Soccer Mom Slut

***Any character involved in any sexual activity is above the age of eighteen. This is a pretty raunchy tale, inspired by a rather silly title. I hope you enjoy it.***

1

I'm sick...

Sick in the head...

It's crazy how this has happened. Completely fucking crazy. How did I even let it begin? More to the point, why am I still doing it? Why didn't I just stop it all a long time ago?

I've lost my mind. I've lost control. The things I'm doing are beyond belief. The things I'm doing with him. It's madness. Total madness.

God help me, I can't stop. I want this too much. I want him too much.

Yes, I'm sick...

One sick mother...

Literally.

***

Fuck me, it was cold. Freezing cold.

The wind was whipping along the wide, seemingly endless expanse of land, almost cutting through me like a knife. You know, I've been told on more than one occasion that Kansas is not the flattest state in the Union - apparently that honour is held by Florida - but I don't believe it. Not for a second. You wouldn't too, if you had been stood in my shoes that day, no matter what it says in any book, or even on Wikipedia.

You can see for miles round here, the horizon stretching off into the far, far distance. No hills or mountains, barely even a molehill, to block or hinder the view. And not just the view. There's no shelter or protection from the chilling weather of this time of year. The sky is clear and blue. Crystal clear and brilliant. And, like I told you, it's cold. Oh so cold. Bitter and remorseless.

I was stood by the side of the soccer pitch, near the town's main elementary school. Not just me. There was a small group of adults milling around, as a group of young children played in front of us. Due to their age - not one of the kids was older than eight - they were only using half the field. It was a five-a-side game and no physical contact was allowed. The team coach said it was aimed at improving their skill-set more than anything else.

What a peculiar sight they made, these little children who barely understood the rules of the sport they were playing. There was no real sense of shape or formation, just ten young kids, eight of them running round, chasing the ball like a pack of feral animals. Their little legs pumping away, their cheeks flushed, their knees dirty.

Every so often, the coach would bark out an order - concentrate! attack! - and that order would mostly then be ignored. One or two of the parents might offer encouragement or support, but mostly they looked on with a sense of bemusement or baffled indifference. This was America. We don't like soccer. We don't understand it. But the kids were loving it.

I was barely paying attention at all. I was there in flesh, but not in spirit. My thoughts were far away from here and this little match of little players in the cold early Spring air. I remained on the sidelines, my mind running away from me. My body playing its own tune, despite the frigid weather.

I'm wet, I thought to herself, my cunt is wet.

It was true. My panties, a tiny little black thong I would never have even dreamed of wearing a few months earlier, at least not on an occasion like this, were almost soaked through. Only the fact I was stood out in the fresh air, the crisp wind recycling the local atmosphere, stopped the odour of my most intimate parts from wafting under the noses of those near by. An embarrassing, potentially humiliating admission.

I'm wet because of him, and my nipples are hard too. It's all down to him.

The sexual nature of my thoughts were entirely hidden by the mundane, unremarkable sight I imagined I displayed to all and sundry. I'm not going to bullshit you, I know I'm an attractive woman, but I was hardly dressed up for a show. My strawberry-blonde hair was drawn tightly into a ponytail, the occasional escaped lock had to be brushed back behind my ears.

I was fresh-faced, without any makeup, my skin flushed by the cold weather, my nose dripping a little due to the low temperatures. I was wearing a t-shirt, sweatshirt and thick jacket; all of which hid my - pretty killer - body from view. Only my black leggings hinted at the marvels underneath. I have long, shapely legs and they were almost impossible to disguise.

So, I was stood there, bobbing from one foot to the other, my whole body twitching and shaking; partly to try and fend off the cold, partly due to a growing sense of excitement.

Finally, the referee blew his whistle and the soccer match drew to a close. I had no idea what the score was, or indeed if anyone had even been keeping score. Like a small swarm of locusts, the young players jogged over to the side of the pitch, each child seeking out his or her parent.

"Hey, Mom! Hey, Mom!" A little blond-haired boy shouted out as he approached me, "did you see? I scored a goal, Mom! I scored a goal!"

"That's great, champ, really great," I replied, a little absentmindedly.

The young boy was Calvin, my second child. Yes, named after the cartoon character, which wasn't my decision, if I was being honest. It was his father's idea. He was eight years old and adorable in the way only eight year olds can be. Earnest, loving, full of excitement and enthusiasm. I loved him so much.

But, God help me, he wasn't my favourite son. Oh no. Not anymore.

"Shall we go get your sister and go home?" I asked him. "You look like you need to have a shower."

"Okay, Mom," he said, "it was a great goal. I hit it from outside the box. It took a deflection, but I'm counting it as my goal..."

Off he went, trudging through the muddy field, heading towards the car park. I followed him, carrying the bag containing his clean clothes. The kids usually got changed at the school, in the locker room, but would then go home in their kit. We had to pick up Ava, who was being looked after by one of the teaching assistants.

My youngest child had zero interest in watching her older brother play soccer. She was in the playground near the school building, along with some other kids. A young woman - the teaching assistant - kept a mostly watchful eye over all of them, making sure no one got hurt. Although she was occasionally distracted by her cell phone. Ava was on one of the swings when she saw us come into view.

"Mommy! Calvin!" She hollered, scrambling down off the swing's seat and running towards them.

She practically jumped into my arms, as if she hadn't seen me in years. Ava was five, the youngest member of the family and my only daughter.

"Hey, princess, you okay?" I asked.

"Sure thing, Mommy. Did Calvin win?"

"It was a tie," he said, "I scored a goal. It was a really good goal. I hit it from..."

"Are we going home now?" Ava said, interrupting her brother; her interest in his game reaching its natural limit.

"Sure thing, pumpkin. Let's go home."

"Yaaay!" Ava bellowed, her loud voice belying her tiny frame, "there's a really good video on You Tube I want to watch. One of the girls in class told me about it. It shows kittens. Lots of kittens. I love them. They're so cute. Can I have a kitten, Mommy? Please!"

"Yeah, Mom, can we have a kitten?" Calvin echoed.

I ushered the kids to the car, their pleas for a new pet following in our wake. Ten minutes later we all arrived home, pulling into the driveway. We got out of the SUV and I opened the front door. The youngsters went running in, dropping bags and jackets and shoes in their wake. Ava was skipping along, singing a song to herself. Calvin sprinted straight for the main room, to turn on the TV.

"Don't forget you're having a shower, Calvin?" I cried out after him.

"Okay, Mom."

I sighed to herself and walked into the kitchen, heading to the refrigerator. I opened it up, pulled out a carton of orange juice and poured myself a glass. I heard a loud thudding sound from upstairs. I looked up, my eyes following the progress of that noise as it moved across the ceiling. Then I heard the thud, thud, thud of footfall on the stairs. I closed my eyes for a moment and felt my body shiver.

"Hey, Chris! I scored a goal! I scored a goal!" Calvin called out in the room next door.

"Only the one?" Was the response he received.

Suddenly Ava burst into the kitchen, dating frantically across the floor towards me.

"Can I have some juice, Mommy?" She asked, breathlessly.

"Sure thing, sweetie."

I took a glass off the drainer and poured her some juice. Then, a tall, muscular young man walked into the room, wearing shorts and a football jersey. I looked up briefly, my eyes meeting his.

"Hey, Mom," the young man said quickly.

"Hey, honey," I replied.

"Calvin had a good game, by the sounds of it."

"Sure did."

"Did you and the other soccer moms enjoy it?"

"I'm not a soccer mom."

"Sure, Mom, sure. Uh, Dad phoned. He said he would be late home this evening. Some meeting has overrun, or something."

"Okay, thanks Chris."

He nodded and turned round, walking out of the kitchen. Christian - Chris - my eldest child. My other son. I watched him walk away, then sighed gently.

My husband would be late home.

"Chriiiiisssss! Will you give me a piggy-back ride?" Ava shouted after him.

"Sure thing, Pumpkin," he replied.

I busied myself with washing and other domestic tasks, as Chris entertained his little sister. Calvin was in the front room, watching cartoons on the TV. Then I walked upstairs to the master bed-room. I'd taken some clean laundry up with me, and I was placing folded t-shirts and pants in various drawers. Then I moved towards the bed, suddenly determined to change the sheets.

At least that's what I told myself I was doing. Subconsciously, I knew the truth. I knew where I needed to be. I was waiting.

It was while I was tugging at those bedsheets that he quietly entered the room. I hadn't been conscious of him at first; his journey up the stairs had been a lot more stealthy than his journey down. But then, suddenly, I was aware of a presence behind me. I could hear his breathing, feel his warmth, see his shadow looming over me. I shivered, my skin suddenly tingling with goose bumps. Tingling with excitement.

And then he pounced.

I felt his hands take hold of my shoulders, as he spun my round like a top. Then he pulled me up off my feet, his hold tightening around my body. His mouth came to mine, his lips clamped onto mine, his tongue pushing forward. I resisted for half-a-second, squeaking in feigned surprise, but then I gave in and reciprocated. My mouth fell open, my tongue met his; the two of them duelling and thrusting sensuously against the other.

He hugged me close as we made out, his body pressed tightly against my own. My breasts were squeezed up against his chest. His hard dick was pushing against my belly and groin. I closed my eyes and moaned softly, our open mouths pressed together, our tongues frantically rolling around in a growing torrent of saliva and spittle.

I pushed back slightly, my hand on his chest; our lips parting, tiny lines of wet saliva stretching between us.

"Chriiiiissss!" I hissed at him, "what are you doing? Your brother and sister are downstairs!"

"Oh Jesus, Mom! I couldn't help it," he replied, his tone a strange mix of insolence and sheepishness, "I saw you in the kitchen, and you looked so fucking hot. I knew I needed to have you."

"No, it's too dangerous. Calvin and Ava could hear us."

He didn't say a word. Instead he took his hand and slid it down the front of my jogging bottoms. He rummaged around, quickly finding the elasticated band of my panties. His fingers burrowed inside, moving across the silky-smooth skin of my hairless pubis. Then, without asking permission, he rammed a couple of them inside my cunt. I gasped, half in pain, half in arousal.

He finger-banged me for a few moments, his thumb pressing against my clit. I practically hyperventilated as he went about his work. I could feel myself gushing all over his digits, as his hand moved back and forth, his fingers sliding in and out of my red-hot gash. His touch was always magical to me, as soon as he would go to work, I was bordering on an orgasm. I panted and swayed as he abused my tight little cunt.

Then he pulled his hand out and brought his fingers to my mouth. He pushed them between my lips and I could taste myself. My tongue lapped at his skin, licking the sticky surface, savouring the tart flavour of my bodily fluids. He looked down at me, smiling smugly, as I slurped and gnawed away at his hand, almost choking on his digits.

"I want to be inside you. Right now."

I sighed deeply and then staggered over to the door of my room.

"Calvin!?" I called out.

"Yes?" He replied, shouting up from downstairs.

"Mommy's going to have a lie down. You stay there with your sister, okay?"

"Can't Christian do it?"

"No, he's studying," I said, Christian giggling at my response, "you watch a Pixar movie with Ava. Okay?"

"Don't you want me to have a shower?"

"You can have one later. Just stay downstairs and look after Ava."

"Okay."

"Good boy."

I quickly closed the door and started pulling off my t-shirt. Turning round, I could see Christian stood by the bed. He'd already taken off his jersey and was shimmying out of his shorts. His large, beefy cock was hard, swinging around in front of him. I moaned at the sight of it.

"You got any lube?" He asked, a big goofy grin on his face.

Five minutes later I was naked on the bed, on my hands and knees, and my eldest son was buried balls-deep inside my asshole. His hands were gripping my hips tightly, as he pounded away at my butt. I could feel the slapping of his body against mine, as his dick slid in and out of my anus.

No, I didn't have any lube to hand, and he didn't want to risk walking back to his room naked, so we had to make do with a sloppy blowjob. I gave him a couple of minutes of head, soaking his prick in my saliva. Then he pulled me up and threw me on to the bed, before sliding his dick inside. It was a little painful to begin with, but I soon got used to it. Chris liked to have his own way, and I could never say no to him.

I warned him to take it slowly, to avoid any rhythmic banging noises emanating downstairs, but he didn't hold back, fucking me with the usual intensity and ferocity he always did.

"They won't hear anything," he rationalised, "and if they did, they won't understand. We'll just tell them we were moving furniture or something. They're kids, they'll believe any bullshit we feed them."

I remained unconvinced but I wanted his cock inside me, so I just shrugged and let him do whatever he wanted. As always.

He carried on slamming away, and I carried on panting and groaning on the bed. I could feel a veneer of sweat cover my body as we fucked. His dick ploughed in and out of my back door, I could feel the muscles of my body parting, his cock pushing relentlessly inside my guts. There was an intensity, a deepness to being penetrated this way, that couldn't compare with anything else.

When we had first started having sex - and yes, I'll get to that soon enough - Christian quickly began pestering me for anal. Like every kid of his generation, he had grown up with easy access to porn, and it seemed to me that pretty much every video online involved the girl getting fucked in the ass. I had been an enthusiastic adherent of anal sex when I was a teenager, but I was always something of an outlier. Not many of my contemporaries were as relaxed as I am about the matter.

These days, from what I could understand, that reticence had disappeared. Every girl worth her salt was willing to indulge in some butt stuff, or at least felt pressured to do so, and boys had come to expect it, as if it were their constitutional right. Second Amendment equalled guns. Third Amendment must equal fucking a chick in the ass. My eldest son was very much in that club.

He leaned forward, pushing deeper inside me. His hands reached under my body and he cupped my breasts. He squeezed them firmly and I gasped a little. Then he kissed my back and shoulders, tender little pecks against my hot, sweaty skin.

"You feel so good, Mom," he whispered, softly, "and my dick feels so good inside your butt."

"Oh God!" I exclaimed, "you're so big, baby. I love having your cock pounding away at my dirty, dirty shithole."

I felt his dick twitch and pulse at the sound of my nasty talk. Christian loved it when I spouted out plenty of filth. Fucking his mother was one thing, making her scream out disgusting, dirty talk was another. He didn't articulate much the psychology behind what we were doing, so I was never entirely sure of his motivations, but one thing was certain; he clearly liked the idea of polluting his innocent old Mom.

Not that I was remotely innocent, of course.

I was lying flat on the bed now and he was pressing down on top of me. I reached back with my hand, my fingers running through his hair, as he bit and licked at my neck. I could feel his hot, panting breath on my skin. I could feel his hands fondling my breasts. I could feel his cock buried deep inside my ass.

Then a voice rang out from outside the door of the bedroom.

"Mom? You still asleep?" It was Calvin.

"What is it honey?" I asked, my voice panicky and alarmed, punctuated by the remorseless thrusts of his brother's dick.

"Can I come in?"

"No!" I shouted, "no, stay there!"

I could see the handle on the door move downwards slowly, as Calvin pulled at it on the other side. I started frantically wriggling around on the bed, trying to get off the mattress and run to the door, but Chris was still insistently fucking me from above. He didn't lose his rhythm for a second, his cock moving back and forth in my anal passage. His body pressed down on mine. I was going nowhere.

"Calvin, stop!" I screamed, my pussy choosing that exact moment to erupt in orgasm. I howled out, partly in pleasure, partly in sheer terror. In a matter of moments I would be discovered. Naked, flushed, glistening in sweat, my eldest son spread out on top of me, his cock buried deep inside. His younger brother would be stood there, his eyes as big as saucers, his mouth dropped open in shock.

How could I possibly explain what we were doing?

But then, miraculously, the moment of revelation was avoided. There was a pause, then the door handle moved back upwards and I could hear Calvin move away.

"Are you okay, Mom?"

"Yes, I'm...uh...I'm fine," I panted, "what is it you want, sweetie?"

"Ava wants a soda. Is that okay?"

"Yes...oh yes...hmmm...that's fine," I gasped, my body betraying me, with its response to the fucking I was receiving, "aah...the low-sugar kind, though."

"Okay."

He trudged off and then I heard him amble downstairs. If I had been capable of sighing in relief, I would have done so, but Chris just kept on screwing me senseless. If he had been concerned about his younger brother catching us in the act, he hadn't shown it for a moment.

"I'm going to cum in your ass, okay?" He whispered.

I didn't respond. I just lay there, passively, as his cock erupted inside me. Ribbons of semen shot out of him like a fire-hose, splashing against the walls of my anus. His body jerked and heaved as he came, moving me round the bed like a rag-doll. He groaned and then he collapsed on top of me, pressing me down into the mattress. I could feel his sticky flesh pressed against mine. I could feel his hot breath on my back. I could feel his slimy goo trickling out of my body.

Eventually, he rolled off me and lay on his back, his skin shining with perspiration, his chest expanding and contracting, his breathing heavy and pronounced. I propped myself up on my elbows and glared at him.