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This is a question Sex Toys

Lanternchikk asks "How about a vibrant and stimulating discussion on sex toys?" What do you use to get off, and has it ever gone wrong? And yes, we've heard that urban myth, thank you.

(, Thu 17 May 2012, 12:33)
Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Bring in the dog
I'm not sure this counts as a toy, but if you ever find yourself on top of a lady, pumping away unenthusiastically to an equally luke warm reaction, I guarantee that if her pet Jack Russell Terrier wanders into the room unheard and proceeds to place his cold, wet nose right on your balloon knot, then it will liven things up no end. Highly recommended.

Caution: Does not apply to all breeds. If a later girlfriend owns an Alsation who sits by the bed eyeballing you as you go about your business on his beloved mistress, this has a more soporific effect. Avoid.
(, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:06, Reply)
As I was loading my suitcase into our transfer's car on the way back to Tenerife Airport
My case started buzzing. The driver looked at me and then to Mrs Airman Gabber with a knowing smile. "You'd better turn that off, noises like that worry the security guards."

"Oh!" I blushed,"It's not what you think. It's my razor." I stammered to his disbelieving face.

Quickly unzipping the case I rummaged around and produced a Mach 3 Turbo Razor that had turned itself on,"See?"

"Huh. Who'd have imagined?" His disappointment was evident.

What he didn't know was that it had actually been used on Mrs Airman Gabber's nether regions the night before.. and not for shaving. Worked a treat apparently. Who'd have imagined?
(, Thu 24 May 2012, 10:13, 10 replies)
Old Faithful
My parents came to visit me in the USA a few years ago for a few weeks. They were in their late 70’s. A couple of days after they had left, I get a phone call from my mother. After all the usual chit-chat and pleasantries, she confesses that she’s left something behind that she needs. Yes, she’d left behind Old Faithful, and old-style no-frills type of unit that she’d had for ages. And my dad had forgotten his little blue pills as well. Trying very hard not to piss myself laughing, I say that I’d post them back. I located the articles in question, and rather than touch them I use the inverted plastic bag trick utilized by many a pet owner cleaning up after their animal. But now, I have to now work out what goes on the customs declaration form. I decided to stay simple. Sex toy and Viagra. Value? Sentimental. I tried not to think of it too much after that. Other than to tell my brothers that is.
Okay, so the following year, they are back over. The 3 weeks go past relatively smoothly until the last night. They’ve packed up pretty much everything, and we’re having the last supper. My mother says that she’d already packed pretty much everything so the next day should be simple. I just say that she needs to remember to pack EVERYTHING this time. Both parents looked at me slightly puzzled. I simply repeat myself. At this point my father, usually the slower of the pair, gets my meaning, and says to my mother, “Oh you know”, and then proceeded to do an impression of the vibrator in question….as if it was powered by a 30 megawatt diesel generator. Either that or a road drill, such was the volume of the impression. My mother starts to laugh embarrassed, whilst I’m cringing in my seat. So I say to my dad “You’re not off the hook either. You forgot your pills”. My mother then comes back with “Oh don’t worry. He doesn’t always need them”, and I am left with permanent mental scars and wishing that the ground would open up and let me fall into the bowels of hell, where after having told this story, I no doubt will end up.
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 23:45, 10 replies)
My workmate is training to be a nurse
and apparently some guy a few nights ago had to have thirty seven individual dice removed from his rectal tract.
They where all jammed in together so they gave him an enema to see if it would loosen the hold.
Well they all fell out together(along with lots of brown) and he got several yahtzee....
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 23:13, 4 replies)
once I dun a wank.
but i won't describe my vagina to you.
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 20:34, 56 replies)
I'll use anything. I'm not fussy.

(, Wed 23 May 2012, 19:56, 9 replies)
It's sort-of a sex-toy, I suppose...
Many years ago, I had a job in the wonderful world of scud/grumble/Frankie Vaughan. Nothing too exotic, sadly - I worked for a company that produced one-handed reading material and skin-flicks, and it was my duty to ensure that their raft of websites was regularly updated with fresh pictures from the latest bongo-mags. It was fun (with the possible exception of Readers' Wives week), and the contents of my in-tray would routinely put the local hedgerows to shame.

One feature of the websites, quite pioneering at the time, was the Livecam. Every night, punters could log on and watch a range of models stripping off live on camera, performing lewd acts and talking filth in the chatroom. It was years ahead of those soul-crushing channels in the nine-hundreds, populated by bored-looking women listlessly waggling cordless phones in silence. Oh yes, we were offering live tragi-bation a decade ahead of those latecomers. All this action took place one floor down from my office, in a small studio containing a bed, a computer, a webcam and a lingering smell of baby-oil and resignation.

The girls built up quite a fanbase, so much so that another feature was introduced; The Livecam Shop. Here, punters could enhance their experience by purchasing a 'gift' for the girl onscreen. £5 bought her a virtual rose, £10 a box of virtual chocolates. The girls would then respond by - Well, to be honest I don't know, because even the loneliest and most desperate of worm-burpers wasn't gullible enough to fall for that scam while I was watching. Um, monitoring the service for bandwidth issues.

There was one item in the shop that wasn't a total rip-off, though; For about £15, viewers could treat themselves to their favourite Livecam girl's used knickers. These sold like hot cakes that had been kept up a fanny. The fans went wild for them, and we did a roaring trade. What more could the sophisticated man about town want? After sitting and panting at the screen for three hours, studiously poring over a model's every nork-jiggle and buttock-oiling, consigning the best bits to the mammary bank, he could complete the experience with the most personal of keepsakes; A delicate lacy undergarment that had spent a whole day tightly hugging the most intimate parts of the object of his affection. Sure, there may have been a chatroom full of pud-pullers watching her erotic display, but not many of them could claim ownership of a piece of underwear from her very own collection, wrapped snuggly around her curves for a whole day before being hermetically sealed and despatched to their door.

The romance of the situation was only slightly tarnished by the fact that, back upstairs, the chap at the next desk was kept busy for about an hour a day with the task of going through a job-lot of bright red factory-second polyester thongs brought in from the outlet store that morning, squirting each one with a bottle of Superdrug's cheapest perfume, sealing it in a polythene sandwich bag and bunging the whole sensual package in the post :(
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 19:35, 8 replies)
I used Rory Lyon's posts about Emvee as a sextoy on quentin's toothbrush's mum's sextoy.

(, Wed 23 May 2012, 19:11, 1 reply)
I used Emvee's toothbrush as a sex toy
on his mum
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 16:01, Reply)
I also used emvees prosser mum as a sextoy too

(, Wed 23 May 2012, 15:56, 24 replies)
I used emvees dad as a sextoy

(, Wed 23 May 2012, 15:43, 26 replies)
Not sure if this counts
But I once dated a man who turned out to have a prosthetic hand, having lost his left hand, just above the writst, in a farm machinery accident.

I don't think I can adequately describe the feeling as he used his stump to pleasure me from behind (more comfortable for both of us). It felt like an enormous, ever-rigid, 10-inch cock. And even once Kevin had wanked himself off, he could continue thrusting long into the night – or afternoon one time.

He was a lovely guy and we had lots of fun, but I called it day eventually, as we really had nothing in common, beyond the joy we gave each other in the bedroom.

And when people ask you “What on earth do you see in him?”, I realised that the answer was: “His stumpy left arm” which even I had to admit was probably not a sound basis for a long term relationship.

Still…I do miss that arm sometimes.
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 15:11, 20 replies)
Since no one is offering anything interesting I thought i'd add a fun fact
The first sex store in the world was started by a female ex-luftwaffe pilot in Germany. It started out as a mail order business because the post war female population far outnumbered the male population (for obvious reasons)and they needed sexing as well as decent information on how not to get pregnant and how to actually have an orgasm. I could go on, but if you feel you need to read more then head on over to: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beate_Uhse-Rotermund
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 14:27, Reply)
As related to me by a very dear friend. Mind bleach supplied if required.
My friend's sister was happily married, and apparently, the sex was awesome. That is, until her husband passed away in tragic circumstances. As his death was in suspicious circumstances, his remains were kept in the morgue.

Trouble was, the lady in question had something of a high libido. After wearing out three vibrators, one carrot, a garden gnome and the handle of the toilet brush, she was realised she had a problem. So she confided in her friend, who referred her to the local witch doctor.

And so the lady in question visited the witch doctor, who for the purposes of this story, conforms to no stereotypes whatsoever. "What you need to do" he said, "Is to bring me the sexual organs of your deceased husband. Can you do that for me?". And so our lady goes, and returns with her husband's meat and two. "Give me seven days, and return" said the witch doctor.

Seven days, several more carrots, three hairbrushes and a mobile phone later, the lady returns to the witch doctor. He proceeded to bring out a jar, with her husband's veiny rocket and fuel tanks inside. It was bigger than she'd ever seen it. Looking suitably impressed, she asked how to use it. "What you do, is lie back, legs akimbo, and shout '"Pickled willy fanny!'. After thirty minutes, then shout 'Pickled willy jar!' Do not use it for more than thirty minutes, or there will be dire consequences."

The lady rushed home, duly warned. She placed the jar on her bedside table, set a thirty minute time, stripped off as quick as she could, and shouted "Pickled willy fanny!". The jar unscrewed itself, and the magical skin flute hopped across the bed, and went to work. When her thirty minutes were up, she shouted "Pickled willy jar!". The bewitched bell end withdrew, hopped back across the bed, and placed itself back in the jar.

This continued nightly for six months, until one fateful evening when our heroine returned from a party completely out of her mind. Utterly smashed. So much so, that when she began her usual nightly routine, she forgot to set the timer. After slurring her usual command, she fell asleep, waking up four hours later, with her dead husband's pickled pecker still working away. "Pickled willy jar!" she shouted, with no response from the banging bongo boner. "Pickled willy jar!" she shouted again, with increasing urgency, still without any reaction from the moving meat missile. Trying one more time verbally, and still without any murmur of recognition from the repeating magical minge mangler, she grabbed curtailed the automated custard-chucker's activities by grabbing it by the balls, pulling it out, and lobbing it behind the dresser.

She relaxed, until she heard the noise. It was chasing after her. Pulling on a dressing gown, she ran out of the house, round the corner and down the street, until she saw a police officer. "Oh officer!" she cried. "I'm being chased down the street by my dead husband's magical pickled willy!". The policeman blinked for a second, before bursting out laughing. "Pickled willy? My arse!"
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 14:23, 7 replies)
I stuck my cock in an orange
but more importnatly 12 PEOPLE HAVE ME ON IGNORE

(, Wed 23 May 2012, 12:01, 138 replies)
Yoghurt as sex aid
Have a tenuous repost:
A female friend of mine had some kind of funghal infection in her ladybits and the doctor had told her the best way to deal with it was to apply natural yoghurt. So my ladyfriend started by dribbling a teaspoonful inside, then moved on to a dessert-spoonful with some light rubbing, then a cupful massaged in... you get the idea. She found it was a very pleasurable sensation and even after her infection was cured would regularly pleasure herself with a carton of yoghurt.

So having told me this while being, ahem, intimate, she suggested we should try sex with yoghurt as a lubricant. I couldn't think of a reason not too, so she liberally applied yoghurt to her parts and I plunged in. And yes, not at all unpleasant.

But there are some disadvantages:
- never fall asleep after sex with yoghurt all over you. It stinks.
- never have yoghurt sex when it's very hot. It goes all lumpy and looks like puke.
- never have yoghurt sex if you're very hairy. You can't wash it out and your genitals will smell like a dairy for days if not weeks.
- never give oral sex to someone who's got a hairy minge and has been wanking with yoghurt the whole summer.
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 11:47, 4 replies)
"I'll have what she's having"
Last wedding anniversary, in a busy restaurant, my wife said she had a present for me. I was a bit surprised, as we'd agreed not to do presents. Unwrapping the small package, I found a remote control, with buttons for mode and speed...

Naturally I made sure to change mode / speed etc whenever she was talking to the waiter!
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 11:14, 13 replies)
Very bloody tenuous - my justification being that make-up is used to attract a mate, thus a sort of sex toy. I don't care if you don't agree.
Anyway, yesterday I walked past a quadriplegic woman in an electric wheelchair that was driven by a mouth lever.

She was wearing make up.

And my first, unbidden thought was "What's the point?"

Thus securing my ticket for the 'bus to hell.
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 10:41, 16 replies)
The chocolate highway
My ex used to have quite an open mind and introduced me to the joys of sex toys amongst other things.
Like many couples we started with the old rampant rabbit, a stalwart in the jiggly pokery department.
After a while our rabbit ran out of steam and would not come back to life. New batteries were tried, casing taken apart, all to no avail.
Now, being a bit short of money, we couldn't go out and buy a new device so we did what any other sane couple would do, we improvised.
Vegetables came first, cucumbers, carrots, courgettes (if these are from the garden they need a good wash first or the hairs can irritate). A bottle of champagne was tried (remove the foil completely or your lady friend won't be too happy).
We would wake up in the morning with our bed surrounded by all manner of objects.
One day, and I still don't remember how the idea formed, a king size mars bar was cracked out. Maybe we thought if a finger of fudge is just enough then a king size confectionary delight would be brilliant. We were wrong. Everything started off well, but chocolate, hot hands and a willing hole do not go together well. First the outer casing of chocolate starts to melt and the whole thing gets difficult to hold. Then the thing loses structural integrity, rendering the whole exercise a little pointless. And finally, you end up covered in chocolate making it look like your cock, her fanny and the bed have been pebble dashed after a night on the sauce.
Even after washing, the bed sheets retained a suspicious stain and getting chocolate out of pubes and inner crevices does not increase the libido.
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 9:23, 3 replies)
How about a large floor-based piece of running machinery?
Technocore's story below reminded me of this beauty from the Darwin awards.

One morning I was called to the emergency room by the head ER nurse. She directed me to a patient who had refused to describe his problem other then to say that he "needed a doctor who took care of men's troubles." The patient, about 40, was pale, febrile, and obviously uncomfortable, and had little to say as he gingerly opened his trousers to expose a bit of angry red and black-and-blue scrotal skin.
After I asked the nurse to leave us, the patient permitted me to remove his trousers, shorts, and two or three yards of foul-smelling, stained gauze wrapped about his scrotum, which was swollen to twice the size of a grapefruit and extremely tender. A jagged zig-zag laceration, oozing pus and blood, extended down the left scrotum.

Amid the matted hair, edematous skin, and various exudates, I saw some half-buried dark linear objects and asked the patient what they were. Several days earlier, he replied, he had injured himself in the machine shop where he worked, and had closed the laceration himself with a heavy-duty stapling gun. The dark objects were one-inch staples of the type used in putting up wallboard.

We x-rayed the patients scrotum to locate the staples; admitting him to the hospital; and gave him tetanus antitoxin, a broad-spectrum antibacterial therapy, and hexachlorophene sitz baths prior to surgery the next morning.

The procedure consisted of exploration and debridement of the left side of the scrotal pouch. Eight rusty staples were retrieved, and the skin edges were trimmed and freshened. The left testis had been avulsed and was missing. The stump of the spermatic cord was recovered at the inguinal canal, debrided, and the vessels ligated properly, though not much of a hematoma was present. Through-and through Penrose drains were sutured loosely in site, and the skin was loosely closed.

Convalescence was uneventful, and before his release from the hospital less then a week later, the patient confided the rest of his story to me.

An unmarried loner, he usually didn't leave the machine shop at lunchtime with his co-workers. Finding himself alone, he had begun the regular practice of masturbating by holding his penis against the canvas drive-belt of a large floor-based piece of running machinery. One day, as he approached orgasm, he lost his concentration and leaned too close to the belt. When his scrotum suddenly became caught between the pulley-wheel and the drive-belt, he was thrown into the air and landed a few feet away. Unaware that he had lost his left testis, and perhaps too stunned to feel much pain, he stapled the wound closed and resumed work.

I can only assume he abandoned this method of self-gratification.
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 8:43, 6 replies)
That's nut how you do it
My brothers a paramedic and he has many stories, mostly pertaining to peeling dead motorcycle riders off the road and giving overdosed junkies Naloxone shots only to be abused by them 'fah ruinin mah high ya cunt'.
But he has a couple of nasty arse and cock tales as well and this story seems to fit into this weeks question.
Upon arriving at an older gentlemen’s house after he had called for assistance, the old fellow dropped his pants and showed off his balls, which my brother described as about 5 times bigger than they should be, dark blue and very dead looking.
What the crazy old badger had done for kicks is weld a metal clamp around the top of his balls, just below his cock. Apparently he'd been doing this for years as his 'off' but this time couldnt remove it. He left it there for weeks before seeking medical help.
Luckily he only lost one of his nuts.
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 6:18, 2 replies)
I worked in a sex shop..
My friend runs a sex shop in Birmingham. One day he needed someone to manage the store for a few weeks while he took a vacation. That person was ME...
Anyway I had worked there before and knew most of the day to day running, knew most of the regular customers and was in need of some serious cash injection.
The store sold a wide selection of adult happy gifts, from the vibrators, anal plugs, beads, lubes, chains, whips, magazines, videos and a lot more. However one section he had due to customer demand was the adult baby section. Yeah..AB's - this is something I have huge reservations about and I'm pretty open minded.
One day while re-stocking the triple ripple butt plug shelf a man walks in, (the typical punter non-nondescript, reasonably dressed) and buys a large quantity of adult baby nappies, a few dummies, anal beads and a lot of lube. I sell him the goods, package it up in discreet bags and off he toddles out the door, all without saying a word, and with vacant stare..very slightly creepy

Anyway a few months later I get run over by a twat in a 4x4. After some days in hospital and weeks in plaster and a police investigation etc I go in search of a solicitor. After finding one and arranging a meeting I walk into one of the finest law establishments that Birmingham can offer, and who is sitting at the table with their law partners to discuss my case - Mr Adult Baby.

oooh yes... I laughed like a loon when exiting the building. I have no idea to this day if he recognised me, though he was a dam good lawyer.

Adult babies and furries are the only things that creep me out.
(, Wed 23 May 2012, 0:29, 11 replies)
Derek and Clive live on
A girlfriend of mine when I lived in South London was a bit of a goer. She used to have this big black rubber dildo; one with the balls on that could help it stand up by itself. She used to bang herself with it when I was away on business/at pub etc.
We used to use it together occasionally (no, never on me thankfully) and she used to love to shove it all the way up. Once it was all the way in with the black rubber testicles stopping it going any further, she'd get me to try to push it further in (even tho the blackballs were preventing it from happening) as it made her go a little flushed if you know what I mean.
After a while, rather than just puch it, I started hitting the base of it and she fucking loved it. We did this for a quite while and then progressed onto the bit that still makes me laugh to this day.
We would insert it then she'd stand up with her legs apart and I would gently (at first) kick the bottom of it.
As I stood there stark-bollock naked, swinging my leg toward her full snatch, all I could ever think to myself was "I'm the number one cunt-kicker in the world"
Ah, happy days.
(, Tue 22 May 2012, 20:39, 11 replies)
There's not just one but maybe (correction- AT LEAST) three shops in Penzance
that from the front seem to sell off-colour novelty goods going by the window. The usual dross, French maid barbecue aprons, lava lamps, plasma balls and so on. Then the lower tone novelty items:- walking willies, remote control fart machines, page 3 playing cards, plastic bongs and massive marijuana design t-shirts, dubious 'legal highs' and foot long rizlas, boob pouring milk jugs etc. so pretty common fare for a seaside town. But when you go in through the doors, the theme changes:- they also apparently sell air pistols, air rifles, sheath knives, crossbows (!!!), binoculars, walkie-talkies and the assorted paraphernalia. But it doesn't stop there... go through to the back of the shop and they've got cheap nasty looking dildos, vibrators, outfits, lubes, rubbish fetish-y stuff and 'sexual enhancer' pills.

Now I don't know who their target clientele is but to me it sounds worrying like their ideal customer is an immature stoner survivalist maniac who likes to stalk his victims with a loaded crossbow and hunting knife, whereupon he kidnaps them, dresses them up nastily and does unspeakable things to them.

So... one shop with this particular stock variety in a town might be considered odd, two in the same town might be thought of as unfortunate. But three? There's something unpleasant going on down there......
(, Tue 22 May 2012, 20:19, 4 replies)
I once fancied a doctor so I went to his surgery and complained of bowel pains
He told me to bend over and started a rectal exam.
"There's something obstructing the anus", he said "It looks like a bundle of stems. I'm going to try and extract it"
He started pulling and exclaimed, "Oh my god, it's a whole bunch of flowers!"
"Read the card! Read the card", I replied
(, Tue 22 May 2012, 18:54, 27 replies)
Moderately off-topic but I don't care
Despite my never having made the pleasure with artificial aids I nonetheless enjoyed writing a "history" of the Fleshlight as a joak: everything2.com/user/wertperch/writeups/Fleshlight

Hope you enjoy.
(, Tue 22 May 2012, 18:03, 8 replies)
The Key to the Sex Question.
Some people have probably seen this, but


Don't worry, 'cat' just stands for 'catalogue'. But NSFW as it's a catalogue of sex toys.
(, Tue 22 May 2012, 17:29, 3 replies)

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