The Ecstasy of Silence
Joanne has always been loud in bed, either with lovers or even while alone. If she wants to push herself and her pleasure to even greater extremes though, the opossum knows exactly what she has to do. She has to make herself cum somewhere that she absolutely cannot let herself be caught, but where if she makes a single sound, she knows she will be.
This story contains F/Solo masturbation involving a consenting adult in a variety of risky public situations. :3
[center][b][u]The Ecstasy of Silence[/u][/b][/center]
Joanne knew she was loud in bed.
She'd had boyfriends and girlfriends who absolutely adored how vocal she was, some of whom had openly revelled in the fact that even their self-admittedly average performance could get such an intense reaction from her when they were together. The opossum had also encountered a few lovers, though those encounters had almost never resulted in a second night together, who found her [i]too[/i] loud. Too much. As though they were embarrassed by the way the woman shrieked and screeched and grunted her way through sex, like it was supposed to be some dignified and formal experience. But, Joanne would never apologise for the way she responded to sexual stimulation. It wouldn't have been right, it wouldn't have been honest for her to do so, because the opossum [i]loved[/i] the way her body reacted to sex. She loved that she was sensitive enough for even the most inexperienced and fumbling caresses of a partner's fingers or tongue to bring her to an intense and intoxicating orgasm, and she loved that she really, genuinely couldn't hold back her blissful exclamations when she was being stimulated.
Or, rather... she could [i]barely[/i] hold back.
Under relatively normal circumstances, she never did. Never tried. Never even thought about attempting to do so in the moment. If she was alone and masturbating, moaning was natural, not for anyone else's benefit but simply a side-effect of how good she was making herself feel. If she was with a lover, her cries were a natural, pleading encouragement for their actions to continue, and her screams the tangible and wholly instinctually uttered reward for their success. But, of course, there had been times in Joanne's life where she had been required to hold back. Times when for the sake not just of modesty or decorum, but to prevent any genuinely inappropriate or unwanted attention being drawn to her intimate activities, she really had [b]needed[/b] to keep quiet.
And it was under those very specific situations when the opossum had learned something about herself. Something [i]only[/i] she knew, and which her lovers both past and present, not to mention her dearest friends with whom she spoke about matters of their sex lives with what seemed to be total openness and freedom, could never have guessed in a million years about the shamelessly, notoriously vocal woman whose entire sex life was in many ways defined by her loudness.
When Joanne absolutely [b]had[/b] to be quiet, when making a single sound could give away what she was doing and open her up to humiliation, judgement or punishment from the ones capable of overhearing her, she came so, [i]so[/i] much harder.
The first handful of times she had experienced it had been spread out over several years. On one occasion, the summer before she was due to start college, the then eighteen year old opossum had been masturbating at home. She had always enjoyed playing music in her room while doing other things, and of course that near constant source of substantially loud audio had proved an ideal smoke-screen for her self-pleasure and the moans, the cries which even then, even with her parents in the same house, she hadn't been able to keep in check. On that warm summer night though, as the opossum lay back on her bed with the crotch of her loose fitted shorts tugged to one side and the first four or five inches of her pink tail stuffed inside herself, being worked like a dildo by both her other hands, the power had suddenly gone out. In doing so her music had, of course, abruptly ceased playing over her PC's speaker system, and in that instant, moments away from orgasm, Joanne had realised that if she screamed like she knew she was about to, her parents would hear. They'd hear, and they'd know [i]exactly[/i] what their eighteen year old girl was doing in her room.
The thought of that humiliation, of having to have a conversation about it, or even just knowing that her parents were more consciously aware of the fact she masturbated even if they didn't actively admit to having heard, had been more than the opossum could stand. Instinctively, desperately she had tried to stop masturbating before she came, and of course, the way her pleasure-wracked and hazy mind had decided to achieve that aim was by pulling her tail out of her pussy as hard and fast as possible.
As soon as the wet slap of her tail whipping out and hitting the bedding between her trembling legs had reached Joanne's ears, she had known how colossal a mistake that had been. She could feel the shockwaves from where its sudden removal had dragged the tip of her tail over her g-spot. She could feel the pleasure surging through her, washing over the already substantial bliss she had been building on for the last two or three minutes or so. It was too much. It was more than she could handle. She was going to cum. In fact, even as that thought crossed her mind, she realised that she already [b]was[/b] cumming.
How she hadn't screamed, she didn't know. Ever since then she truly hadn't understood how it was possible for her to restrain herself in such a way, given that under normal circumstances she was genuinely incapable of holding back if she knew she didn't have to, even if a lover had tried to shush or quiet her to even a minor degree. But somehow, her body and brain had agreed on the fact that she absolutely could [i]not[/i] let herself be heard in that instant, and thus with eyes bulging, thighs trembling and the glistening tip of her tail flicking rapidly from side to side upon her crumpled bedding, Joanne had cum. She had cum without her tail or her fingers or any external stimulation whatsoever as the climax wracked her body, and even as she did so in complete and utter silence, the opossum had known without a doubt that she had never, ever, [b]ever[/b] cum so hard in her entire life.
After that, there had been a handful of other occasions over the following couple of years. One of her housemates in her Freshman year college dorm apartment drunkenly rattling the bathroom door handle as Joanne was on the brink of orgasm in the shower at the end of her own night out. Her parents returning home from the airport early with Joanne's grandmother while she was back home for the summer before her sophomore year, interrupting the opossum as she tried to frantically make up for the fact that she probably wouldn't be able to masturbate at all for the next week given her more conservative elder relative's disdain for her choice and volume of music. Always occasions where she had already been masturbating in her normal manner, loud and unabashed, only to be forced into silence at the very last moment.
Joanne recognised how hot those experiences were, of course, and even though she knew she was already a fairly highly sexed person in terms of the frequency of her desire for physical intimacy and orgasmic satisfaction, whether with a partner or on her own, she had been unable to replicate orgasms like that through any other sort of stimulation or circumstance. She presumed it was more about the adrenaline, the risk and thrill of coming so close to being caught than anything else, and as such had basically resigned herself to the fact that orgasms like that were simply out of her reach, given how impossible and frankly ridiculous it would have been to try and [i]engineer[/i] such situations. Times where she was masturbating freely and normally, which was to say [i]loudly[/i], but with the potential and likelihood of being caught in her mind at all times. It wasn't feasible, and the opossum had accepted that.
During the middle of her junior year in college though, everything had changed for Joanne, all thanks to the worst lover she had ever had the misfortune of taking to bed with her.
He had been hot, even though Joanne couldn't even remember what species he had been, never mind his name. She had been a little drunk, though not as much as he was. They'd flirted, they'd kissed... he really had been a decent kisser. And, before the night was over, they'd headed back to the off campus apartment which Joanne shared with a couple of her closest friends.
The guy had talked a big game about how he could last a long time. How Joanne should blow him first so she didn't finish before him. He'd just laughed when the opossum tried to explain that she could cum multiple times so if he lasted longer, that was great, and encouraged her to suck his cock anyway, just for a little while. And to the guy's credit, he really had only gotten her to suck his cock for about a minute before he announced that he was ready. Then he'd climbed up on top of her, slipped his cock inside, and... Joanne could still see the look on his face, clear as the night she'd first witnessed it.
His inability to keep up the act any more. His total failure to remain cool and maintain his bravado in the fact of the obvious truth. He was a virgin who had never made it this far before, who had never actually gotten into the bedroom of a woman who was willing to let him go all the way with her on their very first night together. And once he felt the heat, the wetness, the quivering ripples of motion through the musculature of Joanne's loins wrapped around him, he realised that he shouldn't have gotten her to suck him first.
He came in her pussy less than fifteen seconds after the tip of his cock had first entered her, and had been so ashamed, so humiliated and yet unwilling to admit to his own mistake, that afterwards he just rolled over, scrunched his eyes tightly shut, and feigned sleep throughout Joanne patiently trying to reassure him that it was okay, that he could lick or finger her, or use one of her toys if he wanted to get her off anyway, until he [i]actually[/i] fell asleep and left the opossum awake, pissed off, and desperately horny. She had been expecting sex, and, quite frankly, she was receptive and easy enough to please that she was totally unused to finishing even the most bland bout of sex with a one-night stand without having at least one moderately strong orgasm.
Thus, she had done the only sensible, rational thing. She had reached down between her legs, ignoring the dribble of cum trickling out of her flushed but unsatisfied pussy, and started to touch herself.
Except... she couldn't moan. Something held her back. Something kept her from just gasping and crying out anyway and making her lover wake up and realise that she was having to satisfy herself because of what he had failed to do. She didn't know if she felt sorry for the guy and didn't want to embarrass him further, if she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing her experience pleasure that he had no hand in, or if she was worried deep down that he'd be offended and get pissed off at her, maybe even dangerous after being so humiliated by his own failure. Regardless of the reason though, she found herself touching herself, masturbating right beside the sleeping man without making a sound. Not just getting to indulge in those last few seconds of all consuming arousal before the explosive power of one of those rare, silent orgasms, but experiencing the same rush, the same thrill from the very first touches of her fingertips to her clit.
The only sound audible in the room over the next several minutes, aside from the male's deep, slow breathing and the muted yet shallow, rapid inhalations from Joanne, was the brief, intense drumming sound of liquid against bedding when less than four minutes later the opossum's eyes bulged, her toes curled down into veritable claws against the bedsheets, and her hips jerked wildly as a brief, fierce torrent of ejaculate erupted from her pussy. Even by the standards of those few and far between silent climaxes, Joanne knew without a doubt as it was happening that it was the most powerful and incredible orgasm of her life. She had never known pleasure like it. Never known pure, potent arousal like the sensation that had coursed through her from the very first moment of her masturbation, all leading to a climax that lived up to the promise of its build-up. What was even more incredible though, and in a way even more blissfully overwhelming than the orgasm itself, was the thought which crossed Joanne's mind after she'd cum, when she sank limply back down against the bedsheets and glanced over at the motionless, slightly curved back of the naked man right beside her.
She didn't have to wait to almost get caught in the act.
She didn't have to masturbate normally and hope, and pray, and wait for someone to approach and potentially catch her before suddenly forcing herself into silence at the last possible instant.
All she had to do was [i]start[/i] masturbating close enough to someone else she knew she couldn't allow to catch her, to hear her, and she could make those orgasms happen for herself again. And again. And again, whenever and however often she craved.
[center]*********[/center]
Her roommates were home. The three of them had been talking in the living room for a while, and the other two were still there now. Even if Joanne had turned the shower on, it still wouldn't have been enough to guarantee they wouldn't hear her. She was horny. She wanted to cum, but... she couldn't let them hear her. They'd already teased her mercilessly about the time they came home and heard her screaming to the woman she was currently dating during their first night together. Sure they meant well, and they were happy for her, but Joanne definitely couldn't handle the embarrassment of her friends realising that she could be just as loud and shameless when she was on her own, too.
On the opposite side of the bathroom door, Joanne peeled off her clothes as fast and as silently as she could. Her roommates would be waiting for her. She'd just excused herself to use the restroom. She hadn't even locked the door, and they knew it, because they would have heard the click. She could hear them. Not just murmurs but the full conversation they were having just metres away in the next room.
The opossum leaned back against the wall right beside the door. She rose up onto the tips of her toes, spread her legs apart, thighs already quivering and clit throbbing in anticipation, and with one hand pressed to her mouth to muffle her breathing, she began to saw a single fingertip back and forth over her clit in a sudden frenzy, not giving her body any time to adjust or prepare. She couldn't scream. She couldn't. It felt so fucking good but she absolutely [i]could not[/i] scream! Her eyes fluttered. Her tail began to curl around one of her legs, squeezing it tightly to keep itself from thrashing and thumping against the wall. She thrust her hips forward, her whole body weight resting on her shoulders against the wall and the very tips of her toes as she humped the air and the solitary digit that was a rapid blur of motion against her clitoris. Her body was on fire. Her throat was tight, sealed so desperately shut that she could barely breathe, never mind cry out.
Mere inches away from her left ear, a gentle yet firm knocking rang against the bathroom door.
"Hey Jo, we're gonna order pizza, think about what toppings you want, 'kay?"
Aiko didn't linger by the door, didn't wait for an answer. Joanne heard her stepping away again, but only the first couple of steps. After that the only thing she heard was the rush of blood in her own ears, and the sharp, hollow drumming of her pussy juice erupting violently against the linoleum flooring between her feet. She was cumming. She was [i]already[/i] cumming, even faster, even harder than normal. Her muzzle was wide open, and given the ringing in her ears there was an instant where Joanne thought she might have actually started screaming after all. But, there was no sound. No breath escaping her lungs with which to produce such sound. It was a truly silent scream, and she kept on screaming like that, wordless, soundless, still rubbing her twitching, pulsating clit, right up until her body simply couldn't keep cumming any more, and Joanne felt her legs give way beneath her as she sank into a quietly panting heap on the bathroom floor, her buttocks suddenly damp from the sizeable puddle of ejaculate she'd produced.
[center]*********[/center]
The college's oldest and most stately auditorium was packed for graduation, as in turn were the small number of bathrooms located throughout the building. In a locked cubicle, able to hear the click of heeled shoes on the tiled floor all around her, the shuffling of other women in the cubicles either side of hers, the rustle of toilet paper and the semi-frequent whirr of the electronic hand dryers, Joanne silently massaged her g-spot with the middle and index fingers of her left hand as she sat on the toilet, her flowing black graduation robe drawn up around her waist and clutched tight in her free, shaking hand. The ceremony started in less than five minutes. Her parents would be waiting for her. Her friends would surely all be in their seats at the side of the stage by now. She couldn't get caught. Couldn't make a fuss, couldn't give anyone a reason to suspect what she was doing in a way that might delay her return to the ceremony. She also couldn't risk her graduation gown getting a single drop of her arousal on it, and thus, she had to keep holding it, leaving no hand free to cover her mouth and provide her with an extra layer of risk-protection.
Her fingers rubbed faster as someone rattled the door of the cubicle beside hers testingly, and an impatient, frustrated voice from within called out that it was occupied. That they were all occupied if the doors were shut, obviously. Another voice, presumably the one responsible for testing the door, responded that sometimes the doors looked like they were closed even if there was no-one inside. The voice within the cubicle next to Joanne's own responded again, louder and more frustrated than before. They were arguing. Those two middle aged sounding women's voices were having an argument right next to her. So close that her face flushed an even deeper shade of red at the idea that they might be able to hear the oh so subtle wet sounds escaping between her legs, even though she was taking every precaution against that by just varying the pressure as she rubbed against her g-spot, rather than making any thrusting, back and forth motions.
The bathroom door swung open again, a burst of even more cacophonous sound erupting from the hallway beyond as someone else entered, commenting light-heartedly how busy the bathroom was, clearly unaware of the building tension from a couple of its current occupants.
A loud, brief splash of liquid against liquid, fluid pouring into a larger, more enclosed source of fluid echoed round the room. Then another, and another, and another as Joanne's hips twitched upon the toilet seat, and the intense rush of her squirting orgasm struck the water of the toilet bowl between her legs in brief, powerful bursts. If she had made even the slightest sound, the softest whimper, she was certain that at least someone in the room would have recognised those sounds for what they were. Not someone letting their bladder go, but juices of a very different nature erupting out for all to hear. Somehow though, Joanne didn't utter a single sound, and barely a minute later was hurriedly washing her hands at the bathroom sinks, truthfully not so much for hygiene, but to ensure that no-one noticed that one of her hands would have otherwise looked decidedly more damp and matted than the other, not to mention reeking of her recent orgasmic release.
[center]*********[/center]
In the kitchen of her apartment, with friends and her live-in girlfriend laughing and chatting as they celebrated Thanksgiving together on that October afternoon, the twenty eight year old opossum stood by the counter, just to one side of the sink, holding up the front of her light skirt underneath her apron as she rubbed frantically at the crotch of her panties. The door wasn't even closed. She was insane. She was out of her mind to be taking this risk. But, that meant she had to be quiet. Perfectly, completely quiet so as not only to draw no attention, but to make sure she could hear anyone approaching in time to drop her skirt and return to preparing plates and dishes for when the main body of dinner would soon be served. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with every burst of laughter. She heard someone say her name, not addressing her or calling out for her, but still enough to make her hand twitch away from her pussy instinctively, then race back again with even greater hunger another second or so later.
Her body shook as she began to cum. If someone walked in now, even if she stayed silent, they'd know. There was no way she could disguise the body language of an orgasm this colossally powerful. She felt her panties' crotch being soaked through. She prayed that the material wouldn't leak. That she wouldn't start dripping onto the floor or having her fluids run down the insides of her legs and visibly mat her fur. More laughter. So close, and so utterly unaware. Even her girlfriend had no idea after more than six months of living together and three times that as a couple, and though that perhaps should have made Joanne feel guilty, it just made her silently, secretly cum even harder.
[center]*********[/center]
In the distance, Joanne could hear the steady splash of water and murmur of voices from the pool itself. Closer, she could hear the shuffling of clothes being removed or put back on. The clunk of metal locker doors being opened and closed. The wet slap of bare footpaws against the hard, grip-textured stone floors of the changing area. She had been there for twenty minutes already. She had cum four times. Twice with her fingers, once with her tail, and once with the toy she'd dared herself to bring in her bag. She hadn't left the changing area's cubicle yet. She hadn't set a single toe into the pool or the showers, yet the towel laid out on the bench of her cubicle was soaked where it rested beneath her, and as Joanne stared greedily down at the base of the thick dildo sticking out of her pussy, the thirty year old's two-piece bottoms pulled to one side to grant it access, she knew it was going to get wetter still.
She really had intended to go swimming. The intention had been to masturbate afterwards as she changed back into her clothes. Just once, just because it was the kind of place perfect for her [i]needs[/i]. But now...
With the toy remaining hilted inside her, her pussy too soaking wet to move it all that much without making way too much noise, Joanne reached down with a shaky hand and peeled her already spread open pussy lips further apart to expose the nub of her clit at the very apex of her loins. With index and ring fingers holding the sweet spot exposed, she brought her middle finger to bear against the nub, and with her well filled, toy-stuffed pussy still leaking the residue of her last orgasm, the opossum began working herself silently towards number five.
[center]*********[/center]
Joanne liked the apartment. It wasn't the kind of place her ex-wife would have enjoyed. Too modern. But, the opossum liked it, and since she wasn't married any more, that was all that mattered.
Well, that... and...
The bathroom door handle rattled, though of course it was locked. Joanne heard someone murmur an apology from outside, but she didn't answer. Lying flat on her back in the bathroom of the open house she had attended on a whim despite really not looking for a place this fancy, the opossum craned her head back on the bundle of her clothes, muzzle wide open in silent rapture, and greedily stuffed another two inches of tail into herself. Her pussy began to gush, and was still spasming, still staining her tail, her fur and the floor beneath her with hot, fresh fluids as Joanne's pleasure-wracked mind fantasised idly about maybe putting an offer in on this place anyway. The apartment building had its own gym with its own shower block, and the idea of slipping down there every single morning to cum her brains out while other residents were close at hand...
Joanne may have been almost forty, and she had never been [i]that[/i] keen on Fitness with a capital F, but if anything could encourage her to attend a gym regularly, the idea of squirting her brains out in proximity to her neighbours was absolutely it.
[center]*********[/center]
Another group jogged past, huffing, wheezing, a few of the more fit individuals amongst them chatting between breaths.
The city park was still open to the public today, but almost everyone Joanne had seen was either there as a runner in the park's half-marathon, or someone watching and cheering on the runners. She had signed up with some of the other ladies from her apartment complex. Friends she'd known for over a decade, most of them fellow gym-goers like herself. They knew she was an independent spirit though. At least, that was the friendly term her friends had come up with to explain away the fact that every now and then, at the most seemingly random moments, Joanne would just disappear from whatever social event they were doing for five or ten minutes, before returning even more chipper and energetic than before. Because of that, she knew they wouldn't be worried about the fact they were no longer running together. They wouldn't ask anyone to look out for her, or to go and check out the part of the route where they'd last seen her; a small patch of woodland surrounding the path at the top of the park's modest but notable hill.
Thus, everyone she heard was running past on the path, and no-one had noticed her tucked away behind a large, broad trunked tree. A tree wide enough that she had taken note of it many a time, but which she had never dared to slip off the path and hide behind until today.
The fifty one year old shivered happily as she leaned back against the trunk and stuffed her hand down the front of the skin-tight runner's shorts she was wearing underneath a more casual and loose legged pair [i]appropriate[/i] for a woman of her middle-age. Her toes curled within her sneakers as she arched her back and thrust her hips slightly forward, and began to masturbate as more footsteps ran past just metres away, keeping her totally silent even in the thrall of her pleasure. As she rubbed herself firmly and greedily, humping against every stroke of her digits over her clit and the generally damp flesh of her pussy's neatly trimmed exterior, the opossum couldn't stop beaming. She didn't know why she was thinking about it so much today especially, but... she was really lucky. She had a good job. A really awesome apartment, even if it was more expensive and high end than she really needed. Good friends who actually understood her, at least as much as she let them. And, as she grew older, less expectation to try and date or get married again. Sure, she missed having someone to share her home. Someone she could hide from multiple times a day in the comfort of her own home and secretly, covertly cum without their knowledge. But she also knew that was why her relationships had never worked out, most notably her marriage. She knew she was the one at fault there. She was the one whose fetishistic desires required deception, or at the very least purposefully maintained ignorance, being a core element of any relationship she forged. After all, if they knew, she wouldn't have to hide it. And if she didn't have to hide what she did, what she [b]loved[/b] to do from the people she cared about... then she'd be able to moan, to cry out, to have them know she was cumming. And in the process of doing that, she would have no reason to be trying to cum on any of those occasions whatsoever.
So, she was single. Single, fifty one years old, and...
The opossum's eyes bulged. Her hips jerked, and her hand within her shorts froze as juices gushed over her digits. She wanted to keep rubbing, but she knew if she did she'd squirt so much that it would be impossible to hide. And even without continuing to stimulate herself through her orgasm, the climax was still far beyond anything she'd ever experienced during sex with another person, or any of the many shrill, screaming orgasms she also brought herself to each week.
Her smile widened into a goofy, bliss drunk grin.
She'd do anything to be able to keep cumming like this. And indeed, she had. For more than thirty years now the [i]only[/i] way Joanne had held back from her body's urges was in her lack of vocalisations when the situation required it. And if her luck held out and her pussy kept on craving that unparalleled pleasure on and on, Joanne would keep on living her life exactly the way she had, and hopefully spend [i]another[/i] thirty years indulging in the ecstasy of silence.
By Jeeves