Between your thighs

[abbacchiohno]

The Cunnilingus Meme
cunnilingus

noun
1. The fine art of making love to a vagina/vulva with your mouth and tongue.

2. The act of using the mouth to stimulate the female genitalia. This can include sucking or licking the outer and inner areas of the vagina, and most often involves direct stimulation of the clitoris

Some women find cunnilingus to be the most satisfying sexual act. Indeed, a great number of women report that oral sex is the only way they can achieve orgasm. The mouth can create a uniquely intense range of sensations which many find unrivaled. Any woman you learn to do it right for will appreciate you all the more for it.

Going down. Eating out. Muff diving. Eating pussy. Carpet munching. Dining at the Y. Whatever you call it, it's an act that is sometimes misunderstood and very often woefully under-practiced, be it in real life or in porn - or in smut RP.

No longer. This meme is for all your cunnilingus needs, from giving to receiving and from a loving gesture to rough hatesex. The situation is up to you; the act is up to your character's tongue.

HOW TO PLAY

• Comment with your character & your preferences. Female characters, be sure to specify whether you're down with giving or receiving, though some preferences will make that obvious. Male characters, just bring your mouth.
• Reply to others.
• Put those lips to good use.

Comments

[coldsong]

It makes sense, in a way, that they communicate better with sex than with words. He is notoriously deceptive, a manipulator as well as a diplomat. She is a warrior, not a poet, and she's not wrong to distrust any pretty words that come out of his mouth anyway. But this, this ravenous tangle of their bodies--there is no possible lie here. Every jarring motion of his hips is a testament of how much he craves her.

He's a bit out of breath already, and this very active form of lovemaking only creates more exertion, but he's no more quiet than she is, letting out a wordless groan as her nails rake down his neck. He did not intend for this to get so wild, truthfully. Not only are they going to come back to the negotiating table mussed and sated, they're likely to both have telltale scrapes and bruises. He nips at her throat again eagerly. He hopes they come out of this with marks. He needs that reminder, it'll help him hold onto his calm.

"More," he gasps. "Sif, don't stop. I need...to feel you..."

[asofwar]

Something to be grateful in the years to come: she has never been able to doubt his intentions when they've taken each other to bed, whether it was during a planned game (with each fulfilling a role) or something improvised and primal. It's hard to claim distrust, when you let a person in this much.

Considering how wild their trysts have been in the past, it had never occured to her to think that he didn't want every second of it. Loki wanting her was never in doubt - and in moments like these, Sif wanting him was unquestionable.

"Feel me...what?" She is breathless, but has enough willpower, enough drive, to get a few words in, between the heavy panting and the sounds of skin slapping against skin. "Feel me come?"

She sinks her fingers into his hair, and pulls him back from her neck, to meet his eyes, a fire behind hers. "Make me, then - take what's yours."

[coldsong]

The pain, mild though it is, is an exquisite and much-loved counterpoint, a burn in the shape of his fingers on the back of his neck. Probably fortunate that she doesn't grow her nails out long like less-warlike court ladies. That's impractical with a sword or a dagger.

"Mark me," he whispers against the hinge of her jaw, kisses her there. "I'm yours."

Lest there be any doubt, in his mind or hers. Thor can draw his own conclusions. Part of Loki would enjoy watching him draw his own conclusions, but in the end it doesn't matter; what's between Loki and Sif is between Loki and Sif. His brother does not need to be a third party to their relationship. Sif isn't some pretty prize he's successfully won from Thor, though their rivalry tempts him to think that way. She's a wildfire, belonging to no one unless she gives of herself, and she's chosen to burn in Jotunheim.

But oh, yes, he wants to feel her come, more than anything, and when she tugs him by the hair and looks into his eyes there's a feral light there. His left arm tightens, holding her tight, his body pressing her against the wall, and his right hand slips between them. The pad of his thumb presses and rocks against her clit, firm but not rough, and his next thrust is less wild and more precise, every angle calculated to hit as many sensitive spots as possible.

He holds her gaze, bright and hungry and arrogant, determined to watch her fall apart before he takes his own pleasure.