Mommy Bullies & Rivals

(Please read!!!

This story was much requested. That said, it is for people who have a bully kink. This story will feature bullying, ruined orgasms, cucking, and general cruelty towards the Son character. It was written specifically for people who have those kinks and enjoy that kind of story. So if that is not you, then please skip this one! I have many other stories that have no such themes. Thank you.)

You have to understand that I love my Son. I really do! In fact, that was how all of this started!

It just sort of... Well, it spiraled. To put it mildly.

I guess it started with my Son turning 18. He'd figured out a bit before his Birthday that his Father and I did not have a traditional relationship. The good Mr. Smith and I... Well, we were in a very open, and very kinky marriage. In fact, my Hubby just loved it when I got up to sexual mischief without him and then told him about it later. But he also loved watching me in action.

Well, when my Son Leo turned 18, we agreed that it was time to tell him everything. So, we laid it all out. I had correctly guessed that the part that threw him the most was the bit where his Mom was into Mother/Son roleplays.

The night of our talk he blushed, flustered, and stammered for a bit. But he didn't dig too deep or ask too many questions. Not while his Father was around. But that Saturday while his Dad was at work Leo was positively bursting with questions. ESPECIALLY about the Mother/Son stuff.

So I told him the truth. I was into it. Honestly, I was into a lot of things. I didn't tell him that I'd warned his Father about his reaction, or that we'd already spoken about it in private. But, the truth was that part of me was excited about doing a Mother Son roleplay, where no one was roleplaying...

It was during that conversation that I got my first big surprise. I mean, there I was. Low cut top accentuating my very, VERY large tits. The slit in my dress was making a point of how long my legs were and how provocatively soft my skin must be to the touch. My hair was down, dark, and long. And I'd gotten more than a few compliments on my eyes and my smile. Granted, when people complimented me on my lips, it tended to be a very specific context. But still. My generous ass was sat on at the time, but I knew for a fact that it had drawn my Son's eyes on many, many occasions.

Yet, with all of that, and the unspoken, but very thoroughly hinted at possibilities of what I was willing to do to my own sweet boy if only he'd ask... He started talking about me having sex with his bullies.

And I just... What?!

I tried to wrap my head around it. I really did. But, first of all, I was a little offended that when staring at my tits his first thought was, man it sure would be nice if someone other than me got their hands on them. Which honestly upset me at first. But as he talked about what he fantasized about, and what he was into, I found myself trying my best to follow along and just, not really getting it.

Now, part of that may have been my surprise at him not taking the bait. My Son had been openly lusting after me since puberty hit. I cannot even begin to explain how many times I was missing a pair of panties or a bra when I realized with a sigh that I'd need to search my Son's room later on if I wanted to find them. And don't even get me started on my missing pictures from the family photo album. All of which featured a low cut top, or a pair of tight fitting jeans.

But another part of it was just not getting it. His bully? Did he even have a bully? Should I be mad or worried if he did. And if he did, then why was I just hearing about it now?

But, the more my Son talked, the more I began to associate the things he was after with some of the things that his Father liked. I mean, hearing about me having sex or seeing me having sex. I could wrap my head around that. I was who he fantasized about, so he wanted to see or at least hear about his fantasy woman in action. Plus, I'm his Mom. So, I guess that works kind of like the taboo of my being my Husband's Wife. There is a certain fun to be had in both the intimacy and the forbidden nature of the titles Wife, and Mother.

As he talked, AT LENGTH, about all the ways he'd imagined me being with some bully or mean kid, I did my best to mix what I did understand with what he was telling me. But still...

Eventually I had to tell him that, my immediate, powerful, gut reaction was that I hated bullies. And the only fingering they would be engaging with in my case, was me showing them my middle one. My Son immediately looked a little deflated, but I held up a hand, silently asking for patience as I continued. And, over the course of the next hour or so, we hashed out a plan that had me blushing, concerned, confused, and more than a little turned on. I honestly was not prepared for how crazy things got as we talked about a compromise. But prepared or not, the plan was made, and I promised to help make it happen for him.

Rivals.

I hated a bully. But, I could understand a rival.

My Son played hockey in High School, and though he graduated in about a month, his team had never defeated their biggest rivals and would not get another chance. The rival team, the Hawks, consisted of private school kids whose coach was an ex-drill-instructor, and whose team captain, Killian, had a reputation as being, what we adults tend to call, a smug little shit.

I was a very supportive Mom when it came to my kid's sports. So I'd been to every game and practice, and all of my Son's friends knew Missus Smith on sight. Heck, I was almost friends with some of them myself! Mind you, it didn't hurt that they were all 18 or older, physically fit, and reasonably attractive.

Still, even with a good relationship to start with, explaining the plan sounded insane. We started with my Son's teammates. We would arrange a rematch, off the books with their rival team. The boys couldn't bring their coach, of course. Because the reason that the other team was going to play the game, pay to rent out our own rink (nice to have money), and even hand over the championship trophy (unofficially, but still), was because of the high stakes. Namely, me.

I would be on the enemy team's bench for the whole match. And anytime they scored against my Son's team, they would get to do something sexual with me. Right then and there. But there was more. While that was all we had gone to them with, they had shot us down until we offered more. Specifically, if they won the whole game, they got to take me back to the locker room and, you know... Celebrate. They had wanted to film it, but I negotiated them down a bit. They could film it, but Leo got the film if and when that happened. I didn't want that video just, out there!

At first, the boys didn't believe me. But like I said, I'd known some of them for years, and others their whole lives. I was a very trustworthy source, and it wasn't like this was in my favor if I was lying.

It was a week before they graduated High School before everything got set up. I'd tried, in the time in between, to hint to my Son that he could back out of all this, and maybe he and I could figure out some other, sexual thing to do. With me. But if he got my message, he ignored it.

On the day of the big game, I was rather chilly. I was standing in the bench area of the home team. A sight to be sure. They had rented our rink to play us in, but then insisted that my Son's team use the visitors lockers and sit on the visitors side. So, there I was, with a bunch of private school jocks that my Son despised. They were all lined up on the bench behind me. Their coach, who had not only attended, but actually helped them to set the whole thing up, was shouting out instructions to his players. And just like that, the game was on.

It was tense. A brutal, passionate rivalry that had both teams giving it their all. At least until the end of the first period (there are 3 in hockey). As the clock was ticking down to zero, I saw it. I saw the face of little Johnny Baker, my Son's best friend, practically since birth, as he skated past me. There was this look in his eyes, this curiosity that asked if I would really do it. If the stakes that they'd all been told about could possibly be real.

I was honestly a hair's breadth from raising a finger and saying "Don't you do it", out loud when he "accidentally" fumbled a pass and then half-heartedly pursued. Well, team captain Killian got the puck. He shot, he scored, and then all eyes slowly turned my way. 2 separate groups of 20. All horny, male athletes, and mostly 18 or 19, all stopped and looked at me.

My throat went a little dry, but I didn't have much time to worry about it. The coach of the Hawks walked up behind me, reached up under my oversized white t-shirt, and drew a loud squeak of surprise from me as he removed my bra. I reached for it, and then gave him the frown of disapproval that he deserved when he tossed it over the glass and into the bleachers. He then pointed to one of the kids on the bench, who quickly stood up and removed his gloves.

I'd been wearing the big white t-shirt and the black lacy bra to show that I was serious. It was teasing, and plain to see, without being overt like going topless or wearing lingerie. Other than that I was wearing blue jeans and a pair of heels. I'd considered a skirt, but I didn't want to freeze, and I was really hoping that my Son's team would keep me from needing to think about what I was wearing from the waist down.

The boy who the coach had pointed to, some handsome stud whose name I didn't even know, reached up under my top and grabbed my tits with his bare hands. I didn't even think about it, I just moaned on instinct as he began to grope and play with them. But as the sound of my moan carried like an opera singer across the rink's amazing acoustics and audience of only 41, I clapped my hand over my mouth.

No sooner had I tried to muffle myself though, than a firm hand gripped my wrist, and began to gently, even just suggestively, move it away. "Now Mrs. Smith," the Hawks coach said in his gruff, low voice. "That goes against the spirit of the game we agreed to play. Wouldn't you agree?"

It was aggravatingly, almost infinitely reasonable. And I found myself nodding and moving my hand away as whatever teenage thug was standing behind me proved to everyone watching that he knew what he was doing. His large, warm hands felt wonderful as he hefted and squeezed my big tits in front of everyone. And he was downright skilled as he avoided my nipples just enough to tease them, only to randomly pounce on them just as I was getting ready to beg for them to be given a little attention.

I moaned, writhed, and basked in the pleasure of both the very fine foreplay I was getting along with the more taboo pleasure of being watched by dozens of horny young men while it happened. I got so lost in it, that I practically jumped out of my skin when the buzzer sounded.

The little punks had set the penalty timer!

With my 5 minutes of getting groped over, the game started up again. But now the faces of my Son and his teammates were red for reasons other than just cold and exertion. The 1st period came to an end. Both teams went back to their locker rooms, and I waited at the bench.

At the start of the 2nd period both teams came out fighting. At first. My big tits were hidden behind a white t-shirt, and I was pretty sure that my nipples would have been hard even if it wasn't so cold. So I was getting more attention than the puck. But, especially from my Son's team.

And it was my Son's team who were giving me the most attention. I realized I'd made a miscalculation when they started making small, obvious mistakes. Nothing terribly overt mind you. But I knew these boys, and I knew how they played. And I could see, plain as day, what they were doing.

I hadn't considered the fact that my Son wasn't the only one who'd been "secretly" staring at me since puberty hit. Heck, I'd known that one of my Son's friends was gay since before he did precisely because he was the only one who wasn't constantly trying to peek down my top. And now that they'd seen that I was serious and the stakes were real. I was learning in real time what I should have realized before I set all of this up. That a group of horny teenagers would rather see a hot girl that they like expose her tits, than "unofficially" win a trophy. Or at least in my case, these specific boys did.

At first, there was some confusion on the part of the Hawks. The plays were a little too easy, the bungles, out of character. But with some screaming from their coach, they got their asses in gear pretty quick. At the second score of the night, a different player was chosen, and with his helmet on the floor by my feet, his head went up under my shirt. Soon I was moaning and crying out as he greedily sucked on my nipples and got a much more up close and personal experience than the previous boy had.

I had my eyes on the damn penalty clock as the seconds ticked down, but I had my hands under my shirt and curled in the young man's hair as he went to work on making me publicly moan like a slut for the gathered teams. I bit my lip in disappointment as the buzzer finally went off. And I realized that, grabbing him by the head like I had, I ended up exposing my tits, just for a second, to everyone as I helped guide him up and out of my clothes.

When they scored again, the Hawk's coach came over to me, and we discussed terms. I wasn't sure what to offer, but at the words, "Derek is just dying to eat out that ass of yours," my decision was practically made for me. The jeans came off, but my high heels went back on so that I could properly bend over the boards in front of me as Derek pulled my panties to the side and did his best to make me aware of just how long his tongue was. That was the first time I failed to keep my noises to simple moans. And so the whole rink was treated to Mrs. Smith crying out, "That's it Derek. Stuff that fucking tongue in my ass!"

I realized what I'd done a split second after I'd done it. But when I opened my eyes and looked at the players on the ice and on the other bench, I didn't have much of a leg to stand on. I was, after all, braless, bent over, moaning, panting, and very much enjoying some amateur, but also intense, ass-play. I caught my Son's eyes briefly. But When I noticed his hard-on. I immediately scanned the ice to find that several of the players had removed a glove, along with their cups, and currently had their hands either gripping erections through their pants, or had their hands IN their pants.

So, remembering why we were there, I suppressed the urge to apologize to my Son. Instead, I found Killian, their team captain. And when he met my eyes, I gave him a wink in between moans. When the buzzer went off, I had started to move my hands to FORCE Derek's face back where it belonged, when I caught myself, composed myself, and, now in just a pair of panties and a t-shirt, I pumped my fist and gave a weak little cheer for my Son's team.

As for my Son's team, bless their horny little hearts, at least they were still pretending to try to win. There were no more goals scored in the second period. But the third period saw two more scored by the Hawks, and zero by my Son's team. When the first goal was scored, I agreed to some oral sex, but we took a minute to work out that he needed to squeeze in under between the bench and the wall, or no one on the other team would be able to see me. Naturally, once I took my panties off, the coach snatched them up and tossed them around the wall into the bleachers (Over the wall would have been too much to ask I guess).

The problem was... I was an over an hour into getting non-stop teasing and foreplay, with no actual, fucking, PLAY. So, as some nameless jock was sucking on my clit, and he, very good boy that he was, knew exactly where the clit was and what to do with it; I found myself desperate for more!

I needed a dick! In my hands, in my mouth, in my anything! But, naturally, that was not the agreement, and it was my own damn fault that things weren't escalating faster. But I needed more stimulation than I was getting. So, as I was moaning and screaming, and gripping the hair of the kid between my legs and telling him what a good boy he was, I also, god help me, found myself pointing to the only kid on the ice, at least on the enemy team, whose first name I knew. I called Killian over to me and told him to take his fucking helmet off. Then, as soon as it hit the ice, I grabbed him by his jersey and pulled him in for a kiss.

Not a, "Mommy loves you" kiss. No, this was a, "settling for intensely making out when what I really wanted was a gangbang," kiss. The poor boy almost injured himself trying to get his cup off once my tongue spilled into his mouth, but since his hand went straight back into his pants once his cup was gone, I didn't feel too bad for him.

This time when the buzzer went off, the kid under me stopped, but I couldn't. I was still moaning, but now it was straight into Killian's mouth, and I didn't stop until his coach tapped me on the shoulder and politely said, "Miss. Miss, the timer already went off. You can stop now Mrs. Smith."

When I finally managed to break that kiss, I felt the eyes on me. God I was SO fucking horny! I was breathy, and panting. My eyes were glazed over with lust as I released Killian's shirt and glanced over to find my Son standing just a few feet away. Staring at his Mother making out with his rival in nothing but a t-shirt. I'd like to believe that I remembered his kink at that exact moment, and that, that was why I said, "Your rival is a really good kisser sweetie."

But, either way. I pulled myself back to my standing position. Pumped my fist again, and for the first time I omitted the name of my Son's team as I simply cheered, "Go team! You can do it, score a goal!"

And score a goal they did.

Not my Son's team. But the Hawks. When all eyes turned to me again, I found myself wishing so badly that I hadn't said that sex was the reward for winning. But I had. And specifically, it was for the boys on the team and not the coach. Well, as far as I could see, even if these boys were my Son's rivals, they were also pretty great hockey players. So when their coach came over to me to ask what we should do next, it was his turn to be grabbed by the shirt. I dragged their coach over towards the bench, stepped over it, and gave one hard tug on his pants. As I straddled the bench with no panties on, I looked up at him and simply said, "Off. Now."

People underestimate the Mom voice.

When his pants and underwear were sitting on the floor, I indicated that he should step over the bench. Straddling it while standing. He did, and I promptly grabbed his underwear and chucked it over the glass wall and into the bleachers. Some of the kids behind me laughed at my tiny act of revenge. Before he could snap at them for it, I'd grabbed his cock, wrapping it up in my left hand.

Personally, I'm right handed. But as a married woman who never takes off her wedding ring or her engagement Ring, I know for a fact that my left hand wrapped around someone's dick has a certain striking visual appeal to it.

As he gasped and looked from my hand to my face, I shot him a wicked little wink. Then I flipped my long dark hair over to one shoulder, and proceeded to absolutely go to town on that cock. Now, normally, I believe that blowjobs should be the world's most desirable form of torture. I believe in stretching them out over a long period of time. Of bringing men to the edge of their climax, easing them back, and then forcing them to the edge all over again. But in this case, I had a literal timer counting down.

So, no long, slow blowjob from Mommy this time. No, I went all in on getting that cum. I sucked, slurped, bobbed, moaned, and stroked my way through one hell of a raunchy blowjob. I only paused on occasion, to noisily slurp my way up off his cock and say things like, "Mmmm. Imagine if every time your boys won, you got to pick a Mom from the other team to come over here and service your cock like this." Then I would go right back to work.