Motivation

The guys were all waiting at the clubhouse door when Carmella pulled up. Surveying the group as she exited her car, she noted the subtle looks of appreciation, and felt herself flush – just a little. "What a fine collection of specimens," she fleetingly thought before she reached them, greeted them, and began to explain her presence. "Duncan is in the hospital," she began, "with an acute gallstone attack."

It was the evening before their big, championship game, and Duncan, her boyfriend, was the coach. He had sent Carmella to open up so the boys could have a final practice, and asked that she wait and lock up after practice. 'The boys' were actually the men's division team at the soccer club, made up entirely of twenty-something lads – all very trim and fit – and while they pretty much all thought of themselves as Canadian, they were, racially, at least, rather cosmopolitan – representing all corners of the globe.

Markus, for example, the captain – a strong defender – both confident and bold – was of Scandinavian extraction. It fell to him to run the practice. "Nets, balls, pylons," he shouted, directing the initial set-up. Digging in the coach's desk for the roster-list, pens, whiteboards, and clipboards, he surreptitiously admired Carmella.

He had always been very attracted to her. "Who wouldn't be?" he thought, even if she was the coach's girl. At twenty-seven, Carmella was slight and pretty in an athletic, homey way. She carried a nice set of boobs – smallish, but pert. She had her light brown hair in a ponytail, and, although she wore exercise gear – trainers, tight, Spandex capris, and a stretchy tee-shirt – she seemed, to Markus, just a little out-of-her-element – unsure of herself, perhaps a bit naïve, or timid.

As he hustled out of the change-room, Markus looked at her over his shoulder, once more, and asked, "Hey, Karma, you gonna watch? Cheer the boys on?"

She quietly, resignedly, corrected him. "It's Carmella, actually." Karma was Duncan's pet name for her, and though she had thought it was cute at the start, Duncan's overuse had made it tiresome. She'd told him more than once that she didn't like it anymore; his continued use had, indeed, become a bit of a sore spot.

In any case, not waiting for an answer, Markus had run onto the pitch and begun shouting orders. Carmella shrugged, smiling at his retreating tight ass. She watched most of the practice from the sidelines, cheering the boys on – in fact, getting quite excited during the close, final scrimmage.

As they all gathered to debrief the practice, Carmella retreated back into the clubhouse, and waited for the boys to clean-up and put away the equipment. Consequently, she was sitting at the coach's desk with her back to the locker room, checking her phone when Markus came in and offered her a cup of tea.

He watched her, focused on her Smartphone, as he prepared the beverage, admiring her physical attributes, imagining them in action – his initial innocent contemplations subtly shifting to covetous thoughts of sexuality. As these thoughts crossed his mind, one of the younger boys – perhaps thinking it was a fellow player in 'coach's chair', or, more likely, just not thinking – dumped a cooler of melted ice-water over her head.

Carmella screamed and sputtered and jumped up; but to make matters much worse, unbeknownst to the perpetrator, there had, unfortunately, been a tub of spoiled, melted ice-cream also in the cooler. The sticky sludge covered Carmella, dripping from her hair, flowing over her shoulders onto her chest and into her lap. "Oh! Oh!" She stood – hands out, dripping with the sour muck – looking down at the mess. She was speechless.

Markus immediately took charge. "Everyone out of the shower area! He ordered. "Get me one of those big towels," he directed, pointing to the shelves above the laundry. Then he explained what he was doing, as he held the big bath sheet for Carmella to undress beneath. Kicking her discarded clothes away, he said, "Throw her clothes into the washing machine, tout suite!" then turning back to Carmella, whom he was ushering into the gang-shower, he said, very matter-of-factly, "You can have a good, long, hot shower, while your clothes get cleaned. I'll guard your privacy." He smiled sincerely at her, then winked.

A little befuddled from the shock of the event, Carmella agreed, and once she was confident there were no prying eyes, she slipped out from beneath the towel, and allowed herself to relax under the lovely, hot rain. Carmella was actually surprised at how a steaming shower, all to herself, was so incredibly soothing, and she began to daydream, picturing the boys getting undressed just around the corner.

For their part, the boys were, to a man, fantasizing about Carmella, standing naked in the steam and water, and what, under the right circumstances, they could be doing to her – with her!

Luxuriating in the spray, Carmella just stood still letting the hot water rain over her – eyes closed, thinking of nothing – except the naked, athletic, male bodies – just around the corner! "Mmmmm!" Then, gradually, she began to think about the boys, themselves, putting faces to the bodies. Their solicitousness; their trim, buff, muscular bodies.

Believing herself to be, effectively, alone, and under the guise of scrubbing her body, she began, left arm across her chest, to massage her soapy right boob, twiddling the nipple gently. The glowing sensations that tingled in her chest, spreading back to her spine and down, lit up a growing desire. Soon her right hand descended slowly to her crotch, circling her pussy with increasing pressure.

Relays began switching; circuit boards came to life; a low hum started up, vibrating deep in her fundament. All the precursors to orgasm fell into place. Carmella's libido was all fired up, tingling with a growing anticipation. Arousal flared, and a carnal thrill began coursing through her. Eyes closed, she allowed herself to daydream – and surprisingly, the fantasy that germinated was one of her servicing the team – singly or in groups.

"It's all right," the rational corner of her mind told her – her breath, nonetheless, getting a little ragged, "It's just a harmless fantasy." Still, she could feel an orgasm's pre-ignition sequence click on and set up. The delusion of scrubbing fell away rapidly as she became more and more aroused. She had to admit, the idea of masturbating just out of sight of a room full of studs thrilled her. The rest of the world slipped from her awareness, and she was alone in the universe.

Carmella felt herself, inexorably and deliciously, nearing climax; but insidiously, in that final approach, the outside world intruded once again. As much as she resisted, she had slowly become cognizant of another presence – someone was there – another person had joined her. Reluctantly, her arousal retreating, she opened her eyes. There, naked beside her, stood Markus, smiling subtly.

"To help with your back and hair," he whispered nonchalantly.

Carmella protested vaguely. "No... You shouldn't... 'S not right... I don't..." But Markus had read the situation correctly. She was really too far into it to stop now.

He moved slowly, positioning himself behind her, and began to gently, yet earnestly scrub her back. The soft, soapy wash cloth, which he'd produced from somewhere, slipped seductively across her back. It felt good, as evidenced by her soft, sensual sighs, and by the way she waggled herself back into his ministrations, while standing, arms covering her breasts, in the hot cascade.

After a short period of washing her back and the sides of her chest, passing the cloth from hand to hand, Markus surreptitiously draped the cloth over the faucet, then reached around under Carmella's arms – his movements smooth and lubricated by the soap – and cupped her tits. Once again, her protests were fuzzy and lame.

Markus began to gently fondled her boobs, spiraling his attentive hands onto the tips, manipulating the buds. He paid special attention to her nipples, pulling on them, encouraging them to firm up and stand tall, tweaking them subtly. Carmella's swirling brain and sensitive bubs contrived to send shocks of arousal down through her genitals, sparkling and dancing along convoluted pathways, to light up her fundament. Soon, she began to pant, her breath becoming, once again, ragged.

She dropped her ineffectually shielding arms to hold onto his marauding hands; however, she didn't try to still them, just followed their stimulating movements. She couldn't believe how her arousal continued to climb, higher and higher, without actually tipping into orgasm. Then she gradually became aware of Markus's substantial woodie pressing into the crack of her bum. Feeling hyper-aroused, she waggled her butt back against him, knowing she was being naughty, but wallowing in the ecstasy of it all.

Pulling her by the nips and leaning his chest into her shoulders, Markus slowly bent her under the shower head and towards the wall, until she was forced to place her hands on the tiled wall in front, for support. Having her now in perfect doggie position, Markus dipped his hips, and, lining up his throbbing dick, slid his cock-head along her furrow, until it dropped into her blossoming quim. He paused for an instant before parting her pussy and pushing, ever so slowly, in. As he gently and smoothly entered her, she was amazed at how hot and wet and receptive her pussy was – without any manual stimulus at all.

And how wonderful his erection felt, as it bulled into her, stretching and prodding, and bumping her deep. Each stroke stoked the rising fire within her belly, increasing the intensity of the fuck by degrees. Already on the very edge Carmella, with a single, sharp squeak, climaxed, and climaxed hard – suddenly – violently – without warning, cumming in a long, squealing flood of sensation. Thrusting herself back against Markus, forcing him hard into her, the spasmodic grasping, gripping of her cunt overcame Markus's resistance, pulling him, too, over the edge. Bucking and jerking and slamming himself into her, his orgasm was so intense that Carmella could feel his jetting semen – the heat and the fluid pressure – splashing deep in her vagina.

In their denouement, Markus stepped away from Carmella for a moment, and exchanged a subtle fist-bump with Sunny, their South Asian net-minder, and assistant captain, who had just stepped into the shower, naked as the day he was born, muscular – and handsome. The men silently switched places – performing a kind of do-see-do.

As Markus exited the shower room, Sunny was lifting the limp, tingling Carmella up off the wall. Then, with little more ado, he spun her to face him, gathered her into an embrace, and kissed her aggressively and passionately. While his lingual assault took her by surprise, what surprised her more was how she responded in kind with an almost explosive ardor, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling herself tight against his lips. She found herself tonguing his mouth almost desperately – fencing, tongue against tongue, exploring his teeth, mewling into his mouth.

Carmella continued to be astonished at how accepting she was. No fear, just intense desire.

Eventually, tiring of tonsil-hockey, Sunny took control, turning her, and pushing her back against the wall, to position her doggie-style, again. He thrusted into her, urgently, and determinedly, exercising a power and dominance the further inflamed Carmella's overactive libido, reigniting her orgasm! Another? Or a continuation? At that point, reveling in her bliss, she didn't really care. Carmella understood that she had cheated – was cheating; furthermore, she appreciated that she was complicit in the betrayal. Still, "In for a penny, in for a pound," she thought. "WTF, quite literally!"

While actively fucking Sunny, even as he fucked her, answering each of his pounding thrusts with tilted hips and raised butt, rearing back to meet his every stab, Carmella, eyes closed in concentration. And, along with the sparkling stimulation being generated by Sunny's purposeful penetration, she became aware of the presence of someone else. She consciously kept her lids shut, as unseen hands gently lifted her arms from the wall, and pulled, or at least guided her head to the side. Then, with fingers cupping lightly at her ears, she opened her eyes to see a rampant erection bobbing impatiently in her face. And without hesitation, she'd opened her mouth and sucked him in – her debut anonymous blowjob.

Whoever he was, this nameless prick, he was enjoying it. She could tell from his response. Twitching and jerking, and growing in girth and firmness, until he filled her mouth, and plugged her throat. "Jesus! I'm being so bad – so-o-o-o very bad right now," she chortled to herself. "I mean, how much worse could I get?" She smiled inwardly, giving her head a little shake. Delighted at the roiling sensations, she concluded, "Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, eh?" At some level, she was still surprised at how eagerly she'd accepted multiple partners.

Sunny accelerated, pounding her pussy, forcing her deeper and deeper onto the blowjob recipient, getting more and more insistent – while Carmella continued laving the throbbing cock in her mouth, catching a breath around it, at each back-stroke – until Sunny came, at last – vociferously, and energetically.

Swiftly, someone else replaced Sunny, pushing into her upturned cunt, and just as he found his rhythm, her felatee came in her mouth, blasting volley after volley down her throat. Carmella was proud at how little she'd gagged, and how much she'd swallowed. Allowing her a few cleaning slurps, he (She never did see who it was.) withdrew, only to be replaced by yet another twitching erection. And so she simply allowed herself to be passed on, without consultation, like an object – a sex object, which, she supposed, was exactly what she was at that time – to other teammates; notwithstanding, the boys spoke to her softly and hungrily, offering compliments and platitudes and appreciation.

During one transfer, a conquistador, as it were, was kissing Carmella, one arm around her shoulder, while groping her tits with the other hand. His hand dropped to her sopping, vibrating, and for the moment unattended, pussy. Stroking along her flooded furrow, he pushed two fingers into her vagina and swirled her clit with his thumb. As his fingertips touched her, inside, she was suddenly charged, current running from his fingertips through her genitals, radiating inward, unexpectedly inundating her body.

Carmella knew about the legendary G-spot, but had never had a response anywhere near what was building at that moment. She wasn't sure if it was yet another climax building, or a reignition of the one she'd just experienced – whatever, it grew to levels beyond what she was used to – beyond anything she'd ever felt before. She shuddered and twitched as the apogee roared through her, blacking out, for the moment, everything else.

As she was coming down her current lover turned her back around and placing her hands against the tile wall, he swiftly entered her from behind. He began to really fuck her. Nothing gentle or measured about it. Fast and rough and energetic; and his sawing thrusts incited her arousal. In short order, they came together, as one, both bellowing out their arrival. After a heaving moment's pause to center themselves and catch their breath, the guy driving gave a rather facetious, "All-rightie, then," and pulled out, moving aside to be immediately replaced by the next teammate.

This went on for several more guys. Carmella's objective-self watched, and marveled at what she saw – marveled at how she was, now, luxuriating in being gangbanged.

At one point, it occurred to her that she hadn't even considered protection or contagions. While she knew it was irrational, stupid, even, some part of her brain accepted the self-delusion that, "They're all good, clean boys, so there's no real danger."

She was vaguely aware that a few phones had come out snapping "You'll-never-believe-this!" photos. Once again, she convinced herself not to worry, accepting the illusion of safety. "They're just innocent, personal snapshots."

Eventually, somewhere in the miasma of sensations, she was taken out of the shower and laid on towels on a bench. Carmella was baffled by the way she had so calmly accepted – welcomed – her sudden transmogrification into what amounted to a gangbang slut. She was very surprised at how quickly, and easily, she had let herself be seduced. Like a duck to water. She was even more surprised at how much she loved it – how super-enjoyable she found it – thrilling and naughty. And she didn't feel even the slightest bit bad about it. "I mean," she pondered, in a moment of relaxed lucidity, "How could something that feels so incredibly good be, in any way, bad?"

A blanket was produced from somewhere and Carmella was arranged on all-fours, at which, she was promptly double penetrated – mouth and pussy. Then, finally, someone, (The last to get a first crack at her, as it turned out.) took her up the ass. Carmella was not unfamiliar with anal sex, as, from time to time, her boyfriend, the absent coach, would take her up the dirt-chute, so this first poke up the bum was not too much of an ordeal. No one had any lube handy, but there was lots of jism dripping from her cunt which her anal lover scooped up and spread with his fingers – inserting, first one, then two – pumping and twisting to open and relax her anus.

Then she felt the helmet seat itself against her rosebud, and pause for a bit. The owner of the erection gathered some more of the spunk and spread it over his steely shaft, before, with firm and steady pressure, he forced his way in. Carmella gasped, then sighed. The rigid rod felt huge as the cockhead popped through her sphincter and pushed inexorably forward, gliding into the tight, cum-coated chute.

Then, a sort of kindling of arousal flashed within her fundament. As the cock began to stroke in and out, she felt herself rocking back to meet each thrust, and grasping tightly as she see-sawed forward on her knees, at each withdrawal. Accelerating slowly, Carmella could feel her increasing urgency reflected in the vibrations of her lover's penis. The arousal built steadily, until the hands on her hips pulled her in tight and held her. The splashing of hot semen deep in her bowels was enough to tip her over the edge, into her first ever anal orgasm. The overwhelming sensations ripped through her like a spectacle of fireworks, leaving her limp and enervated.

Finally, having been through the roster once, the team members began a second, random order, 'assault'. Carmella began to break through the lascivious fog of arousal and becomes more objectively conscious of her willing participation. She had no qualms about whether this was consensual or not. She was just amazed at how easily she'd taken to it, and how completely satisfying it continued to be.

Once her ass had been breached, it became an open target. It wasn't long before Carmella was lifted, then lowered onto a player who had slipped supine beneath her. Once fully impaled, she was threaded up the bum. A third woodie was presented to her lips, making her truly airtight. And, as a rhythm was established, they began a comfortable fucking, which, with the replacement of spent partners, went on for some time.

Looking at her situation objectively she couldn't believe how quickly she'd evolved – transcended – into a wanton whore; for while no payment of money was made, the exchange of carnal currency was easy enough, Carmella deduced, to justify the use of the term 'whore'. She was astonished how easily, indeed eagerly, willingly and hungrily she'd taken on the whole team. She had wanted everything they could give her; so much so that she felt a slight disappointment and longing when they finally, the last of them, ran out of steam. It wasn't that she wasn't satisfied, she just wanted more – more sexual satisfaction, although satisfaction seemed like a rather mundane word for the strength of sensation she'd felt – absorbed, consumed – the lascivious energy she had devoured, the thrills she'd enjoyed.