A Soundless Sex

Author's Note —

While I had originally categorized this as a Romance, I'm now re-categorizing this story under 'Group Sex'. But it is really both — a romance, with a group sex exploration. I originally wrote the second half of this story as a stand-alone story with the lead female character hearing, and basically centered around group sex and experimentation, including some male and female bi-curious exploration — all of which I put into descriptive Story Tags that for some reason this site does not make visible at the head of stories as other sites do to allow readers to get an idea of what to expect, as some folks' sexual interests and preferences are naturally not others'. But then I thought I'd put some heart and empathy into the story with an additional romantic first half as well. So it wound up being largely a romance, but still with some group sex.

From the public comments I'm getting back so far however — at least from readers apparently interested in sexual romance — combining romance with group sex exploration must be like mixing ketchup with ice cream. Only one person has privately messaged me saying they loved it, but seemed to not prefer making their praise public. I guess this combination simply is too incongruent to those who feel motivated to write an opinion however; although I've read real-life testimonials that threesome and group sex explorations can get committed couples to fall even more deeply in love with each other. But the idea as portrayed in this story just seems to draw vocal complaints and criticisms, despite its 4 stars average rating so far. Some of what's described in this story is not stuff I'd do myself, but that is what erotic fantasy, and writing it is about — exploring things we likely won't experience, and playing it out to see, and vicariously experience, what might happen.

Unfortunately, unlike with other story web sites, I cannot seem to be able to just delete this story and keep it for my own occasional enjoyment once it has been approved, or hide it while I rework it. Frankly, the story has now gone from being fun to write, to being a quality but problematic headache, despite its largely positive star ratings. I've debated breaking this story in two and doing it as two separate and unrelated stories. But that would entail creating a new ending for one, and a revised beginning, and likely ending for the other. Frankly, I'd rather move on to my efforts at real world writing at this point.

So for the anonymous commenter who suggested it, readers have now been warned. If you enjoy it, wonderful . . . and thank you. If you don't, I've heard 'ya, and have left your comments up (but have you read further towards the end where the two main characters discover an even more profound love, and pride?) Even though I think it's a good, varied and moving story . . . and even though I do care for the main characters, I kind of just wish I could put it to bed at this point, or even wad it up.

— Norcoaster

— — — — —

As I faced a summer where I would be working every single weekend, I decided I just needed a weekend somewhere alone, and quiet, before it all started. So, oddly perhaps, I chose nearby Santa Cruz, California . . . for its nice beaches. The oceanfront town soon wound up being too busy for my taste, but it did have nice beaches as advertised. However, when I placed my cappuccino order with Jillian the Friday afternoon I got there . . . any plans I might have had to move on to somewhere quieter changed.

Fairly short at only a little over five feet against my five-foot, ten, and seeming to be around thirty years old with long brown hair, Jillian had a nicely fit body that she clothed in shorts and swoop-neck top, also wearing an open, slightly oversized man's red shirt with its sleeves partly rolled up, almost as a windbreaker. But she wore no ring on her finger — I had naturally checked — nor necklace or any other visible token of someone's affection. For some reason, even the very first time I saw her, I had these indescribable feelings about her. She just seemed . . . amazing.

"Yough aghain?" she greeted me the following afternoon with a smile in her somewhat odd accent, almost like she had suffered a stroke or something, as she stood behind the cash register.

"Yeah, me again," I smiled, too, coming into her boardwalk coffee shop for the third time that Saturday. "But I'm not here for me this time. I'm wondering what it would take to buy this person I'm interested in a cup of her favorite coffee, and when I might invite her out from behind the counter."

Jillian seemed to lose her customary confidence and cheer, looking down briefly before returning her gaze to me. "Shhe doesn'ght reallly date," this woman replied.

"Why?" I asked gently.

"Shhe's deaff," she replied, " . . . verrhy deaff. I donn't date hearring whell . . . donn't date deaff whell, either. Jusst work out alonne and reahd in off hourrs."

Most hearing men, maybe deaf men as well for that matter, probably wouldn't have known what to do at that point; which might have been one reason why she was single and available. I just decided to show her I was serious about what I offered, silently taking her hand resting on the counter, and looking at her with a gentle but direct smile.

"Yough meann it?" she asked, continuing to look at me.

"Yes," I said clearly, gently smiling and nodding as her fingers gently squeezed around mine.

That first evening, we just walked the boardwalk. "Treat mme normmal," she requested right up front. "I reahd lips, nno problemm. I don't evenn like sighning much. Lived arounnd hearingg my whole life. Unless I tell them, mosst people just think I havve a speech impedihment, or stroke."

"That's what I thought," I admitted.

"Beach volleyball," she then almost interrupted as we looked at what looked like a serious game happening on the sand nearby, as two pairs of women in sport bikinis were going at it, digging and spiking the ball hard at one another. Naturally, a crowd had gathered.

"You play?" I asked.

"Whanted to," she replied, looking at the game again after seeing my question. "Couldn't hear whistle though, so nevver beyonnd cassual games."

"I'd play with you," I said, pointing to myself to get her attention again. "Me . . . I'd play volleyball with you, maybe even up into the leagues — junior ones anyway."

"Don't whorry, theyh don't do co-ed in upper leahgues," she replied while taking my pointing finger and gently pushing it down, apparently not wanting me to make gestures or signs for her.

"Shame," I replied. "It'd be fun."

"Yeah," she agreed, looking back at the game. "Those ghames get so intense that the menn whould be fucking their female parhtners in those bikinis befforre the matches were overr. They whouldn't be able to help it."

I just shook my head and smiled. So did she.

— — — — —

Screwy thing was, sound was a big part of my life, being part of a small concert production start-up. Jillian however decided she wanted to go to the concerts with me that I helped put on.

"I cann feehl music through larrge speahkers," she told me as I drove her to a concert gig I was part of a couple weeks later, "it's like being hosed with the vibration of sound." Glancing at her beside me in my classic red MG ragtop, her gentle cleavage framed within a dark blue swoop top and opened green shirt, it was an appealing metaphor . . . imagining her being hosed by most anything.

We arrived at the outdoor concert site at a winery in the nearby Santa Cruz Mountains. Knowing she was basically impervious to the loudness, and might like being so close to the intense vibrations, I set Jillian up for a while sitting on a large box subwoofer in a speaker tower to the left of the stage as I then went to work finishing the set-up and sound checks before the featured band rehearsed a few classic rock instrumentals they would be playing during the weekend. Coming back to her later, Jillian had a very relaxed smile on her face, and a large but fortunately faint wet spot on the crotch of the khaki shorts she was wearing. When I apologized and offered to take her to a bathroom, she shook her head, still smiling. Only later as I was driving her home did she confess to me that sitting on the speaker cabinet had vibrated her to a drenching orgasm — more than one.

While still coyly declining to invite me into her apartment, Jillian asked me to bring her to both evening concerts of classic rock that weekend. During the first concert, she had us stand right among the speakers in that left tower — with me having to scramble to find and wear protective earplugs before we did. I knew what she was doing though as she leaned her crotch against the rear corner of that black subwoofer speaker cabinet while the music began to blast with unbelievable intensity all around us in the tower.

She then said something as we stood side by side, but I had no idea what it was. While I could no longer hear her, looking at her was something else. I couldn't help eventually cumming in my own pants just watching Jillian orgasming herself over and over again as the music continued reverberating around us.

Her arms became locked either side of her clothed breasts, forcing them together, amplifying her athletic cleavage, as she came to hold her body poised above the corner of that cabinet like a gymnast poised straddling a balance beam. Her bare legs came to be spread along the side and back of the cabinet so that her clothed crotch could ride it, right on the rounded point where its edges met. Finally, Jillian tossed her head, her long mane of brown hair falling down her back while her eyes were closed in ecstatic bliss. Her mouth ovalled as she let out long, orgasmic cries that were silenced against the massive output the speakers surrounding us.

I found myself envying that speaker cabinet she was mounted against.

So for the second and final concert there that weekend, I quickly arranged the next morning for yards of black fabric to be hung from the scaffolding all around both speaker towers on either side of the stage. The concert director even liked the new look. But I wasn't telling him why.

When I ushered Jillian through the hanging fabric to her favored perch within the left speaker tower that evening, she turned around, facing me this time. The music started as I saw her lips move, but once again, I could no longer hear her.

"I can't hear you now, and I can't read lips," I said, at least hearing myself inside my head, but knowing she was still seeing what I was saying.

Instead of being irritated or frustrated at me though, she calmly smiled amid what was to me an almost painful maelstrom of sound, despite the earplugs. I was in her world now, where gestures were the only things that mattered.

To the opening strains of a classic Hendrix guitar riff, Jillian sat on the back corner of that subwoofer cabinet, facing me this time, openly inviting me to watch as she arched her clothed self while intense bass vibrations swept through her loins and body. She unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts, revealing her close-trimmed mound, free of any panties. Jillian then raised her swoop top under her opened shirt, revealing two gentle, braless breasts, their dark red, oblong areolae surrounding her prominent nipples. I could see the vibrations of the speaker beneath her rippling through even those mammaries, with every tiny vellus hair on her goose fleshed orbs standing at attention as roving spotlights briefly illuminated them through the black fabric around us. Her eyes were already closing as she sat on that cabinet, being vibrated towards her first orgasm.

As some three hundred people rocked to the music on the other side of the wafer-thin black fabric panels, I unbuttoned my shirt and unzipped my khaki pants, letting them fall around my shoes, along with my black boxers. Not wanting to startle Jillian with her eyes closed, I gently laid my hands on her parted thighs below her shorts, feeling the buzzing from the speaker through her legs. She opened her eyes again, looking at me, but otherwise remaining motionless. I took that as my cue to move my hands onto her shorts, sweeping them down her thighs as she compliantly brought them together for me, allowing those shorts to drop past her bent knees and off her shoed feet to the deck of the scaffolding we were on.

I then re-parted her thighs before me with my hands, this time noticing every hair on her close-cropped pussy was pointing to her clitoris in a nicely groomed 'V'. Never taking her eyes off of me and bracing herself on her arms, Jillian slowly wrapped her legs around mine as we both moved her seated, quivering ass to the edge of the vibrating speaker cabinet. I then brought the rest of her both clothed and exposed body against my open chest, drawing her into a deep kiss.

For the first time, my swelling cock came into contact with the forceful pulsations of that cabinet, and I began sharing the intense pleasure from it that she was. As the undulating strains of that guitar riff coursed through us both now, my penis found its way to the sopping portal of Jillian's womanhood, her cuntlips shuddering with each note and change of pitch as they began to welcome and embrace my cockhead. Even before I could force my shaft into her further, she clamped herself around me as the rest of my penile shaft slipped deeply into her vaginal recesses.

I kissed her hard as we now fucked upright with her remaining poised on the edge of that cabinet as I stood. Neither of us moved at first as the music throbbed through Jillian and I together, consuming us both — each change of pitch and chord producing a different vibration . . . some less intense, some more. This open-shirted woman soon started writhing against me, sometimes kissing me, but also arching her body with her head thrown back at times, her mouth open as if she was moaning deeply, even screaming to the sky — or at least to the next set of speakers on the deck above us. But I couldn't hear her. I just held her body, my arms wrapped around the skin of her lower back, giving her the freedom to move against me as she wanted while her arms remained in a roaming embrace that both tightened and loosened at times around my shoulders, her hands gripping and kneading my neck and head.

Our coupled bodies now pressed my ballsac and cockroot directly against the speaker cabinet, and with just the right vibration, I found my cock unleashing its first spurting floods of cum into Jillian almost involuntarily at the command of the music pounding through both of us. A screaming chord of notes now caused me to grimace with ecstasy as if I was riffing the electric guitar myself, calling forth even more convulsive shots of cum from me as I held this brunette's now sweating body tightly. The riff came to an end as these last notes faded. The audience cheered beyond the black fabric, as Jillian and I breathed deeply against each other. Finally, we looked at one another, gradually breaking out into smiles as we hugged tightly again.

And this was just the first tune.

Praying that the loudness of the speakers would continue to repel any other hearing person from poking their head into that tower; as the music resumed, I took off both our shirts, wadded them up, and made them into a pillow for Jillian's head as I laid her down across the top of that speaker cabinet. Not worrying whether my erection would return, I proceeded to worship at her prostrate nude body as her hands lovingly stroked my head. Knowing how long the concert was, as well as the playlist, I took my time with Jillian now — each tune becoming a course in the banquet, the feast, that was our lovemaking.

I savored each of her breasts with their ovalled areolae and prominent nipples as they quivered in my mouth. I buried my face against her abdomen as its skin and flesh reverberated with the powerful bass tones emanating from beneath us, and I brought her to even deeper orgasmic frenzy as I orally venerated her womanhood, my lips pressing hard across her labial folds, my tongue probing her clit and grasping vaginal maw as my arms held her parted thighs against my head with a vise-like grip as her vaginal juices seemed to flood into my mouth opened against her.

Then, seeing her lying exhausted and breathing hard after a devastating string of climaxes, I rose above Jillian's body lying on that speaker cabinet, and once again, I entered her, probing my hardened penis deeply into her pliant, wet and receptive cuntal passage. Taking her into my embrace, I fucked her shuddering body with my entire being as her legs and arms welcomed me, her mouth kissing me ravenously as we moved and were forcibly trembled together.

By the time intermission came, I was lying utterly spent myself on top of Jillian, still in the missionary position, having orgasmed twice more into her thanks to those consuming vibrations. Even she now could stand no more. So, for the second half of the concert, we just moved off the cabinet and sat on the edge of the scaffolding behind the black fabric, able to see the stage and everything through it, almost as if we had a private box seat. I cradled Jillian crossways in my lap and arms, both of us still nude, as she rested her head against my shoulder, with only her green outer shirt draped loosely over one side of her body amid the warmth of the summer evening. We continued to say not a word to each other the whole second set, but I found myself starting to love this woman.

— — — — —

I got Jillian to start teaching me American Sign Language or ASL, soon nicknaming her 'J' because signing that to her was easier for me than her name-sign. She would allow us to sign to each other at times, enabling me to build my proficiency — or so I contended — but for some reason, she still preferred to hide her deafness around others, even getting me to agree not to reveal or discuss it with people we met together unless she gave me permission, or brought it up herself . . . which made for some awkward situations at times. Jillian had been largely managing to hide it on her own for years though, and seemed to prefer being treated as normal. I wanted her to be proud of who she was however, including being deaf; but I went with her wishes on this, wanting her to simply be happy and content with me. It's just what love does.

Later that summer though, I proposed to her in the speaker tower, this time up set-up for a weekend to the north at a Sonoma Valley winery as the music began. Instead of starting to remove her clothing as usual now, I dropped to my knees, and as was our custom during sessions inside that tower, I didn't speak or sign a word. I just took the fingers of her left hand with my left, and produced a small ring case from the right pocket of my khaki shorts, opening it to reveal a diamond ring as I bowed my head, before looking at her again.

You, me . . . marry? Deaf? she signed, breaking our wordless rule. I simply nodded — smiling, hopeful. She dropped to her knees as well in front of me, next to that speaker cabinet, orgasms forgotten about for the moment . . . and with a smile and hint of tears in her eyes, she nodded yes.

— — — — —

To celebrate our engagement, I took her on a trip after that concert gig to a wild stretch of the Northern California coast where roads just don't go. With it being September now and the fogs finally lifting for a brief, real summer there, it was the place to go and do anything a person liked. While I had encountered others there on September weekend hikes by myself in the past; with it being a Tuesday now after Jillian and I had enjoyed an overnight at an oceanside bed and breakfast, I was confident we would have miles of wilderness beach all to ourselves.

As I drove us to the beach trailhead though, Jillian seemed a little more reserved than usual. Part of me hoped she wasn't having second thoughts, but I couldn't tell. The only thing she started to say was, "Have yough ever . . .?" but she didn't finish the thought, and I chose not to press her on it.