Chapter 69: Carole Landry, 28, Pride...

Up on the stage for the first time in her life, Carole got goosebumps thinking of performing some day in front of a live audience. But for now the boys had cleared out. Kate and Evelyn and Ray-Ray and three Miss Kitty dancers who would be stripping at the noon show were the only witnesses to Carole’s first-ever family blowjob.

She was having an internal conversation with herself — a sort of pep-talk about how many guys she had sucked off over the past 15 years or so. But mainly, she was concerned about Richie. Who was exhibiting only a big grin and a big boner.

Before the show started, Kate had Ray-Ray take some portrait shots of the two of them. Black and white. Color. Richie by himself; Carole by herself. Then the two of them together.

Wendy had touched her pussy up and highlighted it. Colored her nipples to Ray-Ray’s instructions, and highlighted her prominent cheekbones.

She had also shaved off all of Richie’s pubes — another first in a morning of firsts.

Carole knew enough to recognize that Kate wouldn’t want her to rush things. She didn’t want a perfunctory performance — that would go against the spirit of the entire mother/son campaign. If she just got the chore out of the way, it would look like she ... like she was just getting it out of the way.

So, after Evelyn adjusted the lights to Ray-Ray’s satisfaction; after he had positioned the two tripods and nodded to her that all three cameras were on; Carole lay down on Richie. Who was flat on his back on the single bed with crisp white sheets.

She deep-kissed him, another first. Softly, gently, slowly — taking her time, not wanting to overwhelm the boy. As she licked her way down his chest and tummy, it felt familiar and strange at the same time.

She’d given her share of hummers back in the day. But now, she was always — always — aware that this was Richie Landry. It wasn’t a fleeting back-of-mind realization — she could hardly think of anything else. I’m sucking my son’s cock.

She’d had plenty of time while Wendy worked on her to accept the fact that she had agreed to do it. And would do it.

Yet, her feelings were jumbled up. Some guilt. Some pride at her own bravery. Some satisfaction in thinking about the Ambassadorship. An acute awareness of how delighted Richie was. All of that was tumbling around in her brain.

But one stray nugget — one flickering idea that she tried to cling to — was that she was feeling a tiny jolt of enjoyment at the sheer naughtiness of the act. If she could nurture that sensation, that bawdy bit of pleasure, then she should be able to sail through this.

And ... down the road ... if her enjoyment of the forbidden stayed with her, or even grew ... well, who could tell what she might be capable of? And, that was probably what Kate was counting on. Down the road.

As those thoughts raced around, she was never distracted, never lost sight of what Kate wanted her to do. By the time she took him in her mouth —There — I did it! her mental state was down to a duel between guilt and pleasure.

Yes, it was fucking wrong on every conceivable level. Yet, Kate had been right — she was a little turned on. As she swirled her tongue around the head, as he moaned softly in genuine pleasure, her pussy was tingling — sending out that familiar and treasured signal. She reached down with one hand, and feathered her clit. She knew she could cum. And was pretty confident that she could time it right.

As Carole sensed that Richie was getting close, her mind focused on the task at hand. She was now in heat, no question, and decided to give Kate an extra little treat — she’d snowball with Richie before she swallowed.

Carole went into a glide mode — everything seemed suddenly familiar and oh so easy. When she felt that first spasm and splatter, she climaxed herself. Then she slid up and held her head still, three or four inches above his. He stared into her eyes. When she opened her mouth, he understood.

By the time she rolled off Richie, his cum was divided about evenly in their mouths. She sat back; they smiled at each other; she said, “Swallow, baby boy.”

The three dancers erupted into spontaneous applause.

Carole probed her psyche. What was she feeling now that she had done it? What was her primary takeaway? She felt satisfaction from a job well done. Nothing perfunctory in her performance. She basked in Richie’s adoring gaze — gratitude written all over him.

She decided — pride. She looked good. Richie looked good. The blowjob should look good on film. And, unlike Kitty, she hadn’t committed to the ultimate act. All she’d done is promise Kate that she’d consider it down the road. Down the road.