Take Me into the Ball Game

Jane knew how to bend the laws of the universe. She wasn't sure if others could do what she did; she hadn't met anyone else who seemed to be able to, and she was now almost forty. This "talent" was akin to sex because it was very private – very "behind closed doors" and not for public consumption. In fact, it seemed to work best when she was in the throngs of passion -- at least that was when it was most dramatic.

Her husband didn't know. She could tell he had noticed oddities, but he always dismissed them. She kept it a secret and experimented on her own. He had introduced her to sex on the internet, and that seemed to be the perfect forum, especially when her cam was off. She could get so turned on she could literally float, which felt wonderful. There was nothing that could compare to the feeling that would well up within her to achieve that; her skin buzzed with electricity. It was perfect on the internet because she was sharing a sexual experience and yet she was alone.

She found herself unfortunately grounded, however, when she turned her cam on as she was leery to give her secret away. It was also difficult to achieve if her mind wasn't perfectly focused – it had to be so occupied that no other outside thoughts could squeeze in. She had to be absolutely consumed with passion to the point of losing visual focus, her sight blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors.

This worked best if she made a mind-centered connection with someone, which wasn't as easy as it might seem. This person had to be intelligent and enticing and able to invade her thoughts without being overly intrusive. She had played with women and men and found satisfaction in both.

Women excited her because she had never actually been with a woman, and she enjoyed considering the differences, mainly focusing on the intimacy and softness. She fantasized about touching breast to breast. Men excited her because they were so eager to play and easy to turn on. She fantasized about making their manhood stand erectly at attention and making them lose control.

She had been experimenting for about six months prior to the noteworthy days that she had off work. They were odd days off, so both her daughter and husband continued their normal routines, and she found herself alone in the house for several hours each day. She hurried to finish necessary tasks so that she could experiment with an uncluttered mind.

She had been toying with the idea of physically extending herself. Thus far she had found it worked with voice only. Perhaps it was a type of hypnotism except that it seemed to work both ways. She had to surrender herself too if she wanted it to work. On the first day she had suddenly hung up on someone with whom she had chatted several times before when she realized she was feeling compelled to do whatever he said. She was imagining stroking his generous dick, which was on cam, and when he began to describe all the things he would do to her, she began acting them out on her cam -- not for fun or to play along, but because she had to.

The next morning she let him call her again after they had met up on Yahoo. She had apologized for leaving so quickly, and in return found herself very pleased that he hadn't asked why when she hadn't offered an explanation. She liked feeling unaccountable – tangle-free. She would only be held accountable to her husband. He simply disclosed that, although brief, it had been one of the most satisfying chats he had ever had. He said his dick had felt everything; he had felt every word spoken, and although he had continued to masturbate for hours following their conversation, he just couldn't match that same height of ecstasy. He had thought about chatting again all that night and was overjoyed that she had returned the next day. He wanted to return the favor. He wanted to get her off. He turned on his cam and asked her to do the same.

She smiled at the thought of just letting go with this person who asked no questions and offered such generous compliments. She inquired what he had in mind. He offered to tell her a story, which was something they had both discussed liking. She agreed, her curiosity piqued, wondering if he had already plotted something or if he was creating on the fly.

He began with a story about a couple that went to a Giant's game. The husband was depressed that the seats were in the very back row, and the wife was depressed about going to the game in the first place. The husband had decided to make the best of a bunk situation by bringing binoculars, and the wife too had decided to make the best of a bunk situation by wearing a short jean skirt with very skimpy flossy underwear. She had pulled them way up on her hips and enjoyed every step on the long flights of stairs – one, two, three, etc., landing; one, two, three, etc., landing; one, two, three, etc., landing; one, two, three, etc., landing. Four sets before finding the correct row, the very last row. Her underwear was positively slimmed, having rubbed her alert pussy into a frenzy. The section was sparsely populated, and everyone was focused forward, but she knew she would have to be subtle and resist her urge to keep stimulating her pussy, at least not too overtly.

Jane felt herself becoming part of the story and felt herself reaching into the elastic sides of her own skirt – oh, she noted, she was wearing shorts -- to pull up the sides of her underwear. Suddenly she had to feel them between her own wet lips. She felt that twinge at the thought of the pleasure and tightened her muscles to heighten it, feeling herself blush for getting so worked up so quickly.

"That's right," the voice in her earpiece encouraged. "Pull up your panties and see how good she felt."

Jane acknowledged a flash of worry as she felt herself so lead by his words, but she decided that she would simply listen to the story and not let herself go too far. After all, she was a disciplined, practical person, she reasoned, and pulling her flossies into her crotch would feel so nice. Hmmmm, she corrected her thought, the wife in the story is wearing flossies; she was wearing bikini bottoms. Why couldn't she even remember what she was wearing?

Dismissing her worry as quickly as it crossed her mind, Jane slowly hiked her underwear up her thighs, deep into her lips, and sighed happily.

"Very good," the voice encouraged her, "feels so very good," he cooed, and the story continued.

The wife in the story squirmed subtly when she sat on her seat, and her disgruntled husband mumbled his support with something to the effect of it being bad enough the seats were in the "nose bleed" section, but they also had to be so "damned hard." The wife smiled to herself and continued to satisfy herself, not complain.

Jane spread her legs on her own desk chair, pressing her hands, palms flat in between, her thighs spreading on her fingers, and began to rub her lips around inside her underwear. Her shorts rubbed and crept up. "Why not?" She asked herself. It just felt so nice. The voice was right; he knew exactly how to get her off and she should listen. She didn't want to see a baseball game anyway; why shouldn't she have some fun with it? "What?" She questioned herself, purposefully blinking as she reminded herself that she was not the one at the baseball game.

"Mmmmm," the voice encouraged.

The husband in the story was flipping through the program, talking about stats and the possible line-up. His wife picked up his binoculars and began to scan the stadium while she tightened and relaxed her pussy secretively moving as much as she possibly could inside herself without being noticed on the outside.

Jane followed – flexing inside – grasping the emptiness and longing to be filled. She wondered if anyone would notice what she was doing; she knew she should be subtle. But only one person was watching her on cam. Again she reminded herself that she wasn't actually at the game but in her very own bedroom.

The wife discovered a section that had been closed off almost directly across from them in the very back row. She noted the location: Section 336.

The game moved through three innings with the wife playing with herself until she knew she would do something crazy. Her husband was becoming suspicious, especially because her replies were so very brief when he tried to engage her in conversation. She barely spoke.

By this time Jane realized she too was in need of escalating to something else. Her pussy felt wonderful and her pulse pounded there as well as in her ears. She craved whatever came next, whatever her caller would decide was next she would relish and do.

The wife asked for the binoculars and checked 336 – still empty.

"Hey," she told her husband, "a few people from my office said they were going to today's game. I think I see them; I'll be right back."

She made her way back down the stairs, enjoying the process almost as much as she had on the way up. She skipped through the stadium energetically with the breeze created by her skirt teasing her camouflaged nakedness until she saw the white stenciled letters "E12." She stopped and looked around, wondering why the section had a chain draped across it.

After a few minutes of not seeing anyone, she took a huge step over the chain, glancing back in guilty fashion. No one stopped her, and with a smile she reasoned she would explain that she was crazy with passion if anyone did indeed ask.

Back up the stairs, mmmmmm – one, two, three, etc., landing. Exactly parallel, again four sections. When she made it to the top, she looked across, barely able to make out her husband. She removed her cell phone from her hip pocket and called him, asking him to look over at E12 with the binoculars and tell her what he saw.

There was a long pause as he explained that he was looking. She disclosed that it was directly across from their seats under the big screen and heard him immediately reply, "Oh! Hello!"

"Hello!" she responded and spun around into a full bend in one fluid motion, letting her skirt flip up to moon dear old hubby. She held her buns in the air and the cell phone to her ear.

"Very nice," he breathed, followed immediately by, "I thought something was going on with you!"

"Yeah, I'm crazy horny. I want to sit on your lap in the very back and feel you fuck me slowly, so slowly that no one around us will notice. You can simply unzip and I'll sit on you and spread my skirt. I'm wet and ready."

"Nice," the husband replied and reported that he was immediately hard.

Jane realized also that she desperately wanted to sit on a nice hard dick. She stood, turned, and dropped her shorts and underwear, asking to see her caller's dick. Her caller was more than happy to oblige and show off the extent of his excitement at knowing that his words were having such a profound effect. He smiled knowingly as he pointed his cam down.

Jane rocked her hips back and forth, imagining his large dick filling her – the same dick she had admired the day before with the thick blue wavy veins and puffy head. She focused so intently while she rocked that she actually felt him slide in just as she heard him gasp. She slowed her motion and deep-knee bended onto it fully. Impulsively, she worked her fingers onto the lips of her pussy and began feeling crazy horny herself.

She wasn't exactly sure how long she had been fucking him that way, both of them exchanging bewildered grunts before she realized that she was floating ever so slightly above her chair, granting herself full access with her purposeful fingers to her very moist pussy. Quickly glancing her cam, she confirmed that it wasn't perceptible, but this passing thought was enough to plant her back on her chair and she landed painfully, mashing her fingers under her weight.

He flinched, the spell broken. "Ohhhhh, that felt so real. Just like I was fucking you, exactly as you were. You really stimulate my imagination in a way that no one else can. I can feel everything. It's just incredible. I want to . . ."

"Finish the story." Jane cut him off bluntly.

"Okay," he agreed, knowing that he was indeed getting her off.

And the story continued.

When the wife had thoroughly mooned her husband, she took off her tank top and stood in Section E12 in nothing but her cheeky little jean skirt. When the crowd hit a crescendo of wild cheers, she raised her arms in victory and bounced energetically, letting the edges of her skirt flip up and momentarily brush her bobbing, perky little breasts whisper-like before being overtaken and weighted back down to tickle her tight thighs. The breeze blew on the wetness between her legs and on the thick drip edging its way down. She smiled at her freedom and felt it bounding within her too, stretching her from inside with its longing to be released. She allowed it to bubble to the surface and felt her soul released and instantaneously joyous in its exploration.

Jane removed her own top and suddenly stood, and in the most surprising move of her life to date, she too jumped for joy, only to find herself painfully thrown to the carpet. Her hand went to the sore spot on her head. She had hit her head?

"What the hell . . .?" Did he just say that or did she just think it? She hesitatingly reached to her chair, pulling herself back onto it, knowing she had first flown up and then dropped from view.

"Whoops," she nervously laughed.

"What the hell . . .?" he repeated firmly. Evidently he had said that.

"I slipped," she willed, her voice laced with honey.

"Oh," he replied confused. "I thought . . . ." he trailed off as he was trying to stick with his train of thought, against which she fought mightily to derail.

"I thought you popped up," he lazily mumbled without conviction, "out of your . . . ."

She closed her eyes, mashed her lashes into her wrinkled skin, and really concentrated on how impossible that would be for her to sudden spring straight up out of her chair. He had certainly been mistaken. She willed him to think it so.

"Are you okay?" he mentally flipped, staring earnestly into her cam.

She wondered what the face must have looked like. Perhaps he thought it reflected pain.

"I'm getting so impossibly carried away with your story that it literally knocked me out. Please, please continue."

He laughed at the canned thickness of her response, pleased and definitely ready to play along, as Jane focused on the rhythm of his hand expertly stroking his own boundlessness. Soon that image of his dick merged onto the window of her consciousness, superimposed as an image reflecting on the glass, through which she again was at the game, wishing she knew what her husband were thinking. She was his wife? Whose wife? Was it really her husband?

She, Jane, – no -- the wife was having a glorious time with her unbridled freedom unleashed when she heard something that didn't quite fit as before. Oh, her phone! Her husband was yelling on the phone. She smiled because she knew she was absolutely killing him. By the time she held it up to ear, the yelling had erupted into a rumble of hoots and cat calls throughout the stadium. She couldn't hear him at all. What the hell . . .?

She reassembled herself, having been slapped out of her passion with curiosity and a returned awareness that she was probably where she shouldn't be. She quickly journeyed down the steps on her side of the stadium to head for the parallel set on the other side of the stadium.

She received a few curious glances on her way through the stadium. At one point she even thought a few people pointed her out excitedly to their companions. She had a long-standing theory about some people being able to instinctually pick up on sexual energy – at least that was how she could explain her pussy sometimes dampening at a glance. Right now she speculated that she would be very noticeable indeed. She randomly glanced at the crotch of the next male passer-by. She enjoyed spotting dicks at attention and looking into their owner's eyes innocently. This man's eyes grabbed her immediately, however, and bore back at her a bit too knowingly. What the heck?

Jane felt curiosity welling up within herself. What had happened? What was her husband trying to tell her? Once again, she pondered: her husband? He would NEVER go to a baseball game. Why exactly did they go there in the first place? But before she could sort through her confusion, she felt the story suspend her disbelief and envelop her again.

The wife was certain that people were staring at her by the time she had begun mounting the stairs to her husband. At first she met their glances in a friendly, open manner, but she soon realized they knew something she didn't, which began to filter into her mind, mixing there with a bit of alarm. She climbed more and more desperately until she was hopping over every other step.

Completely out of breath, she reached her grinning husband. His look said exactly the same thing as everyone else's. It clearly wasn't bad news, but it clearly involved her indiscretion. What could he and everyone else possibly know that she didn't? She had shared a sexy secret with him only moments before, but how could that possibly be tying her to everyone else? Sure, perhaps a few people may have seen her, but how was this possible!?

She used her eyes to implore that he fill her in, but he couldn't relax his face sufficiently to speak. She angrily wondered if he would pull a muscle in his face until a man a few rows down yelled, "Yeah, baby! I'd love to watch you all day!" directly up at her, causing her brain to filter a bit more enlightenment and embarrassment, equally mixed.

"No!" she mouthed at her husband, but he nodded enthusiastically in return. In one motion she jumped into her seat, and pulled her legs up and into herself, and she then promptly buried her face in her husband's shoulder. He swung his arm around her, squeezed and proudly declared, "Thanks, hon. Now every man in this stadium who saw the big screen wishes he were me!"

Jane suddenly felt awful. She sat perfectly still. Her face was flush and she felt that warm wave of embarrassment tugging her into a tide. Who had seen her? What if someone from work had spotted her? Or worse yet, what if one of her daughter's friend's parents saw that? She was out to sea. What if a kid she knew saw? She was sinking fast. What was she thinking? How could she have been so awfully impulsive? How could . . . .

"Well?" her earpiece inquired. "What did you think of the story?"

Her brain lurched – a story? A story. Yes, a story. Oh! No damage had been done. She smiled and took a deep breath, stammering. She could feel blood rushing past her ears. "I just felt bad being seen. It could have had ramifications."

"It was just a story," he reminded her. "Besides, don't you like to be seen? Don't you like to know that watching you is making me feel so incredible?

Emerging from the dampness of remorse, Jane weighed his words and stared at his cam. "Yes, I like knowing that I can turn you on. I should probably admit that you turn me on too – just to be fair."

"Mmmmmm," he oozed as he began to stroke earnestly.

Jane fixed her glance at his cam, registering on his pleasure. She realized that she was positively wet, feeling pleasure with each stroke. It was as if he were stroking her. She felt hard and pulsing, and her excitement seemed to grow with each stroke. She parted her lips to gasp at her bliss.

"Your face is exquisite." He told her. "I can see exactly how you feel."

"I feel so good." She breathed absent-mindedly, mesmerized by his cam, and to her surprise her passion began to stack upon itself, expanding until it simply burst out in one exquisite rush followed by another. Was she cumming? He certainly was, and with each squirt, she felt the release. She knew she was watching her own dick and enjoying every inch of its ampleness -- its lingering hardness felt so nice. When she reached down to squeeze it, she found her own dripping lips, which she immediately began rubbing.