Beautiful, depraved

Intimacy. Debauchery. Irreverence.

Monday, April 28, 2008

Two men, a camera and me

Usually it's more than two, but this picture is beautifully suggestive nonetheless.

Many thanks to Jefferson for Fleshbotting my Of love and human bondage post.

Photo: Steven Lyon

Saturday, April 26, 2008

"Most scandalous woman of her day"

I could live with that moniker. I could certainly see myself wandering naked under my furs. Someone has already offered to buy me the cheetah.

"Nude servants gilded in gold leaf attended her. Bizarre wax mannequins sat as guests at her dining table. She wore live snakes as jewelry, and she was infamous for her evening strolls, naked beneath her furs, parading cheetahs on diamond-studded leashes."

Marchesa Luisa Casati lived (1881-1957) in Italy at the turn of the century. When her father passed away, Casati's inheritance deemed her and her sister the wealthiest women in the country. Luisa had a penchant for outrageousness and a great love for the arts. She was patroness to a number of emerging artists, remaining close and advising them throughout their careers. A contemporary and inspiration to Proust, Colette and Kerouac, her dinner parties were the stuff of legends (and Bunuel films). She commissioned a host of artists to capture her likeness with the only requirement being a daring and innovative portrait. Modern icons such as Dita von Teese and Karl Lagerfeld attribute some of their vision to her.

She lived in the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni, on Grand Canal in Venice (now the home of the Peggy Guggenheim Collection). Peggy, who uttered one of my favorite quotes: "When asked how many husbands she'd had, Peggy replied: 'Do you mean my own or other people's?'"

The beauty of the eccentric and the wildly self-expressive is the permission they give to others to be themselves.

Photo: Camilla Akrans
Painting: Kerry Kate Patterson

Information sources: (quotes also) and wikipedia. Thanks G. for turning me onto her.


Thursday, April 24, 2008

Zone fucking ii

I've written about fucking in "the zone" and now I'm writing about the zones. Of fucking.

Think of reflexology - the foot is made up of an intricate map of all the body's organs and meridian systems. By massaging the foot and focusing on pressure points, one is said to be able to stimulate the corresponding areas of the body.

The same theory applies to the cock and pussy. By stimulating certain areas of the genitals, we vitalize different organ systems. In the same way, particular sexual positions actually help direct energy to and rejuvenate parts of the body. Missionary, with a woman's legs lying flat, is great for improving energy and reducing fatigue in the woman. Prolonged licking of a man's balls will (also) make his glands happy. Ancient Taoist physicians actually prescribed specific sexual positions to cure different ailments.

I tend to keep the genital reflexology in my mind when I'm giving someone a hand job - I'll aim to cover the entire surface area, and spend more time deliberately kneading and massaging. When I've been told by my TCM (Traditional Doctor of Chinese Medicine) that my kidneys are weak, I'll insert a lot of reverse cowgirl into my routine. Otherwise, a variety of sexual positions are fun to play with anyway. I strongly believe in intuition as a guiding factor in sexual play - my body will let me know just how I need to be fucked. It ought not to be something I need to *think* about very much.

There you have it. Let your sex be your medicine and your medicine be your sex. An excellent book on the subject, and the source for the above diagram is Mantak Chia's Sexual Reflexology.

Drawing: Michael von Zichy


Saturday, April 19, 2008

"6": Of love and human bondage

It is incredibly freeing to be tied up.

I have permission to relax. To receive. My legs are spread open, my will forced open and my cunt is the focus of the room. My arms splayed out by my sides exacerbate a feeling of helplessness and powerlessness. The restraints edge away the tiniest remnants of resistance and I am free to accede. I am the embodiment of "yes," of being able to accept whatever happens to me, on any level.

My fantasies constantly replay the motif of coercion. It's usually light, and I'm a willing participant, but the coercion is a catalyst - an excuse for me to be as slutty as I truly desire. The more I am tied up, the more I own my utter, dripping wantonness.

Andre was the first person to truly tie me up. It's one thing to be bound with fishnet stockings and pretend to go along for the ride. It's another to feel solid leather handcuffs around the wrists and hear the clasp of a metal carabineer fasten shut. There is no turning back.

He tied me up a few times in his home before we ventured out in public: Spread-eagled on the king size bed and in the door frame standing up; with my back on the floor and my legs up over my head, ass in the air. Bondage can be a contortionist’s art, a measure of endurance. Ultimately, the aim is to distract and quiet the mind and let the body take over - the body in its infinite wisdom.

The evening he first took me out into public *and* tied me up, was choreographed very carefully - he arranged with a dominatrix friend of his to set up a cadre of experienced players. He wanted to be sure that my first foray into group play would be positive and memorable. It was.

I'd just come back from a surf trip in the Mexico and my body was tanned, firm and striated. We'd gone shopping for a "display" piece for me to wear - a slightly cheesy stripper-esque ensemble: a bright orangey-red satin thong and matching bikini top with clusters of gold sequins. It was cheaply slutty - a look he liked to encourage in me.

When we arrived at his friend's apartment, a number of people were there already. "Lady Cynthia," dominatrix in residence, was attending to aperitifs in the kitchen, while a couple of nubile young slaves – one male, one female - scurried around her, carrying out her demands.

Cynthia was an Amazon. She looked like one of the voluptuous, crazy busty, narrow waisted women from Conan the Barbarian. Long, wavy, platinum hair, a corseted waist, black thigh high boots and topless. Her breasts were magnificent - large and full but with a lovely shape. She was dominant in the way that few people are - she commanded the entire room. No one would dare fuck with her. I was in love.

Her apartment was small, with a lot crammed into the space. Her bed was in one corner of the main living room and there were chairs and sofas filling the remainder. Andre greeted Cynthia with a kiss on the cheek. She was warm and seemed glad to see him. I stood waiting as they spoke for a few minutes and then she turned to me. She had a wicked look in her eye - fearless, but playful at the same time. I stared back at her, my breathing shallow. She held my gaze for a long time, with a slight smile. Finally she looked back at Andre. "Undress her," she said. I could feel the blood rush into my pussy. He looked at me and nodded. I kept my eyes riveted on him as I unclasped my top and slid the g-string down my hips. I placed my hands behind my back and opened my legs in a wide stance.

Others in the room stirred and began to watch us. Cynthia reached for my nipples and squeezed them hard. My labia were thick, heavy and swelling. She led me by my hands, still behind my back, into another room.

Her dungeon. It was also crammed full, but with pleasure and torture equipment: a huge black throne of worship, a padded wall rack, an X-frame, harnesses and stretcher bars hanging everywhere. She led me to one side of a device that looked like a human size scale of justice. There was a metal bar running across the top, suspended from the ceiling. A cable ran alongside it and then split into two cables dangling from either end. She secured my hands behind my back with a set of cuffs and then fastened my legs so they remained in an open stance. She pulled the two cables down to my chest, and adhered two clips to my nipples. She then pulled on the other end to create tension, hoisting my nipples up until I was forced to stand on tiptoe. The pull on my nipples was searing.

People wafted into the room. Her female submissive, a petite, loud, mulatto woman - half-Jamaican, half-German, with aqua colored eyes – strutted in, wearing only light pink panties and asked Cynthia if she could spank me. “Of course. You can do whatever you want with her.”

The mulatto woman slapped my ass with her hands, cackling. My nipples were starting to burn. Hands squeezed my breasts, brushed my pussy, groped my inner thighs. So many hands. I had no idea where they were coming from. I was awash with pleasure. Writhing. Throbbing. My head was bowed, hair falling over my face when I felt a sharp tug on my nipples. Cynthia’s other sub, a soft spoken twenty-something mural painter with wavy blond hair falling over his face, stood directly across from me, in the opposite position on the human scale. She began hooking him up in the same was she had me, except that she wrapped a thin rope around his testicles. We were now in a similar, complicit predicament. If I let my heels sink to relieve the pressure in my calves and nipples, I would pull up at his tightly wound testicles. And vice verse. We stared at each other with what I can only call love. I wanted to save his testicles. He wanted to protect my nipples.

Someone’s head buried itself in my chest; a man was nuzzling and kissing my breasts. Fingers danced around and in my pussy, flicking my g-spot. I wanted to collapse and float but my nipples constantly reminded me that I must remain standing.


At the point when I had become a mass of sensations, I was released. The combination of my nipples, my calves, my stretched feet, my pussy, the back of my neck, the slapping on my ass – I sunk into a well of pleasure, of feeling, an amorphous weave of just being. I had no thoughts anymore.

I was led back into the other room and placed on the bed, on all fours, with my ass facing the room and my head toward the wall. Cynthia dropped a pile of candles beside me and announced to the room: “You can fuck her with these.” By now, every sensation was becoming exquisite, slowed down into deliberate motion rendering only pleasure. My ass was slapped, my pussy gratifyingly prodded, my body squeezed and all I could do was laugh. I was absolutely euphoric. I loved this. Loved it.

Andre guided me onto the bed. The female submissive crouched on all fours, sucking the painter’s very hard cock. “Eat her pussy,” Andre said. I paused for a moment, looking at her, looking at him. This was my first pussy. I leaned forward, tasting her delicately. The taste was foreign – musky, sweet. I was slightly repulsed at first; it was so different than cock. I kept tasting, roaming around her with my tongue and I realized slowly that pussy is delicious. I was lost in her cunt. I could have stayed there a long time. She groaned and Andre pulled me back on top of him. I kissed him tenderly. I was so utterly open. Everything felt like it was in slow motion, like I was moving through syrup. Between my legs, painter sub boy spread my thighs apart and licked my pussy. I had never felt anything like it. Was it him? The evening? My endorphins? No matter. It was the best cunnilingus I'd ever received.

Andre flipped me on my back and climbed on top of me, fucking me slowly, gently. Someone else reached over for my nipples and squeezed hard, so hard and it only made me smile. I had completely melted. I felt gentleness and exquisite pleasure from everyone who touched me and a sense of being suspended in a thick, viscous warmth. I wanted them all to touch me. Again and again.

Photos: Unknown, Signe Vilstrup, Ellen von Unwerth (last two)

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Monday, April 14, 2008

Feminine and masculine

Photos: Jean Vidal


Friday, April 11, 2008

Paradox in porn

I like the wet woman and the rubber boots. I like the pussy and the amusement park ride. I like it dirty, but I like it pretty. I can't take my porn too overt - it needs to be subtle-d down a bit. I appreciate (and celebrate) filthy acts, but I also appreciate good lighting, thoughtful composition and something arrestingly different. I'm ever so glad to find more and more contributors to this genre of "smart porn" or "genteel porn." I wouldn't have called myself a porn connoisseur until lately - until my discovery of the more aesthetically aware artists of the medium. Now I find myself excited to find someone new - someone with a fresh approach to eroticism.

I also find myself spending a lot of time picture surfing, which leads to masturbating, which often leads to writing. So. I'm still productive in the end.

Photos: Pau Ros
Henrik Pfeifer


Thursday, April 03, 2008

The argument for the ass

There is power in taboo. The sacred. Forbidden. Lucky for us, there are a ton of taboos around sex, making for endless adventures. Each time I shattered a taboo, piercing that particular hymen, something shifted in me. I could let go of one more layer of someone I was supposed to be, and become myself.

Which brings us to the ass.

There’s a fair amount of literature available on how. There’s very little on why. So I present:

The Argument for the Ass.

Ass fucking loosens up all the tightly wound tensions of the day. Even beyond vaginal penetration, there is a sanctity to the ass - it needs to be entered carefully, with respect. With sensitivity. The only way to enjoy anal sex is to let go. If you resist, if you tighten, it will hurt. If you aren’t ready to be entered, not willing to let someone deep, deep inside of you, it will hurt. The beauty of anal sex is that it becomes an physical barometer for intimacy. It’s the last great frontier of exposure, a gauge for openness.

The best anal sex is a step by step communication, a negotiating of boundaries that protect a very tender place. He prods me, I relent. I release and he moves deeper inside of me. Finally he’s in, the last vestiges of his cock, the last vestiges of whatever it is I hold onto are foregone and everything is easy from there. It’s only the journey to that place that’s tough. Beyond it is another realm. It can be unbelievable to feel him fucking my ass as hard as he does, as hard as he dares to, but therein lies the secret of his charm: he dares.

There are times when I feel I can’t reach myself, or something is buried I can’t access. That’s when I really need to get fucked in the ass. I need him, his ability to penetrate me and fuck me open. I need a cock in my ass so that I can forget myself.

There’s a reason why we call people “tight asses.” Well, I have just the remedy for them and their persnicketiness: A fat, fat cock up the ass. It does wonders for peace of mind.

“Beyond control lies God.”

- Toni Bentley in The Surrender (Who, by the way, has written the great ode to ass-fucking).

He flips me around and throws me down onto the bed as soon as I enter.

Anal sex serves the purpose of shaking up all that suppressed shit we don’t let rise to the surface. It’s the underbelly, the unconscious, being dredged up and splayed open. Unveiling. The great gift of cock is its ability to penetrate.

Slowly, steadily and then vigorously plowed. I need him to thrust me into submission, to a place of surrender where I am free from my mind and utterly in my body. Eventually, we get there, together, to an infinite free fall. Where trust and letting go are the only answers and pleasure is sublime.

Photos: Mirela Bratu, Tracey Emin, Uwe Spiller