Hello everyone, due to [various motorcycle accidents] this is a rushed post and technically from yesterday. I’ll catch up, don’t worry. I wanted to have like, a post saying what’s going on here and everything – and I will, but that’ll have to be tomorrow (at which point I’ll probably edit this bit out)
Suffice to say for now that the wonderful Cori Catchthorne has decided to host/prompt/egg (said with the utmost of both love and respect because y’all it is *terrifying* to ask people to do a thing you want to do. Seriously.) folks into joining in on a writing-based interpretation of the posted Kinktober list (which I’ll add into a post tomorrow maybe).
(I’m telling myself this is fine because probably nobody’ll read this bit XD)
So! With that pre-amble taken care of, continue reading if you are interested in some spicy, smutty, and/or sexy writing!
Today the choices were: Masturbation, Orgasm Control, and Incest. I…have a passage that hits two of those with one stone, kind of? Masturbation, definitely, and kinda Incest as well. Sort of.
Herein follows a small excerpt from a 1.5 million (so far) word collection of stories that I’m writing for my wife, about a party her TTRPG character threw told from the POV of every attending guest. In this excerpt, Martina – a half-elven Chosen Priestess of Bezzal, the Princess of Hell – masturbates in preparation for having sex with another guest (Father Oreilla, a Priest of Bellerrel – the Goddess of Passion amongst other things – who Martina already knows and is intimate with) and, while she does, we get a flashback to her learning about masturbation in the Temple of Bellerrel. She learns from a High Priestess, Cailluria, who is Martina’s mother (although Martina has grown up almost entirely in her father’s custody).
This story is set in Arellan, a fantasy world. The elves might have had you guessing as much.
Scroll on to read. Stop scrolling if that blurb doesn’t make it sound like fun – or don’t, I guess? I hereby wash my hands of it.
Martina sighed as she pressed two curved fingers deep into herself, having devoted more than enough practice to know what her limits were and when she was better served by teasing herself, when it was a necessity, when it was an option, and given that she wanted to finish herself before Father Oreilla finished his doughnut, she easily and swiftly and thoughtlessly weighed up the options and chose her path.
“Oh Goddess-” Martina’s voice caught in her throat as her fingers slid easily in and out of her slick hole, her free hand clutching at her hair as she let her body writhe the way it so often wanted to, and given that she was alone, she let her voice join in – occasionally it had to be restrained, and like with her body, sometimes it was fun to be restrained.
Sometimes, though, it was fun to let it out.
“Fucking Bezzal Bellerrell Goddess and Deviless both holy shit,” Martina gushed vocally, feeling a knot in her chest dissolve as her thighs drove her hips higher, and she listened to their feedback easily, and despite the frequency and repetition of it, masturbation never seemed to lose its sheer delight to her.
For more than a decade, it had probably been her primary entertainment, in fact, ever since learning about it at – of course – the hall of Bellerrel.
“Pleasure is important, and can mean ten thousand different things,” Cailluria explained in her typical smooth, soft voice. “Part of our task at the Temple is to help explain these to you, to support you in exploring them as you desire, and to further support you in undertaking them throughout your life. Pleasure is passion.”
“Passion is pleasure,” Martina murmured in rote reply with a soft smile. She had been surprised when her father had agreed to actually let her attend a few services and sermons – and part of it was probably because she’d talked about wanting to broaden her horizons generally and had asked to take part in services at all the Gods’ Temples throughout the District, and he’d hastily agreed and lightly chastised himself for not having directed her to do so sooner.
He himself only really came with her to the Alcaarian services. He said he found Criallto’s community speeches to be excessively loud, Kel’Ki’s tempestuous overtures overly dramatic, Brayyva’s interludes of spirit and dream and death and shadow needlessly confusing, and he’d laughed at the concept of attending anything to Priyahzha because in his words they’d failed to do anything to help Martina during her birth and didn’t deserve much worship from him as a result. He’d attended one or two at Ostellial’s hall, but had staunchly refused to attend Bellerrel’s for reasons he hadn’t seen fit to explain.
“You’ll understand when you’re older, but… you’re young yet,” he’d insisted, and Martina always had hated that.
Especially since he just kept saying it, and it left her grumpily wondering when she would be older, because he kept saying she was too old for stuff but then turning around and dropping that on her.
Too old to be playing make-believe, but not old enough to understand. Too old to have her friends over for playdates, but not old enough to understand. Too old to be daydreaming, but not old enough to understand.
It just felt to her like he was saying she was too old to have fun, but not old enough to be trusted, and she hated it – and she was eighteen, anyway, which was old enough for plenty. Her grandmother had her first child at fifteen.
Martina had been a little bit embarrassed to admit to one of the Priestesses in the confessional booth after a service once that she hadn’t even touched herself eighteen. She’d thought that the Priestess would chastise or mock her for not being mature enough, for being childish, for something, but she hadn’t.
She’d just accepted it, and asked some questions, and arranged for Martina to have an introductory lesson.
“It’s common practice for a parent to be involved with things such as this, to ensure that nothing inappropriate occurs,” Cailluria had explained, “as well as at least one Priest or Priestess – but more can attend if you wish, if it would make you feel more comfortable.”
Martina wasn’t really sure what comfortable felt like. She didn’t think she was uncomfortable with any of it, as she thought about it. It felt like normal, it felt normal. “I mean, you’re both a parent and a Priestess, so…”
Cailluria had fixed her with a hesitant smile, and explained that having at least one other person was standard practice – to ensure that the learner’s inexperience wasn’t leveraged. In the names of openness and transparency; the same reason the doors in the Bellerrellan cloisters didn’t have locks on them.It had felt normal. It wasn’t as if her door at home had a lock on it anyway, and there were regularly people she didn’t know in the house – and strangers every time she went to the bath house, and whatever else, so Martina had said that the normal situation sounded fine to her, because that was what you did when you lacked any other context. Said that whatever was normal was fine.
“Now, you would have the option in this instance I suppose,” Cailluria murmured, “of learning from myself or whoever else you choose; it’s common for newcomers to learn from the highest-ranked clergy they can, so I could arrange for one of the other Highs to join us, we’ve three in town at the moment.”
“I think I’d rather learn from you,” Martina had shrugged with a soft giggle. “I mean, if it- like, it’s hard for me to think of someone else I’m more comfortable with, you know?”
She’d blurted a laugh as Cailluria wrapped her up in a tight hug, one which expelled the laugh at even greater speeds, and then had continued to giggle as Cailluria dashed off in search of someone else to help.
Martina was glad that it was Hayward who was sitting in with them, because there were a few Priests and Priestesses who she’d gotten to know a decent amount through her visits, at this Temple or others – Hayward frequented Criallto’s hall as well, and was very kind.
“By the way, I’d love to learn some more um, braids from you sometime?” She smiled softly to the burly dwarf sitting in a chair off to the side. “If that’s okay?”
He nodded with a slight chuckle of a laugh, and Martina returned her attention to Cailluria again.
“Specifically, today’s exploration – I find that a kinder term than lesson,” Cailluria interjected herself, “because it eliminates some implications of schoolyard headmistresses, blackboards, high desks and punitive slaps on the wrist.”
“Not to say those don’t have their place,” Hayward muttered, and Martina nodded, because they certainly did.
The way that Hayward and Cailluria chuckled and giggled over the comment, though, made her think there was something she was missing about it, and that was a little unfortunate. It heated her cheeks and made her feel like a child at their parent’s table missing half the conversation, but it did also make her realize, however, that she liked the difference in phrasing.
Lesson made it feel like something she was lacking, something she needed to be taught; made it feel like she was an uneducated child who had to be lectured. Exploration, on the other hand, was just finding things out.
“Apologies,” Cailluria dipped her head in a nod with a soft smile on her dark lips. “As I was saying – today’s exploration, primarily, will be about self-love, self-pleasure, the passion of solitude; masturbation. It has many names, and ten times as many euphemisms – but, they are not of any vital importance. What you call it is entirely your own decision, as well as whether you partake in it frequently, occasionally, or even at all.”
“Would-” Martina swallowed, her eyes darting briefly to Hayward as she momentarily filled with concern over asking a stupid question, which she was far less concerned about with Cailluria alone, but she’d built up trust for the Temple overall, over the years. Specifically some for Hayward as well, and for his gentle smile buried below the thick moustache and beard all of which he braided together into his hair to hang down his chest.
“Would you really be much of a Bellerrellan if you didn’t, though?” Martina took a swift breath, trying to calm her thumping heart as she let out a laugh. “I mean- I guess maybe not with m-um, with- masturbation,” she wanted to scowl at herself with how much she’d stammered over the word but didn’t pause to do so, “but like… some kind of passion, right? Like some kind of sex… type… thing?”
Hayward and Cailluria both shook their heads, and Cailluria explained that sex wasn’t intrinsic to the Temple, nor to love.
“Passion can be anything,” she gestured broadly in a wide sweep with both hands. “Anything in the world, or everything if you wish; many within the temple partake in sexual activities, yes, but far from all. There are many who do not – there are those who partake in relationships, even, but without sex; loving as fully and deeply as any other, but lacking that particular – or even sometimes any and all – physical aspect.”
Martina’s brow wrinkled in confusion as Cailluria continued.
“These aspects are just that, aspects, dearling,” she nodded, “and you may take any one or many of them at any moment in your life, and you may choose to leave the same. Your own journey of passion and love will lead you through many things in your life, through many changes. You are all but guaranteed to find what you like, what you love, and how you like and love those things, changing over time, rising and falling like the tides. None of these are wrong. There is no wrong way to love, so long as the love is true. If you love the touch of your hand upon yourself, then love it; if you do not, then don’t.” Cailluria shrugged with a single soft laugh. “If it is different the next day, then it is different. It is as simple as that.”
“I-” Martina shook her head softly, sitting back in her chair; Cailluria sat on the bed in front of her, a very comfortable and informal setting for a lesson. Or an exploration, as the case was.
She shrugged, slightly uncomfortably, but communication was one of the first things explored and practiced within the Bellerrel Temple, because of how intrinsically foundational it was considered to be to nearly every other aspect of love or passion. From the playwrights who needed to know how words felt so they could spread them across the page like painters with their colours, to the lawyers who needed to know exactly what each word meant so they could arrange them like a bricklayer building a sturdy wall, to simply parents and children who held each other in their hearts, communication was considered absolutely and vitally key.
It slightly worried Martina about what that meant for her relationship with her father, given that she didn’t exactly feel like they did communicate very well.
Or, sometimes, at all.
“I didn’t even think about that,” Martina murmured, trusting in communication; trusting in love, the love of the Lady and Her Temple, to not betray her and get mad over hearing something. “I- I never considered the idea of being like… I don’t know, sexless but- loving and passionate, like, for a person? I mean I thought about it for like, a job or a hobby or something, but-” she shrugged softly, “I… guess it’s not that different?”
Hayward chuckled softly as Cailluria nodded with a smile. “Precisely, dearling, very similar!”
“And well-done even considering passion that broadly at your extent,” Hayward pointed out, and Cailluria nodded firmly, raising her hands for a polite, light clap of one hand’s fingers against the other one’s palm, and Martina felt her cheeks warm as she blushed under the appreciation.It wasn’t bad, though.
“And if at any point – even during today’s exploration – you change your opinion, please do say so.” Cailluria dipped her head, softly solemn. “Listen to your heart-”
“-speak your heart,” Martina cut her off with the second half of the phrase, grinning and softly rolling her eyes. “See? I listen when you say things.”
Cailluria laughed lightly, and then began to explain, beginning with words and graduating from there. She spoke of how to identify feelings of arousal, or sexual frustration – how they differed from person to person but could include things like heat in the centre of the body, muscular tension or jittering or even soreness if it went on too long, headaches or lightheadedness, and various other symptoms.
“I find I feel it in my jaw first,” Caillura explained, stroking at her own jawline with a fingertip. “Tension carried there naturally, I think – and if I sit for any extended duration with it, I will find my thighs shivering.”
“I think I might’ve felt that a couple of times,” Martina murmured, jotting down notes in the pamphlet she’d been handed. It had a few lists and diagrams in the front – such as a list of colloquialisms for masturbation in case she wanted to discuss it outside of the Temple – and then several blank pages at the back for notes, if needed.
Cailluria then carried on to slightly more practical demonstrations, disrobing and outlining various sensitive places on her body as well as how they were sensitive. Areas which were receptive to warmth, to cold, to soft caresses or firmer smacks, to pinches or grasping or tickling gentle touches or whatever else.
“These vary from both species to species, and individual to individual,” Cailluria explained, “due to various circumstances, but they are known loosely as erogenous zones; those areas which bring, or contribute to, pleasure and passion. Some are quite common, some less so – there is research material listed in your pamphlet if you wish to know more specifics.”
Martina stared briefly at the list of other books and texts she could obtain to learn more. The ‘erogenous zones’ heading had nine different titles listed. “I had no idea you could write so much about just- bits that feel good when you touch them?”
Cailluria giggled softly, shaking her head, red hair tossing loosely around her brown shoulders – and contrary to the seemingly common idea that elves never displaced a hair, Cailluria’s stuck to her skin askew just like anyone else’s.
However, it did seem to be the case that while elves might get messy, regardless of how messy they were, they still ended up looking gorgeous. As if every stray hair, every bruise or errant smear of whatever, was in fact completely deliberate and somehow only served to accentuate the remainder of the whole. She’d seen Cailluria dirty, sweaty, snotty and sobbing and ill – even bloodied, her nose broken if only briefly after slipping on a wet stone in the rose garden.
Regardless, Cailluria always looked beautiful, as did every other elf Martina had seen, and as one of the primary peoples in Labsallidas, that was a decently large number. It had been explained to her briefly as a sort of magic, but not exactly magic, that flowed in their blood.
It made her wonder if maybe it applied a little bit to her as well.
“Dearling, those nine-” Cailluria caught her words for another brief, light laugh, but it didn’t sound derisive or dismissive at all, only joyous. “Those are only introductory titles; Szaffrem Tcha’s omnibus on the subject – considered one of the better lone sources – itself entails seventeen primary volumes each substantially thicker than any of those listed, plus an additional supplement of ephemera. But,” she stressed softly, no doubt seeing the flickers of overwhelmedness in Martina’s face, “there are very few or perhaps even none who can profess to actually having this level of knowledge. Even the aforementioned omnibus begins with Szaffrem Tcha’s admission that they themselves did not truly remember or know all of the information within the work: hence, the requirement for the work itself.”
“Oh,” Martina nodded, but didn’t really know what to do with that all. It felt like she’d been briefly dropped into a raging ocean before being pulled out and told she didn’t need to swim, but that didn’t leave her really knowing what she did need to do.
Cailluria seemed to know, though. She always seemed to know, and Martina saw the soft, slightly apologetic smile across Cailluria’s lips before she stood from the bed, stepped forward, and laid a hand on Martina’s knee.
“The important thing right now is simply learning what you like,” Cailluria emphasized with a gentle shake of her head and a squeeze of Martina’s knee. “The rest can come later, in time, if you wish it to; truly, the references are provided only for interest… why don’t we set the papers aside for a moment? We can always return to them later, if you wish.”
“That- yeah,” Martina sighed softly, not knowing how tense she was about things until she set the pamphlet off to the side and felt an immediate relief as she laid her pencil on top of it and sat back with her hands in her lap. Having a paper and something to write with in hand made her feel like she should be writing; having words before her made her feel like she should be reading, and neither reading nor writing were the reason she was there.
“Many of the areas which are sensitive to any given thing are sensitive to another,” Cailluria explained with a soft smile. “Those which most feel heat, or pain, or whatever else, are likely places to explore for pleasure as well – with a lighter touch, often. Your body and mine differ, so I cannot say with perfect confidence what will feel good for you – nobody can, save for yourself.”
“Right.” Martina nodded. “You’re an elf, and stuff.”
“Yes,” Cailluria dipped her head, “but not only that; for instance, the vertical centreline of the body is quite sensitive and a common location for gentle touches and delight. Either the spine, on the back, or the centre of the chest down through the belly and bellybutton…”
As she spoke, Cailluria trailed a finger down from her breastbone, and within a second or two had started to traverse the thick, bumpy scar which ran down her belly. Shaped not unlike a capital T, it spread out underneath Cailluria’s ribs and ran right down the middle of her, and as her fingertip traced its vertical component, there was no belly button at all to be found.
It was a remnant of Martina’s own birth, she knew. She hadn’t emerged easily, knotted up inside her mother, and the clergy at the Priyahzha Temple had been unable to help with it. Luckily, Gurt’s mother Uhra had been there at the time, and on top of being a butcher, had been a keeper of livestock before moving to the city. She’d encountered difficult births with cattle, goats, horses and the like – and in her own words, “elves aren’t built so different”.
It had meant a living baby, and a living mother – the Temple clergy easily able to heal Cailluria after the operation, but healing magic was not perfect and not without limit. It could not restore the flesh which had been removed, which had been not insubstantial in its quantity, and left Cailluria with no womb and a thick scar.
Apparently, even still, some effects lingered.
“The scar is substantially numbed,” Cailluria explained plainly in a way that didn’t suggest at all that she harboured any ill feelings about it, any regrets. She didn’t sound like she considered it a loss, or at least not one she had any real remorse over.
Anymore.
Martina had heard that that hadn’t always been the case.
“That… makes sense,” Martina murmured, one of her hands rising from her lap with an idea in mind to find her own belly and trace a similar line to test for herself, but she forced it back down into her lap – for a moment, before Cailluria laughed it off lightly and told her she should feel free to explore as she wished.
It was the point, after all.
Martina held her breath for no particular reason other than focus as she slipped a hand up under the front of her shirt and trailed a finger down from where her ribs met, over her belly and over her belly button and down until it met the fabric of her pants, and she paid close attention to how it made her feel. The tickle of her skin, the shift and squirm of her guts underneath the finger’s travel, the slight shiver left in its wake.
“That’s nice,” she murmured softly, as a reflex more than anything else.
Cailluria smiled, wide and full. “Good! Self-experimentation will be vital for your explorations in this matter; take your time, go slowly, do not rush.”
Then she stood from the bed, and began to pull her dress back on again. A word fell from Martina’s mouth without her really meaning it to; “wait-”
Martina bit her lips together and shut her eyes, kicking herself mentally, because she didn’t want to seem ungrateful and that’s what she was being. She should’ve just taken what she was given and been grateful, rather than always asking for more. She’d certainly heard that plenty enough from her father, it just hadn’t quite sunk through, and a gentle worry filled her as she slowly let her eyes slide open and rise to Cailluria’s face, which she was sure would be frowning.
It sort of was, but it looked more curious than upset. Cailluria paused, one red eyebrow raised. “Dearling? What is it?”
Martina opened her mouth, but no words came out at first, just a small croak of a sound that made her cheeks burn a little before she finally managed to speak, forcibly reminding herself of trust. Of communication. “I-I just- um, I’m sorry. I don’t want to be ungrateful or anything, but I- I was sort of hoping for maybe… I mean I know you’re really busy and stuff so maybe it doesn’t need to be you I guess, but I was hoping for maybe something more like… direct? Like, more um, explicit, I guess, like- I don’t um- don’t really know what- or how I would like, touch, you know,” she looked down toward her lap firmly. “Sorry.”
“Oh, no, of course,” Cailluria leaned over, patting her lightly on the shoulder and pressing a kiss to Martina’s forehead as if it didn’t matter at all, as if there was no concern and no cause for worry in the slightest. “Of course you would not know how to – and yes, we will have a more explicit demonstration, right now, if that is alright with you?”
Martina blinked firmly, looking up in confusion. “W-I um, yeah, yeah that would- yeah that would be alright, it’s kinda what I was thinking- um, but, okay, so, why are you getting your clothes on, then?”
Cailluria shook her head gently, with a soft smile. “Because I often begin with them on, and I suspect you will as well.”
“I think I know how to get undressed,” Martina muttered, and Hayward blurted a laugh in the corner.
“Well, I would imagine so,” Cailluria laughed, shaking her head. “As a matter of fact I do know this to be true, dearling, but there is a difference between the perfunctory act of simply removing one’s clothing, and the more arousing and enticing prospects which can arise from undressing oneself, and I thought to illustrate as much.”
“I-” Martina started to protest, and then paused, tipping her head to the side. “I- I knew that was a thing with other people, with partners. I’d never… thought about it being involved with just yourself, but- but,” she tipped her head to the other side, “you did talk about it as being self-love, and so I guess… that makes sense.”
Cailluria nodded with an especially wide smile as she slipped her dress back up onto her shoulders, nodding perhaps as emphatically as Martina had ever seen. “Yes, yes precisely! Dearling – very well done, you are exactly correct, and a great many people ignore this aspect of masturbation. Yes, there may be times,” she dipped her head in concession, “when one may find oneself pent-up and in need of release and relief, when one’s primary concern might be swiftly stuffing a few fingers into oneself and simply relaxing that pressure – but,” she stressed, “there are other aspects to it as well, other purposes, or can be. As with any branch of sex, any branch of passion or love; a love of words might mean poetry, it might mean riddles, or stories, or law – they are all equal and equally passionate, but if one amongst them is needed, it is unlikely that any other could be substituted for it. Poetry in a contract would be likely a poor choice. The same is true of masturbation, that it is not one action alone but a whole genre of activity as broad and deep and vague and particular as the whole world might be. I, personally, find it best to begin with slower introductions.”
Martina nodded, leaning forward in her chair, hands on her knees with intent focus; Cailluria went as far as to step over to the door, so as to mime coming home after a long day from work, stepping dramatically away from the closed door in a way that had Hayward clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle laughter.
“I often begin with myself, as I would with any lover,” Cailluria murmured softly, raising a hand toward her face, “with a kiss.” She flourished her hand briefly, drawing attention to the skin on the undersides of her fingers; “the palm, the underside of the fingers, quite sensitive,” she pressed them to her mouth, taking a deep breath and slowly sighing it out as she gave her hand several kisses, trailing from palm up to fingertip and then out along the side of her index finger.
Martina kept her eyes dedicated to the demonstration but slowly reached a hand up to her own mouth and – when given an encouraging nod by Cailluria – kissed at her own palm as well. It was nice, not as nice as being kissed by Gurt or somebody else who wasn’t herself, but definitely nicer than she’d thought it would be.Her hand followed in Cailluria’s example, trailing fingers back to caress at her cheek, stroke back along her jawbone, trickle down her neck toward her collarbone and then return up to trace at the outer rim of her ear, and she had much less ear than Cailluria did and seemed to shiver less than Cailluria did when tracing it, but it was still nice, it was still pleasant. It still made her skin tingle and raise up in little goosebumps, still made her breath draw a little faster and a little shallower, still made her heart speed up a bit.
“These actions have many purposes,” Cailluria explained, tracing her fingers along where fabric met skin, running them along her hems in anticipation of undressing instead of just shucking everything off quickly and throwing it into a pile in the corner as Martina was most practiced at doing.
“They remind us that we are loved,” Cailluria sighed, “by ourselves, and this is good. They remind us that we have our own self, our own attention, our own touch to rely on – they support our heart and soul as much as they please our body.”
“They um, are kind of unexpectedly pleasing- pleasant, I mean,” Martina muttered swiftly under her breath as she ran a fingertip almost nervously between her waistband and her belly, and it made her shiver and nearly lurch.
“Both, I should think,” Hayward chuckled.
“They also help us explore what we like,” Cailluria smiled, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair and briefly caught at it, pulling gently and craning her neck back. “So we can remember it for next time, or can communicate it to lovers, as we choose. And additionally, when it comes to self-pleasure and masturbation, they cause various effects throughout the body. Heart rate increases, blood warms and thins-”
“Goosebumps,” Martina added with a nod, and Cailluria nodded in agreement with a laugh.
“Indeed! For those capable of as much, at least. Heat builds within the body as well, and tension,” Cailluria sighed softly, gesturing with her hand toward her chest and then down toward her belly and groin. “As well as which, it serves to cause a very important wetness, a lubrication, for those whose genitals match ours.”
“Yeah, I’ve- um,” Martina nodded, “I’ve noticed that a few times, and I remember learning about that elsewhere. And it makes penises hard, right?”
“Usually,” Cailluria nodded, and carried on with her demonstration, not rushing but neither wasting time as she undressed herself not like a woman disrobing to get changed, but as if her hands belonged to some other lover – caressing and teasingly touching as they slid the straps of her dress off of her shoulders, encouraged the garment down tracing the subtle curves of her sides, pausing in some places to briefly grasp or squeeze.
Martina followed along, not exactly and precisely but using the demonstration as a guideline. She was differently shaped, for starters, and differently dressed as well, and would’ve been hard-pressed to follow the same motions exactly, but she also found that some things just felt a little bit better a little bit differently. She let her hands wander slightly, paying them and their effects attention as she removed her shirt, her skirt, her bra, her panties – not swiftly or hurriedly, but thoughtfully, considerately, and it felt very nice.It carried on in the same fashion, explanation and demonstration and exploration, gradual and gentle; Cailluria reiterated anatomy that Martina already knew but was glad to have refreshed, rubbing her whole hand gently over the lips of her vulva and shivering as she slowly stroked a fingertip over her clitoris for the first time, letting out a soft noise when she carefully slid a slick finger into herself, taking her time as she had with everything else.
Cailluria went through various basic techniques, and positions; different motions and actions that could be undertaken, rubbing at her clitoris circularly and in a line either vertical or side-to-side, teasing at her nipples with her other hand, showing how repositioning her hand and doing things like hooking a knee up over her elbow could grant it different angles, different opportunities, different prospects. How curving and curling her fingers could probe at sensitive areas within herself, and Martina followed along with interest and rising tension.
Cailluria spoke of the Lady’s Embrace, as it was sometimes called – orgasm, coming, getting off; a list of alternate terms was provided in the pamphlet. She explained some of the common symptoms, muscular jerks or twitches, vocal expulsions, sensations of heat or brightness, shivering, shaking, rushing sounds in the ears and bright flashes in the vision during or afterward, ringing noises; it varied from person to person, and often from orgasm to orgasm, Cailluria explained, and there was much more that it could entail as well.
Martina tried to find a balance between trying to attend to and memorize every little detail, and trying to let the larger picture soak into her, but that had always been a bit of a strong point of hers. She seemed more capable than most of picking up one from the other, of using them to reinforce each other, and of paying attention to more than one thing at a time.
“I’d like to try to,” Martina sighed, a slightly rough shiver running up her spine. “If- I mean, I think I’m understanding correctly, and it feels like- like I’m maybe heading that way? Based on what you’ve described?”
Cailluria smiled and nodded, taking direction on the comment easily and shifting from demonstration to support; guiding and coaxing Martina, suggesting one thing or another. Try moving your hand a bit to the side, try stroking at your body, try letting out a noise.
Martina found she liked much of it, and it was clearly not Cailluria’s first time helping someone figure it out – and Cailluria’s seeming ability to read people’s states certainly held true, as most of her suggestions caused Martina’s sensations to sharpen and redouble. She moaned to herself, cautiously deployed a few breathy swears and found she very much liked how it made her heart leap, and within a few minutes her hips were bucking in her chair as she rubbed at her clitoris with one hand and curled a finger inside herself with her other.
“G-Goddess Bellerrell yes please, f-shit,” Martina moaned loudly, “Oh Goddess! Yes! Fuck!”
She slid partway out of her chair with the forcefulness of her shuddering, her feet smacking against the floor as her thighs jerked roughly and wildly, her head driving back into the chair – as she groaned loudly and her shuddering shifted to shivering instead, she noticed that Hayward had jumped out of his chair to catch her if she happened to fall all the way out of hers.
“And afterward,” Cailluria nodded with a sigh, “it can be very good – if you have the time – to spend a few moments in your own afterglow, caressing and stroking still.” She raised one hand to run fingers through her hair, while the other returned to her side to stroke lovingly over her own ribs.
“W-wait um,” Martina cleared her throat, “aren’t you- are you going to um, have an orgasm? It’s- you talked about it relieving tension and stuff, and-”
“Oh, I did, dearling,” Cailluria laughed lightly.
“May have just not heard over yourself,” Hayward chuckled slyly from the side.
“Oh! Oh, I um- sorry,” Martina dipped her head.
“Don’t apologize dearling, it’s a good thing,” Cailluria assured her. “You were being yourself, letting your body and your heart guide your actions; do not apologize for not reigning yourself in. This can come in time, with practice, if you wish it to. Your passion is a blessing from the Lady, most certainly!”
“I think I really like this blessing,” Martina sighed, shivering slightly as she stroked at her sides and giggled softly at the way her fingers raised goosebumps over her ribs, and both Hayward and Cailluria joined her in giggling.
There was maybe no other lesson that Martina had practiced more thoroughly. She’d mastered masturbation, in her own estimation, in many of its million forms – slow self-teasing edging sessions that left her dripping and raw-throated in their aftermath, gradual caressing tender self-loves that brought her shivering smoothly rather than sharply shuddering through a few orgasms in a row, quick short perfunctory pressure reliefs where her practiced fingers took the most direct path to peak pleasure, amorous shared explorations with friends or lovers old or new where her actions were as important as theirs or sometimes even directed by them instead.
She’d spent a great deal of time and focus on it over the course of twenty years, and had become very skilled at it indeed.
“Goddess fucking Bezzal Godsdamnit and Devilsbless fucking fuck me- NNNGH!” Martina drove her shoulders hard back into the bed, her chin pressing down firmly against her chest before launching her head into the pillow, her hips bucking as she twisted twin fingers deep within her wet hole, squealing briefly as a spray flew from her and sprinkled across the bedspread.
Martina collapsed limply to the bed, her thighs shuddering as she panted. She felt the shivering aftershocks spread through her, felt the sharp-edgedness of them begin to fade, and giggled as she began to finger herself again with much less dedicated drive.
It was probably only another twenty or thirty seconds before Father Oreilla stepped around the corner with a smile on his lips, and he paused for a moment, not startled or shocked but simply appreciative, standing and staring softly as his smile spread across his lips.
“Hi there,” Martina gasped, clutching at a breast with one hand as she picked up her pace with her other hand, plunging her fingers more swiftly into herself as he watched. “Have a good doughnut?”
“Quite delicious,” he grinned, his sharper teeth showing clearly as he raised an eyebrow. “And yourself?”
Martina hummed a bubbling laugh as she nodded, losing half her breath to a heavy and half-involuntary sigh. “Might have another one here in a second, yeah – want to join me?”
“Very much so,” Oreilla chuckled, his voice calmingly and thrillingly deep – as Martina knew he himself was about to be – and it made a shiver tremble through her as she wriggled against the bed.
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