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‘Oral Sex’ Category

  1. Call Me Deep Throat Jr

    June 1, 2013 by Heather Cole

    When you’re a collared and/or owned submissive, or a submissive in a long-term dynamic, there’s often talk about training. The training can range from a basic set of assumptions like “you will text me good morning and goodnight every day” to complex and formal protocols regarding anything from kneeling when the Dominant enters the room or setting the table a certain way for every meal. Although we call it training, it’s a lot like learning your partner’s preferences in any relationship. One difference is that in our dynamic, we have punishments established for when I fail to meet the rules. Because I can be damn cheeky on occasion.

    One of the items on our training list was learning to deep throat. When sir first broached the topic, I thought he was exaggerating. He had a tendency to voice his fantasies out loud, which I adored, but hearing him describe me as a “sword swallower” made me pause. Up until that point I had never really been confident with my blowjob skills in general, so imagining myself with his cock past my tonsils and down my throat seemed beyond the realm of possibility. Plus, I have the most sensitive gag reflex in the universe! (not hyperbole) I was well into my twenties before I could manage swallowing pills. Yes, my mama crushed them up in grape jelly for me so hush. Instead of voicing my incredulity that I thought sir had me confused with a carnival performer, I replied “thy will be done” in the most un-sarcastic tone I could muster. (Yes, I really said that.)

    The next day I woke up to an email with a list of links regarding deep throat techniques from sir. He’s very thoughtful like that. I read that there was a numbing spray popular with the porn industry, but I was more interested in managing my gag reflex naturally. This meant that every day I brushed my tongue with a toothbrush, moving side to side and further and further back along the muscle, to deaden the physical reflex. Did I gag? Oh yeah. But I kept doing it.

    When sir visited, he’d test my progress by crowding his fingers in my mouth or pulling my tongue. He began giving me my vitamins, his thick fingers pushing the pills back along my tongue as I tried to relax and breathe and not bite him. I started having flashbacks to my life growing up on my grandparents’ farm. Have you ever seen livestock de-wormed? Well, pilling your slave kind of looks like that. You hold their head, there’s a struggle, eyes roll, and water and spit goes everywhere. At least I didn’t stamp my pointy hooves all over sir’s bare feet. I mean, I was mostly domesticated after all.

    The other trick of deep throating was figuring out when to breathe. When the tip of his penis reached the back of my throat, my nasal passages immediately closed up. It was a natural part to my gag reflex. If sir was moving rapidly in and out of my mouth (face fucking me) then I could manage to breathe through my mouth with the movement of his cock. Going slow and deep was a different matter. Inhaling as I went down on his cock, opened up my throat. I could stay like that with him down my throat, but eventually I needed air.

    The worst part was gagging. I learned not to eat for several hours before I saw him, and then came the day where he was ready to put me to the test. Into the shower we went. Well, he stood in the shower and I knelt outside the tub and leaned forward. He gave me a warning, and then he pushed into the back of my throat with his cock. One stroke, two strokes, and then I gagged. The first couple times weren’t bad, like when your cat is warming up a hairball–it’s more movement than actual product. But the fifth time… I vomited. Actual barf on his actual penis.

    One of the things that I adored about this man was that early on in our relationship, he told me that we were going to get messy together. He told me that he had every expectation of reaching past my sense of modesty to see all the pieces of me. Our bodies weren’t sterile machines. We sweated, we smelled of sex and other things and our bodies produced fluids. Through it all, sir encouraged me and relished the fact that I couldn’t hide myself from him.

    Coming from a long marriage where I was expected to not smell of anything but soap and pure thoughts, this part of our dynamic was refreshing and nerve wracking at the same time. When I puked on sir’s cock, I was horrified. I realized that there were people that had a fetish for that, but I wasn’t that person. Tears leaked out the corners of my eyes from throwing up as I stammered another apology.

    “The only thing I feel sorry about is that you lost your vitamins,” he said.

    I looked down in confusion and saw the mostly dissolved remnants of my daily pills. I started to laugh, amazed that I had just vomited and was feeling good about the experience. Sir said he wanted to work on deep throating a little longer, so I resumed my position and went back to it. (I puked twice more.)

    I’m happy to report that I’m even better at deep throating now. Sir and I are going to take a trip to the toy store to buy a long flexible dildo so I can work on going even further. That sounds really weird, doesn’t it? Sometimes I peek at myself from the outside and wonder, what kind of freak wants to deep throat a ten inch dildo? This freak does, my darlings. I’m going to be a great party favor.


    (Oh, if you’re trying this at home, make certain that you establish a noise or hand signal or smack on the thigh for when you’re in distress. This will come in handy if you’re restrained and deep throating in the shower and water goes up your nose. Trust me on this.)


  2. Penis in Public

    May 3, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Anna’s fantastic piece of erotic fiction made me reflect fondly over my experiences of sex in public. Most of them were thoroughly enjoyable, hurried but intense. Except for the first time. I’m wincing at the memory. I cringe in sympathy for my high school self, when I was a bundle of hormones and inexperience. And the poor souls I experimented with! Dear boys, you have my heartfelt apologies. Except for you, Mike. I will forever hold a grudge about how crappy it was when you took my virginity. Two minutes? REALLY??? (He has since friended me on Facebook. I can say these things.)

    But I’m thinking specifically of a different boy. I was a senior and he was a junior. Brian was active in his youth group, the president of student council and an all-around nice guy. We shared a study hall, and he enjoyed scooting his desk next to mine under the guise of needing tutoring with his English Lit class. He was sweet and funny, and I knew that dating him would be a mistake. My mind had already fled the halls of high school and was permanently fixated on the summer before I entered college. I wasn’t good girlfriend material, and commitment was not part of my vocabulary.

    My parents had a maroon Dodge Caravan that was an eternal source of embarrassment for me in front of my girlfriends. However, it was spacious, a fact that I felt needed repeated testing. Brian was my willing accomplice, but his mother stayed at home and was extremely vigilant about her youngest son’s activities. I was not on the approved youth group list nor in parent-sanctioned after school activities. She knew where my mind was better than Brian did.

    I, on the other hand, lived in the middle of nowhere. My family tree consisted mostly of farmers, and growing up, I lived down a twisting, unpaved road that was popular with local teenagers who wanted to make out unmolested. (Until my grandpa appeared by their rear window toting his shotgun. But that’s a different story.) Both my parents worked, so we decided that if we were going to use the minivan to its fullest capabilities, then we should go to my house.

    I parked the minivan in the driveway an hour before my parents were due home. It was winter, and it was already dark. I was feeling adventurous and naughty (probably a permanent state at that age) and decided to give Brian a treat: a blowjob in a car! He sat in the back seat, and I knelt between his knees. To my credit, I applied myself vigorously to this task, and to his credit, he was very appreciative.



    I used my teeth. Not in a biting kind of way, but still…

    I can practically hear the shrinkage happening as you read those words. I’M SORRY!

    Here’s my one point of rationalization and then I’ll go back to apologizing: I didn’t know any better, and at the time, Brian said it felt amazing. We were both caught up in the scandal of oral sex a few feet from my front door, our hormones racing, out in public (as close as one gets to “public” in farm country) under a canopy of stars. He orgasmed minutes before my father drove up and parked behind us.

    I didn’t know it, but that night began a love affair with me in the outdoors. Not necessarily fucking outside, but the joy of me and another naked body exposed to the elements. There’s nothing quite like the tension between fear of discovery and lust. It can be a heady and intense combination, although they’re somewhat tainted with regret now. I will forever feel bad about hurting that boy’s penis, even though it was purely unintentional. Should I post a belated apology on his Facebook wall? Or is there some statute of limitations on penis apologies?

  3. The Art of Cunnilingus

    February 22, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Welcome to our second guest post here at VAGINA ANTICS featuring the gorgeous and talented, LifeOfLiriope. After she gave me the best oral orgasm ever (say that five times fast) I begged her to write a post about how she did it. Yes, I’m utterly self-serving! But honestly, who doesn’t need tips on eating pussy? After reading this I wouldn’t be surprised if you grab the closest woman, please get her consent first, and start practicing. Now I just need to wrangle an in-person tutorial. Any volunteers?  –Heather


    I love pussy. I don’t know how I really lived for the first 27 years of my life before discovering my passion for it.

    My introduction to lady love happened a year ago. I had long considered the possibility of such interactions, but had not been graced with an opportunity. I made the acquaintance of two lovely ladies last spring, and could tell I might finally get my chance. I started doing research, and approached my study of cunnilingus with the same precision and fervor as my professional science research. I asked a few lesbian friends for advice, and thought about the skilled male partners I’d known. I contemplated the methods I used when I masturbated.

    Nothing can substitute for hands- or mouth-on experience, though. One night, socializing with said ladies naturally developed into a chance for me to get down to business. They knew my situation: recently divorced, bi-curious, and no real experience with women. We confirmed our shared interest and got naked. One of them took me by the hand, pulled me down, and told me to lick her pussy. No prelude, no pretense, like I’d performed oral sex on women hundreds of times before. Like most other “firsts,” I know it wasn’t a stellar performance, but the feeling of making another woman orgasm was a heady experience.

    Since then, I’ve been introduced to a variety of other pussies, and I love them all. It pains me to talk to other women who are interested in becoming involved with a woman but find the thought of pleasuring women intimidating. It is for this reason I prefer the approach of my initiation: act like everything is normal. Understand the basic anatomy and relevant nerve hotspots, perhaps even think about a few tricks. But be prepared to observe and respond to your partner.

    A quick web search reveals prolific amounts of advice for performing cunnilingus. What approaches work for me? First, just spend some time looking at pussy. Not for masturbatory purposes, but to learn the breadth of variety. The color, the shape/size of labia, relative size of the vaginal opening, size of the clit and hood, exertion of the clit from the hood. Most vulvas are asymmetrical. All are interesting. Next, embrace the fragrance and moisture. This point is vital, because it expands your possible techniques for increasing enjoyment for your partner. I’ve been told I have a nice, firm tongue, which makes sense given I personally prefer consistent, fairly heavy pressure when receiving oral. Strong, fairly long tongue strokes are a good way to acquaint yourself with a pussy and start testing the “waters” for that particular woman’s preferences.

    You should watch for signs of increased arousal: increasing wetness, engorgement (i.e., swelling and reddening) of the vulva/clit, muscles tensing, verbal feedback. Some women have extremely sensitive clits, and do not like direct stimulation. Think about the myriad ways you can use your mouth, ranging from least to most intense: blowing air, light to heavy licking, sucking, and even nibbling. This continuum can be applied to any pussy part. Combine multiple methods in a steady rhythm, like alternating between long and short strokes. Be prepared for what might be a steady, consistent building of tension until orgasm. I’ve been with women who take at least half an hour to orgasm; others only take a few minutes.

    I feel obligated to share a quick discussion of penetration. Some women do not want it during oral. I almost always require at least a finger inside my vagina to orgasm. While eating pussy, I adore the feeling of the muscles in the vaginal wall contracting around my fingers when a woman orgasms, so that is a standard component of my repertoire.

    That about covers the basics! There are many other aspects of cunnilingus, including incorporation of toys (vibrators, butt plugs, etc), application of pain (I like biting inner thighs, brutalizing clits, and pinching nipples), different ways of positioning bodies, and manipulating genital piercings, but those are outside the realm of fundamental cunnilingus. Just remember: learn the pussy, try a variety of approaches to see what works, find a rhythm, and be prepared for a long session.

    I suspect Heather asked me to write this guest post so she would have a cheat sheet for herself. I’m quite pleased with her level of satisfaction from my popping her lady love cherry, as it was quite a lovely experience myself. I just hope I do justice to the tutelage of the amazing women who first taught me lady love. I’ll never reach their level of expertise, but that won’t stop me from practicing!

  4. Down With The Lady Lovin’

    February 20, 2012 by Heather Cole

    The truth is that I have had very little experience with vagina, my own notwithstanding. I’ve kissed candy-sweet lips and caressed the swell of a breast or two, but I’ve never sunk my face in between a woman’s legs and feasted. My oral sex experiences have always been male/female and when I was married, there was no oral sex at all. To say that my cunnilingus account is in a severe deficit is a tragic understatement.

    Don’t get me wrong. The current men in my life are stellar in regards to oral sex. Fan-fucking-tastic, to be precise. They spoil me with spine-bending pussy worship. While having these delicious adventures, there has been the idea humming along in the back of my brain that I wanted more lady loving. Full-blown, my tongue on her clit, my fingers inside her, mutual vaginal adoration. And true to my nature of being a hot mess of contradictions, I was absolutely positively nervous about doing it. Then I met Liri.

    You may know her from Twitter, @LifeOfLiriope, or from her Tumblr of the same name. Nikki suggested that I follow her, and in short order I was admiring her skills with a ukulele (not a euphemism). We discovered that she lived nearby and set up a coffee date. I was thrilled, eager and about to vomit. It wasn’t that I envisioned lunging at her crotch and taking her down like a ravenous lioness after a gazelle. I’m better behaved than that! No, I just felt a delicious spark of possibility.

    Liri is tall with some of the hottest legs I have ever seen. They go on forever, and as I followed her into the piercing shop almost four weeks later, I couldn’t help but imagine kissing my way up the back of her thigh. She has a thick mane of hair, beautiful tattoos and piercings, and don’t get me started on her breasts. But one of my most favorite parts of the beautiful Liriope is her giant scientist brain. Listening to her scientific vocabulary about how my nose was going to heal made me so wet that I had to excuse myself to the bathroom for a panty adjustment.

    After my nose was pierced, we ended up at a nearby bar for celebratory drinks. I was giddy with the pain from a piercing and the company of Liri and M. I confess, I was only half-listening to the conversation when M began his machinations. Moments later my piercing afterglow dissipated as M’s plan became crystal clear. I was going to be stripped and bound and left to the mercy of two sadists. I should probably mention that Liri is not only a bisexual switch but a sadistic cunt. She said so herself.

    That night was full of firsts for me. It was the first time someone other than M beat me, and the first time a flogging drew blood. They had a contest to see who could hit me hardest with the paddle and then systematically used the crop to turn my entire back and ass into a mess of red. No white skin allowed! Liri was also the one who suggested using the crop on my clit. It was one of the most intense scenes I’ve had yet, and by the time M loosened the straps, I was a quivering mass of jello held together by bruised, burning skin. Then she sweetly and politely asked M if she could make me orgasm.

    My bedspread felt like sand against my back, but all I could focus on was Liri’s face lowering between my thighs. With delicate flicks of her tongue and a finger, she brought me to one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever experienced. I can’t remember specifics, only that what she did with her tongue was fucking amazing. I don’t remember how many times I came. It felt like one undulating flood of sensation punctuated by wave after wave of orgasm. I knew I loved cunnilingus, but Liri elevated it to an all-out obsession. She popped my lady cherry with style, sadistic grace and a devastating understanding of vagina.

    I can’t thank you enough, lovely Liri, for one of the best nights of my life. I gaze at my bruises fondly and remember your mouth and wish, very much, to kiss it again. Well, kiss and everything else. *blush*

  5. A Rookie Mistake

    January 17, 2012 by Heather Cole


    During my senior year of high school I sat next to Penny in concert choir. She was the kind of girl who was destined to marry her high school boyfriend. They planned to have five children and had the names picked out. She was Italian, she informed me, and therefore extremely fertile. They were so serious in there intent to marry and procreate that her mother put her on birth control. In my small town high school, this was one step away from selling your baby to white trash pot dealers.

    None of this was a secret of course. Penny delivered her life story in such a righteous, nay religiously fervent, way that you became convinced that she was doing the nasty in a close-to-God manner that was morally superior to your plebeian drunk-at-a-party-hookup way. I admired her holier-than-thou aura of fucking, but I never had the balls to mimic it.

    One day she arrived late to chorus, her eye red and swollen. I tried not to stare at her guppy-like visage while eavesdropping on her conversation with her best friend.

    “I was giving him a, you know,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “a blow job when it went off like a garden hose. I lost control! And it hit me in the eye!”

    I did a mental run-through of the blow jobs I’d given thus far. I preferred to swallow, so I had never just let a penis go like a spitting cobra. Needless to say I was skeptical of Penny’s story, but her swollen, bloodshot eye was no joke.

    It wasn’t until almost twenty years later did I realize that Penny was suffering from a facial gone wrong. How did I make the connection? Well, I had my own swelling eyeball to highlight the way. Just when I was trying to be sexy and look anticipatory yet confident, I took a load of semen in my eye. It was my first facial ever, and I was trying to impress M. It was our first time together. Hell, there was an entire list of firsts that night, but the thing we will never ever forget was jizz in my eye. I was thirty-something years old but christened it my ‘Rookie Mistake.’

    I called Nikki immediately, primarily to show her my new collar and bite marks. I could feel my eye swelling to bullfrog proportions as we talked. She told me that her Mr. Kryptonite shot cum up her nose. It stung like hell and she walked around smelling ejaculate all day.

    A different friend had a Dom who’s angle forced the cum into her sinuses. She said it felt so awful she had to petition her followers on Twitter for a remedy.

    Then there was the time I rolled off the bed during foreplay, and the awful cliche experience of calling my partner the wrong name. But that was with my ex-husband, and really, he deserved it. Or the time S. attempted to toss his underwear to the floor and it landed on my face instead.

    Let’s face it, embarrassing moments during sex are not reserved for the young and inexperienced. Re-entering the dating scene has reminded me of this. Nothing like having a Rookie Mistake right out the gate, but I learned my lesson. I now carry my “sex kit” to make sure that I can at least clean myself up after one of my blunders.

    The kit is a small cosmetics bag that I carry in my purse for those “just in case” sexual moments. Visine is in there. So are condoms, lube, lip balm and moist towelettes. I fucking hate that name, but those suckers are perfect for not-so-fresh-feelings. Let’s be honest, if you want your partners going downtown, then spruce up the neighborhood for heaven’s sake.

    If I ever decide that I haven’t suffered enough in my life and agree to attend a high school reunion, I’ll find Penny and apologize. I’ll tell her that I now understand her jizzed eyeball pain from firsthand experience and can commiserate. I’ll also apologize for calling her a self-righteous slut behind her back and for groping her boyfriend (I hear they’re divorced now) at halftime during the Homecoming football game. I may even give her a six-pack of Visine in gratitude.