3 comments/ 32991 views/ 0 favorites Put Me In, Coach By: LadyAria The soft wet lapping of water against the boat echoed the slurping sound of full purple lips rapped around the massive black cock beside him. Though he tried not to openly stare, he was mesmerized by the young female swallowing McKinnie whole. Cheeks stretched to distortion, she rocked her open mouth up and down while her chocolate eyes watered. The swollen veins threatened to pop the flimsy jeweled choker encircling her delicate ebony neck. Her tiny hands laid flat on his oversized muscular thighs balancing her as she drilled down sucking him deeper. Touching her lips to the tiny curls of his pubic bone, her eyes flew open wide as she began to gag. Thrown back from the explosion, she was bathed as the twelve inch cock shot cum into her open mouth and over her face. The white globs slid down the blackness of her smooth cheek. Reaching up to rub in jizz, she winked at him as she licked a droplet from her thick upper lip. "Yo!" an irritated voice snapped his attention forward. "Are you wanting another dance or to suck his dick?" The light skinned Hallie Barry look-alike glared at him from over her shoulder. Her full round cheeks still hung over his lap as the black thong disappeared into the slit of her bald cunt. Placing his hands on her ass, he pulled her strap to the side to look at the satin brown inner lips. He ran his finger over the soft skin enjoying the sensation until he dipped deeper into the hole. The bumpy ridges of her dry pussy killed the hard-on the darker sister had created. Pushing the trifling whore off his lap, he tossed her a fifty. He'd wait until McKinnie was done with the Africa Queen. "Get off me," he replied. "Fucking sandpaper pussy." He stood up and took the two steps to the door. Behind him, he could hear another player encouraging his "Hallie" to come dance for him. Shaking his head, he ducked through the small frame of the yacht doorway. In the hallway, half naked beauties smiled at him as they chased each other with cans of Ready whip. One girl, with light brown braids dressed in shells, stopped a few feet in front of him. She giggled before she squirted cream on her left breast. Then, slowly, she licked down the full D cup until she closed her lips over the dark brown nipple. Slipping out wet and erect, she flicked the end. Satisfied with the tease, she sprinted down the hall to the master suite. His cock nudged him forward following the sound of clinking shells. In the master suite, the shelled girl weaved in out the crowd like an eel. The bulk of his teammates and friends were gathered in the room as some party goers tapped black garbage bags to the floor. One guy, with a southern accent, called everyone's attention to the middle of the room. Distracted by the announcement, she paused within arm's reach. He caught her about the waist. Warm and the color of melted caramel, she wiggled as he scooped her up. "You wanna play, Troy Williamson?" she chirped in his ear. "How do you know me?" "I'm a football fan." "What's yours?" "Jamaica." "For real?" he frowned doubtfully. "Shanita," she answered looking around. "But don't tell anyone." "How much to play?" he asked eyeing her bare tits. "For you," she smiled. "A kiss." Coco butter filled his nose as he kissed her deeply. Her tongue twisted and danced in his mouth. She tasted sweet like sugar. Breaking the kiss, he scanned the room for a place to take her when the southern accent caught his attention again. "Gentleman, I present to you, Raven and Destiny, for your all girl viewing pleasure." He looked back down as she snuggled into the crook of his arm. Her face was angelic in the soft light of the room. She would do. Looking for the African queen, he wanted to take them both back to his hotel room for some more private fun. Hopefully, he could find the Ebony goddess. "These are my girls," she whispered seeing he was distracted. "Watch. It'll get you so fucking hot." He turned back to the center of the room. A curvy white girl with blonde hair pulled off her bra. Her large fake breast defied gravity as they barely bounced out of their constraints. Meanwhile, a short dark skinned honey stripped off her white bikini and tossed it into the crowd. Both girls kneeled down on the garbage bags as the Southern Guy tossed Willie a bottle of lubricant gel. Stepping forward, Willie took his place between the two girls. In response, the crowd cheered as one of the girls produced a double headed dildo from a bag on the floor. Willie smiled as he dribbled lube on the cracks of the two contrasting asses. In response, the girls giggled as he worked the lube between their cheeks. Circling his large black thumbs over the pink and brown sphincters, he massaged each asshole. Like flowers, they bloomed open taking in the thick knot of his knuckles. He dug deeper into the tight rings as the girls moaned their praises. Ready to blow his wad, Willie popped out his right thumb to grab the dildo. Shaking, he inserted the head first into the Raven who grunted as she slipped over the large purple phallus. Placing the other end in Destiny, the girl bucked against the intrusion driving it deeper into Raven. In turn, Raven pushed into the motion plunging the dildo back into Destiny. The two girls moaned and sweated as they smacked hard against each other's asses. Primal and raw, the two clanged together in a steady beat of wanton lust and need. Raven, coming close to finishing, snaked her hands around Destiny's alabaster thigh's as she screamed out for her to drive harder. In response, the crowd chanted, "Harder, Harder, Harder..." The two girls struggled to fuck each other with every muscle in their bodies. The slap of their bare flesh and the suction of their lubed asses drowned out the frenzy of the crowd. Finally, Raven bucked back her head as her pussy shot her orgasm on the back of Destiny's thighs and knees. The sensation sent Destiny into a seizure like fit that closed the crowd around her as her fingers tore mercilessly into her sloppy pink pussy. Raven, pulling out the dildo, dropped her face into Destiny spread cunt licking her over the screaming edge. After five long minutes of ear piercing ecstasy, Destiny pulled Raven into her weak arms for a long wet thank you kiss. The crowd cheered before breaking up desperate to pair off. The guys, outnumbering the girls two to one, began approaching the staff. In their need, wads of money began waving like flags about the room. Immediately, Jamaica slipped out of his arm chasing down the largest bundle of money. Waitresses scurried like scared children as the pros played the crowd for their last dime. Troy, frustrated from the lack of release and the rising price of pussy, pushed through crowd of friends fucking prostitutes against the wooden panel walls of the yacht. Entering into the hall, he saw his African Queen come out one of the far bedrooms. Her dress still open to her waist and cum in her short curly hair. "Hey!" he called out to her as she headed for the deck. "Yes," she replied. The look in her eyes when she turned said she remembered him. "Where you going?" "For some fresh air," she replied. "You need something?" "Yes," he winked. "A little bit of you." "Okay, join me up on deck." Following her to the deck, he realized they were pulling back into the port. She looked back at him with an expression of shock. It had only been forty-five minutes and they had paid for a three and half hour ride. Busted! was all he could think as the cop cars and swirling lights came into focus on the banks of the lake. He slipped his arm around her shoulders as she pulled her dress back over her exposed breast. "Say you're my girlfriend," he whispered. "We'll just walk off together and get in my limo. They can't do anything." "Yes," she blinked back tears of fear. "I got a son. I can't be arrested." "Shhh!, it will be fine," he soothed her. "Everything will be fine. We'll both do each other a favor." "Yes," she shook her head in agreement. As they pulled into the dock, the two stepped off the boat. The police bullied them and asked a few questions. However, they were more interested in the group in the heart of the yacht. The sounds of pleasure and surprise still echoed from below desk as the party was being broken up. After convincing the officer of their utter ignorance, he agreed to let them go. Taking her hand in his, Troy lead his African Queen to the safety of the limo. His ebony goddess seemed smaller in the dim light. Reaching out, he pulled her into his lap and kissed her shoulder. Silent, she leaned back against his chest and spread her legs in submission. With one hand, he pushed the button to open the sun roof. The cool night air brought her purplish nipples tight. The moonlight reflected off her skin silver. Her breast were small like a dancer's and her stomach tight. His hand moved up her torso to find the tiny choker. Yanking it off, he watched as the tiny blue jewels trickled down her black skin and scattered across the floor. She breathed deeply. He wasn't sure if it was lust or fear. Regardless, the sound brought his erection stabbing into her ass. He pushed her forward onto the floor in front of the seat. He ripped away the flimsy white dress and threw it to the side. Her pussy lips were dark and wet. Slipping his fingers into her, he moved in and out as she flexed playfully. "You like that?" "Yes," she whispered. "You want me to fuck you?" "Yes," she whispered again. "Louder," he commanded. "You want me to fuck you?" "Yes," she answered louder. "Louder," he directed. "Beg me to fuck you." "Fuck me," she said softly. "Louder," he growled pinching her clit. "Beg me to fuck you" "Fuck me," she screamed. "Fuck me! Please! Fuck me!" Satisfied, he pulled out his thick cock and pushed the head into her slit. She panted as she pushed back trying to force him deeper. The satin wetness felt like a vice against the swollen bulb tip of his rod. A pro, she was skilled with the use of her pussy muscles. "You want it deeper." "Yes," she begged. "Deeper." "Play with your clit for me. I want to hear you cum." Feeling her fingers move the lips of her cunt, she began to moan as he rocked slowly into her hot slit. With certain restraint, he inched deeper and deeper into her until he had impaled her completely. Her velvet wetness wrapped around him clutching and releasing. Squeezing and massaging his cock, her pussy moved in ways he never knew humanly possible for a woman. Consumed by her smell, her feel and the groans of her need, he pulled out and drove in again and again. Matching him thrust for thrust, she bucked and moaned as he ripped into her aching hole. The intensity of their coupling shook the Limo violently. Screaming out in release, she ripped wads of carpet from the floorboard crying out from the power of him. He pulled out jacking his cock in madness. "Turn around! I want to cum on your face!" he cried. Immediately, she spun to met the ejaculation. The hot creamy splatter struck her nose, lips, necks and breast. Dripping over her body, she stuck out her tongue to lick the final drips from the tip. She rolled the salty taste on her tongue before collapsing on the floor. Once he came back around, he nudged her delicate form on the floor with his shoe. "Wake up," he spoke softly down to her. " I want some more." Put Me In, Coach! This story was co-authored by MarshAlien and tickledkitty and is our entry for the 2008 Nude Day Contest. We hope you enjoy it. Please vote! * OK, so the honeymoon was over. That much was fairly obvious. I knew it would happen. I just didn't think it would happen quite so soon. We'd been married a little over a year—my second, Jake's first. I knew he loved me, and he was a wonderful father to my son, Michael. Jake just didn't seem that interested in sex anymore. No, strike that. He was interested in sex. He just wasn't interested in making love. "Well, what do you think the problem is, Carly?" My long-time client and friend, Lisa Quimby, looked up at me from the shampoo bowl. She blinked as a fine spray of water misted her face. Ok, so it wasn't that fine. I grabbed a towel and blotted her face. "Sorry," I said. "I'm not sure, but I have a pretty good idea. Baseball." "Baseball?" Lisa looked at me quizzically. "Yeah, he's coaching Mike's team." I finished rinsing Lisa's hair, wrapped a towel around it, sat her up and told her to head back over to my station while I rinsed the bowl. A moment later, I removed the towel and began to comb out her hair. "So, why is coaching a problem?" she asked. "It's not the coaching, really. Jake's good at it, and I'm proud of him for doing it. The problem is that he's gone almost every night with practice and everything else, and then they have games on the weekends. He's also working full time. He comes home exhausted. He eats and has a shower and then passes out. When we do have sex, which isn't very often, it's usually quick and to the point. Before we got married, we couldn't keep our hands off each other, and it wasn't even all sexual, you know? I miss that. Now I get a little peck on the cheek or a slap on the ass in passing, and that's it." I paused. "So, what are we doing with this?" I said, pointing the rattail comb at her head and meeting Lisa's gaze in the mirror. "This." She held up a magazine open to a red carpet photo of Jessica Simpson in an evening gown, long blonde curls cascading over one shoulder. "Make me look like this." "Oh, wait," I said to the short, round forty-something with chin-length hair. "Let me just get my magic wand." Reaching behind me, I pretended to pull the wand out of my ass. Lisa threw her head back and laughed. "Bitch." I grinned at her in the mirror. "So, what are we doing?" "The usual. Just stack it a bit more in the back." Grabbing my scissors, I set to work, sending little chunks of wet hair flying. "So, what are you going to do about Jake?" Lisa asked. "I don't know. Find some ways to spice things up, I guess. I mean, I'm only thirty-four. I'm not ready for a life of celibacy. I just want a little romance, you know? Some kind of emotional connection." "Yeah. I can relate." Our eyes met in the mirror. Shit. I sure as hell didn't want to end up like Lisa. She and her husband, Nick, hadn't had sex in years. I couldn't understand why she stayed with him. Lisa thought for a moment and then said, "Maybe you could show more interest in stuff he likes." "You mean like baseball? Because that seems to be pretty much the only thing he's interested in lately." "Sure, why not? Don't you like it?" "It's okay, I guess." "Do you ever go to his games?" she asked. "Yeah, I've been to a few. For Mike. Sometimes it's hard with work." "Maybe you should go to practice sometimes during the week too. Maybe that's the only way you're going to be able to spend time with him. Mike too, you know?" "Maybe." I was tired of talking about it. "So how's it going with Nick?" Now it was Lisa's turn to sigh. "Oh, you know..." My mind wandered as she continued to talk. I was good at that—keeping half my mind on what someone was saying while still being occupied with my own thoughts. Lisa stopped talking when I turned on the blow dryer. I supposed she was right. Maybe if I started making more of an effort to spend time with Jake, he'd take more interest in me. Over the next couple weeks, I did just that. I started going to practices two or three times a week. Jake didn't comment on my presence but didn't seem displeased by it. Sometimes, I'd bring snacks or drinks. I'd sit on the bench and watch or sometimes chat with the boys. Mike always seemed happy to see me there, especially if I brought food. There was one boy in particular whom I really enjoyed. Brian Nutter. God, he was adorable. Tall and muscular with blue eyes and blond hair and dimples—an angel child. He was usually sitting on the bench, so we talked quite a bit during my visits. Intelligent and personable, he'd always greet me with "Hey, Mrs. Peters," his cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. It had been a long time since a boy had had a crush on me, and I thought it was very sweet. At some point, Jake became aware of the situation with Brian and began calling him my "little boyfriend." "He thinks you're a MILF," Jake, always the smart ass, said one night over dinner. "Shut up!" I giggled, lobbing my pizza crust at him, hitting him on the shoulder. He just laughed. "Who?" Mike asked. "Brian Nutter," replied Jake. "I said shut up," I barked with a pointed glare in Jake's direction. "Mom's got a crush on the Nutter?" Now Mike was laughing too. "Michael." I aimed the warning glare his way. "Naw, Nutter Butter's got a crush on her. He likes older women, apparently." Jake grinned and winked at me. "No shit? Oops." Mike blushed and looked down at his plate. "Michael, do I need to get a bar of soap? It's been a while, but I'm sure I haven't lost my touch." "Sorry, Mom. It slipped." "Don't let it happen again." I hoped this little digression would deter Jake from continuing with the Brian thing. No such luck. "You love it, don't you honey? You're not fooling me." "Love what, Jake?" "All those young boys slobbering after you, staring at your boobs. All that." Mike was laughing again, relieved, I'm sure, to have the attention deflected from his little faux pas. "Yeah, Mom. They do think you're hot." He paused to roll his eyes. "Don't they know how old you are? Jeez." Jake roared at this and slapped Mike on the back. Feigning annoyance, I stood and began to clear the table. "Aw, c'mon, Carly." Jake made a grab for me, which I neatly sidestepped on my way to the sink. "We're just kidding." When I didn't reply, he said, "Hey, maybe Nutter will ask you to the prom when the time comes." More laughter. Mike was practically rolling on the floor. "That's fine," I declared. "You two just go ahead and yuk it up at my expense." With that, I slammed the dishwasher shut and walked out of the room amidst more laughter. "My mom, the cradle robber," I heard Mike say just before I was out of earshot. I wasn't really mad, though I wished Jake hadn't said all that in front of my son. I decided to have a talk with Mike later about not repeating stuff he heard inside our home. While the guys watched TV, I took a shower, shaved my legs, slathered on moisturizer, and styled my hair into soft brown curls. I slipped into one of Jake's white dress shirts and nothing else. The tails were long enough to hide my nakedness. When Mike came in to say good night, I was propped against some pillows in bed reading a book. As he leaned down to kiss my cheek, I grabbed his arm. "Listen, you know better than to repeat any of that dinnertime conversation outside of this house, right?" He rolled his eyes and pulled away. "Duh." "Michael." He was on his way through the doorway and turned back. "I'm not a baby, Mom. Stop treating me like one." I checked myself from telling him to stop acting like one and sighed, returning to my book. A half hour later, Jake came into the bedroom, fresh from the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. He grinned when he saw that I was wearing his shirt, a particular turn on for him, and flopped down next to me. "I thought you were mad at me," he murmured, stroking his fingers up my leg toward my crotch. Kicking his hand away, I said, "I am mad at you," and returned my eyes to my book, trying not to smile. "Why? You know it's true." "What's true, Jake?" "That Nutter has the hots for you." "Oh, stop it. He's just a kid, and it's just a little crush." "So, you admit it." "Why'd you have to bring it up in front of Mike?" "I don't know. Because it's funny, I guess." He pulled his towel off and tried to push my legs apart. "No." "Aw, c'mon." "I'm trying to read." He grabbed the book and tossed it on the floor. "You can read anytime." "I want to read now," I said, leaning down and reaching for the book. Unfortunately, this also revealed that I wasn't wearing panties, lending credence to Jake's assertion that I did not, in fact, want to read. He laughed at me again, of course. Now I was really getting annoyed. His plan of attack, apparently, was to ignore my protestations, because he slid his hands down my legs and back up and pressed a wet kiss to my upper thigh. "Mmmm, you smell good," he growled, and nipped my skin with his teeth. "Ouch! Stop it." After some ineffectual struggling on my part, Jake wrapped his big arms around me and nuzzled my neck. He knew he could get to me that way, but I gritted my teeth, determined not to respond. After a while, just as my resolve was about to crumble, he stopped and sat up. "Maybe you'd be more interested in your little boyfriend, huh?" That comment earned him an elbow in the ribs. "Gross! Just stop it. He's a kid, for fuck's sake. But you know what? It really is nice to have someone pay attention to me once in a while. Someone who's not grabbing for my crotch first thing." I thought maybe I'd gone too far until I looked up at his face and saw the amused grin, the twinkling blue eyes. No pussy for you tonight, mister, I thought. Looking pointedly down at his erect cock and back up to his face, I grinned myself. I had him. "Ah, so you do like him," Jake said, nodding and making a play for my crotch again. "He is awfully cute." I shrugged and slapped Jake's hand away. "Too bad you never let him play." Never one to shrink from talking baseball, even in the grip of arousal, Jake said, "Brian's a great kid. Good attitude. He's always begging me, 'Put me in coach. Put me in.' But..." "But what?" "He gets to first base about as much as I do." Jake thought this was a great joke and chuckled at his own wittiness. He leaned close again and flicked the tip of his tongue in my ear. I rolled my eyes. "What the hell does that mean?" "It means he can't hit." Crossing my arms, I said, "Maybe the problem's really with you." Jake raised his eyebrows. "Are we still talking about Nutter?" "Yeah. Maybe he just needs better coaching. Maybe," I paused for emphasis. "Maybe he needs to learn to take his time and think about what he's doing." "Mm-hmm," Jake hummed against my ear and sucked my earlobe into his mouth. "Jake." "He gets the same coaching everyone else does. I can't help it he can't hit." Jake ran the tip of his tongue along my jaw line to my lips and kissed me long and hard, forcing his tongue between my lips. I sucked it hard while running my hands down his back and squeezing his ass, delighting in his moan of pleasure. Then, I pulled back. "I'll tell you what, Jake. When Brian gets to first base, you'll get to first base. How's that? And if he hits really well, he could get to second base, or third base, or even home, right?" "Honey, the kid's not going to be hitting for power," he whined. "He'll be lucky to hit singles." He had surrendered. I decided to be magnanimous in victory. "Well, you'll just have to make sure he gets into -- what do you call it, scoring position?" He groaned. "You know that we're contending for the league title this year. It's not going to be fair to the other guys for me to just stick Brian in." "If you teach him to hit, you might put him in more, right?" "It's possible," he admitted. "Although he's kind of a liability in the field, too." "Still," I said, "you're not about to rule it out." He moved toward me again and I felt his breath in my ear. "Oh no, fella," I said, slapping him on his thigh. "You just struck out. I hear it happens to the even the best hitters. Keep practicing, though." I returned to my book, a smile dancing on my lips. I could already feel a tingle between my legs. This was going to be fun. Poor Michael was caught in the middle. He came home exhausted from practice one day and while Jake went down to collect the empty trash cans at the end of the driveway, I quizzed him about the team's workouts. "Man, it's like Jake is like, like . . ." "Obsessed?" I asked. "Yeah. Obsessed with the championship. Can't you talk to him?" "Me? Talk to him about baseball? I don't think so, honey. What do the other guys think?" He rolled his eyes and I laughed. "Sweetie, you've won a title before but most of these guys haven't, have they?" "Well, no." "So they're pretty pumped, aren't they? Maybe I need to talk to you. This might be their big chance. Jake doesn't want to let them down." "I guess. But if he thinks he's gonna get Nutter to hit, he can think again. He couldn't even hit in T-ball." "Now, be nice," I told him. "You know you don't want to let them down either, right?" "I guess," he repeated. "That's my boy," I said as I ruffled his hair. "Now go take a shower and I'll make your favorite for dinner." "Cheese dogs? All right!" "Cheese dogs?" Jake asked when he saw me preparing dinner a few minutes later. "What did I do now?" I shook my head. "Mike says you'll never get Brian to hit. I figured this is the last wiener I might get 'til the end of the summer. Practice must be pretty hard for you too, huh?" I took one of the frozen hot dogs lying on the counter and pretended to deep throat it. Jake growled and headed for a shower of his own. It was all I could do not to break out laughing. But I was tingling again. The season started the following week. Michael had a big smile after the first game. He had pitched the White Sox to an easy 10-2 win. He was smiling after the second game too. Jimmy Cox had pitched. Michael had played centerfield and had hit two home runs in a 9-1 win. The week after that, though, both of my men were smiling when they came home after the game. Jake, in fact, had a very odd leer on his face. "How'd it go?" I asked in all innocence. "Easy-peasy," Mike said. "Eight to nothing." "Take a look," Jake said. He tossed a book onto the kitchen counter. I glanced down at it. "This is gibberish," I pointed out. "Mom!" You would think I had just asked my son to pose for a picture with his grandparents. "It's a scorecard." "A scorecard?" I asked. "It's got everything that happened in the game," Jake said. "Show her what happened in -- oh, I don't know, the fifth inning, Mike." "See, Mom?" Mike pointed to some of the gibberish. "Top of the fifth. I got the first guy, their third baseman, to ground out to the second baseman. That's scored four to three. "Four to three?" "The second baseman is 'four,' and the first baseman is 'three.'" He shook his head. Mothers were just so useless sometimes. "So the second guy was their pitcher. He struck out. That goes as a 'K.' And then their shortstop struck out. Another 'K.' Three up, three down." "And the bottom of the fifth?" Jake prompted. Mike gave him a puzzled look. She couldn't possibly be interested in that. But he shrugged and turned the notebook over to another page filled with similar hieroglyphics. "We batted in the bottom of the fifth. Andy struck out and Jimmy got to first on an error. Then Brian hit into a fielder's choice. And then --" "Brian Nutter?" I asked. "Yeah. A real slow roller to the shortstop. If Jimmy hadn't tripped, he would have been safe at second." "So what's a fielder's choice?" I asked, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. "Their shortstop had a play at second or first," Mike explained, "and he chooses to get the out at second. Six to four." "So this symbol here means that . . ." "Brian's on first," Mike said. "You know, if you're this interested, Mom, you should really come to the next game." "The boys love having you there," Jake said. "Don't remind me," Mike said. "'Wow, is that your mom?' I mean, it's not like you're twenty or anything." Jake and I both stifled laughs as Mike returned his attention to the book. "So anyway, Joey Bush pops out for the third out. And at the end of that inning the score was us six and them nothing. See? Right there." "I see," I said. I felt Jake's hand on my ass as he slid by me to head for the showers. "First base, babe," he whispered into my ear. Jake found me later sitting on the couch in the family room watching TV after Mike had gone to bed. Squeezing in beside me, he took the remote from my hand, clicked off the TV, and tossed it on the coffee table. I closed my eyes, breathless and aching in anticipation, as Jake wrapped an arm around my shoulders and brushed his lips against mine. Then his lips claimed mine again, longer this time, pressing harder, sucking slightly. I remembered our first kiss and wondered if you can ever really go back there, back to that starting place, once you've gone so far beyond. Our lips parted, tongues dancing, tasting, entwining. Jake kept his arm around my shoulders, his other hand cupping the side of my neck, the thumb stroking slowly up and down under my jaw. The kisses deepened even more, until it was hard to tell where my flesh ended and where Jake's began. My fingers curled in his hair as he kissed my neck. "Oh, God, I've missed this," I murmured, eyes closed, head lying against the back of the sofa. "Mmmm. Kissing?" Jake asked against my throat. "Yesss." He lifted his head and looked at me. "I kiss you." "Not like this," I whispered. Jake gazed into my eyes a moment longer. What was that look I saw? Sadness? Regret? I didn't have time to dwell on it because he dipped his head and captured my bottom lip between his own, holding it there, stroking the tip of his tongue over it. Releasing it with a delicious little pinch of his own lips, he caught it again, this time in a full kiss, sliding his tongue over my tingling and swollen lower lip and into the wet cavern of my mouth. We must've kissed for hours, with Jake showing admirable restraint, the likes of which I'd never seen before. It reminded me of being in high school, when I'd had marathon make-out sessions with my boyfriends, never crossing that invisible line between bases. Afterward, I'd stare at myself in the mirror, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed, red lips looking raw and engorged, the surrounding skin pink with beard burn, wondering when I'd let him go further. Wanting to but being afraid. When Jake reached for my breasts, I pulled away slightly. "Hey, I thought first base was French kissing," I murmured, my voice thick with desire. Jake smiled. "Things have changed, love. First base is now kissing and fondling over clothes." When I looked doubtful, he said, "What? You don't trust me? I Wiki'd it. I swear." He laughed. "I knew you'd question me, so I wanted to be sure. Second base is hand jobs, third is oral, and home is...well, home." "You've got it all figured out then." I grinned. "Mm-hmmm," he hummed against my lips. I found myself unable to stay away from the games from then on. For the most part, Brian didn't get in, but not for lack of coaching. Mike reported that even with the season halfway over, Jake was still drilling the team in hitting and fielding. Put Me In, Coach! Brian did make it into the late innings of a rout of the Cardinals and hit a long fly to right field that had Jake screaming, "Get out of here, ball!" It settled into the right fielder's glove, but Jake turned to me afterward and gave me a thumbs up. I felt myself squirming in my seat. The game after that was the first one we lost. Brian once again got to play in the late innings because the Tigers were ahead by eight. With two outs in the sixth, he hit a rocket over the first baseman's head. The boys were all on their feet. It was his first true hit of the year. I found myself disappointed when he stopped at first. It looked to me like it wouldn't have even been close at second. Damn that first base coach. But the very next pitch bounced in the dirt in front of the catcher and skipped past him to the backstop. "Go!" the first base coach screamed. Brian didn't need any encouragement, though. He was already headed toward second. I was standing on my feet in the bleachers screaming my head off. "Go, go, go! Way to go, Bri! Way to take that extra base! Scoring position, baby!" I sat down and recognized Brian's parents staring at me. "Hi," I said, holding out my hand. "I'm Carly Peters. My husband Jake is the coach and my son Michael is the pitcher. All the boys are really excited to see Brian doing so well." His mother smiled. "He's like a whole new kid this year," she said. "Your husband is doing a fantastic job with him." "He does love the game," I agreed, not needing to hide my smile. It was probably fortunate for any future relationship I was going to have with Mr. and Mrs. Nutter that Alex Poke grounded out to the pitcher for the third out. That evening, we let Michael go off to the movies with some of his friends. It was the least that we could do to help with the pain of their first loss. Jake seemed a little subdued during dinner. After straightening up the kitchen, I found him sitting in the family room reading the newspaper. "Honey?" "Hmm?" He looked up absently. "Aren't you forgetting something?" He grinned and folded the paper, letting it slide to the floor. "Nope. C'mere." Straddling his legs, I sunk down on his lap, resting my hands on his shoulders. "You okay?" I asked. "Sure. Why?" "You just seem kind of quiet." "Just thinking." "About the game?" "Yeah." He sighed. "Wondering what I could've done better. I don't like losing either." "Oh, honey." I leaned forward and kissed him. "You did your best. You can't win every time." "Why not?" The grin was back. "It doesn't work that way. I think I can make you forget all about it though." I kissed him again, deeper this time, fluttering the tip of my tongue across his lips. "For a little while, anyway." "I bet you can," he whispered, wrapping his arms around my waist, drawing me closer. "I know I can." I giggled, settling myself against that hard package in his pants. The kisses quickly became hot and passionate, searing a path straight to my pussy, where the liquid warmth melted and ran out of me. I reached for the hem of Jake's t-shirt and jerked it up and over his head, while he fumbled with the buttons on my blouse, finally tearing it. A button shot across the room and hit the wall. "Jake," I gasped. His mouth was on my neck, open and hungry, the ruined blouse all but forgotten on the floor. I loved the rasp of his razor stubble over my skin as he kissed and licked and sucked his way down my chest to the cleft between my breasts. His tongue pushed into it, and a low growl erupted from his throat. He slid his hands up my sides to push my abundant mounds together, rubbing his face against my flesh before pressing his hot mouth to a turgid nipple, wetting the lace of my bra with his tongue. Sharp teeth clamped tight around the aching bud and pulled. Reaching behind me, I released the hooks on my bra and shrugged out of it, tossing it aside. Jake's mouth was on me again in a flash, his mouth open wide, sucking in a considerable amount of flesh, and then scraping his teeth over it as he released it. I held his head with both hands—held on for dear life, rocking and grinding against his hardness, my orgasm imminent. He switched to the other nipple, suckling like a hungry baby, then clamped down on it hard and shook his head back and forth, pushing me over the edge. My back arched, and my body quivered as waves of intense pleasure overtook me. When I opened my eyes, Jake was gazing at me, his breath shallow and quick, eyelids heavy, as his head rested against the back of the chair. "Wow," I whispered and kissed his lips. Jake's hands clasped my ass and squeezed as my hands slipped down his chest, and my mouth devoured his neck. I slipped off his lap to kneel on the floor between his legs. My lips and tongue and teeth worked over his skin all the while, my hands squeezing and rubbing his crotch. "Oh, yeah, baby," he groaned as I opened his pants, and his stiff cock sprang out, thick and heavy in my hand. A bead of precum sat poised on the head, and I dipped the tip of my finger into it and rubbed it around the soft skin. Jake slouched further in his chair and watched me as I touched the tip of my tongue to his essence on my finger, swirled it around, and then sucked my finger into my mouth. "Carly," he murmured and closed his eyes. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a sample packet of strawberry-flavored lube that I'd been saving and tore it open with my teeth. Squeezing a generous amount into my palm, I rubbed my hands together to warm it. Jake's cock lay curved up against his belly, and I wrapped both hands around the base with a gentle squeeze and pulled out to the tip, coating it with the viscous fluid. The lube packet claimed to be water soluble and non-staining, which I sincerely hoped was true. I squeezed more out onto my palm, rubbed my hands together again, and slipped them under Jake's balls, squeezing and massaging his sac. My gooey fingers slid back further to rub his taint, while the other hand began to stroke his shaft. His hips jerked, and he moaned and gasped. I felt his balls tighten against my hand and draw up, the skin shriveling, and I knew he was close. "Come on, baby. Come for me. I want it. It's mine. Give it to me," I urged, continuing to pump my hand up and down his shaft. After a final squeeze to his testicles, I pulled my hand out from underneath, and stroked his cock with both hands. Jake arched his back, and wrapped both his hands around my slick ones on his cock. With a loud cry, he erupted, stream after stream of semen flying into the air and showering us both. Just as Jake was recovering, and I was attempting to dab up some spatters of cum with my ruined blouse, we heard the front door opening and Mike calling his thanks and good night. "Fuck!" Jake whispered, frantically pulling his pants up while I grabbed for our clothes. We both made a run for our bedroom, reaching it just in time and closing the door. I leaned against it, panting for breath. "Mom? I'm home," Mike called, no doubt on his way to the fridge. "Hi, honey. Be right there." Jake and I stared at each other, smiling. Then I remembered. "Oh, my God!" I gasped. "I forgot the lube." We collapsed against each other in horrified laughter. For the next few games, I found myself sitting at the very back corner of the bleachers. It was not that I didn't want to see the games and show my support for the team. It was that I was afraid of making a spectacle of myself if, heaven help me, Brian were to get another hit. I was disappointed, though, when the games all turned out to be nail-biters. As well as Brian had done lately, there was no way that Jake was going to risk putting him out there in that sort of game. It happened in the only game I missed, an away game on my mom's birthday. While I was taking her to lunch, the Sox were playing the Yankees, a team we were expected to battle for the league title. I came home late at night to find Jake all alone watching television. He had already cleaned up, and looked happy and relaxed sitting there. "Where's Mike?" "Spending the night at the Nutters'," he said. "Really?" I was delighted. "I didn't realize that he and Brian were good friends." "Oh, yeah. I don't think they'll actually spend any time sleeping, though. They were both pretty keyed up." My heart was already hammering. "Why's that?" He tossed the scorebook onto the coffee table. "Your son pitched a three-hitter for one thing." "How wonderful!" I clapped my hands together. "And?" "And what, babe?" "Why would, um, Brian be all keyed up?" He nodded toward the book. "Fourth inning. Jimmy Bush twists an ankle. Nutter goes in to play third." I could see Jake watching my chest rise and fall. "And?" I asked. "Kid played well." Jake nodded. "Did real good." He picked up the remote and flicked off the television. "How well?" "Doesn't it make you ashamed to have your sex life depend on a fourteen year old like this?" he asked. I stamped my foot. "Shut up and tell me how he did." "Doubled," he said. "Drove in the winning run." "Doubled," I echoed with a waggle of my eyebrows. "And stole third," Jake added nonchalantly. "Third base?" I asked. He broke into a big smile. "That's right, babe. Third base." He stood up and grabbed me around the waist. I let out a mock scream and pounded his back as he carried me into the bedroom and threw me onto the bed. I watched him peel off his shirt and toss it aside, exposing the rippling abs with which I had been so impressed when we were dating. Then he turned his attention to his belt and jeans. My panties were already soaked as I saw that big cock waving at me. Jake walked to the edge of the bed. "You know what goes together, in the good old U.S.A?" he asked, singing a snatch of song that was vaguely familiar to me. "What?" I gasped out the word, my mouth dry. He climbed on to the bed, straddling me. I watched that cock get closer and closer to my face. "Baseball, hot dogs, apple pie . . ." He reached back when he sang the last two words and gave my pussy a squeeze through my jeans. "Oh." I moaned as I felt his fingers and palm massaging my crotch. Jake was quick to take advantage, taking his cock in his other hand and slipping it between my open lips. I closed my mouth around it and began to suckle. His fingers found the zipper on my jeans and slowly pulled it down. His hand slid into the fly, underneath the little bikini panties I was wearing. "It might not be an apple pie," he said, his eyes twinkling. "But it's nice and warm and juicy, isn't it?" My mouth was full of delicious dick, so I just groaned my agreement as I began sliding him in and out of my throat. "And it's not a hot dog, is it?" "Mm-mmm." I moved my head slowly from side to side and briefly let his cock pop free. "That's okay." My voice was dripping with husky arousal. "I bet they sell a lot of big, fat sausages at the ballpark too." I grabbed him in one hand and slid the other around his tight ass. I lifted my head once more and pulled him into my mouth. It was all I could do to keep my attention on sucking him as his talented fingers began to strum my clit. I let him go one last time. "I'll tell you what, honey," I said. "How about you let me enjoy this sausage for a while, and then you can have some pie for dessert?" "Sound like I win both ways," he answered with a laugh. "Maybe so, coach. Maybe it's a tie, though. Maybe we'll have to play extra innings. Heck, it's such a nice day. Let's play two." That earned me a look of awed delight. I hadn't let him know that I had been reading up on baseball on the Internet over the summer. Ernie Banks' famous "It's a beautiful day for a ballgame. Let's play two," had come in very handy. I returned to my blowjob, my eyes full of love for him. The playoffs started the following week, and they were absolute torture for me. We had the best record in the league, so all of the games were home games for us. But all of them were close. And when each game got close to the end, with our team holding on to a one- or two-run lead, Jake would find me in the stands and give me a small shrug. Brian would have to wait another day to get his next at-bat. That day didn't come in the quarterfinals, though, or in the semis. Before I knew it, we had arrived at the finals. The White Sox against the Yankees. It was the hottest day of the year with temperatures expected to reach the mid-nineties. The game was put off until four o'clock. I spent the day in a bikini and a pair of shorts, lazily lounging on the back patio while I supervised Mike and Jake working on the lawn. Finally, at three, I called out that it was time to get ready for the game. Mike ran inside to get ready. Jake followed more slowly and I stood up to give him a passionate kiss. I was nearly breathless when I finally pulled myself away. "Whew," I said. "I need to go in and get dressed." "You look good to me," he said. "I can't wear this," I protested. "Why not?" "'Cause I look like a cheerleader!" "It's the championship," he said. "The boys could probably use a few cheerleaders." "Then how about 'cause I look like a slut?" I said. He shrugged and I slapped him on the shoulder. "How about you just throw that white shirt of mine over it?" he suggested. "That one you like to tie off over that gorgeous stomach." "Flatterer." I slapped him again. Then I went inside to find the white shirt I had stolen from him last summer. He had worn it so much that it was wonderfully soft. Mike rolled his eyes when he saw me wearing it, but I didn't care. This was for Jake. Michael seemed to save his best games for the Yankees. He no-hit them through the first four innings, and still hadn't allowed a run when he reached his maximum pitch count in the sixth. Gary Steffy, who relieved Mike, only allowed two hits himself. Unfortunately, the Yankee pitchers were equally good. The game was still tied 0-0 at the end of the regulation seven innings. "This is just a little too exciting, isn't it?" I said to Candy Nutter. "It is," she agreed. In the top of the eighth, the Yankees got a man into scoring position on second with only one out. Their clean-up hitter was the next one to bat. He popped a 2-1 fastball into foul ground along the third base line, and Jimmy Bush made a full-out run for it. We all came to our feet in horrified silence when he tripped and slammed into the chain-link fence right in front of us. "Jimmy!" his mother cried as she hurried down the bleachers. "I'm fine, Ma," Jimmy said. The thought that his mother might actually enter the sacred diamond propelled him to his feet. It was clear, though, that he had hurt his ankle again. Jake helped him back to a seat in the dugout and then looked around for a sub. I could easily read Brian's lips. "Put me in, coach. Put me in." Jake thought for a minute and then nodded. Brian grabbed his glove and raced out to third base. Candy grabbed my arm. The Yankees' clean-up hitter wasn't about to waste a second chance. After watching the next pitch sail wide to run the count to full, he took Gary's fastball and hit a low line drive toward the left field. The boy at second had already taken off running on the pitch, determined to make it all the way home and give the Yankees the lead. Candy's nails dug into my skin as we watched the ball head between her son at third and Carl Root at shortstop. We stared in stunned disbelief as Brian took two steps to his left and dove. The ball met his glove with an audible thwack and then his glove met the oncoming runner. The dugout erupted in shouts, and we were only a half-second behind. Candy and I jumped into each other's arms, shrieking like wild women. Her son had just turned an unassisted double play. Brian, for his part, calmly got to his feet, stared only briefly at the ball in his glove, and then flipped it toward the mound. Jake called the White Sox together for a brief pep talk before he sent the first batter, which turned out to be Brian, onto the field. "He is such a great guy," Candy said. "You are so lucky to have found him." "I am," I agreed. "I'll bet he's telling them that it isn't important whether they win or lose at this point," Candy gushed. "What's really important is that they got this far." "As a team," I said. "Yeah." It must have been something to break the tension because the boys all started laughing. The meeting broke up with smiles all around. Brian ran to get his bat and take a few cuts. Just before he entered the batter's box, he turned around and gave us a little wave. I thought that was very cute, acknowledging his mother like that. Then he proceeded to rip the very first pitch into right field, a clean single. Candy looked over to see me fanning myself with the scorecard. "Heat getting to you?" she asked with a smile. "You might say that," I said. Without really thinking about it, I reached down and unbuttoned the top button on my shirt. I mean, it wasn't like I didn't have on the bikini top beneath it. Gary was up next. I didn't really know him that well, but just before he entered the batter's box, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder at the stands. His parents were on the other end of the bleachers and it was evident that he wasn't looking at them but directly at me. With a slight smile on his face he returned his attention to the pitcher. He squared to bunt on the first pitch, and dropped a beauty down the first baseline. The pitcher had no choice but to go to first, leaving Brian in scoring position with only one out. I glanced toward the dugout then and realized that all of the boys were looking in our direction. I was stunned. Jake couldn't possibly have told them what was going on. Could he? Michael was the next one up and he, too, looked toward us. He shook his head slowly as if he couldn't believe that his mom was involved in this. But he was far too good a baseball player to let it affect his play. He lined a clean single into left field. I leapt to my feet. "Way to go, Michael! Way to give that ball a ride, slugger!" As I cheered, I suddenly became conscious that my boobs were doing some leaping of their own. The second button had popped open all on its own. "I am so sorry," I said to Candy after I quickly sat back down and pulled my arms across my chest. She just laughed. Brian had stopped at third on Michael's single, and represented the winning run. The other coach pulled his outfielders in. With one out, a fly ball to the deep outfield would score Brian whether it was caught or not. Only a short fly ball or a ground ball would keep Mike at third. Joey Bush was up next and I resolutely kept my eyes away from him. Even so, I couldn't help but squeeze my legs together. The tingle between them intensified. The Yankee pitcher had only thrown three pitches so far, and Joey Bush was waiting on the fourth. He popped it into right field and we watched their right fielder take a few steps backward and drift beneath it. Was it far enough? Even before he had caught it my eyes were on Brian. He was poised at third base, not watching play but depending solely on his coach to tell him when to race for home. And then he was off, his legs churning beneath him like pistons. It was going to be close. "Slide!" Jake yelled from the dugout. "Slide!" the first base coach yelled. "Slide, Brian!" I screamed. I like to think he listened to me. It was a very close play, but Brian executed a perfect slide that just beat the throw from right field. His teammates stormed the field. Candy and I fell into another hug. The White Sox had won the pennant. And Brian Nutter had finally gotten to home plate. Put Me In, Coach! ******* After the pizza and the ice cream, after we had given Michael permission to spend the night at Brian's, I asked Jake to take me on a drive. He was puzzled as I gave him directions and even more puzzled when I asked him to pull over and park. "Haven't we been here before?" he asked. "Maybe," I said, smiling. "Seems to me it was a fun place earlier." I got out of the car and headed for the baseball field. It was dark, the diamond lit only by the half moon. But that was enough light for Jake to see me shrug off the white shirt. He was still sitting in the car, just staring, as I crooked my finger and beckoned for him to follow. Then I vanished in the darkness. He had no trouble finding me. There was the trail of the shirt, my bikini top, my shorts, and my tiny panties. I'm not sure he needed it anyway. He knew where I was heading. I was standing on home plate waiting for him and when he approached I threw my arms around his neck and pressed my naked body against him. "I can't believe that you told the boys about that," I said with mock anger. "I didn't," he answered with a chuckle. "I told them that baseball was a turn-on for you and that if they got Brian around, you'd start unbuttoning your blouse." "You bastard!" I gasped. I could see his white smile in the moonlight. "I love you, Jake." "I love you too, honey." "You want me to put you in, coach?" I whispered into his ear. "Oh God, Carly. Yes." "The dugout?" I asked playfully as he tried to strip off his clothes while I continued kissing him. "Centerfield?" "Later," he said. "Let's start at home plate." He put his hands on my waist. "Jake!" I screamed as I felt myself lifted into the air. "Jake," I moaned as he lowered my aching pussy onto his stiff cock. "I'm thinking of right there next to the pitcher's mound," he said. He slowly walked us a few steps forward and carefully lowered us to the ground. Jake thrust into me several times, then rolled us over so that I was on top, his cock still buried deep in my slick channel, his big hands clasping my hips. "Fuck me, baby," he ground out. "Fuck me." I sat up and arched my back, raising my arms to tangle my fingers in my hair. My body was bathed in pale moonlight, all for my love to see. I rocked against him, back and forth, squeezing him inside me, our eyes locked in the darkness. "Say it again, Jake," I murmured. "Fuck me. Fuck me, Carly." My hands trailed down my neck to my breasts, which I cupped and squeezed together, pinching and pulling the nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. I spread my fingers and made a slow pass down my abdomen and braced myself against Jake's stomach as I began to ride in earnest. "I love fucking you, Jake. It's been way too long." "Oh, yeah," Jake moaned, as he thrust up into me, meeting my own driving pace. Soon, I was bouncing on him, assisted by Jake's strong hands on my hips. Our bodies slapped together, my juices oiling our loins, the friction creating so much heat that I burst into orgasm, quivering and moaning his name, while he writhed and moaned beneath me. Once reasonably recovered, I leaned forward, my hands on either side of Jake's head, while he continued to drive into me. My head dipped lower, my lips finding his open mouth. We kissed, sloppy, wet, open-mouth kisses that spoke loudly of passion and desire and the wondrousness of love. Jake continued to hammer into me at a frenzied pace, moaning and panting, his hands still holding my hips, fingers biting into my ass. I felt his body tense as a low, keening wail seeped from his lips. Jake's release pulled me into the abyss with him, and I came again with a surprising ferocity that turned my limbs to jelly. Collapsing into a twitching heap, I lay against Jake's broad chest and felt his arms encircle me. Much, much later, after we had showered together and washed the grime of the field from each other's skin and then made lazy, slow love again in our bed, we lay with our limbs entwined between the cool sheets. "Thank you, honey," Jake murmured. I'd been almost asleep and wasn't sure I'd heard him properly. "For what?" I raised my head, searching for Jake's eyes in the darkness. "Just for being you. I've never been so happy or had so much fun." "Oh, honey." I smiled, my heart full. "Thank you, too, for letting me be me." ******* I stared open-mouthed at Lisa Quimby's reflection in the mirror as she sat in my chair at the salon a week later telling me she had finally left her husband and was seeing some guy she met on the Internet. "Wow," I spluttered. "I don't even know what to say. Are you happy?" She nodded, a huge grin dimpling her cheeks and her eyes shining with happy tears. "Well, good for you, then." I squeezed her shoulder. Lisa dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue and composed herself. "So?" she ventured. "What happened with you and Jake and the whole baseball thing?" Now it was my turn to smile. "In the words of the immortal Chico Escuela," I said, "'Baseball been bery, bery good to me.'" THE END * The authors would like to thank Hermit for his exceptional editing. Thanks also to bluebell7 for the initial read, good advice, and her forbearance. Don't forget to vote!