#eroticism
EROS 1 - 1 of 10 collection
My first of ten collection books about eros and eroticism photography.
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My HD - version, the best, a frame from the cartoon “Aladdin”, but with slight changes.
Моя HD - версия, лучшего, кадра мультфильма «Аладдин», но с небольшими изменениями.
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RED PANTIES
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Black Silhouette
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BRUM … BRUUUM
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Lines of you
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More than 3.400 photos
Spanking Briefs #6: The Ecstasy of Saint Vagina
A magnificent, unmistakably feminine, gothic arch soared high above her head, resembling the vulva of someone sitting with her legs splayed. Just as she was. She stared upwards, towards its apex, to where the clitoris should have been. Had this truly represented her vulva, she smirked, the roof would now be leaking.
She’d dressed in her Sunday Best: sandals, a virginal-white cotton blouse with long frilly sleeves, a short pastel pink pinafore dress - and nothing underneath. She’d even shaved this morning, ensuring her uncovered slit would be thrillingly sensitive. But her most sordid secret was the fat plug filling her bottom, its flat base now pressed against the hard wooden pew.
How sacrilegious would one have to be, she wondered, to get one’s bottom smacked in church?
Faraway, the good father delivered his sermon. His clear authoritative voice carried right to the back of her nave, as if he was speaking over the heads of the assembled congregation and addressing her directly. He was lecturing her, something about sin, indulgence, and virtue. She squirmed on her plug, feeling her bottom stretch, and bare cunt leak.
She yearned to be obedient. For years she’d been warned: sex tainted you, the more sexual adventures one had, the more corrupted you became. The resulting guilt oozed through her veins like molten metal.
Perhaps she should visit the confessional afterwards, to admit her disgrace? Wasn’t there a waist height hole in the booth’s dividing screen, a holy glory hole, wide enough for one protruding finger? She could already imagine his calm, strict voice, instructing her. Stand. Lift your dress. She’d shuffle forwards, until his fingertip discovered her wetness.
She strongly suspected the good father believed in smacking bottoms. He’d lead her up to the pulpit, bending her over the rail before the entire congregation, preaching about the perils of lust whilst strapping her naughty bum hard.
But why just her? Surely all were all sinners? She began to radically reimagine the mass, into a special service that only adults attended. Everyone sitting on anal dildos affixed to the pews, even the men. Especially the men.
In her service, all who’d sinned would stand and bare their bottoms, kneeling on their pews facing backwards. The good father would walk amongst them, delivering one whack for each of the seven deadly sins. The acoustics for spankings in churches would be exceptional.
She’d transform communion too. All would come forward to kneel before a downward-sloping porcelain phallus, taking it in their mouths as the good father spooned in runny salted honey, that dribbled down the hollow inside and onto their tongues. Maybe there’d be less prejudice and hubris in the world if everyone knelt submissively to take a penis in their mouths each Sunday.
She experienced a sudden rapturous transcendent clarity; a revelation.
The blessed patron saint of sex, sculptured in marble, writhing in bliss.
A surge of ecstasy flooded through her, that divine gift of pleasure that reminds us all how much we need each other.
Spanking Briefs #5: The Witch in the Pillory
Yelena had always been an outsider, regarded with uneasy suspicion by folksy neighbours fearful of her unnatural talents. Anxious of the bold iconoclast who dared challenge the staid conventions of their parochial rural world, whispers started, of witchcraft, that their misfortunes were her curses. Until eventually, the church elders demanded her humiliation.
They dragged her to the standing pillory in the village square. She reacted stoically as they forced her head and wrists into the stockade, powerless to resist when they rolled up her dress and pulled down her undergarments. They roughly kicked aside her feet, wedging a spreading beam between her thighs.
A leering, jeering, cheering crowd had come to witness her degradation. Although looking out from the pillory, she saw nobody. All had gathered behind her, eager to gloat as the birch struck her pretty bare bottom, hoping to glimpse her little slit winking as she squirmed.
The restless rabble seethed impatiently, hundreds of voices merging into the roar of a ravenous animal, like a pursuing predator, hungry to devour her. The birch pressed against her buttocks, scratchy and prickly, branches bending slightly, ominously foreshadowing its painful potency.
The rod rose amid a soaring crescendo of excitement. They saw her as captured prey, trapped and exposed for their lewd amusement. How little they appreciated the forces beyond their feeble understanding, and the cunning enchantment she had in store.
She’d never attempted to escape, knowing the whole village would assemble to watch her whacking. The collective erotic energy here was enormous. A tempest of danger energy. She could feel the onlookers’ lust flooding through her, the intent of their stiff pricks, aggressively wanting to stride forward and violate her. She could sense the watching maids’ wetness, some yearning to take her place in the pillory, others eager to swish the punishment rod.
She would focus all that lascivious power to cast the ultimate avenging charm.
She began to whisper the sounds of arcane runes, then yelled them as the birch seared her buttocks with fiery stripes, imbuing her incantation with even greater intensity. The lecherous crowd ignored her cryptic gasps, all so transfixed nobody ever noticed the grin on her face.
Hours later, as a shroud of darkness smothered dusk’s deep shadows, her magic germinated. The pillory latch unlocked itself, finally permitting her the relief of stretching upright.
Then, under milky moonlight, a peculiar Spanking Mania swept through the village. All those who’d watched her whacking were overtaken by sudden urge to spank and be spanked.
Wives took hairbrushes to their husbands.
Maids were put over knees.
Neighbours caned neighbours.
Lovers clutching slippers chased, wrestled, and walloped each other.
From where she stood in the central square, the sound of smacking erupted from every direction, sporadic at first, then continuously, as if the whole village had united to applaud her ingenuity. All would wake in a daze tomorrow, with inexplicably sore and stinging bottoms, bewildered by hazy half-remembered memories.
Quite unseen, the witch cupped herself, exulting in her mischief.
“At present, I am horrified with myself for containing—having devoured him—the dearest and only lover who ever loved me. I am his tomb. The earth is nothing. Dead. Staves and orchards issue from my mouth. His. Perfume my chest, which is wide, wide open. A greengage plum swells his silence. The bees escape from his eyes, from his sockets where the liquid pupils have flowed from under the flaccid eyelids. To eat a youngster shot on the barricades, to devour a young hero, is no easy thing. We all love the sun. My mouth is bloody. So are my fingers. I tore the flesh to shreds with my teeth. Corpses do not usually bleed. His did.”
Funeral Rites, Jean Genet, tr. Bernard Frechtman
“Bataille has written of the violence inherent in eroticism; without violence, two bodies would be unable to break their discontinuity.”- Susann Cokal, Wounds, Ruptures, and Sudden Space in the Fiction of Georges Bataille.
The aesthetic status of torture is also reinforced by its association with the novel’s principal aesthetic reference, the flowers. Mirbeau’s description of torture imitates his description of the flowers, both forms endowed with aesthetic status through the style and detail of their representation. The emphasis on detail, a central characteristic of decadent form, galvanizes links with the aesthetic by invoking ornamental semantics. Mirbeau details the color, tone, shape, texture and composition of the flowers, their transmutation from natural form to cultural artefact culminating in their semblance with human language:
This detailed description of form is also evinced in Mirbeau’s treatment of tortured convicts, which immediately precedes that of the flowers:
—Aesthetic Sexuality: A Literary History of Sadomasochism, Romana Byrne
EROTICISM
I keep finding myself having sexual fantasies about dangerous men. I’m not afraid of them, but that’s supposed to be scary to me. I yet to be touched by a woman you see. Seven years since sex has happened and that’s where I want to be. It’s my choice, but I want to dive in sea. I want them to bend my back and harness me. I’m a dominant, but not opposed to saying Yes Daddy.
- HITACHI BAYLOU
*Google: Hitachi Baylou
We are sensual beings. Discovering our own sexuality in our own special way.
Underwear and Fashion: Lingerie, corsetry and hosiery
The text below is the excerpt of the book The Story of Lingerie (ASIN: B07GCS6VPV), written by Muriel Barbier and Shazia Boucher, published by Parkstone International.
https://www.amazon.com/Story-Lingerie-Muriel-Barbier-ebook/dp/B07GCS6VPV/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=
A woman wears underwear that varies according to her circumstances. From the beginning to the end of her life a…
The most beautiful part of a man’s body I think it must be there, where the torso sits on and, into the hips, those twin delineating curves, feminine in grace, girdling the trunk, guiding the eyes downwards to their intersection, the point of pleasure. Duane Michals, 1986
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“Bedtime”
Mixed media collage on cardboard
2011
#mixedmedia #collage #erotic #eroticism #eroticart
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Gazing upon you as I feel my oceanic soul arising through those penetrating eyes of yours. I feel my silky olive skin coming alive with goosebumps. Flourishing before you’re eyes. I feel as my entire body is on fire from deep within. Sigh my loving gentleman bestow those lips upon me paint your sweet moist aroma upon me. Leave me breathless. Wrap you’re arms around so I can feel you’re breaths upon me. Glaring eyes of passion, I hunger for you. I am famished from the thirst I have for you♡
