone defunct] and it’s a multi-author blog with lots of posts, all of them quite explicit and interesting.
You know that too-common complaint women have about some guy who tried to get them to do anal sex by “accidentally” just trying to slip it in when they weren’t expecting it? Well, one of the early posts on Erotic Truth is a very graphic, very bad example:
My first time was somewhat of an accident (or so he says). Scott and I are in the shower at his older cousins house doing the nasty. Little tub, and a shower curtain hanging from the ceiling. I am bent over, ass in the air (as usual) and he is fucking me harder than a raped ape. Suddenly he pulls out and with all the fucking force one man could muster he rams it into my ass. Shower curtain flies off, I scream…tears well in my eyes…ass bleeds. I was like WHAT THE HELL were you thinking about? He looks back at me as if I am on drugs and says…what? What? you stupid fucking waste of skin….you just rammed a good sized piece of meat into my virgin asshole. He’s like”I did?” YOU COULDNT TELL? No says he…..it felt just like the other hole. Alrighty then, either my pussy is so tight it feels like an ass or my ass is loose enough to feel like a pussy. Either way, he did not earn brownie points that day. Assfuck.
A gentleman, adept navigator, and credit to his gender. Not.
Porn Shui
Sunday, August 3rd, 2003 -- by Bacchus
From Pussy Ranch, this exceedingly useful item of vocabulary:
Porn Shui: noun, refers to the art of positioning oneself in one’s office or cubicle so that one can surf porn undetected. Usage: “I have great porn shui; I face the hallway and the desk behind me is vacant.”
When I “worked” an office job, I was all about the porn shui.
Fun With Twiddly Bits
Friday, August 1st, 2003 -- by Bacchus
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 & 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*
Losing Track Of The Plot
Friday, July 25th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
When reading manga, sometimes you just have to focus on the details, and be damned to the plot:
Oh What a Weekend
Thursday, July 24th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
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.
A Pussy Kiss
Thursday, July 17th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Some people will doubtless think this is sick, repulsive, or offensive. Fortunately, it is the firm editorial policy of this sex blog not to care about that. Besides, I think it’s cute and harmless:
Similar Sex Blogging:
Mr. Kimochi And His Pussy
Wednesday, July 16th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
There’s a brand new babe blog on the block, courtesy of Mr. Kimochi. The babes so far are mostly predominantly Asian and very very hot. Here’s a sample:
Whoops! Back Up That Hay Wagon, Isiah!
Wednesday, July 9th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Whilst surfing blogrolls I found the promisingly-named blog “Pussy Ranch” engaged in the ever-popular sport of berating the wierdos who generate some of the more, um, unusual search word combos in the log files. Pussy Rancher Jon had this to say:
To our friends searching “Amish Pussy” — good fucking luck. There are NO sites out there which feature nude photos of Amish girls. Quite what’s so fascinating about some woman named Jubal-Cain splaying naked in her log cabin I don’t know, but hey — neat that it gets you off. Try branching out — maybe Baptist girls? Hell, the Mennonites are even more likely to spread ’em on the internet than the Amish, they don’t have the anti-technology thing.
Er, Jon, I hate to burst your Minneapolitan bubble, but as the lieutenant said to the emperor, that turns out not to be the case. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” To wit: not just Amish pussy, but Amish bondage porn, complete with a menacingly brandished corn-cob.
Please, no quibbling about whether these models are “really” Amish. I doubt the original searcher was unduly concerned about the spiritual purity of the Amish pussy he was seeking….
Of Course She Knew What You Were Thinking
Saturday, July 5th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Michelle from Sweetness Follows discovered the “Secret S & M Section” at the tack shop and it totally disrupted her lunch break:
Looked at the whips and bats up on the wall… okay so they were actually intended for horses, not for S & M. There was a basket full of riding crops. All different lengths and sizes, with different tips — some with big flat parts on the ends, some with a long leather whip-like cord, some with smaller flat parts (I realize I don’t have the terminology correct).
And I stood there, and thought of all the uses they could be put to.
“This one,” I thought, looking at one with the whip-like end “could be used on my tits and my nipples. This one,” (the one with the bigger flat part on the end) “is for my ass and my pussy. And this one,” (the one with the small flat end) “would be for when Mike has me hold open my ass so that he can spank my asshole”.
I stood there, looking through them, picking them up, feeling their weight and texture in my hands. I imagined myself, spread open in front of Mike while he spanked me with that riding crop, making my outer lips all red, until he had me open my cunt so that he could slap my inner lips, my pussy hole, even fucking me with the handle, and calling me a bad, dirty, slutty little girl the whole time. I imagined him having me stand in front of him, hands behind my back, back arched, presenting my tits to him, and the sting of that leather cord on my nipples, the undersides of my breasts…. I imagined how it would feel, after 20 minutes of being spanked mercilessly on the ass with that first riding crop, only to have him tell me to spread my ass open and slap my asshole with that last, smaller crop. The one that would sting the most, I think.
To make sure, I tested them all, slapping them against my palm.
At that point I was glad I was wearing a skirt because the wetness from my pussy had already soaked through my underpants, and would surely be showing through pants, had I been wearing them. As it was I could feel my thighs, slick with pussy juice.
“Do you need some help choosing one?” I nearly jumped out of my skin, then turned to face the girl who worked there. I know she didn’t know what I’d been thinking, but still… I blushed a little. “Oh… no, just looking…”
Dollars to doughnuts, more than half the riding crops that store sells never touch a horse. And they know it.
Similar Sex Blogging:
Wesson Oil Sex
Wednesday, April 30th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
From the self-described Dirty Whore, this entertaining story of the fun you can have with cooking oil:
We stumbled back to his apartment but stopped at the 7-11 to pick up a bottle of Wesson oil. I ripped down his shower curtain and spread it on the living room floor. I pulled off my clothes and he poured the oil all over my body then joined me on the plastic sheet. Hands slid over each other — the oil felt marvelous — and before I even put my fingers on him, he was hard as a rock. I got onto my hands and knees as he fingerfucked my pussy and slipped an oily finger into my ass. Then two. I moaned, not feeling much pain thanks to the alcohol and Wesson. He entered me quickly, his rigid cock slipping up my virgin hole as our oily bodies slid against each other. The feeling as he moved, my ass tight as a fist around him, was incredible. He exploded inside me, shooting his cum deep into my bowels. I loved it!
It’s a remarkable blog with some interesting stories.
An Interesting Theory
Wednesday, January 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Halley explains (and this is a quote) “Why Alpha Males Get Pussy Galore“:
Most men at the party are just too intimidated to go talk to the super model babe, assuming she will shoot them down. They self-select themselves OUT of the top drawer pussy. It happens all the time. Ask beautiful women — NO ONE TALKS TO THEM. Except Alpha Males who know this fundamental truth, so they know ironically that they have an open field and a very HIGH likelihood of scoring
The Fleshlight: Better Living Through Technology
Sunday, December 8th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
(Better than what? Fair question. Better than living with Mother Palm and her five daughters, by all accounts. Bacchus avidly and sincerely doubts that companionable ladies have anything to fear from this form of competition.)
Now, is that a backwards and indirect way to start a sex blog entry, or what? Enough pussyfooting (if the expression may be forgiven) around and beating about the bush. (Hmm, forgiveness for inapt expressions probably getting to be an impossible dream by now. Stay tuned, it only gets worse from here.)
The web is awash with tales of The Fleshlight — a male masturbation toy that apparently doesn’t suck. (Literally or figuratively — can we just stop noticing the inapt turns of phrase for a while? If Bacchus was a competent writer, he’d be getting paid for all this.)
Anyway, this toy is all over the web, has been since about 1998 or so, but given the nature of things it’s tough to find a guy who will admit to having tried it. (Personal reviews in the comments are hereby solicited.) However, many of the reviews are positive. For instance:
About a week later it arrived. I was instantly worried when I felt how heavy it was, but that ended up being a plus. Once it was unwrapped, I ran a finger over the pink lips. The feeling was soft and malleable, “Real Feel Super Skin” is simply amazing. It’s light mild sent of vanilla was pleasant and not over powering. I followed the easy instructions and got to work. A few moments later I was moaning in ecstasy.
Is the “Fleshlight” better than the real thing? No. But if you had the real thing, you wouldn’t be reading this. Is it better then your hand? Oh yes! I couldn’t believe how good it felt, so close to the real thing, but no need to buy flowers.
The folks over at Clean Sheets were a little more reserved in their endorsement, but they still gave this item a thumb (or something) up:
Our reviewer’s first impressions of the product were “I GOTTA have this” and “very unusual feel.” Said one man; “The appearance was relatively life-like. The vanilla scent was oddly pleasing.” Indeed. Closing your eyes and touching the material is eerie; like touching the real thing. One man said “Closest thing to the real thing I ever felt.”
In use, they seem to cull all kinds of honors. “With the right lube, the feel is very nice.”
Overall, this product received very handsome commentary: “Not as good as the real thing but definitely better than your hand. I like using it while watching videos.” “This is tons of fun and feels great. It’s almost the perfect sex toy!”
Bacchus has not yet tried this device — it’s not exactly cheap, and there’s an “ick factor” (reported on by the folks at Nerve) that’s impossible to ignore. (However, even the Nerve reviewer appears to have enjoyed the Fleshlight once he, uhm, “screwed his courage to the sticking point” and got down to business.)
So: Any fans of this thing out there who want to tell us how it feels?
Just Like Gilding A Lily
Sunday, November 17th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
Bacchus gets no kickback for this crass commercial link. Not even, worse luck, an offer to participate in product testing. Seems there’s a new line of lip balm (is that what the kids are calling it these days?) with flavors like “Strawberry Snatch” and “Shaved Peach.” Their slogan? “For the Tastiest Lips North of the Hips!”
Bacchus was not born yesterday: these clever kittens don’t say whether the heads of their beds point north or south.
PussyPuckerpots.Com — it’s “Ladylicious!”
Later update: According to their creator Stacy Bias, these products were discontinued in 2006.
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