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LEAVE IT TO BEAVER: Beaver Learns His Lesson

By Uncle Mike


The young boy rolled over in bed. Theodore -- well, that
was what his mother called him; Dad and his friends called him
Beaver -- was having trouble sleeping. He was still a little
sore from that afternoon, when a couple of the bigger boys at
school had surrounded him a lunchtime and started slugging
him, chanting "Beaver Cleaver, punch receiver!" It was a good
thing his big brother, Wally, had been helping out in the
lunchroom for extra credit so he was there to pull the others
off Beaver and make them stop. If Wally had been over in the
high school, what would have happened?

"Beaver" -- even without the punches, it wasn't much of a
name, he thought. Well, it could have been worse -- like his
friend, Lumpy. At least Beaver wasn't as bad as Lumpy. He
rolled over again.

Some kind of light flashed in his tightly-shut eyes. He
opened one eye slowly, and saw that it was Wally on the bed
next to his. Wally had a flashlight tucked on the pillow by his
head, and it was rolling a little when Wally reached down on
the bed to do something. Beaver looked down. Wally was
turning the pages of some kind of magazine. Then Wally looked
like he was shaking. Beaver looked again, and this time he
noticed that Wally's right hand was around his dingus. And
Wally was stroking it up and down! His thumb and forefinger
were in a circle, like the "OK" sign, sliding back and forth.

All at once, the stroking got faster and then some white
gunk shot out. At first Beaver thought Wally had wet the bed.
Then he realized the stuff couldn't be pee. It was white and
kinda slimy looking. Hey, maybe THAT was the stuff Beaver had
found in his own shorts one morning last week, coating the
inside of the fly and all over the sparse hairs down there.

As Beaver watched, not saying a word, Wally closed the
magazine and reached down to the bottom drawer of the
nightstand between the two beds. He pulled it open and then --
Beaver heard his bed springs squeak; he had Wally's old bed and
it was kinda rusty. Wally started to turn the flashlight on
Beaver, so he closed his eye and pretended to be asleep.

When he finally opened it again, the magazine was gone and
all he could see was Wally picking up some kind of towel from
the bed and walking toward the bathroom.

The next morning, Beaver dawdled getting dressed until
Wally went down to breakfast. Then the younger boy eagerly
pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand and pawed
through the stuff. But it was just schoolbooks and old tests
and junk. He went down to breakfast, wondering what had
happened to Wally's magazine.

That night, he tried as hard as he could to stay awake until
Wally came to bed -- Wally's bedtime was a whole hour after
Beaver's, on account of Wally was older -- but he finally fell
asleep. But he woke up in the night when the flashlight beam
hit his eyes again. This time he scrunched down into his pillow
and opened his eye just a little bit. Wally must have just
finished. He was opening the drawer again, and this time
Beaver could see that he wasn't putting the magazine in the
drawer, he was slipping it behind so that it fell onto the
bottom of the nightstand and got covered up when the drawer
was closed.

The next morning -- a Friday, it was -- Beaver tried to
stall again, but Wally wasn't moving very fast, either, and
finally Mom called up to them to get down there right away.
After school, Wally stayed in their room almost the whole
time because he had to study -- Dad wasn't happy that Wally
had gotten a "D" on a math test.

By Saturday morning, Beaver had just about given up hope.
He and Dad were supposed to go watch Wally play baseball with
his school team. Beaver figured he'd never get to see that
magazine.

At breakfast, Beaver wasn't paying much attention as Mom
and Dad were talking. All of a sudden, he heard Dad say, "Well,
Beaver, what do you think about that?"

"Huh?" Beaver looked up from his oatmeal in surprise.

"You want to see Wally play today, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah, Dad."

"See, June. The boy doesn't want to spend his morning
following you around through the department store." Dad
winked at Mom across the table. She gave him a stern look back
and turned to her youngest son.

"I really could use you to carry the packages, Theodore," she
said, and smiled.

Beaver really liked her smile. He thought Mom was the
prettiest lady he'd ever seen. But it wasn't just wanting to
please her that prompted his reply.

"Sure, Mom, I'll go with you."

Dad looked shocked. "Beaver," he said, "don't you think Wally
needs your support?"

"Hey, it's OK," Wally broke in. "The squirt can come to next
week's game against Central. He'd probably like that one
better, anyway."

"But, Wally," their father said, "Marion's your arch-rival."

"Yeah, Dad, but the stand at Central's got really great hot
dogs."

"Gee, thanks, Wally," Beaver said with a grin.

=== === === ===

Shopping with Mom, Beaver could hardly hold in his
curiosity. Mom saw that he was acting different, but she just
figured he was happy to be with her. He did seem a little
impatient while she was picking out some new underwear in
the lingerie department, but that was understandable; he was
probably embarrassed. All in all, though, he behaved so well
that she even got him an ice cream cone on the way home.

After they'd put the packages away, Beaver ran upstairs.
"Gotta get cleaned up, Mom," he called.

"That's good, soon. Lunch will be ready in a few minutes."

He carefully closed the bedroom door and went over to the
nightstand. He opened the bottom drawer and reached behind --
there it was. He pulled out the shiny magazine. "Playboy," it
said on the cover, over a picture of a pretty lady who looked
kinda like his Mom -- blonde hair, sparkly eyes. He opened the
first page; just some advertising junk. He started to flip
through the pages and the magazine opened up to some more
pictures of the lady on the cover. But here, she was -- she was
naked! He flipped a few more pages. More naked ladies. He felt a
funny sensation below his waist and he reached down to
scratch. That felt good. Then he started rubbing. That felt even
better.

"Beaver, lunch is ready!"

He almost dropped the magazine. Then he stuck it back
behind the drawer and went down to the kitchen. He wolfed
down some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while his Mom
did the dishes from breakfast. In between bites, he asked his
Mom how long Wally and Dad would be gone.

"What, Theodore? Don't talk while you're eating, sweetie.
What was that? Oh, I don't know. Probably a good long while, I
think. Your father said it was one of those -- what do they call
them? Double-sweaters?"

Beaver grinned. "Double-headers, Mom."

"Oh, that's right. Well, the first game didn't start until
12:30, and it's only one o'clock now. I don't think they'll be back
until after dinner time. Say, that reminds me. I should make
something that I can reheat for them later. Does beans and
wienies sound good, Theodore? Theodore?"

She turned around, but all she could see was her son
disappearing around the corner, back up the stairs. She sighed
and reached over to pick up his plate and milk glass and dunk
them in the soapy water.

=== === === ===

With the magazine out again, Beaver sprawled on his bed.
His pants and shorts were tossed onto the floor, and he'd
kicked off his shoes and socks. His plaid shirt was mostly
undone. He had the magazine spread out in front of him. As he
leafed through the pictures, he began to rub himself again.
Then he remembered what he'd seen Wally doing, and he formed
a circle with his left hand and began stroking. His shaft got
thicker and longer and harder. Sometimes it got like that in the
mornings lately, but he didn't think it had been this hard. He
started to stroke faster. The bed springs began to creak.

"Theodore!" His mother's shout stopped him. "Are you
jumping on the bed again?"

"No, Ma'am," he called down. "Gotta be careful," he thought.
He started stroking again, but more slowly this time. He looked
at the pictures of the lady who looked like his Mom. She was
stretched out on the floor, all naked. She had big boobies, he
thought. They looking kinda funny, like balloons or something.
But she did have a pretty face.

Then he got to the middle of the magazine and there was a
picture so big that it had to fold out. Propped up on his left
elbow, he stared down at the lady. It was almost as if she was
in bed with him. His breathing got short and he began to stroke
faster and faster again. The bed was squeaking and creaking,
but he didn't notice. All at once, he felt a kind of cool burning
in his crotch. He guessed that he was going to spurt that gooey
white stuff, like Wally did.

Just then, two things happened. Beaver realized he'd
forgotten one thing that Wally had used -- the towel. Where
was he going to shoot his stuff? He was looking back over his
shoulder to where he'd thrown his shorts on the floor when the
door, just past the foot of his bed, began to open, and his mom
walked in.

"Theodore! What are you ..."

Beaver twisted around in surprise and lost his grip on his
dingus just as it shot out a stream of gunk that flew out and
hit Mom right across the face.

She turned beet red and just stood there for a whole minute.
The gunk started to drip down and some of it went into her
mouth. He saw her tongue lick a little bit from the corner of
her lips. Then she spoke. Her voice was a lot softer than Beaver
had expected.

"Theodore, please get me a towel, would you, honey?"

He jumped off the bed to get it. When he got back from the
bathroom, Mom was sitting on his bed, looking at the magazine.
Beaver gulped and sat down next to her. He could feel his
dingus shrinking into his lap.

Mrs. Cleaver took the towel and slowly wiped her face.
When she was done, she turned and looked at her son.

"Mom," Beaver began in a shaky voice, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry
about shooting that gunk at you from my, uh, my dingus ..."

"First of all, Theodore, don't call it a dingus. Call it a
penis." She paused. "Or a cock. Or a dick. But not a dingus or a
wee-wee. You're not a baby anymore." She looked down at his
lap. "You're certainly not a baby.

"Now, I accept your apology. But I should apologize too. I
shouldn't have walked in on you like that. A young man needs
his privacy."

Beaver started to interrupt, but she kept going.

"There are certain ... normal things that every one does --
boys and girls -- as they grow up. It's perfectly normal to play
with ... with your cock. It certainly feels good, doesn't it?"

Beaver nodded shyly.

"I thought so. And you needn't be ashamed. Everyone does it.
Even I ... when I was younger, I mean. Yes, girls can play with
themselves too. They can rub themselves down there, where we
have what we call a vagina, or a cunt, or a pussy.

"Do you know those words? Sometimes, they even stick
their fingers or something else into the hole there, put it right
up inside themselves. Sticking our fingers inside makes us feel
as good as you did rubbing your cock.

"Of course, you shouldn't do it in front of everybody. You
wouldn't want to come down to the dinner table and take your
dick out and shoot cum -- that's what we call that gooey stuff
-- would you? So you were right to go up to your room and
close the door.

"But now, this magazine" -- she picked it up and flipped to
some of the pictures of the pretty blonde lady -- "Where did
you get this, Theodore?"

He looked up at her from under his eyelashes, the way he
always did when he was telling a fib. "Uh, gee, Mom, I dunno."

"Did you get it from one of your friends at school? From
that Lumpy person?"

"Uh, I forget."

Mrs. Cleaver sighed. "Well, it doesn't matter. I think I'll have
to take this magazine with me, Theodore."

"But, Mom ..."

"Now, as I said, there's nothing wrong with stroking your
cock -- some people calling it jacking off. But the ... ladies .. in
this magazine aren't what a young man should be looking at."

"Why not, Mom? They're pretty, aren't they. One of them
looks like you -- kinda ... in the face, you know." Beaver
lowered his head as a blush spread over his face.

Mrs. Cleaver smiled at her son's bashfulness, and at his
compliment.

"That's a very sweet thing to say, Theodore. But there are
somethings these ladies have that I don't. And that's why I
don't like you to look at these pictures.

"Look at this picture -- no, don't turn away. Just look. See
those breasts? How big they are? Very few women have
breasts that big, Theodore. Or skin so smooth. They do things to
the photographs to make the ladies look so good, and
sometimes the ladies even have operations to make their
breasts bigger.

"It's not that these ladies aren't pretty. It's just -- well,
they're too pretty, in a way. They're not real. When boys -- I
mean young men, spend a lot of time looking at pictures like
these, they expect all women to look that way. And we don't.
Here, I'll show you."

With that, Beaver's mother stood up and reached behind her,
tugging down the zipper of her plain brown dress. She slipped
out of the sleeves and the top of the dress fell down around her
waist. She had on a big, white bra, like the ones she'd been
buying that morning. She reached behind again and there was a
"click" and the bra came off.

Beaver couldn't help staring. His mother's breasts! She was
right, they weren't as big as the ones in the magazine. But they
were at least as big as the softball he and Wally played catch
with, and he liked this size better. Plus, they were here, right
there in front of him. Without really thinking, he reached out
and touched them. Mom flinched and he drew back. But then she
said, "Go on, son," and he reached out again. She took his hands
in hers and drew them to her breasts, rubbing them around. He
could feel the little nubbins on the tips get bigger and harder.
He looked down at his lap: he was getting bigger and harder,
too.

He began to rub harder and rougher. Mom asked him to slow
down, but he kept it up until she snatched his hands away.
Beaver knew he had goofed.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

"You were too rough, Theodore. But it's not your fault. That's
another bad thing about these magazines. These ladies are just
pictures. They can't talk or feel. You can imagine doing
anything you want to them and you just think of yourself, not
what they might like. A real lady wants you to think about
what she likes, too."

"What do you like, Mom?"

She looked down at her son, who looked back at her in awe.
It was the same Theodore, she thought, the dark bangs hanging
down, the sparkle in his eye. But it wasn't her little boy
anymore. Not with such a big cock. He didn't get THAT from his
father, she thought.

Gracefully, Mrs. Cleaver slid down her zipper the rest of the
way and stepped out of her dress and half slip. She stood
before her son, wearing only panties, a garter belt and silk
stockings, and her brown high-heeled pumps. And her pearls, of
course.

Her voice was lower now, almost a whisper. "Would you like
to know what I like?"

"Y-yes, Mom." Beaver's eyes were wide. His mother's legs
were as long and curvy as the lady's in the magazine. She really
was the prettiest lady he'd ever seen, even naked.

As he was looking her over, Mrs. Cleaver reached down and
unhooked the clips on her stockings. She started to roll one
down, but then she stopped and pulled her panties off instead.
Beaver's eyes were on her breasts. They looked bigger now,
hanging down as she bent over. It wasn't until she snapped her
stockings back into place and straightened up that he noticed
something new.

"Hey, Mom, you've got hair down there. Just like me!"

She chuckled. "Well, not quite like you, Theodore. Mine is
blonde, see? And I'm older than you, so I have more hair. Here,
feel it."

Hesitatingly, Beaver reached out and touched his mother's
thick patch of hair. It was soft. He started to caress it. His
mom spread her legs apart a little and sighed softly.

Then, gently taking his hand away, Mrs. Cleaver lay down on
his bed. She spread her legs apart; her pussy was pointing right
at Beaver's face.

"Now I want you to lick me."

"Down there?" Beaver stared and he swallowed, hard.

Mrs. Cleaver smiled. She took off the strand of pearls
around her neck and reached down to her pussy. She began to
rub the pearls back and forth over the lips, which soon began
glistening with juices.

"Now, you try it." She put the pearls into her son's hand. He
did as she had, rubbing them back and forth.

"Now stick them inside me -- just a little ways. Good.
That's good. Pull them out -- slowly! That's right. And again, in
... and ... out. Again. A-aaah. Now, give them to me."

She took the pearls into her mouth and sucked them dry as
she drew them out one by one.

"Mmmm, what a good taste. I like the smell, too. That's why
I always wear these pearls, did you know that? So I can always
have that smell around me."

She rolled the pearls over her cunt again, and then handed
them to her son.

"Now you try it."

Beaver sniffed at them. Then he took a pearl, just one, into
his mouth, his eyes on his mother's face. A grin broke out.

"Hey, that's pretty good," he said. He sucked in a few more.

"So why not go straight to the source?" She pulled her legs
apart wider, pointing her knees to the ceiling.

This time, Beaver didn't hesitate. He dove in, licking and
slurping at Mrs. Cleaver's sodden cunt. At first she was afraid
he'd go too fast, but when she cradled his head in her hands he
slowed down. He licked one side and then the other, flicking his
tongue over her pussy lips. When she pressed down a bit on his
head, he seemed to get the idea, pushing his tongue between
the moist folds and deeper into her.

"Oh, that's so good. Oh, honey, yes, lick your mother's pussy.
Lick me! Yes!"

He discovered her clit and started sucking on it, nipping it
gently once or twice with his teeth. She began to roll her hips
under him as he picked up the pace, shoving his tongue deeper
and deeper. At last she clamped her legs around his head and
shook all over.

"Oooooh, God! Oh, yes yes yes yes! Oh, you're so good to your
Mommy! Yes!"

When she released the grip of her legs, Beaver looked up at
her face with a big grin.

"Did you really like it, Mom?"

"Yes, honey, yes I did. You're very good at licking pussy. Is
that why they call you Beaver?"

"Huh?"

"It doesn't matter." She pulled him up on top of her and gave
him a big kiss. He kept his lips closed, like he always did.

"Beaver, I want to taste myself some more," she said. "Do
you know how I can do that? Kiss me again. But keep your
mouth open a little this time." Her tongue slid between his lips
and she licked at her own juices inside her young son's mouth.
Beaver quickly got the idea and began pushing his tongue back.

As they kissed, she felt his stiff cock rubbing against her
stomach.

"I think you're ready for another lesson, Beaver. Move down
a bit. That's it."

She took his cock in her hands. It was hot and as hard as a
rock. She caressed it for a few seconds, and then placed it at
the entrance to her soaking wet cunt.

Without much urging, Beaver eased his cock into her hole, a
little at a time. Soon he was bucking in and out and glee. She
let him go for awhile, but she didn't want him to cum too
quickly. Not yet. He slowed down and she cooed out
instructions, teaching him how to please a woman -- stroking
his cock from side to side, varying the rhythm, sometimes
pushing it all the way inside her and then easing it out slowly,
until it was just outside her lips, and then back in again, s-l-
o-w-l-y. He was too short to be able to kiss her now, but he
sucked and nibbled at her tits, and that was good.

They kept it up for a long time. Sweat was rolling down
Beaver's face and chest, and he could feel his mother's cunt
juices slopping around as he plunged in and out. Then Mom told
him to get off her and lay down on his back. He figured it was
all over when she got off the bed and turned away from him.

But she was just getting into position. She stepped back
onto the bed and squatted over his still-erect cock, facing
away from him.

"I want you to be able to see," she said. "I want you to see
what it looks like to fuck your mother. You're a very good
motherfucker, Beaver. You're making your mother very happy."

He watched, fascinated, as the head of his dick slipped
between her pussy lips. They parted slowly, spreading around
his cock as his mother lowered herself onto him. He saw the
juices ooze out as his dick went in further and he felt her
velvety tunnel gripping his shaft. It sent a shiver through his
whole body.

As he watched, his mother moved up and down over him, her
slick cunt sliding easily over his dick. Even her ass was
beautiful, he thought.

After a time he began to buck back up at her. She started to
speed up.

"Yes! Yes, Beaver, ram it in! Give your mother all your cock!
Fill my pussy! Fuck your mother good!"

That feeling came over him again.

"Mommy! Mommy! I'm cumming!"

"Aaah! Yes, son! Fill my pussy with your cum! I want you to
cum inside me now! Make your mother cum!"

She bucked up and down so fiercely he almost slipped out.
His arms beat against the bed and he moaned loudly, his cries
mixing with his mom's groans and shouts. Finally he felt the
cum shoot up his cock and spurt into her cunt. Looking up, he
could see it squooshing out the sides of her pussy. Wave after
wave of cum surged through him.

"Beaver, Beaver! I'm cumming too! I'm cummmmming!" Mrs.
Cleaver's voice turned into a shriek as her body shook violently
while she continued to impale herself on her son's cock. She
felt hot all over, then cold, then hot again. At last the
trembling stopped and she eased herself off and slumped onto
the bed next to her son.

They lay there together for several minutes, Mrs. Cleaver's
hand draped over her son's sweaty torso, her legs wrapped
around his. Finally she began to get up. Then she looked around
the bed, and began to slip her hand under her son's ass. He
looked up, groggy.

"Aw, Mom, again? I don't think I can."

She smiled, pulling her hand back out with her pearls
trailing behind. "Just getting these, Beaver," she said. While he
remained on the bed, exhausted, his mother wiped herself off
with the towel and slipped back into her clothes. As she turned
to leave, she picked up the magazine.

"But, Mom, Wally..."

She looked at Beaver. "Wally? What about ... oh, I think I
know. That's where you got this, isn't it? I bet Wally doesn't
even know you had it."

She looked over at the other bed. "You know, Wally might
need some lessons, too. I think I could help him the way I
helped you. Oh, but at that age they're so shy about some
things. How will I get him to talk about it?"

Beaver smiled up at her. "I'll take care of it, Mom. Don't
worry."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure, Mom. Just leave it to Beaver."

    

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