I love a challenge. Almost as much as I love a parade. Which reminds me of a text message exchange I had at one point with a lover some years ago when I asked her: "Does that mean you're thinking of joining this parade aux folles?"
It's frequently exceedingly difficult being a Yankees fan, but, they're the home team. And I wouldn't have it any other way. If you're going to be a hater, take a number. However, if, like me, you delight in your team winning (there are more ways than one to win...) then the following piece is likely to please you immensely. Possibly earlier this year, possibly last year, I can't exactly remember, I manage to meet a fellow erotica author via Facebook, and no, this doesn't turn into a torrid internet facilitated love story. At least, not yet anyway. However, what does happen is that she's a Rangers fan, and the long and short of it, so to speak, is that after the duel in Arlington, well, let's just say we had a difference of opinion, and something of a challenge was issued, that I, in my inimitable form, decided to answer, whether it was sincere or not.
So, without further ado, I present for your reading pleasure: Stephanie & Layla hit a home run!
It had been a long fought duel on the way to this Championship, the Yankees were trucking along at a terrific rate, and though the series was even at 3-3, with the tie breaking game still to come after another Bronx Bombers win tonight, both sides seemed overconfident in their team's abilities for the following evening. Everyone leaving the ball field in Arlington that night was certain of victory, at a 50-50 split, it was anybody's series.
Stephanie and her friend Layla had been Rangers fans for as long as they could remember. They'd been fervent fans when the team went bankrupt back in the beginning of the season to facilitate its sale and position itself to acquire some new talent, and now that they were in full swing, they couldn't be happier. The cousin of Layla's boyfriend's co-worker had ended up with tickets only a few rows back from the field, and since Stephanie's latest book deal had gotten off without a hitch, she decided it was time to celebrate.
"This is too much! I can't handle not knowing what's gonna happen!" The author told her friend. "I have to do something...."
"What could you possibly do?" Asked Layla "This is sports, you have two athletic teams battling for supremacy. What's your plan; wear them out before game 7?"
Layla looked over at her friend, whose tremendous figure she'd seen cause actual accidents as she crossed the street. Stephanie wasn't exactly known for being meek, or mild, and had on previous occasions carried both of them into situations that had nearly gotten them arrested, almost the centerpiece in an as yet unresolved case of international intrigue, and the subjects of more than one glamour magazine layout. She'd been back at the gym recently, and the way the highlights in her hair picked up the setting sun, and the light made her cinnamony skin look just that much more like cinnamon, gave the devious grin on her face extra emphasis.
The trouble maker looked sidelong at her friend, with that glint in her eye that communicated they were either going to need bail money, or a really good alibi. Layla just shook her head and sighed. This was going to be a really long night.
In the dugout, the Yankees were putting their equipment together for the trip back to the Bronx. Now that just about every cop in the place was out of the stands, the deviant duo skirted the security issue, ditching their Rangers jerseys along the way so as not to unsettle their quarry, bounced down onto the field from the stands, and in the twinkling of an eye, was toe to toe with Derek Jeter himself. The captain's wry smile indicated he had already guessed at their purpose in being there.
"Get lost trying to find your way out ladies?" He asked, his lips twisting in his characteristic playful grin. "I'm sure we can help you find your way," he offered, with a gentlemanly gesture that belied his intent.
"We noticed you swing a pretty heavy bat there, capitan," Stephanie's voice dripped honey as she threw in a bit of spice to help keep his attention on her. "I was wondering if you could show me just how it's done!" The lead Bomber stopped in the midst of his preparations, and arched an eyebrow as he checked over his shoulder.
"You sure that's a good idea sweetness?" Asked Jeter, "lots of girls can't handle the Louisville Slugger!"
"I'm a big girl, I'll be alright. My friend though might be a bit more delicate." Layla harumphed at the implication that she might not be up to the challenge, glowering at her erstwhile partner in crime.
"You just make sure you show me how you aim for the back wall!" she winked at the man. There was no going back now, they were deep in it this time.
"Hey Tex!" called the captain, motioning for Texeira to join him, chuckling to himself about the joke he'd just made, "these two fine fans of ours are desperate to know how to hit a home run..."
Mark's strong jaw line seemed to broaden as his face broke into an even broader grin. The girls hadn't exactly expected to be caught without their jerseys, and what clothes they had left spoke directly to that: Stephanie's skin tight, button down top hardly contained her delicious breasts. The top two of four buttons left purposefully undone, it fell open, and exposed the sheer black material of a bra that seemed barely there, and exposed a toned midriff that dove delectably down into the denim demonstrating dangerously curving hips that peeked out here and there through stress points in the fabric that had not survived the frequent abuse she put them through.
"Well, I had considered a bit of a hot tub after the game, but maybe I have a one more inning left in me!" As he ogled Layla, her smallish frame hugged tightly by a plain, grey t-shirt, just barely her size, so that when she moved this way or that her somewhat darker than Stephanie's skin tones playfully peered out through the partitions. Her opaque cotton leggings clinging to the slender calves and thighs that she knew just how to work in order to steal a base with him. Her brow furrowed at his last remark: "only one inning?" She pouted, seeming momentarily distraught.
Both gentlemen suddenly realized the moral dilemma with which they had just been presented, and decided to overlook valor in exchange for voracity, Derek taking Stephanie by the hand and Mark her friend Layla. The Captain of the Yankees' warship directed the lusty lass' hand directly to the mizzenmast, so that he might instruct her in how to properly manipulate the wood. Tex opted for an entirely different tack, and, as if to emphasize that despite the game being over, he was still possessed of unquantifiable force, he took a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back to receive a passionate kiss, thoughtfully removing his batting glove before his foraging fingers found their way down her pants and plunged into her wetness.
Both Texans knew their reputation was on the line, and that despite their differences, they felt dutifully obligated to represent the best interests of their team. To that end, no sooner had Texeira reached down to find the redoubtable Ranger fan to be peculiarly pantiless, but also shaved clean and smooth, than her second skin tight leggings were ejected from the field of play Now furious with passion, Layla tore at the enclosure of the infielder's pants as her intermittent exclamations in response to his digital manipulation. Her force play at home base rewarded her with the presentation of a new outstanding member of the team, and Texeira's heavy, strong hands guiding her up against the wall, hooking a leg over his shoulder, and with three games worth of frustration behind his actions, went gunning for the big score. They stared deep into each others' eyes, both intent on a Grand Slam.
Jeter, always the gentleman, was taking his time in sizing up his opposition, but he was finding it difficult to not come unhinged now that Stephanie's top was completely open, and he had been using his deftest pitching technique on the peak of each mound. But though he felt particularly capable of remaining there for several more innings, he deemed it necessary to focus his attention elsewhere, and brought his lips southward, kissing and nibbling his way along the deliciously defined third base line towards salvation, tearing open the clasp to her tantalizingly tight jeans with his teeth.
The denim's explosive release brought a gasp of passion from Stephanie; he slipped the rugged fabric along the slowly arching line of her amazing ass, lavishing attention on the burning flesh he found laid completely bare owing to a conspicuous lack of space for any sort of undergarment. She loved the gentle affection, it emboldened her, but she was plainly nearing desperation, and his hot mouth so close to her pitcher's mound brought her hips forward to try to force him to make a play.
The Captain was no slouch, and made a mad dash towards his objective, dipping his tongue deep into the now warm and wet honey pot, licking and lapping at the sweetness there, applying himself with particular dedication to the task in front of him, and it was in short order that his practice partner began exclaiming using her outfield voice.
"Fuck me!" she pleaded, her voice high pitched and wanting as she clutched his close shaved head, pressing her nails into his scalp. "Fuck me!" She repeated in a harsh whisper, as if he might get called out at second base if he didn't hustle up. Jeter gave a final flick to her formidably firm clit with the point of his tongue, and quickly set about relieving her of the remainder of her clothing as she continued to massage her wetness with the intensity of someone trying to alleviate pain.
He withdrew his favorite piece of regulation wood auspiciously as the team's last World Series trophy, and with great fanfare, eliciting excited moans from his newest team member that played counterpoint to her companion's screams, and sounded louder than the Rangers stadium speakers on full blast. Like Babe Ruth back at Yankee Stadium, the Bombers' iconic leader aimed his bat at the far wall, eyed up his opponent, and with one mighty swing, knocked it out of the park. She was coming the second he was inside her, and he showed no signs of being incapable of playing the extra innings.
Tex and Layla had progressed from where they had been to the first baseman supporting her completely in mid-air, both of his heavy hands underneath, suspending her as he oscillated back and forth, and she clung to his neck, shuddering into him. But she wanted more, she was convinced that she yet had a side to her that he would leave both never forgetting, and hungry for once again, and she communicated as much as she could feel every muscle on him - and inside her - flexing with his exertions. Texeira allowed her to slowly disentangle herself from her present pretzel-like permutation, and stopping momentarily for a telling, sensuous kiss that caused his cock to jump higher than a center fielder reaching for a fly ball at the fence, she pulled him along with her towards the bench.
Layla took the weighty weapon in her hand, ceremoniously positioning her feet in the strike zone, bent slightly at the knees her hips flexed backwards, and guided her prize possession straight towards her ass. He took a few practice swings, just to ensure he'd eyed the territory correctly, and finally did what he did best, and took home.
"Damn! Ahhh-nnnn!" her pronouncements had become throatier, and the sensation overwhelmed her, nearly forcing her to lose her hold on the wall in front of her. But she managed to remain focused under pressure, and pushed back against him. She was going all the way. Stephanie knew the squeals of pleasure her partner in crime produced almost as well as she knew her own, and she knew what those ones meant, and the fact that she wanted something similar. Little did she know, though, that Derek's playful smile was as much devious as it was delectable. Just at that moment, right as the premier dramatis persona of the dynamic duo had begun to massage the rosebud that she was aching to have plucked, she heard his voice scream "switch hit!" And seemingly mid-stroke, both teammates swapped locations, bringing surprised gasps from the girls, as Jeter jousted jovially in the field where Texeira had so recently played. Stephanie found her legs gathered up, pushed towards her shoulders, and her new batter, in less time than it takes to tell the tale, found his mark.
The engagement lasted longer than expected, and there appeared no end in sight, until – between heaves and sighs - Mark managed: "So what's the score now?" his fastidious fingers urging her towards orgasm between her legs at the same time that he was sinking between her ass cheeks.
"The Yankees win it!" she screamed. "Yankees win!"
Almost on cue, the Bombers retracted their statement, and exploded out onto the scene, burning white pearls cascading down the backsides of each of their ingénues. The girls, now nearly as exhausted as the players, and finding themselves, at the end of the game, cheek to cheek, shared a gentle kiss, delighting in the pinnacle of their perversity, their All-Star performance. The men, true to form, set about congratulating themselves for a hard won 10th inning.
"Now then," began Stephanie, still short of breath from her last sprint, "are you going to treat my Rangers nicely in game 7?"
The Captain and his infielder shared a look of surprise, and then both friends' faces twisted in that impish grin. "That depends," began Jeter. "How many extra innings are you good for?"
The rest, as of course you know, is history.
© Don Luis de la Cosa, 2010