All characters are eighteen years or older.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: REVENGE FUCK
"Don?"
"Yeah, Mom."
"How did your uniform get cleaned? It had to have been washed after the game last night."
"Mrs. Osteen washed our uniforms."
"Okay. But you didn't take any extra clothes with you."
Mom was getting suspicious again. "Uh, I wore some of Chris' clothes while she did the laundry," I lied.
"All of you wore Chris' clothes?"
"Uh, sure, Mom. Gotta go." I knew it was an insufficient answer, and I ran out before she asked a follow up question.
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As the summer warmed up, so did Pete's mom's outfits. Other than Vito's mom, she was the most overdressed as far as wearing nice clothes to sit in the bleachers of a ball game. And Mrs. Clark's outfits were classier. Nice dresses, and skirt and blouse combos. She must've worked in a nice office, and I'm sure the men in her office appreciated her dressing that way. It was clear that the dads on the bleachers appreciated it. It was even clearer from the comments on the bench that the players liked the way she looked. And it was nearly as clear that Pete's dad did NOT appreciate his estranged wife posing on the bleachers.
And posing is what it appeared to me that she was doing. She wasn't talking to the other moms. The other dads were smart enough to admire from afar so as not to piss off their wives. And she was never friendly to me or the other boys, it seemed. She just seemed to like sitting in her sunglasses with her legs crossed in a sexy, if aloof, pose. And as the days got hotter and the other moms showed more skin, Mrs. Clark showed more thigh, more cleavage, and more panties. She had many colorful panties that could be seen from the bench. And as much as we looked back at her in admiration, Mr. Clark looked back with a scowl on his face. He always had a scowl, but it seemed worse when his estranged wife was on the bleachers with her skirt hiked up.
One Friday night after a game, Pete told us that the team was invited to spend the night at his house. We asked if his mom was okay with that, and he said, "Yeah, it was her suggestion."
When my mom dropped me off at Pete's house, I took along a sleeping bag and a change of clothes. I looked for Pete's mom, but she was out of sight. Within minutes, everybody else on the team was there. A pizza deliveryman arrived soon after. When the doorbell rang, I saw Mrs. Clark come down the stairs to open the door. I did a double take, when I saw that she was wearing a light blue nightgown.
I jumped up to see if I could help carry the pizzas, as well as to get a closer look at Mrs. Clark. The delivery guy's eye seemed riveted to Mrs. Clark's torso. As I got closer I could see why. The nightgown was very short, barely covering her crotch and her butt. It plunged down in front practically to her waist, baring most of her chest down to a little cleavage. And then the front of it was see-through. Her nipples were clearly visible through the thin lacy fabric. Her tits hung out the sides. Mrs. Clark leaned over to get money out of her purse, and a whole lot of her "Barely B" cup titties hung out in the open. I had to fight for position with the delivery guy for a good angle to see her tits.
I needn't have bothered fighting for a good view. I presumed that Pete's mom would modestly run back upstairs to finish changing or even disappear for the night. But instead, she marched right over to where we were all sitting in the family room, and then slowly walked over to the kitchen, which was attached to the family room in an open floor plan. She told us where to place the pizzas on the counter. Then she opened an upper cabinet and grabbed some paper plates and cups. As she reached up and leaned over, her blue thong panties were exposed. She was showing some ass cheeks, which were whiter than her legs. Eric nudged me, and I heard Mike silently moan.
Mrs. Clark found some paper towels from a lower cabinet, which allowed her to lean over and show her cleavage once more. It was when she stood up that her firm motherly breasts pressed against the translucent fabric. Her tits were firm and inviting.
Mrs. Clark didn't seem as aloof. I don't just mean her nearly undressed appearance. She was smiling, and seemed rather friendly. Her eyes were a bit misty. There was a booze bottle on the kitchen counter. Mrs. Clark fixed herself a mixed drink. I don't think it was her first one.
A few minutes later, I heard the door open. It was Pete's dad. This was awkward. I nudged Pete and pointed his dad out to him. "He's here to pick up my sister," he said. "It's his night to take us, but I got out of it because of this party. And he has to have my sister back home by nine o'clock because she has a softball game."
Amazingly, I didn't feel uncomfortable, as Mr. Clark walked into the family room and scowled at Mrs. Clark, and then at us. I was standing next to his estranged wife, who was half-dressed, and I didn't care. He was a jerk, we all thought he was a jerk, and there was nothing he could do about us being there.
"Have Ginny back by eight," said Mrs. Clark.
"Trudy, what are you doing?" was Mr. Clark's reply.
"We're having a party," said Mrs. Clark. She took one more swig of her drink, then set it down on the counter. "We're going to party all night." She put her left arm around my shoulder, and her right arm around Eric, who was standing on her right.
"Trudy, these are boys." Well, technically we were all eighteen, old enough to want to fuck our coach's wife.
"Just like Ginny's babysitter is a girl. You FUCKED a GIRL!" I could literally feel her tense up. So that's what this was about. Mrs. Clark was still pissed off at Mr. Clark for fucking the babysitter, and she was flaunting herself to us for his benefit.
Mr. Clark just stared at his wife, his jaw muscles moving, his nostrils flaring. He said nothing. Mrs. Clark quickly relaxed again. She moved her arms down to mine and Eric's waist. Her right nightgown strap slid off her shoulder, and her nipple popped out into the open. I just looked down at the little jewel, not caring what Coach Clark thought.
Ginny came down the stairs and exited for her dad's car. Mr. Clark turned to leave.