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May 18, 2005
Bat Girl
I seem to have an affection for pitchers and catchers. My favorite pairing to watch is Alan Zinter catching for Kyle Farnsworth. You usually think of catchers as short chubby guys that guard the plate, but Alan is neither!
He is a tall 6'2" &
lean 200#. It's all muscle. The man is built. And he's not bad to
look at either. He has this devilish grin all the time, like the
cat that swallowed the canary. I always used to wonder if he
would be a monster in bed. He has a long face with a little
goatee and mustache. I'd love to feel it scratching my face, not
to mention all the other places I'd like to feel it. He is a
switch hitter, so both his upper arms are built. And his legs,
they are so strong. You should see this guy do squats. It's
enough to make me cream my panties. He has this thick Texan drawl
and is always calling me "mam," despite him being 6
years older than I am. How he hasn't been "caught" by
some beautiful chick amazes me. Then there's Kyle. He is even
taller than Alan at 6'4" and is 215#. He's a true gentleman
from the Midwest, Kansas to be exact. He's such a cutie! He is
younger than I am and I tend to fall for younger guys. God, I
love watching him pitch. I could do it all day long. Just
watching him wind up and then lift that leg up, his knee
practically hitting his chin and then the lunge forward when he
releases the ball. Poetry in motion doesn't even start to
describe his fluidity.
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He has such a long narrow nose and a more heart shaped face. He,
too, has a couple of day's growth on his face at all times and it
is so sexy. To have either of them in my bed would make me the
happiest girl on the face of the earth!!! I'll bet you are
wondering why a few select close friends also call me batgirl
with a sly grin on their face. Well, the honest truth is that I
can…well, let me tell you the story. One day after a great
game that the Cubs actually won I was talking with Kyle. He was
really hyped, as he'd made the game winning run and struck out
the last 3 batters in the top of the 9th. He musta been pretty
horny because he was making lots of sexual remarks. I was always
horny after a game, watching these virile men playing hard and
sweating & readjusting their jocks. I figured I couldn't lose
and that you only live once, so I asked Kyle if he wanted to go
out for a celebratory drink after he showered and changed. He
actually said "yes"!!!
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I couldn't believe it. I was going out with Kyle Farnsworth for a
drink! We agree to meet at The Blarney Stone. I took a quick
shower myself and then hurried to change into my jean shorts and
tee shirt. I headed to the bar, knowing I'd get at least one
drink in before Kyle was able to get there due to all the press
that would be in the locker room that night and him being the
hero. I found a table towards the back so that I could see the
door and ordered a beer. Surprisingly Kyle showed up before I
even got halfway through it and I wasn't exactly nursing it. I
was a little nervous, wondering if I was going to get stood up so
I was guzzling it. Low and behold Kyle wasn't alone! He had Alan
with him. I honestly didn't realize that they palled around
outside of the ballpark, but how else did they get to be able to
read each other so well? I shoulda figured that out. I guess Kyle
must have been afraid that I was going to rape him or something,
being an older woman that hit on him. I laughed at myself for
think that one up. How goofy I can be at times. The guys got
their drinks and we were mobbed. It seems as if everyone
recognized them even out of uniform.
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We got one round of drinks in before they couldn't stand it
anymore. I suggested that we go to my place as it was just around
the corner. I lived alone in the first floor of a brownstone.
Rent was outrageous, but it was worth it to be in the
neighborhood of Wrigleyville. We walked over and I let us in with
my key. Luckily I had just stocked up on beer the other day when
I went grocery shopping. These guys were about to find out how
big of a Cubs fan I really was. My living room was wall to wall
Cubs memorabilia. My bedroom was done in the same blue as the
Cubs uniform. The bathroom and kitchen were in Cubs blue and
white. I had a Cubs shower curtain. I really had it bad. I also
had both of their autographed pictures in frames with lipstick
kisses on their lips and, uhm, groin. I forgot about those,
though, in my excitement. I turned on the stereo to play some
cool jazz and then went to the kitchen to get some beer. The guys
didn't have another game for 4 days, so they could party tonight
and not suffer the next day. They still had practice, but it
wasn't the same as having a game. I started to sway to the music,
twirling around and got so dizzy that I fell into Kyle's lap.
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He slid me down between the two of them on the couch and I
started kissing Kyle. Kyle kissed me back and Alan started
kissing my shoulders and the nape of my neck. I couldn't believe
it! My dream was going to cum true. I openly frenched Kyle,
darting my tongue into his mouth and licking his lips. I liked
feeling his gruff stubble on my chin as we pulled each other
closer. As I got up Alan pulled my shirt over my head and tossed
it to the floor. We tumbled onto my king size waterbed, me in the
middle, and started kissing again. Kyle reclaimed my mouth and
Alan started to kiss my breasts through the lace of my bra. I was
pulling at Kyle's shirt, struggling to get it off of him. Kyle
relented and untucked it from his pants, letting me finish
unbuttoning it and shucked it onto the floor. Alan was driving me
crazy, with his hand on one nipple and his mouth on the other. I
had one of my hands in his short dark hair, massaging his skull
with my fingers. The other hand was on Kyle's chest, searching
out his nipple in the soft brownish-blond chest hair. I was
moaning now, never having been done by two guys at once, let
alone two Cubs! Kyle pulled back, leaving my mouth searching for
something to kiss. Kyle's head moved down to my other breast.
Alan had pulled both breasts out of the constraint of the cups of
my bra, and now they worked on the front clasp together, freeing
my breasts completely. What the hell was I thinking?
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I was bossing these powerful men around? Men that could break me
in two in a heartbeat, better yet, walk out on me and make me
lose my dream job and the butt of a million jokes? Was I insane?
Keep reading it gets better. I slid out of my clothes and lay
back down. Kyle went to the kitchen to get more to drinks out of
the fridge. That left Alan and I alone. Alan stripped down to
nothing and god! What a tight ass. Talk about buns of steel. I
wanted to touch them, to caress those perfect cheeks. He was
looking intently at my dresser, and I noticed him growing. The
pictures! Oh shit, I thought. Then I remembered the third picture
that was on my dresser. It was of me in a very compromising
position. Alan stopped Kyle as he walked in to show him the
picture. I knew there was nothing I could do to stop them, so I
just laid there with my eyes closed hoping they wouldn't run out.
Kyle stripped, and his dick sprung up and slapped his stomach as
he released it from his shorts. I didn't see it then, but he was
as thick as a baseball bat. Alan grabbed it as Kyle came back to
the bed, bringing the picture with him. I was starting to get hot.
I told them that I had to be really lubed up and it helped if I
had cum a couple of times before I tried to replicate the picture.
Alan kissed his way down to my already wet pussy and started to
show me just how good that goatee feels on my swollen lips. Kyle
stayed up top kissing me, fondling my breasts and capturing my
moans in his mouth. I took his cock in my hand and could hardly
believe what I felt!
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He was thicker than a can of creamed corn. I couldn't even get my
hand around him. I looked down and couldn't believe my eyes. I
love the feel of a stiff dick in my hand and this was heaven. I
tried to milk it, but the best I could do was fondle his balls in
my hand. As Alan brought me closer Kyle moved down to suckle my
breasts. I was moaning so much now; Alan had my clit between his
lips, sucking strongly on it, driving me crazy. I came hard with
a long shout. Alan came up and kissed me, making me taste my own
juices, then positioned himself so that his dick was right over
my mouth. As I sucked Alan off, Kyle worked his way down to my
soaked crotch. I could only nod my head and moan, as my mouth was
full of Alan's cock and balls. Kyle spread my legs open wide and
pushed my knees back towards my chest. He took his left hand and
spread my pussy lips open wide and guided his thick member to my
hole with his right hand. He pushed the head in and I had to sigh.
Kyle kept slowly pushing in a little more at a time until I would
gasp. Then he would give me a rest for a second, rubbing my clit,
getting me wetter so he could slip more in. I couldn't believe
how stretched I felt. It was incredible! It was like the picture,
but I had only done that once and my girlfriend Susie had helped
me, and it took us hours of cumming before I was lubed enough to
take it inside. This was a throbbing shaft that continued to
expand and grow as it sank deeper to my core. I felt like I was
going to rip in two, but it felt sooo good. Whenever it would
hurt I would suck hard on Alan's dick, and he would in turn tell
Kyle to slow up. It was quite a system we had. Suddenly I felt
Kyle's balls hit my ass. He was in! That whole huge throbbing
slab of meat was in, filling my pussy, and it didn't hurt anymore.
I was stretching to accommodate him. It was starting to feel good.
Kyle slowly started to pull out and I started to give Alan a
blowjob like he had never had before.
Posted by Frank at 11:52 AM
May 03, 2005
Past Life
Once upon a time… don’t all stories start that way? Not this one. This one is a bit different. Once in this cycle of time, which is not to say that it hasn’t happened before, and certainly not to say that it won’t happen again… once in this cycle, there was a young Keltic girl, with auborn hair that fell to the small of her back, wild green eyes with an odd flame in them, and a strange smile about her lips most days.
Jenna lived out the first years of her life in a small clan, her waking hours ruled by the needs of livestock and housekeeping, her sleeping hours filled with quiet, simple dreams. She lived in a most uncomplicated way, learning early on the joys of drinking, expecting a husband when she found one who suited her, planning to raise fat babies and live a good number of years. Her mother taught her how to cook and clean… her father taught her how to polish a sword. Her brothers taught her how to wield a dagger and how to find a swallow’s nest… her elder sister took her aside when she was 15 and taught her how to keep a husband once she’d found him. She learned this, and more… and considered herself well-educated. She’d even found a learned man to teach her a bit of writing and reading, and could scratch out her name in the dirt, and understand the gist of some of the scrolls and oddly-bound books she glanced at in traders’ packs. And then the men from the north came. Norsemen, they called themselves… and the fields rang with their shouts, and the village was ripe with the stench of burning… there were boats that landed, and from the boats poured such a stream of men… each one out to kill what he couldn’t keep, to destroy what he couldn’t devour… and one of the few who survived this was Jenna. One of the men who seemed to be in charge found her… she was out in the woods, taking shelter there… and when he walked under the trees to relieve himself, she jumped him with the tiny knife her brothers had given her. That didn’t sit well with him… not once the whole length of it, all two inches, was sunk in under a rib. He tied her hands with a length of her own hair, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her off to the ship. She spent a miserable month, locked in his room aboard ship… after the first day she wasn’t a virgin. After the first week she didn’t care… and after the first time she found another knife, he kept her hands tied behind her back. She was grateful for one thing, that at least he didn’t see fit to share her… he was important enough that he was able to keep her for himself, treating her roughly, but once she settled and stopped fighting as often, at least attempting to treat her fairly as well. She was fed… allowed to bathe… and was even given a new dress after the one she’d been wearing was ripped off during one particularly bad night.
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It took a long time, once he got her ashore… nearly a year, before she could speak the language well, before she had half-forgotten seeing her family dead, before she’d come to realize how much of a kindness his treatment of her had been. Another year before she noticed that unlike several of the other heads of raiding parties, he only had one prize he bothered to keep… her. And another year after that before she realized why. She was 19 then, by some miracle not with child, and now wise enough in the facts of life to realize that she was looking at a good thing. Once she noticed his attentions, she started noticing other little things… when he went to the meetings with his overlord, she brushed his coat and made sure he was presentable… when he didn’t return until late, she was worried… and when he brought her some small, cheap trinket, it meant more to her than something of twice the value might have meant from someone else’s hand. So it was love. Not the flowery, romanticized love you find in the storybooks, but love based on practicality and care… he did care for her, treasured her, and protected her from the scorn and abuse of his fellows… and she did care for him, her eyes following him when he was near, her mind turning often to him when he was away… it was the sort of love that lasts, something closer to friendship than affection and lust. Jenna was still becoming used to this odd land she found herself in... to the cold, to the roughness of the people, all their differences from the life she had been born to... but slowly she'd made friends, and some of these proved, at least at first, to be quite invaluable when it came to learning about this place. Now the Norse have their own Gods, their own stories and tales... they may not have the delicate harping and intricate rhymes of midaeval courts, but they have their tellers of tales as every culture does... weavers of dreams, the bards. It was to one of these that Jenna turned, when she finally decided she needed to know more about her husband's people.
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This bard was one of the few who had treated her with kindness from the start... given her little gifts, helped hide her from the ruffians among her husband's warrior friends... wenever she asked a question, he would answer her honestly, often in her own tongue, which he spoke rather fluently. Oddly enough, he didn't speak it around others... but shared that gift with her, knowing how much such a simple taste of home meant to her. She spent long hours, walking through the cold fields with him, learning the names of the plants and animals, discussing politics and religion... frequently with an understanding sister of her captor present. His youngest sister found the whole thing quite romantic, claiming it was better than any story the bard could produce, and followed the two of them around as chaperone to keep the tale 'fit for young ears', as she put it. Unfortunately, most good things have a flaw... and the flaw in this perfect picture was one that's ruined good men and women since time began... the lass's heart was slowly turning to the man she would marry, yet the bard's heart had already been won... his eyes now followed her, while hers watched only her Norse mate, his words of devotion were ignored, or worse, treated with politeness and answered with only regrets. They say that men are blind in matters of love, and so it was with her husband... he considered the bard one of his truest friends. And perhaps he was... he never took advantage of the time he spent with Jenna, never hurt her, was even more careful once he felt that affection and love to keep her reputation pure, knowing what even a bit of damage could do to it... her status as wife and free woman could be so easily revoked... One night, after several months of this painful love, of frustration for the Bard and confusion for Jenna, the entire assembled company awoke to the clash of swords and the bitter taste of betrayal... an enemy Overlord had snuck in, helped by a large band of escaped Kelt slaves... they had been promised their freedom and safety, and even return to their homeland, for their help in this fight. They fought valiently... Jenna's husband was at the head of one of the attacks, and he returned wounded, a deep gash along his right side. When the sun rose the land was littered with dead and dying... the Overlord who Jenna and her mate were bound to had won... but he had not managed to keep his own life. For a week, there were rumors and accusations, harsh words and violence, as each man tried to uncover the plots by himself, believing everyone else of wrongdoing… slowly, as each name was cleared, suspicion began to fall on the slaves, and also on Jenna. Her husband began to look at her oddly…
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…but perhaps it would have stopped there, if not for a word or three in the wrong ear. The words were spoken by the bard… and they were said to her husband. The bard accused her of betrayal, of treachery made more terrible by the innocent guise she wore… he claimed that she had betrayed the overlord in an effort to return to her people, and the husband, his wound paining him and the paranoia of the camp overtaking him, found himself believing every word. After all, why would his friend lie to him? He suspected the bard of carrying affection for Jenna… and saw no reason to believe then that he would lie about her in such a dangerous matter. Her husband never spoke a word of this, but she could feel the suspicion in his eyes… she tried to show him what a dutiful wife she was, serving him well and willingly, silently attempting to restore his faith in her… but for nothing. The next meeting of the new Overlord and his commanders saw her husband, standing in the center of a circle of angry, tired men… his words were bitter, laced with what he thought was broken trust, his love shattered… in front of everyone, he accused her of this treachery. What gave him the courage to stand up, and say such things? In a corner of the lodge, where the smoke and shadows half-hid him, sat the bard, nodding… he’d convinced the Norseman that the worst that would happen was a beating, then Jenna’s permanent return to slavery… that she would never again be free, subject always to the abuse of anyone who saw fit to do so… but that she would still be his, would survive despite her horrible betrayal. And now the telling blow fell… the third betrayal to round out this tale, for the bard had known exactly what he was doing… and it was no mercy, not to anyone but him, his jealousy and fear for his own life driving him to a lie. He knew, for he’d overheard the son promise this, that the person found to be responsible for his father’s death would die slow, burnt alive… and more, he knew without doubt that Jenna was not at fault, for it was the bard’s doing that the warriors and slaves had snuck in. He was part Kelt himself, although the lineage did not show, and it was revenge for his people that spurred him… yet fear for his own life now led him to send one of those people to the flames in his place.
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Posted by Frank at 10:08 AM