RSS Feed

Posts Tagged ‘Vagina Antics’

  1. Say Goodbye to 2014

    January 1, 2015 by Heather Cole

    2015-2

    Happy New Year, y’all!

    I must confess that I’m not sorry AT ALL to usher 2014 out the damn door. Last year was a real bite in the ass for me in significant ways. The spring of 2014 brought my mama’s diagnosis of uterine cancer. Then in July, my daughter underwent successful open heart surgery. August was burned into my brain, because my sir left for a three-year work contract overseas. The three most important people to me all suffered. Hey, 2014, KISS MY ASS!

    The year wasn’t all bad, of course. I published three books, one of which went into an anthology with incredible authors, and I have even more expected to be published in 2015. Last year meant broadening my writing horizons and making new friendships in the blogging/author world. I also had some amazing sexual adventures with my sir before he left, and to my surprise and delight, those adventures didn’t cease when the geographical distance between us increased. Don’t worry. Y’all will hear all about them. Well, most of them. This girl does need her secrets.

    In case you missed them, here are three of my favorite posts of 2014:

    H is for How – A post written by my beloved sir in response to a reader’s question. I swoon all over again reading his words. *blissful sigh*

    She Stabbed Me, and I Bubbled – My first experience with needles. Reading this again makes me grin. It was SO MUCH FUN!

    Heather Orgasms in Public – I did! While hypnotized! In front of university students! (I’ll stop exclaiming now)

    Looking back at the year behind us, I’m able to see the growth and the gifts that arrived on the heels of heartache and worry. I was tested in ways that I couldn’t have foreseen, and I think I’m now in a better place than when the year began. Thank you, dear readers, for coming along for the ride. There are so many good things to come. Heh. Come…

    KISSES!

    ~Heather


  2. Porn Stars Explain Net Neutrality

    November 15, 2014 by Heather Cole

    The words “net neutrality” have been bandied about a lot these days. There’s a current smear campaign by Senator Ted Cruz sweeping across social media and the media in general. This tidbit came from Twitter: “‘Net Neutrality’ is Obamacare for the Internet; the Internet should not operate at the speed of government.” But if you know anything about this issue, then you know net neutrality is about the control of bandwidth which, in turn, controls content.

    Here’s my favorite post so far explaining the ins and outs. Heh. In and out…

    DEAR SENATOR TED CRUZ by The Oatmeal

    Comcast bullying Netflix into paying them millions of dollars to grant their viewers access to view Netflix content was surreal. And they got away with it! Now the issue is in the spotlight again, because people like Senator Ted Cruz want to base how the net operates on money. Those who pay the most, like Comcast, get the best speeds and unfettered content. Low income families, on the other hand, will be shafted. In the daily struggle of existence in poverty, do you think high internet fees are a priority?

    The beauty of the internet is that it’s a great equalizer. People come together that normally would never have met in our physical reality. The internet doesn’t care what your household income is or if you’re in your mother’s basement. The internet is this swirling mess of freedom and chaos that’s accessible to everyone, and I really want to keep it that way. You should too.

    Just in case you were still confused about why this applies to your life, let these lovely porn stars enlighten you. *giggle*

     


  3. Playing Big Sister in Age Play

    November 14, 2014 by Heather Cole

     

    A friend asked me to help with a BDSM scene. A long-time associate of hers, Jimmy, enjoyed wearing diapers, liked humiliation, anal penetration, and age play. My friend would take the role of “Mommy,” but she needed someone to be the big sister. Since I had the schoolgirl skirt and Mary Janes, I figured why the hell not? The idea of being someone’s kinky fairy godmother and making their fantasy come true appealed to me, even if I was slightly nervous about what that would entail exactly.

    I wore my short plaid skirt, ruffled white shirt, and pulled my hair into pigtails. I grabbed a long coat that hid my costume so I wouldn’t alarm the neighbors, and I set out for Mommy’s play space. I always get a case of the butterflies before a scene, even when I’m not the focus of the action, and I wondered what Jimmy would be like. I didn’t have much experience with age play outside of my own D/s relationship, and I worried that I wouldn’t know how to play “correctly,” as if there even was such a thing.

    The stereotype of Dominant women was that they wore latex or black leather all the time, and strode around in heels with a whip in hand. I had never seen my friend wearing any of that, and when I arrived, she was dressed in black skinny jeans, a scarlet red top, and heels. She didn’t need head-to-toe leather to appear dominant. It was in the way she moved, her energy, and the instructions she gave me. She assured me that I’d be fine and should follow her lead. I nodded and crossed my fingers that she would be right.

    Jimmy was a man in his fifties with graying hair and casual clothes. He was shorter than me with a compact frame and quiet disposition. He smiled at me like we were meeting for the first time at a coffee shop and not in a room with multi-colored sex toys and large bottles of lube residing along one wall. He shook my hand and didn’t appear nervous at all when Mommy introduced me as Heather, his big sister. She then turned to me to explain that Jimmy was my new adopted baby brother. I smiled at him and welcomed him to our happy family, and then Mommy got down to the business of taking care of baby.

    Mommy told him to take his clothes off, and then we all traipsed to the bathroom so that he could “get clean.” I twirled my hair and lounged against the door frame as Mommy cleaned Jimmy’s penis and balls with wet wipes. She explained to me that dirty boys needed to be cleaned, especially naughty boys who liked to play with themselves. Mommy asked him if he had saved himself for her, and he nodded. Then she snapped her latex glove and told him to bend over, so she could inspect her efforts. Jimmy obligingly parted his ass cheeks, and Mommy stuck a finger into his anus. He gave a soft moan as she slowly moved in and out of the tight hole. I watched his cock harden with her attentions, and she gave Jimmy permission to stroke himself.

    My posture may have been casual, but I found their interactions fascinating. It was the first time that I’d participated in a scene with a male submissive where I could observe and absorb the dynamic. Usually I was the receiver of the dominance and sadism, but in this particular situation, I had a front row seat.

    “You’re not allowed to come,” she warned him. “If you come close to orgasm before I give you permission, you may beg me for mercy.”

    “Yes, Mommy,” he replied in a breathless voice.

    With the inspection finished, Mommy withdrew her finger and tossed her gloves into the trash. “Let’s get you into your diaper, baby.”

    We walked back into the other room, and Mommy laid out all the items she would need for Jimmy’s change. Talcum powder and a large adult-sized diaper with blue sail boats sat beside the massage table. She instructed him to lie down with his bottom on the diaper and his legs spread, and then she turned to me. My task was to sit between his legs and powder him. I nervously grabbed the baby powder and eyed Jimmy’s penis. In retrospect I should have focused more on the sensual feeling of powder on skin, but all I could think about was making the powder go where I wanted. I squeezed too hard, and a giant plume of white powder puffed into the air. I suddenly got a case of the giggles.

    Mommy made clucking noises with her tongue and shooed me off the table. She neatly fastened Jimmy’s diaper. Then she handed me a coloring book and crayons.

    “You two can color, while I get a few things from downstairs. Look after your brother, Heather, and be a good girl.”

    “Yes, Mommy,” I said and put the coloring book on the floor. “We can color here, Jimmy.”

    We shared the crayons and began coloring a Ninja Turtle. Spread out on our stomachs with our legs in the air, I felt exactly like the little girl I was supposed to be playing.

    “You’re pretty,” Jimmy said.

    “Thanks, little brother.” I could feel a slow grin tug at my lips, a plan forming in my mind. “So tell me, Jimmy, are you a good boy or a bad boy?

    Jimmy heaved a loud sigh and furiously colored a turtle’s mask orange. “I try to be good, but I always seem to get into trouble somehow. How about you, Heather? Are you a good girl?”

    “Oh Jimmy, I am most definitely not a good girl.” And to prove my point, I broke my purple crayon in half and threw it across the room.

    Jimmy gasped, so I did it again. This time with a green crayon. “Let’s see if Mommy notices.”

    There was the click of the doorknob turning, and the door swung open. Part of me felt very naughty, and I couldn’t look up to meet Mommy’s eyes. I watched her heels cross the carpet, a flush stealing over my cheeks.

    “Have you two been good?” she asked.

    “Mommy, Heather broke two crayons!” Jimmy yelled.

    I had marked Jimmy as a goody-two-shoes from the beginning, and he had played his part perfectly. It took all my control not to burst into giggles again. Mommy frowned at me.

    “Heather, that is very bad. I’m going to have to punish you.”

    I tried to stifle my grin. “Oh no, Mommy. That would be terrible.”

    She shook her head at my obvious glee and motioned for Jimmy to get back up on the table. “I’m going to spank Heather, and since you’ve been a good boy, you may pleasure yourself while you watch.”

    As Jimmy settled himself, she unfastened his diaper and handed him a Hitachi. She warned him again that he had to announce if he was close to orgasm. The Hitachi buzzed to life, and Mommy pulled me over to a bench against the wall. I went over her lap, my ass sticking prominently into the air. With a few tugs, she had my white cotton panties around my knees, and I felt the first sting of her palm on my buttocks.

    I adored a good spanking, and I hadn’t had one for a long time. Mommy found a rhythm, and I closed my eyes to relish the feeling of stimulation and helplessness. Her fingers landed tantalizingly close to my pussy, and it was no stretch for my imagination to envision something even more personal happening. She switched to a closed fist when her hand tired, and the firm impact of her fist on the meat of my ass pushed me even closer to orgasm.

    “I think she’s enjoying her punishment a lot, Mommy,” Jimmy commented.

    “I think so too, baby, and your sister has such a nice ass to punish.”

    I squirmed on her lap and looked over to see Jimmy fully erect as he smoothed the Hitachi along the length of his shaft.

    “Let’s switch,” Mommy said and helped me stand up. Then it was Jimmy’s turn to receive Mommy’s attention, and she made him lie down on a medical pad she had spread on the floor. His diaper was discarded, and Mommy donned another pair of latex gloves.

    “Stand over his head, Heather, and let him see you.”

    I blushed and did as I was told, gratified when I heard Jimmy’s breathing increase. Mommy lubed up her fingers and pushed two into his anus as she worked the Hitachi up and down his cock. The effect was immediate, and Jimmy moaned his pleasure. I let one of my fingers skim the edge of my short skirt to find the thicket of hair at the junction of my thighs. I didn’t have to see his face below to know that Jimmy was watching.

    “See, little brother? I love being naughty,” I murmured, stroking my labia with a finger.

    Jimmy writhed against the floor, breathing hard. “I’m close, Mommy!”

    “Good baby. Good Jimmy. Come for Mommy.”

    And he did.

     


  4. Heather Orgasms in Public

    October 30, 2014 by Heather Cole

     

     

    Last Thursday found me seated in a plush, purple chair, surrounded by curious university students from freshmen to grads. I was the hypnosis subject for a presentation to the alternative sexualities group on campus, and my assignment was to go under in order to demonstrate the erotic applications of hypnosis. All I had to do was sit back, close my eyes, and mentally walk down the circular, marble stairway, my hand gliding along the cool wrought iron. At the bottom would be a big, leather chair in front of a fireplace, and once I sat down and relaxed, the real adventure would begin. I had done this a hundred times with my master and my kinky friend, Kuma, but these were complete strangers, some of them from traditional backgrounds with little exposure to kink.

    The students were a diverse lot, both in ethnicity and in sexual orientation. Many of them identified as kinky, but not all. And there were several representatives from the debate team. The overall feeling was one of welcome and inclusion, so even though I had a case of the butterflies, I felt safe, which was a crucial component of being hypnotized.

    I had my hair back in two buns and wore my favorite red dress which made me look like June Cleaver complete with ballet flats. On the drive to the university, Kuma said he knew exactly how to introduce me, and that I was the perfect example of ‘don’t judge a book by it’s cover.’ Later, even though I knew the intro was coming, I still blushed when he said, “Heather looks like a soccer mom, but she’s owned property 24/7 and a dirty little slut.” It was a great icebreaker. *snort*

    Kuma began his presentation and gave an overview of hypnosis, eventually addressing the topic at hand: how to use hypnosis in an erotic context. We had discussed my preferred method of induction in the car, and he first walked me through a basic relaxation technique. I closed my eyes and deepened my breathing, my focus centering on the journey within. My nervousness dispelled with the familiar sensations of letting go of consciousness. The world dwindled to the present moment, and nothing existed but the voice in my ear and my breathing. I was lying on my back in the sea, my body buoyed by gentle swells as I stared up at the blanket of stars above me. I relaxed further as I floated, and then I was walking down the grand staircase, and at the bottom I found the chair and fire. I knew these places as well as I knew my bedroom and kitchen at home. It was like saying hello to old friends and sitting down beside them for a chat.

    Kuma first instructed me to remember everything upon awakening, so I could answer questions about my experience later. After the logistics were out of the way, he described a purple collar that I was wearing around my neck. Slowly it began to constrict as my fingers clawed against the leather in a vain attempt to remove it. Kuma told me I couldn’t breathe, and he was right. I gasped for air, and my face felt hot with the effort to draw in a breath. Finally he released the collar, and I collapsed back in the chair, sucking air deep into my lungs.

    During hypnosis part of my brain took a vacation. I don’t know any other way to describe it. Gone was my sense of self and ego. When I looked back at the experience, I was a robot Barbie version of myself. My focus was pure; there was the voice commanding me to do things and the desire I had to fulfill those commands. It was a place of simplicity and obedience, which was why I enjoyed it so much.

    After the ever-tightening collar, Kuma’s wicked fingertips rained liquid fire across my body. Everywhere he touched me, my skin burned as if he placed the hot tip of a match against my flesh. Later he told me that my skin had reddened wherever he made contact, but because my eyes were closed, I didn’t see it. I only knew that it hurt, and I couldn’t get away.

    And then there were the orgasms. Captive in my cocoon of hypnotic suggestion, I had three powerful orgasms in front of complete strangers. My body bowed with overwhelming pleasure, played like an instrument and completely out of my control.

    When Kuma finally brought me out of hypnosis, my hands were “glued” to the wall. It was such a mind fuck to know that there was no rational reason that my hands were stuck. I knew intellectually that I should have been able to pull away and sit down, and yet, I couldn’t. It was a mindfuck in its most direct form, and I had consented to it. Sometimes I have to shake my head at the boundaries I’m willing to push, and I’m grateful down to my tippy-toes that I have trustworthy friends that will take me to those places safely.

    The discussion that ensued was lively and warm. There were others in the audience who had experiences of being hypnotized, and one young woman went under when I did. Kuma attempted a group hypnosis with some success, and I had the chance to ask others about their hypnosis experiences. Overall it was a great evening, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly.

    Late that night when I was home and in bed, I reviewed the evening and wrote a long email to sir about it. I felt a twist of sadness that he couldn’t be with me, that it wasn’t his voice coaxing me down the stairway or his reassuring presence in the chair beside me. Later he replied that we would try an induction long distance, to see if he could hypnotize me through Skype. I’m not holding my breath, but as all things with my sir, it will certainly be an adventure.

     


  5. Why You Should Vote for Sex

    October 14, 2014 by Heather Cole

     

    Everyone is talking about voting. The November elections are just around the corner, and we’ve been talking about the sex elections here as well. In short, you should vote for sex.

     

    You can vote for us at Kinkly:  Kinkly’s 2014 Sex Superheroes Contest

    You can nominate us at Between My Sheets:  2014 Top Sex Bloggers 2014

     

    So why should you take three minutes to vote or nominate Vagina Antics? It’s not like we can make birth control affordable and accessible to women everywhere… or can we? Part of what we strive to do on our blog is expose our readers to sex positive messages. Maybe you love reading about our adventures but wouldn’t do them yourself. That’s OK. We’re not here to convert you or say that we’re holier than thou sexually because we push sexual boundaries.  The point is that regardless of your sexual orientation, gender, or the sexual choices in your personal life, we want y’all to see the breadth of what’s out here. Acceptance and tolerance are direct results of education, and although we’re not formal educators, we try to present sex, kink, and relationships in a positive way. Voting for us is getting the word out, so that we can touch even more people. Um… wait… I mean expose ourselves to new friends. Hold on… that’s not quite right either.

    If you’ve already voted and shared our blog with someone, we thank you from the bottom or our dirty, little hearts. Hell, we thank you for clicking on our blog and reading every week. Without you, we’d be broadcasting Vagina Antics with only my mama reading. (and she tells me all the time that my language is shocking)

    A vote for Vagina Antics is a vote for sex and kink positivity. Damn, we need t-shirts.

    HUGS and *boob smooshes*

    ~Heather


  6. Masturbation Monday: The Cucumber

    October 13, 2014 by Heather Cole

     

    It’s an old cliche:  the bored housewife decides to use a cucumber as a masturbation device. I had joked about surveying the produce aisle for sex toys, but in all my years as a sexually active woman, I had never placed food in my vagina. In fact, Nikki and I have preached, “NO FOOD IN THE VAG” for as long as we’ve had this blog. Because let’s face it, the vagina is a delicate ladygarden. A cucumber, though, with it’s protective peel and generous girth… I mean, it really gets one’s imagination spinning. Right?!

    Last Wednesday found me seated in a plush chair facing the flatscreen of my computer, my thighs spread wide for sir to see. I was nude and carefully positioned so that I was completely exposed. He stared at me from beneath heavy lidded eyes and gave me instructions in a voice that made goosebumps ripple over my flesh. It didn’t matter to me that half the world separated us physically. He was my Dominant regardless of distance, and despite the prickly feeling of vulnerability, I responded in the same way that I did when he was directly next to me. The man owned me, body and heart. And my responses were partially the product of habit and training, and partly devotion.

    His first command was that I fellate the cucumber. I blinked at him and felt ridiculous, but I did as I was told. I awkwardly placed the wide vegetable in my mouth, the taste of green peel coating my tongue. As sir coached me with encouraging words, I moved the cucumber in and out, pushing it further and further into the back of my throat. It was much wider than my esophagus and could only go so far. With watering eyes, I pulled it out and gasped for air.

    “It’s too big, Daddy,” I said and wiped my eyes.

    “You’re such a good girl to try. I miss your mouth, whore.”

    I blushed and squirmed beneath his gaze, unbidden lust rising inside me. I had been so careful to keep my desires leashed. Shoved inside a steel trunk and wrapped in chains, they had sunk to a shadowy place inside me while I dealt with the sadness of sir’s departure. I had spent weeks mourning the distance that now separated us, and more than one of our calls had consisted of me weeping in front of the computer. My body missed him with a physical ache, but I refused to acknowledge how deeply that sexual need was rooted. Dealing with the day-to-day challenges of missing him filled my time. I wasn’t ready to open the trunk and feel all of that captive sexual energy pour forth.

    A towel stretched beneath me to protect the fabric of the chair from lube and my own juices. A second cucumber and the bottle of lube sat on the table next to the computer, and I had two extra-large condoms nearby as well. Sir’s low voice demanded that I lube up the American cucumber. (The English cucumber was saved for my ass and a later date). I adjusted the angle of my hips so that they were raised slightly and squeezed more lube on to my fingers. My fingers worked the cool liquid around the lips of my pussy and then into the wet heat. I was physically ready, my body responding eagerly to the stimulus and my master’s presence.

    Nervousness made my hand tremble as I placed the cold cucumber at the entrance to my vagina, and in slow increments, I pushed it inside. It felt smooth and alien, stretching me wide. I glanced up at the computer screen to see sir’s eyes widen and a slow grin cross his face.

    “That is so fucking hot,” he said. “Now fuck yourself faster.”

    I complied, my eyes falling to the side as I felt another blush start. Spreading myself open for another person wasn’t exactly new territory for me, but there was something extra dirty about being on camera. Maybe it was the anonymity of it even though I knew the man on the other side intimately. And then there was the foreign object that I used to impale myself. I felt wicked which lent an illicit quality to my masturbation. All these elements combined into a whirlwind that fueled my desire.

    Every thought left my head, though, when I changed the cucumber’s angle to stroke along my G-spot. Suddenly my entire physical awareness snapped to attention, every synapse and nerve focused on the building pressure of an orgasm. My gaze met sir’s in an unspoken question.

    “I want you to get close, but I’m not going to let you come. You’re not permitted to come,” he said sternly.

    I nodded, too engrossed in the pleasure that rolled through my body. I was almost there.

    “Please may I come, Daddy?” I panted.

    “Beg.”

    “Please please please may this girl come, Daddy? Please let this girl come for you.”

    The words slurred in the rush to expel them. My hand slipped along the cucumber that was now slippery with my arousal. I could feel my inner muscles tightening in anticipation of orgasm, and the vibrations, both and internal, almost pushed me over the edge. The fantasy in my head imagined that I could feel

    “Come for me, baby.”

    The orgasm exploded, golden sparks of ecstasy sparking through me. My eyes squeezed shut, and I cried out, the cucumber falling from my hand. Sir murmured his appreciation as I fell back, my legs sprawled like a rag doll.

    “You’re such a dirty girl barebacking a cucumber like that,” he said with a smile.

    I giggled. “I probably should have bought organic.”

    “Thank you, Daddy. This girl is happy to please you.” I made a motion to sit up, but he stopped me.

    “Let yourself relax and enjoy this moment. There’s nothing but me and you. No rush. No responsibilities.”

    Two months ago I would have placed my head on his lap so he could stroke my hair as I basked in the afterglow. That was impossible at the moment, so I smiled and let my eyes drift shut. Sir was right. For this brief space, it was only the two of us again. I loved being there with him, and at the same time, I acknowledged that it was fleeting. We couldn’t remain on Skype forever.

    “Pick up the cucumber, babygirl. I want you to go again.”

    I pushed away the bittersweet thoughts to grab the vegetable. Later I would peel and slice the still-warm cucumber for my salad. Dinner would be eaten alone with the erotic thoughts of my faraway lover and the echoing sensations of our electronic date. First, though, I had to orgasm again.

     

    Want more #masturbationmonday? Check out Kayla Lords’s post and the other steamy, sexy participants!

     

    Masturbation-Monday-badge-medium-300x300


  7. Our Last Night Together

    August 27, 2014 by Heather Cole

    feet in bed 2

    Thursday was our last night together. I had rearranged my work schedule so that I stopped at 3:00 every day that week, and we spent the late afternoon and evenings eating all the foods we wanted, spending time with friends, snuggling, and fucking. The time leading up to this point had seemed to crawl by and fly like lightening simultaneously. Before I knew it, we were there… the eve of his departure.

    I had finished ironing the last of his shirts and joined him on the couch. I was fresh from the shower, my hair still damp, and I wore my most softest, green dress with the plunging neckline. I felt raw and vulnerable, my emotions simmering a hairsbreadth below the surface.

    “What would you like to do tonight?” he asked.

    “What would you like to do?” I countered.

    “I’m open to a variety of things. What do you think?”

    “First I need to cry,” I said and felt a tear streak down my cheek. “After that’s out of the way, I’m open to whatever you want to do.”

    “Let’s go upstairs, baby, and we’ll cry together.”

    For the next half hour he held me as I sobbed on to his shoulder. He murmured our litany of assurances into my hair that I knew by heart. It had almost become a prayer between us–all the reasons why his relocation would be a great thing for us both. Eventually my tears dried, and I felt like I could function as a somewhat coherent human being again.

    “So what are we going to do?” I asked.

    “Remember how you asked for an enema scene a couple of weeks ago?”

    I opened my mouth to reply and then thought better of it. A pro-domme had offered to give me a scene featuring an enema, with sir’s permission, but I had turned her down in favor of a relaxing massage for my owner. I was intrigued by the use of enemas in D/s scenes, not because of the enema itself, but because of the control exerted over the submissive. I found the idea of trying to control one’s natural bodily functions to please another titillating, and I had mentioned to sir that if I were going to do it, I would want my first experience to be with him.

    Oh how those casual words had come back to haunt me.

    “Instead of a water enema, I’m going to pee in your butt,” he added.

    My mouth dropped open. “REALLY?”

    “Yup,” he said. “Let’s get you into the bathroom.”

    My mind was reeling as we emptied the bathroom of the scale, a footstool, and the bathmat. I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. Repulsed? I felt like I should have been more grossed out than I actually was. I mean, what was the proper response to a man telling you he wanted to pee in your butt? Part of me was interested, maybe even excited, and then a larger part of me was ashamed that I felt that way. I could feel my cheeks grow hot as he spread out an old beach towel on the bathroom floor.

    “On your knees,” he said.

    I assumed the position that I had hundreds of times before this night. Fucking in our bathroom was commonplace although our actions tonight were a first for us both. I tucked my toes under the ledge of the bathtub as he pushed my dress around my waist. He was already erect, the head of his cock pushing against the crack of my ass. The lube he applied was cool against my heated skin, and to my surprise, he slid into my pussy first. My first orgasm took me by storm, and I was forced to admit, if only to myself, that I was turned on. A second orgasm quickly followed the first, his strokes long and deep. As I tried to catch my breath, sir pulled out and slid into my anus. Suddenly I was gasping for an entirely different reason.

    His rhythm changed when he began to concentrate on urinating. I didn’t feel him peeing exactly, but I noticed a full feeling beginning in my abdomen. His erection would relax slightly as he urinated and then stiffen again when he switched to fucking my asshole. I closed my eyes so that I no longer saw the geometric pattern on the linoleum and could concentrate more on the sensations that assailed me.

    “I’m going to come,” he said, pushing deeper into me. I stilled as his body came to rest against my ass, instinctively tightening around him to keep everything inside.

    “You can go sit on the toilet, but you can’t expel anything.”

    I slowly got to my feet and gingerly walked over to the toilet, silently praying that I could hold it. I felt like I was trying to keep a water balloon inside me, and I was mortified that I might fail. I sat on the toilet, letting my dress drape between my thighs.

    “What are you doing, baby?”

    “May I go to the bathroom, Daddy?” I asked in a small voice.

    I couldn’t help myself. I felt exposed and vulnerable, like a little girl sitting on the potty. I felt myself blush, and I couldn’t meet his eyes. There was no one else in the world that I trusted like sir, and even though I was uncomfortable with the intimacy, I also reveled in the sense of connection. I was willing to go to this unfamiliar territory, to push past my modesty and embarrassment, and bare myself according to his will. I felt little and powerful all at the same time..

    “Look at me, babygirl, and use your words.” I could hear the grin in his voice, and when I finally looked up his expression was equal parts kindness and mischief.

    “May I please…” My voice faded to a whisper. “…poop?”

    His eyes went wide with mock surprise. “What do you want to do, Little Pookie?”

    “Poop!” I exclaimed and buried my face in my hands. “Daddy, you’re embarrassing me!” I shrieked.

    Sir laughed out loud then and gave me the OK. As my bowels released, I slumped in relief and felt sheepish. I couldn’t think of any other time when I felt so raw, so human.

    “So what turned you on the most?” I finally asked, wanting to distract myself from being the center of attention.

    “The thought that I could do this to a girl and that she would let me do it made me hot. What kind of dirty girl lets a guy pee in her? You let me pee in your butt, and you’re my girl. That was the biggest turn-on.”

    My cheeks turned scarlet, but I was grinning too. His pleasure and satisfaction with the situation were almost palpable, and I felt an overwhelming sense of pride. I did that for him. On our last night together, I had given him a memory unique to any other experience we had in our collective sexual pasts. I was his girl, and I didn’t know of a better way to show it.

    The rest of the night passed with good food, our favorite TV show, and more orgasms. As I fell asleep with his arms wrapped tight around me, he whispered, “I peed in your butt tonight.” I giggled, smiling into the darkness. It was the perfect ending to our last night.

     


  8. Here We Go!

    December 21, 2011 by Heather Cole

    Welcome to VAGINA ANTICS, the place where we talk all sorts of sex all the time. Give us a whirl, and we promise that you’ll return for more. (Yes, we’re that good.)  Future topics include: Face Down, Ass Up: Disproving the Myth of Waterproof Mascara, Why Everyone Needs an Emergency Sex Kit, and the Art of the Facial.

    In the meantime follow Nikki on Twitter @Nikki_Blue1 and Heather @Heather_Cole1

    For general blog and podcast updates plus the raunchiness that is K Shark follow @VaginaAntics

     

    Stay tuned for our first podcast coming soon in January, and we do mean coming