(Here's another feast of CFNM in which, as ever, all our personnel are over 18).
Our Mrs Pebbles.
As morning light crept in through the curtains, Mrs Pebbles stretched in the luxury of her bed. Under the sheets her nightdress had risen to bunch around her belly. She knew she had a fine body, a woman in her late thirties whose breasts were luxuriously heavy and her milky white flesh a marvel. Her near-nudity suffused her mind with delicious thoughts.
Eyes still closed she permitted her left hand to take hold of an erect nipple, the other to finger the brunette jungle of her groin. Ahhhhh, what a day this promised to be. What anticipatory dreams her subconscious hosted.
Reverend Pebbles was off with the Billy Graham crusade as it swept through North Dakota. As a result, for a full week she had the house to herself. That meant she was free to have her young men visit for the combination of religious instruction and physical discipline leading to the "relief" that 18 year old males need so desperately. She loved those sessions, the nudity, the supervised masturbation, the romantic spanking.
Another treat was in store.
At 11 am today she would visit the YMCA and its pool as guest of Coach Compton. The muscle-bound, small-dicked, suntanned-all-over Coach had enlisted six new 18 year olds to his swim team, from schools in neighbouring towns.
"Such nicely mannered young fellas. Floppy college-boy hair, not Elvis style or crew cuts for one thing. Right now on the skinny side but so eager to build some muscle. From my inspection..."
Recruits to his fitness activities would be required to strip for him in the Y gym, in the morning when it was always empty, and do exercise routines under his direction- the boys shy at working out buck naked for the first time. Him, full of encouragement, telling them this was how the Ancient Greeks did it and nobody had better physiques than them.
"...these new boys have fine potential in weight training. We can carve out some good definition. Several boast very nice personal development and..."
Here his eyes had drifted off, as if suddenly shy.
"...nice hair distribution," he added softly.
He realised his excitement might have too obvious, at what he had seen of new pubic bush, fresh hair sprouting around nipples and treasure trails running south from navels.
But Mrs Pebbles had put him at his ease with her melting eyes, her brunette charm, and told him there would be a big party of girls in the bleachers delivered by Karen Strawbridge, some girls visiting Brewer on an excursion, who had never seen naked boy swimmers before. They were very excited at the prospect. They were going to love the boys.
This had certainly stirred the coach.
"I'll make sure that each of the new boys gets to trot over to the female viewers and thank them for their morale-boosting support. And our regulars, of course. Like Jim Nielsen and John Lawrence."
His eyes had swum at the implications, nude boys forced to stand and mumble bashful and goofy greetings to a big beaming party of females sitting there in the bleachers.
"Them presenting themselves to us- that's so sweet," Mrs Pebbles had cooed. "The girls just love to know...you know, what they look like. The sisters of some of the swimmers included. Cousins. Neighbours. And I'll be ready to recruit the boys for Sunday School."
Under the sheets, stroking herself, Mrs Pebbles smiled at that rather charged exchange with her ally, the Coach. He suspected her Sunday School recruitment and the things she might do, she knew his game. She stretched like a lioness.
And she thought of what the afternoon offered...
Not only were John Lawrence and Bud Lanter visiting- they had insisted on twice weekly visits now- but so was Jimmy Nielsen with his one in a hundred penis. The once bashful boy was becoming a determined pursuer of full nude opportunities- at the pool and in the Pebbles household where a Saturday afternoon bath and bottom spanking was a highlight, even if classroom nudity at school was proving a trial.
And there would be two other boys with crushes on their Sunday School teacher. After all, she had gently instructed John Livingstone and Bud Lanter that they would be rewarded with more visits but first they had to deliver other fellas.
Mrs Pebbles tickled her other nipple while her hand flicked and rubbed her prominent clitoris. She ran a movie in her mind of the delicious things that had happened in her living room. Eighteen year old males shucking out of their clothing. Delighting her eyes with instant "hardons"- the word her husband used. She loved the view and was always drawing things out- to savour their flushes of shame, their raging excitement at their nudity being inspected by her.
She would give them relief first, she thought. She loved the feeling of ejaculate overflowing in her fists, a naked boy on either side of her on the settee. Then more arousing talk from her to prove that Jesus and his circle followed Greek practices about male nudity...and other things. Aroused, the boys would be ready for their spankings, their excitement storming as they watched their buddies over her knee twist and turn, and slide and exclaim, and kick their legs. Finally, big dollops of their fluid on her lap.
Especially now as she had taken to donning a plastic apron for spankings and dousing it with Johnson's Baby Oil or Ponds Cold Cream, a practice preached by Miss Maitland.
She was thinking of the urgency of their sexual instincts. "Yes, Mrs Pebbles," they would agree, going red with enthusiasm, when she suggested it would work better if their clothes came off. "Everything?" they might ask, knowing and hoping what the answer would be. "Yes, those jocks too."
And their emissions- the overflow into her fists, the expulsions during spankings. Oh, the abundance of those emissions. The fresh smell filling the air. Their wild, bewildered looks when they "shot off." Then the lightning recovery. Getting erect again, setting themselves up for a second ejaculation.
She was massaging her clitoris thinking of it all.
"Yes...oh yes," she quietly gasped. "Yes...oh, yes..."
Then the ringing at the door.
Insistent.
Mrs Pebbles rolled out of the bed and peered through gap in the curtains. Someone was standing in the small porch and the column blocked most of her view but she could see just enough of the caller from the side to note dungarees and a college-boy letter jacket, and slicked, "ducks tail" hair. The face of what could only be a young man was blocked but his height and posture suggested an athlete, older than her regular boys. It took her a minute to gargle with mouthwash, pull on a gown and fasten it, loosely.
She opened the door.
A young man shone with yes, that urgency she had recalled a moment earlier. She could smell the desire coming from him, almost as much as the Brylcreem that shone in his black hair.
His features were vaguely familiar. Those fluttering long eyelashes...
"Mrs Pebbles?"
He introduced himself as Dave, the brother of John Lawrence, the boy she had recruited after seeing him at nude swimming. With the very hairy torso and the heavy-headed cock. A regular here in her living room with his pal, Bud Lanter. Both of them begging to see her more often.
"That's right. John's my kid brother. I go to Saint Olaf. Studying agricultural science. I'm home for summer. And..."
He stuttered. His lashes fluttered.
He said he was close to his younger brother. More buddies than family. And at night in their shared bedroom John told him about how Mrs Pebbles was his Sunday School teacher at 16th Street Methodist and took such good care...
His eyes had widened at this point and he stumbled, but got it out.
"...such loving care...of..."
He blushed like a fire hydrant.
"...of my brother's development. And I've seen how Johnnie has become a better fella...with all your help...and I got thinking..."
Clearly there was no time to be lost. She had to be at that swim meet with the stripped-off 18 year olds. She had a group of boys including his brother coming over this afternoon. She invited Dave into the dowdy living room of the parsonage, with its religious prints and framed wall map of missionary activities.
As he entered the hallway she noticed his chest and shoulders were heavier than John's and the front of his slacks seemed moulded around an ample sex organ, shamelessly. His hair oil might have been smelt half way down the street and she thought he must have spent an hour shaping his oily black locks. He also carried a whiff of Old Spice but it couldn't conceal a hint of fresh sweat. As he turned she noticed his ass was punchy and powerful, stretching the bottom of his dungarees.
She might need a special effort to subdue it.
She guessed he was a hit with females.
As if he read her mind, he said, even before sitting down, he didn't chase girls and was looking for "'something else" and when his brother had told how Mrs Pebbles had helped him he had realised it was what he wanted. In fact, he thought he wanted it- needed it- even more than his brother.
He shyly took his seat on the ragged settee.
She faced him from the reverend's armchair.
"Yes, what you do for John...I need it too..."
Her imagination was engaged by his direct words.
"...even more."
Aha, she thought.
Here it came out in a jumble while his eyes blinked wildly. References to "Lordly behaviour" and being "instructed" by her and how much he too needed "loving discipline" and how he grew excited by the things she did like...
"You know...getting males into our birthday suits..."
The evocative words fluttered in the atmosphere, exciting both of them.
"Birthday suits."
He blushed like a fire hydrant.
She thought of what he might look like nude. Some fur at his shirt collar suggested his brother's hairy chest was a family inheritance. His shoulders looked fit to burst his cotton shirt and she guessed that like John he was a swimmer but probably lifted weights as well and had been popular in his school days with Coach Compton. The heft at his flies suggested he might replicate his brother's well shaped top heavy glans but boast a meatier stem.
She treated his arrival as a gift of the All Mighty, another enrichment of her day.
She filled his embarrassed silence.
"Wholesome nudity- a young man and an older lady- is the staring point that lets us talk frankly about your urges and what's good and bad in them. Yes, they are not all bad, young men's nighttime yearnings and instincts..."
Here he nodded so violently she thought he would leave home and be her disciple if she had wanted it.
"But in the end, David, every fella wants a motherly lady to let him know the sacred rules of life, give him much-needed relief from the things that trouble him and set him straight on how he must view womenfolk."
She remembered suddenly that she wore a pair of slippers with leather soles and was struck with a thought that spanking this boy- clearly he was striving for this outcome- might give this footware a new and exhilarating role.
"I can see you are eager to get started..."
Her gaze dropped to his lap where an extra swelling was now obvious.
"Mrs Pebbles, it kept me awake all night. I...want...it...so bad..."
