I know when it began. Exactly, the very precise instant I became a hardcore wrestling mom. I drove Josh to one of his junior league trainings in Rock Falls and after having coffee I walked into the wrong locker room. There were six older boys there, young men actually. I’d never seen them before. Slender and musculous in the way only young me can be.
They went quiet as I walked in, quickly turning their naked bodies away and covering themselves, anxious to hide their private parts from me.  
It hit me like a bolt, a flash. It made my heart jump and my temples throb. That’s when it began.
Oh, god, they were so delicious. Naked boys turning into men. So innocent and yet so brash and eager. I’d seen hundreds of them over the years as a wresting mom, but suddenly I discovered them. I could hardly breath.

There I was staring at their gorgeous naked backs and butts. I wanted to eat them, but I awkwardly presented myself as Josh’s mom and I’m quite sure they told me their names, but I had no hearing right then. Even if they had shouted I wouldn’t have registered.
Awkwardly I tried to make them loosen up, tell me about wrestling. And turn around maybe? Just as a matter of courtesy? I was dying to get a closer look at them. 

But they were too embarassed. Reluctantly I moved on.
I slipped into the gym, silently sat alone in the darkness at the back where no-one would see me. After a few minutes the young men came in, dressed in gorgeous spandex suits, had a few words from the coach and split into pairs on the wrestling mats.
I watched them struggle, I admired their lean muscles swelling and stretching, watched them grab each other, testing their abilities and strengths, their bodies entwined, pushing and holding, fighting, sweating.
In awe I stared at their firm thighs and behinds, their slender and strong arms. Lustfully I studied the bulges in their groins. I longed to wipe the sweat from their faces and chests, to comfort the losers and celebrate the winners. 

After parctice I sought them in the locker room. Hot, steaming showers thundering, the humid air filled with testosterone, soap and musk. They still had their suits on and their bodies glistened with sweat. I smiled at them, got up on a bench and started undressing for them. Their eyes were burning like sizzling coal while they watched me take off my dress and let it fall on the wet tile floor. 

A couple of them instantly had delicious erections inside their latex suits. They held their groins, groped their testicles and pull down their gear.

Their shouts were almost drowned by the thundering showers and their hands reached out and touched my legs and ass, they shoved and pushed each other to come closer, their yells and grunts became louder, their voices harder. Two of them started wrestling playfully and hitting after each other, soon the others join in.
Their fighting became fiercer. It wasn’t the playful gruff anymore – this was fighting, for real. They started hitting each other, blood flowed from broken lips, noses and eyebrows. 

I backed up against the wall and watched them fight, shocked and aroused at the same time.
The sweat, grunts, blows and blood. Their erections, the fire in their eyes. They fought to hurt each other, trying to cause pain, blood and suffering, mutilation, until they won me, the female. They fought over the chance to have me. To plant their seeds in me.
Hormones were crashing through my system. The primitive sensation of watching males fight over me was shattering. It by-passed the brain, it sent intense flashes and electric shocks to my groin, producing flows of secretion. 

In a trance I listened to the roars and screams as they beat each other. I inhaled the smell of their sweat. I twitched at the sound of blows, the splashes of blood and saliva landing on me. I lavished their wild greedy eyes on me while they beat each other. Their muscles bulging, their semi-hard cocks and balls swinging.
I wanted more. I wanted violent, serious and primitive fighting until there was a winner.
And most of all I want to be the prize.

I slowly removed the rest of my lingerie and stood on my knees, ass in the air, waiting for the winner, the Alpha Male. I didn’t care more than a bitch in heat who mounted me, as long as he was the strongest, the most agile and most brutal fighter.
Wet hands grabbed my hips as the winner took his position behind me. Nothing makes me as aroused as this moment, when strong hands grab my hips.

He held my ass in a vise-like grip and with a triumphant roar he pushed himself into me, hammered my soaking folds and fucked the breath and brains out of me.
He showed no mercy. He’s the champion fighter claiming his prize, his trophy.

There was nothing else in the world but his cock, his hands on my hips and the constant roar from his throat and chest as he pounded me. I came over and over, squirmed and sobbed while he went faster and faster, his grip hardening and his dick growing until he came in floods in me, and my mind blanked.

They all took me, they held my ass and head and forced themselves into all my orifices, they ejaculated in my mouth, in my face. On my tits. In my hair. Everywhere. I greedily spread my legs, opened my mouth, sucked, licked and swallowed while they thrusted, pulled, held and sprayed.
I screamed and screamed and screamed while my limbs cramped and shook. My voice a siren everytime I came, roaring and rolling through the locker room, hitting the walls and bouncing all over, never ending. 

Their hot semen filled my throat, blasted my insides, flooded my vagina, flowed into my uterus, flushed through my fallopian tubes, racing to fertilize my eggs.

That’s when I became a devoted wrestling mom.