Ball Two

Mike Piazza would miss this opening day. His sprained right wrist might take another day to heal enough to throw or firmly grip a bat, so the doctor said. Mike dressed dejectedly, knowing his uniform wouldn't need to be cleaned after today's game.

Ain't this a bitch. I can't fucking stand to just sit there on the bench. And Bobby V. will whine if I read comic books in the dugout. I'm playing tomorrow no matter what.

Mike went out to the stands to sign autographs before the game. Because there didn't seem to be much point in warming up, he spent more time than usual chatting with the fans.

Two very attractive women soon caught Mike's attention but they seemed to be paying no mind to him. He watched them for about fifteen minutes talking on cell phones and writing furiously in notebooks. And one even had a laptop she pounded away on.

Shit, they are not even looking up at me. Must be lesbians.

Very warm and sunny in Atlanta this particular opening day afternoon so most of the Turner Field crowd donned summer attire. The two women Mike carefully observed were quite scantily dressed.

Mike caught the attention of one as she looked up momentarily from her scribbling. He motioned for her to approach him. She did, and dragged her companion along.

"I'm Mike Piazza, the best player in baseball. And you two are?"

"I'm Deborah, the best butt bumper east of the Mississippi without a real dick."

"And I'm Pandora. Would you like to be my daddy?"

"I see we have a couple of jokers here. Really, ladies, what do you two do and why are you here? You don't look like typical baseball fans."

Talk about balling. I'd like to get to slide into home with these two.

Mike tried not to be obvious as he examined the two women. He had quite the eye for both the strike zone and the erogenous zone. He guessed Deborah and Pandora to both be several years younger than himself. Not jail bait, but not ready for the nursing home either. Pandora's nipples and large aureolas were quite noticeable through the white tank top that ended at her belly button. Lodon antique wash short shorts with a slim fit. Deborah wore a floral print halter-top with a deep v-neck and button-front denim no-waist style shorts.

"Are you two models or something?" Mike asked quite seriously.

"Yeah, right, do we look like bimbo babes?" Pandora snapped.

Well shit, the long hair, tight asses, great tits and legs that won't quit confused me, Mike thought, but didn't say.

"Not baseball fans?" Deborah questioned indignantly. "We know you can't throw worth a shit, Mike. You should be the designated hitter."

"This is the National League, Deb," Pandora corrected, "the DH is only in the American League."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. I haven't seen many games in the past couple years except in Cleveland. Fucking Cleveland. Mistake on the lake. And don't eat the fish."

"So you two are baseball fans. Funny, never would have guessed you are 'Baseball Annies' but who can tell?"

"Say what?" Pandora asked, confused.

"Groupies. Haven't you read Ball Four by Jim Bouton?"

"Have you read Das Kapital? Deborah inquired sarcastically.

"Now be serious, ladies, what do you two do and why are you here?"

"Well," Pandora began, "just for fun we write dirty stories for an erotic website. In fact, we are in a contest against one another and other authors at this very moment."

This is getting quite interesting. Mike smirked.

"But we both have real jobs in the business world," Deborah added, "and we are in Atlanta for a big conference sponsored by the company that furnishes both of our employers with various systems and software products."

"Well, how come you're not in meetings or something?"

"Today is arrival day and a golf tournament," Pandora explained, "and we passed on that. Tomorrow the meetings begin."

"Yeah, we suck," Deborah added.

"Say what?" Mike asked, smirking again.

"Golf. Tiger Woods we are not," Deborah responded.

"Would you two ladies like to have dinner with me after the game?"

"Just you?" Pandora asked. "Or would you bring someone else?"

"Yeah, how about Benny Agbayani?" Deborah inquired. "He's cute. And I hear he suffers from a rare Hawaiian disease, lackanooky. I'd like to do something about that!"

"No, just me, ladies. I don't like to share my good fortune."

Or pussy. Mike was beyond smirking and grinned from ear to ear.

"Well then, Mike," Deborah agreed, "we are staying at the Westin Peachtree Plaza. Pick us up about sevenish?"

"Hey, I know where that is!"

"You should, Mike, it's the tallest hotel in the Western Hemisphere," Pandora observed. "Duh!"

"It's 'doh!' I think," Deborah corrected. "Don't you watch the Simpsons, bitch?"

"Go fuck a troll, whore!"

"Now, now, no cat fights, girls, save your energy for later. I'll meet you two in the lobby, like you said, sevenish."

"Mike, did you know the lobby is designed after Copenhagen's Tivoli Gardens?" Pandora asked, hoping Mike might show some sign of intelligence beyond that of Cro-Magnon man.

"Just another ballpark to me."

"Yeah, well I'll bet you can't hit one up to the 69th floor," Deborah snorted, "because that's where our suite is."

"I'll give it my best shot." As in full load. "See you ladies later then. I have to go warm the bench. Can't play today."

Mike had an erection throughout the entire game and he thought how fortunate to not have to play. He could see Deborah and Pandora in the stands from the dugout and they put on a little show just for him. They brought fruit to the game and when they both peeled and ate a banana very suggestively he thought about asking Bobby V. if he could be excused from the rest of the game.

Hmmm. I wonder if I dare ask the skipper if I can blowjob, 'er I mean blow off the rest of the game. No, better not. I'll just sit here and suffer. Down boy, down.

The Braves beat the Mets 3-2 in the bottom of the ninth on a Chipper Jones home run. Mike could have cared less but he did fantasize about scoring soon himself.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Bobby Valentine asked Mike as they walked to the locker room. "You look like a zombie."

"Oh nothing, Bobby. Just disappointed we lost and I couldn't play."

"Tell me about it. I hate losing to the motherfucking Braves. You want to get some ribs and brews with the coaches and me tonight?"

"No, but thanks, Skip. Meeting some new friends who are in Atlanta on business for dinner."

And I sure hope they are on the fucking menu.

Mike showed up with a limousine at seven sharp and strolled into the lobby.

Sweet Jesus and the Virgin Mary! Mike wiped his chin because for a moment he suspected he just might be drooling.

Deborah wore a stretch silk shirtdress. It had a gold geometric print with a button placket, button-cuff sleeves, side slits and a metal link belt. Pandora wore a black circle print halter dress. The sling-back sandals with a four-inch leather covered sculptured heel appeared identical, except for the color. Deborah's were gold and Pandora's black.

Mike took the pair to one of Atlanta's most famous French restaurants.

"Hey Mike," Pandora joked, "I thought for sure we'd be doing Italian tonight."

With any luck you will be soon, my lovely.

"I love French!" Deborah added enthusiastically.

I'll just bet you do, darlin'.

Maitre D' Pierre greeted Mike warmly. Obviously he had dined at this establishment before.

The waiter brought their drinks, a Long Island Iced Tea for Deborah, a Tequila Sunrise for Pandora and a draft beer in a very large ceramic mug for Mike.

"What exactly is in that Long Island Iced Tea?" Mike asked, making small talk.

"Half an ounce of vodka, gin, white rum and cointreau and an ounce of lemon juice, topped with cola."

"You know, ladies, your footwear fascinates me. You mind if I have a closer look? My ancestors from the old country were cobblers and my uncles own a large shoe store, nothing and I mean nothing but five floors of shoes. I used to work there before I became a baseball star."

"Go for it, Mike," Pandora said, "crawl right under the table if you like."

He did.

"Yeah, and Mike," Deborah suggested, "feel free to suck on our toes."

While Mike occupied himself under the table Deborah reached into her purse and retrieved the small bottle containing the love potion. She poured a substantial dose in Mike's beer. It consisted of a concoction of Viagra, Spanish Fly and Rohynol.

Mike surfaced shortly thereafter. "Yes, indeed, those sandals are high quality workmanship."

The waiter brought an appetizer, jumbo shrimp sauteed with shallots, cream and cognac and a basket of crudites. The three made their own salads from the fresh seasonable vegetables, hard broiled eggs, bacon, ham, turkey, various cheeses, fruit and whatever else was in the basket.

"Bring us two bottles of Domaine Romanee Conti, 1977," Mike requested. "And we all would like the Margret of Duck Mariniquaise at Maitre D' Pierre's recommendation."

For several hours they thoroughly enjoyed their dinner. Mike talked baseball and Deborah and Pandora talked about their erotic stories and poems, reciting from several of their more memorable works.

"How about reciting some of your erotic poetry, ladies?"

"OK, here's something from one of mine," Pandora offered. "Tell me more about the purity you despise, while I get lost in the implications of your eyes and breathe the scent of your arrogance in."

"Well, what about this?" Deborah injected. "Diddum a doo a dum a day, let us have a peek in Madame Pandora's box I say."

"Sounds like you, Pandora, got the words and you, Deborah, got the beat. I'm thinking about doing a rap video. Would you two like to be in it?"

"Yes!" they both screamed.

I guess it's time to leave. I wonder if they'll ask me up to their room.

"Mike, would you like to come up to our suite when we get back to the hotel?" Pandora asked, as if on cue. "We could hop in the Jacuzzi and finish this second bottle of wine."

"Why yes I certainly would, thank you. No point in wasting the wine, not at $850 a bottle."

An hour later Mike found himself restrained on his back on one of the large beds in the suite the two women shared. His hands and legs were cuffed to the bedposts.

The girls had changed into something more comfortable, Braves' shirts, unbuttoned in the front and nothing underneath.

Deborah and Pandora sat on the bed next to Mike and began to kiss passionately and fondle one another. And they had vibrators and they turned them on.

What's this?

"Don't worry, Mike," Deborah explained, "you're probably a good little Catholic boy but girls playing with girls is not a sin. I know because I'm an ordained minister. What do you suppose King Solomon's wives and concubines did while they waited on their turn with him?"

This is hot!

Once the girls had pleasured themselves to the tune of several orgasms, they turned their attention to Mike and his member standing at attention.

"Are you lonesome, Mike?" Pandora inquired seductively.

For two hours they gave Mike a considerably better workout than he had at the ballpark that day. Deborah rode Mike's cock, Pandora sat on his face facing Deborah and they leaned forward kissing and playing with one another's nipples as they reached climax after climax. After about fifteen minutes they would switch positions. Finally the two collapsed on the bed in temporary exhaustion.

"See," Deborah whispered in Pandora's ear, "I told you that love potion would work. Mike has had a stiffy for hours. My friend, Laurel the witch, made that stuff up for me in her cauldron."

"Mike honey, you didn't cum," Pandora cooed, "what's the matter?"

"I think I might have a problem."

"What might that be?"

"I think I might be gay, or at least bisexual. I am very attracted to beautiful women like you two but it seems like I can't get off unless I am with another man. We have glory holes in the locker room back at Shea Stadium in New York; big fun. My skipper, Bobby V., sucks my dick every time I hit a home run. It's his own special way of motivating me. He is one helluva manager, and quite the cocksucker also. Incidentally, the only thing he spits out is sunflower seeds."

"Well, we'll just fix that little problem, Mikey baby," Deborah responded.

Deborah tossed Pandora a Braves hat. They put up their hair and covered it with the ball caps. Both buttoned up their Braves shirts, covering their breasts.

"Now Mikey," Deborah then continued, "you just pretend I'm John Rocker and Pandora is Chipper Jones. Number 49 is going to fuck your ass and number 10 is going to suck your cock."

Why couldn't they just be somebody on my own team? I don't know about this sleeping with the enemy. Fuck! I don't even like players from that other New York team. Did you see what Roger Clemens did to my pretty face last year?

Deborah and Pandora turned Mike over, keeping him restrained securely, and got him into position on all fours.

Pandora slid on her back head first underneath Mike and began nibbling on his cock. "Let Chipper give you head, honey. Fuck my mouth."

"Mike, I can tell you have taken it up the ass before," Deborah commented as she primed his hole with her finger and lube. "Who was it? Whose big black dick did you take up the ass?"

"Uh, uh," was all Mike could mutter as Deborah slowly entered him from behind.

Deborah began to pick up the pace. "I want you to scream my name, Mike. I want to hear it over and over. I want to hear you yell, "Fuck me Rocker!"

Mike began to chant, "Fuck me Rocker!" but not convincingly.

Deborah pulled out momentarily, spanked his bare ass until the volume became acceptable, and then stuck it back up Mike's red rear. And then she did her best John Rocker imitation as Mike portrayed Ned Beatty in Deliverance.

"The biggest thing I don't like about New York are the foreigners. I'm not a very big fan of foreigners. You can walk an entire block in Times Square and not hear anybody speaking English. Asians and Koreans and Vietnamese and Indians and Russians and Spanish people and everything up there. How the hell did they get there? They can all suck my fucking dick. And you, Piazza, you fucking dumb greaseball wop, you ain't no fucking baseball player. You should be on the Sopranos or something.

"Yeow!" Mike screamed as Rocker got a little over enthusiastic while bashing New Yorkers and Mike's ass.

Pandora then demanded, "Mike, I want you to whimper and moan, "Oh Chipper, suck my cock, yes, yes, just like that."

Mike did as he had been commanded and finally screamed, "I love the fucking Braves!" as he pushed his cock as far down Chipper's throat as he could and blew his load down her throat. Moments later he pulled out and continued to shoot cum all over Chipper's face and Braves hat and shirt.

The three soon fell asleep, exhausted, to be woken by the alarm a few hours later.

Mike watched the pair as they showered and dressed.

"You know, you ladies look even more awesome in those business suits than you did last night in those Braves' shirts and hats or before in the evening wear or even at the ballpark in the skimpy outfits. Did I tell you I kind of have a crush on Bill Gates and Donald Trump?"

Mike soon threw on his clothes and as he walked out the door bid a farewell, "You know we play the Braves 19 times this year. And if you can make it to New York, tickets will be waiting."

As soon as he walked out the door Pandora picked up the phone and called Bobby Cox, manager of the Braves.

"We wore him out, Uncle Bobby, just like you asked. He'll be worthless today. The Braves fuck the Mets again."

Mike Piazza went 0 for 4 at the plate and made three errors that afternoon. Visions of the night before kept dancing in his head. Chipper Jones hit a grand slam. Mike patted him on the ass when he crossed home plate.