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The Sex Blog Of Record
Wednesday, July 20th, 2022 -- by Bacchus
Some people just love rubber. But in the case of anal play for the excessively-fastidious, it’s also quite practical:
These scenes are from a fetish site called “KScans” that went offline back in 2015 or so.
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Wednesday, December 8th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a fine vintage photo for all whose fetish enthusiasms include an appreciation of the classic rubber swimming cap. Although there’s much else to appreciate in this photograph:
Via Kinky Delight.
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Saturday, April 17th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
Hey, look, new rubber-suited BEM with goggle-eyes and a duckface just dropped! Is there a new cheesy scifi movie out?
Oh, no. Oh, no. Wait a minute, I don’t think that’s what’s going on here at all.
Yikes! Oh, how initial impressions can mislead. What we have here is one of the star performers in Sperm Robbery In The Rubber Chamber, from Kink Unlimited. And that cup on the front of his face? Well, let’s just say it’s designed to be destructive of his autonomy with respect to ingestion of liquids…
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Saturday, March 20th, 2021 -- by Bacchus
From Kinky Delight. There are many ways to Catwoman, but this is the correct way:
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Monday, July 25th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
The white rubber or latex swimming/bathing cap (designed to keep a woman’s hair dry in the swimming pool) is an iconic fetish object from the 1950s that’s rarely seen in modern porn. It used to show up in a lot of bondage and rubber fetish photoshoots, and it still has its fans! The beloved white swimwear has just been featured in a recent Insex “Ultra4K” bondage movie release from Infernal Restraints. Sierra Cirque stars in Creep Meet and she’s wearing the white rubber cap throughout most of the show:
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Sunday, March 13th, 2016 -- by Bacchus
This particular deal with the devil got expensive and humiliating a lot faster than Our Lady Of Perpetual Latex was expecting:
Artist is DevilHS.
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Sunday, October 4th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
October is one of my favorite months for sexy sales, especially when all the Syren latex fetish wear goes on sale for the costume-party season. The Syren collection includes a lot of colorful items that don’t immediately scream “fetish wear” but which will nonetheless attract every eye in the room. For instance, this halter dress:
Or maybe a classic raincoat with just that extra little bit of latex-y sexy boost?
Since all the Syren items are custom made, your color options are astonishing:
And gentlemen? Lest you think we’re missing out on the fun, I should point out that men, too, can wear latex at this party. Executioner hoodie, anybody? Or maybe just some rubber jeans, or a polo shirt?
(A word to significant others: even if he would never buy such a thing, you possess a considerable power of persuasion. If you buy it, you can probably get him to wear it, to the right party…)
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Saturday, January 10th, 2015 -- by Bacchus
If you tie up an orgasmic woman like Daisy Ducati and then do sustained-but-pleasurable cruelties unto her with a heavy vibrator, you might be well advised to wear rain gear, or maybe carry an umbrella. Why?
Because she really is a gusher.
Volume, altitude, loft — this woman has it all!
That image link is from TopGrl.com. And here’s evidence that wearing latex clothing during athletic sex can be a very sweaty affair:
Fans of perspiring women, today I am with you!
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Monday, February 27th, 2012 -- by Bacchus
The blowup sex doll as a pool party novelty air mattress, I can understand. It’s been done. More than once. But what I don’t understand is: why does a rubber inflatable doll need a white rubber swimming cap?
No matter, it’s gotta be fetish fuel for somebody!
Via Usenet.
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Friday, January 21st, 2011 -- by Bacchus
I’ve got a special kinky edition of the Why Rich Men Buy Boats series for you, courtesy of Kinky Delight:
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Sunday, December 12th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Sure a vintage photograph like this will be fetish fuel for somebody. And if not, at least it’s proof that people have been doing, and taking pictures of, some kinky shit, for a long time. What we have here is the cropped version of a photo from the 1930s featuring a woman in a skin-tight latex outfit from which the nipple area has been removed:
If you click for the uncropped version, of course she’s wearing high heels, too.
Was it originally supposed to be art, or porn? I have no idea.
Update: Possibly a photo of Yva Richards.
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Saturday, October 16th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Always interested in descriptions of novel sexual sensations, I have this report from ThisGirl on what it feels like to have sex while wearing a heavy rubber catsuit. Not as detailed as we might want, perhaps, but it’s a start:
Having sex in skin tight latex is a lot of fun. It feels sort of like being trapped within someone or something else. It’s not really easy to describe without it sounding a bit like some sort of porn story…but if you’ve experienced similar yourself then you’ll get the idea. It was very erotic, though a little strange that there was very little skin to skin contact for a change.
This girl felt completely as though she was his sex doll, wrapped up in all that rubber. Controlled by him, orgasming at his command.
What else is there really to say about that? Who wants to read about sex, sweat and latex right? Because this girl really can’t articulate too well how it feels to have that much sex whilst wearing latex after being locked up in that bloody thing because it was just so erotic…so orgasmic…and just a little too intimate to go into too much graphic detail.
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Tuesday, April 27th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
If you’re a small-town young lady being urged to chastity by your parents and pastor, you might consider wearing something like this to church:
Or then again, on second thought, perhaps not.
I believe I found this on a German BDSM fashion site that seems not to be there anymore.
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Monday, January 18th, 2010 -- by Bacchus
Bondage Blog has a great piece this morning featuring a pretty girl being shrink wrapped, in a latex balloon. In 1939. By a meat packing company. In the pages of Life magazine, in front of God and everybody and your prissy great-aunt Beatrix.
Granted, treating girls like meat was probably uncontroversial back in 1939. But what fascinates me is the fetish fuel question. In 2010, this is fetish fuel of the highest octane. Bondage Blog rattled off six or seven fetishes it touches on, and I could add several more without a strain. (Lingerie, breath control…) But was it obvious fetish fuel then? Was this a bit of clever marketing by kinky bastards who knew how to get a press release covered by Life, which in turn knew that it could publish the kinkiest shit in front of Aunt Beatrix and everybody just by playing dumb and keeping a straight face?
Or was it, in all innocence, the “gosh-gee-whiz this is how you’ll be getting your beef” celebration of marching technology it presents itself as? Were people really that innocent in 1939? I find that very hard to believe.
Complicating all this is the fact that fetishes evolve over time, and I’m not aware of anybody who has tracked those evolutions in any rigorous way. When did rubber even become a fetish material? (I know it was well established as such by the time John Willie started publishing his Bizarre magazine in the late 1940s.)
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Monday, September 22nd, 2008 -- by Bacchus
“Google Suggest” Ignores Adult Search Preference Cookies
Google, as all sex blog readers probably know, filters porn (they call it “explicit sexual content”) out of your search results by default. They call this “Safe Search”, and you can turn if off by letting Google set a cookie in your browser. (Most ErosBlog readers have, presumably, done this.) No worries, it’s been like this for years. We’re used to it, and in many contexts it’s useful to have the filtered option.
Recently, however, Google introduced a dynamic on-the-fly search suggestion feature called Google Suggest. When you type Britney Spears into the search box, a drop-down appears with what Google calls “relevant suggested search terms” in real time:
Nerd response: Cool!
Sex blogger response: Hey, wait a minute! Isn’t something missing from that search box? Wouldn’t you expect to see “Britney Spears nude” on that list?
Let’s check. The list changes with every character you type, so let’s go “britney spears nu” and see if it fills in the suggestion:
Suspicious, but maybe all those “number one” sites are just crowding it out? Let’s make this impossible to miss, let’s try “britney spears nud”:
Whoa! Is that the sound of crickets I’m hearing? “Mom, Google Suggest won’t come out and play with me any more!”
At this point I hit the “Preferences” link and went to check my Safe Search setting; it forgets the “Do not filter my search results” setting every time I clean out all my cookies, and resetting it is the first thing I do after that. Nope, “Do not filter my search results” is checked! That’s not the problem.
And make no mistake, this is a problem, and not just for feelthy perverts like me. This is the sort of thing that sets mild-mannered eyeglasses-wearing librarians sputtering with rage, because once you start filtering out words, like “nude”, that do double duty as erotic signifiers and, you know, plain old information tags, you begin to muck up basic research of the sort that any high school civics class might legitimately be doing. Allow me to illustrate.
Does anybody remember John Ashcroft, and his infamous prudery that had him covering up fine art at the Department of Justice because the bare breasts offended him? Imagine you were trying to write a high school essay about public art and needed to reference that incident. If you actually Google John Ashcroft nude (shudder) you’ll get 39,000-ish results. But start typing that request into Google, and you’ll learn that while John Ashcroft singing “Let The Eagle Soar” might be relevant to your search request (with 10,500 results), “John Ashcroft nude” could not possibly be, even though there are four times as many potential results out there:
Again, we need to check to make sure it didn’t just get choked by having to select between too many potentially relevant suggestions. We can do that by typing more letters; “john ashcroft n” gets me “john ashcroft news” as the sole suggestion, and with “john ashcroft nu” we’re back to the sound of crickets. Sorry, seeker after knowledge, nothing with “nude” in it could possibly be relevant to your search, EVER.
That’s search engine prudery right there, and it’s as stupid and mindless as automated mechanical prudery always is.
Of course, I’m not dealing with search results filtering, what I’m complaining about is search suggestions filtering. But that’s a distinction without a difference, a nit only a lawyer could enjoy picking. Google already has a cookie on my computer telling them that I don’t want them to protect me from the pollution of my vital essences that is the adult internet; what earthly reason could they have for ignoring that preference in determining which searches to show me in the suggestion box?
Just to show the full ridiculousness that is Mrs Grundy as played by The Mechanical Turk, let’s search for dear old Jenna, once said to be the most-searched woman on the internet:
That settles it. The Mechanical Turk “knows” damned well who I’m searching for, knows when I’m two characters into her last name, but it can’t mechanically imagine that “jenna jameson nude” (with nearly half a million search results out there) might be at least as relevant as “jenna jameson neck tattoo”? Sorry my friends, but inside the amazing Mechanical Turk there sits a very human prude.
Again, it’s easy to imagine lots of good business reasons why Google might want to filter even the mildest adult topics out of its search suggestion tool. That’s not my point.
My point is that for many people, Google is only useful if they can get the unfiltered version. Google knows this. Google makes it easy to set the “don’t filter me” button. But what good is that, if they then silently ignore the setting?
OK, now let’s have some fun looking at all the things Google Suggest refuses to suggest.
How about a good spanking? That’s only about as kinky as six inches of your average garden hose these days, plus there’s the whole universe of information out there about why you shouldn’t do it to your kids. Surely Google Suggest has something for the spanking searcher?
Google Suggest says: No spankings for you!
How about porn? If I type “por” into my search bar, you think maybe “porn” might be a relevant search to suggest?
Duh, no, silly me.
Ok, would you like to look at some fine rubber nipples? Or, you know, buy some, for your baby’s bottle or for your plumbing supply store? Sorry, you’re shit outta luck — Google Suggest can offer you “nippleplay” (presumably because the guy writing the filter didn’t get warned against it), but the Mechanical Prude has never heard of a nipple that was relevant to anybody:
That’s enough for now, although readers are invited to find other, especially laughable “never relevant” stop words that choke Google Suggest. Have fun teasing the Mechanical Prude!
Thursday, July 17th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
I’ve been having a lot of fun with my collection of vintage skin magazines lately, but some of the things you find in them are absolutely astonishing cultural artifacts. Of course it’s no surprise that pornographers, like fashion photographers, tend to have a warped idea of what constitutes “chubby” in a woman. But I was still astonished to find this photograph as the illustration, in a 1962 Mood magazine, for an article about “chubby girls”:
The article itself is an amazing compilation of wild stereotypes and unreconstructed male smugness:
HIGH WIDE AND HANDSOME
Chubby Chums Are Grateful Girls!
By George Pesante
The trouble with this country is not smog or juvenile delinquency or even TV commercials. The trouble with this country is, that it’s getting so hard to find a fat girl.
Oh, sure, they still exist, and a good thing too, because if they ever do disappear from view, we’re going to have to raise them in special herds like the vanishing buffalo.
But what with all this diet talk and reducing salons springing up to replace the corner pool room, and what with cars getting smaller, lower, the fat girl is being driven out of fashion.
This is too bad. Any man who has played parlor hockey with a fat girl knows that here is a wonderful fund of fun, frolic and felicity.
Unlike slim girls who are the darlings of modern fashion, fat girls get little attention. That means that when a man does bestow his favors upon them, they react like a St. Bernard in a sausage factory.
They laugh, they giggle, they respond to your attentions with happy shrieks. In short, they just lap it up. What’s more, they don’t need to be persuaded. Simply give them the nod and they’re off to the races. And once a fat girl gets herself in motion, she’s awfully hard to stop.
Incidentally, the old belief that fat girls are necessarily jolly girls is only sometimes true. There are plenty of fat girls who are so frustrated by their lack of male attention that they are foul-tempered, mean and sullen.
The majority of them are sunny though, and even the grumpy lumpies will respond much more quickly to a little warmth than the average slim-waisted woman.
Some girls are fat, of course, because they have glandular deficiencies and these are generally to be avoided. Frequently they have moustaches and evil tempers and are so fat as to cause topographical confusion.
On the other hand, a girl who is generously plump, simply because the good Lord made her that way, a girl who likes to eat and drink and have herself a good time — this girl is worth solid gold, all 180 pounds of her.
Another fallacy about fat girls is that they are light on their feet. This isn’t true, most of them are as heavy as all get-out. But it’s pretty easy to get them off their feet. And that’s what really counts.
A fat girl is used to the notiion that people can’t lift her up and toss her around as if she were a ballerina. Consequently, she won’t force you to go through those gymnastics. She’ll arrange herself in such a way as to spare you the grunt and groan preliminaries.
Generally speaking, fat girls have one trait in common which their slimmer sisters do not always enjoy. They tend to have skins as smooth as foam rubber and twice as bouncy.
They cost less to feed than slim girls because they go in heavy for bread and mashed potatoes and show a marked preference for beer.
Because fat girls do not get the rush that slim girls do, they don’t expect to be taken out to fancy places. They don’t expect filet mignon and champagne. The back seat of a car and a pile of sandwiches will do nicely, especially if both the sandwiches and the back seat are big.
Fat girls tend to live alone more often than slim girls. They need more room around them and also, they are embarrassed by their slimmer roommates. This makes it much easier to date a fat girl, and what’s more, to make the date pay off.
Needless to say, fat girls are a joy in the wintertime, because there’s nothing more comforting than to find yourself enfolded by great mounds of curvy girl. They are equally delightful in the summer time, however, because they like nothing on but the electric fan. And, after all, what could be more fun than that?
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Wednesday, July 9th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
The French retro science instruments site this comes from is not much help:
They call this item “INJECTOR A PEAR”, described as “Very beautiful small injecting with pear with pipe out of rubber and ivory nozzle.”
To me, it looks like a douching system from the days when nobody had any water pressure.
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Tuesday, March 18th, 2008 -- by Bacchus
Camping in the desert with fetish model Adriana Sage is not like any camping you’ve ever seen. It’s getting dark when she gets to camp, so she pitches her tent, half-wearing a fetching rubber number:
In the morning, it’s time to haul some water. Nipple clamps are for style, we assume:
Then it’s out onto the sand for the day’s entertainment, with horsey tail buttplug and saliva-lubricated crystal dildo:
From the August 2004 edition of Taboo magazine.
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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!
Wednesday, May 16th, 2007 -- by Bacchus
In which Mistress Matisse risks minor puncture wounds (“ohnoes!”) for the pleasures of flustering a lab tech:
So I went into the lab area and sat down to get the draw. The tech was a good-looking young woman, maybe early twenties, and just slightly butch-of-center, who I strongly suspect was a lesbian. She gave me The Look, you see.
What’s The Look? It’s a look that straight women do not give other females. You only get it from women who are sexual with women. It’s usually just for a moment, unless she’s seriously cruising you, but it is, shall we say, an acknowledgement of sexual possibility. Usually it’s just the woman acknowledging it to herself, not to you, but if you watch closely, you’ll see it. The eyes widen for a minute when she looks at you, that’s always a tip-off.
Not seeing The Look doesn’t mean that a woman is heterosexual — she might just be very subtle, or just not in the headspace. But if you do get it, it definitely means the woman giving it to you is not 100% straight.
I got it from the tech. How nice. I don’t think she meant me to see it, I just think she’s just young and hasn’t yet learned how to school her expressions. So I gave it back to her, somewhat less subtly. And that seemed to completely throw her for a loop. Even nicer.
She began sort of fumbling around with syringes, stammering, and left the area — twice – to get various vials and labels and such that she needed. I just sat there smiling at her with one arched eyebrow, like she was a sweet but clumsy submissive.
It did occur to me that deliberately flustering someone who was about to jab me with a needle might not be the best idea. But I’ve actually been stuck with needles by some extremely mean people, and I handled that, so I figured I could deal with this. Because it was fun.
She dithered around a bit more, and then tied the rubber strap around my upper arm. “Um, is that – is that okay?â€?
“That’s just fine,â€? I said, slowly, holding her gaze. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty easy to get blood from.â€?
“Um, great, okay…â€? She dropped her eyes. I watched her focus on the vein in the bend of my elbow and stick the needle in. She glanced up at me as she did so. I didn’t flinch. I smiled.
“Sorry,â€? she said, for no apparent reason. “I mean… it’s no fun getting stuck with a needle.â€?
I contemplated answers I might make to that, but my conscience spoke up. Matisse, don’t mess with the kid’s head anymore, unless you’re serious. And you’re not.
So I just said pleasantly, “It’s fine.â€? We both watched my dark red blood fill the three vials.
“You’re right,â€? she said. “You are easy to get blood from.â€?
I couldn’t resist. “I’m pretty good at taking it, too.â€?
She blinked uncertainly and was quiet for a moment. “Um, well, thank you for being so, uh, helpful.â€?
I think I was probably the opposite of helpful, but I sat silently and let her fuss with taping the cotton ball to my arm. Then I stood up and gave her The Look again, just because I’m bad that way.
“Goodbye,â€? I said with a meaningful half-smile, and stalked off down the hall.
And that’s flirtation in the naked city, twenty-first century style.
Saturday, September 2nd, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Writes Susie Bright:
0h, sodomy. . . It doesn’t come as naturally as the puritans would like to fear. We stumble and fumble and watch dirty movies for tips, but there’s a lot to the details that doesn’t get talked about.
Ah, but they do get talked about, at least when Susie’s around. And that’s a good thing.
In this case, she’s using the word sodomy in the American-legal-system sense, where the word encompasses not just your traditional penis-in-anus buggery, but all manner of transgressive sex that doesn’t lead directly to babies. And she’s specifically referring to that bugbear of the clueless male hetero idiot, the aggressive answer to the unimaginative whiner who asks of lesbianism “But what is it that two women could possibly do?” In fine, she’s talking about fisting:
Unlike some women whose favorite fisting movement is a slow clenching and unclenching, Donna preferred circular, massage motions. She showed me where to put extra lubrication around my gloved hand. When we got closer to our trial run, I suggested she bring her lover, Carrie, for bedside reassurance. Our rehearsal went smooth as silk.
The next afternoon, sixty women crammed into an airless room for the Vaginal Fisting Workshop. The tension was so thick you could have wired your home with it. I passed out my rubber gloves, condoms and dams, with a few words on safe sex techniques. Rubber or vinyl gloves are really superior for fisting over naked hands. They grease up better and give a smoother surface going in.
…
Another woman brought up that the peril isn’t necessarily for the fistee, it’s for the fister. She once had a lover orgasm while her hand was curled up inside, and the contractions broke a small bone in her hand.
Her experience prompted a lot of handy hints on how to get out of a woman’s vagina in a hurry when your hand is caught in a vacuum.
Methods include: pressing gently on her lower abdomen, or using a finger on your free hand to pull a little on the vaginal opening, thereby breaking the suction.
Simply relaxing, until her muscles loosen, is the simplest method. Don’t panic, or you’ll have a funny time telling people why your hand is in a splint.
I’m the squeamish type when it comes to public situations of potential awkwardness — a platoon of naked harem girls holding bottles of forty year old Scotch couldn’t lure me to any sort of public sex workshop or demonstration. Wild horses? Couldn’t even find me, much less drag me to it. But I’m all in favor of good sex information and education, and brave folk like Susie have done a lot of amazing stuff in that cause.
Tuesday, July 25th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
ErosBlog is not the only place where the puppy girl fetish has been mentioned; although I haven’t seen too many web resources devoted to canine roleplaying, there’s enough collars and leashes sold to people with no dogs to suggest it’s a fairly popular game. Does your human puppy (I suppose puppyboys are just as likely) need a waggable rubber buttplug dog tail?
The sales copy seems aimed at eager-to-please doggies:
Show your Master you are pleased by wagging your Wiggly Rubber Dog Tail. A perfect tail for puppy play, this anal plug is made out firm yet wiggly black rubber, with a 4″ insertable oval shaped plug and about 8″ of tail to wag. Quality rubber craftsmen designed this plug to stay put and be worn for hours. This well made dog tail compliments any human dog behind. Wear it and be sure to get lots of treats.
Woof!
2021 update: These toys are long unavailable, but there’s a similar tail in this puppy play set.
Saturday, March 18th, 2006 -- by Bacchus
Sometimes I have to link to an article (like this one on playing with anal toys) as much for the post title as for the content. How can you not read an article entitled A Spy In The House Of Ass?
My girl’s eyes grow wide as I remove the fatter butt plug from its packaging and brandish it before her. “You wanna put that in me?”
“C’mon, it’s not that big. I had mine in for like half an hour.”
She relents. I watch, fascinated, as her little asshole expands to accommodate the plug at its widest cross-section and then collapses around the narrow neck above the base, locking the toy into position. Leslie sighs. I pull her to the edge of the mattress, push her legs against her chest and plunge into her cunt. “Now you have both holes filled, you little slut!”
And when she comes the butt plug shoots out of her, bouncing off the wooden floor like a rubber ball. We both giggle. I switch holes — if the butt plug won’t keep her rear-end occupied I will — and it’s not long before I burst inside her, my knees threatening to buckle.
Monday, December 26th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
I put together a Sex Blog Roundup for Fleshbot a week ago, but for some reason they didn’t publish it. So I thought I’d put it here for you to enjoy. Without further ado, here it is.
Feels Like Home from My Not So Secret Self:
“I tugged at my honey’s shorts and within moments he was naked, his cock–already hard from the warmth of my breasts rubbing and pressing against his flesh–was standing tall in the warm glow of the bedroom. I hesitated for a moment before stripping my own panties off and joining him in nakedness.”
Purple Silk Boxers from Urban Gypsy:
“He strides over to where I stand; lets his tongue bathe my lips and then nuzzles his face into my neck, licking that most sensitive area that seems hot wired directly to my clit, eliciting soft moans. A greater whimper escapes my lips as he grabs my hair at the roots, pushing me to my knees so that my mouth aligned with his cock which so insistently pushes the purple silk towards me. ‘Suck,’ he says simply.”
Head Hanging Over the Edge of the Bed from Always Aroused Girl:
“In the distant past, I had the pleasure of sharing the bed of a young man who (among many other things) loved to come all over my breasts. I think if I were a man, even for a few days, ‘come all over lover’s breasts’ would have to be on my list of Manly Things to Do.”
Fantasome from Emerging On The Other Side:
“Tonight, my husband made sweet passionate love to me. As did my lover and muse. Simultaneously. Except my husband was unaware of his presence, since a threesome involving two men and myself is not his idea of bliss. But it’s definitely one of mine.”
Storming The Fortress from Late Starter:
“When we got to the castle around midday it was fairly deserted, with probably no more than half a dozen visitors…. The room was dimly lit by daylight coming through a very small slit window…. We’d started to kiss passionately and to loosen one another’s clothing when we heard the couple from the floor above coming down the stone staircase. We hastily made ourselves as respectable as possible in the few seconds available, but we were both red-faced and breathing heavily when the couple reached the open doorway.”
Candy Cane For Des from Desireous:
“I sucked him and licked him and sucked his tasty freshly shaven balls. I had him moaning and squirming beneath me. I love that! Nothing like making a man moan, it?s one of my favorite things! He had his hands in my hair holding tight. I sucked him good. I know I had him pretty close to orgasm a few times but he held back and kind of distracted me, sneaky guy!”
Tranny Surprise from Bad Sex:
“I was at the Cat Club in San Francisco, I think it was Bondage-a-go-go that night, I was in latex, my first outfit. I think it was second or third time out in rubber. I was having an OK time, but not really getting any attention….”
Midwest As Seductress from Kiss and Blog:
“A month into living together, we acknowledged our sex life was stale as Noah’s doggie bagels and pledged to liven things up. One night, about an hour after we’d gone to sleep, I woke up with a plan to spark the embers. Rolling toward Nathan, I began lightly nibbling his ear. He swatted me away.”
Thursday, October 20th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
There’s something fascinating about watching an articulate fetishist of ordinary objects describe his (or her .. but it’s usually “his”) fetish. When the fetish is common enough to be deliberately recognized, acknowledged, and sexualized in mainstream media or porn (as with leather, rubber, shoes, pantyhose, and the like) the effect is lessened by our own recognition of the fetish; we can see a pretty lady rubbing a foot against her nylons and go “Mmm, a two-fer” even if we aren’t foot or nylons fetishists our own selves. But when the fetish is more uncommon (balloons, casts), there’s less sexual “noise” when the non-fetishist witnesses the fetishist in action. For me, at least, it offers insight into what fetish is and how it works.
But wait, I hear you saying. Did I say “casts”?
Indeed I did. Confessions of a Cast Fetishist [link broken and removed] is just what it sounds like; or, as the author of the blog puts it, “a description and continuing exploration of my erotic and aesthetic obsessions with leg casts, female feet — especially toes — and footwear.” No, really:
[The film] does happen to feature one rather important detail: a significant female character with a leg in a plaster cast. This might not necessarily be of great import to the vast majority of the movie-consuming public but, to the connoisseur fetishist, leg casts are not altogether common in cinema history, and so any one that may occur is something to be savoured. And, should the person sporting the leg cast happen to be quite as attractive as Famke Janssen, as is this particular instance, well, now we’re talking. Anyway, as a result, I’ve recently invested in a copy of the DVD of the film, to enjoy, again and again, the relevant scenes at my leisure, as it were.
…
I love to see a plaster cast being customized like that, in such a typical way — it’s what people do when they see a cast, and why not, who could blame them? I know that were I actually to be in that scene, I’d be snatching her crayons and pens from the kid and elbowing her out of the way in order to have my turn, and how I’d hog that plaster cast to my heart’s content, decorating it in my own special way, adding my very own personal dedications and hymns to its wonder and beauty. I should add that Famke spends a sizable part of the film wearing a skimpy, tight little vest top that is also hardly unbecoming to her charms. Here’s another little peek. How lovely it would be to keep her “entertained” under the circumstances.
Monday, October 3rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
It’s a little-remarked fact that phone sex hasn’t been the same since pagers and cell phones started being equipped to vibrate instead of ringing. (A friend of mine used to tease his wife, by inquiring, in public, whether she’d set her phone to “thrill mode”.) I have long suspected that the incorporation of cameras into telephone devices has only accelerated the evolution of phone sex.
Now, from Pillow Book, we have a sophisticated exposition of what modern phone sex can look like:
I … messaged back that indeed i did have condoms. I also asked why he wanted to know.
put your phone inside the condom
put the phone inside you set to vibrate
i ring you
He was obviously excited by this whole idea. His punctuation was suffering.
I opened one of the Chekmate packets and took out the condom. Like all its brethren it had that familiar rubbery smell. I hoped that the smell wouldn’t linger on my mobile. I placed the reservoir tip on the top of my phone and carefully rolled it down the full ten centimetre length of my Telstra prepaid sex toy. Then I unrolled the condom the rest of the way, squeezed as much air out of it as I could, and knotted it off.
I held the condomed phone up by its knot and considered my handiwork. I was about to begin the task of inserting it when it started to vibrate and ring.
Too quick. En’t that just like a man?
So I pressed the ignore button, to let him know that it would take a while longer to get it inside me.
It occured to me what a great addition to the male anatomy an ignore button would be.
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.
Thursday, August 11th, 2005 -- by Bacchus
The Girl With A One Track Mind recently got asked “What’s BDSM?” by her mother.
And it triggered a horrifying memory of an episode I had otherwise forgotten.
I grew up in a very small town a long way from anywhere. Social options were … limited. And girls? Forget about it. There was only one my age, and she didn’t like me. Hell, I didn’t even like her much. But she had brothers I got along with OK, so I hung at their house a lot.
Which is how, one day when I was perhaps fourteen, I found myself sitting at their kitchen table playing UNO with about six people ranging in age from littlest sister (age 9?) to The Mom, whose oldest kids were long gone from home. The Mom was a “fun” adult, tolerant of kids and never angry, made awesome chocolate eclairs and always with a kind word for everyone. She was also pretty for her age, blonde, and a devout, bury-all-her-problems-in-the-joy-of-Jesus fundamentalist Christian. Not preachy, but completely lost in belief, with no room in her worldview for other answers and no other way to cope with her many problems.
So one of the brothers made a particularly boneheaded move (hard to do while playing UNO) and Sister My Age made a derisive remark that concluded with “…you stupid dildo!”
Of course Littlest Sister pipes up from inside her cute little halo of blonde hair (these folks were all blonde Scandahoovians from Michigan): “What’s a dildo?”
Crickets.
The Mom got a curious look on her face, and in a completely friendly tone (no guile possible, just motherly interest) asked Sister My Age “Yes, dear, what’s a dildo?”
She meant the question honestly. She had no freakin’ idea.
I dunno how much Sister My Age knew. In that house, it’s possible she didn’t know any better than Mom. But she obviously knew it was something “bad”, because she stammered and blushed a bit, and then she protested that she didn’t know, it was just a name she’d heard someone call someone else in a movie (which she named).
And then, for my sins, The Mom turned her gaze on me. “[My Name], do you know what a dildo is?”
Did I mention my sins? My big one, here, was the sin of being smarter than any of the many children The Mom had ever popped from her loins. I was the big reader, the guy with the huge vocabulary, the guy who knew it all and (at fourteen) never failed to let everyone know it. The Mom knew I’d know, because she knew that I’d read every piece of printed matter that had every fallen under my eyes, whether I understood it or not.
Now it was my turn to blush and stammer. For indeed, I did know. I’d read The Joy Of Sex. Hell, I’d had to volunteer as librarian in our town’s little public library, just so I could smuggle it out of the place without having to write my name on the little paper slip in the front while being watched with basilisk eyes by the normal little-old-lady volunteers who’d known me since I was five. Also, there was an Older Brother of this family who used to hide his three porn magazines in the woods in a treehouse fort constructed for that very purpose. I’d invaded the fort and viewed them. I knew what was what.
And I was stuck. Claiming ignorance wouldn’t work. I had never been seen to do it. Nobody would believe me. Nor, looking back, do I think I was capable of it.
What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t very well look this nice eclair-baking Christian lady in the eye and say “It’s a big rubber penis.”
So I hemmed, and I hawed, and said I wasn’t sure, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t a very nice thing to call your little sister; I knew it was some sort of thing for married people, because wherever I had read the word (and, pious me, I could not remember where) it had also been called a “marital aid.”
That was the magic phrase; The Mom obviously knew what those were, because I saw the light dawn in her eyes, and then she said to Sister My Age “Don’t be calling your little sister that” and jumped up to offer some more eclairs.
Wednesday, March 23rd, 2005 -- by Bacchus
Here’s a surreal picture for you, from this naked catfighting gallery by Ultimate Surrender:
It’s hard to see much under that mask, but I think she has pretty lips….
Thursday, October 7th, 2004 -- by Bacchus
Rarely has such delicious debauchery been so succinctly described. Just three sentences:
The last and only time I was at Exotic Erotic was when I snuck in with the Extra Action Marching Band in a Batgirl costume (carry a horn and act stoned). I got drunk and stole a wheelchair; band members took turns riding in it and giving/getting lap dances, we painted unibrows on all the guys. The band did their entire set in the men’s bathroom, and when the rubber chickens filled with blood came out, all bets were off and I found myself thrown out of Exotic Erotic around four in the morning with a bunch of very fucked up half-naked and bloody musicians.
Of course, it’s Violet Blue. Sounds like a good time — the only thing she left out was the peach preserves!
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”.
Tuesday, November 11th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Here’s one of those “news” stories that’s more an illustration of parental terror and the power of hearsay than anything to be taken seriously. The only source for this information is “according to a local television station” and “some teens told the station” – not a named source to be found. If there’s any truth to the tale, I’m betting it’s a tiny kernal indeed. Nonetheless, here’s how the story goes, and don’t miss the fear-mongering headlines:
‘Sex Bracelets’ Cause Parental Concern
Some Teens Said To Use Bracelets To Signal Sexual Intentions
A fashion accessory may have a lot more meaning than you realize for your teenager, according to television station WCAU.
Jelly bracelets are making a comeback. But instead of a fashion statement, they may be making a statement about your kid’s sex life, the station said.
…
Only this time these jelly bracelets have a new nickname: sex bracelets.
These bendable pieces of colorful rubber have a whole new unwholesome meaning: They’re a sexual code to many teens, WCAU said.
Some colors mean different things, and people wear them for that reason.
Here’s a common breakdown, from what teens told the station:
Yellow: hugging
Purple: kissing
Red: lap dance
Blue: oral sex
Black: the full monty
In a game called snap, if a boy breaks a jelly bracelet off a girl’s wrist, he basically gets a sexual coupon for that act.
It’s become such a problem in some middle schools in Florida that districts started banning the bracelets.
In a real news story, that last sentence would have been followed by, like, you know, identifying one of those districts and having a quote from a named administrator thereof talking about the dire need to prevent fornication in the hallways.
So, does anybody know the real rules to the game of snap?
Friday, June 20th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
“3xL” was kind enough to call my attention to his rubber fetish blog called Lust, Love & Latex. And, from deep in the archives, here’s a handy link to A Beginner’s Guide to Rubber.
Squeak!
Thursday, April 10th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
James Lileks forecasts:
Can you imagine the parties in Baghdad this week? Hospitals had best make a rubber stamp that says GEORGE, because nine months from now they’re going to use it on every other birth certificate.
Saturday, March 15th, 2003 -- by Bacchus
Hokay, so this post is about an honest-to-goodness porn site. Boys gone wild, if you like — adapting power tools to their highest and best use. That’s right, me hearties: we present Fucking Machines.
If you follow that link (no popups, which is generally a good sign in a porn site) and then click on “Machines” you’ll be presented with an amusing list of fucking machines:
The Intruder
The Monster
The Fucksall
The Crane
The Sybian
The Trespasser
The Probe
The Jetaime
The Double Jetaime
The Loving Chair
The Hammer
The Drilldo
The Double Crane
The Goat Milker
The Tit Sucker
The Snake
The Portafuck
The Cathedral
The Toolbox
The Crystal Palace
The Antique Intruder
The Twinserter
The Airstorm
The Lighthouse
The Concrete Vibrator
The Fucking Chair
The Predator
The Reactor
Complete with horsepower ratings.
But of course any dweeb in his basement can glue a dildo to a power tool and claim it’s a sex toy. Where the rubber meets the, er, road, however, is actually using them for sex, or at least a well-photographed facsimile thereof. And that’s what makes this a porn site. Lots and lots of good looking models playing with these toys and managing to look like they are having fun doing it.
And finally, for the guys out there who think such fine machinery is wasted on women, there is a sister site (brother site?) called, with all the subtlety of a brick: Butt Machine Boys. This may be the true target market for these ambitiously mechanical porn purveyors. After all, why let the girls play with the cool toys and spoil all that raw male power tool fun?
Thursday, November 7th, 2002 -- by Bacchus
 Bacchus is pissed off. As a casual Google search reveals, there are lots of kinky people out there who enjoy giving each other sex enemas. And like any other kinky sex practice, it helps to have good tools. One brand of “anal retention catheter” (you know, a rubber tube for shoving up the ass, usually with one or more inflatable balloons to keep it there) is Bardex.
One would think that the maker of such devices would appreciate free publicity. One would be wrong. One must have failed to consider the kind of lawyers likely to be hired by people who make things to shove up your ass.
The result? Threatening letters to kinky folk on the web.
“By using BARDEX in connection with goods and services that do not originate with C.R. Bard, Inc., You are misrepresenting the source of these goods and services as well as deceiving the public. This use of BARDEX is likely to cause confusion as to origin of the products or services identified and dilute the value of our client’s registered mark in violation of the trademark laws. Furthermore, the manner in which you promote and advertise the products or services creates a negative image, damaging the reputation and goodwill associated with our client’s mark and products”.
The result? Some quality sites have been forced to revise their content — not because there’s any real risk that Bardex would win a lawsuit, but simply because the people involved can’t afford (in money, in time, or in energy) to fight.
What’s wrong with that? Well, as it happens, these lawyers are bluffing. The trademark law in question is the one that lets Nike shut down Ebay auctions for cheap Chinese knockoff shoes. References to bootleg goods really does “deceive the public” and “dilutes the value of the brand.”
The law does NOT let a brand owner decide how its products will be used. Nor does it allow the brand owner to stop people from talking about what they like to do with the product.
What Bardex is doing here — trying to stamp out web references to “non-medical” uses of its enema gear — is just plain old-fashioned cheap bullying. They don’t want their medical customers finding out (as if they didn’t already know) that people use their product to have a little anal fun. And they have learned that they can threaten folks who do that, to get them to shut up about it.
Alas, it doesn’t usually make sense to fight these assholes when they send their threatening letters. Although you could win in court, it could easily cost tens of thousands of dollars to get that victory. No little site about pervy sex has that kind of revenue, and even kinky folks have families to feed.
These guys know they don’t have a legal leg to stand on, but they know that when they send out their insupportable legalistic nastygrams, most folks will have no choice but to comply. Even by the ethical standards for which lawyers are already infamous, that’s just disgusting. Weasels Lawyers who lie, and know they are lying, and do it deliberately and with intent to intimidate, are just rotten. And so are the folks who hire them.
This site has yet to make a dime. Your host has no assets that can readily be attached. And your host’s host can be replaced, complete with a DNS update, in under 24 hours. So, Bardex, this is for you:
BARDEX is BEST
for kinky enema butt sex!
Deal with it.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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