…who would find this super hot.
I, for one, would be SO TURNED ON if someone said that to me after shagging my brain into next week that they’d have to eat their Wheaties and prepare for round two.
1) Experience Violent chocolate pudding craving.
2) Go on midnight pudding run in strange town.
3) Discover there is no pre-made pudding.
4) Buy milk, pudding mix & Lactaid pills so you can eat whole milk.
4A)…because FUCK SOY MILK I AM TIRED OF NOT HAVING THE REAL STUFF YOU BASTARD COLON!!
One of the awesome “Rules if the Internet” is Rule 34: If it exists, there is porn of it.
A friend on Facebook, upon seeing me mention Fetlife, mentioned that he thought I was, of course, referring to Boba Fett. I could not resist seeing if the legendary bounty hunter was the source of any kinky imagery.
And boy howdy…the FettIsh helmet was one thing, but the bound Princess porn…now that’s something else entirely.
Fireplay can be a dramatic and sexy aspect of BDSM play. Whether you are doing a quick swipe of someone’s skin with flash-paper or using some high falutin’ fire floggers, it is certainly an eye-catching and showy scene.
Unless you set everything on fire.
I was recently reminded of a scene I saw many years ago where a bottom, bring topped by four domly types, was in the midst of a serious piercing scene and one of the sadistic bastards sprayed the gal to saturated, with alcohol, to make the needles sting even more.
Then someone else had the bright idea of running current through the needles with a violet wand.
This time I’ll be the MC…whatever the fuck that means. I assume it means I get to talk trash, and for this I am always prepared to step up to the mike.
The premise is as follows: a top, stranded on a desert island has only the crap with which they washed ashore.
Originally Posted: Thu, 6 May 13:39 PDT
I suppose it is my fault for agreeing to an early morning hook-up. You see, I am not, NOT, a morning person. When I say this, I don’t simply mean that I am groggy in the morning. I mean that I am actually emotionally impaired, reduced cognitive function, excruciatingly slow reflexes, the whole kebab. So behaviours that world normally elicit a BITCHSLAP of Brobdingnagian proportions are met merely with a bemused look of disgust.
All that being said and documented…I still must rant.
HEY! Lame Ass Booty Call Dude! (Heretofore referred to as LABCD.) Let us review this morning’s performance:
You went on and on about how much you wanted to hook up, and soon. I took this as a matter of desire and a matter of wanting to have some hot nasty sex. Not the fact that you are obviously possessed with the attention span (and phallic fortitude, but more on that later) of a hummingbird on E.
Against my better judgment, I agreed to do you this morning, at an obscenely early time. “Why not?” I thought. “What a way to start the day!”
When you showed up, you called to explain that you found a space that would only let you park until 8:00 AM. I checked the clock. It was 7:46 AM. I gently suggested you FIND ANOTHER BLOODY PARKING SPOT, YOU GODDAMED IDIOT. (But without the “bloody” and the “goddamned” or the “idiot”.
I should have called the whole thing off then and there. Why? Big clue: this was a precursor to my later discovery that 14 minutes of “hang time” is about 8 more minutes than you actually need to finish YOUR end of the bargain. But you caught me at my weakest moment, LABCD. A pox on you.
Upon arrival, I am sorry to report that you looked about as intelligent as you sounded on the phone. Now, intellectual prowess and sexual prowess are not necessarily trotting hand-in-hand all of the time. But in your case, LABCD, it would seem that both sexual prowess and intelligence have been liquefied into some foul effluent by whatever passes for your cerebral cortex. Sorry, sorry, I used a few too many polysyllabic words. Put simply: a sack of wet weasels has more going on upstairs than you do. But whatever. I can overlook that. It is way too goddamned early to nit-pick, and I really just want to fuck.
Now, LABCD, let me run a few names by you: Right Guard. Mitchum. Arrid. Sound like anything with whom you are familiar? Tom’s of Maine?!? Anything? Bueller?!?! But hey, you’re a workin’ man, and sometimes workin’ men get sweaty. But hopefully, with some of the fruits of their labor, they take a minute to wash and freshen up the pits.
I know some people just like to go natural and all that. Let the pheromones do their work, yeah? But Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, why not default and use a little Irish Spring?
At least you didn’t waste my time trying to talk to me at the top of the act, LABCD. You got right to business. And hey! Look! You have an erection within moments! How nice for you. And so very thoughtful of you to attempt to ram your cock down my throat at an angle so oblique as to render any finessing of this act on my part totally moot. But it didn’t seem to matter to you, LABCD, because you were moaning fit to beat the band anyway. My guess is that your dick really just wants to be someplace warm and wet. You probably creamed your shorts during the pastry-fucking scene in “American Pie” and went right home for some hot Sara Lee lovin’.
Now. You might or might not be aware of this, LABCD, but sucking dick for 3 minutes isn’t usually going to get a girl all hot and ready to go. And you know what else, LABCD? When you go to try to stick your dick in someone’s cunt and you can’t get it in because she isn’t aroused, the solution is to do something to arouse her. Not push harder. But I forget…YOU had a hard-on, so all is right with the world. At this point, LABCD, I ought have cleared my throat and said “Hey, old chap! How about a little turnabout on the oral sex thing?” but the thought of your stupid head between my legs was enough for me to just go ahead and stimulate myself, at least to alleviate the non-effect of your pathetic thrusts.
Now, I am a generous person. And easily aroused, and endlessly optimistic. So, after the first few minutes, I decided to make the best of it. Your penis wasn’t spectacular, but I was AWARE of its presence, and I’d had the good sense to not allow you to fuck me face-to-face, so I could easily pretend Michael Madsen was mounting me and get on with the fucking. Lo, the blessed and sought-after climax was not to be.
Well, it was to be for YOU, LABCD, in about another 3 minutes, but not for me. Alas, alack.
I couldn’t even be pissed off when I realized that the whole situation had played itself out in about eight minutes. I suppose in my Womanpower brain, I was shrieking for reciprocity, for justice, for an orgasm, for christsake!! But really, at this point, I wanted your funky-armpit-having-no-kind-of-stamina-ass out of my flat. But wait!! Now you are going to make small talk! How thoughtful. Standing there naked with your pecker drooping and telling me that you’d heard that “The Illuminatus! Trilogy” was “weird” is just not going to in-fucking-gratiate you to me, LABCD.
Mercifully, you took some kind of hint when I lay there staring at the inside of my eyelids for the duration of your other puerile conversational gambits. And then you did the best thing in the whole goddamed lame encounter, LABCD: you left as quickly as you came. Buh bye!
I know, I know. I certainly COULD have said something, and I certainly COULD have stopped it at any point. But the experiment helped me to remember that I should never, ever take a good fuck-buddy for granted.
…Also, I can’t be too mad…I did get nicely fucked last night by a completely adorable personal trainer (Thanks, V!!) and he WILL, unlike you, LABCD, be asked back for seconds.
I do not want to “Blame The Victim” in the case of a grim injury.
But when the victim voluntarily let someone put an electric saw ANYWHERE NEAR their girl bits, my sympathy evaporates like rubbing alcohol poured on a sidewalk in Dubai in August.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:
PUTING JERRYRIGGED POWER TOOLS NEAR YOUR GENITALS IS A RECIPIE FOR DISASTER, PEOPLE.
You would think that masturbating band-saw guy situation would have made this shit abundantly clear.
Holy fucking shit.
I cannot imagine having my cunt sawed into and then having to be motherfucking MEDEVACED for that shit.
You know what, no. I take that back.
I CAN imagine it.
That is one of many reasons why my vagina remains unsawed even as I type.
I once had a play partner lurch at me in the hallway of his home with a handheld electric saw going full blast and he grabbed me by the neck, grinning manically.
This would have been a terrifying proposition, as this individual was well known for being a crazy motherfucker.
However, I remained calm.
I’d met his girlfriend,you see.
“Dude,” I said, calmly, even as my toes were barely touching the floor and the saw shrieked and chittered near my head “…I know this is an idle threat. Your girlfriend would kick your ASS if you got blood on this rug, man.”
He paused, and sighed, turning off the saw.
“Yeah, she would.”
I’m as open to kinks as the next totally open-minded pervert. Wait-wait—Who am I kidding.
I am FAR more accepting than most pervs when it comes to kink. Perverts can be some judgemental motherfuckers.
When you see this shit on websites, mostly this is done by engineers and riggers and people for whim building fucked up scary looking machinery is a workaday concern.
Not some dude who didn’t get the memo that a toy attached to a blade will do its fucking JOB and cut though the toy.
Great Galloping Ganesha, man.
No more pussy for you.