Loading...The bitch shows up behind home plate again. Unbelievable. Second night in a row, she gets in the same seat and tries to fuck me up with her flashes of tit. She quickly yanks down one side of her tank top, flashes her boob, and tries to mess with my head.
She doesn’t even have great cans. We’re not talking about centerfold or top-notch porn material here. More like porn you’d find on the lower shelves, like bottles of cheap vodka in a liquor store.
Definitely not the kind of tits you’d estimate to your buddies by holding your cupped hands in front of your chest and proudly declaring, “Those babies were out to here.”
I signal to my dugout and then to Don behind home plate with two fingertip taps on my nose. My glove’s against my chest. I hope the manager and catcher get my drift. The nose taps indicate something’s wrong. And the glove? They should figure out that code. After last night’s game, I had regaled them in the locker room about how this bitch in the first row stuck out her tit to break my focus.
“What a cunt,” Don remarked, stretching his legs after squatting for so long. A catcher’s curse.
“And? How good were they?” Frank wanted to know.
I filled them in on the boob mediocrity.
“Ah, who cares,” Frank replied. “We won, didn’t we?”
Frank’s seen a lot of shit, including fans doing pretty much anything to tip the balance to their team. But our manager was right—we had won. Only by one run, but we’d take it. A win’s a win.
“Tell you what,” Frank went on. “If anything like that happens again, you give the signal. Got it? The warning signal. I’ll get on the phone, see if I can get the lady booted out.”
Beneath his hard-ass guise, my manager had to be practical. We won last night’s game, but fan interference could cause us to lose another game.
Tonight, that could very well happen. Score’s tied at two apiece. Not exactly the kind of score you love to see in the bottom of the ninth. But a closer’s got to deal with pressure cookers. It’s his reason for being. If he’s not up to the task, then he’s off to middle relief, which is no great dishonor but lower on the totem pole compared to the dude who starts the whole enchilada and the dude who seals the deal and walks off the mound amid thunderous cheers or boos—depending if you’re home or away.
Don jogs to the mound, pulls up his catcher’s mask, and covers his mouth with his fat glove. “You’re shitting me, right?”
I also cover my mouth with my glove. Too many opponents can read lips. “Nope. Same bitch. Same seat.”
Don’s a pro. He doesn’t wheel around and stare at the mass of shouting fans to single out our booby offender. That chance will come when he jogs back to his position behind home plate. He’s got to be curious to check her out for himself.
“Frank’ll call security,” Don says. “Boot her outta here.”
I nod. “So what about Martinez? Breaking ball?”
“Yeah. Then fastball high. He’s been chasing those today.”
“You got it. Let’s take it to extra innings. She’s in the pink tank top. Maybe more like peach.”
Don grins as he pats his glove on my chest. “Peaches, huh? Keep your head on the ball.”
As Don returns to home plate, I see Frank on the dugout’s phone. Boy is he pissed. Same look he gives when debating an ump’s call. No, debating is too weak. Seriously disagreeing is more like it. Or shouting down. But now, Frank’s not tossing off the boob flasher like he did after last night’s win. Not with the score tied.
I narrow my concentration to the spot where I want the ball to end up. But my pitch is low and Martinez isn’t fooled into swinging. The bitch laughs into her cell phone. Who’s on the other end? A friend watching the game on TV? The boob tube lives up to its name, and everyone watching closely gets a treat. If someone spots her tricks, would they call security? Surely, some TV producer sitting in front of a bank of TVs fed from the many cameras in the ballpark could catch the boob bandit. Maybe he thinks ratings will go up with a bit of flesh. No matter. Not with Frank’s call. He’ll give someone an earful.
Ratings should be solid with this nail-biter. The good folks at Columbia get fired up every time us Mudcats come up from Charleston. After we took the first game in the series last night, the Columbia Wrens and their fans want to even the wins. Hey, nobody likes to lose—much less be swept in a series. The third and last game in the series is tomorrow night, so both of us have another chance. But tomorrow’s far away. Games don’t get any tighter than the one right now.
Tight like how her peach-colored tank top clings to those mediocre tits. Obvious nubs of her nipples stand out in excitement over their owner’s public flashing. Her tank top’s thin shoulder straps could rip with the gentlest of tugs. No bra straps.
I shake my head in an effort to fling off my wandering visions. Got to get back to business. I’m a closer, and I’ve got to close down this batter and inning so my hitters can get a shot at the tenth inning.
Still, I’m a right-thinking dude. I can’t help but think about how they’d feel to squeeze and fuck. At the ballpark, it’s not a stretch to imagine making your own hot dog. She provides the soft buns. You bring the dog and mayo—it’s the only condiment that’s needed. Well, maybe some lube if you want to slick up the valley.
I scratch my groin in that gesture many women find offensive, and I hope she gets my drift. Back at ya, baby. You wanna show me some tit? Suck on this, bitch. The threat’s as empty as a foul ball on two strikes, but I have to do something. Last night I quietly endured her taunts, and it only brought me frustration.
She laughs harder into her cell phone. Actually laughs harder.
I picture fucking her from behind, with both of my hands full of tit. She’s bent over deep and crying out from the biggest dick she’s ever had in her hot little cunt. Or maybe I’ll fuck her up the ass. I’m squeezed into her tight asshole that’s already seen a few visitors—on account of her comfort level and coaxing me ever inward. No shy flower here. Not with her flashing me two nights in a row out in a crowded stadium.
My fastball fires at the outside lower corner. Martinez gets a piece of it. The ball grounds to Nelly, who’s playing off second base and tosses the ball to Derek at first. Easy third out. The crowd answers with boos, groans, and scattered applause. Extra innings, here we come.
Take that, you little bitch. Your tits didn’t work last night, and they ain’t working tonight.
In the dugout, I’m awarded with pats on the back and high fives. I’ll take it while I can, since the tide could quickly turn the other way if I give up just one run in the bottom of the tenth. Encouragement is shouted to Pepper, who’s warming up with a weighted bat. He’s the first of three shots—and hopefully more—at bringing us into the lead.
My teammates are abuzz about the boob flasher. They spied glimpses of her after I alerted Frank, but they’re bummed because no one actually saw her show off her tit. Some guys congratulate me on keeping my cool to clock a well-placed 90 mph fastball despite a tit aimed at me.
“Hey,” I reply, “if she had big knockers, I’d be in trouble. Serious trouble. No way I’d be able to pitch if some porn star was pulling that shit. I would’ve handed the ball to Martinez, let him do whatever the fuck he wants.” That gets a good laugh. “If those were some big cans, I’d jump in the stands and get busy with ’em. You dopes could finish this thing.”
Big jugs they weren’t. Still, I’ve got a hard-on. That bitch’s middle-of-the-road boob inspired visions of titty fucking and doggy style for me. My woody strains at my cup, and I’m grateful for the plastic protection to save me from the embarrassment of walking around with a pitched tent. Thankfully, my dick softens as I watch Schalk prepare to pitch to Pepper, who’s now at home plate. We’ll see what the Wrens’ closer can do with the ball.
Two disappointing outs later, word comes that the bitch has been yanked from her seat. Escorted by cops who kindly but firmly took her away. When Frank tells me the news, I breathe a sigh of relief. Those three outs in the bottom of the tenth loom large.
“After the tenth, sit the fuck down,” Frank says. “Save your arm for tomorrow. Got it?”
I most definitely get it. Just like I get those three big outs when it’s my turn on the mound again. Bang, bang, bang. Much easier without the titty diversion. Man, when the strikes are clicking, you’re in seventh heaven.
Ultimately, we lose the game. Bottom of the eleventh inning with a RBI-causing double from Alston, the right fielder for the Columbia Wrens. Wasn’t me pitching, thank God. Yeah, it’s a selfish thought. But if my pitching led to a loss tonight, I’d feel guilty that the boob flasher screwed up my game. Even though she had been removed from her seat, the reach of that tit could’ve snowballed into bitter guilt that I given up one for the team.
Us defeated Mudcats head from the dugout to the lockers when a cop waves me over. He looks a bit smug from being on the winning side tonight.
“Leo Mackey wants to see you,” he says. “He’s head of stadium security.”
“What about my manager?” I reply.
“Nah, just you. The lady has a complaint against you, and you only.”
I call Frank over and fill him in on my summons. “You okay with it?”
He looks annoyed. “You didn’t give up a run, didja? Not my problem.” He grunts and leaves.
By this time, a crowd of Mudcats has gathered to see what’s going on.
“She’s got a complaint?” Don can’t believe it. “What the fuck’s up with that?”
Pepper pipes up: “Dude, you should complain to her. Tell her to show you both tits next time!”
A few jibes are thrown at me for good measure. This is the same shit we go through day in and day out during the season. They’re my summer family. Playing, training, traveling—we’re always together, and we’ve got to make the most of it. We think of stupid-ass nicknames. We tell raunchy jokes. During a bus ride to Raleigh, we came up with an X-rated version of Take Me Out to the Ballgame:
“Take me out to the whore house,
take me out to the hoes.
Buy me some pussy and blowjobs,
and make ’em all big, fat slobs.
Let ’em suck, suck, suck on my big dick.
If I don’t cum it’s a shame.
For it’s one, two, three hoes a night
at the old whore house!”
We’re the slobs. A bunch of dopes entertaining ourselves between games. When we’re on the field, it’s all business. But off, it’s back to teenaged humor. We’re a sausage party with no poontang in sight. Sometimes we’re treated to interviews given by women sportscasters, and the jokes begin as soon as the locker room door clicks behind their (usually) sweet asses. Ugly chicks aren’t picked for sports news. Gotta keep the viewers happy, and they’re just as adolescent as we are.
As I walk the halls toward Leo Mackey’s office, I’m grumbling about having to deal with the boob flasher. Why didn’t the bitch just go home? I want to just get this over with.
Holy shit.
Things get a lot more interesting. In Leo Mackey’s office, the boob flasher is there, of course. Sitting opposite to Leo’s big desk with her arms folded in front of her. Her face could melt a fastball. She should’ve tried that pissed off expression on me rather than flashing me.
It’s not the boob flasher that stops me in my tracks. It’s the hot babe sitting next to her. Now this is a chick that would’ve fucked me up back on the mound. Her mounds are much better than the boob flasher’s. Both are wearing snug tank tops, and the difference is obvious.
Comparisons immediately leap to my mind since the two chicks are sitting next to each other in front of Leo Mackey’s desk. Yup, the new babe has bigger tits. Call ’em jugs, and you’d be safe. These knockers wouldn’t be free or cheap. Not like the boob flasher, who flashed her goods in front of the whole stadium. Her busty friend would be much different. To see these plump beauties, you’d have to buy rounds all night long of her favorite booze—and still be very lucky at closing time that she deems you worthy. Or maybe you’d have to wine and dine her at a fancy joint serving meals of at least three courses. Either way, the guy would have to be one hell of a stud.
The boob flasher is prettier. Out on the mound, I didn’t notice her face that much. Could be that her beauty is heightened due to her attitude. Her angry demeanor dares me, like a pretty spy in an interrogation. Her dark eyes smolder and taunt: So what are you gonna do? Huh, big man? Arrest me?
The busty hottie’s face is more on the cute side. Where the flasher is pissed, the busty babe looks bored. She looks completely bored—as if she simply cannot believe she has to be stuck in this dump. The gall of us men to take her away from the action of a post-game happy hour in a nearby bar, where she’d be surrounded by male fans drooling over the boobs pushing at her lime-green tank top.
Her bored expression is actually sexy. Like a model lazily gazing at you and saying, “This place is totally lame. Why don’t you take me away, show me something exciting.” Adrenaline would charge as you eagerly rose to the test of fulfilling her need for entertainment.
Who is this big-boobed babe? Is she a partner in crime or innocent bystander? Impossible to tell why she was dragged here.
Then there’s Leo Mackey.
Talk about a party pooper. I’d love to be alone with the two women. I’d show ’em a good time, erase that bored look from Miss Jugs, and that frown off the boob flasher.
Ah, well. Down to business. Leo stands from behind his desk, introduces himself, and shakes my hand. Strong grip. He’s a middle-aged man with broad shoulders and thick chest underneath a light blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Maybe an ex-cop who got sick of pounding the streets and traded them for a baseball stadium.
“Nice stuff out there,” he says. “You ever want to play for a good team, you come up to Columbia.”
“We’ll see tomorrow night who’s got the better team,” I reply.
Leo seems to enjoy my jab back at him, that I didn’t lie down at his crack at the Mudcats. He sits down and says, “This young lady says you had her pulled out of her seat for no good reason.”
“Yeah,” the boob flasher spits out, “and I missed the end of the game. I’ve been sitting here for two whole innings. I paid to see the whole game. Not be taken away from my seat.” Her words rush out, like they’ve been itching for the chance to put me in my place. Her voice is a little husky, and yeah, it’s kinda sexy. Even though her message is incredulous.
I fire back, but in a calm tone: “If you wanted to see the whole game, you shouldn’t have flashed me. That’s fan interference.”
“Yeah, that’s what this guy claimed.” She stabs a thumb at Leo Mackey. “But that’s total bullshit.”
“What?” Un-fucking-believable.
“I didn’t flash you or anybody. Ask Lynn. She was sitting next to me.”
“Nope. No flashing.” Lynn weighs in. So the busty one is a friend. Her voice is smoother than the flasher. Not as angry.
“You’re lying,” I seethe. “Both of you. I saw you”—I point to the flasher—”pull down your top and flash your… your… chest.” With so many names for tits to choose from, I need to lean on a safe one.
“Bullshit,” the flasher replies. “Why would I do that? Why would you say such—”
“Okay, okay!” Leo holds up a palm like an ump calling for a pause in the game. “The way I see it, it’s her word against yours. Well, it’s their word against yours. That’s a pretty big accusation you’re making, Joe. Did anyone else see this alleged flashing?”
Leo adding “alleged” grates my ears. I think about all of the Mudcats, and unfortunately I can’t come up with one who admitted to viewing the tit debacle. Maybe there’s a fan with a cell phone camera who saw her commit the crime?
Then it hits me. The boob tube. Aptly named this time. You’ve got countless eyes staring at you from the stands, but TV cameras give viewers close ups of every emotion on your face: concentration, frustration, exaltation, anger. Outside of stadiums, you learn to be wary of cameras. On the field, you accept their reality. This time, that reality might give me an edge.
Even though we’re far from the major leagues, the stadiums have cameras. We have a small but devoted following who visits the games and watches them on local TV channels.
I fold my arms against my chest, soak in the lovely nipples on both ladies for a second, then turn to Leo. “TV cameras. There’s always one showing the pitcher’s back and the hitter. Deny all you want, but I bet you that a camera picked up her alleged flashing. In tonight’s game and last night’s game.”
My blow’s impact is marvelous to behold. Leo nods, impressed at my ingenuity. Lynn and the flasher are so clearly shocked and disheartened that I have to clear my throat to stifle a laugh.
“Last night too, huh?” Leo says. “Good idea. I’ll check.” He picks up his black phone and pokes the buttons.
A couple of seconds tick slowly. The chicks look nervously at each other.
“Tommy?” Leo asks the phone. “Leo here. Yeah. Overtime’s fun when you win, right? Yeah. Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask. Could you pull the video for the game?”
“Wait,” the flasher bitch says, leaning forward with her hand out in a plea.
“Huh? Hold on.” Leo cups his hand over the phone’s receiver like I want to cup Lynn’s tits.
“Fine,” the flasher spits out. “Okay? I did it. Yeah, I flashed him, all right? Both games. For all the good it did.”
Victory! How sweet it is. I force myself not to gloat. But damn, it feels good to be right.
Leo lowers his cupped hand from the phone. “Hey Tommy? Forget it. Problem solved. Yup. It’s nothing. Have a good one.”
“Can we go now?” Lynn sighs.
I love the way her voice sounds so dreadfully bored and how her tits rise and fall in that oh-so-bored sigh she gives.
“Not yet,” Leo says. He clasps his hands together behind his head and mulls over the situation.
“Oh, come on,” Lynn gripes. “She owned up to it. She’ll never do it again.”
“That’s right,” the flasher chips in. “Never again.”
“Show him your breasts.” Leo’s fastball catches all of us looking blankly.
Did he actually say that? Show your breasts? What? Let’s go to the replay.
The flasher can’t believe her ears, either. “Huh? Are you fucking crazy?”
Leo smirks. “Sometimes you gotta be crazy with this job.”
The flasher’s steaming mad. “But he’s already seen by boobs. One, yeah. But he’s already seen it. What are you talking about?”
Leo leans forward. “Look, lady. You pull a stunt like that, seems fair to me.” He shrugs and sits back. “But it’s your choice. Show ’em and I’ll let you back in the park. If you don’t, I’ll tell my boys to escort you right on out of here if you take one little itty-bitty step in this stadium.”
She glares at him.
“I’ll even turn around. You don’t owe me nothin’, lady.”
She lets out an exasperated breath. “Fine. I’ll do it again. And stop calling me lady. My name’s Ashley.”
“Gotcha.” Leo swivels his chair around, showing us his back.
Ashley glares at me as she tugs up the bottom of her peachy tank top to blast me the full frontal of both boobs. They’re not as small as I had thought. Now that I’m seeing them closer up. What impresses me is that this is no flash. Her fists hold her scrunched shirt above her tits and allow me an extended eyeful. Her glare challenges me, as if to say, “Get a good, long look. That’s all you’ll ever get.” Finally, the tank top descends like a curtain.
“Very nice.” Least I could do after she indulged me.
“C’mon, Ashley, let’s go,” Lynn mumbles.
“Wait,” the flasher says. “He grabbed his crotch at me. He should have to do the same thing.”
I have to give it to her. She’s not taking this on her back—she’s pushing against me. Leo spins on his chair and shoots me a questioning look with raised eyebrows. Seems that he doesn’t want to make a ruling, so this one’s left up to me.
“Yeah, you’re right. I grabbed myself.” I start to unlace the front of my light gray pants. It’s time to sizzle Ashley and Lynn out of their angry and bored expressions.
Leo mutters, “Jesus H. Kee-rist,” as he turns around again. His chair’s a regular merry-go-round.
I peel my pants down to my knees. Pull out my cup from my jockstrap. The ladies eye my hard plastic cup curiously—it’s an unexpected piece of attire in a striptease. I toss the hard plastic cup onto Ashley’s lap, and she jumps in surprise. Hopefully, she gets whiff of my scent from the cup. With my thumbs underneath the band of my jockstrap, I slide the thing to join my pants at knee-level. Woody time, ladies. Well, almost there. Let him stiffen just a little… okay, there. I’ve been excited since walking into the office and seeing the two chicks in snug tank tops. Even with the arguing, I was excited about these two ripe babes.
Bam! It’s outta the park! The flasher is flashed!
Not much can top the joy of two attractive chicks staring at your stiffy. The kind of intense stare that they’re at a loss for words. Makes a man downright cocky. I shuffle a couple of steps closer to give them a better view. My dick points to Ashley. It’s so close, she could reach out and touch it. Wishful thinking.
“Hey, Jugs Mahoney.” I turn to Lynn, pointing my boner at her. Her eyes are shocked. She can’t help but stare at my purple dickhead. “Wanna make it a triple play?” I ask.
“Why should I?” She fires back, one of her eyebrows raised. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do—what did you call it? Fan interference?” A corner of her mouth lifts.
The raised eyebrow and mouth corner are small movements. Yes. But they’re something. Cracks in the armor of her bored expression. Me pulling out my cock certainly helped knock the bored expression down. Now more cracks are showing.
“Because,” I say, “I want to see them. I want to see if they’re really as good as they look now.”
Her eyebrow and mouth go down. She nods a couple of small nods. “Well, okay,” she says.
When I walked in the office, I had thought it would be a challenge to see her bounty naked. Hardly. The bottom of Lynn’s lime green tank top rises as Ashley’s had done. Just like that—unbelievably, eye-popping, jaw-dropping—her naked melons join the party. Wonderful how they softly plop down as she pulls her shirt over them.
Oh, glorious boobs! Wondrous areola! I stand at attention to you. Watch out for my rocket’s white glare, baby. If you’re lucky, it’ll burst on ya.
“You’ve got some great tits,” I gasp.
A woman doesn’t exactly enjoy being on the smaller end of a comparison to another woman’s rack. Like men with schlong size. You know fully well that someone out there is bigger than you, but a glaring reminder in front of your face isn’t pleasant.
It’s a fair explanation for why Ashley wraps her lips around my dickhead.
When Ashley had given me a full frontal flashing, I had simply said, “Very nice.” And I had meant it. But the tone of my voice was vastly different when I gasped, “You’ve got some great tits,” to Lynn’s hooters. And my face was surely different with Lynn’s unveiling. Like I said, Lynn’s knockers are eye-popping and jaw-dropping.
With all that, Ashley probably got jealous. Maybe it was bitter jealousy that led to her kissing my dick.
Bam! Another one outta the park! I’m shocked as wet softness presses on my dickhead.
If Ashley wanted to bring my attention back to her, then her strategy works. In a big way. My attention races away from Lynn’s gazongas to see my chub’s helmet resting between Ashley’s plump lips. Her soft, coral lips. I had failed to notice how well her lipstick goes with her peachy tank top. Impressive. But not as impressive as her tongue giving my helmet’s underside a few yummy licks.
Un-fucking-believable. The boob flasher is sucking my dick? Lynn’s jugs are out on view? How the fuck did our argument transform to this?
Why am I questioning it?
A squeak signals Leo’s chair performing its regular rotation. Ashley lets go of my cock. Leo takes in our revised situation with admirable composure.
“Well, now. What do we have here?” His voice carries a little more drawl. He gets up—another squeak—and moseys around the desk to stand before Lynn. “My, my, my. Sweetheart, you’ve got the nicest cans I’ve seen in a coon’s age.”
Coon’s age? Maybe some good ole’ boy charm has worked for him before, and he’s trying to use it on Lynn—who doesn’t look that bored over there, with her shirt still scrunched up above her boobs.
“Um, thanks?” Lynn seems a little embarrassed.
Her shirt begins to lower.
“No, no, please don’t,” Leo implores and drops to his knees so that he’s eye level with her nipples.
Will he beg? Yeah, probably for the nicest cans he’s seen in a coon’s age. Hey, they are fantastic tits. I’d beg for ’em. Leo places both hands on her tanned thighs. Bet they’re cool from the air conditioning. His hands slide up. Lynn doesn’t stop him. What’s stopped are her hands. They’re not lowering her shirt any more. Her tank top covers only the tops of her breasts. The nipples still show. So do the swells of the breasts’ soft underbellies.
Wet on my dick grabs me again. Ashley shocks me again. Surprise after surprise has got my head whipping all around. But not my dickhead. It has remained in one place as Ashley takes beautiful care of it, giving it more attention this time. Her lips and tongue slide up, down, and all around my shaft. Slow and luscious. Like a summer afternoon. I could stand here all day and watch her lips and tongue.
But desires of feeling tits distracts me after a few minutes. All the hoopla over her tit flashing has made me want to see how they feel.
I delicately nudge Ashley’s head back and plant a big kiss on her generous lips. As I kiss her, my palms gently rest on her chest. She doesn’t stop my exploring hands, so they dip under her tank top and feel the skin of the tit that flashed me in the attempt of goading me into throwing wild pitches. I feel the other, tenderly cupping them and softly squeezing them.
“Out there,” I whisper on her lips, “in the game, I thought about holding these.”
“They didn’t screw up your pitches,” she whispers back in a warm breath.
“Maybe you should’ve flashed both of them.” I stand upright, looking down at her expectantly.
She hefts up her tank top, giving me a second full-frontal flash. But not really a flash. A long, extended look.
I frown and say, “Why aren’t you mad at me any more?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re just a guy, you know? I tried to screw you up out there, I was just trying to help my team win. But you’re just trying to win, too.” She shrugs again. “Don’t know. The whole thing’s pretty dumb. We won, and not because of me.”
“Or me,” I say. “You know, you really do have some great tits.”
She smirks, and I know she’s thinking about Lynn’s boobs and comparing herself.
I tried to boost her confidence. “Hey, it’s true. Out in the game, I also thought about fucking your tits.” It was the truth. Honest.
Her eyes narrow. “So why don’t you fuck ’em, then?”
“Just waiting for an invitation,” I say and crouch over her, placing my cock in the valley of the boobs.
She pushes her boobs against me. A snug fit. And, whaddaya know, a hot dog is born. It feels as good as I imagined. I love how my dickhead peeks above her cleavage every time I push. Ashley alternates from looking down to see the action on her chest to gazing up at me. Her face grows prettier. Before, her face held an angry expression. But that changed with the excitement of sex. At this rate, she’ll be crowned Miss Sexpot South Carolina. In the face, at least. She’d lose the bust portion to her friend.
Speaking of her friend, Lynn’s clearly having a good time. Judging by her moans, that is. And her expression. The culprit is Leo. His face is buried under her strawberry blonde mound. By the sound of his loud slurping, he’s one horny chow hound. Or maybe that’s just the way he eats pussy. She squeezes her hooters and tweaks the nipples, which look hard enough to poke someone’s eyes out.
Potentially dangerous, but oh so appealing.
I lean over and lick Lynn’s nipple that’s closest to me. Hey, if Leo can lick her, seems perfectly reasonable that I can, too. Lynn twists her torso toward me, giving me easy access to both nipples. I accept her offer by leaning down and energetically sucking her firm, bumpy, wonderful nipples.
Probably too energetically. My hips forget to thrust. My ballpark frank stays motionless between Ashley’s snug buns.
Realization hits me that I’m being rude to Ashley. After all, she had been so orally polite to me. Her annoyed look at me is more than a little cute. Yet again, she has to deal with a man giving more attention to Lynn’s hooters than her own. Surely, that’s happened many times at bars.
So back to Ashley. I back off of Ashley’s lap. I follow Leo’s lead by slipping off Ashley’s lap tan shorts and tiny white panties, and then stuffing my face against her mound. Her box feels and tastes like a sultry summer night. My tongue fans the heat emanating from her hard little clit. After teasing the nub, my tongue runs the bases around the length of her steamy slit. Then it’s back to home plate. I zero in with a battery of pitches thrown by my tongue—curveball, slider, screwball, and change-up.
Based on Ashley’s moans and her combing her hands in my hair, all is forgiven for my detour to Lynn’s nips. Now, I’m not usually one to boast. But my skills on mounds are not limited to those found in the middle of baseball diamonds. A list of thankful ladies can attest to that.
Safe bet that Ashley would add her name to that roster. When my tongue inserts into her hot slot, she pulls my head toward her cunt, then pushes me away. Over and over, she fucks herself with my tongue. I’m an eager participant on this ride of bouncing my face against her squishiness. My mouth and chin are awash in her taste.
Ashley’s panting from above inspires my next move. My lips form a seal around her clit, and I suck in a tender vacuum. Her guiding hands press me hard against her. When my tongue flicks across that crazed clit, it’s all she wrote. Her butt lifts off the chair. Her gasps erupt into cries. Her thighs shudder and clamp against my ears.
Eventually, her thighs give my freedom back. Unobstructed hearing allows me to make out Leo’s grunts. He’s no longer chowing down on Lynn. He’s graduated to pumping her from behind as she’s folded over his desk. Seeing his khakis around his ankles and light blue shirt unbuttoned, I’m left to assume he felt quite spontaneous about changing positions. Lynn looks so hot in doggystyle on the desk. Her jugs hang down and sway with Leo’s fucking.
My whole face feels wet. Drenched, in fact. A forearm wipe across my mouth proves it—the dark spot left on my sleeve is large and looks oddly like South America.
Ashley is drained. Melted into the chair. That, my friend, is a truly wonderful sight. A woman satisfied. Deeply satisfied.
I yank off my jersey and pants to show the ladies that, unlike Leo Mackey, I have the decency to approach sex fully naked. And show off the muscles of an athlete. Boastful? Me? Ashley perks up. There’s still hunger in her. I have yet to quench all of her appetites.
“Care to have some fun on the desk?” I invite. “Or do I need to wait in line for Lynn?”
That gets her. She squints. No way will she sit this one out while Lynn gets all the dick. She swiftly shucks off her tank top. She goes to Leo’s desk, right next to her busty buddy, and leans over. Two babes bent over to get the good treatment. No spanking here at the security manager’s desk. Oh, no. You’ve already paid punishment for flashing me. Now you get the reward.
Both chicks have tan lines from bikini bottoms. Ashley’s ass is tighter. Not very gentlemanly of me to compare, but I can’t help it. At least I don’t vocalize it. Ashley’s journey from flasher bitch to fuckable hottie is worthy of song. Or a porno from the middle shelf. Her friend is all top shelf.
Ashley’s swollen pussy lips glisten. I slide my bat right into home and sink all the way in, so that my balls kiss her folds. She gasps. My cock drinks in the sultry night that is her cunt. It’s so deliriously luscious, I pound away while clutching her firm ass cheeks. She’s hit many aerobics classes, this one. It’s a nice, tight ass.
Funny how things turn out.
Not long ago, in the middle of the ninth inning, I was fuming and fantasizing about Ashley’s distracting tit. Then we argued in front of Leo Mackey if the flashing even happened. Then some flashing, some dick sucking, some titty fucking.
And now? Now, I’m plowing into her next to her comrade, Miss Melons, who is being happily humped by the head of security for the fucking Columbia Wrens.
Great guns, man. Events can certainly change on a dime.
Leo Mackey’s humping slower than I am, but it’s a respectable speed. I’m more caught up in the moment, I guess. I’ve never been this close to another couple going at it. What a bonus to see Lynn’s tits sway with the motion. Ripe melons swaying and bouncing. Nipples pointing down, as if to read some paperwork on the desk. Her shoulders curve down to her lower back, then up to creamy ass cheeks, between which Leo’s dick disappears only to reappear a second later. Her ass might not be as tight as Ashley’s but she’s got an insanely hot bod.
Lynn’s watching me fuck Ashley. Her eyes are intent on my cock’s lively thrusts. Not bored anymore are you, babe? Got the yawns fucked right outta ya.
Leo lets loose a combination grunt and snort. Pushes his dick to the hilt. Death grip on Lynn’s butt. Okay, more like an orgazmo grip. His face twists all crazy. Lynn’s hooters stop swaying. More grunts from Leo. And then, he slips out and staggers back to the chair that Lynn had sat on. He plops down with a thud.
Lynn flips over and sits on the desk’s edge. Her hand is busy between her legs as she watches the porno that Ashley and I are making. And, don’t you know it, I can’t help but stare back at the solo movie that is Lynn.
Yup, Lynn transfixes me again. What is that, the third time? Told you that she’s the one who should’ve flashed me back in the game. I’d be a goner for sure. I’d just drop the ball and walk away, powerless.
This time, I’m transfixed not simply by Lynn’s rack. It’s her holding one of them and squeezing it. It’s her other hand rubbing her pussy. The pussy that just held Leo’s pole until it blew its load into it. I love watching her pleasure herself.
At the same time, I keep up my end of the deal with Ashley. I don’t become a statue like the other times. Well, okay, I slow down a bit. I’m no longer pounding her pud. Ashley pushes back at me, making up for the slower speed. She’s pushing her slippery sheath on me, fucking me back. Actually, it’s really sexy. Watching Lynn and feeling Ashley thudding back at me.
The sexiness escalates with Lynn’s moaning. I love hearing her moans build into a beautiful climax. This is the song I’d want to hear after I register a strike three and make a batter sit down. This is the sound I’d want bursting from the loudspeakers.
This sound pushes me off the edge. I can no longer watch this blistering hottie squeeze her boobs and play with her clit.
I have to feel her.
With a squelch, I’m out of Ashley. I’m standing in front of Lynn, who’s not surprised at my swift action.
“Lay back,” I command.
No hesitation. She knows I want her like crazy. She wants me, too. It’s as clear as a bell, with her on her back on the desk, pussy on the edge, legs spread open. Home plate is right there for me. I pull up her tanned, silky legs. Position them so that they’re sticking up in a ‘V.’ Then I touch her pussy lips with my dickhead, and push inside.
Oh my. Oh, fuck yeah. She’s slicker than molasses in August. Leo’s goo is up in there somewhere, but I try not to think about it. Easy enough. Her cunt feels so good, I can easily forget about Leo Mackey. Man, I wanted this piece of ass since I walked into this office. And now her pussy’s mine. For now, at least. I rest her ankles on my shoulders and start to pump my sausage into this babe.
But I don’t merely want her pussy. I want to hold those guns. Those great guns. I lean forward so I can squeeze both of Jugs Mahoney’s voluptuous prizes. Her thighs easily flex to become sandwiched between my torso and hers. This angle allows me to sink even deeper into her sultry hot pussy.
Un-fucking-believable.
Her tits feel spectacular. Her pussy feels spectacular. Her face looking up at me with lust all over it looks spectacular.
Sorry, Ashley. You started this whole thing with flashing me. But now you’re completely forgotten. Your searing hot friend has 1,000 percent of my attention. Those tits. That pussy. Fucking outrageous, man. Outrageous. A woman who feels this good is a rare treat.
And I enjoy this treat immensely. It’s like I’m being rewarded for having to deal with Ashley’s fan interference two nights in a row. I had to focus past her to do the task at hand. My job. Close the ballgame down.
Now, this ballgame is much different. My balls slap her poon as I thrust into her. I already said that this position allows me to sink in real deep. It also gives me speed. I pound her strike zone over and over, the fastest pounding I can give her. Lynn’s eyes bug out. The desk scoots a little with every heave.
After awhile, I slow down. What’s the rush? I mean, how often do I get this quality of tail? Not like there are crowds of groupies for minor leaguers. My pace gets measured, solid thrusts into her sultry pussy. I focus more on the sensation of her hot cave and the fleshy mounds in my strong grip. Her hard nipples poke between my fingers. Sweat drips from my forehead.
This way lets me last longer, too. No way could I have kept up that sprint for long. My release comes in thunderous throbs that echo all the way to my ears. My fucking ears, man. Brings me back to the field when the crowd goes fucking bananas at a game-ending strike that I launch. My mighty spurts last a long time—way into extra innings. I clench harder onto Tits Almighty like they’re life preservers that’ll save me from this flood of cum.
When I finally let go, Lynn’s breathes, “Jesus. You like tits, huh?”
“Blame it on her,” I tilt my head toward Ashley, who’s sitting in the chair where she had been when I walked in. Leo’s kneeling in front of her, his head between her legs. “She flashed me.”
This feels a little like poetic justice. Ashley had taunted me during the game, but I end up coming into her companion in charms. I’m not sure what’s poetic or just about it, but it feels right. If had blasted Ashley’s tits with jizz, I can see the justice in that. That seems more like poetic justice.
But who cares? I fucked both of these babes. I enjoyed both sets of tits. That’s really what matters—not poetic justice.
Lynn and I sit on the desk and watch Ashley as she gets eaten out by Leo. As he licks her pussy, her hands are busy squeezing her tits. Her fingers rub her nipples.
And an idea pops in my brain. “C’mon,” I say to Lynn, “let’s help her out.”
I head over to one side of Ashley and crouch down like a catcher behind home plate. I gently remove her hand from the tit next to me so that I can suck on her nipple. Lynn agrees with my game plan. She appears on the other side of Ashley. Her head is next to mine as we both work on sucking Ashley’s nipples.
This strikes me as a more fitting end. My lips are wrapped around the nipple that flashed me in the two games. Ashley had flashed only one of her tits, and I’m latched on to that one. It feels good to crowd on Ashley and give her this. Leo on her pussy, Lynn and me on her boobs. Three mouths kissing and sucking. Three tongues licking.
And Ashley’s clearly loving it. Her moans are continuous, mixed in with words: “Oh God… oh God… feels so good… so fucking good… oh please… oh my God… oh oh oh! OH!”
As she moans and pants to an orgasm, the three of us keep it right up. She’s gone past being punished for her flashing. We’re now into the reward. After all, would all of this ever have happened if it wasn’t for her flashing? I’m sucking the very tit that flashed me, and I’m sure it feels no guilt for trying to screw me up in the game.
Ashley gradually settles back down, and I stand up. It’s really weird. We had started this off with accusations and arguments. Then more flashing. Then hot fucking action. Seriously hot fucking, man. Then now.
What do you say now? I’ve never been in an orgy before. The action is amazing and leads from one thing to the next.
But what about after the action is over? You could cut the awkwardness with a knife. What’s there to say?
Leo Mackey is the first to find something to say. “Jesus,” he proclaims. “My office ain’t never seen this much action.”
Our chuckles sound more courteous than sincere.
Leo Mackey keeps going: “I mean, that was downright bee-yoo-ti-ful. Ladies, ladies. You’re outta sight. I mean, that was”—he shakes his head—”whew! That was a-ma-zing.”
The ladies give him polite smiles and nods, but I’ve got to hand it to Leo. He’s genuine in his compliments. At least he broke the silence.
“See,” I say to Ashley, “now I’m glad you flashed me.”
“Me too,” she grins back.
“I mean,” I continue, “you didn’t fuck me up out the game. I still did okay. But you really fucked me up here.”
That gets a laugh along with “Yeps” and “True, true.”
We get dressed quickly. It’s as if we all recognize the awkwardness of the situation, but nobody wants to start a conversation. Sure, we could talk about the weather or politics or tomorrow night’s game between the Columbia Wrens and Charleston Mudcats. But nobody tries for that.
The ladies hug Leo, saying, “We had a great time.”
“Can I walk you guys out?” I ask them, not wanting to say good-bye just yet.
They nod, and we leave Leo back in his office to gaze at his desk with disbelief as he recalls the fucking that happened on it.
“How would you guys like to head back to my hotel room?” I ask. “I don’t this to end right here. I’d love to keep going.”
The women look at each other. Eyebrows raise. Some communication happens with just their eyes. They turn to me.
“Yeah, let’s do it,” Ashley says. “I don’t think we’re done either.”
I’m shocked. I fully expected them to say no. I’m happier than pig in a huge rain shower. As Leo Mackey might say.
“But not at your hotel,” Ashley adds. “The whole team is staying there, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I don’t wanna do the whole team, so—”
“Might be fun, though,” Lynn chimes in.
Even Ashley looks surprised at her busty friend’s remark. “Um, not tonight, okay? How ’bout my apartment? Go get your stuff, meet us in the parking lot.”
I nod like a bobblehead on five cups of coffee.
Back in the locker room, I suffer an inquisition by the Mudcats. I make up some bullshit about the flasher and I coming to an understanding. The “bitch” will never flash me—or any other pitcher—again. I’m not sure if my teammates buy it. I’m probably unsuccessful in covering my shit-eating grin. My blood boils with impatience. After taking a very quick shower and dressing in regular clothes, I tell my teammates I’m going to meet up with a buddy. See you guys later at the hotel.
I’m convinced that Ashley and Lynn aren’t waiting for me in the parking lot. Surely, they’ve said “Fuck that guy,” and peeled off in a tire-burning fury.
But, dream of dreams, there they are—waiting in front of the ticket booth. In Ashley’s Honda, we zip to her pad on the twelfth floor of an apartment high rise. It’s stylish, what you’d expect from a professional young Southern chick. The ladies head off to the shower together, to cool off they say. I strip down to my boxers and six on the balcony, sipping vanilla vodka and cranberry juice, and taking in the sultry night that is Columbia.
I imagine the two ladies in the shower, hands all over each other. Lathering each other up, squeezing tits, sliding hands across tummies and backs, rubbing between legs, gripping asses.
My cock grows hard from my visions. And anticipation of what is to come. I slip off my boxers and sit there bare-assed. It feels silly, sitting naked on the balcony by myself and looking out onto the city, sipping a drink that’s much more girly than my usual beer.
But I’m not alone for long. The sliding glass door announces a waft of chilled air and two naked babes. Ashley sits on my lap and goes for a ride. Her hair’s still wet and drips on my face and chest. She smells clean and fresh, and her pussy feels wonderful. Also wonderful are her boobs bouncing in front of my face. I first saw one from a distance in the game, but now, I have a front-row seat to her bouncing boobs. Better than a front-row seat—they’re inches from my eyes.
Ashley rides me for awhile, as Lynn watches and enjoys herself. Then the ladies switch, and Lynn’s pussy engulfs my happy cock. Her jugs now dance before my very eyes. I guess Ashley worked out her jealousy issues and decided to let me have an equal opportunity dick. Whatever the reasoning, her decision makes me the luckiest dude alive. The ladies take a few rotations on my lap, taking turns riding my dick as I watch their jiggling tits and hold them firmly while sucking their nipples like there’s no tomorrow.
My lips are latched onto Ashley’s nipple as I unload inside her. Pleasure rocks me as I pound cum into this babe’s pussy. Her hips stop heaving up and down, and they slowly grind on my lap. Holy shit, man, it feels good. Coming in a hot pussy, hands full of tits, nipple in your mouth—what’s not to love?
But as my orgasm fades into small pulses, disappointment comes in. I had such a great time being ridden by these two hotties on this balcony. I don’t want the moment to end. But I’m such a dumbass—why not make the next moment happen?
I let go of Ashley’s nipple, look up at her, and say, “How ’bout we head inside? I’m getting really hungry.”
There’s no surprise in her face. Maybe she’s used to guys saying they’re hungry. If she’s flashed many other guys, I’m sure she is used to that. “Oh yeah, sure. I can put something together.”
“No, no,” I reply. “I’m hungry for pussy.”
Now her eyebrows go up, and a smile spreads across her face. “Well, in that case, I don’t have to put anything together.”
So we head inside, into cooler air and Ashley’s bedroom. I nod to Lynn, saying, “You first, Jugs Mahoney.”
She cracks up—I haven’t called her that since Leo Mackey’s office, when I pointed my boner at her and suggested that she pull up her tank top. She laughs all the way to laying down on the bed. And then her laughter abruptly stops as I kiss her cunt.
“Oh God,” she moans. “That feels gooood.”
Yep, moans take over from the laughing. And the moans keep right on going as I kiss and lick and eat her out. I see Ashley join in the fun as she leans down and starts squeezing and sucking Lynn’s boobs.
“You ever suck on those before?” I ask.
Ashley looks sheepish as she’s sharing a dirty secret. “Yeah. A few times.”
I nod my appreciation and head back to business. The business of pleasing this busty beauty splayed out before me, legs spread wide.
My pussy eating becomes a marathon on the bed. Just like on the balcony, when Ashley and Lynn took rotations riding me. Now, they take turns laying before me, moaning as I lick their pussies, soaking from excitement, soaking cunt lips that I lap up, hard little nubs of their clits being flicked by the tip of my tongue. All while the other babe sucks their tits.
The moans from the women keep coming, over and over, and their cries rise up with orgasms on their multiple turns. It’s like when an audience cheers after I deliver a third strike on a batter and shut down the inning. This audience roars its approval again and again.
Eventually, Lynn sits up, fiery eyes burning at me. “I want your cock,” she says, a simple demand full of passion and desire.
Thankfully, I can provide. I’m good and hard again, having the recuperation period of snatch licking. I climb on top of Lynn. My boner slips right into her slippery warm cave. It’s amazing, this pussy. Sultry like the summer night. Immensely wet and slippery. It feels so fucking beautiful.
I pump into Lynn for awhile, loving her pussy and face looking up at me with a gorgeous expression of pleasure and passion. Much, much different than the bored expression she had way back in Leo Mackey’s office. I love her transformation.
Speaking of transformations, Ashley’s certainly changed. Her anger’s completely gone. As I leave Lynn and settle on top of Ashley, her expression is like Lynn’s—with passion and pleasure for the fucking. Ashley’s cunt feels just as good, with the heat and sultriness and slipperiness.
After some hot thrusting, I roll off of Ashley to take a break. Lynn’s right there, straddling me, humping my cock that feels like a big, ole’ fucking bat, hardest wood out there. Her tits bounce with her humping, transfixing me as I follow the dancing nipples. I grab hold of those sweet juicy melons and squeeze as she humps away.
The positions and women keep changing. I’m being humped by Lynn, then Ashley, then I’m pounding Lynn doggystyle, then I’m holding Ashley and fucking her while standing up, then I collapse on the bed and Lynn jumps on me, and I finally burst my load into her beautiful pussy.
We take a break with more vanilla vodka and cranberry juice. Ashley pulls out chocolate chip ice cream, and we gobble it up. We laugh and drink and eat, and it feels like we’re old buddies. Not like we fought over some silly titty flashing and fan interference. This is way far away from interference now. Now, it’s fan love. Even though they’re rooting for the opposite team.
Then it’s time for more pussy eating, and I chow down with enthusiasm. After a couple of rounds, I’m lapping up Lynn, and Ashley’s lips wrap around my cock. She sucks me as I slurp up Lynn. Then they switch, so that Jugs Mahoney takes my dick in her mouth and shows me some oral lovin’.
We fuck far into the night. The positions change and the women change back and forth. One minute, I’m heaving into Ashley. The next, I’m fucking Lynn’s tits. Then Ashley blows me. Then Lynn’s bent over and I’m pounding her with ass-slapping speed.
The two Southern belles drain my balls of every drop of cum. At some point, exhaustion slides me into a deep, deep sleep.
I awake confused. Where the fuck am I? The bedroom looks faintly familiar. Those light blue walls. Those prints of magnolia trees on the walls. The two hotties next to me are much more than faintly familiar. The events of last night flash in my head. Scenes of us in various positions. Many different ones. Fuck, what didn’t we do last night? Anal, a voice says. We never did anal. Well, okay. Who cares? I had my first threesome, and it was un-fucking-believable. The two babes look gorgeous. All naked with peaceful faces and boobs gently rising and lowering as they breathe. Fuck, man, I pounded these two hotties last night. Over and over. And they cried out in pleasure many, many times.
Because of me. Makes a man downright proud. Whew. Fuck, that was crazy.
I lean up to check the clock on the nightstand. Some practical part of me wants to check it.
11:48.
Fuck! Almost noon?! Wait. What day is it? It’s Columbia. Columbia, yeah. We have a four-game stint in Columbia. We played last night. Night before that, too. Two nights in a row. Then two day games. Saturday and Sunday. Yeah, that’s right. So… if we played two nights in a row, that would make today Saturday. Day game. 1:00.
“Oh, shit,” I grumble and sit up.
“What’s wrong?” Lynn asks sleepily.
“Day game. Fuck. Fuck me, I’m gonna be late.”
“No, no,” Ashley says. “Call in sick.”
“Sick?” I wonder out loud. The idea is appealing. Enormously appealing.
“Yeah,” Lynn agrees. “C’mon, let’s have more fun.”
I make a gut decision. “No, I can’t call in sick.” My brain says otherwise. My dick certainly does.
“Oh, too bad,” Lynn purrs, her hand feeling my chest. “I’d like to have more fun.”
“How about after the game?” Ashley asks.
That question blows me away. Much more powerful than her flashing a tit at me. “If you’re serious, I’d love to.”
“I’ll show you how serious I am,” she replies.
She slides down the bed. She slides down to my half-hard cock. In slow motion, her mouth opens and my cock enters and her lips close. Oh, fuck.
“No, no,” I say weakly. “I really have to go.”
“Just give us a few minutes,” Lynn counters. “We’ll give you a preview of tonight.”
Then she, too, slides down. Her hands cup my balls. She smiles at Ashley’s head slowly bobbing. Ashley notices Lynn, looks up at her, and keeps bobbing.
“I really should go,” I protest in a small voice.
Ashley lets go of my cock. “What’s stopping you?”
Lynn takes the opportunity of my free cock to lick it. And then both ladies are licking my hard pole like it’s a popsicle in the summer heat. I’m powerless.
“Um, your tongues are stopping me.” My voice sounds tiny.
“That’s all?” Lynn smiles. “Just two little tongues?” She licks up my shaft. “Big man like you?” Another long lick. “I mean, just look at this big cock.” A kiss on my dickhead. “This big cock can’t stand up to two little tongues?”
“Not for long,” I whimper.
I feel weak. All I can do is lay there and watch and feel. And, holy smokes, what a feeling. One mouth sucking your dick is wonderful. But two mouths? It’s mind-blowingly awesome. I stare in disbelief. They lick and lick. They suck. They smile back at me. One laps at my nuts while the other takes my schlong deep down in her throat. My pole is shared back and forth, given the most glorious tongue bath that I’ve ever had.
Finally, I cum while I’m inside of Lynn’s mouth. I groan a warning that I’m about to cum, and she replies with a simple “Mmm-hmm,” and locks her lips on my shaft. My spurts keep going, with thudding waves of bliss. It’s a release like back in Leo Mackey’s office and my orgasms last night, when I came in throbs that echoed to my ears. Tremendous orgasms, man. Tremendous. How is it that I still have cum left after last night?
I peel myself off the bed and walk around like a zombie. Instead of brains, I’m searching for my clothes. Lynn, smiling, hands them to me, saying, “They were in the living room.” I nod and put them on.
I finally start to perk up with a few sips of the coffee that Ashley makes for us. That, and fresh air helps as we pile into Ashley’s car and she drives us to the Columbia Wrens stadium. I dread seeing Frank and getting his manager’s lecture about partying too hard before a game. The ladies drop me off at the ticket booth and kiss me goodbye.
“See you here after the game?” Lynn asks. “I’d like to have some more fun tonight. You up for it?”
How could I possibly be up for it? I feel completely drained. “Of course,” I reply. I’ll figure it out. I’ll down tons of energy drinks. Anything to have a repeat performance of that beautiful orgy.
Frank glares at me when I show up in the locker room. “I thought you were more professional than that,” he says with a voice and face that could shatter a bat.
My grizzled manager’s surely seen plenty of guys who come in after a long night of drinking and nursing a hangover. But I’m not even close to that. I have no hangover at all—we didn’t drink a ton of vodka last night. Still, I can’t exactly confess what I was up to. As much as I want to regale him and my teammates with the tale of an epic threesome, about all of the positions and pumping and the many times the two babes cried out for more. But I’m not going to tell one peep about it. It just doesn’t seem right.
“Sorry, Frank,” I say. “I made a mistake, okay? I own up to it. I’ll be ready for the ninth inning, promise.”
“You better be,” he states flatly with his arms folded over his chest. “You know, there are lots of other guys who’d love to be a closer on this team.”
“Maybe so. But they’re not as good as me.”
Frank blasts me with another glare. “Get your fucking uniform on.”
Showering and putting on my uniform make me feel better. As do a couple of hamburgers and an energy drink. The game starts, and I’m in the bullpen with the other pitchers, all of them peppering me with questions about what I did last night.
“Just hung out with a couple of friends,” I shrug.
As I stretch, memories of that hanging out with friends pop in my head. Different positions. The feeling of their pussies, their skin, their tits, their mouths. Unbelievable. How did that happen? How did the events go from tit flashing in last night’s game to confrontation in Leo Mackey’s office to more flashing to a foursome fucking with Leo to a night of threesome fucking in Ashley’s apartment? Not to mention a double blowjob this morning? How the fuck did that happen?
The tit flashing and confrontation, I can understand. But what was the trigger for the rest? I’d love to think it was me flashing my dick at them, that my dick was so hot that it gave them steaming panties. Or maybe it was Ashley’s jealousy when Lynn flashed her jugs at me. Or maybe it was something crazy in the sultry air. Something about a hot summer night at the old ballgame. Maybe Ashley and Lynn are groupies for baseball players instead of rock stars. Maybe they get all hot and bothered seeing guys in uniforms swinging a bat and throwing a fastball. But then, wouldn’t they want to fuck guys on their home team, rather than the opponent?
Ah, who the fuck knows. Certainly not me. Those are all just guesses. And I’ve got to get my mind on preparing for my job.
All my preparation falls apart when I reach the mound in the ninth inning.
Ashley’s in the same seat that she was in last night. A few rows up from behind home plate. This time, I notice Lynn sitting next to her.
I don’t have a chance.
The only thing the two hotties flash is a smile. Big, toothy smiles. They wave at me energetically. They don’t have to flash their boobs.
I’m sunk.
My pitches are soft lobs. When the first batter gets a double, Don runs out to me from behind home plate and pushes up his catcher’s mask and asks, “What’s going on, man? You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just a little blip.”
No, it’s not just a little blip. The second batter slams a big, fat homerun off my lame pitch. And with the two runs that brings in, the Columbia Wrens win the game.
I slump back to the dugout amid cheers from the crowd. I’d much rather hear boos. A small part of me is cheering that the game is over and I can meet up with Ashley and Lynn. I try to keep that small part hidden as I enter the dugout and my teammates shake their heads in disappointment.
Then I let that part out as Lynn and Ashley grin at me next to the ticket booth, and we get into Ashley’s car, with Lynn directing me to sit in the back seat with her.
“You guys are evil,” I tell them.
“How so?” Ashley asks.
“Sitting in those seats, waving at me.”
“Hey, we were just watching a baseball game,” Lynn says with a grin and pulls up her snug tank top. “Where’s the harm in that?”
I stare at her big, beautiful tits bouncing free. “Nothing at all,” I reply and squeeze and suck on her jugs all the way to Ashley’s apartment.
And then, an afternoon and evening of epic fucking commences. This time, though, I set the alarm clock for tomorrow morning.
Although, that won’t help me at all if these two hot Southern belles sit in the same seats for the Sunday game.