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My Ripening

Sweetums · 446

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Offline Sweetums

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on: December 20, 2020, 08:35:36 PM
Author’s note: When a reader contacted me and told me he would love to see me continue my story “Pseudopod,” I laughed. “Would he really?” I thought immediately. We’ll see. Like most horror stories, there’s never really an ending, but for you, loyal reader, here is an ending of sorts.

“The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

“About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.

“And some in dreams assurèd were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.”

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

My name is Esme Harding, and this is the story of my ripening. I want to remember it when it’s fresh in my mind so I can tell my grandchildren about it, about him. I’m twenty years old now, but the story of my ripening started when I turned eighteen, of course, as pure ripenings do.

At eighteen years old, I was at the top of my class. My loyalty score was 100%. I scored 100% on my compatibility tests. I took the top prize in my school’s Olympic Game. Both my biological parents lived to be over 100 years old, I’ve been told. I’m also told I am strikingly beautiful and bilaterally symmetric. I’m genetically superior in every way measurable. And of course, I have never been soiled by semen.

That’s not to say I have never felt a dick in me, to be honest. I have an extremely high libido, if talk among my girlfriends is any indication. Left to myself, I’ve masturbated at least twice a day from the first day I climbed into a bathtub at age two or so up until I lost my virginity. I’m even attracted to boys to a perverse degree, and especially to Johnny, the love of my life, who I will miss. This interest in boys is also supposed to be a sign of virility, though sometimes I wish it wasn’t the case. Perhaps it’s cruel for the chosen.

Neither Johnny nor I ever wanted to become animals, so when we did it back then, we found and bought a full barrier on the dark net and had been using it occasionally for his benefit. We didn’t do it often because it understandably made me extremely nervous. Let’s leave it to the animals to leave their dirty semen in a woman. Somebody has to, I suppose, or we’d die out.

Luckily, there continues to be a generous two million or so weak-willed or careless human pestilence out there. That's just enough to supply the two million or so chosen population with superior specimens for adoption, since we are by definition celibate. We need to have this many humans continue to pollute the Earth and use up resources the Masters could otherwise enjoy so that we can supply the 20,000 or so new Mistresses every year that are required to maintain the population of ten billion or so Masters the Earth currently supports.

On my eighteenth birthday I reported first thing in the morning to the induction center. My entrance physical was done in half an hour, and then I was put on a jet to Dulles. I was so excited! That’s a very tony area for the Masters. I must have drawn an extremely important Master. I had no idea.

A limousine took me to the submersible dock, where I spent a few minutes getting my lungs wet and comfortable. Then I was driven by submersible down the Potomac. Right near the mouth of the river there, barely out to sea, was the dome of my Master.

The submersible docked, and I entered the dome of my Master. The dome was a deep, almost ultraviolet purple, and the Master’s teardrop shaped body was a brighter purple, but flecked with oscillating splashes of black that swept across his surface. I wasn’t aware this kind of coloring was possible, had never even imagined it, so I could only suspect that this was a rare Master who had lived perhaps many more thousands of years than normal. I was terrified. I felt underprepared.

In what seemed to me a kind and calm voice from the beginning, he addressed me. “Approach.”

I swam gracefully up to him. I removed my ritual clothing piece-by-piece, folded each article neatly, and stowed it in my bag. Then I assumed the position of reverence and began to recite my Binding. My voice wavered right at the start, but not much. My throat pickup worked perfectly and boomed out in the dome with my own familiar voice. “I, Esme Harding, bind myself body, mind, soul, and womb-“

“That’s wonderful, child, wonderful. Esme? Wonderful. Now then.” Surprisingly, the Master had interrupted me, or perhaps they often do and people just lie and say they recited the whole thing afterwards. I suppose it varies. It seemed mine was impatient, but that’s not true. I got the impression immediately that mine was beyond formalities.

"My, aren’t you a specimen,” my Master enthused.

I practically started crying. “Thank you Master, I don’t know what to say.” I bowed lower.

“It’s fine. You’re fine. Are you frightened, child?” he asked.

I thought hard. Saying yes would perhaps insult him, but lying to a Master was unthinkable. He would know instantly, and then what? “Yes, but I’m trying hard,” I wept.

“It’s so evident you’re trying very hard, child. Listen. I will take care of you. No harm will come to you. You are mine now, certainly among the last I will ever have. You are obviously so special. This will be so good. It’s better for me when you’re not afraid. It’s better for me when you want. Do you trust me child?”

“Yes,” I declared truthfully, finally. He, my Master, calming me. This was unheard of. I was greatly moved and honored.

“So here is what we’ll do,” he confided. Then he slowly reached out and touched my slit tenderly, just on the outside. My orgasm was immediate. I’d had a lot of orgasms already in my life. I’d read many accounts of how much the tiniest touch of a Master put all physical sensation you’d ever known before to shame. It didn’t prepare me. It was more than every climax I’d ever had from a raging water faucet all at once. It lasted only a moment, and he withdrew. I floated limp towards the bottom, thrashing with aftershocks, slack jawed, wild eyed.

“How are you feeling, child?” the Master asked gently.

“I didn’t really believe,” I breathed reverently, my eyes turned away from him, fixed on the distant wall. “Not really.”

“Do you want?” asked the Master.

“Yes, if you please,” I was trying to control myself, but then I started whimpering, and the feeling got away from me, “Please, please… PLEASE! YES I WANT IT PLEASE PLEASE MASTER! AHHHHUHHHH!!!” This last sound when he grabbed me and spread my vulva for his enjoyment, me feeling it everywhere on my wide stretched opening and inside my pink trembling lips, so intense. Intense is the only way to describe it, because there is no way to articulate, I don’t think, the euphoria in every instant of it, the satisfaction in every instant of it, the love in every instant of it, the visceral stab and punch in every instant of it. Even the sounds I heard myself make, like the recordings I’d heard of others, were like the sounds of a symphony orchestra trying to be scratched out on a piece of wood, completely not the thing itself.

“Mmm,” said the Master then, and began to take my actual virginity, which for us women, always belongs and will always belong to the Masters, sorry Johnny my love, and can only be taken by a Master. My Master took mine. He thrust hotly, stiffly, and opened the mouth of my vagina wide in complete surrender to him. He had my soul speared on his fiery tongue and was roiling it around, savoring the inside of my soul. He grabbed my torso then, wrapped me, saying later he feared that I was arching my body so hard I would permanently injure myself. “My, you’re quite excitable,” he observed.

With a boy, it’s in and out, back and forth, scrape, scrape. With a master, it’s in, in, in, IN, and IN! All in. All climax. He opened my birth canal to its widest extent, millimeter by millimeter. Every tiny fraction of a second was an hour's worth of climaxes for me. Then I felt him stretching the back extent of my birth canal with tremendous pressure and slow to a halt in me, so very full. It felt serene, as it should feel when a god is inside you. He felt like the god of creation, bountiful, but he was MY god.

“You’re so small inside,” my Master marveled. “So petite. So alive. You make me feel alive, child.” My continuous orgasm took on the shade of my menstrual cramping, an ecstatic seasoning, a way to make this pure sugar of a climax taste like cake instead. I knew he was now opening my womb. I felt the pressure and heat grow in my abdomen, and maybe a vague reflection of stress on my body. “Oh, this will be a little difficult,” he warned. “You’re so small.”

My orgasm sputtered as the pressure and heat and stretching within my birth canal grew. I felt dizzy suddenly. I recognized the signs of vasovagal syncope and fought with my mental exercises to remain conscious. “Stay with me, child,” my Master commanded, then he rammed another member up my shithole, quickly, slickly, and fully, right up deep into me in a single quick motion. My ears popped. My eyes seemed to bulge out of my head and I remember howling, breathing, howling, as a newborn baby does. I had heard of the Masters and even men using this orifice. From the Masters, it was supposed to be a rare and special reward, and I can vouch for that. It’s completely delicious. From a boy, it’s a punishment only fit for the animals.

“Keep going, keep going, relax,” ordered my Master, and I obeyed and made puffing breaths and raged awake through my endless climax. “Okay, we’re going to try it now,” he informed me, and thrust my legs apart, and my hole was wide, wide, wide, wide, and orgasming. “Oh, you’re so delicious,” he raved. I could tell he had started his pleasure now. “Open, open, open,” he cried as I swelled painfully in my crotch, and I thought opening, relaxing thoughts very, very hard for him. My head sagged for a moment, but another deep delicious thrust from him deeper into my shithole and guts woke me right back up.

“Okay, almost, almost, almost, you dirty little slut! OPEN!” I felt a huge popping stab of pain in my womb. “AHHHHHHHHH! OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!!!!” my Master’s orgasmic cries shook the room. My ears rung. All the colors of the rainbow rippled across his surface, and he shook like a pond that had many stones skipped over it.

He rested quietly for a moment, me continuing to shudder on his swollen member in continuous crisis. Master breathed calmly, “Hit me if you stayed awake, child, if you felt it.”

I couldn’t form words other than shrieking and gasping, but I hit and kicked and hit. “Okay, okay, okay, relax. You’re making me happy. It delights me that you felt it, felt me have my pleasure in you,” he groaned. “You’re a tight little dirty bitch. I love it.” I went back to limply shuddering. Then suddenly I felt as though my life were pouring out of my birth canal.

I awoke, I’m not sure how much later. I thrashed and pounced forward but my Master held me fast. “Talk,” he ordered. “Can you talk?”

“I WANT!!” I shrieked, feeling utterly empty and dead except for the tingling where he held me.

As I continued to kick and thrash at nothing in the fluid, he announced calmly, “I’m with you always now, child. Feel it. Feel your belly.”

Still thrashing, I pawed my belly, and felt it, and stopped thrashing. There was a little bulge, a painful new bulge in my abdomen, a sore bulge. I caught my breath and sobbed with jubilation. I’d successfully opened and received my Master’s embryo at my very first meeting. I had also stayed awake right up until the emptying, when everybody loses consciousness because your blood pressure drops so quickly. Achieving both things was a rare achievement for a virgin. Our baby was growing in my womb. I knew my Master had adeptly helped me stay awake with his generous reward up my backside. I felt so treasured by my Master.

Then he held me close and rubbed my vulva, and I began my gasping orgasms and hip pumps again. It comforted me, but I was still sad he didn’t fill me anymore. “Can you talk, child?” he asked.

I answered, “Uh-Ah-Hah!”

Still holding me close, he stopped rubbing my genitals and started rubbing my buttocks, back, and neck. I was aroused and climaxing periodically, but my breathing through my arousal was regular, but I felt more empty. “Can you talk now, child?” he asked.

“Y-yes huh yes I… yes,” I stammered, fighting through the incredible sensation and emptiness both.

“Let’s talk,” my Master requested.

“Thank you!” I cried, “f-for t-taking HAH! my womb, my Master. MASTER!” I thrilled and shuddered in climax just saying his name and remembering him hot inside me.

“The pleasure was mine, you nasty little slut. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this inspired, calm, and focused after a mating. You’re an absolute delight, my sweet. I’m happy for the first time in a long time.”

“Huh… slut?” I shuddered.

“Come on. You’ve had boys many times,” my Master chided.

I couldn’t lie, and he knew anyway somehow. “H-how?”

“It’s how you move,” he divulged. “I know it. You’ve presented to boys at least dozens of times.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Just one boy!! One boy only!! I’ll never! I’ll be good! I was careful! I was so careful! You know I was so careful!” I sobbed.

“Yes, yes, yes, fine,” sighed my Master. “Have your boy if you want. I don’t care. As long as you continue to keep your body clean of filth, have your boy. We know you’ve never soiled your womb or even your opening with semen. We can determine this. Even so, your behavior is extremely risky. You know our kind finds this highly distasteful, like having sex with vile pollution, putting our baby into a poisoned hole. You know this. Just ew.”

“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.

“Calm down,” my Master ordered. “You’re forgiven. Calm down. Go in peace, and sin no more, or whatever. Let’s change the subject, lighten the mood.”

“Thank you, master,” I said.

“In fact, your slutty behavior makes me think of the old, old times. You remind me very much of my first girl. I only had her much older than you are now, though. She certainly moved like you do. She was endearingly weepy and overly dramatic like you are. She was bigger than you, though. Before me, she had lain with many boys, many, many boys. You’re untouched compared to her. She was a vile dirty slut, a regular cesspool. They all were back then. There was nothing for it.”

“Who was she?” I asked my Master, who must be ancient, talking of touching an animal, things that were never imagined.

“Her name was Avery Harper.”


“Yes, child, yes, be calm,” my Master insisted.

“Then you’re the fuh- the fuh-huh…”

“Yes child,” the First Master admitted. “It’s really no distinction. Nobody listens to me anymore, if they ever did. But hey, it’s good for one thing. Ta-da! You’ve been blessed, child. You’re truly blessed. Now you know you are truly special, and will always be special, and nobody can ever say differently, not even me. Let the knowledge of this fill your heart with exultation, always.”

“Yes, my Master, I promise it will,” I sobbed, and I meant it.

The first thing I did when I got home was to break up with Johnny. I was furiously angry at him and at my own careless weakness. I was empty and dead anyway, so a bit more death was not that difficult. The medications helped. I concentrated hard on my studies as the baby grew inside me.

A Master breeds his Mistress, which is what I am now, every thirteen weeks, or four times a year, and she gives birth to the resulting child eight to ten weeks after impregnation. We generally serve until we are deemed too sick to carry a child, and we generally die shortly thereafter. It’s not uncommon to serve fifty years, though much can go wrong to cut that short.

Mistresses fill the most important roles in government and industry. Generally a Mistress has a male consort to cook, clean, and take care of the children. A chosen household has two children, a boy child and a girl child, chosen from the animal child population to be raised in the chosen family.

I supposed I could do worse, so I forgave and married Johnny. I was close to my first Ecstasy by then, so I caged his genitals during the wedding ceremony, as is getting popular these days, and gave the key to my parents for safekeeping. He fed me, watered me, and bathed me during my Ecstasy, which was a particularly long one, about three weeks. After the third week I began to be able to walk, talk, and take care of myself again. The week after, I visited the midwives, and gave birth to my first child, a brilliantly green spheroid with yellow flecks. I only saw him twice before the Masters took him, and then I felt completely gray and empty for some weeks. The medications did not help me much.

What did help me was my quarterly sex with my Master, the First Master. This time, I was no longer frightened and out of my mind. He opened me up smartly, and again, he rammed well up into my colon to awaken and arouse me further during my time and to keep me from passing out as he opened me for his time.

As my Master started his pleasure, I was not entirely out of my mind this time, and I bore down on him as he took me. It was painful, but I enjoyed the sweet tang of it thoroughly and orgasmed the entire time. He thrilled and gurgled throughout his pleasure, and colors washed across his body as I did this. The pop of his finish bit me so deliciously hard, and his deafening cry went on and on. I wept in my shuddering aftershocks, knowing I had pleased him well.

Afterwards, my Master mentioned how much my determined actions to please him had filled him with even more bliss and satisfaction than before. I saw I had bled a little afterwards, but it was worth it. He also praised my celibacy and said he could tell I had not entertained any human lovers since last time, and he was right, of course. I had not let Johnny even touch me, and Johnny’s genitals remained well behaved in their cage. He said I moved like I was his now. I felt proud.

I felt the sore bump of our new embryo deep inside me, and this time I was filled with elation and calm, and I didn’t suffer so much from the emptiness, though I felt it strongly anyway, of course. Intellectually though, I trusted I would see my Master again and feel his love filling me and owning me just as soon as I bore the child he’d just so pleasurably put into me. In my emptiness, I quivered in anticipation of feeling this baby swelling in me and crippling me with ecstatic sensation. Then I knew there would be only a short break of real emptiness and giving up of the child. This would prepare me to fully enjoy being bred and impregnated roughly and joyfully again by my Master.

I felt increasingly confident and joyful as I was bred again and again by my Master and bore him healthy offspring like clockwork. I nurtured and birthed four for the First Master in my eighteenth year.

In my nineteenth year, my Master faltered at our third breeding and could not produce an embryo to put in me. He had been sick. He tried again and again, day after day, until I was hurting and had stopped orgasming during his part. Then he relented.

The next quarter, after a few doctor visits and healing and a lot of loneliness, I was better than new, and I pleasured my Master especially well since I’d had so much practice the previous quarter. Everything went smoothly and he popped in me on the first try like his usual self but with an especially long and low cry that spoke his gratification and relief at being able to release in me again. I felt it too. We spoke about everything for a long time afterwards.

In my twentieth year, things went fine between us the first time, but as soon as I’d recovered from my Ecstasy, still great with his child, my Master called for me, which I’d never heard of. At first I thought maybe he wanted to take it out of me himself. When I got there, his dome was nearly black, with only a few ripples of purple coursing through it. He was also very dark, washing half black and half purple almost as dark as night.

As I entered, my Master said, “Come to me, lover.” I approached him, undressed, and took the position of reverence before him. “Rub me,” he ordered, and not knowing quite what to do, I hugged him to me with my legs, starting to climax from my vulva touching him, but still in control. Then I rubbed and kneaded his upper surface with my hands. This produced bursts of color: purple, orange, and red, spreading out on his surface like a stone thrown in a pond.

“You’re so good to me, my special one,” my Master moaned. “I love you more than any of the others. But soon I’ll have to leave you. I want to give you one last gift before I go. He pointed to a box. “Get in that,” he ordered. It was dark and fiendishly cold inside, and I began to shiver immediately as the heat was sucked from my body. I feared for my child and begged him to let me out, but he wouldn’t. Finally, when I had given up and would let the cold take my child and me, he pulled me out roughly.

Then he gave me the greatest gift a Master can bestow, a roasting. His incredible heat was so intense within me I thought it was actually burning my face, throat, and inside me as he thrust further and further. It was so extraordinarily joyous from my mouth and through to my anus. During, our baby and I were shaking with ecstasy, quietly, since his member filled my throat. When he reached my large intestine, I gave birth to a healthy, raging green spheroid. The baby just popped out, and the Master held our child as he continued to stimulate me hotly and savagely from mouth to anus.

By the end of my long orgasmic ecstasy I was burning up with heat out to my fingers and toes. I was sick with heat and nearly unconscious when he pulled out. There’s no way to describe the deep love of this gift. It makes me cry to think of it even now. The experience so invades my thoughts and dreams that I know he’ll be with me forever.

There was great pageantry at the First Master’s passing. I shrieked in frustration, but he had made everybody promise to reassign me after his death. I heard his will, and heard his dear voice, the last of him I heard, saying, “Reassign Esme. Do this gesture of kindness to me in full exchange for the life I’ve given you. You can do any other ritualistic silliness you can think of, but Esme gets to live as long as she will. That’s all I ask.”

So I got to watch his black dome slowly be loaded on a domeship. Three Master younglings and twelve untouched virgin maidens were selected to accompany him. Even Johnny got a ride. But I was left behind as his funeral ship flew into the sun.

The very next day I was given to my new Master. It’s such an odd thing to live to see. What can I say about him? I’m still getting used to the change, but I can say he’s a rascal. In that way, he reminds me of the First Master. His dome is a rich green with washes of gold like the sun. He himself is many colors, but predominantly green with orange washes when he thinks. From this, I knew immediately that he was only a few years old. He let me declare my whole Binding to him, so I finally got to put all that memorization to use. He told me I was his first, but I’m skeptical of everything he tells me. I said I was honored. Ideally, a Master’s first should indeed be with an experienced Mistress, but this is rarely possible. Maybe I actually was his first. The way he is, I may never be sure.

He did okay with me and satisfied me well during his first opening of me. I appreciated his enthusiasm especially. I took extremely good care of him, based on his responses. I went partially deaf in one ear, but it will be repaired soon. I think he likes me. He kept screaming, “Mommy! Mommy!” throughout his whole pleasure, even up until he popped a nice big healthy embryo into me with a really satisfying stab for us both. It was so quick and energetic! I’ll have to teach him to slow down and enjoy it a little more.

Afterwards, he told me the “Mommy!” thing was because I’d actually given birth to him a few years ago, and it gave him a tickle to have this relationship with me, to put it in me from where he came out. If it is a joke, it’s an elaborate one, which I consider entirely possible given his nature. I’m really not sure if he’s being honest with me or just pulling my chain, the little pervert. That’s why I say he’s a rascal. With that sense of playfulness, he could certainly be the First Master’s progeny. I suppose they all are to some degree.

My name is Esme Harding, and I was the First Master's last Mistress.

(The end)
« Last Edit: December 22, 2020, 08:19:38 PM by Sweetums »