Tales of the Seeding

                             Eleanor

     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 fir 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, tho,
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?

                             Rosemary

     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 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.

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 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.

     The head of the shaft had buried itself snugly within the
furrow. He withdrew a bit, then began to thrust the shaft
shallowly up and down the length of the crevice.  As he reached
the end of the trench, he'd tip the head, jabbing it down and in.
Each time the shaft would drive itself a bit deeper into the
slit, each time the shank would stroke the knob at the top of the
divide and each time I'd shiver, making myself wetter. Eventually
I could feel the fluids flowing out of me and down onto my
bottom.  Suddenly, I understood:  he was stimulating me to be at
wet as I could before he made the final thrust to full
penetration. At the moment I realized that, he tilted his shaft
straight down and gave it a massive thrust, driving it through
the membrane, and suddenly he was lodged deep within me.

     I cried out, not from pain, but from the overwelming
sensation having him in me!  The sudden invading fullness of him
within me, filling me, aroused in me a passion I'd never known. I
gulped air, my heart raced, and my legs involuntarily drew up and
wrapped around his, pulling him closer to me and sinking his
shaft deeper into me, which caused me to cry out again.   My
entire body was in a state of excitement, awash in new hungers
and sensations.

     I reached up around him and pulled him down to me.  I
flattened my breasts against his chest, grinding my nipples into
his thick fur.  I buried my face into the hollow of his neck, and
ran my hands down his back to his hindquarters and pressed him
deeper into me.  The shaft pulsed within me, and my back arched,
digging my nipples deeper into his chest.

     His hips pulled back and the shaft slowly withdrew, leaving
only the head in the folds, and then he again thrust forward.  I
drew my hips up to meet his thrust and the shaft again sank deep
into me, rubbing hard against the swollen knob at the top of the
channel, shooting sparks of fire through me.  Again he withdrew,
again he drove the shaft into me, again I drove myself up to
swallow him up into me.  Again and again, deeper and deeper the
shaft burned into me, his bulb sac pounding against my buttocks.
I burned with the need to have him in me.  I ached to pull him
into me.  I sank my nails into his back.  I pressed my moaning
lips into his neck and tried to suck him into me.  I pulled him
in with my legs, my arms; I needed to engulf him whole.

     He reached under me, threw my legs over his sholders and
rolled me up, back arched and my mound high, then he grabbed my
shoulders and pulled me up to him as he stabbed down into me.  My
arms gripped his back as his piercings came faster and stronger,
his hips hammering down, driving the shaft again and again into
me.  My body tensed with the inferno building in me, and then it
erupted in waves of fire and ice, blazing up into my very
essence.  I spasmed uncontrolably, clutching the shaft tightly
within me, and my breath became a scream.

     At the same moment, his breathing became short and strained,
his body taut, his pounding frantic and urgent.  His brow
knitted, his teeth clenched, and he began to grunt.  The shaft
began to expand and quiver.  Howling sharply, he spiked the
pulsating shaft deep into me.  His seed bulbs, pressed hard
against my bottom, pulsed and contracted, and the shaft throbbed
violently as it pumped surge after surge of his seed into me,
driving it up through the canal and impregnating it deep into the
walls of my breeding pocket.

     As he continued to spasm into me, I knew his seed had taken
root and a child was growing inside me.  I gasped for breath as
the fever again overwhelmed me.  The relentless pounding and
gushing within me ignited the spark anew, and again my body
thrashed and flailed against the pumping shaft inside of me.  My
hips flung themselves up, grinding my mound into his dripping
pelt as the waves of ecstasy whipped through me, filling me and
satiating me.

      As the waves crested, the breeder sank to my breast,
drained and gasping.  His weight fell full upon me as he held me
in a tight embrace.  We lay there intertwined, breathless and
spent, glistening and slick with sweat, his shaft still rigid and
quivering within me.  Suddenly his hips jerked.  Mine twitched in
response, and his shaft spasmed, causing my passage to contract.
His hips heaved again, and I rose to meet the thrust.  He thrust
again, and again my mound crushed into him.  Again he thrust. And
again.

     Astonishingly, his strength miraculously revived, he raised
himself to force himself deeply into me, to stab into me again
and again.  The shock of the renewed attack rekindled the spark
instantaneoulsy.  Rolling balls of flame again blazed through my
entire being and I cried out again and again.  The intensity of
his onslaught soared.  He stressed each blow with a loud grunt,
hammering burtally into me with a seething fury far greater than
before.  I was consumed by his ferocity, my body in ceaseless
spasm, my hips thrashing wildly to meet his frenzied assault. His
grunts grew into bellows and then into a howling roar as his
shaft suddenly shuddered and pulsated and erupted again, pumping
more of his seed into me, filling me to overflowing with his
essense.  Our cries rose as one as we clung to each other,
ravaged by the maelstrom within us.

     As the turmoil within me finally peaked and ebbed, he again
fell into my arms.  I held him tightly to my breast, drained and
dazed.  I began to lose awareness, falling into a deep sleep,
with him still rigid and twitching deep inside me.  When I awoke,
I was alone, and when I rose from the seeding bed I felt the warm
remains of his seed flow out of me and spill onto my thighs.

     My seeding caused a lot of excitement.  It's quite unusual
that a breeder is so aroused that he issues twice.  Only the
elders could recall it happening to anyone before me.  They said
that it used to happen more often before it became the custom to
break the blocking membrane before the seeding.  There's a lot of
anticipation surrounding my childbirth.  Some who are to begin
their preparations for seeding are hoping it will be generous.  I
guess they're considering keeping their membranes intact.

     The interesting thing is that they say you've got to
concentrate on your lubrication, but I didn't.  I completely lost
track of what I was supposed to do and got caught up in my
feelings.  They say I've been blessed and favored for being
twice-seeded.  I hope they're right; I'll know when I drop.  Some
said I was sure to have gone into labor first, too.  Melanie did,
but then, we know the reason for that.

                              Marnie

     My evacuation had finally agreed after my first birthing, so
I was at the river with the rest.  The young ones, especially the
ones who are ready to seed, can't help wanting to talk about the
ceremony and the exercises.  They always ask questions.  The
exercises always begin right after the the middle flow, so the
ready ones are starting to get nervous.

     One of us mentioned that the it would soon be time for the
ready ones to begin their exercises, which brought on a new burst
of questions and comments.  We always warn them that the mack
shafts may be cold but not to wait too long to break their
membranes, no matter how umcomfortable it is.  Melanie asked why
the breeders couldn't help them with the exercises.  She didn't
see why she couldn't practice with a real seed shaft instead of a
mock one. We laughed and called her silly.  I guess the poor
thing didn't understand.

     Rosemary pretty much dominated the conversations during the
last flow.  She kept going on about the spot she found, and how
she was adamantly refusing to break her barrier before the
seeding.  Even though we had to agree that she could lubricate
better than any of us, we warned her that she could end up
barren.  She wouldn't listen; she'd just describe the 'fire' that
she said she felt.  A few tried to rub themselves to see if they
could feel it, too, but those that did started feeling sick so
they stopped and called Rosemary crazy.  Only Eleanor and Melanie
seemed to give any merit to what Rosemary was doing.

     If Eleanor hadn't already ruptured her membrane, I think
Rosemary wwould have talked her into keeping it intact.  She
certainly worked at trying to feel the 'fire' that Rosemary was
talking about.  She finally gave up on it just before the
seeding.  Eleanor always was pretty gullable.

     Melanie didn't take part in any of the discussions.  She
stayed to herself, but every time Rosemary would make her
assertions, Melanie would nod her head, seemingly in agreement.
She seemed much more withdrawn than during the previous flow, and
someone said as much to her.  She said she was just unsettled
about the seeding, but she was looking forward to it.  As she
mentioned it, her nipples hardened and that's when I noticed how
they'd grown since the last flow.  Then I noticed how light her
evacuation was that time and I remembered how late she was in
coming down to the river.  It was a silly thought; the notion was
unthinkable.  How could it happen?  Still, the thought gnawed at
me.

(End part one.  Continues.)

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