This is one of the Hogtied.com models, limbering up before a shoot. I think she’s trying to taunt the guy with the ropes, to make sure he does an extra good job tying her up:

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Overheard by The Barmaid:

Chick #1: I just can’t believe Spitzer paid that girl four thousand dollars for one night. I’m totally in the wrong line of work.
Chick #2: I don’t know… you probably wouldn’t get to choose who you have sex with. Spitzer’s an ugly motherfucker.
Chick #1: I don’t choose what ad accounts I work on, either! And I hate some of those assholes.
Chick #2: Yeah, but the guy kept his socks on. That’s so weird.
Chick #1: Honey, for four grand a night, he can dress up as Kermit and call me Piggy.

The scary thing is, I knew a girl in college who probably would have liked that, she was Miss Piggy’s biggest fan. Perhaps fortunately, I was her “go cry on his shoulder” guy, so it never came up.

All politics aside, I think it’s pretty cool that there’s a state governor out there who got elected notwithstanding his history of posing for naked pictures:

Of course, when a woman with a pictorial past gets elected without her nudie pics becoming a matter of national controversy, then we’ll know we’re making progress.

This bit of nude Arnold Schwarzenegger beefcake was originally published in After Dark magazine in 1977, and appears here after being shamelessly “borrowed” from OMG! Blog.

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A spam that made it through my filters today made me smile with the sheer excess of the offer in the subject line:

Hogtied Amateur Vacuum Tortured On Butt Hardcore

Gracious me, I sure wouldn’t want to settle for softcore vacuum torturing on the butts of hogtied amateurs!

The pitch inside the spam email was softened just a bit: “Brunette Bdsm Slave Vacuum Tortured Hardcore” and a link.

It’s possible they actually wanted to sell me some hogtied amateur brunettes, but I doubt it. Reputable porn sites eschew spam as a marketing method, because spam creates blind rage that tends to be an insurmountable marketing barrier. Plus, it’s illegal in the United States. Sometime I’ll get spam (not this one) that seems to be selling a porn site I know about, but it’s usually a form of social proof; if you think you’re familiar with the pitched product, you’re more likely to click through into unsuspected spyware browser-hijacking hell.

Anyway, I’ll never know for sure what this particular spam was selling, because I lacked the courage or foolhardiness to click the link. The domain had certain famous small fuzzy toy keywords in it (maybe so it would look safe?) and a .cn domain extension. Those Chinese domain names are notorious these days because spammers can buy them in bulk for cheap, which means that they can use them for hostile and malicious spam campaigns that lead directly to aggressive malware installers, browser hacks, and the like. Once the domain gets widely banned, or even deactivated, just move on to a new one!

The return email address looked like the email for some poor guy’s AT&T cell phone. That’s easily spoofed and was probably pure fiction, but it made me wonder. Is this yet another bad thing that can happen to you when you get your cell phone stolen?

Now, start your vacuum cleaners!

One of the things I like about reading a diversity of sex blogs is that you get sexual accounts that are written in historic, rather than fictive, voice. Commercial porn is most often told in the voices we reserve for telling tales. Sex blogs, by contrast, are often written in the voices we use to retell our lives and histories. It can be refreshingly different, because it allows for real moments that would usually be edited out of the smooth story arc of competent fiction, but which are really the heart and soul and flavor of a good history.

Today’s example: Always Aroused Girl writing about what got up her nose.

“I want to come on your face.”

My head already hung half-way over the edge of the bed, so I quickly swiveled under him. “Give it to me,” I demanded, and I didn’t have to wait long. Before I could hoist my tits into what I thought would be the most attractive position, hot come splashed over me.

And then it obeyed the call of gravity, as fluids are wont to do. If I’d have moved I would have destroyed the tail end of his orgasm and possibly run head first into his nut-sack. So I laid still, but I couldn’t control my laughter as the come found its way into my hair.

And into my eyes. And up my nose.

He came to from the pleasure and noticed the state of my face. Immediately a stream of apologies shot forth from his mouth. I assured him that I loved – nay, lived for – being covered in come. “Can I get you a towel?” he asked, heading toward the bathroom.

“Yes please, and a nasal aspirator, if you have one.”

There’s a French comic strip starring the never-ending sexual adventures of Titi Fricoteur. Here Titi is spying on the baker’s wife, who is in her garden collecting vegetables for a stuffing. The stuffing follows hard upon the collecting:

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I can’t seem to stay away from the vintage:

Look at her face, boys, look at her face. Make eye contact. Smile. You know the drill!

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