How every threesome should be - sloppy, pressed, spontaneous, drunk, and punctuated by a tiny hand reaching from a nipple to a neck.

You can take your “Davinci’s Code” candlewax-and-red-silk eroticism and file it under Amateur Hour.

If you’re not into mentally ill drag queen grandpa styles, grinding up on pig costume hotties in robot welding indie rock hell, then you’re out of touch with current trends in depravity.

Of course this photo is blurry; look at these three!

Do you really think they were going to slow down and pose? This is pure kinetic sexual energy, people. 

It’s basically the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, applied to sex. If you don’t knooow… ask a physicist.

At a certain point, the dark vampiritic threesomes just weren’t hot enough to make up for the mornings, waking up in the bizarre, cold loft with sparse, uncomfortable furniture and much taxidermy.

They might be sisters, they might be mentally ill. They never smiled and their rituals were frustrating, meaningless and complex.

You hated them and wanted them at the same time.

Man, 2008 was totally out of control.

Redhead with ripped jeans and small pink nipples standing in front of modern art?

I push her against the pointillist mural, her body cold from the long photo shoot. Our lips meet. It happens so quickly - one hand pulls the small of her back, the other pushing into the front of her hot jeans. My body is pressing, one leg spreads hers apart just enough.

She’s responding like I hoped she would. Wet. Panting. Returning my intensity. 

Fuuuuck that is a hot fantasy. 

This is the hot Human Centipede.

The other Human Centipede (amazing indie horror flick) is unspeakably twisted. Even for a porn blog.

Country girl on a hot summer day.

Takes an ice cube in her mouth, draws it out with her long clean fingers, runs it down her chest. 

The shy sweetness of this moment makes me want to do dirty, dirty things.

Holy fuck are men ever hot.

This is from 1942.

He needs to lay his dirty, Southern hands on me, smelling of real tobacco and tasting of salt, silent but for his rough breath and sudden, strained moaning.

Hypoxyphilia is the scientific word for breath control play. I haven’t done a lot of this, but I suspect I’d be into it with someone that was really turned on by it  too… I sometimes hold my breath when I’m fucking or getting off, and it always make me cum like a champ, so who knows? Maybe this would be my thing.

In this case, I’m more interested in his watch.

(Source: squidintestines)

He wants me, I can tell.

His job and wife and kids mean he can’t have me, but he wants me so bad.

He’s been getting careless about it, and it’s been torture pretending not to notice.

He schedules a business meeting. We drive there.

It’s… not a meeting.