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February, 2012

  1. 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!

    Category Oral Sex | Tags: ,,,,,,, | 7 Comments

  2. 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, , 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*

    Category Oral Sex | Tags: ,, | 8 Comments

  3. What I Didn’t Know Was A Lot

    February 13, 2012 by Heather Cole

    When did I realize that I truly was a masochist? The day I spanked myself thirty times with a thick wooden spoon, of course. I was alone with M on the phone, his voice at its smoothest and most polite. The tone that told me my ass was grass. Or in this case, black and blue. I was bent over the back of a plush chair, my skirt bunched around my waist. The wooden spoon was the biggest size they sold at Williams-Sonoma and I had originally purchased it to stir giant pitchers of sweet tea at family picnics. Until that exact moment, I had no idea it would be an instrument of torture on my pale skin. I also didn’t know that I would be inflicting the strikes myself per the instructions of the dominant voice on the phone. This, my darlings, was the beginning of my relationship with M. At one point not so very long ago, he was my eDom. A man whom I had never met in person yet trusted with my body and soul.

    True to the nature of online relationships, our courtship was a lightning strike. He singled me out of a group tweet with Nikki as we bantered back and forth about our kids. Watching M and Nikki tweet back and forth was like watching a knife fight. They fought dirty, and after a few half-hearted thrusts, I retired to the sidelines to watch them duel. When M sent me a direct message, I couldn’t fathom his intention. He told me I’d make a good submissive, and I almost spewed coffee all over my laptop. My response was, “I don’t think I’d make a good sub. I’m usually the aggressor.”

    As I read back over the emails we traded, M came across detached and in control. I called him by his first name, and I was bratty. Brattier than I am today, if you can believe that. I told him that he’d have to “earn” the right to the title Master, and to my surprise he agreed. He explained that my submission to him was a gift and that it was his intention to earn my respect and the right to be called Master. We didn’t discuss “ownership” and he didn’t throw around a lot of kinky terminology. We eased into it together, it seems, in a way that I can only describe as organic.

    What amazed me about that first conversation was that once I accepted my submissiveness, I assumed there would be pain as well. I slipped into the role as if it were an old coat, well-used and comfortable. It was like finding the key to a mysterious lock I had been carrying around for years. Suddenly, everything seemed to fit. I wrote, “have you ever had a moment where you hear something and it’s exactly what you’ve been waiting to hear, but you never knew it? Reading your last message I just had one of those aha! moments.

    “So now I’m a quivering mass of…everything…”

    eDoms conduct their submissives and play partner relationships electronically, and it’s the perfect way to learn the ins and outs (pun completely intended) of a potential partner. M and I were a couple that needed the next physical step to real life. We knew from the start that we would have to meet. I ached to feel his hands on me, his breath in my ear as he commanded me to my knees and punished my body. Email only took me so far. Even now I need to taste, touch and fuck him to be completely satisfied. However, our online Master/slave interactions allowed us the time to explore each other in a completely safe manner.

    We traded pictures of what we liked and wrote erotic scenarios back and forth, but the big test came when M told me to fetch the wooden spoon. At one point I seemed to watch myself from an outside perspective and had the thought, “what the holy fuck am I doing?” The slave in me responded with certainty that M knew what he was doing, and that he was steering us in the direction that we both needed. Sometimes I’m a helluva better slave than independent woman, but don’t quote me on that. I don’t want M thinking I’m too pliable.

    I feel extremely fortunate that my online relationship with M was able to evolve into something dynamic and fulfilling in our real lives. But without that foundation to our relationship, I don’t think we’d be half as amazing as we are together. I know M and trust him in a way that may have been impossible if we began in person. There are as many versions of kink as there are stars in the sky, and I realize that the way we developed wouldn’t work for everyone. I’m grateful, though. Grateful to the bottom of my greedy, bratty, little slave heart.

    Category BDSM | Tags: ,, | 1 Comment

  4. Sins of Our Past

    February 10, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Nikki and I had similar experiences in high school health class. Pregnancy was the biggest threat in my mind, and for awhile, STD’s didn’t enter my sexual vocabulary. That changed when the media began reporting HIV/AIDS cases. For the very first time, health class became relevant. I can remember Mr. Schneider drawing red circles on the chalkboard to explain a crucial point.

    “This is you and your boyfriend/girlfriend,” he said to us and drew two circles that almost touched. “He says he has only slept with two other people, right? And you? You’re a virgin.”

    He rolled his eyes a little, but the sarcasm flew over my head at the time. I was too busy watching more circles go behind the Circle Boyfriend.

    Mr. Schneider turned to face the class and poked a chalk-coated finger into the air. He coached football and enjoyed stabbing motions. “Now who can tell me how many people those two slept with? What if they’re lying? Even if they only slept with one person that doesn’t guarantee that they don’t have an STD. Without a condom, every person from that point of contact going forward will get their STD too. ”

    I watched in horror as the chalkboard filled with red circles. At that point I had only slept with two people, but Senior Week and a trip to the beach loomed on the horizon. I didn’t know it, but I was going to triple that number over the next three weeks. Even with a low number of sexual partners at that point, I didn’t feel that I could be honest about it. It was common knowledge that my boyfriend took my virginity in a cloud of Coors Light fumes on Mike Caroll’s bedroom floor. The ex-bf told everyone about those sixty seconds of infamy, and even now, as his profile pic pops up on my Facebook page, I question my sanity.

    I took that condom lesson to heart as my tally of sexual partners grew. I had no qualms about insisting on protection, but if the guy asked about my previous experiences, I broke out in a cold sweat. Even my girlfriends stared at me askance if I whispered the number. Eventually, I gave up keeping count and decided that if asked, I slept with eight people. Eight was enough to indicate that I could have fun and knew my way around a penis, but that I hadn’t taken up residence in the Land of Whores. I don’t know where that land is, but apparently, women who sleep with more than eight people own condos there.

    As I’ve matured, sharing my sexual history has become an act of trust. Up until meeting my Master, I had never told anyone the entire fucking truth, even the prudish, judgemental man I divorced. M gradually pulled the stories from me, and like Pandora’s box, they came tumbling out amongst a flood of embarrassment and chagrin. To my everlasting amazement, he didn’t condemn me. Despite twinges of jealousy, he relished them and asked for explicit details. They became woven into his fantasies that eventually involved him, me and someone(s) else. Instead of using my sexually adventurous past against me, he used it to celebrate the person I am now. Regardless of how others may feel about it, without those experiences, good, bad and horny, I wouldn’t be me.

    When I came up with the title for this post, I hesitated at using the word sin. I didn’t choose it because I’m ashamed, but because many people think I should be. Or they’d make snap judgments that I wasn’t worth knowing because I fucked eight (or so) people. What is the precise “weight” of a previous sexual experience? How does it or should it effect the relationship you’re in today? My point is this: if you’re with the person you want to be with, why do you give a flying fuck about their past?

    I promise you that I don’t, but baby, you still have to wear a condom.

    Category Sex | Tags: ,, | No Comments

  5. The Twitter Hook-Up: Part 2

    February 3, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Heather

    I’ve written this post a hundred times in my head and deleted it just as many. I even imagined speaking the words to you over the phone so I could hear your voice one last time, but I knew I’d cry. I’m a fool in a lot of ways, and I see my mistakes like a neon yellow brick road stretching behind us. Hindsight being so fucking clear and all. My heart is bruised and my ego in tatters, but at least the anger is gone. Now I can sit down and put these words to paper. This is what I wish to say to you while staring into your gorgeous blue eyes, my hand cupped against the scruff of your cheek.

    Twitter was still new to me when you sent me a Direct Message. We had a few back and forth jokes to boast about on our Time Lines and some light flirting, but I was still surprised by your message. You’re a witty man. You think fast on your feet, and our conversations were playful and fun. Our banter was a beacon in the dark days of my disintegrating marriage.

    We swapped war stories about our exes, and I called you more than once in tears over some new hurt and the worries for my child. The uncanny part was our mental connection. You filled my thoughts, and my phone would vibrate moments later with a text from you. We were tender, raunchy, funny and generous with each other, and it took no time at all for my Twitter crush to shift into overdrive before I could find the safety brake.

    You were one of the first people I told about M. I was a nervous mess before I revealed this secret part of me and held my breath as I waited for you to return with a verdict. You hinted that we needed to have a serious talk. As the days stretched into weeks, your silence spoke volumes. I watched my phone obsessively, waiting for the text or call when you would finally communicate with me about it. About us.

    There’s no point in dredging up every moment, every step where I knew something wasn’t right but didn’t want to look too closely. Despite my disappointment, you continued to make me laugh. I soaked up your attention like basking in sunshine, a glimpse of light peeking through the clouds. You felt right in my heart, and I leaped into the feeling without a glance at the rocks below me. I can’t apologize for that part. I loved you. In fact, as I’m typing this, I still feel love for you.

    The promises you gave me that I was the “only one” were unnecessary. Freeing myself from the cage of my marriage meant that I wasn’t about to plunge into another commitment. I didn’t care if you were dating or fucking other women. What I asked for was honesty. So when I found out that your trip to see me also included fucking two other women, I was…

    I was standing in my kitchen, staring out the window without seeing a thing. I was crying, but it was in relief. Relief that I could let go of your judgment of me. Finally we were on equal footing.

    Then the anger arrived like the hot blast from a furnace. I called Nikki at midnight and left her a twenty minute message about what I had learned about your other relationships. Let me be very clear about this. I wasn’t pissed that you sandwiched my visit between two others, I was pissed because we didn’t use a condom. My only partner had been my husband, and you swore that you didn’t have any others. I was too excited about oral sex and an impending orgasm of epic proportions to insist. THAT is inexcusable. I’m at fault too, and I’m still kicking myself that I jeopardized the people I love the most with something so careless. When there are multiple partners, my dear, you use a fucking condom or show me the goddamn test results that you’re clean. I’ll gladly show you mine.

    Even after the emotion had washed away, I didn’t want to let you go. I think it was the vision of our potential that kept pulling me back to you, and the fact that you appreciated aspects of me that had gone unnoticed for years. Never mind that we could set a bed on fire by orgasms alone. So I stalked your TL like an obsessed detective, trying to piece together subtweets and imagined context. I combed through your mentions to scrutinize the avatars, remembering a time when you used to respond to my comments. I was unable to let go, so I made myself suffer the connection in true masochistic fashion. Until now.

    Nikki’s advice was to punch you in the nuts, and at one point, I would have delivered it with ninja-like accuracy and maniacal glee. Luckily for everyone involved (especially your future lovers) I’m not in that place any more. Instead, I wish you the best. I see you for the amazing man you are, and at the same time, see that I can’t afford to be entangled in your lies. I hope you find whatever it is that you’re looking for on your TL and the women that flock to it. Since I know for certain that you’re not looking for an STD, use a condom next time. The next vagina thanks you.

    Category Sex | Tags: ,, | No Comments