This Pipe Sucks Ass

Apparently this ass-sucking pot pipe was an article of commerce in finer headshops near you back in 2008 or so:

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Kiss The Tip, Suck The Dick

There is some atavistic male impulse within me that wants to disclaim these photos with a warning that the dick in question is not “real”. Which perhaps says more about my constrained notion of a “real” dick (warm living flesh attached to a man) than it does about the reality of the pictured dick:

In any case I should think one would want to be certain of one’s safewords and escape routes before telling domme Darling that the dick she’s wielding in these photos isn’t real. You there, you tell her. I’ll just be over here tightening up the laces on my running shoes.

Photos are from Sexually Broken.

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Prepare The Dildo

Since this large curved lumpy-bumpy glass dildo will soon be going up her ass without any other lube, it’s really quite important that she make the most of this brief opportunity to moisten it with her mouth:

Picture is from The Wasteland. The dildo? I’m not sure which model that is. There are many similar glass and Pyrex dildos out there.

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Her Milkshake

Yes, it brings all the boys to her yard:

From a photoset appearing in Nuts magazine.

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A Few Frames Of Sucking

This mesmerizing blowjob .gif has drifting around the internet for awhile; sadly, I don’t have a specific source to credit for the animation. However, I believe it’s likely based on art by John Persons:

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Her Eyes Were Bigger Than Her Stomach

Well, that’s not quite the right idiom, but “biting off more than she can chew” seems even more inapposite. Whatever, she seems to be having fun with this enormous black dildo:

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Feminist Porn Wars

With a few notable exceptions, this sex blog generally stays away from the feminist porn wars, which always strike me as being in the nature of unhappy negotiations over the way political correctness ought to be defined by and among its most cutting-edge advocates and devotees.

Still, the wars continue, whether I blog about them or not. Case in point: this account from Audacia Ray, about some flack she took for allowing oppressive patriarchal semen to touch women’s bodies in a porn movie she made:

I was on a panel called “Good Porn for Good Girls” that featured some female porn directors. When I first found out about the panel, I was a little apprehensive — the idea of me being a good girl is kind of funny (to say the least), and it’s also annoying that despite the fact that I’ve never called The Bi Apple “porn for women,” other people enthusiastically slap that label on it. I’m a woman, and a self-identified feminist. Ergo, my porn must be for women.

Really, I find this tiresome — I made The Bi Apple for people who want to see a slightly different vision of sexual interaction, people who are queer or pansexual or just plain curious about people and bodies and fucking. Women are of course invited — but so is everyone.

…

Anyway … the panel quickly devolved into an argument about blowjobs. A few audience members questioned the prevalence of blowjobs in Erika Lust’s films and the extent to which giving a blowjob is a feminist act. Erika quickly said that she personally likes giving blowjobs, which is why they are in her films so much, and she personally is a feminist, so do the math. It definitely seemed like the crowd didn’t buy this explanation.

I’ve seen this happen too when people ask “Why do the men in your movie ejaculate on the women’s bodies?” and my answer “I asked the female performers where they wanted the cum, so it’s all up to them where it’s deposited” is often greeted with skepticism. This kind of skepticism is the stuff of “false consciousness” — or the belief that if only we (being Erika, me, and female porn performers who like getting cum on them) were radicalized to better understand our oppression, we would know that cocksucking and money shots are Bad For Women.

Cock Sucking? In Major League Baseball?

In 1898, no less?

You betcha:

It’s real: “the most offensive official Major League baseball document that we have ever seen.”

Let’s enumerate for the folks reading this via RSS:

• You cock-sucking son of a bitch!
• You prick-eating bastard!
• You cunt-lapping dog!
• Kiss my ass, you son of a bitch!
• A dog must have fucked your mother when she made you!
• I fucked your mother, your sister, your wife!
• I’ll make you suck my ass!
• You cock-sucker!

Link via Boing Boing.

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Five Candles

Ladies and gentlemen and faithful readers and visitors, I’m pleased to announce that today marks the fifth anniversary of ErosBlog’s first post.

I’m rather proud to have been in continuous publication for half a decade. 1,853 posts spread over 1,825 days averages to 1.015 posts per day. Of course it wasn’t that regular — there are a couple of posting gaps that stretch close to a month in length. But a daily post has always been the goal, and if I never managed that much, I’ll settle for that 1.015 posts-per-day average.

When I started this thing, internet diaries had been around for at least as long as the web, and some of them (especially the BDSM lifestyle ones) had a lot of adult content. Blogs (known by that name, or by its then-still-in-use linguistic ancestor, “weblogs”) were a few years old, but had exploded in popularity and visibility just in the previous year. Sex blogs — as a genre — were unheard of. There was Daze Reader, there was World Sex News, there was BJ’s Gay Porno-Crazed Ramblings. There were pretty pictures every day at Sensual Liberation Army and some other places. Lots of proto-sex-blogs, but none that had adopted that characterization of themselves. So, as far as I know, Eros Blog was the first internet thing to claim that description.

I can’t claim to have invented the idea of a sex blog — whomever registered sexblog.com, before I tried to, can prove that — and I can’t claim to have invented the act of sex blogging, which was all over LiveJournal before I ever heard of blogging. But I think I was the first person, to think of it, do it, and call it by the name.

One possible exception — a sex blogger who was there before me by a few months, doing what I’d consider the first recognizable sex blog and conceptualizing her work in roughly that way, was Susannah Breslin. She did a blog called The Reverse Cowgirl, she was well connected with web heavyweights and early blogging gurus, and she blogged pretty exclusively about sex and culture. It was nice stuff, she was kind enough to link me early, but I simply cannot remember if she ever called her project a sex blog. She might have; certainly she could have, because that’s what it was.

Unfortunately it was from Susannah that I first learned to hate the destruction wrought by blog vandalism. She was linked all over the web, she was getting a lot of media attention, and then one day without a word of explanation her blog was gone and links all over the blogosphere were 404ing. Then a while later she had another project up, very artistic and overdesigned but having many bloglike features; it too vanished. After that I lost track, but there have been more; she’s got another “Reverse Cowgirl” blog going at the moment, with archives going all the way back to 2006, but not a single link to any of her earlier projects (presumably because they are all gone). I owe Susannah a considerable debt for inspiration and early traffic, but she’s also the one who taught me to be wary of folks who treat the web like a rented space for temporary performance art.

So! Five years. Two hosts. Three blog software platforms. At least half a dozen different templates. A metric buttload of spam and raging idiocy moderated out of the comments. Two web interviews, perhaps half a dozen press inquiries (ignored because I still enjoy psuedonymous posting). One hell of a lot of fun.

One of the fun things for me is to look at how my posts (and me) have changed over five years. When I started, writing about sexual stuff was very hard for me (even in my usual detached “look at those people over there and what they say they are doing” style). I was stilted and awkward. I was afraid that to write about a thing meant people would think I liked it. Worse yet, I cared about that, and would include horrid little disclaimers. Bacchus wrote about Bacchus in the third person for eight long months. I remain indebted to Eugene Volokh for providing me, a day too late, with the vocabulary word for that literary atrocity. Thanks to him, I now understand that I Am No Longer An Illeist.

As for me, when I started this blog I was single, lonely, and underemployed by my own choice due to increasing disillusionment with my profession (a little) and with the demands of the job culture (a lot). Now I’ve got The Nymph, we’re ridiculously happy together, and my adult web projects support me better than a job ever did, with me working only when it suits me. And it does suit me! I used to read in the business magazines about successful power suit types who would wake up in the morning full of enthusiasm for getting into the office to do whatever they did, and I’d boggle at that alien worldview. Now, I wake up in the morning, often as not, with an idea for tweaking or improving one of my websites, and I’m full of enthusiasm for the idea of getting up and tinkering with it. Life has never been better.

I couldn’t hope to thank properly all the other bloggers who deserve it, for providing me with support, encouragement, linkage, ideas, material, inspiration… but to list even the first fraction of them would require listing half my blog roll. All I can say is, thanks to you all. And thanks — even more thanks! — to the thousands of loyal readers who come back every day to see my blather and follow my links.

I owe special thanks to my regular guest blogger, Aphrodite, who has been backing me up and providing the woman’s touch around here for more than three years. Although her posts have never been frequent, she’s provided considerable invisible assistance, especially with comment spam filtering before we got it as automated as it tends to be today. I remain delighted and honored to have her help.

What about the future? Will there be a “Ten Candles” post on October 3, 2012?

At the speed technology, culture, and politics are changing in this crazy world, it’s hard to know for sure, but I truly do hope so! I love doing this blog and I can’t imagine stopping voluntarily. Five years ago it was still possible to claim that blogs were a fad. Five years from now, it’s possible we’ll all be considered impossibly old-fashioned, like paper magazines and network television and phones that plug into the wall. But this is about the sex, baby! And people don’t get bored with that, so I should still have an audience.

I’ll conclude with a list of some of my forgotten favorites — an even dozen sex blog posts I enjoyed writing and still enjoy reading, posts that seemed important to me, or posts that other people seemed particularly to enjoy.

• Bacchus On Porn
• Andrea Dworkin On Blowjobs
• This Is The Culture War
• Competing With Porn
• A Basic Rule For Gentlemen
• Sex And Submission
• Evil Porn Werewolf Enslavers Debunked
• Crapping All Over Beauty
• Two Smiles
• An Economist Confused About Porn
• More on NSFW
• Blogging Services Still Haven’t Stopped Sucking

Definitely About The Sex

I suppose it’s possible that after almost five solid years of sex blogging, I tilt too much toward novelty and shock in selecting new material to blog about. Not that sex ever gets boring, but the blogging fingers can get jaded. Whatever the topic, didn’t I already write a post about that? Or three of ’em?

For whatever reason, I’m definitely still finding novelty in the transsexual porn from TS Seduction. Old fashioned “tranny porn” (conceived and presented as a freak show, with transsexuals as the freaks) is hardly novel, but it was always presented with the emphasis on “ZOMG, freaks having sex!” and never a care in the world paid to whether the sex was hot sex.

Of course we expect (and get) better from a Kink.com franchise. We see models like this, and we want to see some sex:

Of course, without some advance warning we wouldn’t necessarily expect to see those two sucking each other’s dicks, but when it happens, at least it looks like they mean it. And if that’s not sex as Bill Clinton would define it, surely this is:

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Sucking The Bong

I’m not sure what category this goes in:

Proof — as if we needed any — that there are always a few girls who will do anything for a man who has lots of weed? A reminder that art glass doesn’t have to be functional? Or just de gustibus non disputandum est?

The only thing I’m sure about is, I know some redneck male pot smokers who would be deeply conflicted if somebody loaded this and handed it to them.

Sucking Down A Beer

Beer bottle fellatio? Not sure what’s going on in this picture, but the girl on the left sure seems to be enjoying it:

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Blogging Services Still Haven’t Stopped Sucking

I’ve been saying for years that blogging services suck. I said it in 2004 when LiveJournal destroyed a vintage erotica journal that I liked. I said it again in 2006, when, you guessed it, LiveJournal started threatening to suspend users for posting pictures of nipples.

Well, I’m saying it again.

Of course it will come as no surprise that I’m saying it — again — because our old friend LiveJournal (that outfit makes a wonderful bad example!) deleted a bunch of journals for posting dirty stories that management didn’t like.

“Our decision here was … based on what community we want to build and what we think is appropriate within that community and what’s not. We have an awful broad range of discussions and topics and other things going on in LiveJournal, and we encourage other broad-ranging conversations on all sorts of topics. This was a specific case where we felt there was not a reason (for these journals to stay online).”

This is not a censorship issue (it’s their sandbox and their rules). This is not a rights issue. This is a no-brainer “poor stupid fuckers spent years of their lives writing their shit on a blog service that could, and did, turn them off and delete all their posts” issue.

“We felt there was not a reason for these journals to stay online.”

Why in the name of Odin’s enormous penis would you put your creative efforts at the mercy of someone who had the power to say that, and make it stick?

Dude, don’t do that. It hurts.

And it hurts to watch.

I’m telling you for the third time:

Anything worth doing on the internet is worth doing at your own domain that you control.

Aw, hell, I’m going to say it again for the kids on the short bus:

Anything worth doing on the internet is worth doing at your own domain that you control.

And this is for my slowest reader, the guy who is sounding out the words with his finger touching the computer screen, which he can’t see very well because of all the pizza sauce and popcorn butter that gets on there when he does that:

Anything worth doing on the internet is worth doing at your own domain that you control.

Are we clear?

Also, let me be clear: Livejournal is just the bad example here, not an especially bad service. All blogging services have the power to screw you over. The potential screwage is inherent in the nature of what they do.

Use your own domain. (Your registrar won’t care what you write.) Buy your own hosting. (Your host won’t care unless you post something that’s actually illegal.) Own your own shit. Don’t put yourself in the position to be messed with by somebody who can say “we felt there was not a reason” for your blog to be online.

There are other good reasons to own your own shit. We live in the era of the global microbrand. If you do anything creative, your brand identity is tied to your domain, the place where you publish all your creative stuff.

What? You don’t have a domain? You’re still putting all your shit up on a domain somebody else owns? You’re using your stuff to help them build their brand? WTF, HAVE YOU NOT BEEN LISTENING TO ME?

OK, I’m done ranting for comic effect. But I’m not kidding about this stuff. Blogging services still suck. Get your own domain. Control your own shit. Build your own brand, for you. And own it. For you.

You’ll thank me later.

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Cocksucking On The Bathroom Wall

A bit of real “folk art” cock sucking, found in a men’s room (not by me) and posted on Flickr:

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Missing A Golf Ball, Dear?

I assume this athletic young thing is experiencing one of the highly-engineered beer delivery systems that the youth of today have turned to in favor of the old-fashioned gulping and swallowing that served their elders so well:

Beer or no beer, the effort visible in her face puts me in mind of a speculative sexual performance assessment that was old long before she was born, when dinosaurs roamed the earth and sometimes said things like “That girl could suck a golf ball through fifty feet of garden hose.”

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Flexible Toe Sucker

Another advantage to being flexible — as if we needed another advantage — is that it lets you suck your own toes (or chew your own toenails I suppose, if you run that way), as seen in this fine vintage photograph:

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Blowjob, Described

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

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

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

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

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

From Edinburgh Erotica.

Sucking The Bronze Penises

Here’s yet another way to appreciate fine art:

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Blowjob Frills

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

Und so weiter.

Snap-N-Point Blowjobs

In the tired stereotype of the semi-satisfying suburban sex life, blowjobs often feature as a “special” activity if at all — birthday sex, or as a sexual “reward” for being a well-trained man, as in this old joke. As is obvious to any sex blog reader, that old stereotype is getting less and less apt these days, but it still rings true for a vast swathe of American manhood.

But not, it must be said, at Kaya’s house:

He likes to be serviced sexually while He’s busy doing something else. I suppose that could be labelled a fetish of sorts. He likes to have me working hard to suck His cock while He’s distracting Himself with… well, with anything. A book, the tv, the computer. It’s a challenge for my dick-sucking abilities to keep Him hard when He’s otherwise occupied. When He starts going soft I know I’m beginning to lack in effort. That’s about when He’ll start chastising me too. If it happens too often, if I’m really lacking in effort, He will get mad.

I know alot of people, women, would find that to be disrespectful or they’d flat out refuse to do it. I’ve read it, I’ve heard it. They want or need that attention, they’d see His focusing on something else as an insult of some sort. And I’ve experienced that too. I feel that at times and I get irritated and frustrated and have let it become personal. I’ve gone down the road of “He doesn’t like me, He doesn’t want me, I could be any whore down here, I’m not attractive to Him, blah blah blah.” Been there. But it’s not about that. Not really.

He is getting off on the humiliation that it causes me, of course. And it *is* humiliating. Mostly though, He’s getting off on the power and control. It’s a huge power trip for Him. He gets off on the effort I put into it. I’m *working* to please Him while He’s working to ignore it. While He lies/sits there, cool as a cucumber and seemingly uninterested, I’m sweating, I’m grunting, I’m generally in some degree of discomfort or pain and all I am getting out of it is a ‘good girl’ at the end. And I’ll only hear that if I’ve put enough effort into it to have impressed Him.

It’s a victory for me if I can make it good enough and catch His interest enough, that He stops everything else that He’s doing and focuses on me. Focuses on me in a good way that is, not because I’ve messed things up somehow. I was victorious on this night though.

The computer is just one of the things that He will be busy doing when He snaps and points at His crotch. The ol’ snap-n-point. Snap and point and I am on my knees searching for His cock. What a spoiled man He is.

He’s Bested Her Spaniard…

…so we can see he must have studied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pearls of Ecstasy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toe Sex

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.

Hair Pulling Blowjob

Here’s a 70s sex cartoon by Bill Ward that features fab fashion and a good old-fashioned caveman-style blowjob, complete with our sensitive hero demonstrating his good hair grip technique:

Is that a medallion nestled in his chest hair?

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Did Santa Bring You A Video iPod?

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?

Stallion, Rampant, With Female Admirer

Draw your own conclusions about this one! Clearly this photo was intended to be funny, so I don’t mind sharing it despite the fact that it’s rather rude:

Found on Usenet.

A Real Street Blowjob

I’m a small town boy at heart. Setting aside the sometimes-amusing literary conceits of porn sites like Street Blowjobs (sorry, boys, but the young ladies sucking on “Bob Incognito’s” prong are recruited in the usual porn industry fashion and they know they are on camera), I would normally assume that even low-end commercial sex transactions are unlikely to occur in broad sunlight within feet of beer-swigging pedestrians. And so, it’s possible this photograph is not what it looks like:

Although that posture is hard to explain, it’s possible he’s just trying to give her a discreet hit on his device for incinerating illicit chemicals. Heck, maybe she’s trying to help untie the tangled knots of his friendship bracelets, using her teeth to worry the strings loose. It’s possible….

But then, it’s also possible (and perhaps more likely) that more things happen on the mean streets of the big city than I’d previously imagined.

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Little Reindeer Games

One of the neat things about downloading dirty pictures from Usenet is the way you can stumble across images that are deliciously bizarre. Like this one from alt. binaries. pictures. erotica. vintage:

As the kids these days like to say: WTF? Is there actually a vinyl-reindeer-antler-sucking fetish out there, or was this model merely bored that day?

Tentacle Sex, Shunga Style

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mean Girls

It wasn’t the toe sucking that caught my eye when I saw this gallery:

No, it was the disgruntled look on the face of the girl doing the sucking. (Don’t pay any mind to that guy in the audience yelling “I’ll gruntle her!”) Then another shot established some context for her disgruntlement (for surely the toes would not be an unbearable indignity):

There’s really nobody who does girls being mean to each other better than Whipped Ass.

Oral Sex Is Standard Equipment

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:

About time somebody said it.

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Oral Sex For The Happy Woman

The quality on this vintage oral sex picture may not be the best, but I had to share it anyway. Isn’t that just about the happiest smile you’ve ever seen in porn?

From Usenet.

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Hickey Happiness!

Lots of teeth and tongue. I have fingerprint bruises on my hips and he actually gave me a hickey on my neck that I didn’t notice until later. I haven’t had an actual hickey that anyone who wasn’t intimate with me could see since high school. It was silly and thank goodness I don’t have to be anywhere important for the next few days, but I like it.

From today’s post over at Freya’s House of Dreams. My mom still teases me about not being sensible enough to be embarrassed about a hickey. Why should I be ashamed that someone liked sucking on me? :)

The Story of R: Further Thanksgiving Sexploits

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

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

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

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

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

——-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Sex Question

Danor inquires:

Dear Miss Manners: My boyfriend and I very much enjoy giving each other head, and we are both very good at it. However, shortly after an explosive orgasm on his part, whereas my tendency is to keep sucking on his penis with the same enthusiasm and painstakingly perfected technique which I have been employing throughout the blowjob, he quickly begins making high-pitched whimpering noises, groaning “No more!” and pushing my head away from his crotch. I gather from his reaction that the intensity of pleasure has reached a pitch which he no longer finds bearable, and I have always considered that the courteous response is to withdraw and let him catch his breath. However, when I have had multiple orgasms from cunnilingus and try to wriggle away to indicate my fear that I may lapse into unconsciousness if he continues his activity, he simply grasps my hips more firmly and continues with more vigor than ever! Should I take this as an indication that he wishes me to override his requests for “no more” as well?

Discuss among yourselves.

Christian Fellatio: A Rant

Not my rant, I fear. But Violet Blue (whom I haven’t linked to in far too long) recently wrote a well-reviewed book about fellatio, and wonders thusly about the negative reviews from an unexpected quarter:

Why the hell are Christians reading my fellatio book, and even stranger, what unholy ghost possesses them to write bad reviews about it on Amazon? Like, duh — my book is about a very dirty sex act (the dirtier the better) and the content is… offending them! I can only guess that the book was recommended on some Christian messageboard, the ladies thought, well I spend a lot of time on my knees, why not make Jesus a happy man, and bought the book (I’ll take that money, thank you very much. No, no — don’t give it to the Family Values Coalition, give it to the cute girl with glasses who likes to write about sucking cock). Then they read the book and realized that to suck a cock, you need either a) another nice Christian lady with a (preferably huge) black strap-on cock, or b) a real, non-imaginary man (unlike Jesus). But seriously, in the book I don’t judge anyone’s preferences about anything — religion, sexual activity, gender, predisposition to get really wet imagining Mike Ditka throwing that football through the tire swing talking about erections while clutching my fellatio book cleverly camouflaged in a paper bag bookcover with the word “BIBLE” scrawled on the cover and “Jesus is really hot.” No, I judge not. Even I think Jesus deserves a really rockin’ blowjob. And doesn’t he have like a million volunteers for the task?

“Grasp Firmly With Both Hands….”

My grandmother used to believe that a young lady should never be seen to drink in public. It’s entirely possible she would feel vindicated by this photograph:

On the other hand, it’s also possible the young gentlemen present will be, er, intrigued by the young lady’s enthusiastic two-handed grasp on the beer hose.

Men And Sex Blogs

I want to share an interesting set of comments I found over at Steve Gilliard’s News Blog. I’ve commented before on how most of the sex blogs I link to are written by women, and how male voices in the sex blog community are so vanishingly rare. When you do find ’em, they are guys like me ‘n Daze who talk about other people almost exclusively. Or we just link to porn pretty pictures. Now, why is that, exactly?

Steve says:

There’s a new spate of sexually oriented blogs. Some are fascinating, some droll, but they are mostly an outgrowth of women expressing themselves online. Not exclusively, but enough to make it an outgrowth of more political and social expressions of opinion.

But what a lot of feminists and their fellow travelers do not understand is this: it is incumbent upon men to be discrete.

The social code of men doesn’t encourage the sharing of sexual secrets with other men, forget women. Which is why Clinton lied, which is why my toes curl when I’m asked about women I’ve dated. One of the big tenets of an adult masculinity is not bragging. You don’t have to do much to let your friends know you’re sexually active. And that’s all that is required.

He also says:

[M]en are judged when they talk about sex. Yes, men tell sex stories, but they leave out the details. Sure, they’ll tell you what happened, but they leave out the details. Most men do not want to know what other men do in bed. Men do not usually hunt down old boyfriends to get details of what they did before. And, no, most do not want to be friends with the guys you’ve slept with. In fact, they like to ignore them. They won’t think they’re good guys or any such nonsense. It’s physics: two bodies cannot share the same space.

Men withhold details to prevent being judged by their peers. Guys do not say “yeah Bob, I really like sucking her toes and brushing her hair after sex.” That’s not anything a guy wants to know about another guy, ever.

Most of which strikes me as pretty much right on the money. There’s a class of guys who tell graphic lies in the locker room, but real men mostly ignore and avoid that, as the crass adolescent posturing it generally is.

More on Men And Sex Blogs

Aleksander at Naked Loft Party thinks there’s a more prosaic reason for the lack of male sex blogs:

I agree it is rather hard to find male sex blogs that don’t revolve around pornography, commentary, sexual frustration, or sucking up to women for the sake of getting dates. We men are poorly represented. But I think the explanation is more prosaic than Bacchus and Gillard realize. Women are socialized to take an interest in discussing sex and relationships, in the same way men are socialized to take an interest in sports or politics. Women are more likely to keep journals in the first place. They are more likely to be involved in sex work. They have no other outlet, seeing as female promiscuity is still viewed as aberrant. And finally there’s that ingrained notion that male sexuality is primitive, one-dimensional, not worthy of exploration; that men who talk about sex are pigs, which is only reinforced by attitudes such as Gillard’s.

He’s also got some interesting things to say about the pressures men face not to talk about sex. Thanks, Aleksander!

Way Hot!

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!

Dworkin on Blowjobs

A while back I linked to a fun essay on blowjobs in the Village Voice, which talked about the way dominance and submission add to the heat of the cocksucking experience for both parties. There was briefly on Yes Portal a response taking serious issue, too serious I might argue, with that view of the blowjob. What’s most interesting about the response, however, is this characterization of Andrea Dworkin’s writings on blowjobs:

In her book Mercy, she [Dworkin] described a blow-job as “stretching muscles that can’t be stretched” and warned women curious about the act, that “the pain will push you down to hell, near death, to coma, to the screamless scream, an agony, no voice, a ripped muscle, shreds swimming in blood in your throat.”

Isn’t that the saddest thing you ever saw? I’m thinking maybe Dworkin was doing it wrong.

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Fun With Twiddly Bits

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

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

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

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

Of Lip Gloss and Power Exchange

Tristan Taomino writes in The Village Voice:

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

She’s also got makeup advice:

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

Thanks to Daze for the link.

“Lollypop, Lollypop, Hey Holly Lollypop…”

An arresting photograph, even if the purpose of the exercise is obscure:

But why are her eyes closed?

Interview With An Autofellator

In case you were curious, an Interview with an Autofellator. A highlight:

Imagine having someone suck on your cock who knows exactly what you’re feeling at every moment; who can adjust every variable instantly to provide you with maximum pleasure. Imagine (this one is going to be more of a stretch for non-cocksuckers) sucking on the cock of a man who knows exactly how hard and fast to push, and when to pull out (for those of us who still have a gag-reflex). Having that much control means that I can have a variety of kinds of orgasms and can easily separate orgasm from ejaculation, and shoot a number of loads before having the final orgasm. It isn’t a substitute for sex with other people; it’s a completely different thing, like masturbation squared. It’s like any good sex: Sometimes it’s cerebral, sometimes the body takes over.

Summer Camp Was Never Like This

“Dr. Atkins, Your Girlfriend Called”

Kim Kelly wants to lose some weight. So she’s going on a 100% man juice diet. Or so the promotional press release reads:

For the entire month of December Kim Kelly will diet by eating nothing but cum for an entire month!

Beginning December 1st/2002 BBW Live’s “Queen of Princesses” Kim Kelly will be attempting to add her name to the star-roster of “Sexual World Record” holders by sucking down a minimum of 90 cum enriched meals… and probably a number of “snacks”. That’s a diet of nothing more solid than cum, at least three meals a day for a month!

However, she’s quoted as saying she also plans to eat “plenty of banana smoothies” because “I’m not going to kill myself for this.”

Snogging Defined For Clueless Americans

After that last cheap blogshot, I suppose I should put something more useful up. How about strengthening international ties by explaining the mystery of “snogging”? Those crazy Brits are always snogging, or talking about it — and it’s never been quite clear to me exactly what that means. I’ve always thought it was a rough synonym for “making out” (or, to use a dying euphemism, French kissing) — but with a more vigorous connotation, sort of like “sucking face” but not quite so crude.

Now all is explained, at Sunday magazine length, in the Guardian Unlimited Observer, and it turns out I’m right:

“And so I had to explain that snogging is a bit like kissing but more aggressive, a bit like sex but strangely far more intimate, and that probably as a result, many people who happily have sex with their partners on a regular basis can’t countenance the idea of snogging them in any way.”

There is lots more. (Original link at archive.org.)

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Reasons To Go to Malaysia Kiss

Meesh in Malaysia offers four health reasons to kiss:

1. Kissing revs of production of saliva and helps wash away bacteria and break down on gum damaging plaque! Yes, so now you have a medical excuse to start sucking face. You will be your dentist’s dream patient. In fact, if he’s hot, you should start sucking his face.