Show Moms Ch. 08-09

She skipped out so fast that my pillow harmlessly hit the inside of the door. We could both hear her laughter as she went down the hall. That little minx! I'd gone for forty-five minutes straight with her the day before. After the foreplay. And before the afterplay. Still be warm, hah!

"So," Robin said. I looked down to see her turned on her side facing me. "Time to fuck me, big guy."

I sighed.

"I can't," I said.

"You didn't seem to have any problem last night," she protested, an edge in her voice.

"No, your daughter was right," I said. "She told me yesterday that I wouldn't be able to just fuck you. She said I couldn't fuck anyone; I could only make love to them. But you know, I don't actually think that's true. I fucked Becca just fine. I think it's just Kennedy women I have a problem with."

A tear formed in her eye and dropped off her face onto the pillow below.

"You know," she said, "if I hadn't reunited with my long lost husband this weekend and you hadn't become engaged to my daughter, I could probably fall in love with you, too. But I did, and you did. So just fuck me, Kenny. Here. I'll make it easier."

She threw the covers off, and turned back onto her stomach. Bringing her knees up underneath her, she pushed her ass up into the air. Grinning, I got behind her and took my position. I reached out with my hand, petting her gorgeous backside as I slowly traced my fingers down toward her pussy.

"Kenny," she said with exasperation. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, foreplay?"

"Is there foreplay at the MILF Show?"

"Uh, no," I admitted. "But I wanted to make sure you were, uh, wet."

"Honey, I've been wet since I woke up in bed this morning with my daughter and her boyfriend. Now shut up and get fucking."

Alec was right. My new motto: when one of the Goddesses Kennedy gives you an order, don't keep asking stupid questions.

Chapter 9

The final group on Saturday afternoon was the 6-9 division, and Robin and I were both captivated by one of the contestants. Angela Pritchett was a little firecracker. All of the women in that group had great bodies, but most of them were using the unoriginal bikini. Angela, though, had on business attire, albeit very short business attire. And she sold the whole thing — the woman at her desk, surprised by the mail clerk, the striptease, the blowjob, and the cowgirl. What made the cowgirl particularly effective was that she kept her high heels on. Nothing in the rules against that, and a few other girls did it as well, but knowing that it was all part of Angela's businesswoman fantasy made it just that much better. As I watched her, with those spikes planted on either side of her handler's hips as she pumped herself up and down, I figured there was no way they couldn't give her the prize. It's nice to be right once in a while.

"So you want to get together later tonight?" I asked Robin as we finished collecting our stuff.

"Why?" she smiled. "Is there something we haven't covered?"

"Last minute strategy?" I shrugged. "Tactics?"

"Thanks, general," she said, "but I think we're as ready as we're going to be. I'll just see you tomorrow."

"Sure," I said. "I understand."

"Good," she said. "Have fun. Have faith."

I didn't understand, though. Not really. Robin had been so gung-ho up until this point. We'd gotten together every weekend since the state show. The first one, of course, was my double-Kennedy combo weekend. But the second weekend was just me and Robin, with the "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging on the outside of the hotel room door from 7 o'clock on Friday evening until noon on Sunday. By the time we were done, we were comfortable with every sexual position and combination we could think of. The interstate competition was the following weekend, and there was no telling what we were going to be asked to do.

And, in fact, we got asked to do stuff we hadn't thought of. I couldn't believe how crude and nasty that show was. It was like it was being run by a whole different group. These guys apparently enjoyed hearing women grunt when they had sex, enjoyed seeing their hair pulled, enjoyed watching them humiliate themselves by having their hands tied behind their back while they duck-walked across the stage blindfolded to try to find their handler's cock with their mouth.

The good news was: We didn't have to do any of it! I hadn't realized that there was some sort of MILF network. They apparently had little MILF chat rooms and everything. The network started humming right after Robin lost the Illinois show. Robin forwarded me an e-mail that alleged that Connie Templeton had been sleeping with the head judge. Another MILF chimed in to say she'd seen them together in Evanston two weeks before the show. Well, that was all the proof these girls — sorry, women — needed. By the time we got to the interstate show, the MILF collective had decided that an injustice needed to be avenged, and none of the other women eligible for Robin's division showed up to contest her right to a ticket to Las Vegas.

In horse racing, they have something called a walkover. The horse gets saddled, gets a rider, and walks over the finish line. The race is over. The MILF Show equivalent? Robin sedately took off her clothes (she would have hung them up if they'd provided hangers), took my cock in her mouth, and let me put my cock in her pussy. The 18-and-over division was done. The judges were furious, but there was nothing they could do. We were headed for Vegas.

We'd spent the remaining weekends before Thanksgiving working on our compulsory and freestyle routines. We got the cowgirl down pretty good, obviously, but our freestyle routine never really seemed to click. At least, not the way that Becca's had. All in all, though, I left Handley on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving thinking that if we reached the finals, we stood a fair chance — maybe not a great chance, but a fair chance — of making some sort of MILF Show history. Yeah, yeah, I know. What history? It's only been around for four years.

By that point, I was really starting to enjoy the college experience. I was doing well in all my classes now. My new English instructor turned out to really be a good teacher, as a matter of fact. And I'd reached a sort of truce with the Chipster. Of course, the fact that I was away every weekend probably helped. But I think that after the MILF tape, and Becca's appearance, and Terry's appearance, he developed a sort of grudging respect for me. For my part, I developed a sort of grudging tolerance.

"So, dude," he asked as I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder on Wednesday afternoon, "headed home?"

Handley's last football game of the year was on the following Saturday, so Chip was stuck in the dorms.

"Yeah," I told him, "at least for the first part. Then I'm off to Las Vegas."

"Vegas?" he brightened up.

"Yeah," I shook my head, "another one of those damn MILF shows."

"Again?" he seemed not to feel real sorry for me. "You got another bi — er, another MILF?

"Yeah."

"So what does, uh, the goddess think about it?"

"Oh, she's fine with it. She's very supportive. Actually, that's kind of how we met. It's her mother."

"Fuck me," his eyes glazed over.

"I keep telling you, that's not gonna happen," I laughed as I closed the door behind me.

Robin's life had gotten better, too, in the last few weeks. In addition to the eighty-five grand she'd brought home from the state show, some dividends had finally started to trickle in from her husband's underperforming investment. She'd assured me, though, in person and by e-mail, that the money wouldn't affect her performance. Now, she claimed, what she really wanted was Connie Templeton's ass.

But when I got to Vegas, Robin seemed a little distracted (Mom stayed home this time. Terry and Allen were both there, but I hadn't yet seen them). She got through the Saturday session easily enough, fueled in part by lust — hell, I was hot for her, too, in that outfit — and in part by the sheer joy of performing. But afterwards it was as if the expenditure of all that energy had just sapped her.

I found myself glad that, unlike last year, the final session wouldn't be held on Saturday evening. The powers-that-be in Las Vegas had offered the show's organizers extra cash to get them to switch the finals to Sunday afternoon, in order to give the show's patrons a free evening to lose money at the casinos. That bumped the prize money up even more, and that led to a series of subsidiary prizes of significant amounts of money. As a result, none of the MILFs had objected when the format had been changed.

And, I figured, the delay couldn't help but work to Robin's advantage. Becca had carried a lot of energy over to her evening performance. Robin, on the other hand, would have been sleepwalking through it. I remember hoping that she got a good night's sleep.

I got to the arena the next morning around eleven-thirty. Robin was already there, greeting her "fans." The five finalists were required to put in an hour signing autographs and the like, but that didn't start until noon. Here was Robin, a half hour early, gaily chatting with these complete strangers who'd watched her blow and fuck a nineteen-year-old the day before. She kept on signing and chatting as Connie, Angela, and the rest showed up to join her.

"That was fun," she told me during the half-hour break before the show was supposed to start.

I chuckled.

"What?" she asked.

"You," I said. "Having fun. I was just remembering the woman who threw the show application back at me at the beginning of the summer."

"I remember her," Robin said. "A little uptight, wasn't she?"

"Maybe a little," I said.

"Well, thank God she's not around here, huh?" Robin said as we both laughed. "She had a lot of faith, but she never seemed to have a lot of fun."

At one o'clock, the five finalists paraded out into the arena. They'd drawn lots for the order: Connie was third; Angela was fourth; and Robin would go last. That was a mixed blessing. Robin would know what she had to beat, but if somebody turned in a really stunning performance, her confidence might wane pretty quickly.

I wasn't really worried about the first two women, though. They hadn't been that impressive yesterday, and they weren't any better in today's striptease. Connie, in her bikini, did her usually effective bump and grind, certainly enough to get the audience hooting. Angela followed with her businesswoman's special, and they appreciated that as well.

Neither performance bothered Robin in the least; whatever she'd used to recharge her batteries had worked perfectly. Her striptease had the same effect on the audience as it had the day before, and the change she made to the ending was brilliant. Unable to transition directly into cocksucking, she simply leaned backward on the pedestal, spread her feet about two feet apart, and stretched her hands out toward me with a look of pure want. It was all I could do not to run forward. The guys in the audience were probably having the same problem.

The striptease, though, was only a small part of the second day's score. It was really only there as a filler, to stretch the finals out long enough to justify making people pay another admission fee. The winner would be decided based on the freestyle. And watching Connie and Angela in the freestyle portion shook even my confidence. Connie had clearly studied everything that Becca had done the year before, and repeated it with just enough variation that she could call it her own. It had worked for Becca, and the audience ate it up this year as well.

Angela's was even better, at least in my view. She was young, she was flexible, and it quickly became clear that nobody wanted to win this more than Angela did. That was the first time I'd ever seen anyone even try anal sex at a MILF Show, let alone pull it off in the middle of a routine. Watching a woman suck a guy's dick after he's had it in her ass didn't really appeal to me, but I was pretty clearly in a very small minority. And Angela was so cute, and apparently so clean, that the potential grossness of it never entered anyone's mind. When she was finished, she got the second standing ovation I'd ever seen. Whether the judges liked it better than Connie's, though, was an open question.

The applause was beginning to die down, and I was taking off my smock, when Robin whispered to me.

"I can't win this, can I?"

The words "have fun, have faith" were on my tongue, competing for space with "of course you can, Robin." But I looked over at her eyes — smiling all the while, of course; we were up next — and decided that both answers were a little too facile.

"Honestly?" I said. "No, probably not. But we can still give it our —"

"Kenny, shut up," she said. "I might not even beat Connie, huh?"

"Maybe not," I didn't really want to agree to that. I knew Connie's routine had been pretty damn good, though. "Why are you —"

They began to announce our names for the final freestyle performance.

"Kenny, my husband wants me to be here," she whispered through her smile. "My daughter, your fiancée, wants you to be here. And we'll never be able to do this again."

"Yeah?" I agreed. Your point, lady? They'd finished the introductions and the audience was starting to wonder when we were going to begin. I was kind of wondering that myself. Robin stepped in front of me and put her arms around my neck. Her eyes sparkled like they never had before. I'd never seen that particular smile before, either.

"Let's forget the faith and just have fun, " she said. "I want you to make love to me, Kenny Winston."

My knees almost buckled.

I picked her up and laid her on the pedestal. I slowly pushed into her, everything else obliterated from my mind. I wanted to make love to Robin Kennedy. I wanted her to feel special, to be able to pay her back for everything that, I now realized, she'd given me over the summer and fall. Her utter faith in me. Her incredible commitment and dedication. Her willingness to find laughter in everything we did. Her daughter. I kissed her, on the lips, on the face, on the neck, on the shoulders, and I began the delicious process of bringing this wonderful woman to orgasm.

"Oh, yes, Kenny," she whispered in between tonguing and biting my ear. "Oh, Kenny, please. Kenny!"

It would have been really cheesy for her to dig her fingernails into my back. It would have felt wrong. But it didn't feel wrong to have her press the tips of her fingers into my shoulder blades, nor did it feel wrong to have her use them to tell me exactly how fast she wanted me to go, and exactly how hard she wanted me to penetrate her.

I couldn't believe, afterward, that Robin had still been able to keep track of the time. But I watched the tape, with Terry actually. With forty seconds to go, well on her way to her own climax, Robin squeezed my cock with muscles she'd never let me know she had before.

"Oh, God, Robin," I grunted. "Unnnnnhhhh."

"Yesssss," she whispered, clinging to me as her body shook. "Kenny, yessss."

I let go deep inside of her, and she let go at the same moment.

The buzzer went off, and I suddenly blinked open my eyes. I looked down to see Robin smiling back up at me. I could hear us both breathing in a completely silent arena.

"Thank you, Kenny," she said.

"Thank you, Robin," I answered.

The applause began slowly and then started to spread. I pulled out and looked around, watching one section of fans after another rise to their feet for the second time that afternoon. I was a little stunned. No changes of position, no degree of difficulty, no money shot. With a big grin, I pulled Robin up after me, and we basked in the ovation. Evidently these people were just as big a bunch of emotional saps as the two of us were.

Of course, that was only the audience. The judges, I was sure, had much different standards. When the applause died down, they pulled the stand out with all the trophies. Becca came out with the judges, her face flushed, her eyes teary.

Robin and I waited in line, holding hands, as the announcements began. They started at the back, giving out fifth place to the woman in the 12-15 division. Robin had been right; the other woman probably would have been better. Fourth place, and a prize for "Best Blowjob," went to the redhead from the 15-18 division. Well, I thought, good for Robin. Nobody in her division had ever finished higher than fourth. I turned to whisper congratulations to her, and she put a finger to her mouth as she tried to suppress her smile.

"Third place," the announcer intoned, "and the Las Vegas Showgirl Prize for the Best Body, worth an additional one hundred thousand dollars, is awarded to MILF Illinois, Connie Templeton."

As a clearly disgusted Connie got her check and her prize from a clearly delighted Becca, Robin reached out her other hand to Angela. I glanced over to see both women smiling, practically bouncing up and down on their toes.

"Second place," the announcement blared over the loudspeaker, "comes with an additional two hundred and fifty thousand dollar prize for the Best of Vegas award, given to the finalist who best exemplifies the spirit of Las Vegas, in this case to a woman who visited the Cupid's Paradise Chapel last night to renew her wedding vows. Ladies and gentleman —"

I was staring at Robin in shock. She was looking at Angela, who knew perfectly well that she hadn't visited the Cupid's Paradise Chapel last night, and who was slowly realizing that she was the new MILF America.

"—Robin Kennedy."

Robin and Angela both squealed and fell into each other's arms. They hugged all the way through the next announcement, declaring Angela the winner. Then Angela turned and leaped into the arms of her handler.

Robin turned and ran right past me, out of the arena. Right to the same spot that Becca had, and where Robin now jumped into Allen's waiting arms. This time, though, I got an even exchange. My own blonde goddess had left Allen's side and was running toward me. I opened my arms and caught her, swinging her around as she began kissing my lips and face. Finally, I just hugged her close.

I could see Becca out of the corner of my eye, fumbling with the trophies and checks as she tried to figure out whether Angela or Robin would be done celebrating first so that she could make the appropriate presentation. But I was looking at Robin, and she'd turned around so that she was looking back at me as she hugged her husband.

"I love you," she mouthed silently when she saw me look.

"I love you, too," I mouthed back.

She had Allen, I had Terry.

But I'd always have my MILF.

And as Robin pointed out during our dance together at the wedding reception, while Terry was dancing with Allen, she'd always have her MILF.

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

"Mother-In-Law Fucker," she said. "I wonder if there's a show I can enter you in."

I still love that woman.