Cute Bondage Girls

From Bondage Blog:

Nicely Moisturized, Thank You For Asking

On Tuesday Red Headed Slut wrote:

have i mentioned how wonderful this product is? you HAVE to run out and get a tube of johnson’s baby oil gel.

if you use it as a lubricant when giving hand jobs, i guarantee you will please you partner like never before. it just has the perfect consistency, isn’t too greasy and doesn’t dry up! plus it’s amazing as a moisturizer for yourself as well :)

She said I had to get a tube, so I did. I’m a good little media consumer, I can never ignore a compelling advertising message. And she’s right – the consistency is pretty nifty, it’s a little greasy but not too, and indeed it does not dry up.

The predictable downside she did not mention: it smells like babies.

Never Underestimate The Power of a Good Hug

Crystal met a stranger at a party. But he had a knack for not staying a stranger:

Again he leaned toward me for a hug, and this time I was somewhat better prepared. He held me in a full body embrace, and my face landed right in the crook of his neck. I inhaled deeply of the sweet smell of some sort of hair product mixed with a slighty musky odor. We stood there for a few moments more than what would be considered the average for someone just met.

As the seconds ticked by I found myself feeling as though I could fall in love with him. Indeed I believe that I was in love for that moment. Of course I know next to nothing about him. But he smelled good, hugged well, and allowed me to fall into the universe between his ear and collarbone.

More About The Dwarves

An astute viewer points out that the dwarves in the previous post are, evidently, dwarves of the Judeo-Christian persuasion, judging by the snipped-ness of their privates. Is someone paying too much attention?

Another astute viewer suggests that the artist may be one Julius Zimmerman, and a quick Google turns up this astonishing collection of eighty-four galleries of art very similar in style. Thanks for the info!

Hi Ho, Hi Ho!

This is more explicit that we usually go here at Eros Blog, but I can’t sleep and I’m in no mood to worry about anyone’s tender sensibilities. This is a hot drawing and I’d really appreciate if someone could tell me who the artist is so I could give appropriate credit.

I always did think mining had much to recommend it as a profession. All that exploring of warm damp tunnels, all those stone shafts…

Update: Of course it’s Zimmerman.

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Bacchus in Trouble

I’m in the doghouse over that last post. To my surprise and utter dismay, it made some people angry. I’m trying to sort it out via email, and I’ll provide an update if and when I have something useful to add. Meanwhile, I’m sorry for any offense the post gave. None was intended.

The Dirty Whore, There I Said It, Happy Now?

The Dirty Whore has a post up about why she uses such an edgy name, along with an email address that starts “filthy cumslut”. She writes:

I want you take a small risk when you come here. I want you to think and feel when you read my blog. I want you to be provoked sometimes. I want you to disagree with me. I want you to learn something about yourself and the way you feel about sex – that’s more important than what you absorb about me.

We got a lot of guys in this country who are scared of sex. It makes them feel sick, it makes them feel dirty, it makes them feel vulnerable which in their minds is only one step away from being gay, and yes they have a problem with that. And so, in their minds, any woman who likes sex, who revels in it and has fun at it and squirts joyously at the finish, is a cunt, a slut, a whore. And they use these words, in daily conversation and with considerable venom.

In my experience nice guys, guys who love sex and love women who love sex, don’t use these words much, don’t even think them except with an ironic smile or while recreating bad porno for the fun of it. Guys who own these words, who use them as basic vocabulary with all connotations accepted, who address them to women as titles, these are bitter guys, scared guys, angry guys, unhappy guys. Guys with an axe to grind and no loving woman to grind it with. Guys who lie in the locker room.

For reasons still unclear, Dirty Whore is telling us all, by exercising her natural monopoly over her own namespace, “if you want to talk to me, or about me, you have to pretend to be one of those bitter angry scared broken guys.”

Well, OK, she’s interesting and often worth talking about. If that’s the risk premium she charges as the price for addressing her namespace, I can pay it. Them as knows me know I’m not one of those guys anyway, and I’m not a huge believer in worrying about other people’s opinions in the first place. Nor did a little role-playing ever hurt anyone.

But I worry that she might also be saying “I think every guy is one of those guys, and that’s what I want you to learn about yourself.” In which case, sorry, no, but it’s not true, the shoe doesn’t fit and I won’t wear it. And I’m very sorry if her experiences have made her come to feel that way.

Oh Wicked Wanda!

Here’s an awesome free archive of the classic sexy comic strip “Oh Wicked Wanda!” Sample:

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Let The Spankings Proceed!

Since Jezebel got the ball rolling yesterday, I might as well give in and make this “Spanking Monday”. A new spanking blog to add to the blogroll: The Collar Purple. Invidia over at Collar Purple has a birthday spanking coming up, and The Boss (her husband and dom) has a poll up soliciting input on which implements he should use. Right now “hand” is winning, but there’s quite a list of options. Vote early and often!

Meanwhile, SpankBoss over at Spanking Blog found this story about birthday spankings:

My birthday spanking this year was a grab bag affair. While some went for a conservative slap and tickle, a few tried to outdo all the others with their well-wishing whacks (some of my friends are very competitive). And, yes, a rosy handprint lingered the next day to remind me I was one year older and that I have the best friends!

And a good time was had by all.

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Jezebel The Lonely

Found another fun blog today. Jezebel can’t decide if she’s sweet or wicked. Perhaps it depends on the time of day. Right now she’s corrupting innocent Catholic youth, a noble pursuit.

However, if she keeps complaining about how many days it’s been since she had sex, at a time when that number is not in the triple digits, I’m going to have to track her down and give her a good brisk spanking. As she says herself:

As I’m not a three-eyed hunchback, it is not that difficult for me to initiate a sexual encounter with a member of the opposite sex. Seriously, folks, any girl over the age of 18 (age negotiable?) can have sex anytime they want to as there is always a man willing to stick their male member into a warm, wet hole. As long as you weigh under, oh, 325 lbs, don’t have too much facial hair, and can grunt at the appropriate times, it is quite easy for a woman to obtain sex.

Haven’t you ever heard the expression, “women get laid when we want to, men get laid when we let them”?

Blowing Bubbles

You’ve seen spit bubbles, right? Well, apparently the American porn industry thought that was an idea worth borrowing, with an appropriate transformation into the realm of bukkake. Another image that you must affirmatively click to view. We have our standards here at ErosBlog! (Namely, low and variable.)

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And Speaking of Arcs

Here’s an image of three fetchingly half-naked but intoxicated-looking young ladies standing around a men’s urinal, attempting (with marked lack of success) to use it from a range of about three feet out. Click through if you want to see — I’d hate for bathroom imagery to spoil anyone’s Sunday brunch.

“Die Wacht am Rhein”

Some time ago I posted a picture of this medal because of its vivid artwork of a woman on her knees and bound to a huge erect phallus. Now a reader has passed on the following information about the medal:

This medal was issued by the satirical medallist Karl Goetz entitled “Die Wacht am Rhein” (The watch on the Rhein). It is a protest against sending black colonial French troops to occupy the Rhein territory, and the sexual excesses which that brought about.

Rev: A naked woman tied to a phallus with a soldiers hat on top. Leg: Die Schwarze schande (The black shame) Dated 1920

It is interesting to note that the same medal was issued the following year with the woman tied to a post, with a baby lying at its base.

Arc de Triomphe

Here’s a new statue that we really really need for Washington, DC. Wouldn’t this be an ideal backdrop for John Ashcroft’s podium-thumping speeches?

Girl Talk

From a coffee klatch account at Merripan’s Note, this good-natured and ever-so-mature observation:

Kate and I had a few off-to-the-side conversations of our own about our own respective issues, and we came to the conclusion that, in general, boys are stupid, and they need to have rocks thrown at them. So there, neener-neener.

Sounds to me like these ladies need to get together with Doxie, who is of the “tie them to trees” school of thought.

Yogi The Depraved Bear

This song will start your day off just right!

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I’ve Got a Knock-Knock Joke

It’s really funny. Ok, you start:

“Who’s there?”

How To Fuck Up Polyamory

I’ll come right out and say it, I’ve never understood polyamory. To be blunt, I’m not incredibly facile at building and maintaining loving relationships with one person at a time. (Yes, folks, Bacchus is available, and has been for… well… crap, I’m out of fingers and toes, uh… er, for a long time.) Start upping the numbers, and in my limited experience, things get ugly fast.

That “experience”, I will confess, consists of only one single train of events, which unfolded over two years and involved five friends of mine, three of them quite close friends. By the end of the matter two previously happy couplings were history, and I had witnessed a wedding, two divorces, one suicide attempt, several more contemplated suicides, and many many many hours of anguished conversation and tearful soul searching. Nobody, and I do mean nobody, appeared to enjoy much of this process, although the central figure is, or was when last heard from, happily living in a poly family and community on a different coast.

Now, that said, I’m sympathetic to the idea of polyamory. It’s just that I’m pessimistic about its prospects and stability. So I tend to be drawn to accounts of poly lifestyles, and I try to be polite about the fact that my fascination is akin to the fascination of a train-loving bystander at a really juicy train wreck.

Ever since I first linked to Lilith’s Note of the Day, I have noticed that Lilith has interesting stuff to say about the poly lifestyle. Her blog, and the network of linked blogs of some of the people dear to her, make for fascinating reading, at least if you are interested in human relationships and the rich complex ways in which they overlap.

All of which is by way of incredibly long-winded introduction to this item, entitled simply “How to Fuck Up” by Elise Matthesen. Lilith notes that this helpful guide has been circulating since 1997, but she doesn’t personally think it’s gotten quite enough exposure. Of the nine enumerated methods for fucking up, I saw at least seven put to effective use during the one poly train wreck I witnessed. So I’d have to agree, a little more exposure couldn’t hurt. Go read it already, it’s full of gems like Method One:

1. Lie. This is basic and effective. To maximize bad results, lie about something important to the other person(s) and arrange to be caught in the lie in such a way as to produce maximum shock. Additional stress points awarded for keeping the lie going for a while before discovery, which increases the disorientation and sense of betrayal in the deceived person(s). Lying about sex gets double points. Lying about being married gets triple fuck-up points. Creative lies of omission (i.e. “not telling”) with fancy rationalizations and condescension get gold stars.

And now it’s truly the deep dark middle of the night, and time for sleep.

[links removed due to ancient rot]

Olfactory Delights

Michelle at Sweetness Follows bought a new dildo, and Mike, well, this is what Mike did:

“Slipped it in nice and slow, and teased her with it, giving her it in small portions, till the whole thing was inside her.

Tried out the new bottle of lube she bought, slipped my finger in her ass, and she moaned that it was on “that spot”. Kept rubbing, and fucked her with her toy, and well, she squirted.

Love that taste – still smell it on my fingers a bit…”

It’s funny, word is some women don’t like guys to lick them because they worry about the taste and smell. I can’t understand this, there’s nothing better in all the world. When I’ve got that lovely girl scent all over my face and chin and so forth, I can’t bring myself to wash my face. I’ll walk around all day, catching hints of that smell at unexpected moments and grinning like a fool every time.

Trust me, ladies — it’s not a problem.

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Losing Track Of The Plot

When reading manga, sometimes you just have to focus on the details, and be damned to the plot:

“But Father, I Don’t WANT To Marry Her!”

Attu has found a page with a bunch of pictures (for so long as their bandwidth lasts) of the lovely Nadine, who has vast, er, tracts of land:

Simply amazing. And (if you study all the pictures carefully, purely in the name of science of course) pretty likely real.

Oh What a Weekend

From DeeGee Girl we have tales of wild weekends and at least two threesomes, one of which she herself compares to those stories in Penthouse Forum. An entertaining read to be sure:

We were all in the middle of our menage a trois, languidly lying in bed. I decided that it was time to deep throat JR. I moved between his legs and took his hard cock all the way into my throat and slowly started fucking him with my mouth. My pal moved to kiss him deeply at the same time, muffling his moans. I moved my hand out to play with her pussy at the same time which caused her to start moaning.

At some point she got up and walked over to get a 10 inch dildo from my toy bag. She came back to bed, got on her knees, put the dildo on the bed and started fucking it while she watched me blow JR. JR opened his eyes and looked over at her and almost blew his load into my mouth.

A Whole Story in One Picture

I stole this excellent photograph from wKenShow:

Commentary seems superfluous.

The Thinking Woman’s Guide To Buttfucking

I didn’t make up that title; the article is here. A sample:

You can feel everything. Your asshole is very sensitive; a lot more sensitive than your cunt in fact, and of course a lot tighter. Every move, every nuance, every twist and turn of the finger or dildo or cock goes right through your ass and into your brain. It doesn’t take much to feel completely filled up, and it rarely leaves you feeling like you didn’t get enough.
…
Getting buttfucked also forces you to slow down, loosen up, and enjoy the moment. You can’t be too goal-oriented about it — it simply doesn’t work. You have to relax, mentally as well as physically, and you have to be willing to enjoy as much as you enjoy and not push yourself to take more than you can. If you approach getting assfucked like you’re training for a marathon, you’re going to wind up with an extremely sore asshole. For someone like me, an instant-gratification junkie who has to get there right now and wants to be at the next place as soon as she arrives, it’s very valuable to get fucked in a way that forces me to stay in the moment.

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And Grab a Bottle of Baby Oil

Here’s some really bad dating advice from DragonFly Experiment:

Stop off at a Walgreens on your first date. When she asks what you’re doing tell her, “I’m getting some condoms so when I bang you tonight I won’t get you pregnant.” If she’s still in the car when you get back, you’re set. If she’s gone, you saved yourself some time and money.

Sounds like somebody has been reading too much Maxim magazine again.

Weights and Measures

Guys, how many gallons have you spilt upon the ground, and in assorted fecund crevices? Now you can find out.

(*Cough* 22 *Cough*)

Sounds Good To Me

Jay over at Makeout City (remember, “all you need are kisses to start a makeout party”) weighs in on the marriage question:

I don’t like the idea of marriage much, why do we need the law to force us to be faithful and loving of each other for Quite Some Time. I’d rather just have a girl, who is my girl and I’m her boy. I’d swoon over her all day, make sure she’s happy and we’ll read books together. Every day I would write her a new sonnet, then I’d either read it to her in the morning to wake her up or I’d give it to her to read to herself while I fixed her breakfast – that way I could have the best moment ever, every day. I like the idea of knowing people are smiling because of you but not being able to see them, and when they are behind you it makes my neck tingle. yep.

Sounds nice. Although I might run out of sonnets and have to switch to dirty limericks.

Yes, Someone Did Mention Leashes

In for a penny, in for a pound. I’m going to chalk this up to the strange Japanese fetish for puppy dog girls, and move on:

Do you think she might want an, er, treat?

Nymphs at Play

Busy weekend at Erosblog Central, which means that the nymphs were not as closely supervised as usual. This is the sort of thing that happens when Bacchus doesn’t keep ’em on a short leash:

Hey, did someone say “leash”? Now there’s an idea….

Flirting: The Advanced Course

In a recent column by John Ross I stumbled across an amusing tale of his encounter with a predator-woman whose attentions he inadvertently managed to attract. Since she started by sizing up his wallet in full view of her date for the evening, he has a little fun with her:

“What do I look like I do for a living?” she asked, throwing it back at me. This was getting better. I considered the question, and made a point of looking her over. I thought of Miss Adelaide and the Hot Box Girls, the antithesis of this woman’s understated elegance.

“You’re a stripper.” (Understand that preposterous as my “guess” was, I delivered it with a straight face, and there are more than a dozen strip clubs within a half hour of where we were sitting.) Her jaw hit the floor. “So I guessed right, huh?”

“I’M A MOTHER! I have two children!”

“And stripping pays a lot better than being a receptionist, so you can work fewer hours and be with your kids more,” I said as I laid some bills on the bar to cover the cost of the chili. “That makes perfect sense to me. StripperMom,” I said, nodding. “I like the sound of that. See you later, Scott,” I said as I put on my coat. “Bye, StripperMom. It was nice to meet you and your boyfriend.” I stepped out into the damp air, jingling my car keys, feeling good, thinking of Jean Simmons, and wondering what eventualities I might have set in motion. I was certain I’d run into StripperMom again.

John plays hard, boys and girls, so wear appropriate safety gear if you try to follow along at home. Not for amateurs!

Vintage Postcard Erotica

Here’s an image cropped from one of those old naughty postcards that were the first wave of mass market hard core visual pornography:

Her expression is ambiguous; she could be having fun or she could just be a good sport getting paid to be there. But the grin on his face is downright infectious! Porn would be three times as hot today if everybody in it could manage to look that happy.

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Work Is The Curse Of the Drinking Classes

Ellie over at Girls In The Bag (which sounds sorta fun all by its own self) wonders:

it’s my fucking job that is killing me. all weekend i was a tattooed, belly hanging out, wind blown sexpot. now i am a dumpy office worker.

what the hell is up with that?

Damn fine question. Get enough people asking it and we’ll have a whole new economy, too.

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Don’t Worry, It Will Ride Up With Wear

Here’s Fairy Butch with some advice on choosing the right sized dildo:

Many times in my years as a sex toy salesperson has someone presented me with his or her partner and asked, “Which size dildo should we buy?” Ahem.

Now, Pumpkin, from gazing upon your partner I may be able to ascertain her race or her ethnicity, and if she’s wearing political buttons, I might even be able to get a handle on her creed, but you can bet your bottom dollar I won’t be able to judge a good fit for your girlfriend’s butt based on her taste in weekend wear.

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Advanced Blowjobs

One of the first neat things I discovered over at Her Desires was this entry linking to an advanced blowjob technique. It sounds both energetic and amazingly likely to work. Here’s a teaser:

As you begin, remember the mantra: Rhythm and moisture are crucial. So, if you’re afraid to get a little spit on your palms, exit stage left and thank you for playing.

Slobber him up form tip to nuts. Really get him juicy. A lot of tongue lathing along the base and slurping on the tip. Those of you who stock flavored oils would probably be well served to employ them here. Once he’s raging and messy, it’s time to start the music.

Her Desires

I remonstrate with you, gentle readers, for allowing me to run a sex blog all this time without ever telling me about Her Desires. It’s an excellent sex blog, very personal and extremely well written, and it’s been going since 1999! And I’ve never seen it before. If Vikki hadn’t said kind things about me a few days ago, only the gods on High Olympus know how much longer she would have escaped my notice.

Well worth your time. I’m off to read through her archives.

Get Any Good Kisses Lately?

You might have done, if these lovely and impudent lips and tongue had been handy:

Remember the wisdom of E.E. Cummings: “Kisses are a better fate than wisdom.”

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An Ode To Traditional American Values

Susie Lee done fell in love;
She planned to marry Joe.
She was so happy ’bout it all
She told her Pappy so.

Pappy told her, “Susie gal,
You’ll have to find another.
I’d just as soon yo’ Ma don’t know,
But Joe is yo’ half brother.”

So Susie put aside her Joe
And planned to marry Will.
But after telling Pappy this,
He said “There’s trouble still….

You can’t marry Will, my gal,
And please don’t tell your Mother,
But Will and Joe and several mo’
I know is yo’ half brother.”

But Mama knew and said, “My child,
Just do what makes you happy.
Marry Will or marry Joe
You ain’t no kin to Pappy.”

Now Think This Thing Through

Bigwig over at Silflay Hraka heard the news that masturbation protects men against prostate cancer, and immediately wondered:

If frequent masturbation is supposed to prevent prostate cancer, why is the term “prostate cancer” present in the language in the first place? Shouldn’t it at least be an oxymoron?

A good question, one which makes me wonder: What was the incidence of prostate cancer prior to the Victorian age invention of the idea that masturbation was evil and dangerous and dirty and shameful?

It would be an eye opener if it turned out that prostate cancer is largely the byproduct of a religious and social mania of relatively modern invention.

Mum’s the Word

From the ever-entertaining VodkaPundit we have a list of fifty words and phrases not to use on a first date. Just a few choice excerpts to get you to go read the whole thing:

Restraining order
Hair remover
Offal
Pre-moistened
Three-way

There are more good suggestions in the comments.

A Pussy Kiss

Some people will doubtless think this is sick, repulsive, or offensive. Fortunately, it is the firm editorial policy of this sex blog not to care about that. Besides, I think it’s cute and harmless:

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Mr. Kimochi And His Pussy

There’s a brand new babe blog on the block, courtesy of Mr. Kimochi. The babes so far are mostly predominantly Asian and very very hot. Here’s a sample:

Violet Blue’s RealDoll Fantasy

Gosh, Violet Blue’s Real Doll Fantasy (or as one potential sugar daddy venture capitalist calls it, her RDF) is getting more concrete by the day:

My mind has been absolutely in the gutter contemplating the possibilities. (Scroll down to the original 6/10 entry for my latest sex fantasy weirdness.) A big boy toy, all-silicone, all-man, and all-pliant. Glassy eyes, posable limbs, just begging for it. And a girl, too — a dense silicone sister to hump like an unblinking, horny little love monkey.
…
There would be lots of lube, and toys, too — how else will I pillage silicone boy’s village and storm his shores? First, I’d have to draw a bath to warm up my new guests, and then I’d enjoy toweling them off, oh yeah, baby. Then I’d drag their heavy bodies to my bedroom, sort of like Igor heading to the lab. Maybe then I’d have my helpful assistant jump in… Oh, it’s just too much to think about, but I can tell you that the fantasy ends with everyone covered in gallons of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, wrapped in at least twenty feet of rope, a popped and squashed inflatable St. Bernard, four melted vibrators, a silicone male Real Doll wearing a mullet wig and with “BITCH” tattooed on his ass, a female Real Doll with a big permanent silicone smile, one set each of soiled cheerleader, cop and Hot Dog On A Stick uniforms, and several visits from real officers due to concerned neighbors about the noise.

I swear, this needs to happen. The world needs to watch this video.

And Speaking of Degradation Of Women…

Since I’m already in trouble for posting a story about the degradation of women without including a bunch of condemnatory hand-wringing, this might be as good a time as any to share these disturbing images from a scanned Japanese video tape wrapper. When it comes to porn, the Japanese do some very strange things:

And a slight variation on the theme:

In case anybody is wondering, no, I’m not hugely turned on by the paint-ball escapade, nor with these grotesque images of a distorted female face. However, the common theme (and I shouldn’t think I’d need to say this on a sex blog, but from time to time it seems I do) is that what consenting adults do to get hot is their own damn business. ErosBlog isn’t in the business of condemning anything in that category, although there are some things you won’t see here simply because your host has a weak stomach.

Of Lip Gloss and Power Exchange

Tristan Taomino writes in The Village Voice:

“I’ve got a theory: The blowjob is the ultimate act of sexual dominance and submission. Forget bondage, ball gags, and buttfucking — sucking cock is pure power exchange.”

She’s also got makeup advice:

“Which reminds me of a story a makeup artist told me about the Barbara Walters-Monica Lewinsky interview. She said, “It was an important media appearance, and so much preparation went into how Monica would look: her clothes, her hair, her makeup. I was shocked to see that Monica’s lips were done up wet and shiny. It just called so much attention to them. You simply do not use gloss on the mouth of a woman known for the most famous blowjob in the world.”

Thanks to Daze for the link.

Hunting For Bambi

Wow. It’s amazing what horny monkeys can get up to.

Here’s a new commercial sport for you: Hunting for Bambi. For a large sum of money, you can go out into the Nevada desert and hunt naked women with paint ball guns. (You get the guns; they get a pair of sneakers and a powerful financial incentive to try to avoid getting shot. They do not get protective gear.)

As expected, the chattering classes are not happy about this. Here’s some typical news coverage, complete with dire warnings from mental health professionals that this sort of silliness could turn someone into a serial killer. Yeah, right.

The players, meanwhile, appear to be having good old fashioned dirty American fun. Heck, the ladies who get paid to be naked prey even come back and do it again:

“I’ve done this three times,” says Nicole, one of the three women allowing themselves to be shot at. Two other women, Gidget and Skyler, claim they have done this seven times.

…

The woman begin stripping down to their tennis shoes and start running to dodge the paint balls that go buzzing by.

“We got a hit,” said George Evanthes, who just shot and hit one of the women in the behind. “It was sexy. Let’s put it that way,” said Evanthes.

Gidget is the one who took the paint ball shot to the rear. She says, “It hurt. It really hurt. I didn’t think it was going to be that bad.” When asked if she cried she says,”yeah, a little bit.”

So why do women agree to strip down and run around the desert dodging paint balls? Nicole says it’s good money. “I mean it’s $2,500 if you don’t get hit. You try desperately not to and it’s $1000 if you do,” said Nicole.

If you follow the link to the news story, they have video footage of the game, complete with very realistic squeals of pain when the paintballs hit tender areas. Of course all the nude scenes are pixellated, but one girl does reveal a buttock to show off her vivid bruise.

Update: There is increasing evidence that the events described were staged to sell videos, and that no paying hunts ever actually took place. I’m not sure that makes this a hoax for ErosBlog purposes, given that the naked women filmed running around in the desert were actually running around in the desert, but it does put the story in a different light.

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Cads With Cameras

There is a certain type of loutish cad who delights in degrading women by playing a specific game with his buddies. They will rate various women they see as “no-baggers,” “one-baggers,” “two-baggers” and so forth. The idea is a rating system based on “How many brown bags you’d have to put over her head before you could stand to sleep with her.” Crass to be sure, and the guys who play this game a lot seem to enjoy putting ladies down more than anything else.

Anyway, it now appears that at least one such cad has both a camera and bad judgment. Because these ladies (judging by the bits we can see) are lovely:

I suppose there’s a simpler explanation for this shot. Perhaps these ladies lost a bet, or chose poorly in a game of truth-or-dare?

Goodies In The Mail

A while back I got a couple of emails offering to send me sex-related goodies for free, in the hope that I would mention them here. Well, that’s a deal I can get behind! Just email me me and I’ll tell you where to ship the loot.

So last night I got my first chance to sample the plunder. I watched Marie and Jack, A Love Story. This is a very nice 27 minute documentary style sex movie from Comstock Films. I’m not sure how else to describe it, but it’s very hot.

It starts with Marie and Jack, two adult film actors, having a chat about sex. They talk about the difference between “work sex” and “personal sex” and what it’s like to make movies together, and to be married to each other while doing adult movies.

As they talk, it’s clear they are deeply in love. And then the movie starts cutting to scenes of them making love. No porno music, no weird positions, just plain old missionary style sex between two reasonably attractive people who are obviously really hot for each other. This is comfortable sex, familiar sex, real sex, and it’s hotter than hell.

And what’s to say after that? She gets that soft look, huge smile, and incandescent glow about her that a woman gets when she’s having an orgasm, and that you never see in a porno flick. She comes, he comes, they laugh together and cuddle with huge grins on their faces, end of movie. Wow.

Men, I’ve got to say I think this would be an awesome movie to show your lady. It’s tasteful enough to be an art film, it’s got a real relationship in it, it’s sexy enough to get both of you aroused, and it’s short enough that you’re going to want to continue on your own after the movie finishes. I’ll bet it would go well with a tub of these, too.

Lap Dancer$

Here thanks to Twisted Fans is a brief photoessay about the modern “lap dancing” trade, with pictures taken from the book Lapdancer by photographer Juliana Beasley. Apparently the main floor show strip tease dancing has gone away… if you can believe everything you read in the newspapers about the flesh trades. That’s always been a highly reliable way of obtaining high quality information, right up there with consulting Tipper Gore about the positive qualities of youth music. However, the pictures in the essay are worth a look, and some of the accompanying text is pretty funny too:

Beasley notes that lap-dancers now commonly spread cloths across customers’ laps. At one time the customer’s trousers served this barrier function, but apparently it can no longer be taken for granted that customers are in fact wearing pants.

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Have That One Bathed And Sent To My Tent

From this Ebay auction you can get, if you are rich and lucky, your very own belly dancer exceedingly fine, fixed in two dimensions for your perpetual enjoyment:

Go thou, and bid heavily. I don’t get a cut, I just know you will want to bid.

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Rub those Ps And Qs Together!

Biroco, who would appear to be an occultist of considerable erudition, has compiled a small collection of cover art from vintage smut books of the lesbian persuasion.

The covers, which you will have to view in situ, are accompanied by learned commentary, regarding their typography and other subjects:

It appears also that in Two Way Beach Girl the sexual attractiveness of the ribcage and discernable midriff contours was coming into fashion, showing a more discerning taste for erotica that perhaps reached its pinnacle in the anorexic cabbage-fed mortuary-slab Eastern European cum-shot amateurs of the late 90s, which of course will not be of interest to the connoisseur of vintage erotica.

Well said!

Are You Ticklish?

Here’s a huge page of links to tickling stories. [Er, it was here; now it’s gone.] Stories with scenes like this, from Sonja’s Tickle Torture:

Jake chuckled and began to dig in just beneath her toes. Sonja’s eyes opened wide and she screamed with laughter as her poor toes wiggled frantically trying to escape his tickling touch. She just couldn’t stand much more.

” Mercy!!!” She shouted!! “Please ahahahahah have mercy on meeeee!!” Sonja screamed.

A small hole had formed in the nylon fabric just below the struggling ticklish toes of her right foot, and taking advantage of that fact Jake made the hole a little bigger and snaked a finger into it and begun to scratch the sole of her foot.

Sonja went nuts, she squealed and squirmed and bit her lower lip and clasped and unclasped her tightly bound hands, she screwed her eyes shut and laughed and laughed. It was sheer torture for her.

I’m always amused by big collections of highly specialized fetish fiction. The writing is often horrid, but the enthusiasm is always enjoyable.

Antique Sex Toys

No commentary, no context, no Ebay auction, all I have is a picture:

Whoops! Back Up That Hay Wagon, Isiah!

Whilst surfing blogrolls I found the promisingly-named blog “Pussy Ranch” engaged in the ever-popular sport of berating the wierdos who generate some of the more, um, unusual search word combos in the log files. Pussy Rancher Jon had this to say:

To our friends searching “Amish Pussy” — good fucking luck. There are NO sites out there which feature nude photos of Amish girls. Quite what’s so fascinating about some woman named Jubal-Cain splaying naked in her log cabin I don’t know, but hey — neat that it gets you off. Try branching out — maybe Baptist girls? Hell, the Mennonites are even more likely to spread ’em on the internet than the Amish, they don’t have the anti-technology thing.

Er, Jon, I hate to burst your Minneapolitan bubble, but as the lieutenant said to the emperor, that turns out not to be the case. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” To wit: not just Amish pussy, but Amish bondage porn, complete with a menacingly brandished corn-cob.

Please, no quibbling about whether these models are “really” Amish. I doubt the original searcher was unduly concerned about the spiritual purity of the Amish pussy he was seeking….

RealDoll Cannon Fodder In The RSS Wars

I know, because daily I read and mostly fail to comprehend Scripting News, that there’s some sort of techie war-for-hearts-and-minds going on over RSS and all those other perplexing abbreviations having to do with syndication. Someone’s ox is being gored, and Winer and Ev and Google and the BlogSpot people are in it up to their ears, and all I know for sure is that my pathetic RSS headline feed is probably funky when it’s not downright broken, and that I can’t put any content in my feed at all because my blogging software doesn’t know the difference between properly formed XML and the steaming putrid droppings of Thor’s middle chariot goat. (I’m talking about the mean one, Blitzen, who, with his brother Donner, later put on some fake antlers and got a job with Santa Claus. I am not making this up.) Oh yeah, and there’s something afoot that’s somehow related to all of this (well, not related to the reindeer impersonators so far as I know) called Echo, which is so horrible that Adam Curry has offered to pay ten thousand clams to some assortment of individuals or entities, if they will just display good taste by ignoring and failing to support this Echo business, whatever it is.

Confused yet? Good. Welcome to the club. We’re just getting to the good part.

So here I am, smurfing happily down the trail between the smurfberry bushes following a trail of Smurfette’s undergarmets, when I make this post here suggesting that some rich benefactor give Violet Blue the ten thousand clams she needs to have a RealDoll orgy and write home about it.

Little did I know that I’d wandered into the crossfire of the RSS wars.

Comes now Dan Lyke over at Flutterby, who for some reason I haven’t been reading lately even though he very kindly in his comments way back when this was a wee bitty baby sex blog, and offers up this brilliant idea: Why not get Adam to put his ten thousand clams toward Violet Blue’s noble social experiment?

I don’t have a dog in this RSS/Echo fight, and I’m clearly not smart enough to have an opinion as to how all that should come out. But I know what I know. And what I know is, I really want four guys with names on their shirts to show up at Violet Blue’s apartment at seven in the morning with two huge packing crates full of carefully packaged Real Doll. And a five gallon bucket of Liquid Silk, to go, complete with electric immersion heater. So I’m getting solidly behind Dan Lyke’s proposal.

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Ain’t Fittin’ Business Fer The State

The Cosmic Babe at Note of The Day pretty much has the final word on marriage, whether gay, straight, poly, line, clan, or none-of-the-above:

[M]y commitment to another, to my primary love, does not require society’s stamp of approval or any kind of legally binding tie. We determine the rules and boundaries and responsibilities and privileges of our relationship; we don’t allow society or legislators to do it. I made sacred ritual vows to Geoffrey, promised before the gods I worship, under the setting sun of the equinox atop a volcano, witnessed by dear friends and my children. If that’s not good enough, no piece of paper with a state seal on it will be.

Me, I just want to know if any virgins got chucked in the volcano as part of this ritual. I sure hope not, it’s a waste of perfectly good virgins and I can think of much better uses for ’em.

A Little Manga Blowjob

It’s time for some gratuitous sex comics, don’t you think? Here’s a sweet manga blowjob that looks like a lot of fun:

Take special note of her good firm grip on his balls. That’s the way to get a man’s attention! Ladies, a tip: gentle is good, especially where teeth are concerned, but we like, and can tolerate, more pressure than you tend to enjoy. Never be afraid to use a good firm grip!

A Peep At An Eclectic Collection

Dirty Whore is doing one of those endurance blogging things for a good cause, and she wants sponsors. Like all good pledge drives should, she provides premiums. In this case, she’s posting excerpts from her porn collection. And quality excerpts they are! Especially noteworthy are a couple of raw pics that combine sex and bondage. This was a near absolute taboo in porn until recently, and hot bondage sex pics showing penetration are still quite rare. So go, and look, and pledge if you like so we can see more examples of what is clearly an eclectic porn collection.

How Low Can She Go?

I like this picture because it’s so obviously innocent. She’s perhaps drunk, certainly having a good time, and most likely unaware that her short denim dress is betraying her.

Limbo would be much more fun if there were more like her!

Computer, Talk Dirty To Me

Here’s a fun little toy: a text-to-speech demonstrator from AT&T Labs. It has lots of different voices and no inhibitions. Check it out by selecting the Audrey voice and making her say something like “Your cock is enormous. Please put it up my cunt” in a cute British accent.

Not all phrases come out natural sounding, but many do. Almost as much fun as a phone sex line, and it has the added benefit of being free!

Besides, I think Audrey-the-computer-voice likes ErosBlog.

“All the Ooze That’s Fit To Print”

Here’s a new-to-me porn blog with a cool name (FlufferSmut: The Porn Blog That Cares) and an even cooler manifesto:

We are human miracles. Each one of us perfectly unique.

We can pick our clothes and our hairstyle…and choose the way we look.

But we have NO control over what turns us on. That’s why porn is good. It connects us with our pure impulses.

We will consume it. So lets not make it a source of shame…lets make it a place of honesty and positivity.

(Missing apostrophes in original.) Anyway, lots of nice porn links and none of the ones I clicked on took me to pop-up hell, which is refreshingly unusual.

Of Course She Knew What You Were Thinking

Michelle from Sweetness Follows discovered the “Secret S & M Section” at the tack shop and it totally disrupted her lunch break:

Looked at the whips and bats up on the wall… okay so they were actually intended for horses, not for S & M. There was a basket full of riding crops. All different lengths and sizes, with different tips — some with big flat parts on the ends, some with a long leather whip-like cord, some with smaller flat parts (I realize I don’t have the terminology correct).

And I stood there, and thought of all the uses they could be put to.

“This one,” I thought, looking at one with the whip-like end “could be used on my tits and my nipples. This one,” (the one with the bigger flat part on the end) “is for my ass and my pussy. And this one,” (the one with the small flat end) “would be for when Mike has me hold open my ass so that he can spank my asshole”.

I stood there, looking through them, picking them up, feeling their weight and texture in my hands. I imagined myself, spread open in front of Mike while he spanked me with that riding crop, making my outer lips all red, until he had me open my cunt so that he could slap my inner lips, my pussy hole, even fucking me with the handle, and calling me a bad, dirty, slutty little girl the whole time. I imagined him having me stand in front of him, hands behind my back, back arched, presenting my tits to him, and the sting of that leather cord on my nipples, the undersides of my breasts…. I imagined how it would feel, after 20 minutes of being spanked mercilessly on the ass with that first riding crop, only to have him tell me to spread my ass open and slap my asshole with that last, smaller crop. The one that would sting the most, I think.

To make sure, I tested them all, slapping them against my palm.

At that point I was glad I was wearing a skirt because the wetness from my pussy had already soaked through my underpants, and would surely be showing through pants, had I been wearing them. As it was I could feel my thighs, slick with pussy juice.

“Do you need some help choosing one?” I nearly jumped out of my skin, then turned to face the girl who worked there. I know she didn’t know what I’d been thinking, but still… I blushed a little. “Oh… no, just looking…”

Dollars to doughnuts, more than half the riding crops that store sells never touch a horse. And they know it.

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Happy Fourth of July!

I’ve been saving this image since forever to post today, and then I almost forgot. What a catastrophe that would have been:

Looks like an explosively good time!

Name That Sex Toy

Do you spend too much time hanging out in sex toy stores? Here’s a chance to test your mad brand identification skillz:

Name That Sex Toy

Alas, every now and then the pictures have lame and inconsistent censoring on them. What kind of weak sister writes a sex toy quiz but doesn’t have the strength of conviction to show pictures…15% of the time? Sorry if this sounds harsh, but censoring pictures of sex toys strikes me as actively bad, like censoring safe sex information so that sexual newbies can’t see exactly where the condom goes. What are we doing, protecting sensitive eyes from pictures of…plastic? Pegs my Lame-O-Meter.

Oh yeah…I missed two.

Vibrating Cock Rings: A Consumer’s Report

Although I’ve long been pleased to link to Violet Blue’s blog, the blog itself is not all there is to see at her Tiny Nibbles site. For instance, she offers that all-too-rare beast, real sex toy reviews with nitty-gritty details of the things in actual use. Here’s a paragraph from her article on vibrating cock rings, just to give you the flavor:

I had been very curious about the Neptune Ring Vibe, the vibrating cock ring that has been around Good Vibes almost as long as I have. I’ve sold more of those little pink dolphins than there are fish in the Steinhart Aquarium and I’ve been dreaming about wrapping that little pink ring around some lucky guy and going for a ride. My day had come, and hopefully so would I. Batteries in, dolphin working great, and onto him it went. We tried it on his lubed-up shaft (hint: lube the boy, not the toy — ahhh!) and attempted a fit. One of the things I was beginning to notice was that he needed to be all the way inside me for me to feel the buzz, so as delicious as thrusting was, the vibration was intermittent. I was on top and the dolphin still wasn’t hitting my clit in that just-so way, and my bright boy had an idea: doggie-style.

As anyone who’s ever been disappointed by a sex toy can tell you (and who hasn’t?) the world needs more of this sort of research and writing.

Teambuilding Exercises For Ladies, Circa 1910

Here’s an image from a book called The Rotenberg Collection: Forbidden Erotica. If it’s the vintage image it’s purported to be, it was a remarkable piece of darkroom creativity when made.

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Simple Creatures, We. Woof.

Doxy writes:

I have always had difficulty making female friends. The guys I had covered. Guys are easy. They don’t plot. They don’t catfight. They rarely make the effort to betray intentionally. Men are just horny little dogs. You feed them, you cuddle them, you pat them on the head and tie them to trees. They’re relatively simple.

I don’t have anything to add. Except, perhaps, that you want to make sure you tie us nice and tight unless you are up for some evil laughter followed by friendly wrestling and a good stint of bark time your own fine self.