Archived
October 10, 2004 - October 16, 2004

Saturday, October 16, 2004

I'd Hit It!

Mmmm... Celeste

Friday, October 15, 2004 Friday Fiction - Keeping The Beat Keeping The Beat Bonnie would have been our drummer even if she didn't have the shed. The girl laid down a solid beat. Despite her cute young “earth mother” body, she was “one of the guys”, able to dish it out and take it during our frequent screaming matches. Her round face would get red under her long black hair. Her ample tits would bounce as she put her hands on hips, spread her sexy legs and stood her ground. At that time we were grabbing any work we could scrounge up but we dreamed of chart topping hits and worldwide tours while we fought to find our sound. I had written a song the previous night and was excited about it. Some songs take a lot of work. This one seemed like a gift from the music gods. I was so eager to play it for someone that I decided to pop by the shed two hours before we'd planned to rehearse. In my creative glow, it never even occurred to me that Bonnie might have other plans for the early afternoon. If I'd thought of it all, I would have called to let her know I was dropping by. Then again, had I called I would have missed out on an incredible experience.  The shed was a relic from the late 1950s. Bonnie's grandfather had started building a fallout shelter not too far from their farmhouse. As Bonnie tells it, he ran into some financial troubles and never completed it. Bonnie's father and a few friends took the half-completed shelter and turned it into the shed when they were in their teens. It was a strange structure. Over half of it was underground. The shed windows were like skylights and you had to walk downstairs from the door. But, it had electricity, running water, plenty of space, furniture and a good deal of natural soundproofing. It was a perfect place for struggling superstars-to-be to work out their licks.  Using a shortcut through the woods, I walked to Bonnie's place just carrying my guitar. My new song was packed in my guitar case. Passing by the shed, I glanced in a window on the chance that Bonnie might be there rather than in the house. Oh, she was there all right. Boy, was she ever!  She was half-naked on the couch. Her healthy tits had large pink aureole with round, hard nipples. She was gently rubbing each of them as she sat there in a pair of red shorts. I put down my guitar case and moved a little to the side of the window. The shed was between the house and me; the woods were to my back. Bonnie would have to be looking up at the window to see me and, from the looks of things, she was more interested in her large, firm tits than anything else right now. For that matter, so was I.  She began rubbing her fingers around her nipples. Her eyes were closed and she had a small smile on her face. My dick was getting hard from viewing her booby play. It sprung right up to full attention when she lifted her hips and pulled her shorts and panties down to her knees. Under her slightly rounded belly sat a lush forest of black hair. Within that dark forest, her pussy was waiting for attention. She didn't keep it waiting long. Picking up a drumstick from the table, she slid it down between her legs, the plastic tip parted the hairs and touched the lips of her cunt. I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. My hard cock came out to taste the summer air. I wrapped my fingers around the rigid shaft while watching Bonnie slide the tip of the drumstick along her slit. She moved the stick around uncovering more of her wet pink slit and I began moving my hand up and down the length of my prick. The warm sun felt so good on my naked organ that I risked dropping my jeans to my knees. A light breeze tickled my naked ass and balls. My eyes were glued to the window as Bonnie began rotating the tip of the drumstick around her hooded clit. Her belly was contacting and expanding with her increased breathing. She still had that small smile on her face but now she was lightly biting her lower lip.  I jumped for a second when she reached over to the table to grab the other drumstick. Her tits dangled down for a moment in all their glory. She slid her shorts and panties down to her ankles and kicked them off.  Bonnie then laid down on the couch with her legs spread, her drumsticks clenched in her right hand and her left hand rubbing her tasty looking twat. Her long black hair was facing my window but I had a great view of her large breasts, hard nipples, beautiful legs and black bush. I could watch her hand moving around between her legs but I couldn't see exactly what she was doing down there. Whatever it was, it was effective. Her hips were lightly rocking to the motions of her left hand. I was jerking my cock to the same motions.  When she brought her left hand up to her left tit her fingers were wet. She smeared pussy juice around her nipple. Holding the drumsticks in her right hand she moved them down toward her pussy and gently slid both of them about a third of the way into her warm and juicy cunt. Rubbing her breasts, she began moving the drumsticks inside her and thrusting her hips with every downward motion. She was fucking her drumsticks and her drumsticks were fucking her. Standing outdoors with my jeans down to my knees I was jerking off right along with her, imagining that hot pussy wrapped around my hard cock like it was wrapped around that pair of drumsticks that she was fucking with such energy and enthusiasm.  Her hips and my hips both began bucking harder and faster. She held the sticks together in her fist as she moved them in and out of herself at a rapid pace. Her left hand had abandoned her swaying tits to play with her clit. Her ripe, rich naked body was thrashing on the couch with her frantic fucking motions. My legs were trembling as the cum built within me, approaching an inevitable explosion. Bonnie raised both of her shapely legs into the air, forming an incredibly sexy naked letter V. Her entire body seemed to strain toward the sensations building at the base of that letter as she rocked on the couch. I couldn't hold back any longer. My cock began to jerk and spasm, gobs of cum shot into the grass with the force of my intense orgasm.  I looked back into the window to see Bonnie's knees raised, her feet planted firmly on the couch, her cute ass in the air as she held the drumsticks about half way inside her and quivered up against them.  In a drained daze, I pulled up my underpants and jeans. Picking up my guitar case I headed back through the woods to my house. Maybe after I showered and changed my underpants, I'd give Bonnie a call to let her know I was planning to show up early. One thing I knew for sure was that I'd never look at her drumsticks the same way again. As I said before, the girl laid down a solid beat. On that day, her beat rocked my world.   .

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Thursday, October 14, 2004

Featured Artist - Bruce LaBruce
 

At first, a shocking diversity of people burn in to your brain. People in pain, people in distress, horrors of death and lust. But in between you ask yourself why?. Is this life? could this be our modern way of living? should it be? The work of Bruce LaBruce has unlimited layers but gives you none, or all the answers.

This description from the Peres Project exhibit (2002) gives us some insight on the artists intentions:

"LaBruce's photography, like his films, explores, exposes and ultimately challenges dominant cultural expectations of sexual behavior. He showcases radical sexual practices with underrepresented model "types" in order to question our attitudes on pleasure, pain, beauty, life and everything in between. His work assimilates strong influences from the world of high fashion and commercial advertising to the low cultural genres of pornography and trash TV. By constantly shinning a bright light into the dark crevices of human thought, LaBruce's work challenges societal norms and expands on notions of permissible thought. While often crude, rude, and decadent, LaBruce's work is unapologetic and ultimately achieves a level of beauty unique in contemporary photography." ( from Peres-projects.com )

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UpDates & Reviews

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"Cheerleaders & Teens in Uniform" The site design is good and of course it's easy to navigate. The splash pages are fairly quick loading and have quite a few sample pictures to give you an idea what's inside. Inside there are 9 separate galleries with over 300 photos of teens in uniform: everything from cheerleaders & schoolgirls to flight attendants, doctors, nurses, bus drivers, marines, french maids and more. The galleries are updated on a regular basis (monthly) with fresh new pics. "Cheerleaders & Teens in Uniform" is an Adult Check Gold site. And that means that it's high quality, gives you access to thousands of other sites and has very few banners and no entrapments or other annoying shit that pisses you off. Check it out!
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Wednesday, October 13, 2004

And So It Goes - Out of the Closet

     I’m having trouble writing. It’s the same problem I have every day: I can’t stop twitching long enough to get the words down.

     I have Tourette Syndrome.

     It’s not the amusing type of Tourette where I get to curse out loud; it’s a simple, unyielding, life-numbing compulsion to make foolish movements.

     If you are unlucky enough to have TS, you know it to be a lonely condition. The impulse to twitch is stronger than 300 mosquito bites in need of scratching. You can hold it off for a while—a hot date, perhaps—but it is always there when you return, only angrier.

     “What is a twitch?”

     I’m glad you asked.

     Twitching is a hydra-headed beast. Just when you have one spasm licked, it assumes a clever new form.

     Presently, I suffer from 14 different tics. They are on some sort of platoon schedule. At this moment, I’m battling the nose tic. This one is especially hateful because it is so subtle. Outwardly, you see a man twitching his nose like a gerbil. Inwardly, he is screwing the nasal pipes so badly that he can taste blood.

     Soon there will be a pain inside my face that no aspirin can touch. Sleep is the only cure. Sometimes I use a pince-nez (nose pincher thingy) to confuse the tic. It works for an hour at a time.

     Today I am applying an ice pack to freeze the tic out. This typically leaves me with a runny nose and so many bugarcicles. Sometimes the skin beneath my nose chafes from the frost. My mom thinks I’m snorting household cleaners again.

     Later, this spasm will be replaced by the graveyard shift, which involves my shoulder and arms. The shoulder tic is a little more involved and a lot more embarrassing. In fact, I do shows every night at 8 p.m. My elbow rises, my shoulder comes forward, and I tilt my head in the direction of the mess. Clever knave, that tic, to hide inside my shoulder, where it can’t be massaged. Multiply by 500 times per day, and you wonder why I’m grumpy.

     Then we have the guttural noise with which I have lived since high school. I’ve learned to make the sound without moving my lips so that others don’t know where it’s coming from. I have become a TS ventriloquist. So it goes.

     Other forms of twitching include closing my eyes for entirely too long when I blink, smiling for no reason at all, clearing my throat nonstop, sniffing, curling my toes, tightening my butt, and trying to think hair onto my head. Wait—that last one is part of my OCD. That’s another story.

     “What have I done to combat TS?”

     You ask all the right questions.

     I have tried everything: medication, acupuncture, biofeedback, Tony Robbins, you name it. The best remedy is still vodka and tonic. Recently, I decided to name my tic “J. J.” Instead of berating myself as I have for 25 years, now I just roll my eyes and say, “What now, J. J.?” It’s like having a retarded invisible friend.

     This is not a cry for compassion. I’m immune to the stuff. This is a selfish exercise to alleviate the burden of my secret. Even now, I am investing half of myself in the sharing and half in calming my gerbil nose. Some days, I throw my hands in the air and say the hell with it—I make more sense as a vegetable.

     So when I tease the mentally impaired, it is with a sense of kinship. To those of you who live with this ailment, cheers to you, mates. Having TS is like being confined to a wheelchair that no one can see. We suffer alongside any other cripple, only we don’t get the good parking spots.
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Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Featured Writer - Patty @ A Creative Spanked Wife

A thank you to my love... 

Thank you my love

You plunge into me; cleaving me, filling me, taking me. Your hands cruelly squeeze and crush the raw flesh of my buttocks. Your hips pummel and thrust up into me. Urgency and panic take me. Agony takes me. Ecstasy melds with distress and spasms into crisis. I climax for you again, and you revel in it. Yet you withhold yours from me.

I tremble and shudder and press my hands down onto your chest. My arms are rubber, my body limp. It hurts, the way your fingers squeeze me, the way the swollen floor of my sex pulses and contracts around you. I am completely spent. My mind can’t help it now. It silently begs to be allowed to take what you’ve done to me into a place that must have rest. 

Tears stream from my eyes, and I can’t stop them. I love you so much, and I can’t fathom the luck that has let me have you and keep you for so long. The intensity of what we have just shared rips at me, and when I open my eyes and look down into yours, I see that you know. The soft, perfect affection I see there floods me, and I can’t help the wrenching sobs that well up.

You smile, and then you wrap me to you, warming me, loving me needing me. Your arms gently surround me, drawing me down against you where I can rest. Your hips lift and circle against and within me, soothing the last of my spasms from me. Then you roll me and cover me, and love me more. 

Your kisses drink my tears, your caresses still my trembling, your thrusts, though firm and powerful are slow. This gentler love calms me into sleepy sensual bliss. I am all yours. I feel boneless, soft, and completely relaxed beneath you. Your rhythmic sinuous possession of me now is a sweet and perfect contrast to the brutal ownership that came first. Our coupling massages my being. When you finally give in to your climax, nothing is in my senses but you, and I revel in every ripple and contraction your body makes around and with in me. This is the physicality of us. My renewal and tangible reassurance that I am yours and you are mine.

**********

It began with such an ordinary day too; a kiss good morning and a change of plans; par for the course on a Saturday. As I think back on the moments from the morning that my memory has preserved, I can find nothing in them that telegraphed what was coming; at least not in the part of it when we were together. 

When you kissed me goodbye on your way out to the things that insisted on your time there was an evil twinkle in your eyes that told me the day would eventually be ours. But this was not unusual. Sex on Saturday and Sunday was one of our promises to ourselves. No matter what came up during the week, or whether or not we found time for it at other times, only illness or separation was allowed to get in the way of lovemaking on the weekend. It was one of the things that let me smile even though the outside world took you from the morning that was supposed to be mine.

I puttered around the kitchen, the family room and the laundry room for the better part of the morning. Only when I finally decided I should get dressed and go out to do some errands did I discover the half of what was behind the evil twinkle in your eyes.

The rose on my pillow was first to catch my eye; blood red, framed on the crisp cream cotton by a thin ribbon of supple black leather. A pale square of paper rested there too.

I felt the quickening of excitement flutter in both my chest and my groin. The electric tingle of it only intensified when I turned and saw the tightly wrapped bundle of twigs arrayed like a stark silvery brown bouquet. It was crossed by one of your canes. Both nested in a toppled lop sided leather vase made from ankle and wrist cuffs. 

I giggled, feeling self conscious even though I was alone. You left the tableau for me to find, knowing what it would do to me.

Hours; it would be hours before you came home. Hours for me to imagine what you had in mind. Hours for my mind to conjure the details of what might fill an evening where we would make use of the things you laid out. 

I smiled and let myself go where you wanted me to go. I gave over almost every spare moment the day let me have to going there in my mind. It was a delicious sensuous afternoon. When you did come home, I was wet and throbbing with desire. You knew it too. 

“Did you like my decorating?”

I nodded, kissed you and let you know how much. You responded to the way I ground against you with a low appreciative groan.

“Did you keep it for me?” you probed between my thighs kneading the damp denim seam that covered my sex.

I smiled, knowing what you meant. I had, and I could tell by the way you smiled that it pleased you. I admitted to the temptation, but told you how excited it made me to think about it and know I could, but how much I wanted to wait for you. How I knew that when it was time I would cum harder because I waited, letting it build up all day.

You answered that by taking my mouth with yours and spanning my crotch and the crack of my ass between your thumb and fingers and squeezing hard. I couldn’t help squirming on your hand. 

“Do you want to eat first?” 

I couldn’t have eaten to save my soul. 

“Thank you,” I whispered, when you laughed and kissed me again. I wrapped my arms around your neck, and helped you lift me. 

In the bedroom, you put me down beside the ottoman, and slowly removed my clothes. When I was naked, you handed me the rose, and I held it to my face while you place your collar on my neck and the cuffs on my ankles and wrists.

“Are you mine?” 

“Yes.”

“You want this don’t you baby?” 

You picked up the birch and swished it. The sound and your sudden movement pulsed through me escalating the already buzzing electricity of my arousal. 

It was my turn to smile at you with an evil twinkle. “I think I’ve been bad.”

You chuckled and placed clips on the wrist cuffs securing them together then you took all the pillows off the bed and placed them diagonally on the ottoman. When that was done, you guided me down on top of them. My thighs straddled one corner and my arms straddled the one opposite. You clipped my ankles together and then moved around to crouch by my face.

“Comfy?” you nuzzled my cheek and probed for my lips with yours.

I was too anxious to really tell, but I nodded that I was. 

“You ready to cum now baby?” 

“Yes please,” I gasped. The words, the way you said them and the promise I’d reveled in all day had me already so close, if I’d pushed my pelvis down into the pillows I would have exploded in that moment.

“Hold it until I say you can, alright?” you swished the birch again. My whole being twitched with it and I almost lost myself.

“OK,” I gasped again. “I’ll try.”

And then you laced me with it, stinging my bottom and my legs lightly. You teased me with it; flicking me with prickling strokes that slowly warmed my flesh. The sting was incredibly sensuous. You warmed me so well that I never once felt anything even approaching pain. By the time my bottom was scalding, I was floating on waves of pleasure. You kept up the gradual escalation, turning up the flames, until I knew I would not be able to hold back.

“Please!” I whispered my plea.

“You need to cum?” 

“Yes! Please!”

“Hard?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s go then,” you answered with a searing lash if the twigs. 

I gasped and whimpered, and raised my hips for “More!” 

The flames of pleasure/pain pierced into me and I couldn’t control my wanton bucking hips. 

Just as I told you it would be, my climax was explosive and amazing. The spasms lasted for well over a minute. 

“Good girl,” you leaned across my back nuzzling my neck and whispering into my ear. “You’re such a good little pain slut.”

I cringed, but not from the words that ordinarily would repel me. Right then I liked the words and I loved the prickly goose flesh raised by your hot breath on my neck. “When did you take your clothes off?” I wondered when I felt your hard shaft stroke and nuzzle against my bottom.

I don’t remember being lifted up or having the clips removed from the cuffs, but I do remember being perched on my knees on the corner of the bed just as you plunged yourself into my pussy. You felt so good there, and when you with drew and thrust deeper, you felt even better. 

“Fuck me!” I pushed back into you.

You spanked me hard with both your hands.

“Fuck me!” I yelped. 

You spanked me harder. 

“Harder!” I cried, and you obliged. 

There is nothing like the kind of wild rutting that happens when you spank me as hard as you fuck me, especially when your goal is to make me cum hard. 

“Cum for me!” your voice was hard, and the spanking was harder. 

“OK!” I gasped. There was no way I could hold out. Twice more you thrust into me and then I obeyed you. 

“Good girl!” you chuckled and ground into me milking my spasms until they abated. “Again baby.”

Twice more you pushed me over the edge. And then you pulled me on top of you and rode me hard from below.

You plunged into me; cleaving me, filling me, taking me. Your hands cruelly squeezed and crushed the raw flesh of my buttocks. Your hips pummeled and thrust up into me. Urgency and panic took me. Agony took me. Ecstasy melded with distress and spasms into crisis. I climaxed for you again, and you reveled in it.

Thank you for reminding me that I am yours.

Poetry - Semen
 

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Pregnant Tuesday

Since one of this week's Blogger Babes is pregnant, I thought I'd just do a whole pregnant theme... Enjoy!
 

Monday, October 11, 2004

Vamp - Kathleen Burke
 

September 5, 1913 - April 9, 1980

Monday Toons

Three Jokes

1. The husband emerged from the bathroom naked and was climbing into bed, when his wife complained, as usual, "I have a headache". "Perfect," her husband said. "I was just in the bathroom powdering my dick with aspirin. You can take it orally or as a suppository, it's up to you!!!

2. A funeral service is being held for a woman who has just passed away. At the end of the service the pall bearers are carrying the casket out when they accidentally bump into a wall, jarring the casket. They hear a faint moan. They open the casket and find that the woman is actually alive. She lived for ten more years, and then dies peacefully. A ceremony is again held at the same place, and at the end of the ceremony the pall bearers are again carrying out the casket. As they are walking, the husband cries out, "Watch the wall!"

3. A little girl is in line to see Santa. When it's her turn, she climbs up on Santa's lap. Santa asks, "What would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas?" The little girl replies, "I want a Barbie and Action Man." Santa looks at the little girl for a moment and says, "I thought Barbie comes with Ken." "No," said the little girl. "She comes with Action Man, she fakes it with Ken."
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Sunday, October 10, 2004

Blogger Babes - Pregnant Annie & Kitty

Annie and Kitty are a couple of the babes that I've recently had the pleasure to work with (see this week's Blogger Babes Pic)!

Annie  is deffo very pregnant - nine months worth. She's a 19 year old, 5'7, half White, half Latina, cute, girl-next-door babe with a hugh tattoo on her lower back. She has short mousy-brown hair, a nice friendly smile, 34C milk-swollen tits with big brown nipples and a hairy, swollen (from being pregnant) pussy.

Kitty's a really cute, really tiny, very young looking, 18 year old, 4'11, 85 lb Asian girl. She has long reddish-brown hair, a completely shaved and pierced pussy, a great cum-fuck-me-doggy-style arch, a really tiny, tiny butt and absolutely no tits what-so-ever. She says that they are a 32A, but even that would be pushing it. She just has nipples and nothing else.

Anyway, I've written about the both of them over the past two weeks. If you're interested - Click here to read about it. 
 

If you want to see more of Kitty or more of Pregnant Annie or more of Kitty & Annie together, you're just gonna have to wait until I put them on some of my sites or build some new ones. Or until some of the sets sell and other webmasters put them up on their sites.
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Always Looking for Girls, Girls, Girls to Photograph!

I'm shooting a lot right now and I'm deffo looking for girls to photograph, so... If you're female, OVER 18 YEARS OF AGE, in the LA area, very cute and/or good looking and/or HOT, and are interested in posing nude for my websites, your own websites, for fun or just for some nice artistic photographs, please e-mail me with a description of yourself and a URL address where I can see a photo of you. If you're what I'm looking for, then you'll deffo hear back from me :o)

Please DO NOT send photos or files attached to your e-mails. They will be deleted!
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Looking for Adult Artists & Writers

If you're an artist and/or writer and would like to have your work featured here on Sex Blogger or one of my other Adult Story or Cartoon Sites: "Sex-Fi. Erotic Sci-Fi & Horror Sex Stories," "Cuntoons," "Pregnant Comix," "Erotic Pregnant & Plumper Stories," "Sex Tales of the Old West," "Triple X Toons," "Kinky Komix," "Illustrated Erotica" or one of the new Erotic Story or Adult Cartoon sites that I'm building, then please feel free to e-mail me with a SHORT sample of your writing or a URL address where I can see your work. As far as subject matter goes, I'm really interested in erotic Sci-Fi, Horror, Gothic, War and Crime stories and/or artwork in the same genera's. I'm also interested in material that is unique unto itself. If you send me a short sample of your writing, please spell check and proof read it before submitting it. I know that I'm not the best with grammar, but if your sample is full of misspelled words and the grammar and punctuation are noticeably worse than mine, it won't even be considered. :o)

Please, DO NOT send photos or files attached to your e-mails. They will be deleted!
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Comments & Opinions

I would love to hear from you. Please e-mail me with your comments, opinions and/or any suggestions you may have regarding Sex Blogger.
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