Chapter 47: The Cajun Arms Motel...

The Cajun Arms Motel, a modest two-story establishment on the northern edge of downtown Sausalito, quickly became central to the sex lives of the Calendar Girls.

Someone, perhaps Kate Broussard, had rented room 212 for the duration. Although the place was owned by Marie Guidry so perhaps, it had been Eulalie and perhaps it was free. Whatever the economics of the situation, the Calendar Girls didn’t spend much time speculating on it.

They only knew that when CC Hebert called them, he would be waiting in room 212. And that Ray-Ray had set up two tripods so that each sexual tryst would filmed in its entirety.

The motel was a relief because the girls didn’t have to worry about a husband unexpectedly coming home. Nor about nosy neighbors. They simply drove through downtown, parked in back, and sped up the outside staircase.

Did any of them feel the least bit demeaned by the process? Being summoned by a phone call or a text, driving themselves to a commercial establishment purely for the purpose of providing pussy to a 15-year-old boy? By having their most intimate moments recorded for Ray-Ray and the other girls to see?

Hardly.

This was heady stuff. A secret tryst with the sexiest boy in town. Worry-free sex because of the isolated locale. Toe-curling sex because CC Hebert knew what the fuck he was doing.

Sometimes he had two or three of them show up at the same time. The downside was that they had to share him. But that was more than made up by the fact that they could pleasure each other as he recovered between bouts.

Then one Monday morning CC called Velma while she was still fixing breakfast for her family. He said, “Cajun Arms,” and hung up.

Velma kept a straight face, looked at her husband, and shrugged, “Wrong number.”

She forced herself to remain calm, to not rush the kids, to act normal no matter how fast her heart was racing. Then, finally, the fucking kids were on the bus. Her husband was still sipping coffee when Velma rushed into the shower. She managed not to play with herself as she imagined room 212, CC, the cameras.

When she knocked on the door, she gasped in surprise. Two naked boys!

CC smiled calmly, “Velma Babin, this is Alain Allard.”

She stared as she automatically shook the outstretched hand. Alain was stark naked, tan all over, a much deeper tan than CC. Cajun coloring — a life lived in the nude was baked into his skin.

Both boys were erect, smiling, and perfectly comfortable.

Velma said, “But ... did Ray-Ray ... I mean...?” However, she was undressing as she babbled. Didn’t take long — a tee and sneakers. Done.

CC nodded her toward the bed where she lay back and watched him turn on both cameras. He smiled and said, “Alain, you can go first.”

Velma blinked and turned to the stranger. He gently pulled her hips to the end of the bed and stood between her thighs. He ran the head of his cock up and down between her pussy lips. “You’re right, she’s already wet.”

Velma blushed deeply, but she was getting over the shock. She pulled her heels up by her butt — if she was going to let a stranger fuck her and there was no doubt about that — then, “Have at it, Alain Allard.”

That morning was the most intense fucking of her life. First, Alain. The second he finished, CC replaced him, not missing a beat. They were both conscientious lovers, knowledgeable about the female anatomy, not in any hurry, determined that she enjoy the session as much as they did.

Later, Velma told Honey and Margot and Marie, “After they both cum in me, they started trade-fucking me. You know, two or three strokes, pull out, next guy.”

Marie frowned, “Did you enjoy it, that part?”

“A finger never left my clit, chère, — them boys knew exactly what they were doing.”

Linda Mouton watched the threesome clip with Sissy Bardot, “That name sounds familiar, Alain Allard.”

“Yeah? I can’t place it, me.”

“No, I know I heard it somewhere.”

Then it clicked; she called Kate. Listened, nodded, grinned. She turned to Sissy, “Allan Allard. He’s that boy from the Cajun Bayous? Fucked his mama on the Miss Kitty stage late one Friday night. Bernadette, that was her name.”

“I thought that was just made up? The live sex show?”

“Me too. But Kate doesn’t lie.”

Linda and Sissy watched the four-minute video of Alain and CC doing Velma with even more interest. The shocking revelation of the sex show not only wasn’t a turnoff, but it made them even more interested in receiving a certain phone call. The news spread rapidly among the Calendar Girls, and their reactions were similar. Not one of them had the slightest sexual interest in her own sons, but the very idea of an Alain Allard...

Plus, two boys, one after the other. A few of them had experienced that in school; most hadn’t. Two boys.

Ray-Ray’s next step was to install professional lighting in room 212. The girls loved that little touch. The ceiling light had cast an unflattering yellowish pall. The new lights were subtle and took years off their faces.

One morning Marie La Fontaine called that motel room the Studio, and the name took. The girls had become not only accustomed to seeing themselves in the sex tapes, but now looked forward to each new one with enthusiasm.

The girl-to-girl tapes had been a novelty, a welcome one. But now ... with CC and sometimes Alain ... well, the scene was hotter than ever to them. And Ray-Ray had become an even more skilled editor — capturing them in the throes of passion, yet somehow preserving and enhancing their natural charms.

The girls not only admitted masturbating to their own images, they bragged to each other about how easy it had become to climax. Petite Sue Ellen Dumont told her girlfriends, “The minute my kids out the door, I turn on the TV and I kin cum ‘fore the bus is ‘round the corner.”

It never occurred to them to question the room 212 setup. Two cameras on tripods, that flattering lighting, a boy, sometimes two, to fuck them.

CC began telephoning them at home at dinner time. Margot Moreau picked up her phone and listened as he told her, “First thing tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, hi, Kate. Sure, sounds good.”

Then Margot would force herself to make bright table conversation, deal with homework, kids’ squabbles, bedtime rituals ... all the time thinking about the Studio in the back of her mind.

If her husband wanted sex — a rarity on a weekday night — all the better. She had anticipatory fantasies to enhance her side of the event. But most nights she fell asleep dreaming about the morning. One boy or two? While she never consciously thought the words out, she enjoyed the uncertainty, the not-knowing who would be fucking her. Sometimes it was CC, sometimes Alain, sometimes both of them.

It was thrilling to walk up those steps, uncertain who would open the door. Whoever it turned out to be, it was the best boy/girl sex she’d ever had.

It never occurred to Margot, nor to any of them, that they were being used. Used for Ray-Ray’s amusement. Used for CC and Alain’s pleasure. That they were grown women — married mothers — driving across town to provide pussy to teenage boys.

In fact, they considered themselves fortunate, blessed even, to be getting so much sex on the side. And the tapes were the cherry on the cake.

Honey Calhoun’s call also came at dinnertime. CC merely said, “First thing tomorrow morning.” Click.

Honey held back a grin. Yes! The only problem — Cliff was in town for three days. Just back from a run up to Knoxville and Memphis. Oh well, she’d figure something out.

In the morning when she finally got the kids off to school, she smiled, “I got a few errands to run, honey. How about we go to lunch at Contrary Mary’s?” His fave.

Honey knocked at room 212 and was startled when a beautiful woman opened the door. Her mind raced: _ Woman. CC’s sister. Then it registered: No, not his sister, his mother. Slim Hebert._

Honey stared at the naked, smiling woman. She’d seen her around town. Had heard the story — _ the sexiest woman in the Cajun Bayous. Honey thought to herself, No, fuck that, the sexiest woman in town._

She was tall and slender and tan like CC. But, good Lord, was she hot! That same killer smile, but with a knowing twinkle in her eyes. Perky, uptilted boobs with erect nipples. A tiny waist and a taut butt. A little girl’s bald pussy. Long, shapely legs. She exuded sex.

Slim backed in and beckoned Honey to follow.

CC said, simply, ‘Honey, Slim. Slim, Honey.” He winked, “Don’t keep Mama waiting, show her what you got.”

Honey, still staring at the woman, was on automatic pilot as she stripped off her clothes. They stood side by side watching her. CC’s arm around Slim’s shoulders, hers around his waist. His cock was pulsing gently, pointing up at the ceiling. Both were at ease, comfortable in their own skins, in their mutual nudity.

Honey stood there in front of them, placid, still off balance. Slim reached between the woman’s thighs and slid her middle finger in. She gave her son a glorious smile, “You’re right, honey, this one is ripe.”

Rather than resent the intrusive gesture, Honey felt a burst of pride, like she’d done something right. She had no way of knowing, but before she arrived, Slim had told her son, “You take charge. Ray-Ray has her trained to obey you, let’s not confuse the silly little cunt.”

“Okay, Mama.”

He turned on the cameras, adjusted the lighting, and smiled at Honey, “Lie down. On your back.”

“Oh. Okay, sure.”

“Mama, you give Miss Honey a taste.”

“Yes sir!”

As Slim straddled her head, Honey no more thought about resisting than flying to the moon. She placed her hands on Slim’s butt and began licking her pussy. Honey thought: _God, she even tastes like a little girl._

After Slim orgasmed, she and CC made Honey the center of their universe. Slim licked and sucked while her son fucked and fucked. Honey was amenable, pliable, and eager to please as CC moved her about freely.

When CC finally shot off in her pussy, Slim went back and forth — licking her, sucking him, fingering her, sucking him.

Honey felt like she was in some kind of magical fairy tale. Two of the most beautiful, sexy people she had ever seen were ravishing her. She was blissfully at their total mercy. She wanted them to be in charge, to use her, to enjoy her

As Slim guided his cock back into Honey’s pussy, she pecked the woman on the lips and said, “You are prime pussy, girl.”

Honey beamed.

Slim winked at her son, “One of these nights would you bring our little slut home so we can have her all night?”

“Sure, Mama, she does whatever I want. Right, Honey?”

“Oh yes! Oh God yes!”

Honey had been falling a little in love with Velma for the past several weeks. But she never told her everything about the session with Slim and CC. While she eagerly gushed about all the physical details — indeed, they watched the edited tape together — Honey never did share the entire story.

The saga of what happened in bed — that was obvious — but she never did articulate how she felt about it at the time. And afterward too, lying in her own bed reliving those two hours.

Honey was a little older than Slim, but felt younger; in bed, _much_ younger. Slim, like most Cajun Bayou girls, had started having children at an early age so CC was older than Honey’s own kids.

But both of the Heberts seemed so ... sexually worldly that Honey felt almost childlike as they maneuvered her around in bed. Manipulated her. Used her for their own pleasures.

Honey had never experienced sex that intense, not even during the hottest times with Velma. There had been something about being with Slim and CC together that simply turned Honey on just by looking at them.

Slender and tan and sexy — the same body type, the same white smile, the same hedonistic attitude. The way they communicated without words; they simply flowed around Honey, effortlessly using her for their mutual enjoyment.

Physically, they looked like sister and brother, with Slim looking not all that much older than CC. But Honey knew, was intensely aware, that they were mother and son. Some sort of electricity seemed to just crackle between them.

CC was obviously in thrall, in awe, in love with the woman. And, God, who could blame him? Just look at her — sex on wheels.

That first encounter, when Honey lay on her back, and Slim straddled her head, Slim gave her such a knowing look, a look that said, _I know you can’t wait to lick my pussy._

And, it was true. Just looking at the sexiest girl in town made Honey want to lap her up. Later, for the first time in her life, Honey wished she had a dick to fuck Slim Hebert.

Those irrational impulses and fantasies continued throughout her time with them. At various moments Honey wished she was Slim’s sister, then CC’s mother, that all three of them were brothers — the images and stories kept flickering through Honey’s brain.

However, the very hottest of Honey’s internal movies came from when Slim said to CC to bring our little slut home. Honey flashed on the word _our_. She suddenly felt they were the mom and dad; she was the little girl. And, God, did that turn her on!

But embedded deeply was the knowledge that Slim and CC were actually mother and son. A gloriously irresistible mom and a mouthwatering son. And, that they were allowing Honey into the most intimate of familial relationships, were making her part of their family.

She never spoke of this to Velma; never shared the absolute thrill she got when Slim said to CC ‘to bring our little slut home.’ God!!

Ray-Ray added another twist — another welcome addition — to the Studio. When Esmeralda Chastain showed up on a Wednesday morning, CC let her in. She stopped short — two Oriental girls from Wendy’s Salon were waiting for her.

Shampoo, blowout, makeup, the works.

Neither of the stylists spoke English, and neither seemed the least perturbed by CC’s erection. They simply undressed Velma and went through the glamorizing routine as if they were at work at Wendy’s.