Baseball season is in full swing (ha), and as usual I am captivated by it. Summer has been my favorite season as far back as I can remember, and baseball is a big part of why. As is probably evident from my standard “Yankees fan” picture to the right, I am in particular partial to the New York Yankees.
I had planned to post this a few weeks ago as Rick Write and I embarked on a mini-vacation to attend the three-game Yankees vs. Orioles series at Camden Yards in Baltimore. Alas, I did not, obviously, but the plus side of that is that now I get to share the following picture of the baseball Francisco Cervelli signed for me on the way in from batting practice before the third game:
Anyway, last year on Opening Day I posted an excerpt of my baseball-themed story that appears in Alison Tyler‘s anthology G is for Games. I thought now I’d share the whole thing (slightly revised and edited from its published version). Since it’s a bit long for a blog post, I’ve embedded most of it after the jump following the first section of the story below.
Before I go I’d like to mention that I was notified a few days ago that SexForums.com has deemed The Green Light District an Editor’s Pick “Best of the Web” adult website for 2010! I feel truly honored that this site garnered that distinction (see lovely prize badge in the left sidebar) and send a big thank you out to SexForums.com! (Incidentally, welcome to any new readers coming from that venue, and thank you for visiting!)
Okay, without further ado, on to baseball erotica. ; )
They were the first words Corey ever said to me, startling me as he approached unseen from behind. I was standing in my neighborhood park, gazing at the silent baseball field in front of me. It’s a simple field, situated in the far corner of the park off the soccer field. It doesn’t have dugouts or bleachers, just a single metal bench for each team behind a chain link fence that borders the home plate corner.
But as simple as it is, a baseball field’s a baseball field as far as I’m concerned. A Yankees fan from birth, I grew up in New York with baseball literally in my blood; my parents met each other at Yankee Stadium during game six of the 1977 World Series. Having moved away from home but stayed on the East coast, I still go home for a game several times a summer, but for the most part I have to make do now watching them on TV.
In the meantime, I like to visit this field whenever I find myself at the park. My favorite time to come is at dusk, when the no-use-after-dark rule of the park is just about to take effect and parents are starting to gather their little ones and hurry home. I sit on the benches, wander the baselines, lean against the chain link fence behind home plate, appreciating whatever it is that attracts me about an empty playing field at night.
It was there I stood that evening mid-season, fingers laced through the metal as I watched the sun disappear behind second base, when I jumped at those words: Got a game in your head?
Turning, I saw an intriguingly hot stranger walking toward me, his hands in his jeans pockets.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Corey.”
“Paige,” I said, stepping away from the fence to shake his hand. Glancing back at the field, I smiled and said, “I was just having a solitary moment of baseball appreciation.”
Corey laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
And he did, I could tell. I met his dark brown eyes and felt heat stirring in me as I looked him up and down. He joined me at the fence, and we turned back toward the field as darkness fell. I didn’t know it yet, but what attracted me about an empty playing field at night was soon to get a whole lot more involved.
We exchanged numbers, but as it turned out neither of us had a chance to use them before we ran into each other the next day in the exact same place. I didn’t usually find myself at the park so early in the afternoon, but I had decided to watch the community youth co-ed baseball game, and as I strolled up to the field, I caught sight of Corey. He stood beside one of the team’s benches, his arms crossed in the unmistakable stance of a coach.
Surprised by the coincidence, I started toward him. Before I reached him, he turned his head, and I saw the red “B” on his hat. I stopped.
He was a Red Sox fan.
At that moment he caught sight of me, and his face lit up when his eyes met mine—until they dropped slightly to my jacket.
I was wearing my Yankees pullover, and his expression immediately shifted to one of surprise and then distaste.
As much as I was a Yankees fan through and through, I didn’t get into team rivalries as much as some, appreciating the game itself more than particular competitive identifications. Nonetheless, I was sure we were both aware that our respective teams happened to be facing off that very night with the first of a three-game series in New York. Even as I felt the heat rise in me, I held my smile in check, not knowing how seriously Corey took the biggest rivalry in baseball. His hard gaze stayed on mine. I held it.
The inning of the game in front of us ended, and his team started to filter back behind the fence to the bench he stood beside. I gave a final nod, my smile just starting to appear as I turned on my heel. The question would be answered, I supposed, by whether or not I ever heard from him again.
Either way, I thought, my team had better win tonight.
The phone rang as I pulled a carton of ice cream from the freezer that evening.
“Gearing up to watch your team get its ass kicked, I imagine,” Corey’s voice came through the line.
A ping of arousal shot through me, and I smiled wryly. “Indeed I am getting ready to watch my team,” I said, “though I certainly bank on a different outcome. Is there something I can do for you?”
“I was thinking maybe we could watch the game together.”
My eyebrows rose. “You don’t mind having a gloating Yankees fan by your side for nine innings?” Gloating wasn’t my style, but he didn’t know that, and I was curious how he would respond.
“Not when she doesn’t have anything to gloat about,” Corey countered.
My eyes narrowed despite the smile that stayed in place. “You’re on.”
The doorbell rang just as the national anthem was coming to a close. I opened the door to find Corey standing on the threshold, the same cap on his head and a knowing grin on his face. Another jolt of arousal shot through me at the sight of him, stronger this time—and laced with the dark streak of challenge.
I stepped back to let him in. He moved forward and kissed me without pretense. My breath caught, and I kissed him back and felt both of us tense, ready to push the other against the wall. The result was a split-second wrestling match in a standing position; breathless, we broke apart and laughed.
“So,” I said. “You’re a Red Sox fan.”
“All my life,” he grinned and moved past me as I shut the door.
I gestured toward the couch and followed him to it. “Can I get you anything?”
His eyes flicked quickly up and down me. “No thanks,” he answered as he settled on the couch. I sat down beside him, and he turned to me. “So I’ve never had sex with a Yankee fan before.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Gee, Corey, should I take that as an indication that you think we’re going to have sex?”
He laughed. “Something about the look you managed to give me today even in your contempt at realizing I was a Boston fan made me think that was maybe on your mind.”
I smirked, not bothering to refute what was true. Turning to the TV screen, I took in the scene of the familiar stadium where I’d seen the same match-up in person many times. The energy of the raw love of baseball filled me, along with the suspense I felt whenever I watched the Yankees play. I gave Corey a sidelong glance as I felt the energetic charge in the room increase. I did want us to win.
And I was starting to want something else too. I squirmed a bit on the couch, thinking how delightful it would be to end up with both by the end of the evening.
Corey turned to me. “Interested in making a little bet on this game?”
The gleam in his eye made me have to actively hold back from jumping on him. “What kind of bet?”
He leaned in a little closer. “Winner gets to have his—or her—way with the loser, so to speak.”
“Winner gets to dominate,” he explained.
I blinked. After that instant of surprise, I dropped my eyes as I realized immediately what a twist that would present for me, though he was not aware of it. I glanced down at his hand, extended toward me to shake on the deal. After a moment I slipped mine into it. Each of us grasped firmly, our eyes hardened.
Born and raised in New York, I came from a family of unambiguous, die-hard Yankee fans. I’d lived and breathed the Yankees ever since I was old enough to know what they were. Rooting for my team was second nature to me, and it went without saying that I wanted them to win. Always.
But I also loved to be dominated.
Two nights later, I carried the bottle of red wine to the coffee table and set the glasses on coasters. A knock on the door came as I headed back to the kitchen. I stopped to open it, and Corey entered with a grin and shut the door behind him.
As we made our way to the sofa, we both affected a casual countenance, pretending to ignore the fact that this was the night of nights for our little game. I had to admit that it had been throwing my lifelong team loyalty into turmoil, the unquestioned nature of it colliding and conflicting with the simple desire to be thrown/pushed/held/tied down and fucked hard.
Tonight was the third and final game of this Red Sox/Yankees series. I had been relegated to being Corey’s sex slave for the hour after the first game ended two nights before, and even now I grew wet as I recalled the way he pushed me to my knees and grabbed the back of my head as he shoved his cock down my throat.
Last night had brought a switch in my favor (as far as baseball was concerned) when the Yankees had pummeled the Red Sox 9 to 1. I didn’t usually prefer to dominate, but there appeared no question that Corey was getting off on it as I shoved him face down over the back of the couch and smacked his ass until it was bright red, putting the paddle he had used on me to my own extensive use….
“Here you go,” Corey’s voice snapped me back to the present as he finished pouring and handed me my wine glass. I took a deep breath, wet from my reminiscences. In my head I knew I wanted the Yankees to win tonight—as always. An uncontrollable intensity in my body, however, pulled insistently at the desire to be held down and fucked hard under utter submission.
I tried to sit still on the couch, but the unpredictable nature of our little game was becoming almost unbearably frustrating. I just wanted to fuck. Corey sat down beside me, and I knew I wasn’t going to last the whole game. The Red Sox were up; as their batter slid safely into second, Corey turned to me with that gleam in his eye and grabbed my hair, pulling me in for a hard kiss.
“Are you suggesting we go play by play tonight?” I asked a little breathlessly when he broke the kiss.
“Maybe inning by inning.” He grinned.
I couldn’t remember another game when I’d looked forward to the commercial breaks.
“Walk this way,” Corey said as he grabbed his keys and headed toward the door.
“Where are we going?” I couldn’t resist asking, surprised. The Red Sox victory was his cue to lead me to whichever room he chose and do what he would with me. The thought made me shiver even as I cast one last glare at the final score before pressing the power button on the remote.
Apparently he wasn’t choosing a room this time. “That’s for me to know,” he said as we headed outside.
He opened his passenger door for me, and we drove in silence. A slow smile spread across my face in the dark as he pulled up along the curb by the park where we’d met. He avoided the parking lot so as not to arouse suspicion, since the park was closed after dark. Having been in this park at night many times, I was aware that the cops usually did an obligatory drive through once per night at about 1:00 a.m. I certainly hoped tonight wouldn’t be an exception.
I followed Corey through the darkness, our feet rustling the lush grass beneath us. It was so quiet I could hear my breathing. As we approached the chain link fence where we’d met, he cut around past the dugout bench and walked onto the field. He led me to home plate and stopped.
Dropping on the ground a small bag I had seen him grab from his backseat, he kissed me hard before pushing me to my knees on the gravel.
“Don’t move,” he ordered as he reached for the bag. He pulled a rope of some sort out of it and moved behind me. I felt my wrists being grabbed and tied together behind my back.
Moving back in front of me, Corey stood on home plate as he freed his cock with one hand and grabbed a fistful of my hair with the other. The smell of the freshly-mown field wafted around us, and I breathed it in heavily as I looked up at him, stars slathered across the black background above him.
He ran a finger along my jaw line, slowly, gently, as I shifted from knee to knee on the sandy gravel. It dug into my skin, but my arousal was too overt for me to care. I was wet and fidgety as he held my head away from him, my mouth almost watering for the taste of his cock.
He slipped his finger lightly into my mouth, still holding my hair solidly to keep me from diving forward onto his cock like I wanted to. I looked up at him again, and when I met his eyes I knew that he knew exactly what effect this was having on me. He pulled his hand away and positioned it on his cock. Slowly, he stroked himself, holding my head and not letting me move.
I had never wanted a cock in my mouth so badly. Finally Corey reached under my chin and turned my face upward, making me meet his eyes.
“You ready to suck this cock?”
“Yes,” flew from my mouth before I even had time to think about it. He continued to look at me. “Yes, please,” I said, the pleading in my voice real. He looked at me for another moment before putting his free hand on the back of my head and shoving my face forward with the force of both hands, pushing his cock deep into my throat. I almost gagged, but I had anticipated enough that I had time to breathe correctly. It was fortunate that I knew a thing or two about giving head—even by pseudo-force.
He held my head in position for a few seconds before letting off and fucking my face rhythmically. The gravel was still biting into my knees, the ropes binding my wrists chafing slightly as I shifted my hands. Corey’s hard length penetrated my lips repeatedly, banging against the back of my throat as my pussy got wetter by the second. Finally he yanked my hair back and pulled my head off his cock.
I looked up at him, his eyes like solid dark chocolate as he pulled me by my hair to my feet. Reaching behind me, he untied the rope holding my wrists and pushed me back up against the fence before reaching again for the bag lying nearby. He pulled out two more ropes, identical to the first.
“Spread your legs.”
I did so, and he proceeded to tie each of my ankles to the fence. When he was done, he stood and attended to my wrists, lifting them over my head and binding them to the chain link as well. When he stepped back, I was firmly bound, standing, by all four limbs to the fence behind home plate.
Corey hitched my denim skirt up to my waist. I had nothing on underneath, and I was sure he could see how wet I was just by looking. He seemed pleased as he stared between my legs.
“Do you like this? You like what I’m doing to you, baby?” he taunted, brushing his fingers between my legs. I gasped and couldn’t keep from crying out just a little. Immediately I bit my lip.
“I didn’t think I’d have to tell you to be quiet here, Paige. Are you going to be a good girl, or do you need a gag?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll be good.”
“You’d better. Another sound and I’ll make it so you can’t make any more.”
Corey leaned in and ran his tongue across my lips, pulling back slightly whenever I tried to meet his mouth and kiss him. I squirmed in frustration.
Abruptly I felt his finger enter me; I hadn’t known it was anywhere near me. I shrieked quietly, wincing as I realized I’d just broken the rules.
“Uh-huh,” Corey said shortly, backing off and returning to the bag. “I see you’re having some trouble following the rules tonight.” He wasn’t smiling as he pulled a ball gag from the bag.
“I didn’t mean to. I won’t do it again,” I pleaded as he advanced toward me with the gag. I submitted sorrowfully as he installed it in my mouth, reminding me in a murmur of our safe symbol we’d agreed to use in lieu of the ability to say the safe word.
He yanked open the buttons on my shirt and popped the front clasp of my bra. The warm night breeze graced my breasts, but I shivered as Corey traced a finger along each of my nipples, watching them get hard. Then he grabbed me roughly, my pussy going into overdrive as he squeezed my tits in his fists.
He pulled back and fumbled with his jeans, freeing his cock and pulling a condom he from his pocket as he watched me. His eyes were hard, forming mine into soft pools of submission seemingly by force. I breathed heavily, my tits exposed to the night, my skirt at my waist, my wrists bound above me and ropes around my ankles holding my legs spread wide.
Corey advanced back toward me and grasped my throat solidly, pushing my head back against the hard chain link. I felt the wetness between my legs start to drip.
With a grunt he pushed into me, still gripping me in a choke hold, his other hand laced through the chain link near my head. He pumped hard, eventually grasping my hips with both hands for better traction as I moaned as much as I could through the gag. It was good that it was there, it occurred to me, so my screams weren’t heard by the quiet households surrounding us, most fast asleep by now.
When Corey finished, he pulled out and looked me up and down. He stood back, removing the condom and zipping up his jeans, and looked at my throbbing clit. Moving forward, he reached to remove the gag from my mouth.
“I want to hear you call my name in my ear when you come. But not too loud—we don’t want to wake up the nice suburban neighbors.”
He reached for my clit and gently ran his finger across it.
“Oh,” I gasped, urgency taking my breath away. I pulled at the restraints on my wrists, desperately wanting to touch myself along with him. He noticed and smiled.
“Sorry, doll, this is my game, remember? You lost tonight. Your hands will stay where I put them until I say so.”
His voice and his words, taunting me, made me squirm under his ever-rougher touch. The release in me was building, and there was nothing left for me to do but give in, relinquish all control inside myself; outside I already had none.
“Come for me—now. Now, Paige.” Corey’s voice got rough, and I screamed full force as my body exploded, Corey’s hand moving immediately to cover my mouth and muffle the sound. The restraints holding my limbs suddenly served to protect me from gravity as every nerve in my body let go, swept by the orgasm that consumed it. The fence jangled and swished behind me, the reverberation rippling to the top of the chain link like an extension of the orgasmic waves ripping through my body. When it was over I hung limply, trying to catch my breath, tiny breathless sobs forced out of me by pure intensity.
Corey smiled and moved in to kiss me, softly this time, as he reached up to untie my wrists. When that was done, he attended carefully to my ankles, dropping the restraints one by one back into the bag. He pulled me gently to him, arms around my waist, and I rested my head against his shoulder for a moment and inhaled deeply.
We walked without speaking back across the grass. Corey placed his hand lightly on the small of my back as we reached the car, as though we were a couple greeting the valet after a lovely dinner rather than two people who barely knew each other who had just engaged in bondage sex in a park after hours. I smiled and brushed some of the dirt from my knees before setting into the passenger seat.
Back at my house, Corey left the bag in the car, and we entered through the front door. I retrieved my own carefully packed bag that I had set out in anticipation and returned it to the closet. Corey noticed.
“And what’s that?” he asked, seeming genuinely surprised.
I glanced back at him. “You think you’re the only one who knows the art of preparation?” I closed the closet door, picturing the brand new strap-on dildo tucked away in the bottom of my bag. “Don’t forget, Corey dear, we’ve still got half a season left. You may have gotten lucky tonight—but I think we both know who’s going to come out on top.”
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