Halftime

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He was younger, it made him both more and less attractive.
More attractive because he was stronger, leaner, more inclined to act on impulse. Less attractive because it was bigger gamble, what if he was coming on to her because he came on to every woman he came into contact with? The odds of rejection were much greater, but the rewards could be greater as well.
They had met at work, had lunch en masse with people from the office. They had communicated through their company email accounts when they needed to say something work related, until he started working in the same department.
She received a email from his private email address. She looked up from her monitor, he gave her a brief smile. The email had been funny, about a woman at the desk next to hers. She replied from her private account.
This continued for a couple of weeks, then progressed to instant messages, mainly jokes, talking about people at work. But the messages became progressively more personal, then flirty. He would comment on a particularly short skirt she was wearing, she would talk about the exploits he must be having as a young single man.
Then their communication became unmistakeably sexual.
He kept saying he was serious, letting her know he was interested in more than simply talking dirty on the internet. She, of course, acted as if he were talking about something completely unheard of, that there was no way he would want her, that she was way too old for this type of thing, it was insane. She was a middle age soccer mom, he was a single man with a gorgeous smile and free weekends.
He asked what she was doing this particular weekend. She was spending Friday evening at the soccer field. He wanted to know if she would be alone, and she explained yes, her husband was working, and she would be in the bleachers by herself.
Now he stood on the side of the field, seeking her face among the crowd. She felt him looking at her, he caught her eye for just a moment, no more. She looked away, then back at him, nodding once, quickly, then it was if she didn’t know him at all. He walked away, toward the parking lot.
The weather was, as is usual for Spring, iffy at best. It had started off chilly, but warmed up throughout the day. By the time the soccer game started, it was 70 degrees, with a warm wind blowing across the field.
She had put on a long skirt when she dressed for work, and didn’t make it home in time to change, so she had just taken off a couple of layers – the sweater she had worn over the sleeveless blouse and her tights. As she walked away from the other soccer moms and dads, the breeze lifted her skirt, she instinctively pushed it down, over her knees, catching the back behind her, cupping the fabric to her ass while holding it in the front.
Until she saw him, standing by her van. Then she let it go, letting the wind render her somewhat indecent, for a soccer mom on a Friday afternoon. She unlocked the doors from 10 feet away, didn’t speak as she slid into the drivers seat and he climbed in the back.
She started the van, and drove across the lot, behind the gym. A few cars were parked out there, overflow from the soccer parking. Still silent, she pulled the car into a parking slot, turned off the ignition and climbed over nylon bags of cleats and shin guards, to where he was in the back.
He smiled as she crawled through the interior of the van, sitting in the middle of the rear bench seat.
“Whats the score?” he asked her.
“Soccer moms are in a good position to score a goal,” she said, laughing at her own horrible joke.
“You sure about this? In the parking lot?” He was amazed at her nerve.
She gathered her skirt in both hands, placed a knee on each side of his thighs, and sat astride him. She could feel his hardness through his jeans. She let go of the folds of her skirt and reached down to unbutton his pants, he caught his breath.
“Are we in that big a hurry?”
“Yeah, halftime only lasts 15 minutes,” she explained. He was a novice, didn’t know any of the rules of the game.
He lifted his hips off the seat, causing her head to bump the ceiling of the van as she slipped his jeans down.
Some parents with younger children, whose game was finished, walked past outside. She realized if they looked closely, the family would be able to see through the tint on the back window of the van.
So when he put his hands under her blouse and unhooked her bra, she told him to leave it on.
“Don’t take my top off,” she said, and he left it buttoned, just cupped her breasts under the fabric where his thumbs found her nipples, hard and smooth as pea gravels. She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back, just feeling this.
A shout from the parking lot brought them both back to reality. She slipped off his lap to sit beside him on the bench and he instinctively turned, his mouth finding the hollow between her shoulder and her neck, his hand sliding up the inside of her thigh. The wetness he found there surprised him.
“The windows,” she said, trying to explain that people walking past might be able to look into the van. But her words came out as air, a whisper. He kissed her mouth, then pulled away.
“If you lay back, no one can see you,” he said.
She laid down on the seat while he knelt in the floor of the van, his hand still between her legs. She put her hand on top of his, pushing their fingers into her. They both gasped, opened their eyes, looked into the others’ face.
“You are crazy,” he told her.
“Crazy horny,” she replied.
She raised her hand up to his face, putting her wet fingers into his mouth.
He licked them and, moaning, brought his face down her body, pulling the skirt up to her waist. He put a hand on the back of her thigh, pulled it up, spreading her legs. She cried out as he opened her with his fingers, stopping for a moment, then letting his tongue trace every crevice of her pussy, as if he was trying to memorize the taste, the texture, like he wanted to know it, own it, take the juices away on his hands and face.
She knew what she wanted, she wanted him on top of her, fucking her. She wanted him deep inside her, hard, harder.
But he wouldn’t stop licking her, maddeningly slowly, even as they listened to families in the parking lot, even as halftime ticked away, even as she told him what she wanted.
“C’mon,” she whispered, pushing her hips up off the seat, “just . . . you know you want to. Come up here, come fuck me.”
“I will,” he said, and continued eating her.
When her orgasm shook her she put her hand over her own mouth, smothering the shout she found erupting from her throat. As her voice subsided to a whimper. he did pull his face from her, positioning himself between her legs, heedless of whether the parents or kids walking past could see.
They were both beyond caring.
He cried out as he finally entered her, shoved into her as she wrapped her legs around him, she reached down and pushed his ass, wanting him to fill her up completely.

And he did, fast, hard, as if he were trying to grind her down into the fabric of the seat. He gave up control, let himself come, and was surprised by the intensity of it. He had waited weeks for the encounter, and was not disappointed.
“I haven’t cum that hard since I was 16 years old,” he told her, sliding into the floor of the van.
“Good, remember that,” she said, pushing her skirt down. “Next home game is Saturday.”

About Eva St. James

Hi, I'm Eva, I loves sex and pretty words. So pretty words about sex are especially lovely. Come share some of these words with me. If you see something you like, leave a comment. I'll show you mine, and you can tell me yours.

4 responses »

  1. That was very intense. The thrill of getting caught, the cheating and the intensity of a “quicky” add up to one hot read. Although not my only “turn on” the premise of the respectable mother and wife who has hidden “slutty” side is certainly a powerful one. But I suppose it’s a common theme as there is a deliciously good feeling in being bad. 😉

  2. The build up here could be extended a bit to intesify the sexual tension -but otherwise this was good for us non soccer moms to understand just what can happen at half time.

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