Mum/Son Chess Tournament Ch. 15

"I slept delightfully well!" JoAnne said, as she and Luce, both comfortable in white terry-cloth robes, stepped into the bungalow's kitchen to put the electric kettle on.

"Me too," agreed Luce, "And I have your boy's energetic lovemaking to thank for that!"

"So," JoAnne said, sitting at the little table and carelessly letting her robe fall open, "What's your usual morning ritual for handling a boy's morning wood?"

"We freestyle," Luce said, running her fingers through her hair thoughtfully, "Ritual makes us stale -- no offence!" JoAnne nodded that no offence was taken. "Sometimes," Luce continued, "I wake him up by cupping my hand under his balls and gently rolling them in my palm, if he's sleeping on his back and his dreams are already stiffening him up. Sometimes, on lazy weekend mornings I might have the energy to let him ride me to a morning climax, but not so much anymore, now that I'm getting older. Sometimes I hold him in my lap and have him nurse at my breast while I wrap my hand around his cock until he begs me for a release. Sometimes I'm so lazy I just lie back and make him wank in front of me!"

"You give him permission to cum on your tits or squirt all over your bush?" JoAnne had admired Luce's cloud of white pussyfur when they played the night before.

"A treat for him," Luce agreed, "But kind of messy."

"You can work it in the shower, if you're worried about mess," both women laughed, "But he probably hasn't got the potency to squirt all the way up to your titties!" They laughed again.

"Then there's a little role-playing to spice things up. I could be the teacher who rewards him for perfect attendance with a little biology lesson. Or I could be the "naughty nurse," who has to perform an anal inspection. I tell him his erection is a normal response for a healthy boy, not something to be ashamed of. When I eventually make him cum, his bunghole clamps down like a vise on my fingers. Very powerful, satisfying response!"

"I can imagine," JoAnne thought again of Chesi making love to Gerry's tight backdoor.

"Except today we're saving it up!" Luce announced brightly.

"Why on Earth?" JoAnne got up to make tea, nipples and pudenda peeking out of the folds of her robe as she moved, "Would you even skip ONE day? All kinds of misbehaviour can happen when semen backs up and clouds the teenage brain!"

"Got an event later today. Have to let the pressure build up so he can perform." Luce watched as JoAnne's robe opened again, carelessly, and wondered what it would look like after a boy (maybe JoAnne's, maybe Luce's, maybe both) had relieved the morning pressure in his balls and spattered his tribute all over JoAnne's neatly trimmed heart-shaped patch of salt-and-pepper pubic hair.

"Another chorus line?" JoAnne imagined all those teenage boys strutting shoulder to shoulder, letting go with a barrage of love juices from the barrels of their ranked flesh cannons.

"A presentation on physical fitness," Luce said with a smile.

"I can see where this is going," said JoAnne, absentmindedly stroking her left nipple.

"I got the ticket to Miss Jasmine's event here somewhere," Luce stood up, her robe also opening generously, and hunted around until she found an embossed plastic card on the counter.

It had a minimalist line drawing of a woman flexing her left arm, biceps bulging, hand in a fist, holding a small cup in the other hand, ready to lift it to her lips. Instead of "Miss Jasmine," it had simple block letters "Protein Power" and a small number 69 in the corner.

"Um-humm!" JoAnne said, "Sixty-nine! Even more do I know where this is going!"

"Just an amusing little coincidence," Luce explained, "It's the order we go in, the seat number or something."

"And the cup? Some protein powder drink she sells for a pretty penny?"

"Oh, no," said Luce, really quite amused now, "It's not powdered, and she doesn't sell it. You'll have to hunt it down yourself if you want to indulge!" She tapped the card and JoAnne looked closer at the background.

It was harder to make out, but it was definitely the form of a boy, lying on a bed or couch or maybe just some indefinite pillows on the floor. There was not enough detail on either the figure of the woman or the boy to determine what they were wearing. They might even have been naked: no nipples or pubic hairs were drawn and the boy was facing away. Still, it was obvious the woman was strong and energized while boy was exhausted, drained.

"I see," JoAnne thought she understood now, "She's collecting, ah, protein drinks?"

"Not quite," Luce took a step forward, so the two of them were standing quite close, "She's going to collect it, yes, but she's going to drink it hot from the tap. You're welcome to attend. Everyone at the resort's welcome to attend. Just stop by the main office, pick up a ticket and make sure your boy's ready to go." She took another step, her robe brushing against JoAnne's now.

JoAnne looked at the ticket again. 69 boys signed up? Maybe more, if a woman brought a "stable" of young bucks?

"I'd love to," JoAnne said, taking the hint and taking Luce into her arms, their breasts pressing together, pubic hair intermingling for a nice, long kiss before they went to wake the boys and tell them their morning stiffies were going to be disappointed. But only for a little while.

JoAnne and Chesi picked up their ticket (number 88, which the clerk at the main office said was supposed to be a lucky number) on the way to breakfast. At the café, they looked around, wondering how many of the young men eating sausages and peaches and oysters and cucumber salad and melons and figs and bananas were storing up their protein tributes for Miss Jasmine. Luce pointed out a number of them who seemed to have little tents in their trousers, if you looked closely.

"Each ticket," said Luce, turning it over so the boys could see, "Has a recommended time, but best be early so you don't lose your place!"

"I thought you said it was going to be a presentation," Chesi asked, "Isn't everyone going to it at the same time?"

"I think I know what she means," JoAnne said, holding up their ticket, "If we don't want to sit through eighty-seven little presentations before yours!"

"Or more, if there are any like Julie Kristeva, bringing more than one boyfriend," Gerry pointed out.

JoAnne wondered how many women who'd brought their boys to the chess tournament had also visited Julia's big, crowded bungalow.

"Quite right," Luce agreed, "But again, be early. She can work a boy faster than anyone I've ever seen, even at the wildest parties."

So they wandered the palm-shaded walkways of Bronzeville admiring the handsome young men and the cheerful mature women leading them by the hand to the tourist shops or the beach or someone's bungalow where a party was always brewing.

The boys occasionally popped up a stiffy in their trousers or Speedo when a particularly scantily clad lady happened by, while the women showed their interest by licking their lips or coyly blowing kisses, but it was all rather tame compared to the nude beach.

Their number eventually came up, so they made their way to what proved to be a small theatre inside the large main building. The door was labeled, mundanely, "Auditorium III," and in the display slot under that label was inserted the notice "Miss Jasmine's Protein Power -- Tickets Required -- Mature Audiences Only."

The boys found that "Mature Audiences" restriction amusing. The careful screening they'd gone through when checking in to the resort, providing proof that they were not under eighteen years of age, indicated that any "audience" at any function there would inevitably be "mature." Though of course the women were often far more "mature" than their companions.

The door opened and one of those couples stepped out. The boy was chubby, with sandy hair and green eyes and a happy smile, walking a little wobbly. The woman leading him by the hand was a statuesque African with a few grey hairs in a full head of tight curls. She towered over him, her large breasts at about the level of his eyes.

Or his lips, Chesi though, feeling his erection stirring again. Even through her floral-pattern blouse and brassière -- the boys could tell she was wearing one only because her breasts jutted out proudly and did not sway the least bit as she walked -- her large nipples made quite visible bumps in the fabric. She was smiling broadly too, though she walked more steadily. As they passed, she whispered something to the boy in French and he responded, with some enthusiasm, "Oui!"

Stepping through the door, they discovered they had to turn immediately to the left, then the right again, the little dog-leg blocking any view of the interior of the auditorium even if the door had been propped wide open. Which of course it wasn't.

The auditorium wasn't very large. Even the seats in the back had a fairly good view of what was happening on stage. To make absolutely sure nobody missed any details, though, large projection screens were set up, showing the scene from several camera angles.

JoAnne and Luce noticed the one at the far left first, because it showed a close-up of a lovely boy's face, tousled hair, warm grey eyes, pouty, kissable lips. The eyes were unfocused, the lips open. He was obviously breathing rapidly.

The boys' eyes were drawn to the stage first, where the boy, nude, was sitting on a tall chair. Jasmine -- for that was who they assumed it was -- sat in front of him on a stool with wheels. They could tell, even without looking at the closeup camera screen, that she was well muscled, the curves of her biceps and thigh muscles outlined by the fabric of the plain white leotard she was wearing just as clearly as the curves of her large breasts and firm buttocks.

She was bent over, bobbing her head in his lap, her dark brown hair brushing his straining thighs, taking his cock in so far that her lips wrapped around the root at the downstroke. As they watched, the boy's back arched and his body shook. Looking at the display screen in the centre of the stage they saw clearly Jasmine's throat heaving as she swallowed several times, held him in her mouth a few more seconds before letting his penis flop, wet and limp across his balls.

She stood up then, facing the audience, and gave another theatrical swallow and stepped over to a frame with a bar about two and a half metres high. Hopping up, she grabbed the bar and quickly did half a dozen chin-ups while the boy climbed down from his perch. The muscles of her arms and chest showed beautiful definition.

Another boy, also nude, stood there waiting. An Oriental with delicate features, dark eyes, shiny black pubic hair, he smiled uncomfortably, looking to be a bit uneasy up there on the stage, though that didn't wilt his twenty-centimetre erection. He waited a few seconds as a young woman sprayed and wiped down the seat, armrests and padded back of the chair. She was wearing a nametag. Chesi and Gerry didn't need that to tell them she was a resort employee: aside from a reception clerk, this was the first woman they'd seen at the resort even close to their age.

At the back of the stage was a rack with clothes on hangers and hanging from pegs. The boy Jasmine had finished with began dressing while the boy who'd been waiting climbed up to the seat to take his turn. Meanwhile, yet another boy, a skinny redhead with wire-rimmed glasses, hurried up from the audience, showed his ticket to the woman with the spray bottle and began to undress, hanging his clothes on the rack next to the what they realized were the Oriental's shirt and trousers.

By now, Jasmine had taken her seat on the stool and rolled over to begin another round of vigorous fellating. As JoAnne and Luce and walked in with their boys to take THEIR seats, they noticed that not all the audience was sitting. Nobody was blocking the view, but some of the ladies had moved down to the front, and some had stepped off a little to the side.

It didn't take long to realize what they were doing, and why. They were opening their blouses to display their breasts, or lifting their skirts to show off their panties -- if, indeed, they were wearing panties at all! -- and some had turned their backs, bent over and pulled their arse-cheeks and pussylips wide open to display their pink charms. They must have grown impatient, wanting to speed up the show and get their own boys up there on stage. Some women even paired off, giving each other very genuine, passionate kisses as they embraced, topless, their breasts and crotches rubbing together as they looked at the boy on stage and winked and blew him kisses.

Some ladies who kept their seats got into the swing of things too. Chesi watched in awe as a big, grey-haired grandmotherly type sitting next to him pushed her enormous breasts up out of her skimpy sundress and began to lick her nipples and blow on them, the evaporation chilling them to hard, pink bullets. It seemed almost everyone was enthusiastically spurring the boy's excitement.

Or maybe they just wanted to be part of the show?

In any case, the effect was the same. In half a minute, the boy up on the hot seat was moaning and spasming and giving Jasmine another helping of her tribute.

This time, instead of showing off her athletic prowess, she simply reached over to a little table, picked up a waiting bottle of Perrier, and elegantly took a few sips, smiling at the audience.