Chapter 51: As she wove her way...

As she wove her way through the now dark bayous, Cathy reflected on the Cum Game. She estimated that maybe as many as a hundred boys were now playing it. At the express encouragement of their mothers.

Pragmatism prevailed in the Cajun Bayous. Most mothers would willingly pose naked for a few moments. It was easier than jerking the boys off every night. Their sisters usually watched to giggle and gossip at school the next morning.

The Cajuns — men, women, and children — were inherently fair-minded. The moms understood that they had to keep shifting the competing teams around; otherwise one boy in each group would keep winning.

These wise mamas understood — probably at some atavistic level — the value of the finale ... the face-slap. The carrot and the stick. Reward and punishment. The naughty pleasure of seeing real, live pussy, the thrill of cuming, the reality of losing.

Like Cathy Mouton, most of the mothers enjoyed watching the punishment stage on some primitive level. The slap had to be open-handed — no fists allowed — but real pain was inflicted. The boys tried not to cry, tried to tough it out, but it hurt a lot more than getting their butts paddled.

Also like Cathy, none of the women bothered to try to figure out why they enjoyed the Slap. Long-buried resentment? An evening up of old scores? They didn’t get into self-analysis; they just discussed, and relished, the latest punishment details among themselves.

Once in a while, a boy would snap and attack the slapper. This was usually seen as bonus entertainment — two naked boys, wrestling, rolling around in the grass, cursing, slapping, and howling in rage.

Up in the Fournier living room, Cathy could see that Toni and Pierre had been waiting for her. The girls were asleep. Pierre was erect, sitting on the couch. Toni had waited until her friend arrived before pulling off her tee.

She patted herself, “Panties _and_ a thong.”

“Good girl.” Cathy had remembered to pull on her own thong when she docked at Toni’s little pier.

She decided to make them wait a little longer; she looked at Pierre, “Shine, please.”

He poured three glasses: Toni eyeballed his erection as he moved from the kitchen back to the girls.

Cathy said, “Your brood asleep?”

Toni, “I jess checked, two minutes ago.”

“Good. Now let’s see ... Toni, you lie down on the sofa.”

Cathy placed a pillow under her head. She turned to Pierre, “She all yours, from the waist on up.” She patted Toni’s pussy, “No, no, no. Not tonight. Agreed?”

“I guess.”

“Agreed?”

“Yes ma’am. Uh...”

“Yes?”

He waggled his penis, “What about ... I mean ... just a rub?”

Cathy understood what he meant; she thought about it. She lifted Toni’s panties to check — yep, a yellow thong. She looked at her friend. Toni was obviously turned on. Blushing, nipples erect, shallow breathing.

“Okay, Pierre. Long as her panties stay on, an’ her thong stays on. And no pushing them aside.” Cathy felt like her own mother years ago, trying to establish firm guidelines when Cathy first started going out with boys.

Toni whispered, “Cath?”

“Yeah?”

“What about when he cums. I mean ... where?”

Cathy shrugged, “I don’ care, me. ‘Tween your tits, on your tummy.” She smiled fondly and stroked her cheek, “On your lovely face, you used to love that. Remember that first party, you an’ all them boys?”

Toni beamed.

Pierre had obviously been thinking, planning, plotting. This time he lay down on Toni and began kissing her deeply. Both girls had expected him to go for her boobs. Cathy didn’t say anything. Toni hesitated, then flung her arms around his back, moaning softly like a teenager. The position was enough like fucking to get her motor racing.

The kiss lasted and lasted. Toni moaned louder. She was thrusting her hips up to meet Pierre. Cathy saw the problem; his cock was wedged between their tummies. At this rate, he’d shoot off in a minute. She reached between them and pulled it down. Now the back of it was rubbing on her pussy, but without all the full-length pressure.

Pierre broke the kiss and licked his way down to her breasts. Toni had her eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on the sensations. Cathy trailed her own hand down to her thong; once again she felt the heat rising just from watching,

Pierre moved back up, kissing Toni deeply. She had let both arms droop down. She was just lying there passively, invitingly. Her friend’s yearning availability turned Cathy on even more. She ditched her own thong, threw her legs over the arm of the chair and masturbated openly.

Both girls were in heat — Toni from the physical sensations and the mental naughtiness of the relationship. Cathy from watching the steamy scene, from imagining herself under Pierre.

Then the boy stiffened and sucked in his breath. He lifted his hips, frantically trying to free his cock before the pressure made him cum. Too late. He sat up on his knees, spurting on Toni’s tummy, her breasts, up to her face.

He moaned, “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Mama, I’m sorry.”

Toni’s body deflated, her passion suddenly drained. Cathy sat back, interrupted in her own moment of pleasure.

Cathy was the first to recover, “Don’ worry, Pierre, she still had a good cum.”

He stared at Toni, “Did you? I’m sorry, it just ... I wasn’t...”

Toni shook herself back to the moment, “Shh, don’ think you did nothin’ wrong. I came so fucking hard.”

The gentle lies that women have been telling for centuries.

Later, in bed, Cathy didn’t ask. She just trailed her hand down Toni’s body and went to work.

Had Cathy thought about it — which she didn’t — she might have tallied the number of naked boys she’d seen that day. Five at the rope line first thing in the morning. Three more at the Cum Game. Pierre. She wouldn’t have counted her husband.

Still, the thought of nine naked boys might have amused her.

For the third morning in a row, Cathy and Toni met at Cunts Corner after dropping the kids off at school.

They lay there in the morning sun, holding hands, getting a lazy neck and shoulder massage, sipping breakfast beers, idly watching seven boys stroking themselves. They were five or six feet away, behind that rope that Sinéad kept inching closer to the salon action.

Toni, “Well, last night was a bust.”

“Thanks a lot.” Cathy had lost track of how many climaxes she’d given her friend.

“You know what I mean.”

“It happens, Toni. To every guy.”

“Yeah.”

Toni was still down in the dumps. Cathy let go of her hand, placed her palm right on Toni’s pussy. The woman caught her breath.

Cathy, “If them boys wasn’t watching...”

Toni giggled, “What?”

Cathy explored with her middle finger, “I might jess...”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Toni moved her thighs apart.

“No, acourse I wouldn’t. Not with all them boys watching you.”

“Yeah, you’re a proper one, you.”

“Unless...”

“Unless what?”

“Unless a certain slut moved her heels back to her butt so her cunt was waving at them boys.”

Toni complied, answering the challenge, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right, I was jess funning you.” Cathy found her friend’s clit and caressed it as she thrust two more fingers in.

Toni spread her knees, thrust her hips up and climaxed hard.

Cathy sat back, a slight grin on her face. The boys whistled and cheered; two of them shot off. Sinéad smiled from behind the bar. Toni demurely crossed her legs. “I cain’t believe you did that, me.”

“Toni?”

“Yeah?”

“I got me an idea for tonight. You an’ Pierre wait ‘til I get there.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

When Cathy got back from the Bayou Bar, her next-door neighbor, Tilda Arnaud, was hanging laundry on her front deck. Cathy climbed up to help, and Tilda poured her a cup of chicory.

Three boys in school; three girls in school. Petey and Conrad out working. Cathy and Tilda were closer than just friends and neighbors; almost like sisters. They’d been born next door to each other, grew up next to each other, got married, had kids, still lived next to each other.

Cathy had on a thong; Tilda, white cotton panties.

Cathy grinned, “How was Miz Boucher?”

Tilda laughed, “Like I tole Conrad, the poor dear must be coming down with something. Probably the flu.”

“It was so kind of you to stay with her, fix her some supper.”

What the men don’t know, the men don’t know.

“What you been up to? I heard you come home early this morning.”

Cathy told her about Marti, about Marti and Pierre, about her concern for her friend.

Tilda, “She’s playing with fire.”

“I know.”

“She thinks she wants it, but she’s gonna regret it, she lets that boy fuck her.”

“I know.”

“Marti ain’t the strongest girl in the bayous.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“I got to thinking, me. This whole thing started when Marti heard about Toni Fournier.”

Tilda smiled, “That little Henri, he is one sweetheart.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“Looks like he’s ‘bout seven years old, got the face of an angel.”

“Yep.”

“So Marti hears ‘bout Henri, how he’s sucking his mama’s tit.”

“Yep.”

“And she decides that’s jess what she needs.”

“An’ Pierre’s right there. An’ all for it.”

“Acourse he is, he’s a fucking boy.”

“Thing is, Willa Fournier got her mama under control now. Only gives Henri to her a couple of times a day. Makes sure her mama’s getting plenty of loving in between.”

“An’ Marti ain’t got no Willa.”

“Right. An’ I can’t go over there every night, keep things under control.”

“You got a plan, help Marti get through this?”

“Yeah, but I dunno it’s gonna work. Anyway, I’m taking Willa over there with me tonight.”

Tilda nodded her head, “That’s one strong little girl, Willa.”

With Sabine Babineaux living in town, Willa Fournier was now considered the strongest-willed girl in the Cajun Bayous.

“Yeah. Maybe she can talk to Pierre, talk some sense into him. No good talking to Marti — once he gets her going ... she can’t stop him. Don’ wanna stop him.”

“Well, good luck.”

Tilda stood, reached for her jar of shine, poured a generous dollop into their cups. Added a little chicory. Tilda was a big-bottomed girl with small tits and prominent pussy lips. Men liked her, boys fantasized about her. In turn, she adored men and boys. She was a woman of appetites; and one who indulged herself.

Cathy said, “My Tommy been behaving himself? I mean, as much as he can?”

Tilda shrugged, “He’s 15 fucking years old.”

“Yeah.”

“What about my little Carly, you able to keep her in panties?”

“Pretty much. She likes to flash Petey at bedtime, but I’m letting her get away with it. For now.”

“Cathy, how long you had them girls?”

“Oh ... let’s see ... I still had the boys when we had all that heat lightning. So I guess, two, three months.”

“Is it time to swap ‘em?”

Cathy grinned, “Them boys driving you crazy?”

“Nah, they ain’t so bad. They peek at me, my outdoor shower, but they pretty good boys.”

“We played the Cum Game last night.”

Tilda perked up, “Did Tee-Joe win again?”

“Yeah, third time in a row, maybe four.”

“We outta move him back a board. I don’ want them other two to get discouraged, stop playing.”

“Let’s try that when they get home from school. But I was thinkin’ — maybe we ought to send a couple of them over to Carlene’s? Have her give us three, four of hers?”

Tilda nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! I’d like to see some new blood.”

Cathy laughed, “An’ you ain’t kidding.”

“Anything interesting? Last night’s Cum Game?”

“Not really. Tee-Joe slapped ‘em bout as hard as he could.”

“But no bloody noses? No screaming? No fighting, no wrestling around?”

Cathy smiled indulgently, knowing how much Tilda enjoyed the rough stuff. “No, Tommy an’ Tee-Ron howled, but they didn’t fight back.”

Tilda sipped her drink, thinking. “Tee-Joe, did he cum first again?”

“Yeah. Then Tommy.”

“Okay. After school, let’s move Tee-Joe back a board. Then after he cums, let’s you and me both strip.”

Cathy laughed, “Inspire them other two.”

Tilda slid a hand inside her panties, “I don’ care which one wins, they both hit harder than Tee-Joe.”

Cathy took a swallow, moved her thong aside, “After one of ‘em wins, me an’ you can cheer the winner on.”

Tilda fingered herself, nodded, “Go get ‘em, Tiger!”

The two women treated themselves to a quick orgasm, then it was back to work.

Back in her own house, mending clothes while her turkey picante simmered, Cathy reflected on her lifelong friendship with Tilda. They knew each other inside and out, no secrets, not a single one.

Both girls liked sex, saw no reason to slow down just because they got married. And, they covered for each other — watched each other’s kids, traded lovers, lied to each other’s husband. What the men don’t know, the men don’t know.

Cathy admired Tilda’s raunchy mind. The very first time they’d segregated the boys from the girls, the first time Tilda took the three boys under her wing, she came up with the Cum Game.

It was exciting to the boys to see her naked, right out there in the sunshine, not having to sneak around. It felt great to ejaculate, and it settled them down at bedtime.

But Tilda, being Tilda, pushed it further. At first, she had the losers lie down on their backs and let the triumphant boy tickle them mercilessly. But as she told Cathy, “They didn’t get into it like I hoped, me.”

Cathy laughed, “You wanted to see them rolling around, on top of each other, getting hard-ons.” She winked at her friend, “Maybe fucking each other?”

Big, loopy grin, “Why not? But the fuckers didn’t get into it. Made me mad.”

And she channeled that annoyance into the Slap. Cathy was surprised at how much she, herself, also enjoyed the belligerent ending. Boys got furious, remembered who had hurt them, banked their anger, tried to get even.

One of the genius elements of the Cum Game, one of the reasons so many of the bayou mothers enjoyed it, was that it required only two players. Yet three, four, five, six could also compete at the same time.

While it did amuse those moms to see the ejaculation contest, most of them were like Tilda and Cathy — the Slap was the highlight of the event. Worth getting naked in front of the boys. Worth being stared at and jacked off to. The Slap.

Little Willa Fournier took in the scene in an instant. Cathy had led her up the steps and into the Bastarache living room. Marti was wearing a white thong, her face already flushed, her nipples hard. Pierre was erect, throbbing in anticipation.

Obviously, they’d been fooling around on their own.

Willa and Cathy had on thongs of their own. Willa, her heart-shaped angel face set with determination, said, “What you been doing, Marti?”

“Uh, I let him kiss me. Jess a little. While we was ... you know ... waiting for Cathy.” She and Pierre were obviously surprised to see the fierce little girl. Pierre was also delighted.

Willa looked them over, nodded to herself. Cathy had explained the dynamics. Marti’s hunger; her weakness; Pierre’s natural eagerness. Willa had had to exert discipline in her own home; maybe she could bring things under control here.

First, she startled everyone by pulling down Marti’s thong and tossing it aside. Marti gasped, then beamed with pleasure. Cathy started to object, then closed her mouth. Let’s see what the girl has in mind. Pierre, of course, was delighted.

Willa smiled kindly at Marti, “That’s better, ain’t it?”

“Well, only if you think ... I mean, I wouldn’t myself...”

Willa put her little fists on her hips, “Don’t lie to me.”

Marti turned scarlet, “Oh. Um, sorry.” Willa kept staring at her. Marti looked down, “Yeah, I like it best being naked.” She explained, “With Pierre.”

“Jerk him off.”

“What? Now? But he hasn’t even ... I mean we usually...”

“Marti.”

Still blushing furiously, she complied — puzzled, meek, obedient. She gripped the base with her left hand, stroked with her right. As Pierre drew close, she said, “Um, where do you want him...”

“In your mouth.”

Marti stared at her for a moment. She had masturbated the boy countless times, but this was a new development. Pierre whispered, “Yes!”

Cathy could tell that Marti was on automatic pilot. She took the boy into her mouth, placed her hands on his butt, and went to work. A minute later she sat back, looking up at Willa with a question on her face.

“Swallow it, you know that Marti, don’t act foolish.”

A minute later, she laid the chastened woman back on the couch. She made a ‘help yourself’ gesture to Pierre, “She’s all yours; have at her.”

Pierre stared at Willa, clearly puzzled. She took his hand, placed it on Marti’s pussy. At that instant, Cathy got it. Pierre was going soft; Willa was letting him do everything to Marti except fuck her.

Cathy relaxed and sat back to enjoy the show. Which lasted over an hour. Willa had Pierre finger-fuck the woman to an easy climax. When he became erect again, she guided him into Marti’s now eager mouth.

By the end of the session, he was necking with her, fingering her, licking her. Marti was now fully into it. Enjoying her newfound freedom, relishing the forbidden, complying with Willa’s every instruction, and getting off time and again.

When Willa and Cathy left, the little girl poked Pierre in the tummy, “You keep that cock outta her pussy, hear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

She turned to Marti, “Suck him off as much as he wants. Then your body belongs to him. Jess think of yourself as Pierre’s little slut. Got it?”

Marti’s grin split her face, “Yes ma’am.”

Willa turned, gripped the boy’s balls, “You fuck her, I’ll hear about it.”

“Yes ma’am. I mean, no ma’am, I won’t.”

As they motored away, Cathy asked, “You think it’s gonna work?”

Willa, “For a while. You like, I’ll check back in a month or so.” She nodded to herself, “Maybe I’ll give him a little kick in the balls, remind him.”

Cathy smiled to herself; Tilda would like to see that. Cathy thought: _In fact, I wouldn’t mind watching that myself._

It was several days after Willa had set the course for the Bastarache family before Cathy and Marti ended up getting pampered again at Cunts Corner. They’d dropped the kids off at school, and rewarded themselves with an early morning break before tackling the day.

As they lay there in the pleasant sunshine, Cathy squeezed Marti’s hand, “So?”

Marti glanced away awkwardly, “He ain’t fucked me, non.”

“But?”

Silence.

“Marti.”

“I let him ... it was his idea ... see...”

“Talk to me.”

“I usually suck him off.” She nodded to herself, “Jess like Willa tole me.”

“But.”

“I sort of ... jess once in a while...”

“What, Marti?”

Six rope-line boys stroked themselves, as curious as Cathy was.