The Continuing Saga of Bobby and his Best Friend's
Bobby lost his fourteen year cherry to his best
friend's mom. Now Mrs. Acker introduces him to Beth, a
fifty-something webmistress of Maturesluts. com.
Bobby and the Webmistress, Part 1 of 2
By Cinque Manson
I was hiding in my room, nursing a pair of the bluest
balls a fourteen year could have, when I hear
my mother'svoice call from the kitchen.
"Phone, Bobby!"
It had been a busy month after I had lost my virginity
to my best friend's mom, Alice Acker, and his
girlfriend Linda. I guess technically she was my
girlfriend, too, or something like it. We had spent
the long torpid summer days since our first afternoon
sex party at Mrs. Acker's house driving each other
into an erotic frenzy. After some sessions of
old-fashoined fucking and sucking, Linda found she
preffered dominating me, and set about toying with me
more and more. She tied me to a bed in one of the
dingy empty rooms of the Ace Motel and made me make
her over and over, sometimes with my tongue,
sometimes with my boydick. The damnedest part was
this, the more I made her cum, the less inclined Linda
was to allow me release in return.
Hence my blue balls. It had been a week since I'd last
climaxed, and althought that may not sound like great
shakes, to a teenaged who'd been teased, tickled
and spent the better of four hours the day before with
his head between a luscious teenaged girl's soft
thighs it was slow agony.
Linda had hovered over me, her shins resting on my
shoulders, the narrow tapered fingers of both hands
holding her pale nether lips apart exposing her pink
pussy flesh to me. She asked,
"Don't you want to lick me, Bobby?" She smiled down at
me. I bobbed my head upwards, trying to impale her on
my pointed tongue. She laughed and bobbed out of the
way. "You're going to have to work a lot harder than
that if you want me", she giggled. I sighed.
Mrs. Acker told Linda that the longer she made me wait
to cum, the better it would feel, especially if I were
teased long and hard in between. To tell you the
truth, this was hell, but it was a sweet ecstatic
hell. I was growing more and more in love with Linda,
my fourteen year mistress. Making her quiver in
rolling orgasms became my release, her pleasure my
pleasure.
Mrs. Acker told her that she should control when I was
allowed to cum, and Linda passed along this
information with strict instructions. Not only was I
not allowed to during our sex sessions unless she
gave permission, but I wasn't allowed to beat off or
otherwise cause myself to at home. The result of
this was that my sperm must have backed up all the way
from my tight boyslut nuts to my brain, because all I
could think about was Linda's slippery body using me
for a sex toy.
So this was my state of mind, a slackjawed reverie,
when I was called to the phone that early afternoon. I
expected it to be Linda, of course, summoning me to
the Ace Motel for more duty fucking. Instead, it was
the musical voice of my best friend's mom, Alice
Acker.
"Hello Bobby, how's it hangin'?"
"I'm ok, I guess. How are you, Mrs. Acker?"
"Pretty formal, slutboy, is your hanging
around?"
"Yeah," my was standing at the kitchen sink
washing dishes as I sat at the dinette table muttering
monosyllables into the phone. I could sense she was
listening to every word.
"I'll tell you the reason I called. You're pretty good
with computers and electronic gizmos, aren't you?"
Me and every other teen aged for fifty miles
around.
"Yeah, I guess so."
"I have a friend who's having some problems installing
some software. Do you think you could help her out?"
"What kind of software?"
"I don't know, I'm no good at that stuff. Why don't I
run by and pick you up and take you over to her
house." It was a statement, not a question.
"Ok, sure. I was planning on getting together with
Linda a little later, I should call her and see if
this is OK."
"Good boy. But I've already spoken to her, Bobby, you
can have the day off..."
I blushed at the realization that Linda probably gave
Mrs. Acker detailed accounts of our exploratory
interludes. As exciting as my relationship with Linda
had become, it still felt dirty and shameful outside
the heavily draped windows of the Ace Motel.
"Ok," I gulped.
Mrs. Acker drove up our driveway in her brand new VW
bug, and my bade me goodby with an admonishment
not to stay out too late. I climbed into my best
friend's mom's car and after a short greeting she
shifted into reverse and we were off. We drove up from
the flatlands, past the suburbs where she lived, and
turned on a narrow road that snaked up between the
foothills.
"We're going to my friend Beth's house up in the
Canyon."
We pulled up a winding drive and rokked a hundred
yards to what looked like a treehouse, so lush as the
foliage that surrounded it. Although it was noon, and
the sun beat down on us, the tree branches rustled
softly catching a slight breeze, and the air smelled
fresh and cool.
"Is that you, Alice," a voice called out.
""Yes, Beth, I brought Bobby, the I told you
about, to help you with your computer."
I unwound my body out of the car. Alice took my hand
and walked me across a small wooden bridge fording a
tiny winding stream, and we were greeted by a woman
about my height, a platinum with a short shag.
She was wearing a black loose thin cotton sleeveless A
line dress. I had no idea how she could be, I was
too to judge these things with any accuracy but
she looked than Mrs. Acker, who I knew to be
forty. Her face was unlined but for a few laugh lines
around eyes artfully lined in black. She extended her
well manicured hand.
"Hi Bobby, I'm Beth," she said in a gravelly type pf
voice my said was caused by too much whiskey
and cigarettes. She smiled at me and I couldn't help
but smile back. She was like a sexy grandma. I could
smell her shampoo. "Let's go inside and I'll show you
my camera..."
I furrowed my brow, "I don't know much about cameras,
ma'am..."
We walked through the floor to ceiling sliding glass
door into her white shag carpetted living room. There
was a white leather couch against one wall, if you
could call a floor to ceiing window a wall. There was
a matching white leather chair in the center of the
room. On this chair was a small sitting next to
its shipping container, an instruction booklet to its
side. One the floor in front of the chair was an
expensive and powerful laptop computer, I knew from
studying the catalogs that it was top of the line.
There was a conventional camera, an Olympus,
sitting atop a tripod over in the corner, relegated to
retirement already, and perhaps prematurely.
"I've tried a dozen times to make it work, and spoke
to the so-called customer service people three times
today. It's driving me crazy!"
"I'll take a look at it..." I sat indian style on the
lush carpet, grabbed the and the instruction
booklet, put the slim chrome computer on my lap, and
went to work.
Mrs. Acker linked arms with Beth, and told me they
would be upstairs while I worked. I nodded in their
direction with abstracted interest, I was busy being
useful and intrigued by the puzzle. I reinstalled the
camera software disk, made sure all the connections
worked, fiddled and diddled, but nothing worked. I
rebooted the streamlined laptop, and went into the
setup mode. I knew some tricks with IRQ addresses from
endless hours of hotrodding and out of date
computer boxes to accept more up to date peripherals,
and my tinkering was rewarded when the software loaded
successfully. A box popped up that read, "Would you
like to create an album now?" I clicked yes, and the
program searched for a directory with jpegs in it, and
rapidly went to work turning them into thumbnails. It
was done in a flash, and the album opened up. I
gasped.
The thumbnails were a series of Beth sitting in the
white leather chair, nude, her legs splayed. I clicked
on one of the thumbnails at random, and it opened a
photo, fullscreen, of Beth's milky thights and
intensely pink lips. Her hands pressed either
side of her shaved sex, making her clit pout and
protrude toward the camera. I blinked. Her clit seemed
awfully large, but I was hardly an expert. It was like
a little penis. My own little penis stirred ominously
in my cutoffs. I cllosed the and clicked open
another. I was breathing rapidly, hipnotized by the
crude displays of my hostesses body on the laptop
screen. My left hand meandered beneath the laptop,
cupping what was now a raging erection.
"I should have known if we left you alone you'd head
straight for the smut." Mrs. Acker stood behind me. I
looked over my shoulder and into her eyes, stricken.
She ignored my puppydog act and peered down at the
picture on the laptop screen. "Are these all done with
the tripod?"
Beth strolled in and sat to my right on the couch.
Crossing her legs demurely at the ankles she replied,
"Yup. I just set it up and hope for the best. It's not
easy being a one-woman show..."
"Why do you take pictures of yourself?" I asked,
inwardly asking why she took pictures of her and
clit.
"I have a website, Bobby. "Matureslut.com, a 50+ Babe"
It's my little cottage industry." She giggled cutely.
Mrs. Acker explained, "Men pay money to stare at
pictures of Beth on their computers, and then I
imagine they play with their peters like you're
doing."
Busted again. I moved my guilty left hand from beneath
the laptop.
Mrs. Acker turned and walked over to the couch and sat
next to Beth. "Why don't you use a photographer, it
would be a lot easier on you and you'd get better
angles."
"My customers don't seem to care one way or the other
and I need to keep my overhead down." Beth said,
twirling a platinum lock. She looked at me, "Did you
get the to work or were you too busy window
shopping?"
"Um, I think it works." I picked up the camera, turned
on the power switch, and the screen of laptop showed a
vertigo inducing upside down image of the living room
that lurched as I moved the upright. I put the
camera up to my eye, peered through the viewfinder,
and focussed on Mrs. Acker. I found a button on top
that controlled the zoom, and brought the focus on my
mature mistress' pixie face. I pushed the shutter, and
the flash caught Mrs. Acker unawares, and she adopted
the classic "No Comment" pose of popparazzi victims
worldwide, her hand in front of her face, fingers
splayed. "Hey, watch that thing!"
"Bobby's a pretty good photographer," Beth noted,
leaning forward to look at the image I'd just shot
appear on the computer screen. It wasn't bad, I'd
caught Mrs. Acker's twinkling smile in a flattering
angle. My best friend's squinted myopically at the
picture.
"Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you have Bobby take
some pictures of you for the website?"
Beth looked at me, raising an eyebrow."That could be
hot... Ok."
Nobody asked me anything, but it was unnecessary. I
was about to shoot porno pictures of a strange goddess I'd just met. My weiner pulsed in my tight
white jockey shorts.
"No need to use lights, the autoflash in the looks great. I'll be right back..." Beth jumped off
the couch and trotted upstairs. Mrs. Acker smiled down
at me. "You're one lucky little slutboy, you know
that?"
"Yes, ma'am." I stammered enthusiastically.
"Stand up for a minute."
I put the digital equipment carefully on the chair and
stood, my teencock a lump in my shorts. Mrs. Acker
beckoned me closer with a crooked finger, and I
approached. She pressed her warm cupped palm against
my bulge, smiled up at me and said, "I think Beth is
going to like this." She unzipped and unbuttoned and
unpantsed me in three precise movements. "Take your
shirt off, Bobby," she instructed, and then she had me
kick off my sneakers and socks. She left me in my
jockey shorts and adjusted my now semi-hard penis so
it lay to one side.
Beth strode in the room, wearing the same outfit. I'd
expected her to change, or something. She carried a
red nylon gym bag to the couch, and dropped it next to
Mrs. Acker. "Toys," she said simply. Mrs. Acked
placed her hands on my hips, spun me round, and gave
me a smart slap on the ass, "Ok, Bobby, go grab the
camera."
I knelt on the carpet, picked up the camera, and
looked up at Beth. She sat rather demurely in the
white leather chair, about ten feet away, her forearms
resting on the arms of the chair and her legs
together, crossed at the ankles. I looked throught the
viewfinder, and adjusted the for a shot that
captured her whole body from the tips of her toes,
encased in white open-toed sandals, to the top of her
white-blond hair. She smiled.
CLICK!
I zoomed in on her face. She had beautiful skin for an
old lady, I thought. Some laugh lines and shallow
furrows around her full lips were the only hint that
she was enough to be my granny. Her wide fjord
blue eyes twinkled at me and she stuck the tip of her
plum pink tongue between her lips. I pressed the
shutter release. Nothing.
"What happened?" I looked down at the brand new
camera.
"Oh, these digital cameras. You have to wait a bit
between shots. It's a pain." Beth spoke as sat still,
holding her pose. "I think a green light will go on
when it's ready."
Almost as soon as she said it, a green light went on
in the upper left hand corner. I raised the and
again framed her face.
CLICK!
Beth turned, offering me a three quarter profile,
knees still together. She arched her back, forcing her
chest forward. She had an impressive bosom in this
pose.
CLICK!
My middle-aged leaned forward, pressing her
elbows in, exposing a deep valley of decolletage over
her dress. Her looked huge.
CLICK!
She wanted several of this pose, and we waited
patiently for the to catch up.
Then Beth crossed her legs at the knee, and reached
down to unclasp the strap of her open-toed sandal. She
affected a look of studied appraisel, her eyebrows
raised as she seemed to inspect her ankle.
CLICK!
"Go in for some close ups, Bobby. Those porno perverts
love Beth's feet." Mrs. Acker advised from behind me.
I knee-walked closer. I readjusted the focus. Beth had
her sandal half off, and I centered the frame on her
arch. She splayed her toes, her nails painted a
delicate translucent pink-tinged white. I'd never
given a woman's feet much thought, but as I stared at
Beth's toes wiggling full frame in the viewfinder, I
felt my pulse quicken, and my teen dick, which had
softened considerably while I took the glamour shots,
start to lay heavy in my boyish Jockey underpants.
CLICK!
"Your feet are beautiful, Beth." I said quietly. The
older woman straightened the leg she had crossed and
let the sandal dangle a few inches from the lens. I had to lean back to get the image in focus. I
could smell her feet, a faint sweaty tang, and my dick
gave a buck.
"Hey, Beth", Mrs. Acker observed, "I think Bobby's got
a thing for your feet too..."
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