Inspecting Cindy's Hymenbyredtoad©
Author’s Note: A Literotica reader who had a rural upbringing and was a virgin bride herself supplied me with the plot for this story. Readers who are interested may wish to refer to her earlier story “Cai Xia’s Secret Longing” under the incest category.
My name is Cindy Tock. I have been happily married to my classmate Jim Wang for the last four years and I am the mother of a bouncy one year-old boy. We live in a luxurious home located next to the bungalow of Jim’s parents, Mil and Fil Wang. For most couples, having a baby is the normal consequence of marriage. In my case, it was the most important achievement of my married life. I would like to share with readers of Literotica my story. The first part of my story deals with events that happened prior to the tying of my nuptial knot. Of course, for the protection of the family, all names used in this story and important places have been changed to ensure anonymity.
I was a typical village girl who grew up in a small kampong some 10 miles from our state capital Ipoh. I had my primary education in a local school before moving on to a secondary school on the outskirts of Ipoh. My parents owned a small provision store supplying groceries to the local villagers and to workers of the palm oil estates fringing the village. I have two married sisters who are respectively ten and twelve years older them me. My mother, Bee, was 30 when she gave birth to me and I was the youngest child in the family.
My mother, Bee, was a village beauty when she married my father, Bin, at the age of 18. She was medium built standing at 5 feet 7 inches and weighed about 110 pounds. She carried a pair of 32B boobs on her slender frame. My father ten years older than Mum, was two inches taller, and weighed about 150 pounds.
When I was seven and about to enter school, I began to take an interest in my surroundings. Village life was simple and monotonous, but to a bubbly youngster like me, there was never a dull moment, as I spent a lot of time playing with neighborhood kids of the same age. I could often hear neighbors speaking enviously as they commented on my parent’s looks. Indeed, I began to notice that the ladies seemed to want my father to serve them when they came into the shop while most men would prefer to be served by my mother.
My best friend in school was a girl, Lynn Long, who was nine months older than me. She was plump and short like me and came from a wealthy family. She was an only child. Both her parents were short with ordinary looks. Her father, Pit Long, stood barely 5 feet tall and weighed perhaps 100 pounds. He had a face pock-marked by pimple scars from youth. However given his social standing, nobody ever commented that he was ugly. Her mother, Sin, was of the same height; weight around 130 pounds and well endowed with an oversized rump and a pair of 32D boobs. Pit was a trader dealing in local commodities and his family lived in a modern brick house about 400 meters from my parents’ shop. My parents bought some of their supplies from him and they seemed to be good friends.
As time passed, Lynn and I became inseparable. We were perhaps the ugly ducklings of the class, but we shared many things in common. I became a frequent visitor to her home and her parents treated me like another daughter. I found Pit a better person than my own father. I always felt that my father was partial, always doting on my two beautiful sisters who looked much like my mother, and giving me a wide berth at home. He was curt and never seemed happy with my scholastic achievements even though my sisters had both dropped out after their primary education. I never knew the reason why I was treated differently and suspected that it was because of my looks. Indeed, I had the feeling that I was really ugly and began to suspect that I could have been an adopted child. But my birth certificate confirmed that Bee and Bin Tock were my parents.
When I was in the last year of primary school, Lynn’s parents were extremely caring and kind. They would often buy me a new dress of the same type whenever they were purchasing one for Lynn. I felt grateful, as I often had to make do with carried down fashions from my two older sisters.
My sisters never were short of suitors because they were indeed as pretty as my mother. Both found mates at eighteen and were married off easily. I found myself living with my parents at home during the fifth year of my primary education.
I had to travel long distances for my secondary education. Fortunately Lynn was also able to get into the same secondary school and Mr. Long chauffeured us both-ways. He never collected a single cent from my parents for his effort.
It was in the second year of high school that I became a bit suspicious of my origin and background. During the medical check-ups for students, I found out that both Lynn and I had A+ type blood. I was puzzled because I knew my sisters all were in the O group and when I looked at the identity cards of my parents later, they also had O blood types. I was still ignorant of how blood groups were linked. I felt odd and suspected that either the tests were wrongly done or indeed I was an adopted child.
Lynn failed her second school year twice and had to drop out of school. Thereafter, I had to travel alone to school. Often, Mr. Long would offer me a ride when he was traveling the same route on business. I felt grateful for his kindness.
Living in the kampong away from big city influences, the social bond tended to be stronger amongst the villagers. People generally were more straightforward and trusting in their dealings and social interactions with each other. While the men who had more opportunity to travel were often more open-minded, the womenfolk tend to be conservative both in dressing and in their thoughts, living strictly by traditional moral values. Sex was a discrete and taboo subject not much in their mind and in their everyday conversations, although there was no shortage of gossips whenever someone in the area had behaved indiscreetly or had exposed a little bit more of their body when out in the streets.
I was fifteen when I had my first period. Although this would have been a very normal thing for most girls, I was a real square. My mother never told me that women would bleed. Even though many of my classmates had already reached puberty, I had never had been the curious type to ask them what it involved. In fact, I was under the impression that I was already a grown woman because I had a thatch of pubic hair to testify to my coming of age. I was terrified to discover menstrual blood and cried because I was afraid that I was sick and about to die. My mother was caring and taught me about ‘Eve’s curse’ and how to take care of my personal hygiene during those times. It was a lot later that I began to learn more about the female body from my mother.
As nature took its course, I began to notice changes in my body. My bust sprouted and began to grow and grow when I was sixteen. I felt shy to have a prominent bust line that obstructed the view of my feet. My weight increased to 130 pounds as my bum broadened and fattened to support the weight of my upper torso. However my height stopped increasing when I was 5 feet 2 inches. I also began to experience strange feelings whenever was I was soaping my boobs and the crack between my legs. I enjoyed the sensations that came with touching those areas, but as I was taught that good decent girls never to touch those areas unnecessarily, I felt ashamed and naughty whenever I washed those private areas of my body during my daily shower.
When I was seventeen, I began to harbor romantic feelings about my male schoolmates. I found that the boys were not longer childish or bad looking and began to lust for them. I dreamt of being kissed and hugged, especially by the handsome class monitor who stood as tall as my father. I felt a need to be near to be near him, but I could not compete with the more shapely girls in the school. He never took much notice of me, even when I held his hand during physical education classes. I tried to draw his attention to my bigger breast, but he was not a boobs man. I knew that I did not have the necessary physical attributes to attract the boy of my choice and ended up being the girlfriend of Jim.
Like me, he also had a hard time finding a suitable date because he was not exactly handsome. He stood at 5 feet two inches with a body weight of around 110 pounds. Although I had resumed growing by putting on two extra inches, my weight correspondingly soared to 135 pounds and I was very fat by local standards. I remembered being teased cruelly because of my jutting bum and my two melon sized boobs. My classmates often insensitively insinuated that my generous curvy measurements could only have been the result of constant massaging by older men. In reality I was as square, chaste, and innocent as any other kampong girl.
When I celebrated my 18th birthday, I was a full bodied woman with little knowledge of sex. Something happened during that period to add to the mystery of womanhood. It was a July weekend and my father had traveled to Penang for a week to source supplies and to visit a relative. The weather was then especially hot and we both slept in shorts and t-shirts without blankets. That night, I dozed off early. It was perhaps close to midnight when I heard a noise coming from my mother’s room. It seemed like a groaning sound that could be easily transmitted through the wood panels that separated her room from mine. It last for about two minutes and then it stopped. I got up of bed and decided to do what I had seen my older sisters did before me. There was a hole on the panel above the double bed which my sisters had used before and I had often seen them peeping into my parent’s room in the middle of the night when they were both still single.
I went over to the spare bed and standing on it, I could just see through the small hole at my eye level. A small 2-watt bedside lamp dimly lit her room. As my eyes adjusted to the lighting, I saw my mother sleeping face up on her bed at the opposite side of the room. I was shocked to see that she was wearing no clothes. What was even more unusual was that she was using both her hands to massage her two modest sized boobs. Her legs were spread wide and I could see her hairy pussy gaping obscenely in the quiet of the room. Mum seemed to be squeezing the fleshy mounds before moving her hand to her two chestnut sized nipples. As her fingers enveloped each teat, she was pressing and pulling them and but her eyes remained closed. Her moaning sound became louder as she stretched the knobs of her chest. Her hands soon left her two erect nipples moving downwards towards the crack of her vulva. I knew that my mother was not asleep and was doing something shameful to her own body. It was something that she had expressively told me never to do, not even during my daily shower. I had known that touching the nipples could give me nice feelings that made goose bumps erupt. I suspected that my mother was enjoying herself, as she moaned softly and sexily. I could see her right hand between her legs and she appeared to be digging and rubbing her pussy hard with her fingers. Her left hand returned on her right breast and she seemed to be squeezing her bust as she heaved and moved her buttocks up and down.
I could see her opening and closing her legs as she tried to force the fingers of her right hand into her the gap between her thighs. Mind you, at that time I was still ignorant about sex and the detailed structure of the female genitalia. I could hear her breathing heavily. For unknown reasons, I instinctively knew that mother was engaging in some sort of secret sexual activity. It looked obscene and lewd, for I had never before seen her in the nude. She was shameless, digging and pulling her fingers inside that area of the body that she had had always emphasized to me was the most private and secret part of a woman’s body. Instead of being embarrassed, I felt naughty and excited at the obscenity before me, and my heartbeat was beating faster with excitement. Mum seemed to be unable to control herself as she continued with to frig herself for another twenty minutes. It would seemed that she was never satisfied for she would grunt softly, resting for a minute, before beginning to poke herself again. Her groaning became more torturous and louder as time went on. I could see her left hand actively playing with her chest, ceaselessly touching and squeezing her nipples and her fleshy breasts. Suddenly she was grunting loudly as if she was in pain and then I heard her swearing lewdly as she squashed her breasts and bucked her backside upwards with her fingers inside her lower body. I felt a strange feeling developing inside my body and my pussy began to moisten with what I thought was urine.
At last Mum seemed to be more relaxed as she continued to touch her breast with both hands. Ten minutes later, she got out of the bed to retrieve some tissue paper from the dressing table to clean her pussy. She replaced her clothing and went back to sleep.
The following morning, I met my mother in the dining room for breakfast. I was feeling a bit cheeky because I had discovered her secret. I decided to expose her hypocrisy. I asked her, “Mum, I heard you groaning like you were in pain last night. Was anything wrong?”
She looked at me with surprise, and immediately answered back, “Oh, you’re awake. Sorry to have disturbed you.”
“It’s alright. I thought you were in pain.”
“Yes dear, something bit my body and I have to scratch it. It was a bit painful and maybe I make noise unconsciously.” Her face turned a bit red as she tried to make the excuse. I wondered why she did not simply tell me that she was having a frightful dream and making noises in her sleep.
Mum was feeling somewhat shy and embarrassed the whole morning, always looking at me with a blushing face as she went about attending to customers in the shop. In the afternoon, she spoke to me at the dinner table.
“Cindy, you are already 18. Didn’t you know what I was doing?”
“Don’t you sometimes touch yourself at night?”
“Well, it’s alright. There is nothing shameful about touching your body when you are an adult. Not all of us can have partners all the time.”
“You told me never to touch myself. I just didn’t know what you were doing. I heard you groaning and suddenly I woke up.”
“It’s alright. There is no secret between a mother and her daughter.”
“Mum, can I ask you a question?”
“Yes, what do you want to know?”
“Mum. Am I an adopted child? Why do I look so different from you and my sisters?”
“Rubbish. You came out of my body and you look just like your father.”
“But father is so handsome and tall. I am short and I am so fat like Lynn. You and sisters are all so beautiful and so tall. I am so ugly.”
“No, you are not ugly. Just be happy because I love you as much as your sisters. You are precious to me.”
“I love you Mum.”
“Cindy, you are not so young now. You must try and make friends with boys because one day you must also get married like your sisters.”
“I am still young. Anyway who would want a fat ugly duckling like me?”
“No, you must not be too shy. Study hard and don’t be too choosy. There are also shy boys in school too. I don’t want you to miss the boat.”
“Mum, I have A+ type blood. You, father and sisters all have O type. I wonder why I’m so different.”
“Don’t be silly. O type parents can produce ‘A’ type children. You are special. There is really nothing wrong with you.”
We ended that conversation. My mother did not make any more animal noises the following night.
From that point onwards, I knew that it was okay for me to experience the sensations of touching myself and frequently did so during my shower. But I never felt the inclination to masturbate in bed. Perhaps the overriding fear of losing my virginity through an accidental perforation restrained me from being adventurous, even though I knew that Mum could get stronger feelings when she poke her fingers inside her pussy.
When Jim and I completed the local equivalent of GCE O levels a year later at age nineteen, I met his parents for the first time. I was surprised that they were quite supportive of our friendship. They offered to employ me as a clerk in their small bicycle trading shop. I was given a small room on the first floor of their shop-house to live in. Jim joined his father’s business and we had plenty of opportunities to date after work.
My future mother-in-law soon, Mil, soon asked for my birth date and after consulting a fortuneteller, she and my father-in-law, Fil, decided that I was a good match for their son. They dispatched a matchmaker to meet with my parents to ask for my hand. My parents readily agreed to the match because they realized that I could be a liability to them as an old maid at home. For not only was I fat, but my left cheek carried a doughnut sized light burgundy colored birthmark that could not be erased by years of treatment with various types of ointments and herbs.
But there was a condition attached to Mil’s marriage proposal. The matchmaker, Madam Mary Tick, an old lady of around 50 told my parents that the groom’s parents wanted an assurance that I was chaste.
“It is important to Mr. and Mrs. Wang that they have a bride who does not have a perforated hymen. They find that Cindy has a nice sized backside that can store the family’s wealth and a broken hymen will cause a leak that they do not want. It’s something that there are particular about,” Mary informed my parents in a serious tone.
My parents offered to produce a medical certificate from a local doctor to certify my status. But the matchmaker felt that doctors could be persuaded to help by financial incentives to state that a girl was virginal. My parents desperately needed her cooperation and agreed with her suggestion that she performed a vaginal examination on me.
“Don’t worry Mr. and Mrs. Tock. I have been a matchmaker since I retired as a certified midwife ten years back. I will help you to give assurance to the Wang family. I know that both of you are anxious not to miss this good match and you know what is best for the family and will act accordingly.”
“Yes, Madam Tick. Please put in a good word for us. We will do everything you say and we will show your appreciation and gratitude for your kindness,” Mum answered her obligingly as a typical trusting woman with a life spent in a kampong.
“Good. I am staying the night at the small guesthouse down the road. I suggest Cindy and you Mrs. Tock come to my room this afternoon. This is a matter for us ladies. I’m in room 12.”
“Thank you Madam Tick. Please have more Milo and do stay for lunch,” Mum offered.
“It’s alright. Just call me Mary. I need to rest, so I will go back now. Cindy, you can come with your mother at around 2 pm.” Mary took her leave as Mum took me into the room to have a mother to daughter talk.
“Cindy, I’m so sorry that we have to agree to have her examine you instead of a doctor. You understand that marrying Jim is more important. She’s after all a midwife before, so you need not be shy about her looking at your body.”
“Mum, I'm humiliated by all this; I am pure and I don’t have to prove this to anyone.”
“Cindy, let’s do as she says. I know she will be able to put in a good word for us to the Wang family. Just make sure you have a proper shower before we go over.”
After lunch, we made our way to the guesthouse and found Mary waiting for us in the room. She had changed her more formal pant and blouse attire into light blue dress. She looked a lot younger with her modern looking dress.
“We have a lot of time this afternoon, so we need not rush. As a matchmaker, I have to do many things to please both families. So I hope that both of you will not feel awkward or embarrassed about the things we talk about or the things we have to do.”