Soccer Mom Skank Ch. 2

Chapter 2: In the Gutter

Joan couldn't wipe the smile off her face, even after Marty angrily threw her down on the bed. It would remain until the back of his hand landed sharply across her cheek.

"My God, what's going on with me," she sobbed into her hands.

"Tell me now – what the hell happened," he thundered

"I-I just don't know, Marty."

"Why don't you just tell me what happened after you left the School Board Meeting!" His voice was shrill with rage.

Joan closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and began.

"After leaving the Meeting Hall, I got on the highway and was taking my usual route home. I was listening to the radio, and I guess I got a little distracted and wound up missing my exit. I'm not familiar with that side of town, and now I know why. There was nothing around but boarded up storefronts, and dingy, rundown apartment buildings…"

She took a tissue from the box on the nightstand, daubed at her eyes, then continued.

"I drove around for a few minutes trying to find my bearings, but I just got more and more lost. I was desperate to find a gas station or someplace to get directions. About a block in the distance I saw a line of people filing into a building. Initially, I thought it might have been a movie theater, but as I got closer I saw that the men where all dirty and ragged. Then I saw the sign above the doorway, and it said – it said…County Men's' Shelter!"

Her voice quavered, and trailed off. Overcome, Joan curled up on the bed and sobbed loudly into the pillow. She waited for a reassuring hug from her husband, but Marty was in no mood to play the part of an understanding spouse.

"Joan, pull it together and tell me what in blazes happened!"

"Seeing where I was brought back that whole, terrible night in the cabin - those two filthy pigs - and YOU STANDING BY – DOING NOTHING - AS I WAS FUCKED BY THAT SMELLY BEAST AND MADE TO SUCK THE COCK OF THAT GRINNING THUG!" Her mood had shifted from shameful to bitter.

The rush of anger at Marty gave her energy. Not wanting things to turn confrontational, she composed herself, and went on.

"I must have snapped or something. I was sitting in the car in front of this Homeless Shelter, and I just started crying like a baby. I don't know how long I was bawling, but when I looked up, there was this black man knocking on the window of the passenger side. The sight of him frightened me – he must have been 6'4", very large, and with a shaved head. I was going to drive off, but he seemed very concerned about how I was. He told me his name was Cyrus, and he seemed very concerned. Before I could object, he had opened the door and was sitting next to me."

At that point, Joan knew that the next part of the story would be very difficult. She looked up at Marty to see if he wanted her to continue. There was anger in his eyes, but she knew that he was prepared to hear the whole ugly story.

"The next thing I remember is that we were in the back seat, and he was reaching up underneath my skirt and tugging down my panties.

Joan elaborated; recounting how Cyrus bent her over and rode her doggie style. What she didn't say was how good it felt when the stranger grabbed her hair like a set of reigns and plunged his enormous cock into her so hard she thought she would split in two. And Joan also left out the part about her screaming 'FUCK ME – FUCK ME – FUCK ME', so loud that it attracted the attention of a number of the shelter residents who hung out the windows hooting and cheering.

"It was then, that this other bum jumped behind the wheel of the car and drove off - with that man and me in the back. He was holding me so tight I couldn't get away."

Once again, several important details were omitted. She couldn't get away because she didn't want to, and that it was on her request, that man, a friend of Cyrus' named Paco, took the wheel and sped off.

"This man stopped the car in some garbage strewn alley. I was lying with my face down in the backseat, and I could feel this big black man ejaculating all over my rear-end. Everything happened so fast! I couldn't move and then suddenly the man who was driving was in the back! He flipped me over and was shouting something at me in Spanish…then he ripped open my blouse, and grabbed at my breasts…"

Joan got wet recounting these details. Not wanting to give away how much she enjoyed her journey into the gutter, she continued with the charade of victimization.

"His face was right in mine and his breath stunk of cigarettes and wine. He laughed like a hyena as he took his turn with me."

Joan ended the story there. She felt it wouldn't be a good idea to describe how she pulled her knees back to her ears so Paco could pound away with greater ease. Marty would never know how many times she climaxed when Cyrus was taking his wild ride in the backseat, or how she licked every drop of cum off the head of Paco's cock when he was through fucking her.

To Joan's surprise, Marty was beside her - hugging her. In his mind, she wasn't some demented, cock-crazy skank but his poor, sweet wife victimized by two animals. If anything, she sensed he felt partly responsible. Wasn't it he who introduced her to this with his sick fantasy?

"We've got to call the cops and find those bastards!"

"No Marty, please I just want to put this behind me and move on! Please Marty, don't involve the police."

Joan knew Marty seethed with rage, but she also knew he wouldn't force the issue. Knowing him as well as she did, she was certain there was part of him that was relieved she didn't want to make this a criminal matter.

"Alright then Joan honey, but tomorrow we're going to get you to a doctor, okay? I'll take the day off work. We'll get through this together."

After another warm hug from Marty, Joan went to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

She removed her clothes, and gingerly stepped into the warm pulsing stream. Almost immediately, her hand moved down between her legs.

That night in the cabin had flipped a secret switch inside her. Something very deep within her had been stirred.

Ever since she was a little girl, her preacher father thundered that sex was dirty - an animal side of our natures that must be tamed. For most of her life, she had heeded his advice and kept the beast locked away.

She also knew that her father wasn't entirely wrong. Yes, sex is dirty – the dirtier the better. As Joan rubbed herself toward Nirvana, her mind drifted back to a long repressed memory.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and she was about seven. While her father was locked away in his study preparing his sermon, she skipped down to the church where her mother was busy handing out bags of donated groceries to the the local down-and-outers.

This was something Momma would do on the last Saturday of every month, and for whatever reason, always forbade her from tagging along. However, the sun was going down, and she figured Momma would probably be done by the time she finished walking the half-mile to the church.

She snuck in the side entrance hoping to surprise her mother. As she tiptoed her way to the back kitchen, she heard some very strange noises.

Little Joan paused at the side of the doorway – afraid to look in. However, curiosity eventually trumped fear and she craned her neck for a peek.

What she witnessed frightened and confused her.

Momma was lying on the floor - her legs straight up in the air, her dress bunched up around her waist. Even more shocking, Old Julius Emmons was on top of her - his pants down around his ankles and his pimply, naked rear-end bobbing up and down. He grunted and wheezed like a pig, while Momma's head lolled from side-to-side as if in a trance.

"OH MY WORD – OH MY WORD – JULIUS YOU DIRTY DOG – OH MY WORD!!"

Joan ran in terror from the church and didn't stop until she reached her home.

What was her mother doing on the floor with Julius Emmons -the town drunk – a filthy draft dodger? Not wanting an answer to this question, she pushed it down into the dark recesses of her mind.

Now she knew what motivated her dear mother to such a perverse extreme. The lure of the gutter was powerful…and it called her too.

The following day, Marty took her to the doctor for a thorough check-up and full battery of tests. The news was good. Other than a very sore crotch, a few bruises, and friction burns on her knees and butt, she was fine physically. Thankfully, her desecrators didn't leave any permanent mementos of their good time.

They both knew things had to change.

On Marty's insistence, Joan slowed down the pace of her life. She resigned from the School Board, cut back many of her social activities, and attempted to dedicate herself exclusively to being a good wife and mother.

Joan loved her husband, and was dedicated to her two children, Jennifer and Marty Jr., but she knew that alone wasn't enough.

Since that night at the shelter, sex had been nonexistent in their relationship. Joan didn't know whether Marty was disgusted by her or whether he thought she was still traumatized. Whatever the case, she missed it and wanted it. She continued to fantasize, but the longer she went without dick, the more twisted her fantasies became.

Something had to give.

Things would come to a head on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

She, Marty, and the kids were attending a barbecue at a neighbors' home. It was a typical boisterous late summer party; there was music, beer, and plenty of laughs. Jennifer and Marty Jr. were having a great time laughing and playing with the other children.

Everyone seemed to be having fun, except Joan. There was a time when she would've been in her element at an event like this, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. These people who she considered her friends now all seemed so dull and predictable.

Joan watched Marty clustered with a bunch of other men near the grill gabbing about fluctuations in the commodities market. Perhaps it was the crushing boredom, but all of a sudden she just started feeling tremendously horny.

She wanted sex – filthy sex - and wanted it immediately. Marty was heading in the direction of the cooler when she found her opportunity. She waylaid him and discretely led him into the house.

"Joan, what's up? Are you having a good time?"

"Marty – let's fuck!"

Marty looked over his shoulder to see if anyone overheard.

"Joan, honey – we're at a party; there are people everywhere," he whispered.

Joan wasn't going to have it. She dragged him up a flight of stairs, and pulled him into the first door, she saw. By chance that happened to be the bedroom of a little girl. There were dolls and stuffed animals everywhere, and the pink walls were festooned with posters of boy bands, and Pokemon characters.

"Joan, I don't know if this is the place," Marty pleaded as Joan dropped to her knees and undid his belt.

She knew his cock would be hard, despite his protestations. Her assumption was correct - and she gobbled him up immediately.

While Marty stammered weak objections, Joan sucked and licked his pole like a child with an ice cream cone on a hot day. However, this would merely be an appetizer.

Moments into the frenzied slurping session, Joan sensed Marty was going to spurt prematurely. Fearing a wasted opportunity, she ceased immediately and jumped to her feet.

"Fuck my ass!"

Marty was aghast. "Joan please, we're in a child's bedroom! W-w-what if she comes in?"

Her poor husband may have been anxious and confused, but his cock was hard and high.

Joan tugged down her panties, turned around, bent over, hiked up her dress, and invitingly wiggled the luscious white moons of her butt.

"C'mon - fuck my ass – I need it," she pleaded.

Realizing she wasn't going to give in, Marty grabbed her waist and plunged in.

It was a rough and invasive penetration without any lube, and Joan winced in pain as her husband's cock stabbed into her browneye. Normally a sensitive lover, Marty kept pounding.

"Is this what you want," he sneered.

Joan winced at the searing pain but quickly recovered and embraced it.

"OH YEAH – MOMMA LIKES IT!" Afraid, someone would hear, Marty grabbed a small stuffed bunny rabbit from the bed, reached around and crammed it into Joan's mouth.

Far from being satisfied with only a cock up her ass, Joan snatched hairbrush from the floor at her feet, and began working it in-and-out of her dripping pussy.

Desperate to bring his crazed wife's perverse need to an end, Marty quickened his pace.

"UNH-UNH-UNH!"

He came hard with a series of violent, angry pumps.

Immediately, he pulled his cock from the viselike grip of Joan's sphincter. She released a muffled wail of pleasure through the stuffed bunny, as streams of cum shot across her quivering butt cheeks.

Marty released the grasp on her waist and Joan dropped like dead weight to the floor. Her head hit the carpet with a disturbing thump. Undaunted, she continued to writhe at his feet, still deftly working the hairbrush in and out of her cunt.

"Joan – get a grip," he barked, and hastily pulled up his pants.

An oblivious Joan heard nothing.

"OOOOOO – I'M COMING!"

"Finally," hissed a relieved Marty as Joan's body spasmed, heaved, and ultimately collapsed with a sigh.

Marty gave her no time to rest in the afterglow. He pulled her to her feet, and slapped her hard across the face.

"We are going back downstairs, we're going to get the kids, and go home!"

A limp, glassy-eyed Joan said nothing as Marty dragged her down the stairs.

In the kitchen, he leaned her against the fridge and ordered her to wait for him as he dashed out to the yard to fetch the kids.

When he returned with Marty Jr. and Jennifer in tow, Joan had pulled herself together enough to chat with a friend.

"You look kind of tired, Joan. Maybe you should have a seat."

"No – I'd much rather stand."

After a polite but awkward goodbye, Marty marched his family out to the car. The kids whined in the back, as Mom and Dad sat up front without speaking.

Once home, he sent the kids to their rooms, threw Joan on the couch and read her the riot act.

"I don't know what's happening to you – you've completely lost your mind. You need help, and until you get it, you're not going to be left alone with my kids! They'll be at my sister's place until a decent shrink can figure out what the hell is wrong with you!"

All conversation after consisted mainly of a tearful Joan pleading for forgiveness, and an angry, unmoving Marty shouting her down.

Two tense weeks passed and a shamed and penitent Joan worked hard to appease her husband. Skeptical, he had taken his vacation to stay home and keep a watchful over her. He arranged to have her see a highly regarded psychiatrist, and diligently drove her to her twice-weekly appointments. True to his word, the children would stay with his sister indefinitely.

Joan's efforts to rid herself of her destructive urges were sincere. She was profoundly disgusted with herself and desperately wanted to change her behavior and save her marriage.

With bills to pay and no vacation time remaining, Marty reluctantly returned to work. The children, however, would remain with his sister until he was absolutely certain Joan was free of all deranged compulsions.

That morning, Marty didn't bother to kiss her goodbye when he left.

It would be a long day for Joan, made even longer without the kids to look after. There was little else to do other than curl up in bed with a book.

She grabbed an old, weathered copy of Anna Karenina from the bookshelf. It was one of her favorites back in college, and she figured it was as good a time as any to reread it.

After about an hour, Joan gave up; she didn't even have the energy to read. Depressed, she tossed the book aside and went back to bed.

Around noon, the sound of someone at the front door stirred her from an uneasy sleep. Probably Marty, home for lunch, she assumed. Not in the mood for another pious lecture, she lingered in the bed for a while before making her way downstairs.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she heard the low rumble of conversation coming from the kitchen. Did Marty bring a friend home - another shrink to look me over, perhaps?

Still a bit groggy, she descended the stairs and shuffled to the kitchen. As she approached the doorway, she stopped dead in her tracks. A familiar face greeted her, but it wasn't Marty's.

"There's the freak!"

Cyrus sat at her kitchen table picking over last night's leftover fettuccini. He didn't come calling by himself. Across from him sat a young girl eating Raison Bran from the box. She looked to be about eighteen or nineteen, with bright orange hair and skin as white as a snow. There were tattoos up and down her arms, and her nose sported a small, silver ring.

"Freak-baby, I'd like to introduce you to my friend Tasha - she a runaway, and I'm lookin' out for the poor chile."

Though shaken, Joan somehow mustered the strength to speak.

"I-I'm sorry…b-but…y-you'll have to leave."

Cyrus threw his fork down on the plate.

"Damn bitch, is this how you treat company? You actin' like you weren't expectin' us! You must have known, I'd be paying you a visit when I took your wallet!"

Joan's heart skipped a beat when Cyrus hoisted his massive frame from behind the table and walked toward her.

"I think I know what you need," he said with a sinister sneer in his voice. "I think maybe you need a little bit o' lovin'."

Joan turned away. She wished she was a million miles away but there was no denying she felt a rush. Once again, terrible urges beyond reason would take control of her.

I can't do this-I can't do this-I can't do this! The thought ran through her mind like a mantra.

As soon as his hot, fetid breath hit her neck, her defenses crumbled.

She offered no resistance when Cyrus pulled her blouse up over her head.

"Hey Tasha – don't them titties look nice all scrunched up in that sexy little white bra?"

Tasha didn't say a word and kept on picking through the cereal box.

"Now that we seen the titties, we gots to have a look at that fine butt!"

Joan was in the grip of the fever now. She didn't need to ask what he meant; she just undid her slacks and let them slide to the floor.

Cyrus spun her around, and brought his open hand down hard on her rear end.

"That's some Grade-A butt -almost as nice as yours, Tasha!" Cyrus cackled and smacked her ass again. The sound of his laughter echoed off the walls of the kitchen.

"Oooooh – those are some pretty, little panties," the orange haired nymph finally spoke – more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Tasha pushed away from the table and tossed the cereal box on the floor - spilling the contents everywhere.

"Let's take her up to the bedroom, Cyrus. I wanna see if this Wonder-bread-eating bitch is as nasty as you say she is."

"C'mon baby, Tasha here is just as big a freak as you are – and I know she wild for some stank right about now!"

It was an offer, Joan could not resist. These two lowlifes would give her what she had been craving.

"The bedroom is just up the stairs…follow me."

Joan couldn't help but anticipate whatever debauchery they had in store for her. Like an servant, she led them up the stairs.

Cyrus chuckled with glee, and Tasha made a point of knocking over every picture, nick-nack, and glass figurine she passed along the way.

"This is my bedroom," Joan calmly announced while shutting the door.

Cyrus jumped on the bed cackling like a loon.

"Yeah – this is big enough for all three of us!"