Erotic stories and confessions from women
How women experience and imagine sexuality
What does a woman want in order to feel fulfilled?
I would like to create a section devoted to confessions, needs, desires and erotic stories of every kind, real or imagined, written by women.
You are welcome to contribute to the YONI REVOLUTION by helping normalise topics and ideas still considered marginal, dirty, immoral or whatever else!
Send your reflections, thoughts, real experiences, imagined or imaginary experiences, and pages from your secret erotic diary to tantradelsole@gmail.com. Together, men and women, we can help develop a collective awareness of the sweeter and spicier aspects of human life.
#1 Pleasure builds slowly, like a spiral staircase
By Marika T.
"I had been thinking about it for a long time, but I almost felt ashamed. It was one of those thoughts belonging to
the most private part of our inner world, the realm of sexual fantasies.
We rarely allow ourselves to dwell on those thoughts when the time is not right. They are so personal and private that we do not think about them or confess them to anyone, unless we are erotically aroused: then they emerge like snails on rainy days. But the desire for a Tantra massage had been buzzing around my head for a long time. Who knows what finally prompted me to try it? I carefully chose someone from a website who inspired trust and taught me something new. I read that website so many times I think I could recite it from memory, especially the testimonials, which have a genuine, sincere feel.
I called, booked and arrived for my appointment. I was very excited. Very. I kept thinking about and imagining what would happen... but my experience went beyond imagination, far beyond. I realise this account risks being full of superlatives.
Him... I barely looked at him; I was embarrassed. Could all my excitement really have vanished instantly just because I felt embarrassed? He led me into a room of just the right size, neither too big nor too small, with low, coloured lights and background music: a warm, calm, welcoming place. Despite the embarrassment I still felt, I was at ease because of the setting, but also his manner, gentle and confident in everything he said and did. I didn't know what to do, what to say or what to expect, but he knew perfectly well, and all I had to do was trust him.
He left me alone; I undressed and lay face down on the massage table (it was warm!). I spread my legs slightly and waited. The hardest moment: you are naked on the table and know that a stranger is about to put his hands all over you.
He came in and I closed my eyes. I felt his warm hand resting on my sacrum, an area already very erogenous for me. He kept it there for a long time, perhaps concentrating, and for me it was like undressing all over again: all the fear, embarrassment, indecision and uncertainty vanished, melting away.
Now it was just me, my body and someone who would stimulate it and take me to great heights. He lifted his hand and I felt the oil on my legs, but not only my legs, because he poured a very noticeable amount between my buttocks and a trickle ran down, arousing me beyond measure. The oil was warm too, like the massage table and his hands, which were now massaging my legs, calves, feet and thighs.
As he moved closer to my intimate areas he brushed against me, approaching slowly and gradually, while I wanted him to touch me. I wanted it so much that my legs spread almost imperceptibly. Then his hands arrive, so precise, so confident, on my vagina, wet with oil. They settle on my clitoris, driving me wild, drawing moans I can't hold back. My clitoris is so sensitive—how can he touch it like that? How does he know how to touch it? Is it possible for me to let go this much? I can't stop moaning. I'm enjoying it and I don't hold back; I lift my pelvis.
Now I want his fingers inside. They move towards the entrance and linger for a while. I move my pelvis, seeking his fingers, wanting them to penetrate me. When they do, he simultaneously places a hand underneath and stimulates my clitoris. My vision blurs, I lose all sense of what is happening, and I move my pelvis towards his fingers.
He penetrates me firmly and tirelessly, and I enjoy the pleasure, surrendering completely,
as though I were alone in the room, alone with my most private thoughts. He always knows exactly what to do, even without being told.
I realise that he has also penetrated my anus, but how does he do it? How many hands does he have? I love anal intercourse and the pleasure it brings, and now I feel completely full. I spread my legs, bend them and lift myself a little, exposing myself completely to his hands, until I feel the climax approaching and am overwhelmed by the convulsions of orgasm. He continues penetrating me a little longer, feeling all my contractions as my vagina draws in his fingers. Then he slowly stops and massages elsewhere, allowing me to recover my breath, my strength and my thoughts.
He massages my back, shoulders and arms. It's so pleasurable, so complete. I relax and
surrender. I do not have to do anything, nothing is asked of me, whatever I do is always right.
He whispers in my ear that I can turn over. Feeling his breath so close sends shivers through me, and I gladly turn, wanting his hands on my hips and nipples. I feel the warm oil falling calmly onto my body, my legs, my breasts, and then the familiar stream over my pubic area. The trickle flows down, the oil mingling with my abundant wetness. Am I ready again?
Could it be? He massages my breasts thoroughly, for a long time, squeezing my nipples. I spread my legs because I want his hands there, but he approaches slowly, keeping me waiting... then he arrives, brushes my clitoris again and I begin to feel pleasure. Then he penetrates me, this time very deeply, touching places I did not know that give me intense, strong, almost painful pleasure. I lift my shoulders with pleasure and bend my legs.
He makes all my movements easier, following them, but moves his fingers forcefully, penetrating me with strength, confidence and rhythms worthy of intercourse at its peak. He places a hand on my lower abdomen, over my bladder, and I feel full, like a wineskin about to burst. I think I could squirt, and I want to.
It does not happen, but the pleasure is hard to describe: how many ways can we women experience pleasure? Not all penetration is the same. Those fingers are touching a spot I cannot even locate and never knew existed, so insistently that I think I might burst. Then the hand that was over my bladder moves towards my clitoris and again I lose myself in a surge of pleasure. I say very explicit things because I have no taboos or inhibitions. I tell him I want him to fuck me, that I want to feel his hard cock inside me, and that I want him to call me a slut.
I cannot, and do not want to, hold back and I reach orgasm again. I close my legs while he is still touching me and, again, he continues penetrating me. I do not know how, but he knows that after a clitoral orgasm I enjoy penetration, and he is generous with it, pleasing me by prolonging the climax.
Then back to my legs, arms, belly and breasts. We regain our strength, and I slowly surrender to these caresses, relaxing, satisfied, moving towards the exit from this bubble. But then I feel his hands approaching again, slowly exploring my clitoris, sensing whether it is ready, brushing it and making me moan. The bubble closes again: we are not finished yet.
Now I feel very focused stimulation on my clitoris. My legs are spread and with one hand he gently parts my outer labia. I feel something new and have the distinct impression he's using his tongue. Yes, that must be it, because the pleasure is intense but the touch very delicate, just as I like it. I open my eyes a little and realise it isn't his tongue; it's his hands. He's bent over me, concentrating as a restorer would on a work of art. There is dedication, passion and selflessness in that pose. I close my eyes and let myself be carried away. The rise in pleasure is slow, a spiral staircase taking me higher, each step adding more pleasure.
No penetration, nothing but an expertly delivered gentle touch on my clitoris, and I rise higher and higher. Orgasms are not all the same: when you approach them slowly, they can be very powerful, intense and lasting. I begin to tremble; I feel it approaching but hold it back to enjoy the pleasure longer. I am almost motionless yet completely tense. He does not move away or tire; he is devoted to my pleasure until I burst into a convulsive orgasm. He prolongs it by keeping his hands in place, accompanying it throughout and multiplying the pleasure, taking it to extraordinary heights. Then he penetrates me as always, firmly and gently, gradually slowing his movements and leaving me spent.
The rest is caresses, gently guiding me out of the experience: his fingers on my face and hair, his hand moving down from my forehead over my nose and lips, which part
spontaneously, then my chin, neck, the hollow of my chest, my navel and pubic area. A finger rests on my clitoris, drawing one final, exhausted moan from me."
#2 Imagining yoni massage
By Vanessa Jay
...a scorching Friday in July... the kind you would spend only at the beach, with the sea breeze caressing your hair and the chance to swim in cool water until evening...
Under my cousin's beach umbrella I find a women's magazine. I never read them; I'm not drawn to all those tips for better skin, a firmer bottom or fuller lips. It all seems made up to mislead poor women seeking reassurance from men...
I start leafing through it to pass the time while biting into my juicy nectarine... and at a certain point an article about Tantric sex catches my eye.
Of course I know perfectly well what it is, although I've never explored the subject in much depth. My husband was incredibly passionate, one of those rare men who left you no escape... the kind who knew how to arouse you, how to take you and how to love you. Sadly, since he's been gone... I've never found another soul like that... I don't think one exists... Luca was special...
A brief moment of intense nostalgia, but let us move on... I read... Things get interesting... There are massages for women that lead to incredible orgasms...
How could I not have known about this, given my work as a writer? I keep reading and then immediately pick up my phone to look further and discover whether they really exist...
I browse so many pages... Then finally one opens that immediately seems well made, tasteful, with explanations and wonderful photographs.
Raffaele—that's the name of the massage therapist I begin exchanging emails with to get some information...
I read reviews... I read one client's story... I get dressed and go home to shower because I am a little shaken by how aroused I have become just from reading...
I take my scooter... get home in a few minutes... undress on my way to the bathroom and turn on the shower... Cool... ice-cold!
I am under the water, which feels almost prickly... it is not the water, it is me, so aroused that I have goosebumps... my nipples are hard... very sensitive... and down there... a mixture of overwhelming desire I had not felt in quite some time...
I get out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel... I lie down on the sofa... open the towel and pick up the bottle of after-sun oil... I start pouring it everywhere... on my belly, between my legs... over my vagina... between my labia... I use my fingers, imagining they are Raffaele's... I slide them everywhere... I want them more than ever... I do not even know who he is, what he looks like, whether he is handsome and wild or the exact opposite... But right now all I want is his hands... I want to experience the same things I have read in the stories on his page...
I open it again... I read a few lines... my fingers move to my swollen, eager clitoris, and the first unexpected orgasm erupts...
My legs are trembling... I want more and more... I want everything... I want to surrender to the skilled hands of an unknown man, but also to his mouth... his body...
You cannot, it is true... but in the imagination everything is possible... With respect, anything can be done...
I open my desk drawer... take out my vibrator... I start using it... Outside... inside... Wherever my body wants it...
I am more aroused than ever... My swollen breasts and increasingly hard, eager nipples... I am completely wet and longing to explode endlessly...
#3 A day for myself
By G. Milk
... I wake up a year older. Yes, today is my birthday... I have taken the day for myself: no work, no daughters, no husband. Today I will look after my body and my well-being.
After a couple of hours at the beauty salon for a complete refresh—hands, feet and a peel—it is finally time for my massage. It is my first visit: I was looking for a relaxing massage somewhere new in the centre and found a wonderful surprise: Tantra Yoni massage.
I arrive in a hurry and a little excited too... Although I have done my research, I do not know whether I will feel awkward, freeze up or back out at the last moment.
He opens the door, the tantric massage practitioner, a handsome man, and I am already panicking, thinking, "He cannot be handsome as well! How am I going to cope?" He shows me into a room and asks me to wait a few minutes. It is warm, filled with incense and candles, with music playing in the background.
He apologises for the delay and shows me into the massage room. He says, "Undress and put your things on the armchair; if you don't mind, take everything off."
Oh God, this had never happened to me... not that massage briefs are granny pants, but... they make everyone feel safer, don't they? What do I do? I take everything off, gather my courage and lie down.
He comes in and turns on the music, lights the candles and asks if I feel calm and comfortable, then tells me to close my eyes and enjoy the massage. I begin to feel his warm hands on my back, shoulders, hips and buttocks, hands brushing and touching my body as though they had always done so.
He uses warmed oil with a delicate yet intoxicating scent; I feel it trickling and spreading over my skin. Every so often he lets it cascade near my sacrum... that is where he lingers, where his hands move down toward my intimate area, light at first as if asking whether they can continue... then a deep, liberating breath makes me spread my legs. A beautiful interplay begins: his fingers seek me out and my yoni seeks them. They brush against me, touch me more insistently, and reach my clitoris, which is throbbing both with emotion and because he is touching it as no one ever has.
I feel warmth spreading through my brain. I recognize that warmth: it comes just before my orgasm.
He senses them and increases the intensity... and I kneel on the table... I am completely exposed and unashamed... I have both his hands now... and I explode in a staggering, primal orgasm...
I feel that this orgasm will not stop. So what people write about these tantra yoni massages is true: they build and intensify... I lie down again, panting, and he tells me to turn over. For an instant I return to earth and remember that I am having a massage, even though I feel as if I am in heaven.
I feel the oil on my breasts, his skilled hands there too. I have never felt my breasts touched like this, ever! My nipples are about to explode...
My belly, my thighs... he returns to my intimate area... he senses I still have more orgasms to give... his hands and fingers return... more forceful now than before... now I feel them inside me... I feel them seeking my complete well-being... I seek them too, I want them, I feel ready to burst and another incredibly powerful orgasm erupts... I feel I have flooded his hands with squirt, my blessed water... my breathing is labored... I do not dare open my eyes...
I take a few minutes... I feel him covering me with a soft sheet... I open my eyes and meet his... and he asks, “Did you enjoy it?” I smile, thank him and tell him it was my best birthday ever...