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Summary: A young lesbian soccer coach seduces a rich upper class mother.
NOTE: A special thank you goes to Steve B for his editing suggestions and Estragon for his exhaustive copy editing work.
Layla loved summer: the hot sun, the sandy beaches and the soccer season.
Layla was 21 years old and had just finished her second year of college on a soccer scholarship.
To pad her resume and because she loved soccer, Layla had volunteered to coach one of the girl’s advanced training camps.
Layla was a jock in every sense of the word. She was tall, slim, small breasted, 34b, and had long tanned legs. Her blonde hair was always in a ponytail and her eyes were a hypnotic aqua blue.
She was also a lesbian and had known and accepted her sexuality since she was a teenager. Although she looked sweet and innocent, her looks were incredibly deceiving. If ever the old saying ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’ was true, Layla would be the perfect example. Behind that sweet facade was a domineering seductress. This should not be a surprise. She was an extremely aggressive player on the soccer field; her behaviour in her personal life was no different. She was captain of her varsity soccer team and thus always in charge; not surprisingly, she also had to be in charge of her love life.
In truth, she got most aroused not by being physically pleased, but instead by having her white lovers, her sexual playthings, submit unconditionally to her. The problem she had was that all her submissive playthings were young, inexperienced and dumb. They were no challenge and thus after the initial thrill of having some uppity chick pledge allegiance to her perfect body, little thrill came from having them submit. Oh sure it was fun and diabolical to crush some stuck up sorority bitch and make her beg to lick her ass or seduce and awaken the sexual beast of some shy, reserved southern belle, but the thrill faded fast when they actually submitted and at best were adequate lovers. Then fate intervened….
Clara Walsh had lost her husband two years ago in a car accident and was raising her teenage daughter Maddie by herself. Clara had not even considered another man and her only sexual fulfillment was her six inch dildo, the same one she had pleasured herself with back in college. She had no idea of the technological advances in the erotic toy industry.
Clara received a large sum of money from her husband’s life insurance, and spent her days writing her novel. She also made sure to spend as much time as she could with her 18 year old daughter, who would be going to college in the fall in New York, thousands of miles away from her.
Clara had raven black hair and green-blue eyes, that seemed to change based on her mood. She was short, at 5’2, and had large, only slightly sagging 40d breasts.
Maddie, her shy daughter, had joined the soccer team at the urgent and constant harassing encouragement of her gym teacher who said she had raw untapped potential. Much to Maddie’s astonishment, she loved playing soccer. No one was judging her flat chest, no one knew she used to be fat, had braces and acne and no one knew about her dad’s death. She got a fresh start; a chance to create a new persona….
Mrs. Sammantha Jones was one of the most powerful women in the city. Her husband was CEO of a major bank, and she was the trophy wife. She was head of the PTA of her daughter’s school, head of the parent/grad committee (that just happened) and was chair of her local co-op home association. She spent hours maintaining her perfect body, at all costs. She worked out daily and had very expensive, but impressive, implants. Although in her mid-forties, she looked and dressed much younger. When she and her 18-year-old daughter, Tiffany, were together, most assumed they were siblings. Sammantha dressed as a rich trophy wife should: dresses, heels, stockings, jewellery, all the accoutrements. She always looked perfect and always attempted to be the center of attention.
As usually is the case, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Tiffany had the same red hair; the same sweet seductive green eyes; and the same bright smile and Angelina Jolie lips. Tiffany also had the same ‘I am better than you’ attitude and the same diva complex. Tiffany tried out for soccer for one reason and one reason only: boys. At her high school, soccer was second in popularity to cheerleading. So, of course, Tiffany was captain of her cheerleading squad and goalie of her soccer team. She was incredibly flexible and quick, but, playing goalie she didn’t have to do all that exhausting running. Much even to her surprise, she not only liked it, but was damn good. The goalie was the heart of the team and thus so was Tiffany.
The first week of camp was all work and no play. Actually, the balls didn’t even come out till Wednesday. It was simply a gruelling week of intense physical tests. Layla believed she knew who the real soccer players were based on the first week. True Cebeci Escort players don’t bitch; they just work their asses off. After day two, Layla had already concluded that the girl with the most potential was Maddie. She worked her ass off and never let down for a second. Such dedication greatly impressed Layla and the naughty side of Layla wondered if Maddie would make a good little sub.
On the contrary, after about twenty minutes of the first day, Layla also knew who the biggest pain in the ass was going to be. Tiffany sauntered onto the field like it was a runway and complained instantly about Layla’s ‘endurance is key to victory’ philosophy. She even went so far as to suggest that she should get different treatment because she was a goalie. If Layla thought Tiffany was bad, her mother was even worse. As she repeated on numerous occasions, she had paid very good money for her daughter to get the best soccer camp and hadn’t paid all this good money to watch her daughter run. Layla played nice to her face, but was already considering her as a great MILF to seduce and control. She was bossy, bitchy and stuck-up, the type who, Layla had learned, desperately needed to be broken. Layla had learned early in her sexual prowls that the more confident and dominant a girl acted in public, the more likely it was that she was sexually weak. Layla looked at the mother-daughter pair and wondered how much fun it would be to Domme them both. Layla smiled deviously as she thought about it.
Week two saw their first game, and Layla surprised many when she didn’t start Tiffany, but the weaker, but harder working, Sally. Tiffany had a meltdown and her mother a similar one in the stands when she realized her precious was not in goal.
Layla, though, just smiled through it all, her decision having a double purpose. First, to make a statement to Tiffany, her mother and the team: hard work pays off and Layla played favourites to no one. Secondly, just to fuck with Tiffany and her mother, and to create the conflict that would trigger Mrs. Jones’ journey to becoming her submissive little MILF slave.
To make matters worse for young Tiffany, Sally played extremely well, making a few big saves in a 2-0 victory.
Maddie was the offensive star with a brilliant individual effort that scored their first goal and set up Carrie for their second goal, late in the match.
If Layla looked forward to crushing the Jones girls, she was also greatly intrigued by the sexy, shy and reserved Mrs. Walsh. Layla couldn’t explain it, but there was something remarkably sexy about her. She dripped sweetness like maple syrup, yet had a raw sexiness that Layla felt certain was just lying dormant, dying to break free. Layla envisioned a much different seduction with this sweet, innocent MILF.
As expected, when the game ended, Mrs. Jones was chomping at the bit to have a discussion with Layla. Layla coolly listened as Mrs. Jones lambasted her in front of other parents and spectators. Layla remained calm until the MILF, or as Layla now called her MIPD (mom I plan to dominate), finished her one sided rant, before politely smiling. “This is not the place for this conversation.”
Mrs. Jones continued her verbal assault until Layla’s smile faded and she said loud enough for all remaining, which was pretty much everyone, “Mrs. Jones, last time I checked I was the coach of this team. So if you don’t like how I run the team and the camp, I am sure Mr. Quincy would be willing to refund your money.”
As Layla expected, Mrs. Jones was not used to having someone talk back to her and was speechless.
Layla, knowing she had won this tiny battle, turned to her young team and congratulated them on playing a great first game. She finished by discussing a new tradition that already existed in football, the game ball. Layla explained that after each game, a game ball would be awarded to a member of the team who best represented true teamwork. Layla, looking directly at Tiffany, handed the ball to Maddie. Maddie looked like she had won the lottery. Tiffany’s cheeks went a flaming red that matched her long hair. Layla, toying with the rich bitch mother, turned around, smiled and winked at her. Daggers were returned. Layla turned her back once again on the pretentious mother-cunt and visited with her players.
Ten minutes later, Layla began to head to her car when she saw Mrs. Walsh in the background, patiently waiting for her daughter. Layla walked over to the shy woman. Layla started the conversation. “Mrs. Walsh, your daughter is one great soccer player.”
“Thank you, Layla,” she replied, beaming like a mother should when her daughter makes her proud, “and please, call me Clara.”
“Ok, Clara,” Layla obeyed, “I assume she gets her hard work and determination from you.”
The beautiful MILF or MIPS (mom I plan to seduce as Layla referred to her in her seduction plan), shyly responded, “I don’t know about that. Her father was the athlete.”
“Oh, Kolej Escort too bad he wasn’t here to see her one-girl show today.”
Clara’s whole demeanour changed. She whispered, “He died a couple of years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” Layla consoled, now feeling slightly awkward. She leaned in and gave Clara a big friendly hug. “If there is ever anything I can do for you,” Layla began, before giving a slightly suggestive tone, “and I do mean anything….”
Clara smiled back at Layla, oblivious to any innuendo.
Layla backed up, smiling softly. “I do know one thing she got from you.”
“What’s that?” she asked, curious.
“Maddie may not get her athletic ability from her mother, but she definitely gets her beauty from you.” Layla winked, just as she had to Mrs. Jones, but with a completely different subtext.
Mrs. Walsh blushed, and watched the pretty soccer coach walk away. Clara was not gay nor had the thought ever even crossed her mind, until now. She stared at Layla’s tight ass in the soccer shorts until Maddie arrived.
Layla returned to her car and was not slightly surprised to see Mrs. Jones waiting for her, still clearly foaming at the mouth. Layla put on her fake smile. She opened, her tone confident, “Mrs. Jones, I hope this isn’t still about your daughter not starting today.”
Mrs. Jones’ face gave in slightly, not used to not getting her way with her bully tactics. She continued her aggressive approach, “I spend good money for my daughter.”
Layla’s smile faded and she spoke with authority. “Look Sammantha, it is way too fucking hot to sit out here and argue with you. If you want to continue this, get in my car now and we will continue this conversation at my house.”
Before the bitch could respond, Layla began to get in her car. Mrs. Jones, not one to lose, hesitated briefly, but got in the car of the young soccer coach.
Layla smiled, knowing she had the bitch exactly where she wanted her. Once on the road, Layla began the conversation, “Sammantha, it is ninety degrees today, and you are wearing pantyhose. That is fucking crazy.”
Sammantha glared at the foul-mouthed college girl. She hated explaining herself to such a nobody, but she explained anyway, not attempting to hide her condescending tone. “Upper class people like myself dress up at all times.”
“You can dress up and not wear man-pleasing pantyhose.”
The MILF sighed, “Not that it is any of your business, but these are not pantyhose, but rather thigh highs.”
Although Layla knew the answer, she asked anyways, “What are thigh highs?”
Answering with a dramatic sigh, “They are like pantyhose, but only go to your thigh.”
Layla ordered, “Show me.”
The dominant tone of the young girl startled Mrs. Jones, but none-the-less she complied, her attitude still dripping with contempt. She lifted up her dress and revealed the top of her thigh high stocking. “See, this is what fashionable upper class women wear.”
Layla, her tone equally full of disdain, responded, “Really, I thought those were what sluts wore.”
“Excuse me?” the rich MILF asked, aghast at being called such a name.
“Slut, whore, tramp, the terms are interchangeable,” Layla smirked.
They arrived at Layla’s dorm. Sammantha Jones’ voice went shrill, “How dare you speak to me that way?”
“What way, Sammantha, truthful?”
“I have had enough, take me back to my car,” the insulted woman demanded.
Layla laughed while she placed her hand on the MILF’s leg, taking the risk she was sure would pay off. “Look Sammantha, it is obvious you want me to fuck you.”
“What?” the MILF sputtered, shocked by the blunt accusation, yet she didn’t push the pretty blonde’s hand away.
“You heard me,” Layla clarified confidently, before adding another shocking accusation. “Maybe you are a dyke like your daughter.”
Offended, Mrs. Jones defended her daughter, “Tiffany is not gay.”
Layla laughed and slid her hand just slightly, but under the skirt of her next submissive. “Sammantha, there are three things I am very good at. The first is anything to do with soccer. The second is being able to tell when someone is a lesbian or lesbian curious, often before they know, like your daughter.”
“You have no proof she is a lesbian then,” the mother said confidently.
“No, but I can get some, I imagine,” Layla replied, even more confidently.
Attempting to be adamant, yet clearly distracted by Layla’s hand now moving slowly up her leg, “She is not gay. She is dating a college boy.”
“So,” Layla teased, “you are a married woman who is about to come into your daughter’s coaches’ house and submit to her completely.”
“What? I am not,” the pretty MILF defended just as Layla’s hand reached her very damp pussy.
“Why are you so wet, Mrs. Jones?”
The mother stammered, realizing the control was shifting, “I-I-I am not.” Layla shut up the confused woman by Rus Escort shoving her tongue in the MILF’s mouth, while at the same time sliding a finger inside the bitchy woman’s cunt.
Sammantha didn’t break the kiss and rather moaned into the mouth of the soccer coach. She couldn’t explain it, but she was suddenly helpless and completely subdued by the pretty college girl. She let out a sigh when Layla broke the kiss and moaned as she felt a finger pump in and out of her long-neglected pussy.
“I will only ask this once Mrs. Jones. Do you want to come to my room?”
Reacting without thought, the horny confused MILF answered, “Yes.”
Layla stopped finger-fucking the horny bitch and explained, “If you enter my dorm, you need to understand you must obey every instruction I give.”
Suddenly Sammantha was nervous, but horniness and curiosity got the better of her. “I understand.”
Layla quickly finger-fucked the MILF for a few more seconds before pulling her finger out. She sucked the juice off her fingers, “Not bad for an old bitch.” Layla saw the fury in the facial expression of the powerful mother, yet was amused when no words followed. Layla ordered, “Follow me.”
Mrs. Jones sat frozen, stunned by the shocking turn of events. She was infuriated with the treatment she had received from this social nobody, yet an overwhelming large part of her was turned on like she hadn’t been in a long time. So although the dignified reaction was to just walk away from this crazy situation, she instead got out of the car and followed her into the dorm. She kept her head down while she passed a couple of other college girls. She again briefly thought of turning and walking away, yet her body had a mind of its own, and right now it was doing the thinking.
Once in her dorm room, Layla quickly peeled off her clothes and, once naked, ordered to the sexy MILF, “Mrs. Jones, get on your knees.”
Sammantha reluctantly obeyed, oddly mesmerized by the co-ed’s perfectly tanned body.
Layla smiled at the quick obedience of her new slut and explained, “I’m going to have a shower, follow along and wait till I am done.”
Humiliation burned through the powerful woman, but she reluctantly began crawling to the young blonde’s bathroom. While Layla was in the shower, Mrs. Jones replayed the afternoon in her head and no matter how she did, she couldn’t imagine how she ended up in this bizarre predicament or why she didn’t just get up and leave. She wasn’t a lesbian. She had never even considered another woman in a sexual way before today. Yet there was something drawing her, almost against her will, to the pretty, confident co-ed. She couldn’t explain it but she felt the need to obey the blonde goddess and to submit to her. Although she hated admitting it, the dominating attitude of the co-ed had turned her on and the quick fingering had her near orgasm in only a couple of minutes. As soon as she saw her daughter’s coach naked, she desperately wanted to touch the girl’s small firm breasts and to smell the scent of her shaved pussy. Sammantha shook her head, desperate to get these naughty ridiculous thoughts out of her head. She was brought back to reality when she heard her name.
“Earth to Sammantha. What are you thinking about?” a dripping wet and naked Layla asked.
Sammantha looked up from her knees and was awestruck with the young girl’s body. Sammantha worked out for hours every day and her body couldn’t even begin to compare with the co-ed’s. Looking into her eyes and realizing she was to speak, she answered honestly, “I was trying to figure out why I was here.”
Layla chuckled, “Well, that is obvious. You want to be my slut.”
“I do not,” the MILF responded, insulted at the verbal degradation.
“You don’t?” Layla asked. “You are in my dorm room, on your knees waiting for me to get out of the shower, so I think that qualifies as you being a slut.”
The rich upper class woman stammered, “I- I-I….”
“Is slut too extreme? Would you prefer dyke?”
Sammantha gasped, “I am not gay!”
“If you say so, slut. This game is getting old. You want to please me. Say it!” Layla demanded.
The dazed and humiliated MILF was not used to being bossed around. She wanted to defend herself and put this young nobody in her place, yet the words out of her mouth expressed the opposite. “Yes, I want to please you.”
“And you are a dirty rich slut who needs to be disciplined by me,” Layla continued the verbal onslaught.
Mrs. Jones wondered when the humiliation would end as she reluctantly agreed. “Yes I am a slut who desperately needs to be disciplined.”
“So you agree you need a Mistress?” Layla asked.
The word shocked her. She stammered a reply, “Um, I don’t know.”
Layla ordered, her voice flaming hot with anger, “Get up and leave, Mrs. Jones, I don’t have time for this insubordination.”
Mrs. Jones was startled as Layla walked out of the bathroom. She got off her numb knees and followed the co-ed she had just offended. The words that came out of her mouth shocked her. “I am so sorry, Layla, I don’t know what to say.”
Now half dressed, Layla dismissed the confused older woman, “Just leave. I will have one of my loyal obedient sluts take you home.”
Mrs. Jones stood dumbfounded while Layla made a call on her cell.
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