The Best Advice I've Had All Year

Thanks to my friend Eli....

"You are young and pretty - get drunk, go for it and think 'ewww' afterwards"

So last night, that's what I did.

Just because she's lovely

I've not mentioned Faye Reagan for a few weeks, but having just emerged from a marathon viewing of Girlfriend DVDs, the best of which all seem to feature her in one stunning capacity or another, I thought I'd share another favorite pic. You'll find more, as usual, here, but in the meantime, here's an extra treat for anyone (me, me) who wants to see Faye Reagan sucking cock. She does it so well!



And for fans of the younger Ms Reagan, in her early-porn days as Faye Valentine, here's something else. My advice... fast forward through the opening chatter (the guy doing the interview sounds like one of the dudes from Ghost Hunters).

CD art of the Week

My latest discovery and, therefore, musical obsession is Zazie, a French singer who has been around since the late 1990s-or-so, but who wins my heart with this cover design....

see and hear more here.

Jerking on the dancefloor

It was one of those clubs where they make you check your bags at the door, and big red-lettered signs warn against taping, filming or smoking.

But they never said anything about the use of sex toys. Especially ones you weren't even expecting to find.

The music was so loud that you had to shout when you whispering, and the dance floor was so packed that you had no choice but to move with the rest of the crowd, a rhythmic swaying and surging that threatened to knock you lurching off balance even as the people packed against you made certain that you wouldn’t ever fall.

I closed my eyes and went with the flow, only dimly aware of all the points on my body where others were squashed against me – an elbow here, a shoulder there, a purse somewhere else, and I don’t know what it was about that pressure on my ass but I knew it wasn’t anything I’d have expected to find. I turned my head as much as I could and the guy standing behind me caught my eye and smiled, which was when I knew for sure what it was. He had a hard-on like you wouldn’t believe and the only thing stopping it from sliding up my ass were his jeans and mine.

I tried to wriggle away but I couldn’t; the crowd was simply too thick. And talking of thickness... I smiled to myself which is when I realized that a part of me really wasn’t trying too hard to get away. There’s something oddly arousing about having a complete stranger just a few millimeters of denim away from fucking you up the ass, arousing and forbidden and heart-in-mouth scary as well, like when you're sitting on the couch while your parents are visiting, knowing that your favorite remote control vibrator is still stuffed down the side... and the remote control itself is in full sight on the table.

And when a particularly hard surge separated us for a moment, I was shocked to find myself feeling disappointed. He was still behind me, I knew, but his body had changed its angle just enough that the wonderful pressure I’d been riding for so long was gone. And I missed it.

I wriggled my ass, hoping to make contact again. Nothing. Just the hardness of his hips… but at least I knew I was close. I shifted from one foot to the other, stepped a little to the left – ah, that’s better. He was still off target but an inch or two more – and then I felt him again, hard between my butt cheeks and I wondered what had changed to make him feel so much more “real”? Which was when I reached behind me with one hand and came into contact with flesh. Hard, hot flesh.

My mind somersaulted. I turned again, and he was still looking at me. Not a bad looking guy, either – probably no-one I’d have gone home with, or even looked at twice under normal circumstances. But the volume of the music, the heat of the crowd, the sudden unexpectedness of everything else ensured that these weren't normal circumstances, I curled my fingers around his cock, moved away slightly to give myself room, and began gently jerking him off to the rhythm, long hard tugs that pulled the breath from his body, short, fast twists that just seemed to make him harder.


My wrist was twisted but I didn’t care, and I'm fairly certain that whatever I was doing is not in the Handjob Handbook, either. The last time I browsed through my copy (last week, if you must know... ), I would have sworn there wasn't a grip that wasn't included, and I still recommend it as a Bible to anyone who thinks a quick flick of the wrist is all you need to master.

With one exception. I don't think anyone has put this position in a book. I don't even know if he was comfortable, his penis a pretzel that followed my fist no matter where the sway of the crowd sent it swinging. My grip was tight but the crush kept jogging me, and there was one point where my arm was bent at such at a sharp angle that I can only imagine what it felt like for him. But I think that was when his arm draped my shoulder and a hand slipped down to my boob, roughly massaging through my tee until one nipple felt like it was ready to be shot out of a cannon, and the other was screaming "hey, what about me?"

And me, I just kept on jerking him, pulling on that long, fat cock and trying to close my mind to all the other thoughts that were cascading through my mind, like dragging him out via the back fire exit and fucking him senseless in the alley outside; like pushing him into the ladies room and blowing him against the wash basins... like all these things that just weren't going to work because the club was too crowded, the pit was too packed and it's too late now because ... oh my! He's coming, a sudden flood that splashed hot on my fist, and I kept going, still tugging and rubbing, massaging him back to warm, sticky softness until his hand touched mine to let me know I should stop.

I wiped my hand dry on his jeans and turned my attention back to the concert, and the next time I looked around, he was gone.

I went home and wrote some notes in the margin of my Handjob Handbook.

This post was sponsored by EdenFantasys.

Don't Forget To Breathe

DON'T FORGET TO BREATHE by Chrissie Bentley and Jenny Swallows
DON’T FORGET TO BREATHE launches an XXX-hilarating new series of e-books, available exclusively from Jennyswallows.blogspot.com. Each volume contains at least FIVE full-length, red hot tales of lust, love and the most explosive oral sex imaginable. That’s around fifty pages of sucking, blowing and, of course, swallowing. Because good girls don’t spit.

ONLY $2.99

NOW AVAILABLE FOR KINDLE

Flowing from the ever-fertile pens of Jenny Swallows and Chrissie Bentley, each volume is published in the popular PDF format, to be enjoyed either on your computer or an ebook reader. Your purchase will be with you within 24 hours (and usually much, much sooner), e-mailed directly to your specified address, a discreet and easy way to enjoy the very best in erotic writing.

Don’t Forget To Breathe volume one contains the following stories:

The Cocksucking Chronicles (or, Don’t Forget To Breathe!)… an all girls’ book club changes the subject, from the last novel they read to the first cock they sucked. With some surprising confessions!

An Evening’s Tale… a tale of bawdiness from the reign of Good Queen Bess. History refers to her as the Virgin Queen. But history only talks about one of her holes. She had another that was always full!

Three Nuns and a Motorcycle… two young lovers, three passing sisters, and an act of penance that the Archbishop would certainly not approve of.

Three Guys Walk Into a Bar… and one walks out with the girl of his dreams. A weekend in the mountains has never sounded so delicious.

Revenge… there’s a certain type of frat boy who will never take no for an answer. But does he always get what he expected? Butch gets a blowjob he’ll remember forever.

Welcome To Spain… a few days in the sun with an old friend, a video camera and a favorite record to soundtrack all the action.

DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME... IN THE CAR IS MUCH MORE FUN

It wasn’t quite our first date. We’d already spent a few evenings dancing round the local beer and burger bars, and there was that night out in the city where something might have happened if it hadn’t been so late. So no, not our first date. But it was definitely the first one where I knew in advance that it was time to have some fun, and as I dressed in the time before he picked me up, I made sure that it would be as easy to undress if I needed to.

Mark was, as a friend pointed out, quite a catch. Good job, good looks, good taste. Tall enough that I could listen to his heart when we danced close, and when he met me from work one night and a colleague remarked what a big car he had, it was fun to reply with a knowing pause. “Yeah, he has a very big... car.” I’d felt that while we were dancing, too, straining to get out of the garage, its engine roaring and the oil already boiling. I like a big... car.

I sat on the bed and opened the drawer, the one where I keep my motor maintenance tools. A packet of condoms, because you never know. A cock ring (unused, haha) because... again, you never know. And a tube of Good Head because, whatever else happened, I had made up my mind that that would.

The first time I encountered an oral sex potion, it struck me as one of the world’s most redundant inventions, a sex toy for people who just didn't want to play. I like (strike that... I love) my cock raw. I like it real. I want to taste the sweat and the flesh and the thrill. The idea of wrapping my mouth round a strawberry shortcake and expecting to get off on that was - well, think about it. You may want to orgasm every time you go to Dairy Queen, but I’d rather save some things for later. Plus, there’s a lot of things I look for when I’m giving a blowjob, but a sugar high is not on the list.

And then I worked out that it’s really not for me, is it? The flavor is just a bonus (or not) and the real thrill lies in the tingle and torment that the potion pours onto him. And so I shopped around discretely, and tried them all out curiously, and I’m sure glad that AmEx don’t itemize every purchase. Because my bill sometimes reads like a candy store. And I dread to think what the garbage man thinks....



Anyway, I tried a lot and tested more (guys sometimes come prepared as well), but finally settled on this one. Doc Johnson's Good Head. Cinnamon flavor. There’s a passion fruit flavor as well, but we’re getting back into the realms of food tasting there. Cinnamon, on the other hand, dances just close enough to the right earthy taste, with enough of a tang to accentuate his, and just a hint of exotica to keep your mind focussed. And I don’t know how long a tube is supposed to last, but I’m onto my third. Yeah, it’s that good. I weighed the tube in my hand and figured it was good for a little while longer, then dropped it into my purse. Okay, I’m ready.

So was Mark. A thirty minute drive, a homely Italian restaurant, and then onto the dancefloor where he held me so close that it felt like he was fucking me through four layers of clothing. He knew it, too, his eyes holding mine every time that I opened them, and his hand pressing gently into the small of my back, in that spot that always makes me gasp “yeah.” I was impressed. Most guys aren’t even aware of that one. Then out into a completely unforecast rain-that-comes-sideways for a run across a mall-sized parking lot to where he’d left the car. And we sat in there steaming for a few laughing minutes, as he apologized for not having an umbrella or a towel, and I berated Chevrolet for not including a clothing-sized heater among the car’s basic features. It seemed to have everything else.

Mark leaned over and kissed me, and a proper kiss tonight, not the tentative peck or the softly probing tongue tip that had wrapped up our other evenings, and I kissed back, my hands bunching tightly on his shoulders, then breaking away as I wrung out a handful of rain water. “Wow, we really did get soaked through,” I laughed, and then a little more seriously, “we probably should get out of the wettest.”

He laughed. The image of us driving naked back to town probably hit us both at the same time, but he wriggled out of his jacket as I removed mine, then seeing him pause to watch what I did next, I scooted my ass off the seat a few inches, and unbuttoned my skirt, laying it flat across my lap but relieved to no longer be sitting in a puddle. Well, not a rain puddle, anyway.

He still looked uncertain, but even in the dark I could see his pants were sopping, dark patches of damp that reached up to his knees. “I won’t watch,” I giggled and I turned to face the side window, as he sighed and I heard him begin to wriggle, unclasping his belt, popping the fly button, then squirming to tug wet cloth from his flesh.

A truck turned into the parking lot, the lights bright in my eyes and I instinctively turned towards an interior that suddenly was bathed in light, with Mark frozen in mid rearrangement of his briefs. They’d hoisted themselves down with his pants and right now, he was wrestling to pull them back up. But even once he’d succeeded, and though the moment barely lasted more than maybe ten seconds, one sight was seared into my mind. He was magnificent.

I leaned across and kissed him again, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his tummy, and I felt his cock strain towards it as he shifted in his seat in that way that guys instinctively do when fresh flesh gets that close. Another flash as a car came into the lot, and I saw his eyes flicker, first down and then outside. “Maybe we should move to a less populated area?” he asked, and as I kissed him again, I let my hand slip, a few inches down but not quite all the way. “Yes, let’s.”

I sat back in my chair as he buckled his seat belt, reached into my purse as he ran the wiper blades for a moment, clearing the windshield of puddles and glare. I fumbled, but I’ve done this before; flick the top off with one finger, then squeeze with my fist; replace the lid with a thumb, then raised his hand to my mouth as he finally put the car in gear and eased his car gently out of the parking space. His big... car.



I held him now and my tongue danced with flavor, and we were moving so slowly as we headed out of the mall, out onto a slip road that ran down the side. And my fingers followed his driving, circling then straightening out, and as he looked around for somewhere to park, I opened my mouth and garaged him.

His foot hit the pedal as the good old, good tasting Good Head hit his nerve endings, and he cried out a “fuck!” as I started to suck. And I don’t know where he ended up parking one car, but I’ll say one thing. When he finally unloaded the other one... the big one... well, I never dreamed it had so much trunk space.



This post was sponsored by EdenFantasys

I bet they sell the greatest lollipops!

the worlds's first penis museum!!!!!!!!

Well stacked!

DO NOT DISTURB

The hotel bar was more or less exactly as I expected it to be, The usual gaggle of businessmen, brokers and touristy types, their general uniformity broken only by the occasional girl who might have been a hooker, but was as likely somebody’s mistress, tarted up for a night of naughty passion with some guy she only suspected might be married. I ordered a drink and a salad and took a seat by the window, wondering what a lone woman in a strange city was supposed to do when she didn’t know a soul.

I pulled out my book, and was glad that the front cover didn’t really give too much away, at least to anyone passing by. Editor Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Do Not Disturb doesn’t completely hide its light beneath a bushel, the subtitle “Hotel Sex Stories,” is clear enough if you look. But two bare legs on a bed could be anything in these days when book covers have so little to do with their contents, and when I opened the book, my fingers covered the words. I know, because I checked.

Hotel erotica is a peculiar beast. Bussel’s introduction sets the stage, by telling us all the options that could be open, and hinting at a few of the ones that will be taking place. But the first and third stories once the book gets underway Amanda Earl’s breathtaking “Welcome To The Aphrodisiac Hotel” and Stan Kent’s “From Russia With Lust” don’t really go in the expected directions, as they concentrate more on the voyeur than the vice girl in us all; Earl’s heroine watching and willing a couple to hook up; Kent standing at his window, masturbating while he watches another couple fuck. And there’s more in “Mirror Mirror” too, although Andrea Dale’s darlings aren’t the strangers in a strange town, meeting for the first time in a tangle of unfamiliar limbs. Because that’s what hotels are really all about, and that’s why I bought this book with me. When in Rome, after all....

I turn back to my paperback, the first I pulled from the teetering pile of erotic books that live by my bed, and leaf back to a story I’ve already read. Author Tess Danesi at “The Royalton.” A high class call girl on her latest assignation. I gazed across at the woman who had just entered the bar, and was standing in the doorway, her eyes uncertainly searching the room. She is dressed in the same way that Danesi writes, not outwardly of course because it’s too public for that, But “lace topped thigh highs and delicate lacy undergarments” would suit her to a tee and maybe she catches the light in my eyes, or maybe she just doesn’t want to share any of the other half vacant tables. A few lonely-looking salesman types, a couple with a rambunctious baby... she looks around and makes her choice.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

I shook my head. “Please….”

She was stunning. Taller than me, with reddish hair that cascaded to her shoulders, perfect features, perfect figure. Her top was tight enough to show off the swell of her breasts, her pants framed legs that went on forever. I wanted her more than I had ever wanted any other woman; wanted her like the two women in the book wanted one another, Elizabeth and Maxie in a cheap hotel, one newly married and convinced she is frigid, one older and gay with a psych degree. “Heart Shaped Holes” by Madlyn March, I wondered if my companion had one of those? And what it would taker to fill it?

Her name was Lisa. We talked, we laughed, we got on well. We took a walk through downtown, we stopped at a liquor store and picked up some wine, and then back at the hotel, we agreed to take our party up to her room. And with my heart in my mouth, I kissed Lisa for the first time as we sat dialing channels on the hotel TV, feeling just like... I flicked through the chapters in the book in my mind. The housewife on the sequestered jury showing off her sex toys to a fellow captive? No, not her. Teresa fantasizing tropical grottoes in a snow-swept Massachusetts motel room? Not her, either.

I closed my eyes and wrote my own story, Jenny in a hotel bar being swept to paradise by a girl she’d never met and maybe that was the most exciting part of it all. In all the stories I’d read and grown wet to, there was always that one point where you just know that something’s going to happen. A word, a gesture, a glance, a something. Like in “Tightly Tucked,” when the cleaner comes along and catches Elian alone with a boner. You just know she’s going to want it, even before you know that he wants her. That wasn’t what was happening here. Neither of us had said, or even hinted, at anything more than a drink and conversation, but the wine we’d been sinking since we got here knew otherwise. It just seemed the right thing to do.

Lisa kissed me back; the remote control was forgotten and her hands were on my breasts, first through my blouse and then in between the buttons. She moved swiftly but gently – my attempts to caress her felt clumsy by comparison, and she knew it. “Lay still,” she whispered. “Let me….”

I obeyed. Off came my blouse and the skimpy bra I’d been wearing, and her mouth was playing magically across my flesh, licking my nipples until I thought they would burst, and then sucking them hard, till my back arched and my pussy screamed for a taste of the same treatment. She knew it, too, and a hand sank between my legs, gently stroking me through my sodden panties, until suddenly she had whipped them off and two fingers slipped effortlessly inside me.

Lisa’s mouth was on my abdomen, my tummy, my waist. She was taking her time, and every minute stretched out into hours of exquisite tease and tension, until at last her face was between my legs, breathing me in and purring as I bucked my hips towards her, crying out with impatience and lust.

“I lifted my ass and thrust against her mouth... she sucked and licked and nibbled my pussy like she’d been doing it all her life. Maybe she had.” A line from Kristina White’s “The Other Woman,” and when I read it on the plane home, when tonight was all just a memory, I knew exactly what she meant when she wrote that. “This was real and hot and I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.”

I reached out too, to touch her where she was touching me, to feel her and taste her and drink her in…. She moved away quickly, but I moved even faster.

My hand clasped her pussy – and something else. A strap-on. She was wearing a strap-on. My mind jolted for a moment, wondering when she’d put it on. Or had she been wearing it all evening? And did it even matter? My right hand held her face to my cunt, my left hand felt her toy’s length and thickness, and wrestled with her pants to free it from its cage.

She was still struggling to get away, but with less and less conviction as her buttons finally parted and I pulled her towards my mouth, breathed in and… it wasn’t a strap-on. It was a cock, a long, hard, beautiful and very real cock. As real as the bare breasts that she’d revealed when she undressed me, and which she’d let me suck on just a few moments earlier, as real as the orgasm that was building up inside me. I pulled her into my mouth and sucked.

I gripped her length, guess-timating how much of it I could comfortably fit in as she started to move, and now she was fucking my face, the thick meaty helmet thrusting inside me, her movements matching my own as I moved closer and closer to my climax – and then I released her shaft and slapped both hands to her ass, pushing her deep inside my mouth as my entire body shook to my final explosion, and she came as well, a flood of cum that poured down my throat, so hard and fast that I barely even felt it, but so thick that I tasted it backing up in my mouth, for me to swallow more luxuriously as her pounding slowed down and our bodies calmed.

The book was forgotten, my mind drained of its contents because it was drained of everything. The threesome that got me so hot on the plane, and the short trip to Memphis that sucked me so deeply into author Gwen Masters’ plot that I actually had to put the book down and remind myself that I was only going to Dallas. All the stories were forgotten because I was living them now, and who cares about plot when you reach the denouement? “My body felt like liquid fire,” Masters declared and that’s not a feeling you get every day. “I exploded... with a cascade of color behind my eyelids.” Yes! That’s it exactly.

And afterwards… Lisa tried to explain, but I hushed her. I didn’t care. Later, I wished I had asked more questions; later, I wished we'd swapped cell numbers of e-mails or something, wished I'd handed her my copy of Do Not Disturb for to scribble her info on the fly leaf, in the knowledge that she could disturb me whenever she wanted. And I still regret that we didn't.

But one thing is for sure. I love this book, and I love the things it reminds me of. Lisa is still one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. And she owned one of the most beautiful cocks.

THIS AIN’T THE OFFICIAL PORN PARODY XXX ENCYCLOPEDIA (YES IT IS)

THIS AIN’T THE OFFICIAL PORN PARODY XXX ENCYCLOPEDIA (YES IT IS)
by Dave Thompson and Chrissie Bentley

Coming in 2012

We are seeking adult movie fans to contribute to an exciting new book on the world of adult parody movies.

We are looking for short (250 word average) reviews of your favorite (or otherwise) XXX parody movies - visit amazon.com and check out their user-supplied reviews for the format. There is no limit to the number of submissions by any writer. There will be no payment for these reviews, but all published contributors will receive a copy of the final book.

THIS AIN’T THE OFFICIAL PORN PARODY XXX ENCYCLOPEDIA (YES IT IS), by authors Chrissie Bentley and Dave Thompson, is the first authoritative guide to this new world of Triple X cinematic sensation, a fully illustrated encyclopedia that weeds the great from the grisly, then draws out no less than 50 parodies for the full behind-the- scenes treatment, including interviews with the cast and makers, and side-by-side comparisons with the original program/movie.

Both writers are well-known in the field, Thompson as the author of Black & White & Blue, a study of the erotic film industry in its vintage infancy; Bentley as one of America’s leading erotic short storytellers, whose work has appeared in such titles as Best Women’s Erotica 2011, X-Cite Books’ Cocktails series and many more.

The book will be irreverent, fun, entertaining and rude. But it will also be authoritative, educational and eye opening, with a widespread appeal to both the erotic and the mainstream movie fan. Its visual content, utilizing material from both the parody and the original movie/program will ensure a vibrant and exciting presentation, while chapters of interest beyond the individual movies will include the views and opinions of an estimated fifty adult and non-adult film stars and makers, past and present.

These will include genre-specific fields such as the history of the XXX parody; problems faced (and solved) in creating a spoof; crossing over to the mainstream viewer; and more general topics such as censorship and piracy.

please e-mail submissions, and other inquiries to: Chrissie Bentley, bentleybook (at) yahoo (dot) com

Deadline March 31 2012