It seems silly saying so now, but I was nervous about the seeding. I guess we all were, except for Rosemary. They tell you all sorts of things, girls getting hurt, girls dying. I guess they do that to make sure you've exercised and ready. It's a lot of work, you know, getting ready.
We all made preparations and did the exercises. I had my sister help. She'd had her seeding three years ago, and she showed me just how to position my mound to maximize the length of the shaft thrust and how to coax my partner to issue the most potent fertilizer.
You know, the seed has to be injected into the receiving canal with enough force to drive it through the channel and up into the breeding pocket so it'll root and cultivate. Usually there's a membrane that blocks entrance into the channel, and you have to clear it before you can be fertilized.
So every night I'd separate my fur pelt to expose the cleft atop my mound, and my sister would prod me with the mock shaft to induce lubrication. At first I wasn't getting the shaft wet enough, and I'd end up sore. She kept working me, though, until I could totally saturate the cleft, and then we worked on getting past the blockage.
For a while, she wouldn't push hard enough to get it through, but I told her it had to be done, so one night, after rubbing up and down within the folds of my mound, making me moist and open, she took the dart in both hands and stabbed it sharply into the furrow. I screamed from the pain, but the blockage gave way, and the dart was burried deep within me.
I was so sore, I couldn't bear to do any more exercises, but my sister reminded me that I had to work on my lubrication, or the seeding would be just as painful. I hadn't completely healed, but I continued the exercises, and soon my sister was able to repeatedly plunge the shaft so deeply into me that the mound swallowed it up completely.
All that work paid off, and I certainly couldn't have done it without my sister's help. The seeding went superbly. My partner's bulb sac was tight and full when we began, his shaft penetrated quickly and easily and he thrust the seed forcefully through the passage. I could actually feel the seed course up and sink into my breeding pocket. I'll give birth in about a month, and from the arch of my belly, it'll be a robust heir.
What has always amazed me is that Rosemary did it all alone! We all knew she had a natural ability. She was able to lubricate spontaneously. She was internally motivated, and it's hard to compete with that.
She took the seeding quite seriously. She practiced every night. She was better than any of us at lubricating. She took great pride in her pelt and groomed it meticulously. It was covered with the thickist, darkest growth of fur I've ever seen. She was always comely, but in the last year, she bloomed. Her hips were wide and full and likely to bear a substantial yield. Her breasts had blossomed and were ready for suckling. Her rump had even filled out, so there was plenty of cushion. She was ripe for seeding, and she was eager to have it done.
I was so surprised when my partner withdrew and I looked over to Rosemary and saw she was still coupled. We all know why now. It was a show, wasn't it? The elders told us that, even though she finished last, Rosemary would deliver first.
It turned out to be Melanie. That was sad about Melanie, wasn't it?
I always knew that the seeding would be the most rewarding and rapturous act of my life, so I never understood why "finishing last" was supposed to ba a bad thing. I can see why the others would, though. It takes a lot of effort to open and widen the furrow so the seed deposit would quickly take root. It really did the trick for Eleanor. She was efficently impregnated, and now her pocket's full. No doubt her child will be sound and healthy.
You see, I expected my seeding to take longer, although not as long as it turned out to be. They told us that the seed shoots out of the breeder's shaft after he's stimulated it enough. That's why he jabs it in and out of you, and that's why you have to break the membrane block and learn to keep yourself just wet enough so the shaft gets just the right tightness. They told us to practice, and gave us mock shafts to do exercises with. They were huge! I never thought I could get all of that thing in me, and I wasn't alone. The shafts scared all of us to death, but they told us we really could get them inside of us. All we needed to do was practice.
Then they told us that our partner's shaft might not be the same size. It might be longer or shorter, thinner or thicker. It occured to me then that the idea of practicing with a shaft didn't make a log of sense. If you've made yourself used to one size, your lubrication might be all wrong when the real thing is inside you. I decided then that I wasn't going to break my membrane, but let my partner do it on the day of the seeding, and concentrate on controling my lubrication.
Most people didn't believe me when I told them that I wasn't going to penetrate my mound crevice in any of my exercises. They were sure that the seed wouldn't take root and sprout. Oh, at the beginning, I used the mock shaft and stroked it across the length of the furrow. The first time I touched the shaft to my mound, I became so excited that I flooded the cleve, but with practice I was able to moisten just the tip of the shaft, even though I held it tightly within the folds of my mound, with no discomfort. I found a knob just inside, near the top of my furrow, and when I caressed it my fluids would gush.
I found that when I rubbed the shaft against the knob a warmth that flared down into me. The more I'd rub, the deeper the flame would spread and my cleft would overflow with moisture. I'd rub harder and faster and the fire would burn hotter and brighter and then the fire would explode up my spine in waves flashing through my entire being. My body would shudder and spasm, my breathing would stop; all I was aware of was the blazing wildfire within me. When the waves subsided, my entire pelt would be drenched with my fluids.
I began to wonder what it would feel like with a seed shaft within me. I began to imagine that the fires I'd ignited could only be fully quenched with the shaft buried inside me. I began to crave the shaft. The temptation to shove the mock shaft through the membrane and into me became overwhelming. I stopped practicing with it altogether, and decided to concentrate on the knob. I used the fire to control my secretions. Eventually, I could lubricate simply by imagining the shaft within me.
When the day of the seeding arrived, I really thought I was ready. My heart was pounding when I was led to my seeding bed. I was told to make my preparations. I groomed my pelt, parting the fur to expose my cleft. In anticipation, the furrow was already damp. I dipped my fingers into the folds to moisten them and then I brushed and feathered my pelt, sprinkling the strands with a fine dew. The moisture caught the light and cast the mound in glistening velvet. I moistened my breasts, massaging them to blush and blossom the nipples. I laid down upon the blanketed ground, resting on my elbows, pulling them back to make my breasts jut up and out. I spread my legs far apart and raised my knees and hips so my mound was tipped invitingly upward, and I waited.
When the breeder arrived, he immediately knelt between my legs. He fixed his eyes on my breasts, then slowly lowered them to the soft curves of my mound and stared intently into the furrrow. My eyes were rivited on the immense column of flesh jutting out of the dense, matted thicket of fur below his belly. It quivered and pulsed as if impatient to plunge into me. It was quite a bit longer and thicker than I'd expected, and as I watched it swelled even larger. At its base on both sides I could see the bulbs expanding, tightening the sac, swelling up with the seed he would plant in my breeding pocket to root and ripen inside me. My body shuddered, my furrow flooded and I fought for control.
He leaned forward over me, supporting himself with his arms, placing a hand on either side of me on the bed between my arms and breasts. His face was just above mine, and I stared into his eyes. He smiled, but said nothing, and looked down between us, his breath blowing warm through the valley between my breasts.
His pushed his hips forward, his legs rubbing roughly against the inside of my thighs, pushing my legs farther apart. My body jerked as the shaft prodded me, then slid down the length of my cleve, coming to rest under me between my buttocks. His belly pressed against my mound, the rough fir of his pelt bristling the cleft, then he pulled back, arched his back, and pushed forward again. Thsi time the shaft slid upwards, coming to rest pressed tight between my belly and his. I felt it pulse there, smooth and hard, before he again pulled back. I looked down and I saw it suspended from him, aimed at the furrow between my legs.
He slowly pushed his hips at me a third time, and the shaft caught the cleve, nestling it's head into the mound at the top of the cleft. He then sharply hammered himself at me to force the column into the hollow to divide the furrow and invade the canal. Even tho I'd steeled myself for the onslaught I knew was about to come. I was stunned by the ferocity of the thrust, and a cry escaped my lips.
He'd wedged the shaft deeper into my cleft, but he hadn't penetrated. He seemed puzzled at first, surprised that I'd not ruptured the membrane. He quickly realized that the barrier was still intact, and he'd have to break through before any of his seed would be plunged into my pouch.
.... There is more of this story ...