

The following work of fiction contains sexual activities between
consenting adults. If you are too young, too uptight, or your
local government is too oppressive, you should stop reading now.



This story is in the public domain. While you are legally free
to do anything you like with it, out of courtesy to the author,
I humbly request that you leave my name and contact information
with this story.


Casey at the Bat
By Poison Ivan



By Poison Ivan

_Warning! The following work of fiction contains 
sexual activities between consenting adults. You must be at least 18 
years old to read it._

Casey spat into the grass in front of the dugout. Ten thousand
patrons of the game mumbled quietly from the stands as Cooney
took a few practice swings outside the batter’s box. Barrows
stood loosely in the on-deck circle, waving a leaded bat. Casey
studied the scoreboard.

  Visitors   0 0 1  0 0 0  0 1 2   4
  Mudville   1 1 0  0 0 0  0 0 -   2


The string of Mudville goose eggs ran from the third inning all
the way to the eighth, like a taunt. The young punk pitcher
kicked at the dirt in front of the rubber. The boy’s gray uniform
was stained with sweat. He had pitched a good game up to that
point, but Casey had noticed a loss of velocity on the boy’s
fastball. He was definitely hitable.

Casey scanned the crowd behind the visitor’s dugout. They looked
nervous and unsure. If only Casey could get to the plate, perhaps
he could get this crowd back into the game. He noticed an
attractive blonde sitting right next to the opposing dugout. She
seemed to be staring right at him.

Casey stepped over to the bat rack as Cooney settled in at the
plate. Cooney took a first pitch strike, then fouled off an
outside curve. Casey grabbed his bat and squeezed the handle in
his strong hands. Cooney lunged at the next pitch, sending an
impotent ground ball towards second base. Off balance from the
awkward swing, Cooney stumbled out of the box and almost fell on
his face. He was thrown out by forty feet.

Absolutely pathetic.

Casey got a good hold of his bat in both hands. His spikes
clicked on the concrete floor as he walked to the back of the
dugout. He looked at the lineup card.

  1. Barrows     SS
  2. Flynn       LF
  3. Blake       3B
  4. Casey       1B


And only two outs to go. Flynn and Blake were offensive
liabilities, both put in for defense in the top of the ninth. And
that fucker Blake booted the easy groundball that let two runs
score. Casey glared at the manager, who stared glassy-eyed out
onto the field, chewing tobacco like an old goat. The son-of-a-
bitch didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. Blake? Why’d he put
Blake in? And Blake was hunched over like he was about to puke on
his shoes.

The sound of bat thwacking ball spun him around, only to see the
shortstop gobbling up an easy two-hopper. Barrows gave it his
all, sprinting full tilt. He was fast, but not that fast – he was
out by a step.

Two down.

Casey noticed the blonde again, and this time he was sure of it:
she was looking right at him. Her lips were red and her eyes were
bright. A sprinkling of spectators headed for the exits, but
there was still a look of possibility in the blonde’s eyes. He
thought he saw her mouth a single word: “Casey.”

But there were two outs and Flynn and Blake to get through. The
dugout was deathly quiet.

Casey couldn’t bare to watch while Flynn took his place in the
box. Flynn was a joke at the plate, and often couldn’t hit a
batting practice fastball out of the infield. Instead, Casey
watched the blonde.

She looked back at him and they smiled at each other. She was
better looking than most groupies, that was for sure. She licked
her lips in a provocative way, and Casey felt a twinge of
something in his pants.

There was a sweet “tock!” sound, and Casey looked back towards
the field. The center fielder was running towards left, and when
the ball hit the turf, a roar rose from the crowd. Casey crowded
towards the front of the dugout with the rest of the team. The
center fielder threw the ball in to second. Flynn stood safely on
first base, an idiotic grin on his face.

Casey’s heart accelerated as he scrambled up the steps into the
on-deck circle. Blake walked slowly towards the plate while the
umpire and catcher watched. But no one was watching Blake. Every
eye in the house was on Casey. Casey dropped the lead donut over
the end of his bat. He gave it a slow, easy swing.

Blake fouled off three straight pitches, the last a tip that
barely popped out of the catcher’s mitt. The game’s goat then
took a pitch up and in that almost hit him in the head. An “Ooo”
from the fans filled the stadium.

Blake swung at the next pitch and amazingly sent a rocket line-
drive into right field. Ten thousand spectators leapt to their
feet and when the ball bounced safely off the fence, their
thunder filled the arena. Flynn had stopped halfway between first
and second to watch the flight of the ball, and he barely made it
to third base - the son-of-a-bitch should have scored! But Blake
chugged easily into second, and now the tying run was in scoring
position.

The tying run was on second, and Casey was at the bat!

Casey tapped the handle of his bat on the ground and the lead
donut fell to the ground. The blonde leaned forward in her seat.
“Casey, Casey, Casey, ...” her lips moved as Casey approached the
plate. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of his heavy bat.

Not that Casey thought he’d get a chance to swing. Casey expected
to be walked intentionally. Too bad Blake didn’t hit just a
single – then they’d have to pitch to him. But with first base
open, there was no reason to put the game on the line pitching to
one of the game’s premiere hitters.

The catcher jogged out to the mound to talk to the young pitcher,
and was soon joined by the coach and the entire infield. No doubt
discussing the defensive strategy after Casey trotted with a free
pass to first.

An electric hum filled the stadium. Casey looked at the blonde,
who was only a few feet away now. She was a real beauty, wearing
a short pleated skirt and a small white top that left her midriff
bare. Seated in the front row, he could see her legs crossed, one
over the other, her smooth, tan knees shining in the sunlight.

The visiting team conferred on the pitcher’s mound, and Casey
made eyes with the blonde. She smiled at him and leaned forward
in her seat. Casey thought of walking over to her, striking up a
conversation. He could ask if she wanted to see his bat and balls
after the game. That one almost always worked.

Casey stayed put and adjusted himself. The woman just smiled and
fingered her lips. And very nice lips they were. Ample lips, soft
lips. Her fingertips stroked back and forth underneath that pouty
lower lip.

And Casey watched as she put her thumb in her mouth. _Oh sweet
Jesus_, Casey thought. Her lips wrapped softly around the base of
her thumb and she sucked it, and Casey knew exactly who he would
spend the night with tonight!

The umpire broke up the conference and the gray-clad defense
jogged back to their positions. The catcher crouched behind the
plate, and Casey took his stance. He glanced one last time at the
blonde, who sunk two fingers right into her mouth. She pumped
them slowly in and out between her red lips.

The pop of the ball in leather shook Casey out of his stunned
trance. “Strike one!” the umpire said.

_Fuck!_ Casey said to himself. _They’re pitching to me!_ The
stands remained eerily silent for several beats, and Casey felt a
moment of panic. Did his fans notice his lack of attention? What
if they turned on him? What if they forgot the legend that is
Casey? “That ain’t my style,” said Casey, in an attempt to
appease the crowd.

Like the beating of storm waves on a distant shore, a muffled
roar rose from the stands. “Kill him! Kill the umpire!” someone
shouted. The blonde was on her feet, her fist in the air. Her
breasts wobbled wonderfully under her top, like two softballs
nestled in an umpire’s ball bag.

Casey grinned in relief. He still had them. He raised his hand to
the crowd and the din instantly abated. He nodded to the pitcher,
who just glared back. Cocky son-of-a-bitch, that boy was. It’s
almost like he didn’t know who Casey was!

Casey waited a moment for the fans to settle back in their seats.
The crowd was as tense as a batter waiting for a bases-loaded
three-two pitch. If Casey could smack one out of the park, the
place would explode.

The girl was in her seat, this time with her knees apart. The
shadowy area between her thighs made Casey ache. Those smooth
thighs. And the possibility of what was between them. She smiled
at him and her lips moved, “Oh, Casey,” she seemed to say.

Casey tapped the plate with his bat and looked at her again. She
raised her leg up and hooked her shoe on the upper rail. Her
skirt rode way up, and underneath was nothing but cunt. Sparsely-
haired blond cunt with a deep pink gash.

Casey nearly dropped his bat. He looked at the woman’s face long
enough to see her evil grin. And then her twat again. His prick
began to unfurl like an American flag in a stiff breeze.

Oh, to fuck that hot bod! Yes, Casey would show her a thing or
two about baseball stars! He would slide his cock into that cooze
like a base runner sliding into second. He’d pump her like a
pitcher pumping his arms before throwing a high hard one. He’d
blast her with jizz like the blast of a 500-foot homerun over the
right field fence.

And just then, Casey remembered where he was. He heard the
expectant hush of the crowd and he instantly whipped his eyes
towards the mound.

But he never even saw the ball. By the time he focussed on the
pitcher, the boy was already surging towards home plate, and
Casey couldn’t pick up the pitch’s release point. He only heard
the hiss of the ball and the smack of the catcher’s glove.

The umpire said, “Strike two!”

A chorus of “Fraud!” rose from the stands. Angry screaming. Were
they yelling at the umpire, or were they yelling at him?

And through it all, the hot little thing never even dropped her
leg – she just kept her foot up on the rail. And her hand moved
between her legs. Her fingers played over her cunt like a pitcher
turning the ball over in his hand looking for a seam.

Casey had met some brazen women over his career. There was that
twat he took to dinner in Columbus, the one who flashed a nipple
at him during dessert. And a bunch of chicks who liked to fuck
with the lights on. But Casey had never seen anything like this!

She pushed a finger right inside and eased it out all wet and
glistening. Casey almost said, “Fuck this game!” But no, his fame
was built around baseball. He would just slam the ball over the
fence for the game-winning homerun, get his picture taken for the
papers, and plow her cunt until it was time for the next game!

All he had to do was get the hit out of the way. He had to
concentrate. Concentrate on hitting that ball.

Casey violently pounded his bat on the plate. He imagined
pounding his cock into that pretty little pussy. Oh, how he was
going to make her squeal!

The pitcher boy bent over at the waist, grinding the ball against
his hip. Behind the pitcher, Blake led off second base,
tentatively, like a young virgin before her first fuck. Everyone
was on their feet, screaming and stomping. Everyone was on their
feet except the girl. The girl. The girl sitting with both feet
up, blond beaver all open and ready, her fingers slipping up and
down through her ripened slit. Casey’s cock was as hard as a line
drive up the middle.

Casey was going to get laid, that much was for sure. But he had a
game to attend to. He tore his eyes away from that amazing cunt,
and the pitcher was just beginning his wind-up. Casey was going
to spend a long, memorable night between the thighs of that sweet
thing, and here comes the ball ...

The air was shattered by the force of Casey’s blow. The mighty
swing of one of baseball’s biggest stars.

But Casey had no idea that boy had such a good fastball. With his
big swing, Casey was behind the pitch, and his bat was barely off
his shoulder by the time the ball popped harmlessly into the
catcher’s mitt. Far too late, Casey spun himself to the ground as
the pitcher punched the air in victory.

The crowd exhaled in unison, and there was a smattering of
applause as they rose as a group for the exits.

Casey stood, brushing off the dirt. _Fuck!_ he thought. _Fuck!_

Well, he shrugged, there is always tomorrow.

At least there was some prime grade ass in the stands. Casey
tossed his bat away and forced a humble grin. These things
happen, babe. He walked towards the blonde, who was climbing over
the rail to get onto the field, that little skirt barely covering
her naked ass.

Casey imagined her red lips wrapped around his big bat. She was
smiling like she’d just won the World Series. They got closer,
and he saw her face all lit up with that groupie look, that lust
for heroes that no woman can control. Casey remembered that
amazing little cunt in Toledo, the one with the double-jointed
hips. She’d wanted him to kiss her twat! No way was Casey going
to do that! She was a great fuck, but she turned on him like a
batter turning on a hanging curveball, and she left him with a
big woody and no way to relieve it. Casey went oh-for-five the
next game.

They got closer and her arms began to raise. Casey couldn’t wait
to get that hot little number wrapped up in his arms. He aped her
motion, ready to feel her squirming body rubbing up against him.

But she shot right past him, missing him by a good six feet. He
spun around, confused. And there she was, wrapped up in the arms
of pitcher boy.

They sucked face and the lucky son-of-a-bitch got a double
handful of that awesome ass. And her hand was already rubbing up
and down the boy’s crotch like she was roughing up a new
baseball.

The pair separated just a few inches and bounced together, arm in
arm, towards the visitor’s dugout. They cast him a quick glance
before they broke into a quiet giggle.

Casey watched, his arms limp at his sides. The girl glanced
around one last time before they stepped down into the dugout.
She flipped her little skirt up, giving him a final glimpse of
her naked white ass. He heard a loud laugh from inside the
dugout. It looked like the punk pitcher would head home to a most
joyful night.

But there would be no joy in Mudville.

Casey stared up into the blue summer sky. “Fuck!” he screamed. A
few straggling fans watched, shaking their heads with
disappointment.

And Casey turned back towards the losing dugout.




              

Comments? Good or bad, I'd love to hear them. Email me at
poisoniv1@hotmail.com. Or you can find mor estories like this on
my website, http://bounce.to/poisoniv1.

