So we were wrasslin’ a little on the bed, and then the bedding got a little disheveled, and then somehow she got all tangled up in it, like this:

“A sweet disorder…“

Wicked/Sweet Jezebel wrote in to share her absolutely stunning new tattoo:

She credits ErosBlog (specifically, the art on this propaganda medallion) as inspiring the tattoo art:

I can directly attribute the tattoo I got for my birthday this week from material I gleaned from your website. Please note the similarity to the German coin you featured some months ago. I, of course, made some changes. The woman tied to my penis is holding her head up proud. Even though she is aware that she is, in many ways (but certainly not all ways), beholden to a penis, or man, she is proud of who she is and what she can accomplish.

We are truly honored to have helped. What an amazing piece of body art!

Some good friends sent me this picture. It seems that when they happened on the scene, she raised an eyebrow and said: “Table sex?” To which he replied: “Table orgy!”

Indeed. And thanks!

It must be time to go outside. We are out of whipped cream.

So far, the Hershey’s syrup supply is holding up.

“My fellow Americans….”

Also, these turned out to be every bit as much fun as I predicted.

More later. Promise. Right now, I have much better things to do. She’s just stepping out of the shower….

So many ways to look at this. So many possible explanations, all coyly withheld by the website. But oh-so-undeniably cool, this pink tank:

And I like it a lot better than the last piece of artillery porn that got mentioned here.

She gets here tomorrow night. Yay!

Waitaminnit, tomorrow? Ohmigawd, tomorrow? It’s time to freak out!

Only I’m not freaking out. I’m just excited. I should be all nervous and scared, but I’m not. I just can’t wait for her to get here.

Fair warning: blogging may be light during her visit. However, there’s reason to suspect quality will improve.

In other news, she and I are the subject of a Christmas fanfic. The Boss at The Collar Purple was inspired by the chained Christmas present and wrote “Christmas Presents” in our honor. And we are honored, although I’m not sure I could ever be this stern with a straight face:

He looked up at Nymph slowly, thunder in his eyes. “You opened the package, didn’t you?”

Struck dumb by the piercingly accurate accusation, she could only stammer, “W-what, what, I mean, why do you think ”

He interrupted her before she could complete the thought. “I warn you, the punishment for lying is much more severe than that for disobedience. Now I ask you again, Did you open your present?”

In a barely audible voice, she whispered, “Y-yes sir.”

“What was that, girl?”

She cleared her throat, but couldn’t raise her eyes to meet his. “Yes sir, I opened it.”

“Go to the table, bend over it, and grip the far side.” She hastened to comply with his order. Her palms were sweaty against the wood of the table and she fought down the urge to wipe them on her clothes.

My oh my, did it suddenly get warm in here?