Make Me Some Toast, Please

Rodney Dangerfield on wild women:

She was so wild than when she made French toast, she got her tongue caught in the toaster.

Too Gay To Make A Sandwich

I’m not a fan of the Subway sandwich shops; going to one of them strikes me as a lot of standing in line for a result that’s usually little better than a wrapped sandwich from the deli case. I particularly don’t like being subjected to blank looks from slow fast-food workers who act as if simple instructions like “lots of onions, please” is some deeply incomprehensible request in a cryptic ancient tongue. Dude, I don’t need you to carve me a mathematically perfect rocket combustion chamber out of stale cheese; I just need you to move your baggie-wrapped fingers to the onions bin, grasp, return to the vicinity of my sandwich, and release. It’s not rocket science. And, please, stop drooling on my sandwich.

Honestly, I’m being unfair. I live in a tight labor market, where the fast food stores are always hiring, and cannot afford to be fussy. And even then, Subway is a franchise; one store is not like another. But still. My local Subways are terrible, and I hate them.

Bad as they are, though, there’s always a worse one. Case in point: the Subway shop (location unknown) that caters to bigots, by firing a sandwich technician after a customer complained that the dude was also a gay porn star. The dude in question makes movies under the name Kurt Wild, and here’s the email (circulated by his agent, as reported at Fleshbot):

Hey everyone.

I just wanted to tell everyone that I was just fired from my work at subway because I have done gay porn. A customer said they wouldn’t even eat there at subway anymore because of my past work and said that if I wasn’t fired then they would boycott the store. What I say is, if one person can try to ruin me everywhere I work… maybe I should take a stand and boycott their store too if they can’t let people’s privacy be treated right. I should have the right to work anywhere I can and it isn’t right or fair that people can keep me from working simply because of a “gay” issue. If a girl did what we do it would probably be ok.. and if a guy does straight porn.. he is bragged about. When I do gay porn, I feel a bit lynched for the rest of my life. Not right. Thanks for reading.

– Kurt Wild

Now, I’m not one to cry boycott. It would be stupid in this case, when there’s no accountability to the Subway “brand” by individual store owners. But seriously — are there really still people out there who are dumb enough to be worried about gay cooties, and shameless enough to admit it?

Apparently, there are, and they eat at Subway.

Vintage Sixty-Nine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Link via Spanking Blog.

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Ix-Nay On The Man Junk

Some time back, whilst discussing The Great Craigslist Sex Personals Massacre Of 2006 (don’t forget to pronounce it “mass-uh-cree” like Arlo Guthrie Jr. does) I wrote:

Speaking to all men, let me say this: Mailing a potential female sex partner an unsolicited picture of your dick is not appropriate, it’s not smart, it doesn’t work, it brands you as a vulgar idiot, and it makes all men look bad by gender association with your fucked-up self. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. I repeat, don’t do it. Man law, got it?

Now, via Viviane, here’s a link to Junkbuzzed, a sharp-tongued blog named after this dumb-assed behavior and devoted to exposing “the grime, grit, humiliation, and degradation that goes into trying to find someone to fuck you online.” They have a LOLcat:

And they have stuff to say:

Yes, on to the man-junk. Look. We know you like the sex. The sex is the bomb. We understand this. I myself am a big fan of it. But a little discretion goes a long way. Put the man-junk away unless it is specifically asked for. Pictures of man-junk are like Vienna sausages at a 4-star restaurant: it only gets served on special request.

Then this very same Junkbuzzed post moves quickly along to another vital bit of advice, which can be summarized briefly as “write like a human being, you moron!”

I have, In The Name Of Science, dutifully read through many a day’s postings from the men to the women. After the first 10 or so posts, it all starts to read like LOLcats….

“o hai! lick mai taint plz i gots 12in srsly 420 kewlâ€?

This is not the phrase one employs in the pursuit of True Love (or To Blave). It is not the phrase one employs even if one is trying to get one’s taint licked (South Carolina, I’m looking at you).

Having a sense of humor helps. Displaying a sense of humor is even better. And not in a “I broke my last girlfriend’s jaw cuz she was a bitch lolâ€? sort of way, either. The ladies, they don’t go for that sort of thing. Just trust me on this one. Ain’t gonna play.

Lots of fun, and that post is #3 in a series.

Rimming Molly In The Basement

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“Bend over,” I tell her.

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

“You want me to?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, almost inaudibly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Getting His Rims Polished

It will come as no surprise that men will lavish amazing amounts of money and attention on their rides. Still, my mind boggles at the amount of effort it must have taken for this car’s owner to train his girlfriend to do this:

(And now I have to run, The Nymph is chasing me with a couch cushion and yelling something about male pigs and dogs. I guess that means I’m not getting a topless car wash as a Valentine’s Day present?)

Orgasmic Rape In Fiction

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For The Love Of Women

In The Furious Passions Of Norman Mailer at 10 Zen Monkeys, we find this anecdote from the lengthy feud between Mailer and Gore Vidal:

1974 found [Norman Mailer] sending this letter to Women’s Wear Daily.

“It has come to my attention that Gore Vidal has been speaking in your pages of my hatred of women. Let me present the following items.

Number of times married: Mailer 5, Vidal 0
Number of children: Mailer 7, Vidal 0
Number of daughters: Mailer 5, Vidal 0

These statistics of course prove nothing unless it is to suggest that the reason Vidal may have married no lady and fathered no child is due perhaps to his love of women and his reluctance therefore to injure their tender flesh with his sharp tongue.”

Client Gets Screwed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perverted Sex Story, Real Life Version

In the movies and the stories and the fantasies, if you order up a stranger off the internet for perverted sex, and meet for perverted sex, then the story is about perverted sex. Predictably, and sometimes boringly, so.

What I love about sex blogging is that down here on earth in real life, sometimes other stuff happens too, which makes for a more varied and interesting narrative.

For instance, when Bitchy Jones whistled up a submissive feller off the internet so she could do mean stuff to him, there was indeed some perverted sex, but not without a hitch you’ll never see in a dirty movie:

Just before Jack was due to arrive one of my next door neighbours came and told me they had seen my cat limping in the street. I went out to look for cat but there was no sign. I called Pan in a panic. I told him to turn around and come home so he could care for cat. It started to rain. I was standing in the street looking for the cat when Jack arrived.

Jack was all, ‘Hey are you standing in the street waiting for me?‘ And also all, ‘Hey, here I am. I have arrived for perverted sex.‘

And I was all, ‘No. Perverted sex is canceled. We must find lost injured cat ZOMGZ!‘

We found the cat. (Sorry if that stressed you — I probably should have warned at the top for mild cat peril.) I called Pan and told him I thought the cat would be okay until morning and that he should not come home after all.

Then Jack cooked. I kissed him quite a lot — endangering cooking. We did some painful things too. (Painful for him.) Some naked things. (Naked for him.) Some kneeling things. (Kneeling… (oh, get with it.))

I don’t know if his tongue stud felt so very different on my cunt — but on my nipples it was incredible. Bliss of death.

I love it. “Perverted sex is canceled!”

Susie Bright Interviews Chelsea Girl

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

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

CG: The “deep throat” post.

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

CG: Down.

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

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

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

CG: My pediatrician.

SB: Oh, come on! No, stop!

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

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

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

Sexually Suggestive Gesture

I have a question for my readers. Namely, what is the significance and/or common cultural context of this sexually suggestive gesture-and-maneuver where a woman wags her tongue between her spread fingers?

I, myself, have only seen this done “in the wild” on one occasion, when it was directed at me by a street-walking prostitute outside the entrance to the Sputnik Hotel in Moscow in the late 1980s. In that context, it appeared to be a sexual come-on designed to transcend language barriers. But I’ve been told that it is also used, in certain times and places, as a rude gesture, like the almost universal “middle finger” or the old Roman fig.

It seems to suggest pussy licking, which strikes me as equally odd for a prostitute or for the deliverer of an insult. Unless, as in insult, it is supposed to suggest “you lick pussy” and stems from times or cultures where that might be considered an insult to a man’s virility?

I’d google it, but I don’t know what to call it. So, what’s the verdict? What does it mean to you, and why?

Hurting Him

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

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

I. Win. At! Perverted! SEX!

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

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

From the essay:

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

I like it when he screams into my mouth.

Like?

I *adore* it when he screams into my mouth

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

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

And then there’s the hitting:

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

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

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

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

Ass To Mouth, Sorta

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

Somehow the conversation veered way off track.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded as well as I could considering my position.

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

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

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

Being Handy

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

I rather suspect they find Monmouth to be both:

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

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

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

Gradually, she opened up more and more.

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

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

Then I formed a fist.

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

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

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

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

I For One Welcome Our New Sex Robot Overlords

Outside of the hentai realm you don’t see a lot of science fiction pornography, and what you do see is usually hilariously awful. I’m not sure exactly why that is, given all the fun you could have with big hard shiny implacable stainless steel sex robots and lustful tentacle-y aliens and autonomous anal probes and mind control rays and force whips and … oh, wait, am I talking out loud here?

Moving rapidly along.

Anyway, the folks at FuckingMachines.com may not be making science fiction, but they do understand the attraction of cruel implacable hard steel sex robot machinery and the considerable advantages of the indefatigable electric motor. Nor do they shrink from restraining mere human flesh when it might otherwise flinch away from and thus miss out on the intense mechanical pleasures of the machine age. In space, it is said, no one can hear you scream. But why go all the way to space when you can achieve the same effect with a high quality latex vacuum bondage bed?

Princess Leia in chains was cute. Han Solo in carbonite was novel. But this, I submit, would have been a better fate for either one of them, and would have immensely livened up the movie theater of my youth. Besides, wouldn’t old Jabba the Hut have enjoyed the heck out of a implacable robotic tongue-saw?

Science fiction this may not be, but it sure is entertaining!

Similar Sex Blogging:

• The Scent Of Machine Oil And Pussy
• "...And A Machine To Suck 'Em"
• The Virtues Of Robot Sex
• Ancient French Fucking Machines
• Mandroid The Sex Android (RoboCop Gone Bad?)

Bad Sex Splogs Identified By URL

When you’ve been blogging for years the way I have, it can sometimes be hard to find something new to write about, or even quote. So, as you might imagine, I spend a lot of time on the search engines. Pick a slightly funky key phrase, type it into various search engines, see what sexy stuff turns up.

What turns up, in overwhelming volume, is “splogs” — spam blogs, stuff that uses blog templates but is just random junk designed to attract search engines.

The fascinating thing is that these splogs are universally obvious in the search results. The “snippet” invariably doesn’t read like anything a human wrote, and often even the URL is so obviously a throw-away that you know there’s no real site there.

I’ve gotten very good at spotting these things in the search results and not wasting my clicks on ’em. But, frankly, it’s not very hard. Case in point, not the worst URL I’ve ever seen but one that screams “not a real website”:

http://lesbianjailsex.pornyblogs.info/

I guess “porny” is to “porn” as “truthiness” is to truth. No kidding, here’s some of the search engine honeytrap “content” to be found at that URL:

She like bone with strapon and genuine love muscle togethershe is teen, but acts like a professional whore. Like the lesbians in this photograph much time is spent tongue bathing and slurping the clit. If you like the photos then surf further & check out the free lesbian sample clips that are on the smut-site. See this hottie work a honey pot like she never knew she could.

Now that’s sales copy!

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.

Fullfilling His Ass Fantasy (Not To Mention His Ass)

Here (from Damp Silk) is a loving tale of a wife who discovered the fantasy her husband was oh-so-secretly exploring on the internet and (rather than freaking out) set out to fulfill it:

My husband has a secret fantasy life. I’m absolutely serious. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. Doesn’t every man? Don’t all men want us to be maids in the home, chefs in the kitchen, accountants with the checkbook and whores in the bedroom? Don’t all men fantasize daily about various sorts of interesting sexual things? Yes. Of course they do. But for me, this fantasy was a bit different. Because this one involved . . . the ass.

My husband has had my ass in every way imaginable. He has touched, stroked and caressed, pinched, spanked and paddled, teased, toyed and tongued, poked, prodded and probed and quite frankly royally fucked that object of his obsession. He has taken me, and my ass, to new heights of delight. If my ample cheeks were the focus of his interest, it was certainly fine with me. But, as I soon discovered, it wasn’t my ass he was interested in. It was his own!

I discovered this accidentally one evening. I was reading emails, deleting junk, and catching up with private messages. Unexpectedly I accessed a secret account; apparently he’d forgotten to log out after he checked his own mailbox. I found several messages from ladies he’d recently chatted with. They discussed their talks in intimate detail, very sexually explicit. We both enjoy sexy chat, so that didn’t concern me, but the topic was a bit startling, and it both shocked and aroused me. My man, tall and large, mustached and muscular, wanted to be fucked in his ass.

…

Should I pretend I never saw the account? No. Not a chance. Should I confront angrily or tearfully, which could potentially cause a big fight resulting in him hiding more secrets from me? Also not an option for me. Hmmm. This could become a serious problem in our marriage if not handled properly.

As I am a self-starter, and somewhat of a devious gal, I embark upon the only choice available to me. I go shopping. But not to the mall, oh no. I head to the naughty bookstore, with its wide assortment of marital aids. It’s time to fulfill a fantasy. Yummy. I’m on a mission!

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.

The Mistress Guide

Here’s a fun article that may be of use to a number of you ladies: Miss Vanilla’s Guide to Being A Mistress. It’s a sort of Intro To Femdom 101:

I call it “Miss Vanilla’s” guide because I really want to give people who don’t consider themselves kinky a chance to enjoy this. When I first started getting into it, I was awfully confused and intimidated by the idea of being “dominant.” Would I lose my femininity? Would it make my man less masculine? Would it sour our non-sexual relationship? I will approach all of this from the perspective of someone beginning anew, as best as I can.

…

Techniques! What are some fun ways to let your man know that you’re in control?

“Bondage”. One of the easiest ways to get started is by tying him up. Pros: He’s physically helpless, so you get to focus on breaking his will with your sexiness. Cons: His hands aren’t free, so you have to take a very active role – you can’t easily kill time telling him to pleasure you with his hands!

…

“Pleasure overload.” Let’s face it: Your man thinks you’re hot. Now you’re going to use that to your utter advantage! Make him DESPERATE. Caress his entire body – with your fingers, your tongue, or your feet! Trace your fingertips up his inner thighs. Trace spirals around his penis but don’t touch it yet. Tease his butt, if you’re into that kind of thing (more on that later). Lick, suck and bite his nipples. Tease his dick with your mouth. Exhale deeply into his ear, and suck his earlobes. Be sexy, and he WILL be yours!

Summer Sex

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

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

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

…

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

From Desireous.

Our First Fight

Wish I could tell you it was a hot mashup of pleasure and pain, but it wasn’t. Just a stupid fight between J and I, helped along by alot of bad information.

J got back from a long business trip on Monday…..a very long trip. So we were both eager to get together and have some fun. He’s barely in the door of my place before his hands are caressing me…..stroking my flanks and gently tugging my t-shirt out of my shorts.

After he does that, his hands beeline for my breasts…..My nips are really sensitive, and he loves to tease me with nipple play. And he’s really good at it, his hands are marvelous. I don’t remember how we got there, but we got to my bed and he pulled up my shirt and started nibbling my nips….alternating between them and using his hands to keep the other nipple happy too. And I came from J’s breast play, a nice uncommon surprise.

Clothes came off, and I straddled J, teasing him with tongue and cunt, spreading my wetness over his cock….then I shifted to rub my clit against his penis and had another orgasm. Not a big one but still alot of fun.

After some more teasing J finally takes me the way I like it best, slow and teasing, and alternating deep and shallow thrusts. It doesn’t take much of that and I’m coming again, a slow motion build and release just before he comes too. He looks happy, I’m sure happy…..and everything seems great for a few minutes.

But then when some blood starts returning to J’s bigger head, he starts complaining that I didn’t “come properly.” I finally figured out that what he meant is that I didn’t have a huge, earth-shaking, When Harry Met Sally-type production. Um, no…..I don’t always have those, mostly because I can’t create them and I don’t always want to try to. Sometimes they happen and sometimes they don’t even though they might be expected to. But I come easily and usually come often, and that keeps me a happy girl.

So I start trying to explain to J that when I have sex I’m all about the coming but I can do that different ways. And he starts saying stuff like the only real orgasm is the Big-O kind, and that other stuff is kind of like faking it. Well, that made me mad, and I guess some of the things I said got him mad too….maybe he thought I was saying he’s less experienced when all I was trying to say is that I’m a woman who knows my body and loves to come, and how can he not like that?

He left and we haven’t talked since then. I haven’t told him about being a sex blogger yet, mostly because I’m not very good at it and a good way to start that talk hasn’t come up. But this might be a good way, because I don’t think I can convince him myself and I know I’m not the only girl out there wired this way. Sisters, can you help me out here?

What It Feels Like To Deep Throat

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

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

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

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

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

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

Double Blowjob

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

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

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

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

I kneeled and they had me together….

Similar Sex Blogging:

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

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Drawing from Sliptongue Magazine.

Erotic Spanking Play

Given that so many spanking illustrations feature punishment of one sort or another, it’s refreshing to find a piece of vintage spanking art (via Spanking Blog) that appears to be all about pleasure. Here we have two ladies, a tropical bird tapestry, a lot of pillows, and a whippy cane:

Any woman who’s ever complained of tongues flagging prematurely will sure appreciate this novel approach to maintaining proper levels of oral enthusiasm.

Sex Blog Roundup (Exclusive ErosBlog Edition)

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

Feels Like Home from My Not So Secret Self:

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

Purple Silk Boxers from Urban Gypsy:

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

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

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

Fantasome from Emerging On The Other Side:

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

Storming The Fortress from Late Starter:

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

Candy Cane For Des from Desireous:

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

Tranny Surprise from Bad Sex:

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

Midwest As Seductress from Kiss and Blog:

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

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.

It’s True for Some Girls, Too

Last night I had one of those feels-real dreams that I wish had been real…I was at a real hot bar, people hooking up all around me, and me just aching for some action of my own…then a muscular guy came over and went all dom on me, telling me he wanted me and wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Then he grabbed my hand and pulled (not too hard, because I wasn’t all that unwilling) me over to a table that was on the edge of the dance floor, where we could be seen and the lights played over us too. After some spanking that got me good and wet, he tied my hands together above my head, flipped me over, and slit my dress right up the middle, displaying me for anyone to see. Even though I was embarassed, it was arousing to see people watching…and enjoying the show…and I was so excited that when he began to pinch my nipples, I came. That led to lots of punishment, including him selling “pussy pokes”–fingers or tongues, $1, because I was “such an easy slut”. As soon as I’d start to get seriously worked up, he’d tell the person to stop, and laugh at me as I begged for more. Finally he unzipped and out came the hugest cock I’ve ever seen, and he plowed into me, just straight in all the way, which sent me over the edge. He pumped me hard until he came too…at which point I woke up, soaking wet and throbbing from coming in my sleep.

So that must mean that I’m living proof that some girls’ brains are a counterpart to the male brain shown here:

Don’t remember where I spotted this one.

Fluids and Frolicking and Fun, Oh My!

Goodness. I didn’t realize that my post of yesterday would prompt such a response. Several comments deserve a more prominent response than just a follow-up comment … So, strap yourselves in, and have barf bags at the ready if you get squicked by talk of fluids and fucking. (Or, don’t peek behind the “more” link.)The first commenter posted:

All you say makes sense, but I don’t know that you’d want me to put my bleeding cock in you.. would you?

No, but that comparison confuses the issues. Menstruation is a normal, natural part of a woman’s body functioning — a bleeding penis isn’t. And yes, CID, there can be a difference in the “feel” of sex, menstrual fluid being thicker, if one plunges in without allowing time for natural lubrication to occur (or even if you do allow for that, just ’cause that other stuff is present too). I was somewhat tongue-in-cheek pointing out an advantage of having sex during menses.

Another individual commented, in part:

HOWEVER, I do have a problem with a lady, who after I go down on her refuses to kiss me… :boo hiss:

Boo hiss indeed! I’ve had a similar experience from the other side, so to speak. That is to say, a gentleman reacted with shock and displeasure when, after I’d admitted him to my “sacred sanctum” and he withdrew prior to orgasm, I went down on him. To me, the taste of commingled male and female fluids is scrumptious … but he apparently didn’t agree.

I’m not out to belittle anyone who has tried some of these things and not liked them. What I was challenging is the idea (which seemed to be implicit in Wanton Male’s blog entry, and I apologize to him if I read more into it than was intended) that there’s something inherently wrong/bad/harmful/unpleasant in menstrual sex — or, for that matter, enjoying other normal bodily fluids that happen as part of the sexual process.

If you’ve tried it, and not liked it, well, good on ya for trying. We all gotta follow our bliss, and thank the goddesses, there are lots of ways to do that. But if you’re among those who absolutely reject something relatively benign like this …. well, consider yourselves challenged by me to reconsider. “Try it — you just might like it!” :)

The Best I Ever Had

I forgot it was the Labor Day weekend! I’ve been busy the past few days getting the place squared away before fall’s chill begins kissing the land — it happens early where I live. I also took the opportunity to freshen up my bedroom. I painted it a deep blushing-pink almost-red shade, and it’s gorgeous. It looks like a spectacular sunset all the time (and when the sun does come into my room, in the late afternoon and evening, it’s all the more dazzling).

Seeing the paint going on and drying, and being even prettier than I had hoped when I selected the shade, got me thinking about what an even nicer love-making nest this room will be in its new color scheme. And that got me to thinking back on past good times … and the best time I’ve had, sexually speaking, so far.

The guy wasn’t a great love of my life; I can’t even really say that we were boyfriend and girlfriend. He was in a college class with me. One night I saw him at a bar, and he was the only guy I knew there so I started talking to him. We hooked up that night, and it was pretty good … but that’s all.

We got together occasionally, but our schedules never really lined up well to get together a lot. As it happened, our last time, toward the end of the semester, was far and away the best sex of my life …J and I always had fun together, joking and laughing, even during sex sometimes. I told him after class one day that I always seemed to have thoughts running through my head — not just consciousness of what I was doing, but “word-based stuff” in my head. I’d tried meditation to help clear my mind and focus it, but it hadn’t succeeded. That was hard for him to understand, and he declared he was making a project of helping me clear my mind. For weeks afterward, he’d do silly things to try to jolt my brain out of thinking. Nothing worked, but it was fun anyway.

On an early December Friday night, I was getting stressed out by projects and upcoming exams, and decided to go for a walk. My college town was small, and a short walk from the edge of campus was all it took to get to the farmers’ fields that surrounded the town. A half moon grinned through platinum ribbons of high cloud; a few corn canes clattered in the occasional push of chill air. My pace was slow as I soaked in the quiet and cold, both soothing my mind.

Having gone about a mile down the road, I was surprised to hear footsteps behind me — not hurried ones, but deliberate and measured, like mine. Glancing back, I recognized the gait as J’s, and slowed to allow him to catch up, if he wanted.

He did. We walked for a bit in amiable silence. Finally he murmured, “Getting away from it all too, huh?”, and I nodded. We approached one of my favorite spots on this walk — a small stand of trees that huddled together, cornered by a small stream and ancient fencing. J inclined his head, and I easily leapt a low spot in the barbed wire, the spot he’d indicated being one I frequented as well.

We lay on the ground, which was not yet as cold as the air. Even so, I was thankful for the long coat I’d chosen. J’s kiss was an intoxicating mix of cold lips and nose pressing to my face, and warm, sweet breath. My body responded immediately, its sensual desires having gone unfulfilled for weeks.

Rather than indulge those desires, J acted as if he hadn’t noticed. He returned to star-gazing.

I cuddled closer, pressing my breasts against his arm, thinking that would send an unmistakable signal.

Nothing from J.

What the fuck?! I thought. J had never been slow or shy before, so his lack of response was a total surprise. I decided to display my interest in a more obvious way.

Leaning over to return his kiss with a more ardent one, I swung a leg over his body and pressed close, feeling J’s erection. As he opened his lips slightly, I gyrated against him, tongue and pelvis matching rhythm. As the kiss ended, J reached up, gently stroked my hair, then firmly grasped my shoulder and pushed me down, reversing our positions.

Ignoring my hunger or oblivious to it, J langorously slid his fingers down my skin, unbuttoning my shirt and allowing the cold to sweep over my skin. My nipples, already taut, crinkled further, then even more as one received the warm attentions of his tongue, the other teasing flicks from his cold fingers. A long sigh of release and desire escaped my lips.

My attempt to return the favor was rebuffed; J gently but firmly pushed my hands down, then unbuttoned his shirt himself. The warmth of his chest against mine was brief, as J slid down to kiss and caress my breasts again. His other hand glided over my belly to unbutton my jeans.

Still impatient with his pace, I moved to help him pull my jeans down. Wordlessly, J again spurned my action and slowly pushed them down, leaving them as an awkward but effective restraint around my ankles. Finally understanding that J would only proceed as he liked and at the pace he wanted, I lay back and contented myself with teasing his nipples and seeing his growing excitement.

After what seemed an eternity of slow, tender kissing and stroking heightened by the contrast of chill air and warm skin, J removed his jeans and prepared to enter me. I was so wet I could have taken him all in one thrust, but his unhurried pace continued. I began to rock my hips in anticipation of the orgasm building within me, but J pulled out.

Understanding immediately, I ceased my motion, and after an agonizing delay he entered me again.

J’s uncharacteristic slowness focused my full attention on every movement, every touch. Slowly in, not quite fully, then slowly out … all the way out? No, thank god … and again … again … The caress of his hair on my cheek as he bent to kiss me, never altering his rhythm …

I felt suspended in near-rapture, perpetually on the edge of orgasm. Then a slight increase in J’s pace and erection signaled his impending orgasm, tumbling me over the edge in a slow-motion release. His full thrust into me as he came sent me off again … every nerve seemed to transmit my shuddering release. J blanketed me, holding me close as our orgasms finally subsided.

It wasn’t until long afterward, when we were walking back to campus, that I realized J had at last reached his goal of completely clearing my mind of words. Unfortunately, I never told him … and even more unfortunately for me, no other lover has come close to matching that amazing night with J.

Dessert Pornography

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you’re adorable.”

And so I stuck my tongue back in it again.

From Smitten.

Res Ipsa Loquitur

Has any one of my faithful readers never had a female coworker who needed to be sentenced to six hours in this chair?

I thought not.

Picture lifted from Bondage Blog.

A Man’s Religion

Longtime readers will remember Halley Suitt’s lessons on being an Alpha Male. I was reminded of them in an oblique sort of way by the following essay, which is written (with tongue firmly in cheek) in the style of an old-fashioned tent-revival sermon, by a fellow who’s working the Alpha Male thing a bit harder than most. Herewith Dan the DDHubby delivers That Old Time Religion:

Brothers, I say unto you: Know what you are. You are the husband, the man, the male. You have been given gifts by the Creator, whatever name you call him or her or it. You have been given gifts by Providence. Those gifts have taken you and your brethren far. We crawled out of the caves, we climbed out of the sea, we slid down the trees, we stood and walked and made tools and language and fire and agriculture and civilization and literature and medicine.

We tamed lightening and used it to make sand think!

The gifts that have been given unto you do not stop there. Oh no!

Count your blessings!

Providence has given you women! They have given you a spouse! A partner! A best friend! A lover! If the woman beside you is only some of these things, or Providence forbid, none of these things, do not point a finger, do not hold up a hand, do not deny your own responsibility in these matters!

Quiet now, brothers. Listen carefully to me. It is true that in some circumstances an error has been made by the Fates. It is sad, but it is true. From time to time an error of such magnitude has occurred that the only choice for correction is dissolution. It is sad, it happens. Hopefully, brothers, you will learn from that error and not repeat it.

But, if it is not error that causes your problems, it may be something else. It may be the darkness inside you that holds you back. It may be the darkness inside you that doesn’t want you doing what must be done.

For that is the one truth that all my brothers must embrace. That is the one truth that you must Know in order to be happy. That is the one truth that you must live every single day of your life. That is the one truth that will set you free.

Listen closely, brothers. Listen carefully. Write this down if you must, but commit it to your heart, commit it to your soul, commit it to your very life:

Men do what must be done.

Whipped Cream For The Sole

Here’s a little bit of tasty toe porn:

Ticklish feet, whipped cream, and an active tongue, what could be sweeter than that?

Redwhore Is An Optimist

Naw, that’s putting it too gently. Redwhore is probably dreaming. She writes:

Together, B and K make this enticing pair. In public, I am convinced that others look at us and assume they’re partners, because it’s rare to have such male beauty (booty) in the same place.

I’m trying to convince them both that it’s ok for me to rub their cocks at the same time and perhaps let the cocks touch for a quick pic…seriously…my TONGUE will be in it, for God’s sake! But they each just laugh at this and say (in the same, Alpha-male way): “Umm, NOT happenin’!”

I contend that if I sign a non-publish disclaimer and demand it as what I want, what I need!…they might give it up. I’m hopeful. The contrast of black and pink cock is just too sweet.

It’s that Alpha-male thing, Red. You know, that thing you like about them? I’m not saying you can’t make it happen, but that would be the way to bet. In any case, your (doubtless considerable) powers of persuasion are in for a workout.

Sweet On The Tongue

I assume that this is totally innocent. However, when I saw it in a store just now I just about died laughing. Ladies and gentlemen, I present berry-flavored Rimming Sugar:

For your rimming pleasure, also available in citrus.

Submissive Sex

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

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

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

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

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

More Smurf Porn

Would you believe it? An annual smurf orgy. Because after all, Smurfette is the only female smurf in the smurf village. It goes like this:

Cradling his head to her crotch, Smurfette’s hips begin to slowly grind and twitch, for Papa Smurf’s tongue has unerringly found her S-spot, and Smurfette begins the slow, hot, agonizing rise to ecstasy.

“Oh, make me smurf, baby, make me smurf!” she pants, each stroke of his tongue causing her to throb and clutch.

As Smurfette’s moans and cries rise in pitch higher and higher, the crowd gazes in amazement at the mighty mound of meat struggling to escape from Papa Smurf’s pants. This, then, is the legendary Trouser Titan….

Hey, I didn’t say it was a well written smurf orgy.

Update: I am informed that Smurfs have become a valuable industrial input.

Abraham And Hagar Get It On

Here’s a funny site called Bible Sex Stories. The dirty bits of the Bible are repackaged as badly written erotic stories:

Hagar reached down under Abraham’s tunic and felt the hardness. “What is that, a stone idol under there?” She asked, as she slid down and fellated Abraham’s obelisk. He enjoyed her expert tongue, but soon he couldn’t bear it. He lifted her up and placed her on top of him.

As he entered Hagar’s supple moistness, Abraham flashed back to how his wife Sarah’s dry gullet reminded him of the hot desert sand, and he shuddered. Hagar grabbed onto his collar and rode him like a camel, bouncing up and down, drilling him deeper into her with each movement.

From Abraham Visits The Maid.

The Valley Of Gustatory And Olfactory Delights

There has been talk here before about the excellent tastes and smells of a woman. Although some women worry (needlessly) about how they taste and smell, thankfully others know better:

And for that matter, I’m not pleased with men who do not enjoy my taste. I know what I taste like, and I taste good, clean and crisp and sexy. I am unimpressed by a man who does not enjoy my taste. And really there is no faking it. If you are only willing to touch my pussy with the tip of your tongue I notice and am immediately turned off. There is more to my pussy than my clit for your tongue and my vagina for your cock. And actually while we’re at it the whole nether region is an erogenous zone feel free to explore. I suspect it’s no different for men, but I know that it is not enough for one to have technique; I want to think you are enjoying licking my pussy too. Nothing turns me on more than when a man sticks two or three fingers in my drenched pussy and then sucks the juices off.

Thus spake the Vanilla Sex Goddess.

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*

Advanced Blowjobs

One of the first neat things I discovered over at Her Desires was this entry linking to an advanced blowjob technique. It sounds both energetic and amazingly likely to work. Here’s a teaser:

As you begin, remember the mantra: Rhythm and moisture are crucial. So, if you’re afraid to get a little spit on your palms, exit stage left and thank you for playing.

Slobber him up form tip to nuts. Really get him juicy. A lot of tongue lathing along the base and slurping on the tip. Those of you who stock flavored oils would probably be well served to employ them here. Once he’s raging and messy, it’s time to start the music.

Get Any Good Kisses Lately?

You might have done, if these lovely and impudent lips and tongue had been handy:

Remember the wisdom of E.E. Cummings: “Kisses are a better fate than wisdom.”

Similar Sex Blogging:

• Four Lips, Two Cherries
• What's Better Than Two Roses On A Piano?

That’s Almost Not Nice, But Don’t Stop

Being as I am a charitably-inclined fellow, I don’t suppose Dirty Whore means to be a cruel tease when she writes:

Have I mentioned lately how much I love to suck cock? How much I love to take it deep and let my throat squeeze the head, or how I like to flick the most sensitive spots with my tongue? How I enjoy using my hand while I lick and suck on his balls?

That’s only the beginning.

Cruel, cruel I say!

Hungry? No? You Will Be…

Rebecca is having a dessert fantasy:

“I am imagining the sheer desire and eroticism of laying in between the layers of a Boston Cream Pie slice. Slipping my naked body into the cool custard, feeling it coat my hardened nipples like a lover’s I-just-drank-some-cold-water tongue. Pinned down by cake and chocolate ganache, pressing my ass deeper into the custard until it parts my ruby lips, sending shivers up my spine. I wiggle. I moan. I lick my fingers and drift off into a hazy sugary sleep on a cold winter’s night.”

Learn Something New Every Day

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

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

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

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

What Women Want In South Africa

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

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

Man Does Not Come By Kisses Alone

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

Anyway, Shell knows better:

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

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

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

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

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