The fabulous AAG posted this question from one of her readers on her blog:
What does a man feels inside the ass as compared to the vagina?
It seemed appropriate to post my response here:
=====================
First up, it's a mind thing. Successful buttsex signifies a special bond with your partner on multiple levels.
Next, the external feelings. Pretty much any position you choose brings you into contact with some muscles (thighs, glutes) which are the strongest in your partner's body, vital to their wellbeing, and in constant display and use. In comparison a vagina is tucked away except for those special occasions. Buttsex gives your connection a special robustness.
Internally. The outer inch or so is a snug ring, unlike a vagina (which is more of a slit shape) it grips evenly all round. Further in, it's like a void, almost as though my cock is floating, weightless. If you don't have a cock you can experience this by inserting your thumb into your partner as far as it will go, and pointing it to the base of their spine. Depending on their physiology (and yours) you may experience a cave-like sensation.
In terms of actual thrusting the sensation is probably a bit less than vag sex. Something that gets overlooked is that the foreskin (even on a cut penis) acts as an extra sleeve, so the swing of your hips is not exactly matched by movement where it's tightest. However this reduced sensation is more than made up for by the other sensations I've measured already.
Finally, of course, since both you and your partner possess the same 'playground' it's an opportunity for shared fun which sets aside the usual gender roles.
While your comments are always welcome, in this case AAG deserves them more than I do
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Sugasmed!
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #102? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks
Animal sex
“As he brings me there, his hands and mouth on me are rougher and rougher.”
Romeo and Juliet: A Different Perspective
“Catherine!” Elizabeth gasped between her thighs. “You are like heaven’s own scent.”
Summer of Content
“Under the cover of my long skirt, my legs are spread for him, and I’m dripping over his fingers.”
Mr. Sugasm Himself
How to Hide Your Porn
Editor’s Choice
Tease
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.
(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)
NSFW Pics & Videos
Catalina loves Candles (HNT)
Dave Naz does something indescribable for me
Half-Nekkid Massage
HNT: The Boot Queen
Hot Nude Aria Giovanni
Mischa in Garden Delight
More of Jason
Painted Hills
Schoolgirl, Revisited
Erotic Writing and Experiences
Heteroflexible
I came for you
I feel like…… cheating
A Night of DP
Sat Night Swing Club
Satisfying Leslie’s craving
Shadows
Someone else’s wife
Wicked Man
Sex History & Poetry
My Protector
Woodhull’s Sexual Freedom Forum
BDSM & Fetish
Autumn
If you give a Dom an hour……
Kenny
A Little Surprise
Marcus and Me – Redux
Mundane Moment #1
Pretty Girls Peeing Outdoors (Urophilia, Pee Fetish)
Slave Sale Night
Therapy
Sex News & Reviews
Applause for Blogs Begun in October 2007
THE Best Solo Sex Toy for Men
Featured Design: Revealing your love style
Heartbreaker II Vibrator Review
Poly Pride NYC was Fabulous!
Review: Internet Escort Handbook
Truth or fiction?
Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Alike, Not Alike, Identical
Analyzing, questions, memories, today
Housewife fantasies and domestic dirtiness
I’m a biter.
Intercourse is icky?
Friday, October 12, 2007
Therapy
About your health. You know what you have to do. Quit the gp and your various indulgences. Clean your diet. Meditate to bring sleep. Exercise: stretches first then get aerobic as fast as you can.
I have to tell you this. You're part of me you know and you're letting the side down. But I'm not going to nag you about it. I'm not your fucking mother. So I'm taking you cold turkey instead...
We started with cable ties. Didn't matter about the discomfort. But longterm use could leave you disfigured. A quick trip to the local leather shop. And now we have you strapped to the wall, starfish, broad leather bands around your thighs, ankles, wrists, biceps. Even a chin strap to hold your head up. You can sleep there, the stretch in your shoulders and inner thighs to remind you of your restraint.
I can see you in the corner of my eye as I work. Mostly, I ignore you.
No cigarettes. No booze. No food. No thoughts but your own. A tube at your mouth brings plentiful water. There's a burn in your stomach which slowly ebbs. One a little lower which grows in its place.
Perfect position for some genitorture, physical and verbal. Clamps to stretch your cunt, words to humiliate it. I prefer your other cunt, this one's only good for blood and babies. The clamps improve your aim, when you have to piss (and you have to piss often, water's your only indulgence now) you can reliably hit the bucket in front of you. Just as well, a drop on the floor brings punishment.
Once in a while I clamp your clit. Twist and pull. Dangle a weight. Freed only when your gasps finally penetrate my work-focussed consciousness. For a while after that I can see the glow from over here at my desk.
At other times I bind the DDs. Watch them redden, the nipples growing. Clamp them, too, sometimes. To make sure they're really engorged. So that the merest flick of my tongue sets you writhing and gushing.
Can't neglect your remaining physical need. So once a day you are turned to the wall. It's a daily ritual, eagerly anticipated, so you are more than ready. My cock sinks in easily, your first shudder coming almost instantly. Wrist straps straining as you push back.
I lead you to the bathroom, wrists cuffed together now. You empty your bowels, squatting above the seat, even that comfort denied. After a few days all that comes out is my semen.
I stand you in the shower, hose you and scrub you like a car. The cold water makes you jump but it eases the heat in your abused cunt. I dry you. Apply soothing cream to my favorite entry. Could plug you I suppose. But I want you to feel the emptiness.
An hour of stretches, then. I'm back at work, watching from desk to be sure you're pushing your boundaries. You take care to aim your pucker at me whenever possible. So I can see that it's empty. Open. Still moist from the cream.
Back to your wall. If you've teased me to much I'll slide my cock between your cheeks. But not inside you no matter how much you twist and beg.
Finally one morning you awake with a new clarity. Toxins gone. Heaviness gone. Tits sitting a little lower over a flattened stomach. Mentally and emotionally sharp. Time to release you from your shackles. You and I have new bonds now.
The bathroom ritual one more time, it's a habit now. I let you have warm water, soap, shampoo. Your clothes feel so loose. We step together into the sparkling morning. Gently break your fast by the pool. It's the start of a whole new chapter ..
I have to tell you this. You're part of me you know and you're letting the side down. But I'm not going to nag you about it. I'm not your fucking mother. So I'm taking you cold turkey instead...
We started with cable ties. Didn't matter about the discomfort. But longterm use could leave you disfigured. A quick trip to the local leather shop. And now we have you strapped to the wall, starfish, broad leather bands around your thighs, ankles, wrists, biceps. Even a chin strap to hold your head up. You can sleep there, the stretch in your shoulders and inner thighs to remind you of your restraint.
I can see you in the corner of my eye as I work. Mostly, I ignore you.
No cigarettes. No booze. No food. No thoughts but your own. A tube at your mouth brings plentiful water. There's a burn in your stomach which slowly ebbs. One a little lower which grows in its place.
Perfect position for some genitorture, physical and verbal. Clamps to stretch your cunt, words to humiliate it. I prefer your other cunt, this one's only good for blood and babies. The clamps improve your aim, when you have to piss (and you have to piss often, water's your only indulgence now) you can reliably hit the bucket in front of you. Just as well, a drop on the floor brings punishment.
Once in a while I clamp your clit. Twist and pull. Dangle a weight. Freed only when your gasps finally penetrate my work-focussed consciousness. For a while after that I can see the glow from over here at my desk.
At other times I bind the DDs. Watch them redden, the nipples growing. Clamp them, too, sometimes. To make sure they're really engorged. So that the merest flick of my tongue sets you writhing and gushing.
Can't neglect your remaining physical need. So once a day you are turned to the wall. It's a daily ritual, eagerly anticipated, so you are more than ready. My cock sinks in easily, your first shudder coming almost instantly. Wrist straps straining as you push back.
I lead you to the bathroom, wrists cuffed together now. You empty your bowels, squatting above the seat, even that comfort denied. After a few days all that comes out is my semen.
I stand you in the shower, hose you and scrub you like a car. The cold water makes you jump but it eases the heat in your abused cunt. I dry you. Apply soothing cream to my favorite entry. Could plug you I suppose. But I want you to feel the emptiness.
An hour of stretches, then. I'm back at work, watching from desk to be sure you're pushing your boundaries. You take care to aim your pucker at me whenever possible. So I can see that it's empty. Open. Still moist from the cream.
Back to your wall. If you've teased me to much I'll slide my cock between your cheeks. But not inside you no matter how much you twist and beg.
Finally one morning you awake with a new clarity. Toxins gone. Heaviness gone. Tits sitting a little lower over a flattened stomach. Mentally and emotionally sharp. Time to release you from your shackles. You and I have new bonds now.
The bathroom ritual one more time, it's a habit now. I let you have warm water, soap, shampoo. Your clothes feel so loose. We step together into the sparkling morning. Gently break your fast by the pool. It's the start of a whole new chapter ..
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Bender
The subject of her cock came up quite naturally. Schmoozing over a beer, our bar closed for the night, we'd covered the events of the evening as bar workers do all over the world. Rude people, cute people, the guy drinking alone, his amazing story trickled out between orders. If only it were true. Had to trickle him out the door way before the crowd ebbed.
Then we talked about other bar workers chatting simultaneously in bars around the town. Acquaintances. The hints of scandalous behaviour. Some of it personally witnessed. And as the night headed towards dawn the subject, as it usually does, turned to lovers. Past and present. Aspired to.
Of one of hers, she said 'I fucked him'. I said a little piece about the use of the verb to fuck and whether it could be equally used by the fucker and the fuckee. 'You don't understand' she said, her face close to mine, her voice a little slurred. Conspirators. 'I fucked him'.
I got it. Nearly lifted me off my stool. 'Tell me more', I said, trying to remain cool. But she was telling me already. Painting me one of her powerful word pictures. They'd been acquaintances for a while. Going home with him was something new but the options that night were few and anyway there'd been something hanging in the air for a while. A casual coupling would be a nice way to unwind after a night of noise, smoke, and kitchen scraps.
The equipment lay casually on his bedside table. She was fascinated by the leather, supple and gleaming. Like one of those tiny lycra bikini bottoms, beautifully tailored. And it fit her perfectly. Skipping around the bedroom, the cock waving from her, she said 'isn't this a bit small for you?'. 'I'm not the one that wears it', he said. And she slowly understood. Legs losing their strength. As she sank to the bed.
It was the look of excitement on his face that revived her. Made her suddenly aware of the pressure. From her end of the cock. The thrill that ran through her thighs. Resting on one arm she looked down at him. His smooth body. Like seeing a man for the first time. Her hand, a mind of its own, reached out to explore. Found a new world opening beneath it.
Sitting on my stool, listening to her tale, I could feel the heat surging through me. And although her eyes were looking past me as she remembered that night I could feel the heat roll from her too.
At last, her tale told, her eyes came back to focus on mine. With the smile of a well fed cat and a jolt of recognition. Her hand, self guided again, moved for my inner thigh. 'There's that look again', she said huskily. 'lucky for you, I know what that means ..'
And later that night I was to be very glad she did
Then we talked about other bar workers chatting simultaneously in bars around the town. Acquaintances. The hints of scandalous behaviour. Some of it personally witnessed. And as the night headed towards dawn the subject, as it usually does, turned to lovers. Past and present. Aspired to.
Of one of hers, she said 'I fucked him'. I said a little piece about the use of the verb to fuck and whether it could be equally used by the fucker and the fuckee. 'You don't understand' she said, her face close to mine, her voice a little slurred. Conspirators. 'I fucked him'.
I got it. Nearly lifted me off my stool. 'Tell me more', I said, trying to remain cool. But she was telling me already. Painting me one of her powerful word pictures. They'd been acquaintances for a while. Going home with him was something new but the options that night were few and anyway there'd been something hanging in the air for a while. A casual coupling would be a nice way to unwind after a night of noise, smoke, and kitchen scraps.
The equipment lay casually on his bedside table. She was fascinated by the leather, supple and gleaming. Like one of those tiny lycra bikini bottoms, beautifully tailored. And it fit her perfectly. Skipping around the bedroom, the cock waving from her, she said 'isn't this a bit small for you?'. 'I'm not the one that wears it', he said. And she slowly understood. Legs losing their strength. As she sank to the bed.
It was the look of excitement on his face that revived her. Made her suddenly aware of the pressure. From her end of the cock. The thrill that ran through her thighs. Resting on one arm she looked down at him. His smooth body. Like seeing a man for the first time. Her hand, a mind of its own, reached out to explore. Found a new world opening beneath it.
Sitting on my stool, listening to her tale, I could feel the heat surging through me. And although her eyes were looking past me as she remembered that night I could feel the heat roll from her too.
At last, her tale told, her eyes came back to focus on mine. With the smile of a well fed cat and a jolt of recognition. Her hand, self guided again, moved for my inner thigh. 'There's that look again', she said huskily. 'lucky for you, I know what that means ..'
And later that night I was to be very glad she did
Thursday, August 30, 2007
V, chapter 2
Well perhaps it was a concession to me, although concessions from V are very rare. Perhaps she was a little gratified that I was still in touch after having my cock scorned at our first meeting. More likely she saw it as a chance to stage a show, theatre of the most bizarre kind being a favorite pasttime for her.
We met at a city pub on the edge of the gay district. A rustic pub, once frequented by visiting farm folk, untouched by modernity except for attempts at sanitation. A spot for backpackers and bands on the way up. We talked over a beer, mundane stuff really. She was a courteous conversationalist, the outcrops of her remarkable life only glimpsed under the flow.
Beer over, she said 'let's go' and we walked a few meters up the street. I thought I knew the neighbourhood well but I hadn't seen this door. A steel door, tall and narrow, unmarked and unpainted. She found the key and we entered. Long narrow stairs led emptied us into the first floor, an elegant Victorian living room with ferns and a piano. Bay windows to the street below. Only the erotic prints to hint at what was to come.
Up another long flight of stairs, open this time. To the must of an old storeroom. Bathroom facilities pointed out. Ancient but clean and working. And over here. A dungeon. Two floors up. I'd never seen one. The walls awash in amazing implements. A Wheel. And two altar beds, designed to be comfortable and easily cleaned.
We had agreed on a doctor/nurse scenario. Trouble with my boy cunt. She disappeared behind a screen to dress while I removed my lower clothing and reclined as instructed. Cold leather on my butt cheeks. Stirrups for my heels. To wonder at the instruments on the walls and what might have gone before.
She emerged in white dust coat, stethoscope hanging. Sat beside me. Asked some questions about my medical history. Very professional. I answered nervously.
Eventually she rose and donned the gloves. A flick of her wrist and I was back in the examination position. A cold finger entering, searching. My cock, which had been oscillating between fear of a repeat of the last performance and anticipation of what might be coming, stood to attention. Another finger. And another.
Pronouncing the examination successful she announced it was time for the treatment. Doffing the dust coat. A hand made leather bikini as though painted on. A tight teenage body belying her age. An intricate and beautiful leonine tattoo across half her front and half her back. Long leather boots. And her cock. Not too lifelike - that would be a betrayal - but perfectly placed and thanks to her skills as a seamstress, attached to her as though her own flesh and blood.
The examination table was too low so she had me bend over the higher altar. Lubed. A small dildo appeared in her hand, teased, and entered me. My apprehension went away, her nurse persona back for the moment. A glow around the dildo which was now moving easily. The pleasure coursed through my body and I relaxed into the altar.
I wasn't aware of the dildo going away but suddenly her cock was resting against me. Teasing me. My body pressed back to her of its own accord. Her hands on my hips. The entry. Mmm. She waited for me to adjust, playing, after all, the medical professional. And then the fucking started. The swing of her hips showed plenty of practice. Bringing me to the edge and back, time and again.
I had a butt orgasm. No fluids involved, just a shattering spasm from head to toe leaving me weak and happy. All tension lost, all right in the world. The glimpse of a proud smile on her medical professional's face. I lay face down, bathed in sweat and lube.
She nodded to the examination table and I padded loosely across the floor. I want to see you come, she said. Standing over me in her Wonder Woman bikini, cock still proud. I reached to touch her leg and she pushed me away. Cocks are so useless, she said. Come once and they run away. Mine withered a little. Come on, she said. Girls can come all night. She was telling me I was a lesser being. That it was time for me to get out of the way so she could go into the night for some serious sex.
Fortunately the medical professional realised a more positive approach was required at this point. Nice cock, she said. Stroked my balls a little. Finger sliding down across my perineum. My cock at last recovering its pride and exploding. One last glimpse of her proud smile. And then the professional again. Re-robed, she pointed me to the bathroom.
And we went out into the night. To share another drink at the pub. And talk of this and that.
We met at a city pub on the edge of the gay district. A rustic pub, once frequented by visiting farm folk, untouched by modernity except for attempts at sanitation. A spot for backpackers and bands on the way up. We talked over a beer, mundane stuff really. She was a courteous conversationalist, the outcrops of her remarkable life only glimpsed under the flow.
Beer over, she said 'let's go' and we walked a few meters up the street. I thought I knew the neighbourhood well but I hadn't seen this door. A steel door, tall and narrow, unmarked and unpainted. She found the key and we entered. Long narrow stairs led emptied us into the first floor, an elegant Victorian living room with ferns and a piano. Bay windows to the street below. Only the erotic prints to hint at what was to come.
Up another long flight of stairs, open this time. To the must of an old storeroom. Bathroom facilities pointed out. Ancient but clean and working. And over here. A dungeon. Two floors up. I'd never seen one. The walls awash in amazing implements. A Wheel. And two altar beds, designed to be comfortable and easily cleaned.
We had agreed on a doctor/nurse scenario. Trouble with my boy cunt. She disappeared behind a screen to dress while I removed my lower clothing and reclined as instructed. Cold leather on my butt cheeks. Stirrups for my heels. To wonder at the instruments on the walls and what might have gone before.
She emerged in white dust coat, stethoscope hanging. Sat beside me. Asked some questions about my medical history. Very professional. I answered nervously.
Eventually she rose and donned the gloves. A flick of her wrist and I was back in the examination position. A cold finger entering, searching. My cock, which had been oscillating between fear of a repeat of the last performance and anticipation of what might be coming, stood to attention. Another finger. And another.
Pronouncing the examination successful she announced it was time for the treatment. Doffing the dust coat. A hand made leather bikini as though painted on. A tight teenage body belying her age. An intricate and beautiful leonine tattoo across half her front and half her back. Long leather boots. And her cock. Not too lifelike - that would be a betrayal - but perfectly placed and thanks to her skills as a seamstress, attached to her as though her own flesh and blood.
The examination table was too low so she had me bend over the higher altar. Lubed. A small dildo appeared in her hand, teased, and entered me. My apprehension went away, her nurse persona back for the moment. A glow around the dildo which was now moving easily. The pleasure coursed through my body and I relaxed into the altar.
I wasn't aware of the dildo going away but suddenly her cock was resting against me. Teasing me. My body pressed back to her of its own accord. Her hands on my hips. The entry. Mmm. She waited for me to adjust, playing, after all, the medical professional. And then the fucking started. The swing of her hips showed plenty of practice. Bringing me to the edge and back, time and again.
I had a butt orgasm. No fluids involved, just a shattering spasm from head to toe leaving me weak and happy. All tension lost, all right in the world. The glimpse of a proud smile on her medical professional's face. I lay face down, bathed in sweat and lube.
She nodded to the examination table and I padded loosely across the floor. I want to see you come, she said. Standing over me in her Wonder Woman bikini, cock still proud. I reached to touch her leg and she pushed me away. Cocks are so useless, she said. Come once and they run away. Mine withered a little. Come on, she said. Girls can come all night. She was telling me I was a lesser being. That it was time for me to get out of the way so she could go into the night for some serious sex.
Fortunately the medical professional realised a more positive approach was required at this point. Nice cock, she said. Stroked my balls a little. Finger sliding down across my perineum. My cock at last recovering its pride and exploding. One last glimpse of her proud smile. And then the professional again. Re-robed, she pointed me to the bathroom.
And we went out into the night. To share another drink at the pub. And talk of this and that.
Introducing Vic
Vic B. A most unlikely name, almost certainly a nomme de net. She showed up on Pinkboard looking for cock, a female misfit on a gay guys' site. I loved her the minute I saw her ad, and hit the Reply button.
She had a definite scenario in mind. I would see her across the room at her favourite watering hole, and become obsessed without her knowledge. When she left I would follow her and watch her enter her quarters, a room attached to a medical research facility. After giving her time to settle I would peep through a door left ajar. Spot her working at a desk. Ease the door open and approach her waiting back. Take her.
Almost all went according to plan. Nervously parking the Ducati across the street I took up my viewing position, identified her from her description. Long blonde hair. An astonishing amount of metal embedded in her face. And a startling schoolgirl ensemble, pigtails and a tartan skirt. Which soon I was to see swinging down the street ahead of me.
I followed with caution. This part of town famous for schemes to part fools from their time and money. Sure enough, she entered an august establishment. Sure enough, a door which should have been securely locked was ajar. Enough to see that she was continuing with the scenario. Without an accomplice.
I entered the room as planned. She remained, bent over her PC. I approached. There was the tiniest flicker to indicate that she was aware. I touched her shoulder and she stood, facing away from me. Allowing me to confirm that in true Scots fashion there was nothing under the tartan.
My instructions were, to hasten. I eased my trousers off as smoothly and silently as possible - no easy task - unleashing a throbbing cock. A tiny tilt of her head indicated lube and condoms on the next desk. I pressed myself against her firm little rump, running my hands over the front of her body. And the metal embedded there. Tiny rings in her nipples, 5 or 6 below. And as I slid the tartan up in the semidarkness, the tail end of a quite beautiful tattoo on her lower back.
I rubbered and lubed as indicated, and entered her swiftly, also part of the plan. Her body was lean and tight, like a dancer or athlete. Her cunt lean too; a cunt well used but not by men. As I pushed against her, her nates, also lean and muscular, were a perfect fit between my hip bones.
Unexpectedly - for there had been total silence until now - she started to talk. Not the faked moan of a porn star. Not the sweet words of a lover, or the lusty tones of a woman in heat. But vitriol. A tongue lashing for my cock. Too small, too soft. Well supplied with accolades from other lovers, I knew she was lying. And yet, a remarkable thing happened. My cock, erect for the previous hour and always reliable, shrivelled. I slunk into the night. Leaving her rampant at her desk.
She had a definite scenario in mind. I would see her across the room at her favourite watering hole, and become obsessed without her knowledge. When she left I would follow her and watch her enter her quarters, a room attached to a medical research facility. After giving her time to settle I would peep through a door left ajar. Spot her working at a desk. Ease the door open and approach her waiting back. Take her.
Almost all went according to plan. Nervously parking the Ducati across the street I took up my viewing position, identified her from her description. Long blonde hair. An astonishing amount of metal embedded in her face. And a startling schoolgirl ensemble, pigtails and a tartan skirt. Which soon I was to see swinging down the street ahead of me.
I followed with caution. This part of town famous for schemes to part fools from their time and money. Sure enough, she entered an august establishment. Sure enough, a door which should have been securely locked was ajar. Enough to see that she was continuing with the scenario. Without an accomplice.
I entered the room as planned. She remained, bent over her PC. I approached. There was the tiniest flicker to indicate that she was aware. I touched her shoulder and she stood, facing away from me. Allowing me to confirm that in true Scots fashion there was nothing under the tartan.
My instructions were, to hasten. I eased my trousers off as smoothly and silently as possible - no easy task - unleashing a throbbing cock. A tiny tilt of her head indicated lube and condoms on the next desk. I pressed myself against her firm little rump, running my hands over the front of her body. And the metal embedded there. Tiny rings in her nipples, 5 or 6 below. And as I slid the tartan up in the semidarkness, the tail end of a quite beautiful tattoo on her lower back.
I rubbered and lubed as indicated, and entered her swiftly, also part of the plan. Her body was lean and tight, like a dancer or athlete. Her cunt lean too; a cunt well used but not by men. As I pushed against her, her nates, also lean and muscular, were a perfect fit between my hip bones.
Unexpectedly - for there had been total silence until now - she started to talk. Not the faked moan of a porn star. Not the sweet words of a lover, or the lusty tones of a woman in heat. But vitriol. A tongue lashing for my cock. Too small, too soft. Well supplied with accolades from other lovers, I knew she was lying. And yet, a remarkable thing happened. My cock, erect for the previous hour and always reliable, shrivelled. I slunk into the night. Leaving her rampant at her desk.
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