Odessa, Texas.

Permian High School.

Home of the Panthers.

The Mojo.

In Texas, high school football isn’t a sport.  It’s a lifestyle.  And if you wanted the mansion on the hill instead of the trailer in the field, Permian was it.

Or at least it once was. But the last several years have seen lackluster performance out of the boys.

But that's all changing. Darryl Artman, a member of the 2008 Panthers, is the new head coach. He's guiding his quarterback, Jake Smith, to return the Mojo to their former glory.

Mojo Rising. That's their mantra now.

***

Thirty-five teenagers milled about, moving in and out of the shower room, in various stages of undress. Locker room banter melded into a constant din, echoing off the tiled walls and metal lockers.

The stench of grass and dirt and sweat permeated the locker room, amplified by the steam billowing from the showers.

"Smith!" Mr. Fairchild yelled across the locker room. "Get your butt in here!"

Jake hurried from the shower room, a small white towel wrapped around his trim waist. He ran to his locker and quickly pulled a pair of boxers over his muscular legs, up his thighs, before hastening toward the coach's office.

"Yes, sir?" he asked, standing in the doorway, water dripping down his well-defined, hairless chest. He brushed errant locks of hair from his eyes, wiping his hands on the damp towel.

"Got a few new things for you, Mr. Smith," Coach Artman intoned in a slow drawl. He was leaning back in his chair, feet propped on the scarred desk.

A relieved smile spread across the senior's face. "Oh, yeah?" he asked. His body relaxed; he had been ready to be dressed down following his poor performance during double sessions that day.

"Yeah. Mr. Fairchild and I conjured up a few ideas over the last coupla weeks. Actually, some stuff we used to run here years ago, just…updated."

Jake's eyes shifted from Coach Artman to the offensive coordinator, Brendan Fairchild. "I'm all ears, Coach."

Coach Artman laughed softly. "I'm sure you are, Jake. I'm sure you are. Tell ya what, though. It's late. It's hot. You had a rough practice. Swing by the house later. Pick up the additions to the playbook."

The eagerness on the sixteen-year-old's face was apparent.

"Now, don't go gettin' all excited. We'll start runnin' some of this new stuff tomorrow and see how it works out. No promises. We gotta see if you can make it work." Darryl Artman paused and then swung his legs off the desk. "But stop on by.  Mr. Fairchild and I’ll be there, got somethin’ goin’ on out back. Get the pages.  Review ‘em tonight. We'll talk about it in the mornin'."

Jake nodded and then retreated to his locker and finished dressing, slipping into a pair of tan cargo shorts and a white polo shirt. On the way out to his pickup truck, he passed by the Permian band practicing “Alma Mater,” the school’s fight song.

***

The August sun was on its downward slide to the west, receding but no less intense for it.

After running a few errands for his mother and getting his truck washed, Jake met Katie, his love interest, at the local Dairy Queen and they shared an ice cream, a few laughs, and a kiss.  “Sorry, but I gotta stop by Coach’s and pick some new plays.  Call me later?”

Ten minutes later, he pulled into the Artmans' driveway and shut the engine off. Pushing the door open, he dropped from the cab and casually made his way toward the front door of the ranch-style home. He punched the doorbell as a trickle of sweat rolled down his back.

A few moments later, the door swung open and a gust of cool air surged from behind the screen and caressed his clean-shaven cheeks.

"Hi, Mrs. Artman," he announced with a crooked grin. On the other side of the screen, she stood barefoot with her hips cocked to one side. One hand held the door, the other perched at the top of her hip.

"And hello to you, Mr. Smith," she welcomed him, snow-white teeth gleaming from between wet, shiny lips, set off by the healthy tan that highlighted high cheekbones and classic beauty.

"Uh, Coach asked me to stop by and pick up a few inserts for the playbook." Jake swallowed hard. Melanie Artman was a sight to behold; she never failed to bring a lump in his throat. A sleeveless white cotton blouse hung loosely on her upper body but still failed to disguise the ample chest that lay beneath.

"Did he now?" Coach Artman's wife asked rhetorically, a sly smile creeping along the features of her face. She leaned into the screen door and pushed it open, stepping aside to allow the young man to enter. "I think I know just where he left them."

"Um, is he here? Coach Artman, I mean?" The older woman smelled vaguely of lilacs and the scent hung around him as he stepped through the doorway, squeezing by her. The bicep of one of his arms brushed lightly against a jutting breast; the short blonde hairs along his forearm stood on end and his skin tingled.

"Course he is, Jake," she responded, her bright blue eyes showing amusement. "He and Mr. Fairchild are out back finishin’ the patio. Let me just get those papers for you from the den and then you can go on out and say hi."

Jake waited in the foyer for Mrs. Artman to return. When she did, she directed him through the kitchen and out a screen door that led to the backyard. Jake stepped outside and found Mr. Fairchild using a wet saw to cut a brick paver in half. Coach Artman knelt fifteen feet away, gently tapping an already-cut paver into place with a rubber mallet.

"Coach, Mr. Fairchild," he said, announcing his presence.

Both men looked up from their tasks. "How you doin', boy?" Mr. Fairchild asked, tapping the "off" button and raising the protective goggles from his eyes.

"Awright. Just came by to pick up the extra pages for the playbook. Mrs. Artman said y'all were back here workin'. Thought I'd say hi."

Coach Artman stood and shook the boy's hand before calling out to his wife. "Mel, honey, would ya bring the boy a Coke or somethin’?"

"Sure thing," they all heard from somewhere in the house.

As Coach Artman explained his plans for the patio, Mrs. Artman leaned out the back door. "Need a glass, sweetie?"

"Nah. Can's just fine," he called over his shoulder. Behind him, the screen door clattered shut.

Mrs. Artman padded silently across the yard, still barefoot, and handed him the can.

"Thanks, ma'am," he offered, taking the drink from between long, slender fingers painted the same bright red as the can.

"My pleasure," she said before turning on her heel. Her ash blonde tresses, gathered in an invisible rubber band, whipped around. As she sauntered back toward the house, Jake's eyes locked on her figure. Long, tanned legs, lightly muscled, disappeared beneath a khaki skirt that was wrapped loosely around her firm butt.

His longing stare was broken by the small laughter of the two older men.

"Don't go gettin' any ideas, son," Coach Artman warned him lightheartedly. "Been mine for over a decade now. Will always be mine."

***

His words floated to Melanie's ears as she crossed the yard. She felt herself flush. Not from embarrassment, but frustration and resentment. She married Darryl soon after college. He had a promising career ahead of him and was going to get them out of Odessa. All the way to Dallas, or Houston maybe. They never made it that far, but a few years in Austin had sat well with her.  But now, years later, here they were, back in Odessa.

'Goddammit,' she thought, purposely putting a little more sway in her hips as she approached the screen door. 'I hate this fuckin' town. Hate the summer, and the fall even more. Hotter than shit out here.'

She pulled the screen door open and stepped inside. She wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow that had formed during her brief sojourn outside. Her nipples thickened against the cool contrasting air inside.

'And then football season comes. Double sessions during the summer . . . practice and planning once school starts. A football widow if there ever was one.'

Yet every weekend, there'd she sit, the prim, doting wife, cheering for the Mojo.

Mrs. Artman made herself busy in the kitchen, cleaning up.

‘I didn't sign up for this shit,’ she lamented, wiping down the island. ‘I didn't sign up for football. I signed up for the big city, glamorous restaurants, and fucking on the balcony of our high-rise apartment while the nanny takes care of the kids. Not this go-nowhere town, Olive Garden, and no sex from July to December.'

She stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes – Darryl had promised to fix the dishwasher two weeks ago but it wasn't done yet; football season, he had explained – her gaze directed through the window above the sink, toward the patio where the three boys stood talking. Her focus was somewhere in the middle ground as she fumed over the cards life had dealt her.

'Always be mine,' she thought. ‘If you only knew, Coach.' Her mind bit on the last word.

A laugh broke her from the conversation she was having with herself and she focused on the trio. Jake had his back to her, the middle of his shirt darkened from sweat. She wondered briefly if his little teenage ass was as firm and tight as the rest of his sixteen-year-old body. She smirked at the wickedness of it and her imagination conjured up an image of a thick, sweaty cock packed tightly in the boy’s shorts.

Her distended nipples throbbed at the thought. In her mind's eye, she saw herself on dimpled knees before the kid. He was wearing his football uniform, shoulder pads and all. He smelled of wet grass and heavy sweat. Black, anti-glare strips were affixed below each of his eyes. But his pants were undone at the waist and his thick cock bobbed up and down before her quivering lips; a thick strand of pre-cum dripped from the end of it. 'Suck it, Mrs. Artman,' she heard him say. She salivated and her soft lips eased apart and closed over the head of his shaft and he moaned above her. 'Yeah,' he grunted. 'Coach's wife's a helluva cocksucker.' Then he laughed.

The laughter from outside shocked Melanie from her daydream. She had been scrubbing the frying pan so vigorously that when she jumped, it fell from her tightly gripping fingers into the sink, splashing soapy water against her stomach and chest.

"Ugghh," she groaned. She reached for a towel and a trickle of wetness threatened to release and ease down the inside of her thighs. She was dabbing at the soft flesh of her inner thigh when she caught movement from the kitchen window. Her husband and Mr. Fairchild shook hands with Jake and the young man ambled back toward the house while the two older gentlemen went back to work on the patio.

The screen door creaked open and Jake stepped inside.

"Got everything you need, hon?" she asked sweetly, rubbing the towel over the sodden fabric covering her chest.

Jake stopped short upon seeing Mrs. Artman rubbing her breasts. She dropped her hand and set the towel on the counter. The soaked, white cotton had plastered against her chest, accentuating the size of her breasts. The swollen state of her nipples, though ensconced in a bra, was apparent to his feasting eyes.

"Uh, yeah. I do. Thanks, Mrs. Artman. And thanks for the Coke."

"My pleasure, young man." She shot him a coquettish smile and turned back toward the window above the sink.

"Well…uh," he began.

"They ‘bout done out there, sweetie?" she interrupted.

He paused and chuckled. "Dunno about that, ma'am. Looks to me like they got quite a ways to go."

Melanie stood staring out the window. "Seems like that patio is takin' a long time to get finished. Been workin' on it for weeks now." She reached out and pulled a grape from a colander and popped it into her mouth. It was cool in her overheated mouth and she swallowed slowly.

Jake wandered over to the counter and stood next to her. "Maybe, but it'll sure be nice once it's all done."

She leaned her elbows on the counter, resting her chin against her closed fists. Her diamond engagement ring dug into the soft underside of her chin. "I sure hope so." She paused. "Look at those two. You'd think it was rocket science or somethin'. The way they agonize over cuttin' those bricks and tappin' 'em into place."

Jake leaned closer to her to get a better view of the men through the window. Mr. Fairchild was bent over the wet saw, his goggled eyes focused intently on the paver he was guiding against the blade.

Mrs. Artman warmed as the heat of the teenager’s forearm pressed against her bare shoulder. She shuffled her soft thighs against each other and felt a small stream of vaginal fluid escape from between her dew-coated labia.

"They must enjoy it, though," he responded, his voice low. "Me, I'd rather be standin' over center gettin' ready to toss the ball."

"Yeah," Melanie murmured, her muscles relaxing. Her trim hips swayed slightly and the hem of her skirt tickled her lithe thighs as it lightly brushed across the warm flesh.

After a moment, she stood and reached across her supple body, gently tapping him on the arm. "Speakin' of standin' over center, why'nt you move around me so you can get a better view of these two? It's funny to watch these two morons work together."

'Odd,' Jake thought, but nonetheless stepped back and around Mrs. Artman. His gaze fell on the loose skirt covering her tight bottom but he quickly averted his eyes. He was careful to keep a few inches between his swelling cock and Coach Artman's wife's sexy butt.

Outside, Mr. Fairchild dropped a cut paver on the ground next to the coach. It rolled once and cracked against another paver waiting to be set, then broke in half. Mr. Artman looked up at his offensive coordinator in mock disgust. Mr. Fairchild appeared to laugh.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Artman chuckled softly. "What'd I tell ya'? Dumb and dumber," she mumbled. Twisting her torso slightly, she turned her head to look over her shoulder and caught Jake's eyes locked on her swaying ass. She put the brakes on the movement and Jake's eyes shot up toward the window, then down to the smirk that creased the features of her beautiful face.

He knew he'd been caught staring. He blushed red, and then stammered, "Uh, sorry, Mrs. Artman. I…uh…I meant no…no disrespect."

She laughed lightly and turned her head back toward the window. "None taken, big boy," she purred at the same time as she jerked her lush hips against his before settling back on her elbows.

The sudden contact between his groin and Mrs. Artman's gorgeous butt sent blood coursing into Jake's cock. As it swelled and extended down his thigh, he became uncomfortable. Surreptitiously, with a hand in his pocket, he adjusted himself, pushing his shaft to a more natural, vertical position within his shorts.

Melanie felt his movement behind her and her eyelids fluttered; she knew she had caused his discomfort. She gently pushed her hips backward until her ass cheeks again pushed into the sixteen-year-old. She wiggled briefly and nearly groaned aloud as the thick shaft nestled between her upturned cheeks.

"God, I could watch this all day long," she intoned blissfully.

'Though I’d rather feel this kid's cock against my ass all day long,' she thought.

Slowly, Mrs. Artman pushed herself upright, her open palms against the countertop. The rotating of her hips as she leaned back against Jake sent his cock sliding against the small of her back. As she swung her head around to look him in the eye, her ponytail swished across his face.  He leaned away but kept his crotch up against the married woman's back.

"How 'bout you?" she drawled with a lascivious grin, her voice soft in the quiet kitchen. Lust nearly dripped from her bright, smiling eyes.

Jake was nervous. His body trembled ever so slightly. "Uh…um…yeah…I guess," he faltered, his eyes flitting this way and that.

She leaned down over the counter again, resting her chin in the open palm of her hand. "So tell me, Jake. You started thinkin’ about college yet?"

"Uh, yeah," he responded, his heart rate slowing again. "I mean, I got a year or so before I need to really start worryin’, you know?"

Outside, Mr. Fairchild brought the saw down against an uncut paver. Halfway through, it disintegrated and he hit the "off" button in frustration. Mr. Artman looked up as the whine of the saw abruptly ended. He stood and motioned to Mr. Fairchild to switch places with him.

Mrs. Artman laughed again. Her sinuous body shook lightly. "You thinkin’ about the Horns, aren’t ya?"

She gently ground her tight bottom against Jake's groin.

"Yeah," he squeaked. "My number…number one choice."

"Mmm…Think you'll get in?" He couldn't see it, but Mrs. Artman's eyes hooded over when she felt the thick mass press against her ass cheeks.

"Hopin'. And if this season goes well, hopin' for a scholarship."

A moment passed before Melanie responded.  "And what about that pretty little missy I see hangin' on your arm all the time?"

"Holly? She’s not sure yet. She applied to UT but isn’t sure if her grades are good enough."

Outside, Mr. Artman fared no better with the saw. As he brought the blade down to touch a new paver, the paver twisted slightly and broke apart. On his knees a few feet away, Mr. Fairchild laughed. His lips moved but, inside, neither Jake nor Mrs. Artman could hear his retort.

Mrs. Artman merely shook her head, the tight ponytail brushing across her trim back. Behind her, Jake watched it move. Deep down, he wanted to grab hold of it, use it like the reins on a horse as he impaled the sexy woman on his cock.  Do all the things he’d seen done in the porn he occasionally watched online.  The things Holly wouldn’t let him do.

"Well, that'll be a shame for you, now won't it?"

"Whaddya mean, Mrs. Artman?"

"Well, you got a nice little cutie hangin' on your every word. Go to UT without her and you'll have to find a new one."

"Yeah. I guess."

"Don't think you'll have all that much trouble, though," she muttered with a wiggle of her hips. Jake's cock rolled along the firm cheeks of her butt. "Do you?"

"Hope not."

"Matter of fact, probably have the pick of the litter."

Jake didn't know quite how to respond to that, and so he didn't.

"I know if I was your age, I'd be hangin' all over you."

"I…uh…well…thanks." Jake gulped. "Thanks, Mrs. Artman."

A sensuous laugh escaped Mrs. Artman's slender throat. She righted herself and reached behind her, found Jake's strong, and pulled his arms around her waist.

"Uh…Mrs. Artman…?"

"C'mon," she chided softly. "Something else you'd rather be doin'?"

She turned her head back toward him. She leaned slightly to one side, twisted her torso a little, and let her full lips brush against the young man's chest right above the open collar of his polo shirt. She felt him tremble and chuckled inside before swiping his salty sweat from her lips.

As Mrs. Artman pulled her face away, her eyes floated to his, amused to see the uncertainty on his face. "Would you mind?"

His eyes clouded in confusion. "Uh…mind what?" he muttered.

Softly, almost in a whisper, she clarified. "If a woman like me hung all over you. Would you mind?"

"I don't think…" he began before she interrupted him with a manicured finger on his lips.

"Shh." Turning toward the window, she released her grip on his hands and bent forward over the counter again, resting on her elbows.

Unsure of what to do with his hands, he allowed them to fall to his sides. But he remained with his aching cock buried against Mrs. Artman's ass.

"Watch with me?" he heard her inquire.

Jake did not move to leave or separate himself from the older woman.

"Hands on my hips, please," she directed, wiggling her hips slightly to gain his attention.

"Mrs. Artman," he squeaked. "I really don't…think…"

She again interrupted the teenager, her voice low and breathy. "Leave the thinkin' on the football field, young man. Here, just do as you're told."

Jake raised his hands from his sides and began to lower them, away from her, unsure of himself. Lust took over, however, and he rested his large open palms gently on her pliant hips.

Mrs. Artman rewarded him with a quick jab of her firm ass against his waist. He groaned from deep in his throat. Unseen by the young man behind her, she smiled and dragged her soft pink tongue across her bright red lips, wetting them obscenely. "You like that?"

"Mm-hm," he muttered in response.

Melanie pushed off her elbows and curled her fingers around the edge of the countertop and into the well of the sink. The heels of her palms braced herself and her bright red nails clacked lightly against the stainless steel.

"Hold me tighter," she commanded and was rewarded as Jake increased his grip on her narrow waist. His strong fingers sank into the soft flesh and she ground her ass against him. Another reward. "Good boy," she whispered.

Mrs. Altman shuffled her feet apart slightly and peered over her shoulder at him. The sixteen-year-old’s quivering was obvious. So was his growing lust: the heat of his thick shaft penetrated his shorts and her skirt and she felt it in the cleavage formed by her taut butt cheeks.

"Bump against me," she smiled, the hunger in her eyes apparent to even the novice standing behind her.

A squeak escaped his throat but his hips moved against her and then withdrew. Again. "Like this?" he inquired after a moment, his eyes nearly rolling up into his head.

"Like…?" she asked, leaving the question open-ended.

Jake merely grunted.

"Like fucking?" she finished, biting hard on the last word.

"Uugghh," the kid moaned and his heart skipped a beat.

Melanie laughed inside and turned back to the window, her eyes locked on her husband's bent form as he gently lowered the saw blade to a paver. "Faster," she commanded.

Jake's grip on her slim hips increased with his tempo. Mrs. Artman allowed a soft sigh to escape her lips as her full breasts swung beneath her, her nipples swelling against the silk of her bra.

"Faster!"

Outside, Mr. Fairchild turned away from watching Coach Artman's progress. His eyes squinted at the kitchen window but couldn't discern anything due to the sun's glare against the glass.

"Oh, God," Mrs. Artman grunted. With jerky, sporadic movements, she shifted her weight to rest entirely on her right hand and reached behind her with her left, her long, slender fingers grabbing gingerly at Jake's belt buckle, careful to not chip a nail.

"C'mon," she nearly hissed. "Unbuckle this thing. Get those shorts down."

Jake's fingers fumbled with the buckle. He couldn't breathe. As agitated as he was, his fingers couldn't seem to coax the tongue of the belt through the buckle and he gave up.

"Mrs. Artman, I…I really think I should be goin'," he declared in a rushed, scratchy voice.

"I don't think so…and what did I tell you ‘bout thinkin’?" she breathed and turned away from the counter, dropping to her haunches before the young man. Her manicured fingers made quick work of the belt and roughly yanked the sides of his shorts open. Her right hand braced against the young man's thigh, she reached through the flap of his boxers with her left hand and quickly located the pulsing shaft.  Her slender fingers closed around it, squeezing it lightly as she pulled the smooth shaft into the open.

"Oh, God," he whimpered, his athletic body quivering at the older woman's touch.

She paused momentarily to look up at Jake's face. His eyes were hooded with lust as they gazed down upon her. Maintaining eye contact, she parted her soft lips and tilted her head forward slightly, taking the rubbery head of the kid's cock into the wet heat of her mouth.

"Uugghh." Jake's knees nearly buckled and he leaned forward to catch himself against the countertop. The movement forced more of his cock into Mrs. Artman's mouth and she moaned lightly as the overheated slab of flesh slid along her soft tongue before bumping against the back of her throat.

Still squatting before the sixteen-year-old, she yanked his shorts and boxers to his ankles and slid her palms down the insides of his thighs, her head bobbing on the young cock.

Jake shivered as her manicured fingers traced light circles back up his thighs before sliding around to cup his firm ass cheeks, kneading them.

With her agile tongue, Mrs. Artman shoved the saliva-soaked shaft from her mouth and planted light kisses down its length, smearing bright red lip gloss along it as she went. As her lips neared the base of the shaft, she dipped her head slightly and allowed her wet tongue to flicker against the teenager’s cum-laden balls.

"Oh, God," she heard him groan above her.

Mrs. Artman pulled her beautiful face, saliva dripping from her chin, from the student's crotch, and wrapped the fingers of her left hand around his quivering shaft. The light above the kitchen sink caught the diamond set in her engagement ring, causing it to sparkle in her eyes as she studied the glistening shaft with its pulsing veins and bulbous head flaring.

"Mojo rising," she muttered to herself before dropping her lips along the full length of the shaft. She swallowed as the inflamed mushroom-shaped head slammed into the back of her throat. Rather than gagging, her throat opened up and the thick cock slid into it until Jake’s firm stomach bumped into her forehead, pushing the back of her head against the edge of the countertop.

"Uuggghhhh…fuck!" Jake groaned when she swallowed again, her throat constricting around the flame-hot cockhead. Mrs. Artman's manicured nails dug into the soft but firm flesh of his ass as she twisted her head against his crotch, literally screwing her full lips on his saliva-soaked and lip-gloss-stained shaft. Spit leaked from the corners of her sensuous mouth and dripped from her chin.

His light pubic hairs tickled her nose and she pulled back, allowing the dripping cock to pop from her watering mouth. "Fine," she smiled, pushing him back and lifting herself from the squat. "You wanna fuck, let's fuck."

Mrs. Artman turned in place back toward the kitchen window. Her tanned hands grabbed at the hem of her skirt and pulled as she wiggled her supple hips. With the khaki fabric bunched at her trim waist, she eased her sodden panties down her lean thighs and over her calves before stepping out of them.

Behind her, Jake's hands were on his cock, slowly stroking it as though he were afraid it would go soft. "Jesus," he whispered, voice barely audible.

Mrs. Artman bent at the waist, her chest dropping into the well of the kitchen sink. "How's this for standin' over center?" she taunted her husband's star quarterback, reaching behind her.

Her slender fingers encircled the trembling shaft and pulled the kid attached to it against her ass. With her other hand, she reached between her quivering thighs and seated the engorged cockhead against her swollen labia.

Jake's large hands fell against her pliant hips, digging into the naked, perspiring flesh. He bent slightly at the knees and pushed forward. The head of his fat, young cock pierced Mrs. Artman's sopping pussy with relative ease and two or three inches of the shaft slid into her scalding wetness.

"Yessssss!!!" she hissed, readjusting her position on the countertop. Shoving the faucet head to the side, she rested her forearms against the back edge of the sink and her breastbone on the divider between the two sides of it. The coolness of the stainless steel through her still-damp blouse contrasted sharply against the heat that permeated the rest of her adulterous body, causing her swollen nipples to ache within her bra.

Jake pulled back slightly and sank his strong fingers even deeper into Mrs. Artman's flesh. He pushed forward again and found the remainder of his cock buried balls-deep in his coach’s wife’s steaming pussy.

"Uuggghhhh," she grunted at the intrusion, feeling organs being moved aside to make way for the teenager's thick, pulsing shaft. "So…fuckin'…full," she muttered as Jake withdrew but then just as quickly replanted his shaft. Mrs. Artman's large breasts swayed beneath her and she briefly readjusted her position to wipe away a bead of sweat that threatened to roll down her cheek.

Though relatively inexperienced – Holly was, after all, a good girl – Jake fell into a silent rhythm behind Mrs. Artman. Occasionally, he sent sharp jerks of his powerful hips against her upturned butt, causing her cheeks to ripple and undulate wickedly with each spearing of her cunt. Then he slowed his pace and, without warning, pulled harshly at the reckless housewife's yielding hips, impaling her on his veiny shaft.

"Fuck my cunt," she implored him.

Jake nearly buckled over to save himself from cumming as the depraved words spilled from her lips. As his cock inadvertently slipped from her dripping hole, Mrs. Artman frantically reached behind her and slapped his thigh, the sound deafening in the quiet of the kitchen.

"Get it back in there!" she wailed.

Jake, afraid to touch his cock for fear of coating her ass cheeks with thick sperm, bent again at the knees and swayed his hips back and forth until his cockhead nudged up against her inflamed cunt lips, then quickly stabbed the inflated shaft into the shuddering woman.

"Uugghh fuck," came the guttural groan from deep in her throat.

Mrs. Artman's head thrashed around, her damp ponytail like a whip, and her lust-filled eyes bore in on the young man. Her full, red-smeared lips curled into a sneer.

"Pull…my…hair!" she snarled, a word for each thrust of the young cock into her molten cunt.

Scared almost, Jake leaned into her, shoving more of his sixteen-year-old cock into her burning hole, and took the end of her ponytail between his fingers.

Mrs. Artman violently shoved her ass back at him, her eyes slamming shut as the thick shaft stretched the walls of her cunt.

"No!  I said…pull…it…! Wrap it…around…your fist…and pull!" she spat, each word punctuated by an almost out-of-control impalement of her battered cunt.

Jake's fingers took in more of his coach's wife's ponytail until his fist was halfway up it. With a flick of his wrist, and then another, the ash blond locks were wound tightly around his clutching fingers.

Pulling his shaft from her cunt, leaving just the leaking cockhead within her, he yanked roughly on Mrs. Artman's hair. The sharp tug forced her yielding cunt back along the young man's invading shaft and lifted her head from its resting place upon her forearms, her back bowed deeply. Her eyelids flicked open and a squeal and then a whimper gushed from the woman's parched mouth as her head was yanked back.

"Just like that?" Jake asked through gritted teeth, one hand still planted firmly on the cheating woman's damp hip.

"Yeah," she moaned, relishing the pressure at her scalp, the feel of the thick shaft stretching her cunt walls, the sound of his heavy balls slapping against her inflamed clit.

Her eyes struggled to focus on her surroundings. The image of her husband and Mr. Fairchild, fifty feet beyond the window while this gorgeous teenager was skewering her dripping cunt, came slowly into focus.

Outside, a stray cloud rolled slowly across the burnished late afternoon sky, momentarily reducing the glare on the kitchen window. Mr. Artman turned and wiped sweat from his brow. He turned toward the window and caught a faint glimpse of his wife bent over the sink. He assumed she was cleaning the counters and simply waved.

Mrs. Artman's stomach lurched into her throat.

"Move," she grunted, breathless. "Move to the side."

Heart in his throat, Jake shuffled to his left, trying to tuck himself out of view. His fist buried in Mrs. Artman's tresses, he peered over the top of her head as his coach offered the universal sign for another beer: fist clenching an imaginary can, tilting it into his mouth.

Melanie surprised the young man behind her when she shifted her weight to the left and with her right hand reached out and grasped the crank that opened the window. She twirled it three or four times, causing the window to open a few inches. Jake ducked, his cock still buried in the shameless woman's twitching pussy, terrified of being seen while mounting his coach's wife.

"What, honey?" she called, thrusting her tight ass back at Jake, her greedy cunt swallowing the full length of his quivering shaft.

Jake's entire body was trembling, in fact. The wickedness of his position stirred lust from deep within him, standing as he was behind Mrs. Artman, stretching her leaking cunt while she talked to her husband, his coach.

"Can you get us another coupla beers?" he heard through the pounding in his ears.

"Sure thing, sweetie," she began, Jake's cock slamming into the top of her cunt causing her to pause involuntarily. "Be…out…in just a few…minutes."

Mrs. Artman anxiously twirled the crank in the opposite direction to close the window.

"Holy…shit," she breathed, Jake back atop her now.

Jake's young thrusting hips went into overdrive, his body jerking erratically.

Mrs. Artman again braced herself at the sink. "Hurry up, Jake…fuck me…"

"Oh gawd, Mrs. Artman," he moaned, his lower lip quivering at the pleasure coursing through his aching shaft.

Without warning, she stood upright and pushed him away, his cock falling from her stretched hole with an audible pop. She pushed him again, toward the kitchen table. In two steps they were there, she behind him. She reached around him, grabbed the back of one of the chairs, and swung it around before pushing the kid into it. He slouched slightly and she straddled him, the damp heat of her inner thighs against his legs.

"Need to be quick, sweetie," she whispered. She leaned forward and took the slick, overheated shaft in her fingers, lowering herself until her splayed labia nestled against the cum-dripping, spongy head. She leaned forward a little more and slowly lowered herself further, feeling the fat shaft part the lips of her cunt. She turned her head slightly toward the screen door and took in the view of her husband and Mr. Fairchild bent over in the backyard, both tapping the remaining pavers into place.

"I really need you to be quick, now," and with that, she dropped her cunt the rest of the way down Jake's shaft, his pubic hair commingling with the thin little strip of wispy hair she maintained at the apex of her cunt.

"Ugh," she heard the kid grunt beneath her.

Keeping an eye on the men in the backyard, Mrs. Artman leaned back a little and quickly unbuttoned her blouse, pulling the lapels aside. Her bright red nails manipulated the clasp of her bra between her jutting tits and flicked it open.

She pushed herself up slowly, her thighs strained, and the young shaft withdrew from her battered hole. She pulled the cups away from her soft tits and lifted each mound in the palm of her hand. Leaning forward, she brought a distended nipple to Jake's mouth as she rotated her hips around, her cunt lips searching for his cockhead. When she felt his wet heat probe just below her clit, she grabbed the back of his head with both hands and pulled his face into her cleavage.

"Suck," she moaned while at the same time slamming her hips down on the kid's lap, impaling herself to the root of this cock. His mouth full, he merely whimpered.

Jake's lips and then teeth closed around her nipple and she shuddered at the immense pressure he exerted against the sensitive nub. Rather than push herself off the young man, she ground her hips against him, screwing her drenched cunt onto his thick, young shaft. She crushed her clit against their sweaty bodies and threw her head back at the exquisite pleasure that tripped every sexual nerve in her lean body.

Beneath her, the fat nipple of her left tit jammed into his mouth, Mrs. Artman could sense that Jake's breathing had changed, had become more erratic. His hips arched and jabbed haphazardly upward in no rhythm at all. His eyes were screwed tightly shut and his strong hands were planted firmly on her damp ass cheeks, pulling them apart, exposing her hot asshole to the cool air of the kitchen.

"You gonna' cum, sweetie?" she whispered, her thighs trembling now. She pulled the kid closer to her body, trying to swallow him in her arms, nearly suffocating him as the soft tit-flesh molded itself to his face. His teeth nipped -- almost painfully -- at her engorged nipple while she slammed her clit against his pelvic bone.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered faintly, trying to control the volume of her voice. Her body jerked once, then twice, and was then stock-still save for small, barely noticeable tremors as an orgasm wracked her lithe body.

"Oh, God, oh God, oh my fuckin’ God," she groaned, her manicured nails digging into the poor boy's scalp, her slender fingers trying to pull his hair out.

The knowledge that he had brought the married woman to a trembling orgasm took Jake over the edge. He groaned into the soft tit and his fingers grasped frantically at her taut ass, trying with all his might to stuff more of his cock deep in her spasming cunt.

His tongue swirled around the thick nipple as it swelled between his lips. Mrs. Artman's slender fingers caught a lock of his hair and yanked his head back, ripping her nipple from his mouth. She lowered her face quickly and sank her soft pink tongue into his mouth, her tongue swirling hungrily around his. Her breath was hot and she panted into his mouth. "Time to cum, kid."

"Mm-hm," was all he was capable of.

"Gotta pull out."

Mrs. Artman planted her dainty feet firmly on the kitchen's tiled floor to lift her ravaged cunt off the sixteen-year-old, but he tried to pull her back onto him, tried to lodge his young shaft at the back of her flooded cunt. But his fingers slipped off her ass cheeks allowing her to dismount.

She squatted again before the teenager and wrapped the fingers of her left hand around his sticky shaft and cupped his bloated balls in her right. Gripping tightly, her forefinger hard against the sensitive glans, Mrs. Artman jerked Jake's cock furiously through her fist, the juices of her just-emptied cunt providing ample lubrication.

"Cum for me, honey," she encouraged him. "Let it go…just let it go."

Jake slouched further down in the chair, his legs stiff straight before him. His fingers curled around the edge of the chair, turning his knuckles white.

Mrs. Artman glanced to her left, tearing her eyes away from the pulsing shaft of her husband's star player. Mr. Fairchild was piling chips of unused brick in a wheelbarrow while her husband was sweeping sand from the patio.

'Fuck,' she thought.

She focused her attention again on Jake's thick, throbbing shaft, her fist a blur on the glistening shaft of teenage cock. The hum of the air conditioner disappeared, leaving the rapid slurping of her spit- and pre-cum-coated fist the only sound in the kitchen.

A glance back to the patio. Still sweeping.

'Fuck it.'

She released the kid's quivering shaft from the fierce handjob and dropped her panting mouth over his cock. The scorching heat of his cockhead passed over her soft lips as she took him to the back of her throat. She quickly pulled her sucking mouth up the length of the shaft and jerked it once, twice.

"Cum in my mouth, Jake," she whispered hoarsely. "Do it…do it now." Mrs. Artman again slammed the length of his cock against the back of her mouth, her full red lips clamped tightly around the pulsing rod. Her tongue washed over the underside of the shaft. Her lips formed a vacuum seal around the overheated thing and she sucked hard.

Jake bucked once and then again, his cockhead crashing against Mrs. Artman's tonsils. Her eyes watered but she held on as the boy fucked into her face.

Then his sweating, muscular teenage body went stiff. His shaft swelled, followed not a moment later by the oversized cockhead that was lodged in her throat.

"Uuuugggghhhh!" he grunted and his body jerked again.

Deep in her throat, the little slit at the tip of Jake's cock flicked open and unleashed a torrent of sperm down her gullet.

"I'm…cumming," the young man managed.

She swallowed and her throat constricted momentarily around his cockhead. When her throat muscles relaxed, a second gush of cum coated her esophagus before sliding into her stomach.

The jerking of Jake's hips slowed slightly and Mrs. Artman pulled her face back some. Her tongue slathered over the length of his shaft and swirled around his cockhead as another jet of boy-cum was deposited in her mouth. Her mouth watered as the sweet taste of sperm assaulted her tongue.

Jake's breathing began to even out and his ass more or less stabilized against the chair. His cock still firmly embedded in her hot, cum-slicked mouth, Mrs. Artman turned her head toward the screen door, the cockhead a bulbous outline against her soft cheek. Mr. Fairchild was pushing the wheelbarrow toward the back of the property and her husband was carrying the saw to the tool shed.

She allowed Jake's cock to pop from her mouth and took it in her fist, jerking it lightly. A dollop of cum appeared at the head. She looked up and into his awestruck eyes and gently angled his cock toward her wet mouth. Her soft, pink tongue slithered from between smiling lips and gathered the cum just before it coursed down his shaft. She held her tongue there for a moment as Jake's eyes nearly rolled into his head, then brought it back against her lips, slurping the last of the sixteen-year-old’s cumload into her mouth.

Mrs. Artman sat back on her haunches and tapped gently against the inside of his knee. "Better get goin', kiddo."

Jake, regaining his senses, looked toward the screen door to see Coach Artman and Mr. Fairchild standing outside the tool shed, laughing at something one or the other had said. Sheepish, he pushed himself from the chair under Mrs. Artman's amused smile. "Yeah," he breathed.

He slid into his boxers and shorts and she finished buttoning her shirt and retrieved her sodden panties. Without a word, he moved from the kitchen toward the foyer, Mrs. Artman following him to the door.

He reached for the knob but her slender, manicured fingers closed over his and she pushed her lusty body against his back. One trim arm snaked around his waist and cupped his balls through his shorts.

"Opening day, when you look up in the stands and see me sittin’ there?" she whispered into his ear, her hot breath sending shivers up his spine all over again. “I’ll be cheerin’ just for you, sweetie, and I’ll be wetter’n rain.”

Jake’s thick cock twitched in her grasp.  "Oh, God, Mrs. Artman," he muttered, ready to submit to the older woman's advances again.

Mrs. Artman laughed softly, then shoved him out the door with a pat on his tight ass.