#180) A Seminal Year Sans Semen – GRAPHIC CONTENT

I discovered masturbation at eighteen, late in life, even back more than a dozen years ago. Or more correctly, I discovered successful masturbation at that age. I’d played around down there under the covers in the dark, but couldn’t cum. But in the bathtub one evening, I got the brilliant idea of sitting my butt on the drain-plug, which was a little thrill in itself, and stretched my legs up the tile wall, and let the faucet pour delight down onto my parted pussy, and, oh-god-that’s-so-fucking-good had my first ripples of orgasm.
I spoke to my family’s gynecologist about it at that summer’s appointment.
“I have to ask you some questions!”
“Alright,” she said.
“You won’t tell my mom, or my sisters?”
“What we share is completely confidential.”
“I can’t climax with my fingers. It takes the force of the bathtub nozzle to get me off!”
I think Dr. Anderson was pleased not to be addressing premarital sex with this teenager, so she seemed to suppress a smile, adjusted her glasses, and answered, “What you’re describing is completely normal. You have a hooded clitoris, more heavily hooded than most. Even when it’s erect, it doesn’t protrude out very far, far enough for satisfying manual stimulation. You may discover, when you start having sexual intercourse, that the usual position doesn’t allow for enough contact. You may want to experiment with various positions and other acts… But you’re not having sexual intercourse with anyone at present?”
“Oh No!” I blurted, not knowing exactly what she’d said, but the gist registered that I was strange, that sex wouldn’t be any fun.
Another girl might have let this inhibit her, filled her with doubt and worry, maybe made her join a nunnery. I took it as a challenge. Every bath from then on became a marathon of hot water usage and heavenly self-pleasuring. I honestly think that having that big rubber drain plug lodged up my ass as I ground out climax after climax inspired my anal-erotic fixation. Needless to say, I got good at this kind of gratification, and thought that this kind was all I’d ever enjoy. It made me feel like an outlaw, somebody outside the norm, a deviant, and I felt proud of these labels.
A lot of arm-chair psychologists (and some legitimate ones) think that people with a sexual kink had some kind of trauma in their early lives. I don’t know about that. I do know my father’s death when I was four rocked my world. I think more influential than this loss was my mom’s reaction to being the sole breadwinner and parent to three girls. She became a fanatic that we three be exemplary young ladies, never get in trouble, and when we did, we were punished harshly. Mom made a ritual of it.
She called me into her bedroom after dinner one night.
“Your sisters reported that you’re taking more than your fair share of the allotted bath-time and the available hot water. What are you doing in there for that long?”
“Geez, I just like to be clean! Now that’s a crime!”
“Don’t curse, young lady!”
“I didn’t, I said ‘geez’ not Jesus!”
“I listened at the bathroom door last night. I heard you moaning.”
“I was singing to myself, Mom!”
“I’d hoped that you’d confess. I think you need to be paddled until you do confess the truth. Then I’m going to punish you for the nasty behavior you’re exhibiting on a very regular basis.”
But she didn’t wrestle me over her lap. She began brushing my hair.
“Mom, I’m too old for this!” I plaintively begged.
“No one in this household is too old for a ‘come to Jesus moment’.”
She had brushed all of my shoulder length hair into her left hand. She then calmly tied my hair back into a neat ponytail with a black velvet ribbon. This ribbon, her big, flat-backed hairbrush, they were all elements in her ritual.
“Stand up, young lady.”
“Mom, please!”
“Disobedience will only make it worse, and you’ve compounded your offense already.”
I stood. She unfastened my skirt, let it fall, and after I’d stepped out of it, she took a long moment to fold the garment neatly. She took my underwear by the elastic waistband and pulled them down and off, folded them and put them precisely on top of my skirt.
“Turn around and bend over.”
I was worried about how serious my offenses of not confessing and masturbating already were in her eyes. I didn’t protest, just did as asked.
She cupped my bottom, pinched it, parted me wide, then let go of each orb and they jiggled back into place.
Patting me lightly back there, Mom inquired, “When was the last time you were paddled?”
“Years ago! I’m too old for this!”
“You’re a mature young lady now. Your bottom can take a good, hard paddling. That’s what you’ve earned. Step over here.”
As I went to her right side and my mother adjusted her seated position on the bed’s edge, I thought I heard the floorboard creak outside her closed door. No doubt, my sisters were listening in. I wanted to complain about this, but Mom had seized me by the wrist and was directing me over her lap.
My view was limited to the floor three inches from my nose. I felt the blood rush to my head, then felt her patting my bottom with the back of that big hairbrush.
“Take your medicine like a good girl or you’ll get a bigger dose…” And she began paddling.
Mom had a wicked right. The wallops came fast and furious. I tried to withhold the satisfaction of crying in front of Mom, but before the first six wallops landed, I was wailing. I don’t know how many she gave me before she took a break to catch her breath.
“As I asked before, what were you doing under the running water?”
“Getting clean!” I yelled, emphasizing each word.
The second set started before I got the second word completely out of my mouth.
“Whenever you’re ready to come clean about being dirty in your actions in your recent baths, we’ll get down to your actual punishment.” And she stopped talking to be able to really bear down with that brush.”
“Okay, okay, okay!” I screamed. “I was jilling-off! That’s the only way it works for me! But I’m eighteen fricking years old! It’s normal!”
“What did I tell you about cursing?” and she lit into me with another long set. I didn’t consider that “f-word” a curse word, but I whimpered an apology because I was so sorry about how much my butt hurt. “Stand up!” Her hand was on my upper arm, and I found myself on my feet, rubbing my flaming fanny, trying to tamp down the fire that raged there. “Did I say you could rub?” She held my left arm with her left and gave me more spanks while standing. “Now lie down over the edge of the mattress.”
This was a new wrinkle. Usually a session with the hairbrush, however severe, was sufficient. My mother seemed elated; she was enjoying beating “the hell out of me.” She left her hairbrush under my nose as she went to the closet. Although I was in agony, my eyes followed what she was doing, I guess prurient curiosity is stronger than corporal punishment. Mom came out with my Dad’s old leather belt. Oh, fuck, I thought, as my tummy clenched.
“It’s NOT normal. It’s sinful!” she spat. She doubled the belt in her hands, raising it high over head, and doubled down on me.
The first lash was more than I could have imagined. I saw red as the pain bloomed across my butt. The blow literally bounced me on the bed. When I came back down, my pudendum landed right on the edge of her bed. Her next lash across my ass pushed me into that edge. An electric jolt shot through my sex to my brain. It was the same kind of thrill the bathtub faucet gave me. The third belt stroke only increased my pussy’s arousal as it abused my poor ass flesh. I don’t know how many belt licks she gave me, I now know that I floated above the beating due to endorphins flooding my system, AND hormones lending a strong helping hand. I climaxed more intensely than I ever had in the tub. Every wicked welt seemed to bring on a new climax. She wore my backside out with that belt, which wore my clit out from cumming.
“Let that be a lesson to you. No more touching yourself in the bath. Is that crystal clear?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I whimpered, and as we were required to do after punishment, I turned on my knees and kissed the hand that had kissed my backside with discipline. I prayed that she wouldn’t notice that that her bedclothes were stained with my cum. I hoped she’d think it was sweat.
“Let’s see…” my younger sister, Jan, stated, sounding exactly like our mom.
“Come on, you know the rule,” my sixteen year-old sister, Joy, cajoled, “if one of us gets it, the others get to see the results.”
“Leave me alone,” I pouted and tried to crawl into bed.
They caught me by the arms, and even though younger, because there was two of them, they overpowered and held me down on my mattress, and pushed my shirttail up.
“Wow!” they both gasped in unison. “You get the prize for the worst whipping ever,” Jan acknowledged begrudgingly, having gotten her share of meetings with Mom’s hairbrush.
They let me go, I napped, then pretended to be sound asleep. I laid there, trying to process the fact that I got off big time while getting my butt whipped. When the household really was fast asleep, I snuck out the window, running away, hoping it was for good.
I had a friend from school, Marie. We bonded by the fact that she didn’t have a dad either, hers had run out on them when Marie was little. She lived just two streets away, I tapped on her bedroom window.
“Jean, what are you doing here, it’s late!”
“I know, I’m sorry, can I stay here tonight? I’ll leave before dawn so your mom won’t know. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important…” all tumbled out of me along with some tears.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, helping me in through the window.
I couldn’t come up with the right words, so just turned and pulled my clothing out of the way. “My mom punished me…”
“God, your butt looks… like hamburger… raw…” she exclaimed.
Myself, I thought it looked rather well done. There was something I found fascinating about having such a bruised behind. It thrilled me in a way I couldn’t understand. It now radiated, wasn’t painful unless I rubbed it or touched it down on something. I couldn’t ignore that my sex was simmering at a low boil, and that the two facts were related. It was super confusing. It was about to get more so.
Marie’s mom must have heard us. She knocked on the closed bedroom door and then came in immediately. I was still putting my clothes right.
“Mom,” Marie said, “Jeanie’s my best friend at school. She’s come to me because she trusts me. Can you keep this in confidence?”
Marie’s mother looked to me like maternal love incarnate. She touched her daughter’s shoulder, then caressed my face in the same way.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Something in her melted me. I pulled my clothes away once more, thinking that everybody else had had a look. “Oh, my…” she uttered. “Let me get some cold cream for that…” and she disappeared.
I found myself face down on my friend’s bed, my friend cradling my head, and her mother, a stranger, applying cold cream copiously onto my bared backside. It felt glorious! They were both so sympathetic and nurturing. Her mother kissed Marie good night for a second time, then kissed my cheek, something I found awkward because of its unfamiliarity.
These weren’t the only differences between this home and mine. Marie was an only child, so had a room to herself, which I found amazing. She asked me to tell her the whole story. Marie stopped me part way through.
“You mean your mother punished you for self-pleasuring? How beastly!”
“Your mom wouldn’t have been upset..?”
“Fuck, she gave me several books on the subject four years ago!”
I was speechless.
“Well, I’m exhausted, and you must be, too,” she shared. “I normally sleep in the nude but with you here…”
“Don’t change your routines because I’m here, please. I’m just so thankful for the place to stay, for the lovely reception…”
Marie took off her clothes. It seemed entirely natural. I tried not to stare, or to be caught staring.
When in Rome… I stripped my clothing off. Marie turned off the light and we spooned in her narrow bed.
“It doesn’t hurt you for me to cuddle, does it?”
“No!” It didn’t.
I wasn’t used to sharing a bed. My bottom throbbed. I couldn’t get the image of Marie’s cute little body and swaying breasts out of my mind. And they were pressed against my back, making my clit throb. I saw the light underneath her bedroom door, then saw a book on her nightstand. I didn’t care what the novel was; I thought I’d go out in the hall and read myself into a place where I’d be able to fall into the arms of slumber. I grabbed Marie’s robe and draped it over my shoulders like a cape.
No sooner did I close Marie’s door as quietly as I could than a whisper made me jump.
“Can’t sleep dear? I’m not surprised…” Marie’s mom enveloped me in a hug. It was then that I realized that she was wearing a housecoat that was unclosed and remembered that I was exposed, too. I struggled to get my arms through the robe’s holes and tie it closed. But her hug opened something up in me, and I started to softly sob.
“Come with me, dear,” and she took me by the hand to the kitchen. She warmed some milk in a saucepan. (Should I say that this was before microwave ovens? Everything took more time, was more leisurely. It was also before cell phones, so my mom couldn’t track me or pester.) “No, don’t sit! It’ll only make that poor bum hurt more. When you have a mug of this milk to sip,” and she nodded toward the stove-top, “I’ll apply more cold cream.”
So I found myself in her bedroom, face-down on her big bed, sipping terrible-tasting warm milk, and having this loving woman make my butt feel better. Her fingers wandered into my butt crack, sending a tremor through me when she touched my anus. And then fingers explored lower, between my thighs.
“Does that make it better?” she cooed. I wasn’t sure that she even knew she’d strayed from my wounded rump.
“It feels divine…!” I sighed truthfully. “But will Marie…?”
“She sleeps like a log, dear,” this earth-mother reassured.
Her hands took a tour again, down into the deep valley between my hillocks, grazing my super-sensitive rectum, making me gasp, up and over the cheeks some more, making we wince, then down over my labial lips. I was powerless not to open my thighs for her. A miniscule mew escaped my throat.
She took this as encouragement. Another circuit with her hands, and I whimpered involuntarily again, which she took as permission. I felt hot breath on my privates, then her tongue traced where her hands had been. I buried my face in the bedclothes as she trailed down my crack. I stiffened as she licked my butt hole. I had never dreamed of such a thing! If I had, those fantasies couldn’t have approximated how exquisite it felt in reality. And then she was licking my slit, parting my lips, diving in deeper, licking the length of the opening, dwelling at the nexus, the nodule where everything came together.
“Oh…God…I’m gonna…cum!” I half-thought that this would make her realize what she was doing and she’d stop.
“Good girl…!” she mumbled, pressing her face in all the deeper, flicking her tongue all the deeper. I spent. No sooner did one climax crest than another overtook me. For the umpteenth time that day, I had mind-blowing multiple orgasms from “sex” in ways that were not coitus, that seemed unnatural, deviant, wrong. But I could not argue with how right the actual orgasms were. Then, as if she’d supervised me brushing my teeth, this goddess of earthly delights fussed, “Now do you think you’ll be able to sleep, my dear?”
“Yes, I think so…” I didn’t know whether to thank her, but the cunnilingus seemed like an extension of the hot milk to her, just being loving.
“You know, you have a heavily hooded clitoris, dear. When you have intercourse with boys, tell them they’ll need to lick you, not just fuck you, to make it as good for you as it is for them.”
She said this like discussing innie versus outie belly-buttons. I could only mumble, “Yes, ma’am, thank you.”
“Sleep tight.”
I woke up in Marie’s arms, we were face to face, nipples touching, inches separating our mouths. I stifled the urge to kiss her.
“Sleep okay?” she asked groggily.
“Um… yeah, I guess…” This half-truth felt wrong. I didn’t want it to come between us. “Uh, Marie, I think I ought to tell you something… I got up last night, I couldn’t sleep… I thought I’d read one of your books, so I left the room and…”
“…And my Mom took you to her bed.” She said this matter-of-factually, without any bitterness, then added, “She’s a very sexual person. I hope that’s okay…” I was speechless. Marie saw this, tried to clarify matters. “We have a rule in the house about staking a claim. If you and I had shared sex last night, my mom would’ve respected that, had a conversation with you, let you read a book, tucked you back into bed when you were ready… We didn’t have sex. I was open to it, but we didn’t. I had no claim on you. Mom comforted you and it did get sexual, right?”
Because all this was said without the least bit of rancor, I felt I could nod my assent.
Marie smiled sweetly. “I don’t need to ask if it was good, you’re glowing!”
“It was… mind-blowing!” and we both giggled. “Do you know you have the most amazing household?”
“Yeah… others have said the same thing, boys and girls alike…”
My mind reeled. I wanted to explore her bringing lovers home, lovers of both genders… We hadn’t moved an inch during this colloquy, our nipples still rubbed together, but the conversation had made all four harden.
“You know you’ve been a really good friend? At a time when I really need one…” She smiled. I smiled back, “May I kiss you without it getting…?
And her mouth was on mine. I opened my mouth, would’ve gladly let the kiss continue, let tongues get involved, let fingers get inserted. But Marie pulled back and smiled, “Hungry? Mom’s a great cook!” And we walked out of her bedroom hand-in-hand and as naked as the birds and the bees.
Marie’s mom was wearing an apron as she bustled around the kitchen, but was just as nakey underneath. I found this even sexier than if she had been nude.
Marie said cheerfully, “Jeanie told me that you helped her get a good night’s sleep. She understands our house rule,” and suddenly the awkwardness I felt evaporated. Mother and daughter smiled, Mom kissed her daughter on her cheek lovingly, turned to me and kissed me on the mouth lustfully.
“I don’t know what to call you,” I confessed guiltily when mouths parted.
Everybody laughed.
“You can call me Meghan, Meg, Mom… though that might be strange…”
We all laughed easily again. Breakfast tasted incredible. Yet, the culture shock was overwhelming. I stood there (still unable to sit comfortably) finishing my plate of blueberry pancakes and crisp bacon, and tried to process it. My house was so up-tight it was puritanical, punishment-oriented, harsh, and humiliating. This one was so laid back it was astounding, so sexual, open, pleasure-oriented, free. I saw this all clearly, but didn’t see the former as totally terrible, nor this latter one as purely perfection. I was confused by lots of things. First, I had an intense orgasm while being whipped, and I wasn’t sure how much was manipulation against the mattress and how much was hard-wired as a masochist. Then there were questions about this arrangement with Meg and Marie. I couldn’t resolve the former, so I tried to clarify the latter.
“You said that you have this system of staking a claim…” I felt a compulsion to bring up, and saw smiles fade from attractive faces. “I’m sorry, I’ve just got to ask, Meg how’d you know that, when Marie and I were in her bedroom, we didn’t have sex, and I was her ‘claim’. Are you telepathic?”
Mother and daughter exchanged a look. Marie started to explain by saying, “I woke up when I heard talking in the kitchen. I opened my bedroom door and saw Mom leading you to her room. She gave me a hand signal and…”
“You have hand signals about this…?”
Meg took over. “It just seemed easier to gesture than interrupt. I gave her one of these…” and she put her palms up in the international signal of ‘I’m confused’ as if to ask ‘what’s up, do you have a claim?’ “And Marie shook her head ‘no’, so you and I proceeded into my room and played…”
“I see,” I said, sensing that it wasn’t quite as casual as it had been. There was an unspoken tension between these two. “My problem is… I’m already confused about my sexuality… but I just had a phenomenal night of love-making with you, Meg, and I just kissed you, Marie, and I’m attracted to both of you equally!”
At this revelation, Marie smiled triumphantly. My searching gaze went from one face to the other, so Marie spoke up. “This has happened before, Jean. I’ve brought somebody home, and before things got serious, my mother made her bid, and my prospect ended up in mom’s room for the night. By the house rules, it was fair, but I still felt ambushed…”
Meg defended herself by stating, “I’m just more experienced, people find that attractive…”
I felt compelled to say, “I didn’t mean to throw a monkey-wrench in your system, I just…”
Marie held her hands up in the international signal meaning ‘stop, everybody’ and when it was silent, said, “Jeanie, you’ve merely clearly brought up a point of family contention. We’re not going to fight over you. Can you sort out your feelings enough to say how you’d like to proceed…as in, with whom?”
“But no pressure, right?” and we all laughed again. “Um, last night was phenomenal, but I didn’t realize what I was getting into… and because we’re the same age, and all… I think I’d like to stake my claim on Marie…”
Meg arose from the table, hugged me just as lovingly as ever, kissed my cheek, blew a kiss to her daughter, and went to her room.
“Want to go to my room…?” Marie asked.
“Yes, but should we clean up the kitchen first…?”
“Aren’t you the considerate house guest?” she chided.
We busied ourselves, but I kept stopping and watching Marie move. I loved how her breasts swayed, how her tight bum cheeks alternately rounded with each step, jiggled firmly. It fueled my libido.
“What..?” she smiled when she caught me at this.
“You are so beautiful, so sexy.”
“That’s funny that you’d say that, I think you have the better body… I’ve always been attracted to your bottom.”
I blushed. “It’s too big!”
“It’s my idea of feminine,” she whispered, and we were embracing, my hands on her tits and hers on my bum, our mouths exploring deeply now, not like the kiss before. We came up for air, panting in unison. “Now, we have to adjourn to my bedroom!”
Last night’s tryst was unexpected, a one-sided romp. This was two eager partners experimenting, discovering, doing what we each knew felt good on ourselves to our lover. Meg had expertly manipulated my erogenous zones. Marie and I tentatively made love, getting more assured as time went on, growing bolder as we each tasted the success of our mate’s ecstasy. Besides erotic things, we employed our mouths to ask questions, to give feedback, to giggle. Fingers and tongues matched the playful mood, but other body parts got involved. As she performed energetic cunnilingus, she pressed her chin into my slit; I’m not sure if by mistake, but it felt good. When I reciprocated on her prone, face-down form, I drove my nose up her rosebud, and she rewarded me with an “ooh, keep that up, whatever you’re doing, give me more!” and then a climax. It was a party where we were the only invitees, we got pleasantly cum drunk, we felt satiated, we cuddled into one another, and fell fast asleep. All this and it was only 10:30 A.M. on Saturday!
I awoke, and spent half an hour watching her sleep, falling in love. Her eyes fluttered and opened.
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up!” I enthused.
“Why?” she countered groggily, showing minor irritation at my exuberance.
“So I could kiss you!” I planted a big sloppy one on her suddenly smiling lips.
“Didn’t we just do this?” she mumbled when the kiss lingered.
“I know! A whole half an hour ago…”
“Tell me, do you usually wake up this…energetic?”
“Well, I’ve never woken up with somebody so sexy before, so usually goes out the window…
“Okay, thank you… Um, maybe could you help me wake up by applying your…” and Marie rolled onto her back and parted her thighs, and I was all over it like white on rice, fingering both orifices and licking the little man in the row boat. I made Marie writhe like she was having an epileptic seizure, and I was satisfied and she was satisfied, so I switched the subject.
“Do you think Meg is okay?”
“Yes, she’s a big girl. I hope you know it meant a lot to me that you chose me. I’ve had several guys, well, two, but that’s two too many, decide to go the opposite way. I think they just wanted to fuck us both…”
“What’s it like, fucking with a guy?”
“What? You’ve never had a dick?”
I self-consciously shook my head. It seemed to me that Marie contemplated asking how many women I’d been with, but decided not to pursue it.
“Well, I can’t lie, It feels great in your vag, and I happen to like it up the ass, too, but sucking them is a pain. Guys assume you can deep throat effortlessly, but I bet if they had to do it, minds would change!”
I really hadn’t heard anything after she stated that she like it in her ass; I was fascinated!
“It doesn’t hurt taking something that big up your butt hole? I mean, that’s so tight and…”
“Roll over on your tummy!” Marie interrupted, leaped out of bed, got a vibe from her dresser drawer and a tube of lube from her nightstand. “Get ready for your first butt fuck, lover..”
I could barely contain my excitement, wriggled as she lubed up my backdoor, thrilled as she turned the vibe on and placed it against my toot. She played there for a long time, and then slowly, deliciously began inserting it deep.

9 responses to “#180) A Seminal Year Sans Semen – GRAPHIC CONTENT”

  1. This is pure eroticism.
    Worthy of a screenplay again.
    Jean-Marie, you should do this professionally.
    You can write so wonderfully sexy and empathetic.
    Thank you very much, writes a very excited Christian

    Liked by 2 people

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: