Chapter 7: In For a Penny
Our second night at the studio was much like the first, except that nobody had to disrobe since none of us had dressed. We gathered again in the room furnished with tumbling mats and soft furniture, and watched another tableau. I suppose it was a variation on an old theme -- the family that plays together stays together. In this case, the family consisted of mother and son.
Blair led his mother out on the stage and showed the audience how rewarding it could be for mothers who raised their sons properly. Unlike the audience, both mother and son were clothed when they stepped on the stage, and I must say, after a day of recreational nudity, a skirt and a pair of pants looked almost erotic. They sat on the cot, embraced, and were soon locked in a passionate love kiss. Blair began unbuttoning his mother's blouse.
The audience watched raptly. It wasn't so much what the actors were doing that claimed our attention; it was the people who were doing it. It isn't every day you get to watch a boy have sex with his mother.
He soon had her blouse unbuttoned, and reaching inside, played with her soft breasts while he kissed her mouth, her ears, the hollow in her neck. She pretended innocence, and made a great show of attempting to push him away. This, of course, only excited him, and in the mock tussle, her blouse was discarded. Her flimsy bra soon followed it.
Her billowy, matronly breasts quivered. He sucked on the nearest breast, while he pinched and mauled her other nipple. I thought he was a bit rough, but I realized that he probably knew better than anyone what mom really liked.
She quickly became genuinely excited, and her mock efforts to save her chastity ended. Instead, she began groping the front of his pants, and eventually, succeeded in undoing his belt and opening his fly.
Her hands disappeared inside his pants as he lifted her skirt above her knees, further up her thighs to where her stockings ended, and eventually, to her waist. She was wearing garters and hose, but no panties.
He continued chewing on her nipple, while his left hand slid into the juncture between her thighs. She opened her legs for his probing fingers. Then she said something to him.
Obediently, he stood up and pulled his polo shirt off over his head, while she let his pants fall around his ankles and lovingly released his erection by tenderly lifting his brief's waistband up and over his young cock. He was stiff as a post. His young sword stuck up at an impressive 45 degree angle. You could have hung a flag on it.
The audience let out a collective sigh. Every man there, including me, envied that boy his juvenile tumescence. I can only guess what the women were thinking, but the audience seemed suddenly very restless, with much leg crossing and shifting about.
Mama never missed a beat. She took him in her mouth, but only for a minute. Then she stood and stepped out of her skirt. She lay down on the cot on her back, her legs toward the audience. The boy knew exactly what to do. He wedged himself between those maternal thighs and shoved himself deep into his mother on the first stroke.
Jane reached up and caught the backs of her knees in her hands and pulled herself open even wider. I think everyone in the audience who saw that young tool sliding in and out of his own mother's cunt was stirred by Jane's exhortations. "Go, boy! Faster! Harder! You know how I like it!"
By the time Jane announced her first orgasm of the night, half the audience was fondling someone else; the other half was fondling themselves. I was lucky. Barb Adam was within reach.
As I watched the action on the stage, out of the corner of my eye, I had noticed her crawling on hands and knees from the back of the room toward the stage. She paused next to me. I was engrossed by the action on the stage, but a blur of motion caught my eye. Her legs were open, and her fingers were dancing openly around her clit and plunging into her cunt.
I slid toward her, and started to ask if I could help, when I saw the look of intense concentration on her flushed face, and realized she was doing just fine all by herself. I hadn't often seen a woman masturbate, and the action on the stage was forgotten as I watched Barb finger herself to a rousing orgasm.
She uttered a soft, whimpering cry. Her stomach muscles rippled, and her toes pointed straight down. Gradually, she relaxed against a bean bag. Her eyes were closed, and the orgasmic flush slowly faded from her face, neck and chest.
I was struck again by her unusually shaped conical breasts. They looked as if they were made for those metal bras female opera stars seem to favor. Suddenly I wanted very much to take one in my mouth.
"Knock, knock," I said softly, "anyone home?"
Barb opened an eye. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Not now," I replied. "I didn't interrupt you before."
"Yeh, thanks. What do you want?"
"Well, nothing, really. I was just feeling lonely."
"I'm sorry," she said, instantly contrite, "especially since you're sort of a new boss . . ."
"I'm not sure about that." I said. Then, remembering our conversation the night before, I quickly added, "and even if I were, it wouldn't make any difference."
She stared at me for a few moments, her face expressionless; her black eyes digging deep inside. "No, I guess it wouldn't," she said. "Come here, give a girl a kiss."
I hunched my way over to her and gathered her in my arms. Her pointed little breasts dug into my chest as I lightly fastened my mouth on hers, and began nibbling and sucking her lips. She nibbled and sucked right back, and the next thing I knew, we were stretched full length on a tumbling mat. Her head rested on my left arm. My right hand gently plucked at her soft nipples. Then I began teasing them by lightly touching the palm of my hand to their tips.
"That tickles. Stop it."
"OK," I said, as I sucked almost an entire breast into my mouth. I don't know what that may have felt like, but I didn't get any more complaints. Instead, I felt her hand exploring my crotch.
"Oh," she said, "this feels interesting."
"Ummm, ummm," was the best I could manage.
"Do that again," she said.
"Ummm?"
"Like that. Make that sound again. You can't imagine how that vibration feels in my nipple."
"Ummm, ummmm, ummm. Ummm umm?"
"God," she said, "it makes my whole tit tingle like it's getting tiny electric shocks."
"Ummmm umm ummmmm."
I patted her hand, encouraging her not to forget what she had been doing before I started playing her breast like a musical instrument. She took the hint, and began rubbing, pulling, explor ing, with increased vigor.
"Hey," she exclaimed, "what's this?" She tugged on my foreskin with her thumb and forefinger. "The last time I saw one of these was on my baby boy. The mohel made quick work of it!" She looked at me. "That's what you need; a mohel who does emergency circumcisions!"
"No thanks," I said, "but tell me: Are you afraid of cocks that aren't kosher?"
"Are you ever serious?"
"Well, sort of. I don't know."
"Then the serious answer is `no'." She paused, lifting my foreskin with her thumb and forefinger. "Any Jewish girl would be interested in one of these because we see so few of them after they have grown up."
By this time, I had a full erection. She pulled my foreskin all the way back. "Now you look like a nice Jewish boy," she said. "I'm going to give it a kiss, just for that."
