NaMaMo: Day 22

As we enter the final week of NaMaMo, I want to give a wave (don’t worry — I washed first) to all those who are lurking but not posting. I know who you are, so you might as well post. 😛 Or, you can send me your post and I’ll post it anonymously (or under my own name, rather, with your psuedonym or whatever as credit).

Today’s optional prompt comes from MT: Have you ever been “caught” masturbating? Or “caught” someone masturbating? Tell that story.

Putting locks on your doors — or at the very least, handmade signs that say “Do Not Disturb Under Penalty of Catching Me With My Hands Down My Pants!”



About Shanna Germain

Writer. Editor. Game Designer. Leximaven. Geek.
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One Response to NaMaMo: Day 22

  1. Mat Twassel says:

    In real life, I don’t recall ever discovering anyone masturbating or being myself discovered, but, in a way, posting these stories feels almost tantamount to being caught.

    The Nature of the Chemical Bond
    By Mat Twassel

    Molly loved babysitting for the Joneses. Amelia and Ricky were little angels. After their bedtime stories they brushed their teeth and got in their jammies and went right off to bed. Molly checked them twice at ten minute intervals to make sure they were sleeping. In the three previous times Molly had babysat for the Jones’s, the children had slept soundly. Like little angels.

    Now it was time for Molly to play. What a little devil I am, Molly said to herself as she removed her tennis shoes and socklets, slipped off her jeans and panties and T- shirt. Molly loved the excitement and danger of masturbating in a stranger’s home. And what made it even more exciting: the Joneses weren’t strangers—they were neighbors. They said they probably wouldn’t be home until midnight, but you never knew. Last time they were almost twenty minutes early. The time before that they were an hour later than they said they’d be.

    Molly sat on the soft leather sofa. Oh, it felt so good on her bare skin. But she didn’t dare masturbate on the couch. What if she left a stain? Just thinking about it made Molly nervous. She could feel the moisture already gathering in her middle. She mustn’t drip on the Jones’s sofa. I’m so sensible, Molly said to herself as she looked around the living room.

    So where could she do it? Not the easy chair. Not the carpet. Aha, that little glass coffee table. It looked sturdy enough. “What a pretty table. Is it new?” she’d asked Mrs. Jones earlier in the evening upon first arriving. “No, we’ve had it since we were first married,” Mr. Jones answered for his wife, “but what with little kids running around…” Then Mrs. Jones said, “Now that our Amelia’s almost four…”

    Molly tested the table by pressing down on the glass with her hands. She put more and more of her weight on it. Yep, solid. Not a hint of a problem. She could probably dance up there. Molly chuckled. Wouldn’t Brad love to see that?

    Still, she sat gingerly. The table seemed to settle very slightly into the plush carpet. The cool glass felt good on her bare bottom, a nice contrast to the nubbly carpet on her bare feet. This is going to be so fun, Molly said to herself. She spread her legs.

    Looking down over the puff of dark hair to the glass tabletop, Molly could see her reflection. The top was just like a mirror. With her eyes, she explored her pussy. The little pink lips were already beginning to open. I’m so naughty, Molly thought. So wet and naughty.

    She was just about to touch the tip of her finger to the tip of her clitty, which was already peeking up out of its hood, when she remembered.

    She wasn’t allowed to touch her sex. That afternoon after school, she and Brad had made a pact. Not so much a pact as a bet. A contest. Sealed with: Promise to God and Mary and all the angels in heaven above, cross my heart and hope to die. Oh, this wasn’t fair! How was she going to come if she couldn’t touch her pussy? How was she going to win the contest with her boyfriend Brad?

    She squeezed her eyes tight, concentrating on the dilemma. God or Brad, God or Brad? Then it came to her. She might just be able to get herself off without touching her pussy.

    Molly’s nipples were very sensitive. That was one advantage of having small breasts, she secretly thought. Brad had said he didn’t mind that her breasts were the size of modest apples. I like being able to get them all in my mouth at once, he’d told her. Remembering the feel of Brad’s mouth surrounding her breast and the thrill his tongue trilling her nipple sent shivers through Molly, even before she’d taken her stiff nipple between thumb and forefinger.

    She squeezed.

    Oh, God, that felt good. The squeeze sent a fresh surge of pleasure straight to her cunny.

    She squeezed twice more, and the excitement was almost more than she could take. It took all her will power not to bring her other hand straight to her sex.

    She looked down into the mirror of the table. Her cunt was open now, moisture readily apparent around the mucous membrane of her virginity.

    Oh, God, Molly moaned. I have to. Her clitty was practically begging for it, standing up like puppy dog hoping for a treat. God won’t mind. He’ll understand. Yes, God might understand, but she knew Brad wouldn’t. She’d never hear the end of it.

    I have to be strong, she said to herself. I have to be good.

    But I can’t. I have to touch. I have to.

    But she didn’t.

    She went back to tweaking her nipples, using both hands. It was exciting, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Think sexy thoughts, she said to herself. Think naughty words. Think of how good it feels to come.

    She remembered after school in Brad’s car in the school parking lot. Brad’s fingers making her squirm. Brad’s tongue behind her ear. Then nipping her earlobe. I’m gonna suck you, he’d whispered, his finger riding the ridge of her clitty. I’m gonna suck you so hard and good. Brad’s words had made her whimper. Brad’s words and finger had made her come, right there in the school parking lot, where almost anyone could see if they happened to be walking by. But that was this afternoon. Now the memory of those words, of that nearly public orgasm, got her only to the edge and no further. “Oh, fuck!” she whispered. This afternoon she’d unzipped Brad and sucked him. He was so big. Such a nice smooth dick! Her first. He came in seconds, filling her mouth. She swallowed. It took a long time to get the last of it down. His taste stayed for a long time, too. She could almost taste it now, the thickness at the back of her throat. Oh, fuck.

    Her clit felt like it was on fire. One flick would do the trick. God wouldn’t mind. One tiny touch. No, she couldn’t. Gotta be strong. Hope to die. All the angels in heaven. Fuck.

    “See you tonight,” Brad had said.

    “Can’t. Have to babysit.”

    “Shit, that’s right. Where’s my head at?”

    “On the end of your penis,” Molly had teased him. “You gonna be able to make it one night without me?”

    “No sweat,” he’d said.

    “Bet you can’t,” she’d said. “Bet you can’t get through one evening without me touching your sweet little dickie bird.”

    “I can,” Brad had insisted. “Anyways, I got to study for Hanratty’s chem test.”

    “Hanratty’s a dick,” Molly had said, patting Brad’s penis, stiffening him up again. Then she’d unzipped him and given him just one little goodbye kiss. “Don’t be lonely, my little dickie bird,” she’d said. “And don’t let that bad boy touch you.”

    “You can’t leave me like this,” Brad had said.

    Molly smiled.

    “If I can’t touch my dick, you can’t touch your cunt.”

    “You think I’d masturbate while babysitting?”

    “I don’t know, would you?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Okay, do it, but you can’t touch yourself.”


    So the bet was made. The contest was on. First one to come wins, but no direct hands on. “I’m gonna want proof,” Brad had said. “Pictures.”

    “I’m gonna want proof, too.”

    Some of her goo had dripped down to the table. Good thing she hadn’t stayed on the couch. Molly pinched her nipples. She poked her bellybutton. If only my bellybutton were my cunt.

    Then it came to her. Maybe… Maybe if she touched her asshole. She knew she was sensitive there. But wasn’t that too naughty?

    Cautiously, from behind, Molly slipped her hand under her bottom. My tight little teenage ass, she said to herself, her finger already seeking the hole. There! Oh! Yes, it did feel good. Good and naughty. She’d done this in the shower at home a couple of times, daring to put her middle finger in not quite to the first knuckle. Oh, shit, it felt so good it made her want to touch her clitoris even more. She squeezed her asshole against her middle finger. Squeezed and squeezed. She pinched her nipple, timing the pinch to the squeeze. She pushed her finger further, imagining it was Brad’s fat cock forcing its way into her asshole. Oh, he was so big. He’d never fit. Never. But the idea of it was so hot. His cock impaling her. Her cunt open, little lips fluttering like butterfly wings, girl goo oozing up and out and down onto the table. Oh, fuck, she said, surging into a searingly sharp orgasm, her asshole clenching her finger on its own, as spasm after spasm of pleasure shot through her, leaving her limp, unable to sit, unable to stand, paralyzed, unable, it seemed, to do anything.

    Whew! What seemed like hours later, she managed to get to her feet. A small puddle of sex juice lay on the table top a few inches from the edge. Quick, she thought, I’ve got to hurry now. The Joneses could be home any minute.

    She fished her cell phone from her purse and photographed the wet spot. Then, using her forefinger, she drew the sex-drool into the shape of a heart. She photographed her artwork, too, and then photographed herself pretending to taste her fingertip. She sent all three photos to Brad.

    The winner and still champ, she said to herself, smiling her victory smile. She aimed the camera phone between her legs and snapped that, too, but she didn’t have time to send it to Brad. A car was coming up the driveway. Oh no! Hurriedly, she grabbed at her clothes. No time for panties, no time for socks—she stuffed these into her purse and managed to get into her T-shirt and jeans and shoes just as the Joneses stepped into the house.

    “Everything okay?” Mrs. Jones asked.

    “Just fine,” Molly said, only slightly out of breath. “They were perfect angels.”

    “That’s good,” said Mrs. Jones, with Molly almost out the door.

    “Wait,” said Mr. Jones. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

    “Uh,” said Molly, blushing, trying to think.

    “Your pay!” Mr. Jones exclaimed. He had the bills out of his wallet.

    “Oh, right,” said Molly. She reached out to take the money, but realizing that was the hand she’d had in her bottom, she quickly pulled it back and awkwardly offered the other hand. “Thanks,” she said.

    “We could use you next Friday, too, if you’re free,” Mrs. Jones said.

    “Uh, probably, sure,” Molly said, having stuffed the bills into her pocket. “Thanks.” And she was out the door.


    Greta Jones looked at her husband. “Did Molly look a little red to you? I hope she doesn’t have a fever. My, she was in a rush.”

    “Kids these days,” Don Jones started to say. He was interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone.

    Greta and Don looked at each other. It wasn’t a ring they were familiar with.

    Don located the cell phone on the floor next to the couch. He picked it up. “Molly must have forgotten it.”

    “You should answer it,” Greta said. “It’s probably Molly calling to see if we have it.”

    Don flipped open the phone. He looked at it.

    “Who is it?” Greta asked. “Is it Molly?”

    “I don’t know,” Don said. “It looks like a picture. A picture of a … Well, you look.”

    Greta and Don studied the image on the cell phone screen.

    “Is that what I think it is?” Greta said.

    “I think so,” Don said.

    “It’s certainly big, isn’t it? But, whose is it?”

    Don shrugged. “Whoever it is, it looks like he’s about to…”

    Don and Greta looked at each other. Greta was biting her bottom lip. The cell phone buzzed in Don’s hand.

    “Another one,” Don said.

    “Oh, my!” Greta said, looking at the new picture. “So much stuff!”

    “Wait, there’s a message, too,” Don said.

    “Read it.”

    “I’m not sure if I can. It’s written in textese.” He handed the phone to Greta. “Maybe you can translate.”

    She read:

    We should call it a tie. I think we came at the same time but I had to get cleaned up first before I could send my pix. Boy is professor Hanratty going to be surprised if he tries to read page 269. I think those carboxyls or whatever they’re called look like your cunt. Just teasing, but I was imagining they were while I rubbed myself inside the book. No hands is frustrating. I imagined it was your lips kissing me there. Your tongue tickling my slit. I put the book back on Hanratty’s bookshelf. I should get extra credit for hiding out in school all afternoon and half the night. I nearly died when the janitor came into the room, but he just flicked off the light and left. Your pix were so hot. I wish I could have been under that glass table while you were doing it. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. I can’t wait to taste you! Call me when you get home.

    “Holy shit,” Greta said. “Can that be our sweet little Molly?”

    “Maybe it was sent by mistake,” Don said. “A wrong number.”

    “I don’t know,” Greta said, strolling over to the glass-topped coffee table. “Look at this. What does this look like to you?”

    Don squinted. “A valentine?”

    Greta touched the moisture. She brought her fingertip to her nose.

    “Well?” Don said.

    Greta touched Don’s lip with her fingertip.

    “I don’t believe it,” Don said.

    “Maybe her pictures are still in the camera. I mean the phone,” Greta said.

    “Should we look?” Don asked.

    “We should,” Greta said. “That’s the only way we’ll know for sure it wasn’t a wrong number.”

    Greta and Don located the three photographs Molly had sent. “I don’t believe it,” Greta said. “Our sweet little Molly.”

    “Look at this one,” Don said, showing Greta the photo Molly hadn’t sent, the one of her sex. “She looks pretty grown up to me.”

    “Actually, she’s still a virgin,” Greta said.

    “She is? How can you tell?”

    “I looked at myself in the mirror often enough when I was Molly’s age. See the membrane—the hymen?”

    “Oh,” said Don. “I wish I could have…”

    “So what shall we do about Molly?” Greta interrupted. “About her cell phone?”

    “I don’t know,” Don said. “I suppose we could just put it back under the couch. I’m sure she’ll realize she left it here, and tomorrow morning…”

    “But she’ll know we looked at her mail. She’ll know we saw the pictures.”

    “Oh, right,” Don said. “Could we just delete them?”

    “That won’t work. She’ll talk to her boyfriend and know. Or suppose she gets her phone and doesn’t know he’d sent her those pictures? That could cause her problems.”


    “No matter what happens, the poor girl is going to be so embarrassed,” Greta said.

    “We’re going to be embarrassed, too, for snooping. I don’t know if I can face her again.”

    Greta nodded. “But despite this, I feel she’s a good babysitter. The kids love her. I’d hate to lose her. Good babysitters are impossible to get. Especially on Friday nights.”

    “So what do we do?” Don asked.

    “I have an idea,” Greta said. “Do you know how this camera works?”

    A few minutes later, Greta was sitting on the table, her thighs open, straddling the valentine. Her fingers moved rapidly, knowingly. Soon her syrup flowed down into the heart of the valentine. Don, lying on his back, his head beneath the glass-topped table, snapped pictures of everything.


    The moment she got to her bedroom, Molly dug into her purse for her cell phone. She was smiling, thinking of Brad looking at her pictures. But the phone wasn’t there. She pulled out her socks, her panties, everything, but she knew it was hopeless. A sinking feeling overwhelmed her tummy. She knew she must have left her phone in the living room next door. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she whispered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

    She went outside, a flashlight in hand, to check the route, but she knew it was unlikely her phone had fallen out of her purse. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure that, in the rush and confusion of the last moments, she hadn’t put the cell phone in into her purse. Nevertheless, she went back and forth between her house and the Jones’s house three times. Just knock on the door and tell them you forgot your phone, she told herself, but for some reason she couldn’t make herself do it. What if they had opened the phone? What if they had seen the pictures? Shit, shit, shit!

    Molly went back up to her room and texted Brad via her computer. “Whatever you do don’t call me,” she typed.

    “Huh?” Brad wrote back.

    “I lost my cell phone. It’s next door. I’m in deep trouble.”

    “I love your pix,” Brad texted. “You’re so hot!”

    “Didn’t you hear what I said?” Molly replied. “I don’t have my phone.”

    “Oh,” Brad said. “Did you get my pictures?”

    “No,” wrote Molly.

    “Oh, shit.”

    “You mean you already sent something?”

    “A few minutes ago.”

    “Come over right away. We have to figure out what to do.”

    Minutes later, Molly was sitting in Brad’s car, which was parked down the block from Molly’s house.

    “What do we do?” Brad said.

    “After their lights go off, we go get my phone.”

    “Can’t we just knock on their door now while they’re still up?”


    “Why not?”

    “Because I can’t face them. Maybe they haven’t discovered it.”

    “But how are we going to break in?”

    “We don’t need to break in. I have their emergency key. We just wait till their lights go off and then we wait another ten minutes, and then we go in.”

    “Molly, this sounds crazy.”

    “I know, but it’s the only way. And I’ve brought a flashlight. Good thinking, huh?”

    “Better thinking would have been not to leave your cell phone there in the first place.”


    It was almost one-thirty when Molly unlocked the Jones’s door and she and Brad tiptoed into the living room. Molly shone the flashlight under the sofa, on the sofa, and everywhere else in the living room. No phone.

    “Shit,” she mouthed to Brad.

    “So this is the little table where you did it,” Brad whispered. “You were so hot!”

    “Shit,” Molly hissed. “Now we’re really in trouble.”


    “The coffee table. I drew a heart in my stuff, remember.”

    “Yeah. So?”

    “So it’s not there. They cleaned up. That means they know.”

    “God. What do we do now?”

    “Only one thing to do. Take their kids.”


    “Their kids. Rickie and Amelia. Amelia’s only three; she’s the lightest so I’ll take her. Rickie is five, but you can carry him easy.”

    “Carry him where?”

    “Out to your car. Follow me. And be quiet.”


    Don and Greta were fast asleep when the phone rang—Molly’s phone, which was on the night table by Don’s side of the bed. It took Don a moment to figure out what was going on, and by that time the ringing had stopped. But then it started again.

    “Hello?” he said.

    “Who’s that?” Greta said, sitting up in bed beside Don.

    “Who’s this?” Don said.

    “A friend,” said a male voice. “We’ve got your kids, but don’t worry, they’re fine. All you need to do is give us back Molly’s—I mean the cell phone, and everything will be fine.”

    “Huh?” said Don.

    “Who is it?” Greta said. “What’s going on?”

    “Is this Brad?” Don said.

    “Yeah,” said the voice. “Hi.”


    “Did you see my—um, the pictures?”

    “Yes,” Don said. “Very handsome.”

    “You think so?”

    “My wife thinks so, too. You’re a lucky guy. Now what’s this about our kids?”

    “We have them,” Brad said.

    “Well, bring them back,” Don said. “Bring them back right away and you can have your phone. I mean Molly’s phone.”

    “Right,” Brad said. “But there’s one more thing.”


    “There’s a book at the high school. You have to go get it.”

    “Is this the book in the picture?”


    “Why can’t you get it?”

    “The phone and the book, one for each kid.”

    “That’s silly. I’m supposed to break into the high school at whatever time this is in the night and steal a book?”

    “There’s a window open on the southeast corner. It’s hidden by hedges. From there you just go up to the second floor. Room 219. The book is on the bookcase behind Hanratty’s desk. It’s the only one on top, Professor Hanratty’s pride and joy. Better get started—it’s getting close to dawn.”

    “And why do you need this book?”

    “DNA,” Brad said. “After you get the book, call me, and we’ll tell you where we can do the exchange.”

    “You kids are crazy,” Don said.

    “I know,” Brad said. “Sorry. Don’t forget to take a flashlight.” And he hung up.


    Just as Brad had said, the window was open. Don boosted Greta in, then climbed in after her. “This is so stupid,” Greta whispered as they walked through the hall. “I still think we should call the police.”

    Don shook his head. “That way everyone gets into trouble. Brad sounds like a nice boy. We know Molly is trustworthy.”

    “We do?”

    “I’m sure Rickie and Amelia are fine.”

    “They better be fine,” Greta said.

    “When you called back didn’t they sound fine?”

    “They sounded sleepy and confused. You’re sure they weren’t drugged?”

    “Let’s just get the book,” Don said. “I’m sure they weren’t drugged. Here’s 219 now.”

    Sure enough, the book was on the bookshelf behind the teacher’s desk.

    “How do you know it’s the right one?” Greta asked.

    “It right where he said it would be.” Don leafed through the book. “And look, these pages are stuck together.”

    “I can’t believe he did it with a book,” Greta said. She chuckled.

    “It is pretty stupid,” Don said. “Here, hold the flashlight.”

    With Greta holding the flashlight, Don unzipped himself and cradled his penis in the opened book. “How do I compare?” he asked. He started sliding the book back and forth.

    “Don, I can’t believe you’re doing that.” She was biting her bottom lip.

    “Virgin pages,” Don said. “It makes you hot, doesn’t it?”

    “A little bit.”

    “Haven’t you ever wanted to do it in a forbidden place?”

    “Like in school?”

    “In school or church… or a neighbor’s house?”

    “Are you going to come in the book?”

    “I’d rather come in you.”

    “Me, too,” Greta said. She switched off the flashlight. Her hands went to her zipper. “But what if someone comes? What will we tell them?”

    Don hoisted Greta onto Hanratty’s desk and stepped between her legs. “We’ll tell them we’re studying chemistry,” he said.

    “Yeah, booking,” Greta said. “Oh, yes, book me, Don. Book me harder.”


    At the twenty-four-hour pancake house, Greta hugged her children. Don handed the book to Brad and the cell phone to Molly.

    “Molly taken us to watch a sunrise,” Amelia said.

    “Did you like it, honey?” Greta said.

    Amelia nodded. Rickie nodded too.

    “That’s an autographed edition,” Don said to Brad. “I think the guy won a Nobel Prize or something. It might be worth quite a lot.”

    “Hanratty’s a dick,” Brad said. “I mean…”

    “I know what you mean,” Don said. “I’ve had some teachers like that.”

    “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Jones,” Molly said. “I know I acted crazy. But you know I’d never harm your kids. It’s just Brad and I are so…”

    “I know,” said Greta. “We erased the pictures on your cell phone, but not because we think you should be ashamed of yourselves. One thing, though… if you and Brad decide to have sex, make sure it’s safe, okay?”

    Molly nodded solemnly.

    “Now who’s up for pancakes? My treat,” Don said.

    “Me, me, me,” Amelia said.

    “Yeah, I could really use some pancakes,” Brad agreed.


    After the breakfast, Brad and Molly said goodbye to the Joneses, and Brad helped Molly into his car. “That was good,” he said. “You have nice neighbors.”

    “Let’s not go home right away,” Molly said.

    “How come?”

    “Well, for one thing, I’m not wearing any panties.”

    “You’re not?”

    “Wouldn’t it be a shame to waste that?”

    “You mean…?”

    “Uh-huh. I think it’s time we made love. My cunny is so hungry for your cummy.”

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