Chapter 14

Most people believed, and in this case, they were correct, that Babette Olivier, née Babette Aucoin, had started the breastfeeding trend that gained considerable traction in Sausalito.

Babette was an interesting girl, an exception to the norm these days. She had given birth when she had just turned 15, but it wasn’t an accident. She had been married to Thomas Olivier for just over a year. In fact, the courtship and marriage had been enthusiastically supported by their own families.

Thomas was 23, an attorney in a small, downtown law firm. He was handsome, affable, and didn’t, so far as Babette’s mother could determine, have a side piece. He was one of the few white collar professionals in town.

His parents enthusiastically embraced Babette into their family. She was charming, vivacious, and quite popular. The fact that she was a gorgeous Cajun girl with perky boobs was merely a bonus. Someone like Thomas had his choice of girls. And, he had enjoyed several of them before settling on Babette.

Local historians aren’t precisely certain when Babette first took off her top to feed Pierre. However, it was in Contrary Mary’s, out on the deck. That fact is established.

At the time, Babette was almost 18, and Pierre had just turned three.

One similarity between Sausalito mothers and those down in the Cajun Bayous is that they both let their babies breastfeed for as long as they still want to. Occasionally, the children were 6, 7, 8-years old. Even longer down in the Bayous. It was just the way it was in Cajun Country, always had been, probably always would be.

Babette was out on the sunny deck with her two besties, Emily and Claudia. They were on their second pitchers of margaritas during a lazy Sunday afternoon. Although Babette limited her own intake to two drinks, with plenty of time between sips.

When Pierre started fussing in his high chair, Babette did exactly what she did at home. She whipped off her tee, and brought him to her bosom. She had great tits, a lot of people complimented her, but that wasn’t why she went topless. It was a warm afternoon, and expediency simply made sense.

Now the natural sight of a mother breastfeeding her baby would be seen as erotic only by those with immature minds, those who were full of naughty thoughts. In other words, young boys, teenage boys, and men.

Emily adjusted the overhead umbrella to give Babette shade, while Claudia signaled for another pitcher. Babette leaned back in her chair, at ease. She was now wearing only a snug pair of white short-shorts, and smiled as several cameras focused on her.

Some people, voyeurs mostly, liked to believe that some mothers became sexually aroused when a baby greedily sucked at a nipple. And, in a sense, they were correct. Babette’s cheeks were a little pink, her exposed nipple erect.

While her state was similar to being sexually aroused, it was more just nature’s way of getting her body ready to produce milk. However, Babette, with the admiring crowd, the margaritas under the sun, began to feel a familiar urge. A non-maternal longing.

Emily smiled at her, “Thomas is gonna get lucky tonight.”

Babette winked, “Tonight and most nights. I’m pretty wired these days.”

Claudia, “How long are you gonna let Pierre nurse?”

Babette shrugged, “As long as he wants.”

“From the looks of you, you gotta be hoping it’s a long time.”

Pierre pulled back and burped. Emily placed a towel over her shoulder, picked him up, and began patting his back. Something she and Claudia did this frequently to give mama a break.

“Thanks, hon.” Babette leaned back, crossed her hands behind her head, and sighed in quiet pleasure.

Their waitress, Calinda, wearing only the trademark CUNT thong, brought them a new pitcher. “God, Babette, you oughta be one of the Monday Mamas. Missy’d hire you in minute.”

Claudia hefted her friend’s boobs, “Best tits in town.”

Emily, still patting the baby, “Her pussy’s bald too, jess like the Monday Mamas.”

The three girls were aware of the cameras, but unconcerned.

Public breastfeeding began to catch on. Not every mother, nowhere close, but word had spread, clips of Babette had been shared, and one by one, other mothers took the plunge. Naturally, they tended to be attractive girls, with pretty good bodies.

It certainly wasn’t a movement. No one organized, no one petitioned, but more and more moms simply removed their tops to breastfeed.

Annie’s Diner, the library, coffee shops ... after a while, it seemed like Sausalito had always been this open.

One location — the public swimming pool — became especially popular with some of the young mamas because it was clothing-optional. There was just something overtly erotic about bearing your entire body to the crowd.

The innocence of motherhood contrasted with pussies-on-display.

When Missy Champlain started a dedicated Mommy Site on the Miss Kitty portal, the practice gained popularity. Missy told Darlene, “I think it has legs. Over the years, new moms will have seen other girls baring it all.”

“You’re right. Let’s think about how we can encourage total nudity in other venues.”

Just another day in Sausalito.

The Monday Mamas were a revelation to Mona. Even the restaurant itself was new territory. But those naked middle-aged women took to Mona instantly. They all knew her backstory, and had bushels of sympathy for her.

Laura Doucet, 48, took Mona under her wing right away. Grandmotherly, with her snow-white hair up in a bun, She was Mother Nurture personified. She had three grown daughters and five grandchildren. Plus, a surprise son, now 16. He was the primary reason Missy had hired her. Along with her very curious grandsons.

First thing, Laura showed Mona where to hang her clothes. The she took the little girl on a tour, introducing her to everyone. Cooks, busboys, the dishwasher, barmaids, the other Monday Mamas.

“We only serve one thing here — cheeseburger and fries. So it’s easy to remember what your customers order. In the morning they usually want chicory or milk or juice. Later, some beer. At night we sell a lot of cocktails, but the barmaids mix them.”

“Okay.”

After the breakfast rush where Laura had teamed up with Mona, they took a break back in the dressing room. Laura glanced at the clock and smiled, “It’s time, honey.”

“Oh, okay.” Mona reached between her thighs.

“Honey, why not lean your head on my lap and lie back on the bench? You’ll be more comfortable that way.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Three other Monday Mamas, taking care not to stare at the new girl, watched as Mona began to finger herself, her face as serene as if she were washing her hands at the sink.

Laura glanced at the clock again. Mona moaned, arched her hips, and exhaled, “YESSSS!”

Laura glanced sat her up and hugged her, “Such a good little girl.”

The other three Mamas chimed in, “You’re really good at that.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“So fast. I could never cum that fast.”

Mona blushed at the praise. So sincere, so heartfelt.

Cindy Latier had become a regular visitor at the Surette home. She and Celia double-teamed Mona, taking her further than she’d ever dreamed. But they also performed with each other, getting Mona accustomed to watching them climax.

When Doctor Mary added Billy to the visual mix, Mona was especially appreciative. She loved watching Celia guide her son’s cock into Cindy.

One evening, Doctor Mary stopped by. She winked at Mona, “Would you like to see Celia snowball Billy’s cum with Cindy?”

Mona giggled.

Celia was blushing — this would be crossing some sort of line for her. Not a major act, but still. Billy, antenna up, said, “Are you okay with it Mama?”

“Hmm. Let’s let Mona decide. Honey, would you like to see me snowball my son’s cum with Cindy?”

Mona hugged herself and giggled.

It didn’t take Cindy long — Billy was on fire with the mental image.

He had barely finished spurting when Cindy lay down on top of her friend. As their tongues explored, Celia thought, “Okay, I’ve done it.”

Then, surprising herself, she lay on top of Billy, adjusting his still-hard cock so her pussy lay squarely on it. As his eager tongue sought hers out, she thought, “Now, I really have crossed a line. This, this is even naughtier.”

Later, she evaluated her feelings. Snowballing with Billy hadn’t thrilled her, but she hadn’t been repulsed either. She sighed, knowing swallowing her son’s cum would now be a regular agenda item. Well, she’d been making boys happy since middle school. And had snowballed a lot of cum over the years.

Doctor Mary continued to minister to Mona Lambert. She steadily increased the LaLabido dosage and hypnotized her three times a week. Doctor Mary no longer bothered to tell the little girl how great she’d feel when she came out of it.

No, these days, she emphasized sexuality. How Mona’s orgasms would become more and more intense. How much she would enjoy those moments of pure ecstasy. She was programing the little girl’s mind to yearn for, to seek, to relish, to celebrate, her body’s ultimate surrender.

And, Doctor Mary called it that — surrender. “Honey, your mind already understands how fantastic it feels to cum. And, it’s teaching your body how to enjoy it more and more.”

Mona was now living in that little rental house on Sycamore with her daughter. Every night she cuddled in Carly’s arms and listened to the sweet talk.

“You’re the best mommy ever. I love you so much.”

Carly nestled with her mother from behind as the cooed and giggled. Carly soon learned that she could put Mona to sleep by running her fingertips lightly up and down her arms.

Often, Carly’s last words were, “Mona, will you cum for me one more time? Such a good little girl.”

Missy Champlain left it up to Laura Doucet to monitor Mona’s sex life at Contrary Mary’s. Missy told Doctor Mary, “That little girl simply worships Laura.”

Indeed, the two waitresses had fallen into a rhythm. They worked the same shift whether it was morning, afternoon, or night. On masturbation breaks, they now followed the same routine.

Laura would sit on the padded bench with her legs dangling from both sides. Mona would sit in the same position, but with her legs on the bench, because she was too petite for her feet to reach the floor.

Then Mona would sit back, leaning against Laura’s chest. Laura would idly caress Mona’s nipples while the little girl diddled herself. Laura soon learned when Mona could cum a second time.

The pair became a familiar, and welcome, sight. The other Monday Mamas watched fondly. And remembered to compliment or congratulate Mona every time she came.

A sure sign of progress was that Laura rarely had to reming Mona it was time. These days, more often than not, Mona asked for permission to take a cum-break when she felt the first, feint stirrings.

As instructed, Mona’s ‘family’ continued to reinforce the positive nature of orgasms by performing in front of her. Celia and Cindy. Celia and Cindy and Billy. Cindy and Billy. Carly and Dahlia. Carly and Dahlia and Billy.

Mona never tired of watching the explicit entertainment, and usually masturbated to climax without being told.

At first, Dahlia was hesitant about making out with Carly when her mother was also there. But even that hesitancy soon evaporated. The little girl found it easier and easier to climax. Soon, for Mona’s viewing pleasure, Cindy and Dahlia, mother and daughter, were masturbating side by side.

As it became easier and easier for Mona to climax, those who were putting on a show found they were reaching orgasm sooner than ever. It fed upon itself and of itself was fed.

The first time Celia went down on Dahlia was that little girl’s most explosive series of climaxes in her life. Carly had been talented, especially given her age, but Celia was in another league.

As Mona progressed, whatever few inhibitions remained among the performers evaporated.

At Contrary Mary’s, Laura waited until the Friday night supper rush was over. The three-piece twangy band was playing Cajun waltzes as couples slow-danced.

Laura had talked it over with Mona several times, and was convinced the little girl was well grounded. Was ready to cum in public. In the dressing room, Laura winked, “Okay, honey, let’s get you nice and warmed up.”

They automatically assumed their usual position on the padded bench, and Mona began caressing herself. As she played with her little friend’s nipples, Laura refrained from reminding her not to cum.

Later, holding her hand, Laura led her to the dark corner in the back of the room, opposite the band. She had selected a 40-year-old mother of three — Sandy Talbot — to do the honors.

Not because Sandy was particularly sex-forward. But she was so nice, so simpatico.

Laura introduced them, “Sandy, this is Mona, that good little girl I was telling you about.”

Sandy, wearing a cowboy had, flowered dress and cowboy boots, stood up and embraced Mona. “I’ve heard such good things about you honey. Everyone is real proud of you.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Sandy bussed her on the lips, gave her nipples a quick lick, then tested her pussy — it was nice and wet. Sandy, still standing, put her left palm on Mona’s butt, and began caressing her pussy.

Sandy’s five girlfriends smiled and shifted around for a better view. It seemed as if all of Sausalito knew of Mona, her background, her therapy regimen.

Laura stood behind Mona, and leaned her back against her chest. As she played with the little girl’s nipples, Mona closed her eyes and shuffled her feet a little further apart. When Sandy’s fingertip found her clit, she sighed with pleasure.

When Mona spasmed, Sandy looked at Laura, her eyebrows raised. Laura winked and mouthed, “One more.”

A few minutes later, and it hadn’t been prearranged, Sandy’s friends walked up to Mona to shake her hand and congratulate her. Mona beamed.

It took some time, but eventually Laura was able to groom the little girl to visit tables on her own.

“See that booth there — the second one? That lady in the red tee has been looking at you so hungrily. Honey-lamb, I just know she wants some Mona-pussy.”

It took a little longer after that escalation, but Mona was eventually able to make her own judgments, her own choices.

One morning, before the breakfast rush at the restaurant, Laura told Missy, “She’s ready. She’s such an easy cum these days.”