Public, Outdoors, Cheating, MILF
I moaned.
I faced taking my stepdaughter Chloe to her little league soccer match on Saturday morning.
I complained to Tammy, my partner: Saturday was golf, sacrosanct.
I mean, I would see the indoor soccer final on a Friday night if her team made it like last year, but frickin Saturday morning.
Ultimately, I had no choice; Tammy had a work call-in, and I only had golf.
I put on my best stepdaddy's face, and I did care once we were driving there. I got through the selfish moment.
However, as I looked for parking around the venue, I realised I was in the dreaded soccer mum territorial lair. I was way out of my social league and bound to flounder and cringe at their over-enthusiastic, one-sided amateur refereeing from the sidelines.
I was entering the pushy mother domain: oh, cripes.
I knew I was for it as I went for a parking space from the arrowed direction only to be outmanoeuvred by an illegal park from a Range Rover with massive bull bars. Hell, it would have squashed our family sedan too easily. All I got was the glare from a proper 'hussy' but a very attractive woman, as if to say: well, there's nothing you can do about it.
I wasn't up for the hassle and backed to find another spot.
I saw she was one hot young mum; frickin tight jeans and plenty of bounce in her boobs and a cute flounce in her well-cut shoulder-length blonde hair. Pity about the attitude; she was hot. Probably needed a good stiffy up her rear to relieve the tension she was carting around.
I took the extra appreciative glance at her, heading into the stadium from my rear vision mirror.
I eventually found a parking spot about ten minutes away from the Northern Suburbs Netball Centre that hosted the junior indoor soccer league. We were on a side street, and we walked to the game. I told Chloe it was her warm-up.
Well, it's meant to be a team fun exercise, bond a little, develop some skills, and not worry if you win or lose. Participation is the motto; please tell that to soccer mums.
It was painful to watch. The language was foul. The eyeballing close to cat fights. Just what were these sweet little girls kicking around a ball going to turn into when they grew up? Hopefully, not their mums on the sidelines.
Yes, the mums were the ones swearing and coming close to blows. And that bitch in The Range Rover was the narkiest one of all. Though, honestly, there was something really hot about her worked-up state. She had a bit of a flush like she had had good sex, and the way she raised her voice. I could imagine a terrific orgasmic moan; no, this bitch would scream, probably yell out her own name in her climax.
So much for watching Chloe play indoor soccer, however; the sweet little thing was oblivious to all the adult nonsense on the sidelines like the other young players.
However, the referee, an upwardly mobile women's libber, probably doing feminine studies at the local Uni, had had enough of Mrs Range Rover after giving her two warnings and, just at the end of the twenty-minute first half, ordered her to leave the stadium or she would get the security and issue a fine.
The blonde bitch wasn't moving and was towering over the petite fem-ref. I stepped over and did the male diffuse.
God knows why and convinced the mum to at least get a breath of air outside.
She huffed a bit but saw she had no choice.
I needed a cigarette anyway and joined her outside the venue through a side exit alcove. We moved through the parked cars to the bushes along the back high wire fence as I offered her a cigarette.
Well, technically, there was no smoking anywhere on the Centre grounds.
I gave Mrs Range Rover a smoke, and she was nicotine relaxing very quickly like me.
She was Rachel, very recently divorced, and she calmed under each drag, not really a bitch, but a very frustrated woman just over thirty-five. I guessed she needed a root, a genuine motherfucker of decent shagging, to get her life back in kilter.
Well, there are days when it just doesn't take any time to get the pants down of a woman you don't even know.
I lust looked.
She lusted back.
She stubbed her fag. I stubbed mine.
I went straight into her space. Well, it was a half-step as we were in the bushes on the fence line. We didn't want a two hundred dollar on-the-spot smoking fine each.
Funny how we never thought of a court appearance for public indecency or possible overnight gaol time.
Fuck the human sex drive; it doesn't stop to think about the location; it's all about the act.
Our tongues and hands did their preliminary work in overdrive—an accelerated distorted joint bodily framed sequence of getting through clothes to the horny bits.
I mean, she only had to unzip my jeans and ease my rapidly hardening pecker out into the afternoon-filtered sunlight. Man, her jeans were tight on her hips, but with the blonde wriggling and my tugging, her denim and knickers together were heading to her ankles fast.
There were dappled shadows across her lower body, but nothing could shade her silky shaved mound. My eyes and then my fingers focused in on her quickly wet cleft.
Oh, I was generous with my touch. There is no other way to be with soft, presented female flesh. She had the smeary femcum juices in abundance. My fingers playing everywhere together. In her coochie. Around her spread lips. Pushing into her clit. Sliding over her perineum and crooking into her tight delicate arsehole.
The latter really had her moaning.
As she rubbed my cock with a sure pleasing grip, I moaned as my precum indicated I was ready for more. We were both ready for a manic screw.
I had to go down on her. This was a fabulous, unexpected one-off, and she was way out of my usual league.
I was licking and sucking and prodding with my tongue, really enjoying her sassy pungent smell and her flood of wetness.
Boy, did she cradle my head with her hands as I hit her clitty with speed? My tongue's rapid forays were incredibly brisk: dab, jab, sweep, swish and swipe; dart and plunge; pussy hustle and bustle; you name it. I did it.
I assailed her hard sweet pink jelly bean for her pleasure and my total frickin enjoyment. And I delved into her arse crack out of a filthy desire for two: just for good and bad boy measure.
Rachel shared everything, absolutely everything that was in her at the moment. She brought her entire pussy and arse to this unfolding encounter. I tongue groped her exquisitely sensitive private zone and man handled her butt hole till she was moaning for cock action.
Oh God, her pussy was divine as I shagged her between her legs from behind as she braced herself as best she could on the lattice wire fence.
The wire was swaying but not as much as her arse; it was bouncing back into my pelvis and arching away with my cock nestled comfortably inside her.
So frickin wet. So agreeably, pecker shaping.
It was racy, smutty and excitingly enticing. The world around us ceased to exist. Sex, in the end, is all participation, all focus. My cock focused on her sweet love hole. My fingers concentrated on additional delight in her puckered pink starfish.
The sheer mutual joy, the sheer mutual thrill, the possible danger, the likely caught out-in-public moment, our raunchy minds and our expectant genitals colluding in an instant bordering on frenzied delight, the fantastic pleasure sensations, touch dominant, then her pussy and my cock escalating the action: a whirl of release approaching.
Yeah, release all right; her hand eased my cock out of her warm coochie. I was stunned, then worried; had she seen someone through the fence?
Then I was stunned, alright; cock stunned, as she guided my thick stiffy into her tight arsehole. I had flexed her rear delight with my fingers, but God, she was tight still, as tight as her shaping hugging jeans when I first saw her.
My cock was now in the tourniquet of her constriction. Geez, was she pleasingly tight; she had me encircled more surely than a ring-barked tree.
Rachel's arsehole was a crimped flesh cocoon of total pleasure. My cock wrapped in her butt crack; swathed in bum hole delight; sheathed like a pecker needs to be on a Saturday or any day for that matter; enveloped in man happiness.
God, I loved indoor soccer.
The blissful sequence building for two in her charming back door, a pair of butt lovers, and Rachel's rear indentation was a crack to love.
I plugged her, and she moaned.
I stuffed her good, and she yelped.
I went through the deep dirty buggerising thrusts, and the soccer mum bitch could barely contain a series of orgasmic screams with her hand sort of muffling her gaping mouth.
Yeah, she gave up, and at the point of orgasm, she screamed her own name!
Oh Lord, Lordie: did Rachel suck me dry after that.
I mean, she was a mistress of the deep throat, pure penis mouth insertion. It was like my cock was being injected down her throat, a gag-free miracle: like one of those performers who put a sword down their throat; this was talent beyond a party or bedroom trick.
Geez, she spread her spit in copious wads over my already moist pecker. Then she slid me in between her wet, expectant lips, shallow, then deeper, then down her throat.
Yes; the blonde had moaned, yelped and screamed when I jammed her arse, but as my cock disappeared into the depth of an amazing tonsil tickle; I started with a series of deep groans which just became loud guttural; Orrhh's.
Rachel had my complete man meat buried in her gob. Sensational: my eyes popping out of my skull, my temple throbbing, my breathing reduced to pants of rapid delight. My buttocks thrust in and out of her face hole; I see my penis head at her lips, then the length of my rod, well swallowed.
Fuck she could suck. It was a full-service cock massage. I was groaning for my final release. I was in her mouth, but her tongue somehow was a slippery slide for my dick to glide along.
She finished me with an exquisite shallow glans suck to maximise my cum explosion and then swallowed my load like it was her daily vitamin dose.
Hell, by the time we scrabbled back to a half-decent look, we didn't have time for an after-sex fag. Well, the game was actually over.
Chloe sat on the sideline, striking up an instant friendship with Rachel's daughter. Polite kids waiting for occupied adults and they were accepting of vague excuses.
Well, suffice it to say my partner Tammy was glad that I volunteered over the last six weeks of the indoor soccer season to escort Chloe to all her games: bonding; yeah, it's what we do.
Bonding alright: Rachel and I created our own league out the back of the stadium, and we both scored repeatedly.