*** Highly Recommended ***
“Vintage Bareback: Underground Kink: Volume 3″
(Lavender Lounge – Feisty Media LLC)
Editor: Mark Kliem ( http://twitter.com/LavenderLounge )
There are two clues, other than the title, that are proof we are so deep in the porn time machine we’ve come full circle. Even the most casual porn fans have most likely been exposed at some point to the famous loops of the 70s, where groaning and dialogue were pleasantly (or not, depending on the scene) dubbed over scenes that moved in speeds we no longer have today. Even the ones that had all-out hardcore action have taken on a lovely nostalgic place with apple pie and Christmas lights. What’s more American than two handsome men jogging down the beach in slow-motion? Gay porn did it long before “Baywatch” and a lot better.
The first clue is the black-and-white filming. Even rudimentary filmmakers had color. The second is Crisco. Before stores with bright signs advertising the latest hip fetish-wear and blow-up dolls stocked a large array of lubricants, each made for a specific purpose or comfort, there was apple pie. And if there was apple pie, there was Crisco. Try finding a baking recipe before the mid-80s without it.
What they didn’t necessarily know in the supermarket check-out line was that though sweet Mrs. Finchley from across the street was getting the Crisco ready to bake her grandson all those delicious treats, Fred, the bachelor next door, was buying it so he could shove his big hairy paw up Mrs. Finchley’s son with spectacular ease.
Now that we’re caught up historically, let’s get to the specifics. Where this movie was stored and for how long, I have no idea and frankly, without full assurances that the place was hosed down or torched, I’m not sure I ever want to know, but I would love to shake the (gloved) hand of the kink king who was not at all interested in rustic loops or beach scenes.
This shit is raunchy and it’s amazing. There is no cinematic quality to speak of, but there is no pretense of it. This is hardcore madness. On the shiny black sets of dungeons today, fisting bottoms rule the action. Not these guys. They were being gagged for real while someone reached in all the way to his elbow. There is flogging that isn’t about achieving a perfect pink color, but the real thing. We’ve got abduction, we’ve got boots being shoved down throats, we’ve got torture and piss play and tit clamps and, best of all, two men stacked on top of each other each taking a fist further than physics should allow.
Writing this in 2013, I’m thinking about how carefully porn is constructed today and how well it lives by its own rules. A torture scene unravels, but filmed in such a way that the viewer doesn’t notice when the shackles are removed, but eventually they are and a trust exists between the filmmakers and the viewers that though this is scary-looking stuff, everyone involved had everyone else’s approval.
In these clips, I can’t say I’m sure of anything! When a guy who looks like the devil without make-up or a costume suggesting it, nears the camera with a hot branding iron, who the hell knows what is really going on (and yet it’s hot).
The first of the main features has a rather reassuring feel to it, even with the appellation “Double Deck Fisting.” The Fiesta and the Aloha? Sounds great, see you there at 4pm.
Wrong deck. A very handsome and built brunet man is standing shirtless making sure a sling is properly slung. In comes a blond guy with a big mustache and they kiss. They then inhale a large enough dose of poppers to knock out a city block and spend time touching, kissing and enjoying each other’s touch. The blond guy is helped out of his clothing by his friend, and the “Death Star approaching” soundtrack doesn’t really fit the brunet’s pleasure in deep-throating his pal. The blond hops (literally — I can’t think of a single pornographic hop in at least a decade) merrily into the sling and patiently waits while everything is fitted properly. It seems as normal to them as an airplane safety demonstration.
And then we get the Crisco. In case you still aren’t familiar with Crisco, today one hears “tub of lard” on the playground as an insult to a porky kid. Back then, it was simply a tub of lard. It came in these big canisters like paint and though it looked like whipped cream, one spoonful and you never made that association again. My mother was quite progressive and kept my family strictly focused on margarine and we were taught Crisco was the most evil substance that could be made part of a diet.
That was only half the story. There was this whole other use for Crisco that I only found out about later, and by that time, it had either disappeared from store shelves, was sold as an oil or I had already adopted a preferred lubricant. With these guys, Crisco was the first and last choice for hungry fisters. As the bottom slowly fades in a popper-induced happiness, his friend, wearing the biggest grin of the action is in with both arms, at least one almost always to the elbow. He’s got some damn nice tricks. It’s not the first time for either guy.
Into the middle of the action comes a rather strange looking man, a kind of elfish looking guy, but he gets on the sling, on top of the guy already in it, takes in a bottle of poppers and pokes his ass out so that the bottoms are in a competition for arm length they can’t even see. And this top has proven he’s a pro, so he has the sling a-swingin’ with arms all the way in two different assholes. Some of the positions are awfully clever and there is nothing fake about the happy state of exhaustion the bottoms show when pulling out a load of cum while still being plugged all the way.
The fun with fisting then gives way to “Brutal Leather Daddies.” There are two attackers, though only one is in leather. The other is completely naked already. The man they have abducted is stripped of his clothes and both guys reach for the Crisco and toys. The dildo play is tame, though the fact that one of the guys his holding the attacked guy by the balls seems like it could hurt. The good news is that he’s made to lick a boot that looks very clean to begin with, but once it’s lubed with Crisco, there goes any semblance of yummy taste. A third attacker arrives, this one in just leather boots and jacket, the compromise attacker of the trio. He gives the attached man a nice big cock to suck while the others are dildo-fucking and slapping him.
The attacked man seems a bit too much in the thralls of pleasure, so they apply a few clothespins to his nipples. And his balls, which I think hurts the attackers more than the guy because there is not one second where he doesn’t have the scene’s biggest dick proudly crammed down his throat. It is a mighty piece, but at no point does he willingly let it go, no matter what the other two guys are doing up in his ass.
Candle wax is up next. No scented votives here, just a long candle and really hot drippings. The guy’s ass is on its way to crispy fried when one of the attackers takes a leather strap to it. He’s deemed too careful, so the guy with the huge cock shows him how to really beat the shit out of a guy and mean it. He is pinned to the bed by the others and still sucking. Even if he wanted to complain, he couldn’t.
After more Crisco in the ass, the big-dicked guy pisses into the attacked man’s mouth more urine than can fill a troth at a minor league baseball game. There are no camera tricks here, no fancy editing. Just a guy unloading enough piss to safely trek across a desert. When he’s done, the attacked man is still twitching in his handcuffs, but his look says otherwise. Some plain old fucking is next, from the most leather-clad of the guys and the fetish is most important here. We don’t see his dick. It’s buried in the hole. What is shown is the constant pounding the guy’s rump by the leather pants from each harsh thrust.
I can’t say the angel choir and the faux-Oriental spoof of 1920s silent movie music is anything but annoying, but people want to hear something. This guy has been beaten and slapped around by this trio, but give him a dick to suck and he forget all about it, about the handcuffs or even the taste of Crisco. A meaningfully intended paddling is followed by more hot wax, but this time right in the guy’s hole. Looking a bit worn out after some medieval torture device I couldn’t name, he’s tossed in the bathtub, but only for a change of scenery. The dildos, the fists and the ever-lovin’ Crisco have simply necessitated a change in atmosphere. Having been an ace torture victim, and hell of a good sport pornographically, he’s almost happy to be pissed on again, this time in the tub where it’s easier to wash off (although it’s almost impossible to wash Crisco off anything — there’s a reason plastic utensils were invented).
“Dungeon of Terror” sounds spooky. It is. There is one guy hanging by his arms, another scooting across the floor with a saddle and leather man riding him and a lad in a straightjacket. Two jolly men in leather seem to be manning the dungeon. One seems clearly experienced and the other maybe just finishing his apprenticeship. He’s clearly into it, mind you. They attached the guy who was in the straightjacket to a what looks like the bar of a lateral pull-down machine in the gym, by his arms AND legs, raise the bar off the ground and then spin him. Pleasure or pain, I have no idea. Nausea, undeniable. Big Daddy, looking hot in his harness, hat and beard, has flogging down pat, but the other guys seems a bit timid, but remember, we’re assuming he’s not quite finished all of his training. In a position closest to Downward Facing Dog, we get some hearty fisting and that damn church choir on the soundtrack again.
The Dungeon Masters are not without heart. Before you attempt to crush a guy’s windpipe or fit his balls with some creepy torture device, they know to offer him the popper bottle. They aren’t heathens after all. They use enough to bring down a moose, but the tortured guy keeps his tongue stuck out for any chance of leather lickage he can get.
First rule of a dungeon: if you look like you are enjoying it, it’s going to stop. Candle wax on the nipples doesn’t scare this guy too much, so they keep breaking the vials of amyl nitrate to goad him back into full passivity. He’s all but upside down now, and chained at the arms and legs. He couldn’t fight the wax if he wanted to. He’s almost giddy when an armpit is forced in his face. It turns him all kissy with Big Daddy.
Second rule of a dungeon: don’t count out love. With Big Daddy a big old pussycat, the apprentice is kind of lost, but he has such a mammoth cum-shot that our new lovebirds are both kind of dazzled.
The finale this wonderfully potent trip down Mental Asylum Lane, replete with enough Crisco to stare down a Showcase Showdown on The Price is Right, is “Torture Barn.” This is the one with the devil. Even is outfit is a bit on the hokey movie villain side. At the beginning, a very handsome lad in bars in this new torture palace, while Mr. Mistof drags in another and flings him into the cell. Both boys are forced to put on barely-there thongs with the same “are we kind of bad” look like the kids in “The Blue Lagoon,” but the cell vet knows enough to stand at the back of the cell and feverishly whip his head back and forth in a gesture of defiance.
The guys are forced to lick a plate of gooey substance together. The cell vet, apparently the only member of SAG to make it into this movie, stays in character enough to pretend disgust, but the other guys comes up licking his lips like he’s been eating honey. They then lick each other’s faces clean, with constant laughter from the guy who is clearly too high to remember there is a script. The magic goo has made the guys less apt to fight back, so by the time His Dishonor drags in another playmate, they are kind of into it. Well, the high guy isn’t able to focus, but the actor looks appropriately frightened as the cute new hottie in the collar contorts his well-muscled body being walked on all fours by his owner.
The Devil, now looking like a standard movie Russian peasant, has a bit of an unfair advantage over his three pets: a gun. It does force the guys to do his bidding, even though the high guy doesn’t know he’s supposed to not like this. Out of a very fancy lunch box comes the star of the scene, a pretty significant dildo/sheath thing that the devil wears to fuck the other guy. I guess it’s wider than a standard cock, and I’m not seeing much Crisco, but other than the twitching of the bottom’s hands, there’s no much evidence this is anything but a typical Saturday night.
This is classy stuff, with plot. The hottie is tied up in a position that forces him to flex his pecs and arms while looking fearful and this is where our Master of Pain comes at him VERY slowly with a hot poker. But, wait, there’s a set of keys on the floor and suddenly the three guys are a team and .. the movie ends.
Come on, Lavender Lounge! If this is a way to make me buy another disc to see the continuation of a silent movie serial that throws more perils than Pauline ever handled (not to mention cock), I’ll likely do it, but if I’m this invested and I hear that’s the only can of film you can find, I might insist someone quickly film an ending, because I want to know what the fuck happens in the end!
DVD features: Chapters; fullscreen; trailers (“Dungeon Werk” and “Fuckin’ Around the House”); and no regional coding.
A DVD Review by Brent Blue ( http://www.ManNet.com )
*** Highly Recommended ***
To order – DVD: “Vintage Bareback: Underground Kink 3″ – contact:
Feisty Media LLC
423B Aaron Street
Cotati, California 94931 U.S.A.