Gagged Blonde

Here’s another cute bondage picture from the Bondage Blog, a gagged blonde pixie of a girl this time:

The tape may be a good idea, she looks like she might bite!

Submissive Sex

Submissive sex appears to be the conversational topic o’ the week in the sex blogosphere. First our man at Moving On wrote a fantasy and a follow-up piece, and then Lilith weighed in with an “it’s not for me” reaction that treaded perilously close to being an “it’s icky and so are dominant guys” piece. To be clear: she didn’t say that; but she said “it’s not for me” several ways and then went on a digression (that was unfortunately not obviously a digression) about why she can’t stand domineering guys, and she did it in a way that made it seem like she was lumping all dominant guys into a domineering jerk category. This, it turns out, was apparently not the point she was trying to make — as discussion in her comment area, and a later follow-up that’s much more in line with her normal tone of acceptance of alternate lifestyle approaches, make clear. (Really, it was a fine example of that old Usenet netiquette principle: If someone says something that seems surprisingly out of character for them, or looks like a radical change to the philosophy you expect from them, they are probably being misunderstood and you ought to wait for them to clarify before you jump all over them. I’m glad I waited.)

I myself am enormously entertained by a dominance-and-submission dynamic, even though (and I see no contradictions, although many do) I’m as radical as any you’ll find in my support of self-ownership, personal autonomy, and equality-of-everything-that-matters between men and women. If a woman submits to me, it’s a matter of meta-consent as far as I’m concerned; I’m not uncomfortable (quite the contrary!) taking an atavistic dominant role that would be philosophically horrifying, but for my knowledge that at root, she’s free to change the terms of our relationship, or end it, if it isn’t fulfilling her.

And speaking of fulfilling her, I can’t resist stirring the pot with a sexy submissive report from Sarah at Submissive Reflections, whose nice email to me indicated she only has three readers. Well, Sarah, I’m pleased to share my three thousand or so with you, at least for a day or two:

The first time W/we had sex was a week after He had kissed me and accepted that I was His. It happened to be my birthday. Neither of U/us were waiting for it, it just happened to be the first chance W/we had to be alone together as work was keeping Him busy and out of town. When He came to my place He simply said hello and bit my neck and pulled my skirt up and my panties down and pushed me to the floor and fucked me. There was no foreplay and no words of tenderness. It was just a matter of raw hungry sex. Within minutes He withdrew from me and turned me to my stomach, pulling me to my knees and hands while growling at me to ‘present’ and whilst I was still trying to get my bearings I felt His cock press against my ass. I felt so incredibly turned on. He slid His cock slowly inside my ass, stopping when I clenched and gasped, then pushing into my ass again. I couldn’t believe He was ass fucking me without a word being spoken about it between U/us. When His cock was fully inside me He lay over me and bit my shoulders and neck. He used one hand in my hair to pull my head back and reached for my mouth with His tongue. I closed my lips over it and sucked on His tongue and He came in my ass, growling and grunting and filling me with semen. He collapsed against me and I collapsed against the floor and He kept Himself inside me while He licked and bit and sucked at my neck. He whispered ‘Happy birthday Princess’ in my ear and I felt like I was the luckiest girl alive.

When W/we talked about it later He told me that He hadn’t asked if I liked anal sex because His kind of woman prefered not to be given options. He also knew that I would do anything to please Him, and that had been what pleased Him. Had it repulsed me, He said He would have had to rethink what He wanted as anything that did not make me ‘pant with lust’ would not please Him either. I remember feeling tinier than I had ever felt when I was lying wrapped up in His arms. I had never felt so safe and protected and loved.

A Treasure Trove Hareem

Thanks to the ever-watchful Daze, we are blessed with the link to this pasha’s ransom of belly dancers, slavegirls, and harem beauties: Bellydancers and Harem Girls — A Historical/Cheesecake Gallery. An astounding collection of lovelies like this:

Opa!

The Sex Blog Revolution Continues

Another nice sex blog pops up. Vixxie from Prurient Obscenities wrote in to call it to my attention. Just a couple excerpts from her Thanksgiving post will give you the yummy flavor:

Happy Thanksgiving Day! The food has been started, and so has TheGirl, much fun was had molesting her as she attempted to do the dishes. It’s absolutely wonderful to discover new things that she enjoys, like butt pinching. (Who knew?)
…
I am also very thankful that when I woke up this morning, TheBoy was on my left, TheGirl on my right, and I was warm, and happy, and much loved. That TheGirl got up, early for her, in order to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade with me. The the other night, when she was going to spend the night away, she ended up coming back to sleep here, “because it’s home”.

Volunteers Needed To Test Orgasm Machine

Well, it’s not quite that much fun as all that. From Reuters:

No, really. An American surgeon who has patented a device that triggers an orgasm has begun a clinical trial approved by the Food and Drug Administration in the United States and is looking for female volunteers.

“I thought people would be beating my door down to become part of the trial,” pain specialist Dr Stuart Meloy told New Scientist magazine on Wednesday.

But so far only one woman has completed the first stage of the trial, with apparently breathtaking results, and a second has agreed to take part.

Meloy, of Piedmont Anesthesia and Pain Consultants in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, is hoping to find eight more volunteers willing to have electrodes inserted in their spine and be connected to a pacemaker-size machine implanted under the skin to heighten their sexual pleasure.

Drat, no mail order then!

‘Tis The Gift To Be Simple…”

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain’d
To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d,
To turn, turn will be out delight
‘Till by turning, turning we come round right.

Say These Things For A Happy Thanksgiving

Shell is reprising her food porn turkey day utterances. Don’t miss her Things To Say At Thanksgiving:

Tying the legs together will keep the insides moist.
It’s a little dry, do you still want to eat it?
Just spread the legs and stuff it in!
You still have a little bit on your chin.

And so forth. It’s makin’ me hungry and I haven’t even had my morning coffee!

Azure Loves Men

And how! She writes:

Men make me melt, they put me in a totally subservient place just by their existence, they make me glad i’m a woman, full of soft curves and plush flesh, deep valleys and high mounds for them to explore w/their rough hands, hot mouths, hard bodies…i open my arms and welcome a man to fall into them, wrap their solidity within my fragility like a warm blanket on a cold night…

The scent of a man drives me insane, their sweat, their heat, their hunger, you can smell it like animals do…their lust, it makes me want to swallow them whole, taste them in the hope that i can taste their lust and desire…i love it when a man’s been working hard and has gotten all sweaty, i want to touch it, taste it, kiss it off, feel that sweaty body against mine, claiming me, making me his…

Of the things that make a man, i love their cocks the best…

Elves In Bondage

Slash fiction isn’t usually much on the menu around here. But in keeping with the theme from Sunday, I can’t resist posting this little gem involving the practical jokes of elves. Herewith: What to Do with a Tied Up Marchwarden by Khylaren and Larien Elengasse:

The proud marchwarden of Lothl?rien was nude and trussed neatly like a wild turkey, left for the seneschal of Rivendell to find.

“Well,” he drawled softly, crouching down next to Haldir. “Someone left me a wee gift.” He grinned inwardly as he saw the Marchwarden stiffen at the insult. There was nothing small about the L?rien Elf, and Glorfindel knew it. Broad shouldered and slim hipped; the other warrior was easily as tall as the Vanya.

Haldir’s eyes narrowed above the gag that prevented him from speaking, but his expression was plainly read; this was not his idea.
…
His perfect lips pursed slightly as he considered his options. Ravishment? No, he did not think that would do at all, for Haldir did not seem to be the type to be ravished. Seduction? Ah, yes, that was the answer. It was the key to unlocking the chains of composure that bound Haldir so tightly. The question was, how to seduce such a creature, and make him give into the need he so obviously suffered from? And to make him delight in giving in to it.

Haldir turned his head to the side, studying the shadowed profile of the Elf lying next to him, wondering if Glorfindel had fallen into reverie. He was embarrassed, humiliated, and angry at the seneschal’s treatment of him; swatting his behind like a naughty Elfling! And then leaving him this way, trussed up with nowhere to go, and nothing to do but feel the delicious ache of desire that had build steadily within him. He closed his eyes in frustration, and felt the mattress dip slightly as Glorfindel rolled to face him.

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Options For Teen Lust

OK, this is pretty funny: Technical Virgin. They say:

But there is a way for youths to enjoy rich and satisfying sexual intimacy without risking unwanted pregnancy ANAL SEX! The anus, tighter than any vagina and tinged with the thrill of the taboo, is the perfect venue for modern teen lust.

Of course, the safest way for teens to avoid unwanted pregnancy while satisfying their carnal needs is to limit themselves to homoerotic encounters until they are ready for procreation. But many boys and girls are uncomfortable with the idea of same-sex encounters. Anal sex, however, can be fun for both sexes, and thanks to modern improvements in strap-on sex tools, girls can enjoy being in control of their own anal encounters.

So, teens, the next time you strip down for sex, remember the TechnicalVirgin motto “Everything Butt!”

A fine parody of the ridiculous “abstain from sex for the ten or twenty years between sexual maturity and the time you get married” message that’s being flogged as an alternative to sex education these days.

The Nymph In My Net: Christmas is Coming!

Her Christmas present arrived yesterday. Now to get it wrapped and mailed.

Things are still going very well. The tally of hours spent on the phone would horrify you, but it just makes me smile.

The Nymph has a coworker who has been complicating the business of setting an exact date for the Nymph’s January visit. That does not make me smile. If it keeps up, we are going to have to arrange something like this for the coworker. Little she knows her peril!

Box of Joy

Here’s another of those strange images that haunt my hard drive:

Puzzling as this picture is, it gets real odd if you think too hard about it. Why, for instance, does the box appear to be insulated / soundproofed?

Animalistic Nudes

If you’re bored and have mad photoshop skillz and you just don’t find your normal woman animalistic enough, you can always morph her into a critter. I hear you asking “why?” but I can’t possibly help you there.

Me, I wonder how many of the gallery examples have the faces of the artists’ ex-girlfriends.

Liking Sex

VodkaPundit doesn’t mince words. He likes sex:

And not just doing it, either. I like pretty pictures of pretty girls in (and out of) pretty clothes. I like the little whiff of sex you get from perfectly innocent flirtation. I like teasing emails from my bride. I like songs about sex. I like getting reminded of sex I’ll never have again, when I walk past the counter of some long-forgotten perfume at the department store. Even better, I like the promise of the sex I’ll be having later this week, when I walk by the counter that sells Melissa’s perfume. I like those random sex thoughts that pop into my head when I’m trying to get some work done.

I like sex as a married man, and I liked sex with women whose last names I wasn’t entirely clear on, and I liked all the sex in-between. I like to make love, and sometimes I just like to fuck. I like sex jokes and sex talk and sex sex sex sex sex sex sex.
…
And I love women. Girls. Babes. Broads, chicks, skirts, fillies, whatever. I’m a leg man, an ass man, and a breast man. I love that line that runs from just behind her earlobe to just off the center of her collarbone. I love the small of her back and the inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. Ankles, backs of knees, insides of thighs. Short hair, long hair, curly hair, or straight. The little hairs on her arms that stand up when you touch her just right. And the scents! There’s not a place a clean woman doesn’t smell good (and a healthy, sweaty woman doesn’t smell better) and no two places on no two women smell quite the same. Or even on the same woman. Variety is the spice of life, and endless variety can be found in just one person if you know how to look.

Preach it, Brother Stephen!

Caught In The Act

This picture is funny for the expressions on their faces:

A Little Guy Fun With Ropes

The irrepressible Vikki being politely bored by our nubile young cuties playing naked twister, she went trolling for something more interesting to her, and she found it: naked guys playing twister.

I figure if she liked them, she’ll like these boys even better. I’m not sure what game they are playing, but they seem to be having fun:

Who needs butt machines when you have a perfectly good candle?

All of which reminds me in a tangential sort of way of Chelle’s wise words on the irrelevance of most sexual identity panic:

“Unless you make my panties creamy I could care less what your sexual orientation is.”

Sheets For The Lonely Otaku

Some very cute sheets:

Don’t fail to notice the strategically placed box of tissues….

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The Nymph In My Net: Anticipation

The toys are here! Now, where’s my Nymph?

Super Girl, Super Cute

Here’s a lovely picture of a spectacular painted lady:

Vanilla Phone Sex

Doxy writes about the joys of vanilla phone sex Johns:

Please, any of you guys reading this — whether you ever intend to call me or not — don’t sell yourselves short because you don’t want to anally rape aardvarks with Japanese-anime elastic penises. Phone sex, or any sex for that matter, isn’t all about what’s new and different or what’s wilder than the last. Sexuality isn’t about keeping up with the Joneses (or getting up with the Joneses for that matter).

It’s about getting hot and getting up with what you HAVE. It’s about stretching the intensity of what already gets you going. It’s about that trembling rush that shudders through you after you’ve cum in buckets and that last tremulous whimper of exhaustion. And it’s about feeling so fucking content that you whistle and head for the shower with a grin on your mug.

If phone sex is anything, it needs to be FUN first and everything else second. And if fun for you is fantasizing about cumming on a cheerleader’s perky tits or shoving jellyfish sushi tentacles up Lucy Liu’s twat, neither is better or worse than the other.

Which is all fine and good. But the real reason I quoted it was to honor and celebrate the unforgettable turn of phrase “shoving jellyfish sushi tentacles up Lucy Liu’s twat”.

Let the search engine hits commence!

Rupert the Rabble Rouser

Rupert the Wired Guy starts the most interesting conversations. His essay “Mistakes Women Make About Sex” has a number of amusing bits that had me nodding my head, such as the part about miscommunication:

“Don’t stay up too late” is often a simple expression of concern that we get enough sleep. “How soon are you coming to bed?” means “I want you there while I’m still awake.” Don’t say it if that isn’t what you mean.

Don’t make us think too hard about “codes” like this. “I’m going to turn in early” could mean you had a hard day and you’re legitimately exhausted. If you want us there too, you have to ask, “Are you coming?”

On second thought, screw subtlety. Just grab our dick. That’s unmistakable.

“If you want to.” When we say it, we genuinely care whether you want to. We know that sometimes you don’t, and sometimes we can’t tell. However, we always want to; we think it’s obvious that we want to; and we assume you are aware of that. So when you say “I will if you want to”, we think it can’t possibly be meant at face value: we think you’re really saying that you don’t really want to, that you’re going to endure it for our benefit, and that you’re setting us up for you not having any fun. So when it goes wrong (as it inevitably will, if you don’t want to), then it’s our fault. We hate that.

Of course, when he says “We always want to”, it’s in his context of a woman responding to a guy who has just asked. Obviously there are times guys don’t want to, but they tend not to be initiating sex at those times.

Lilith had an entertaining response to him, but I couldn’t agree with her when I saw it because on the one hand she’s much more committed to functional communication with her men than most women, and because on the other hand she missed that crucial point about context:

Uhm, men do this too. Miscommunication goes both ways, and in my experience, is far more likely to be a male fubar than a female one. Women (in general) seem to have a lot more experience and comfort level with verbal communication and social interaction than men (in general) do.
…
Oh please, that old “we always want to” line? Bullshit. There are always going to be occasional times when you’re simply not up to the task physically (due to injury or illness or exhaustion), or when you’re far too conflicted about something mentally or emotionally. And assuming anything is usually a piss-poor idea, especially when it comes to emotional chicks–best to tell us you madly desire our lusciously bodacious selves, in the most alluring way possible. Make me feel like a goddess, and I’ll be one for you.

Not bullshit. Truth – when we are asking, we want to. Never heard of an exception. Was never present for one. Can’t imagine being present for one.

Things start getting really interesting when Dalemar The Secondary Boyfriend (it’s complicated, you gotta read these people for awhile to imagine just how complicated) weighs in, confirming my impression about Lilith’s atypically communicative approach:

Uhm… Hah! Speaking as someone who has almost always lived with women, I beg to differ on that point. Fabritzio ladies such as yourself are far more well-adjusted and comfortable with verbal communication that the rest of the world, and a very rare breed at that. I have sat back many a time and watched in wonderment as the various ladies in my life have failed miserably in trying to convey a simple concept.

Take the EMC, for example: when going out to eat, she would often reply to the “where” question with “I don’t know, why don’t you pick one.” Simple, right? Wrong. What she really meant was “I really don’t care where we go, but I can’t understand why you would think I would actually let you pick the restaraunt,” and she would proceed to shoot down my next three suggestions before I would tell her to decide, which is all she wanted in the first place – and I had already given it to her. I sometimes had to stop the car until she chose.

Every straight guy I know at one point or another has come home to find a certain chill in the air and a lady who promptly replies “Nothing!” when asked “What seems to be the matter?” This is followed by several hours of the guy wracking his brain and questioning every move he’s made for the last week and cold-shoulder terse replies to all attempts at conversation until she finally tells him (at near the top of her lungs, and at length) about just what is wrong.

Now, had she merely told us at the beginning of the evening, we might have sorted things out in short order and gone back to enjoying each other’s company.

Not to say that guys don’t miscommunicate, only that we generally do so un-intentionally. I have noticed in the past that women will often put the worst possible spin on a man’s words and twist them into a completely different meaning. The poor bloke is left standing there with his hat in his hands wondering why she just burst into tears and fled, or worse, dodging flying crockery and running for his life, all the while thinking “all I said was ‘you look good in that dress’!”

Dalemar, it is clear, has been around the block, seen the elephant, and returned to tell the tale. He goes on to make the critical point about context:

You may have missed the real point on this one: when we ask “would you like to get naked and have wild weasel sex?” the proper answer is not “I will if you want to.” Since we have just asked you, there is good reason to believe we do indeed want you to tie us up and get out the whips; a “yes” or “no” is what we’re looking for. “I will if you want to.” is an open-ended response that may lead us to believe that you are doing it just to please us, and that you probably won’t be having much fun – thinking about this breaks our concentration and pretty much ensures that you won’t be getting there, and we end up dissappointed in ourselves. I’d rather you said no than put me through that.

Just so, just so. Of course Lilith has more to say, basically in the vein of “here’s why it’s obvious to me why I’m feeling like throwing crockery”:

Actually, what I think is closer to the truth is that I’m trying to get something accomplished and he gets in my way, or obliviously goes about having fun while I’m trying to do chores and whatnot that he said he’d take care of and totally spaced on repeatedly until I got sick of it and did it myself (instead of nagging). Or something along those lines. Or I worked at my job, ran errands, did housework and laundry and helped kids with homework or plans for their next day, basically had a busy day doing for everyone else…and he wants me to cater to him at the end of the day instead of veg out and have some destressing time to do whatever the hell I please?! Yeah right.

Which is pretty funny coming from a lady who is acknowledged by her men as being more communicative than your average woman. To Dalemar’s suggestion that men just want a yes-or-no answer, she rightly rejoins:

Uhm, wrong. It’s not a “yes” or “no” that men are looking for in this situation. An unqualified “yes” is what you’re looking for.

True! But Dalemar is right – an unqualified “no” is much preferable to a grudging yes. This is true despite Lilith’s other true observation:

Because the more common situation (though there certainly ARE exceptions) is that the man in a relationship wants to have sex more frequently than the woman does. And sooner or later, hearing her say no is going to get pretty damned tiresome and lead to him not asking much anymore, unless he’s a total pig. Then she thinks he doesn’t find her attractive because he’s not asking much, so she’s less willing to say yes when he does ask. Vicious circle commences, and the sex life goes out the window.

Uh, yeah. But saying no indirectly, or saying yes grudgingly (“if you want to” can be either one, depending on the guy and the girl and the moment) does not make this better. A “no” isn’t nicer because it’s said with four words, and there’s nothing more horrifying (to a decent guy, anyway) than realizing during sex that his lady’s heart isn’t in it. Which means “if you want to” must be processed as a “no” by any prudent man, with all the negative results Lilith mentions.

This has gotten way too long, and there are lots of wonderful points not quoted here. It’s worth reading through the whole conversation!

Communication About Sex: Made Simple

Katy from Captive Heart responds to the discussion below by writing:

It’s when communication between the sexes gets complicated, that I’m glad not to be in a vanilla relationship. See, when Master wants sex, he takes it. And when I want sex, I beg. We’re never in doubt about the other’s intent, and while we may occasionally have misunderstandings, they are never about sex.

Sounds peachy! Of course, this might not work for couples whose relationship power dynamics are less explicitly specified….

Spirit of Cowgirl

Ever since the erstwhile Reverse Cowgirl packed up her digital tent in the night, scraped a pine branch over the digital ground to erase her website and all sign of her passing, and led her horse silently out of the sex blog camp like a cowhand who just learned he’d impregnated the Big Boss’s only daughter, I’ve missed her intelligent eye for the sexy-but-odd. Fortunately, the new Fleshbot is proving to have moments of link-choosing brilliance that remind me of her. Today they even have a bukkake link! Fleshbotties, are you sure you don’t have the Cowgirl locked in your closet and enslaved via the use of industrial strength remote control vibrating panties?

The link of the day, though, and the treasure that really reminded me of the inexplicably deleted Cowgirl blog, was their link to the art photo 76 Blowjobs. It’s awesome.

Sex On TV, Sex In The Classroom

Just a Gwai Lo quotes a New York Times article I won’t link (because the New York Times deliberately breaks all its links after a week or two, and I don’t link to internet vandals):

The most powerful lesson about sex that TV teaches, of course, is that everyone’s having more of it than you are — and they’re having it with more attractive partners than you can ever hope to meet.

Gwailo adds, about classroom sex ed:

Sure, it taught important stuff like how babies are made, but not the really important part which is how to get someone in the sack.

Ain’t that the truth! And the hell of it is, that glaring omission is so clearly deliberate.

The Nymph In My Net: Updated Wheedling

By popular demand, this post has been updated with audio.

Last night she tried reverse psychology on me. “I’ve decided I don’t want to know, it will be more fun as a surprise.” Tricky, tricky…..

“Boys Are Stupid”

Lilith always makes me giggle when she describes the way she blows off steam with her female friends and vents about her complicated relationship life:

Last night, Nic and I got together after work for a drink over food at the Rose & Raindrop…. The general theme of the evening seemed to be “Boys are stupid; throw rocks at them!”

Unfortunately our male stupidity isn’t always so entertaining. Longtime readers of DeeGee Girl will remember BoyFriend (BF for short), and will have been jealous of the way she, and sometimes her friend CutePal, treated him like a prince — nay, like a sultan. This is the thanks she gets — a ridiculous and self- contradictory breakup speech of the “let’s just be friends” variety:

He said I was his best friend, that he was probably making a huge mistake and that I was the one that had his heart.

That he didn’t want to hurt me and his kids a year from now when he and I would break up.

That he didn’t want to get into another marriage.

That he could only handle the type of loose relationship we had this summer.

That he was doing all this for me — cause he didn’t want to hurt me.

That once in his life he was doing the right thing.

That he knew he would regret it.

Dumb ass.

Finally, and at the risk of making people queasy, I had my own moment of stupidity this weekend. I hurt The Nymph’s feelings by saying “if you come and visit” instead of “when you come and visit”. It wasn’t even a conscious thing – is it ever? – but it certainly wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever said. Fortunately I believe she forgave me. When she comes to visit, I’ll find a way to make it up to her.

Birthday Sex…Or Not

So recently The Nymph was telling me some anecdote about a male friend of hers whose wife only agrees to have sex with him on his birthday. You know the marriage is dead when you’re down to birthday sex.

Which makes this story pretty sad:

My birthday is in about 3 weeks and she asked what I wanted and aside from a Drum set and a kitten I told her I wanted a blow job. She laughed at me and said that a) the neighbors would just LOVE a drum set 2) I can’t have a kitten because she’s allergic to cats and c) “Yeah, whatever”. So then I said I’d like to have sex with my wife on my birthday and she said “Come on! I’m serious!”

Whatever she’s serious about, it ain’t the marriage….

That’s Why They Call It A Wedding Party

Here’s an amusing picture that looks a lot like a wedding reception (or more likely, a bridal shower or bachelorette party) gone wild:

The picture is courtesy of Bondage Blog.

Impossibly Beautiful Bottom

Amazing. Enough to make a praying man out of me. Talk about an argument from design!

The Nymph In My Net: Still Wheedling

I’m not a nice man. Last night I had to tell her I got shipping confirmation on that toy order.

I may need to put up a .wav file of her saying “Pretty please? Pretty pretty please?” It’s worth hearing. I never knew I could be so heartless – or that I would enjoy it so much!

In other news, I have considered sending VTECH a stern letter of complaint about the way their cordless phone’s battery craps out after a mere seven hours or so. I have restrained myself to date only because I’m not sure I could withstand their hoots of helpless laughter.

Update: The .wav file is now linked.

The Nymph In My Net: Wheedling

She still wants to know what toys I ordered. She says her curiousity is killing her.

Being resolute has never been so much fun. She’s begun trying to bargain. I love keeping her wondering, so I’m holding out for a price I don’t think she’s going to pay. Namely, her permission to publish a certain picture she was kind enough to send me.

She came up with that idea, but backed off when I asked if she was sure. Give her time. She’s really curious.

I may go to hell for this, but I’ll go happy.

The Tact Of A Professional

Belle De Jour continues to delight. This made me hoot with laughter:

He: “What can I do to make you come?”

Me: “It’s very complicated. We’d be here all night.”

“That sounds ideal.”

“Yes, but do you have a drill press and six goats? Also, the planets are not in the correct alignment.”

“Fair dues. I’ll know for next time.”

Naked Sushi Preparation

Daze linked to a now-removed Seattle Times story about the new naked sushi restaurant in Seattle that has all the anti-pleasure crew working their knickers into a frothy twist.

But I’ve got a scoop nobody else has got. The Seattle Times has a picture of the nude sushi serving lady all laid out in her plastic wrap and covered with delicious tidbits. But it’s not so pretty back in the food prep area, boys and girls. I know, I know, sushi gets made where the customers can watch. But the big seafood chunks have to get made into little seafood chunks somewhere, right? They don’t hack open sixty pounds of cephalopod in front of the customers. And here’s what it looks like in that back room:

The Nymph In My Net: Curiousity

I placed a small order this afternoon from an online sex toy store. Just a couple of fun items, nothing expensive or fancy.

Then tonight on the phone I told The Nymph that I had ordered some toys.

“What kind of toys did you order?”

“I’m not telling. It’s a surprise. You’ll find out.”

I swear, she spent the next half hour trying to sweet-talk me into telling her. She’s very good. Her sweet talk is impressively sweet. But I was resolute. I was having too much fun to give in.

They could shred my order and never send a thing. I’ve already gotten my money’s worth.

“Mmmmm, AnarchoBabes….”

AnarchoBabes and Liberty Chicks is a group blog by several freedom-loving ladies with a great attitude and a sense of fun. They surely aren’t bound by tradition, oh no:

Last night I had a wonderful time … an all-too-rare lovemaking session with just one co-partner that was awesome. My knees still go weak thinking about it. Our other partner — the twins’ father — was out of town, so we had the place to ourselves after the kids were in bed. Happiness galore!!!!!!! If you’ve never had a three-minute orgasm that leaves you speechless and breathless, well … I feel damn sorry for you.

The three of us don’t always share a bed, but we’re so compatible together, it’s what we choose more often than not (the nots being nights when one of us is having our period, or somebody’s not feeling well, stuff like that).

Yes, our happy family is a triad …. and yes, I swing both ways. If you got a problem with that, well tuff. I never asked for your opinion anyway. It works for all of us, and what else matters?

There’s plenty more amusing goodness, from where a woman should carry a .50 cal. Desert Eagle to the problem with hips.

Orgasms On The Evening News

Via the spiffy new Fleshbot, this excellent page of TV news ladies who appear to be wearing their vibrating panties. Or possibly they just are very good at training their “personal assistants”. What news broadcast couldn’t be improved by an intern under the newsdesk?

The Nymph In My Net: Reeling Her In

Somewhere there’s a dungeon, a dank and airless place with a heavy door that’s been nailed shut. We have decided to consign our respective timorous intellectual selves thereunto (where presumably they may eyeball each other suspiciously from their respective corners, or arm-wrestle for scraps of stale bread) while we get on with the fun part of confirming whether we like each other as much (so impossibly much) as it seems we do.

She’s coming to visit, the good Lord willin’ and the crick don’t rise, sometime very early in the new year.

And she’s worried that she’s going too fast for ME! That’s a good sign if I ever saw one. I’ve reassured her as best as I’m able. Perhaps when she sees me tell a thousand or so of you, gentle readers, that I can’t wait, she’ll believe me better.

I can’t wait.

{looking around my pit of a cave of a living space with dawning horror} “By Aphrodite’s dirty nightie, I need to start cleaning up around here!”

Fear-Mongering About “Sex Bracelets”

Here’s one of those “news” stories that’s more an illustration of parental terror and the power of hearsay than anything to be taken seriously. The only source for this information is “according to a local television station” and “some teens told the station” – not a named source to be found. If there’s any truth to the tale, I’m betting it’s a tiny kernal indeed. Nonetheless, here’s how the story goes, and don’t miss the fear-mongering headlines:

‘Sex Bracelets’ Cause Parental Concern
Some Teens Said To Use Bracelets To Signal Sexual Intentions

A fashion accessory may have a lot more meaning than you realize for your teenager, according to television station WCAU.

Jelly bracelets are making a comeback. But instead of a fashion statement, they may be making a statement about your kid’s sex life, the station said.
…
Only this time these jelly bracelets have a new nickname: sex bracelets.

These bendable pieces of colorful rubber have a whole new unwholesome meaning: They’re a sexual code to many teens, WCAU said.

Some colors mean different things, and people wear them for that reason.

Here’s a common breakdown, from what teens told the station:

Yellow: hugging
Purple: kissing
Red: lap dance
Blue: oral sex
Black: the full monty

In a game called snap, if a boy breaks a jelly bracelet off a girl’s wrist, he basically gets a sexual coupon for that act.

It’s become such a problem in some middle schools in Florida that districts started banning the bracelets.

In a real news story, that last sentence would have been followed by, like, you know, identifying one of those districts and having a quote from a named administrator thereof talking about the dire need to prevent fornication in the hallways.

So, does anybody know the real rules to the game of snap?

Butterfly Twins

Isn’t this a pretty pair?

And look closely at the features of the women. Mother and daughter?

Fleshbot is Loose!

From all the buzz about Fleshbot lately, one would think it was a revolutionary new thing. They describe themselves as “a frequently updated web magazine” that “showcases all the porn that digital technology and distribution has made possible.”

In fact, it appears to be a sort of stylish cross between the ancient and venerable linksite and an illustrated sex blog like this one – except, of course, that unlike ErosBlog, Fleshbot was clearly put together by someone who knows how to design websites (as opposed to sticking them together with cargo cult HTML, voodoo CSS, stale bubblegum, and cussing, the way ErosBlog was built). With Fleshbot’s high volume of quality links (15 so far today – obviously this is a business venture and no mere hobby), keen eye for quality porn, and intelligent text descriptions, the site’s bound to be a smashing runaway success. Good work, please keep it up!

The Nymph In My Net: Fun Phone Calls

Let the record reflect that the fully charged battery in the handset of a vtech 8L55 cordless phone – one purchased expressly for the purpose of facilitating phone calls with The Nymph – lasts no more than approximately seven hours.

Obviously I should have bought the model with dual handsets.

On the bright side, flat rate unmetered long distance calling plans are A Good Thing.

Sexy. Oh Yeah.

ThatGirl asks: Sexy or Slutty?

Recently, on a date, I made a move that I still can’t believe.
…
I interrupted him and excused myself for a trip to the ladies’ room. I didn’t need to use it I had ulterior motives. Gone was the resolve to behave. I wanted him. I needed an unmistakable invitation. (I like to be a little more creative than just blurting out “Let’s go to my place and fuck!” although that does have its own unique charm )

Once in the stall, I pushed my pants and panties down to my knees, bent over slightly, and slipped my index finger into my cunt all the way. A few thrusts later, I pulled it out and slowly drew it up over my clit. I rearranged my clothes and returned to the bar.

Wordlessly, I slid onto the barstool and grinned slyly at him. I reached up and placed my finger against his lips.

“Taste.” Was all I said.

Conversation With A Stranger

Just had one of those odd little conversations with strangers where you learn more than you expected. A new face behind the deli counter – a personable and well-spoken young man – made a polite inquiry about the weather as he handed over my egg rolls. I replied, and from there our conversation went something like this:

Him: “They warned me when I moved to this town a month ago that the weather would be like this.”

Me: “What brought you to town?”

Him: “My girlfriend.” No noticeable enthusiasm on his face or in his voice.

Me: “I hope she’s worth it.”

Him, sounding glum: “Yeah, I hope so too.”

Ouchies!

Nice Body Paint

I don’tknow what event this lovely body paint is in honor of, but isn’t it pretty?

Of course, looking at that photograph you pretty much have to wonder what kind of paint job the girl on the right has under her toga.

In the Net of the Nymph In My Net

Topological improbabilities aside, I was thinking about The Nymph today as I drove around doing errands. We were on the phone until late last night and continued our pattern of having an increasingly hard time hanging up on each other.

I realized today that some time ago I passed without conscious decision through that stage of imagining-with-trepidation our first meeting, and have now moved squarely into the stage of unreservedly wanting it to happen, the sooner the better.

That’s the more emotional side of my personality talking, and for the time being it’s got the microphone in an iron grip. The intellectual side still squawks and yammers from stage right, hissing and blubbering in a bad Smeagol voice about great folly and about silly masters who fool themselves and about the bad ends to which romantic adventurers are prone. The intellectual side of me has been very handy for projects like organizing my economic life and keeping body and soul together, but “intellectual me” has a terrible record of being as useful as a eunuch at an orgy when it comes to making decisions about matters of the heart. Resolved: ignore that timorous bastard for the duration.

Ancient Wax Anatomical Model (Female)

Here’s an amusing item that’s supposed to be a ca. 17th-century “impressing rare and antique wax anatomical model representing the external feminine genital organ.”

Thanks to Boing Boing for the link.

Spanking Good Shirts for Alpha Males

Wow. It seems that long ago, Madison Avenue used to have the cojones to aim their marketing squarely at alpha males:

Advertising tagline: “You never know what results you’ll get until you try!”

Competing With Porn

I have been ignoring the Naomi Wolf antiporn article as utter nonsense. No need to rail against it for this crowd.

But I simply must link to Eric Raymond’s cogent comments — they are too blunt and too true to ignore. I’ve excerpted heavily, you need to read the whole thing:

You show me a young woman who makes herself sexually available but has trouble attracting the interest of a young man away from porn, and I’ll show you a young man who is either homosexual or stone dead.
…
Show me a young woman who thinks she can’t compete with porn for a man’s attention and I’ll show you one of two things. Either (a), she’s having galloping insecurity for some other reason and doesn’t notice that the man enjoys having sex with real women a hell of a lot more than he enjoys porn, or (b) she’s not having sex with that man.

There is one truth buried, oblique and nearly invisible, in Ms. Wolf’s informants’ reports. Sex with a real woman trumps porn, but porn trumps women who dangle sex in front of men and don’t deliver.
…
Ms. Wolf, here is some simple advice you can give any woman who thinks she can’t compete with porn. First item on the checklist: is she fucking him? If the answer is “no”, then I regret to inform you that her grounds for complaint against the fact that he likes to jack off while looking at or thinking about pictures of porn babes are nil. Zip. Zero. You might as well try resenting water for flowing downhill.

On the other hand, if she is fucking him, he is not going to swap that for feelthy pixels. Trust me on this.

This is pretty basic stuff. Some women object to porn the way wives object to the idea of prostitutes, and for the same reason: it means they have to use actual sex, rather than their erstwhile monopoly over the possibility of access to sexual stimulus, in order to maintain and enjoy the sexual attention of their men. Women who want to have that attention without having the actual sex for which most men will cheerfully trade it are teases, in all the negative and none of the positive senses of the word.

Belle De Jour

The most astonishingly delicious new blog just linked to me: Belle De Jour: Diary of a London Callgirl. The writing sparkles – so much so that one is tempted to believe this might be a literary endeavour. But the voice is authentic-sounding, so I take this one at face value. Very readable! I loved this:

Located what sounded like an excellent, small, discreet agency (word of mouth, as they say). After email contact and sending my photos, I finally arranged to meet the manager at the dining room of a central London hotel….

“How will I know you?” I asked. “What do you look like?”

“When I was younger everyone used to say I looked like Brooke Shields,” she said.

“Ah, you must be very beautiful then.”

“No, I am old and decrepit. Now people say I look like Daryl Hannah.”

What fun.

The Nymph In My Net: A Picture

She sent me this picture to give me a giggle:

Women and duct tape, what’s not to like? She knows me well.

What, when I said “a picture” you were expecting something else?

As it happens, she did send me a picture of herself last night. And yes, it did have a thematic connection with the above photograph. But y’all don’t get to see it, because her face is visible.

I’m such a tease….

More Naked Twister

The site where I found this picture of nude young lovelies playing twister has already gone to the great happy bandwidth hunting ground in the sky. However, by a strange twist of internet serendipity, I’ve discovered the cheerleader porn gallery the pictures came from. And by gosh if it doesn’t turn out that naked twister is hard work! Here the poor girls are shown all tuckered out and resting:

Resting up, as it happens, before getting into the hot tub.

Thanks to LightSpeed Sorority for the photos and galleries.

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The Nymph In My Net: Beginnings

“There’s this woman I’ve been getting to know….”

When a man says that, you just know the story’s about to start getting good. The average man wouldn’t even bring it up unless things were about to get interesting.

So. There’s this woman I’ve been getting to know.

We started flirting on a bulletin board. Just playful stuff.

Then it was emails. Lots of emails. Long, friendly, intimate, funny, wide-ranging emails. Emails that said too much. And that was OK. Better than OK, it was fine. Fine and fun. Exciting.

Somewhere in there, an exchange of photos. Better and better. Yum. And she’s still talking to me after seeing my picture, so I guess she just thought I was wearing a Shrek costume. (That’s a joke, folks – my skin’s not that color. Ba-da-boom.)

Then the chats started. Are internet chats supposed to last that many hours? Who cares? Lots of teasing and comparing notes and swapping life stories and just talking about what happened today and yesterday and tomorrow. Wistful complaints about the time zones and latitudes separating us. Increasingly vociferous cursing at the ravages of geography. Talk (hints at first, running both ways, the careful feints of the anxious-not-to-be-too-eager) of a visit. Sex talk too, frank discussions about what we like, sharing of favorite stories and photos, even some cybersex… but this post is not about the juicy details.

Oh, stop giving me that look. Maybe next time. If you’re nice. It’s one thing for me to post salacious links and wisecrack about other people’s intimate disclosures, but in writing this post I’m swiftly gaining a whole new appreciation for the courage of the folks who write about the nitty gritty of their romantic lives and the pleasures and pitfalls and uncertainties thereof. Any fool can post a dirty link, but this game is not for sissies. Especially when – wave, everybody! – the nymph at the heart of the matter reads the blog.

So anyway. We both are vividly aware that it’s still early days. Nobody wants to be that guy, or that girl, who falls head over heels for a fantasy person who turns out never to have existed except in the imagination. Nobody wants to slink home, dejected, after a first meeting has been torpedoed by a cruelly unexpected lack of chemistry. We’ve been around the block, we both know how easily this story can end badly.

And yet….

She’s merry and delightful and at least as kinky as me – in several very fun ways. And a joy to talk to on the phone. Oh, did I not mention the phone calls? Four so far. The first one lasted about six hours. Mmmm, I haven’t laughed so well in… years. Last night, we chatted for three hours online, then she called and we spent another six or seven hours on the phone. Tonight we kept it to four hours. With difficulty.

What’s next? Damfino. Damfweeno, to coin a phrase. Let’s just say that when DW talks of her Aussie, and his conditional cases, and her own smiling calculations, I recognize where they both are coming from.

Updates, I promise you, as events warrant.

Remote Controlled Attack Penis

I shall never begin to comprehend the erotic imagination that informs Japanese popular culture. But the world of sex is so much the richer for it! Exhibit A:

If You Ask a Snoopy Question…

So it seems Tara and Jeff were setting up furniture last night for their enhanced bondage convenience. And of course they considered, as one must, what might happen if somebody notices their arrangements. Jeff’s got the ultimate answer to that one. Says Tara:

Apparently if anyone asks why there’s rope strung around the legs of our bed my answer is to be “we have sex in there.” That Jeff, he’s always thinking!

Remember, folks, never ask a question unless you’re sure you really want to know the answer!

Lawnmower Man

Here’s a cute tattoo. (Well, I suppose it could be a one-off gimmick done with a Magic Marker.) If she ever decides to go bare, she’ll have to add another stick figure man in a lower quadrant, relaxing in a hammock with lemonade in hand:

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