Put Me In, Coach!

Brian did make it into the late innings of a rout of the Cardinals and hit a long fly to right field that had Jake screaming, "Get out of here, ball!" It settled into the right fielder's glove, but Jake turned to me afterward and gave me a thumbs up. I felt myself squirming in my seat.

The game after that was the first one we lost. Brian once again got to play in the late innings because the Tigers were ahead by eight. With two outs in the sixth, he hit a rocket over the first baseman's head. The boys were all on their feet. It was his first true hit of the year. I found myself disappointed when he stopped at first. It looked to me like it wouldn't have even been close at second. Damn that first base coach.

But the very next pitch bounced in the dirt in front of the catcher and skipped past him to the backstop.

"Go!" the first base coach screamed. Brian didn't need any encouragement, though. He was already headed toward second. I was standing on my feet in the bleachers screaming my head off.

"Go, go, go! Way to go, Bri! Way to take that extra base! Scoring position, baby!"

I sat down and recognized Brian's parents staring at me.

"Hi," I said, holding out my hand. "I'm Carly Peters. My husband Jake is the coach and my son Michael is the pitcher. All the boys are really excited to see Brian doing so well."

His mother smiled.

"He's like a whole new kid this year," she said. "Your husband is doing a fantastic job with him."

"He does love the game," I agreed, not needing to hide my smile.

It was probably fortunate for any future relationship I was going to have with Mr. and Mrs. Nutter that Alex Poke grounded out to the pitcher for the third out. That evening, we let Michael go off to the movies with some of his friends. It was the least that we could do to help with the pain of their first loss.

Jake seemed a little subdued during dinner. After straightening up the kitchen, I found him sitting in the family room reading the newspaper.

"Honey?"

"Hmm?" He looked up absently.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

He grinned and folded the paper, letting it slide to the floor.

"Nope. C'mere."

Straddling his legs, I sunk down on his lap, resting my hands on his shoulders.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Sure. Why?"

"You just seem kind of quiet."

"Just thinking."

"About the game?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "Wondering what I could've done better. I don't like losing either."

"Oh, honey." I leaned forward and kissed him. "You did your best. You can't win every time."

"Why not?" The grin was back.

"It doesn't work that way. I think I can make you forget all about it though." I kissed him again, deeper this time, fluttering the tip of my tongue across his lips. "For a little while, anyway."

"I bet you can," he whispered, wrapping his arms around my waist, drawing me closer.

"I know I can." I giggled, settling myself against that hard package in his pants.

The kisses quickly became hot and passionate, searing a path straight to my pussy, where the liquid warmth melted and ran out of me. I reached for the hem of Jake's t-shirt and jerked it up and over his head, while he fumbled with the buttons on my blouse, finally tearing it. A button shot across the room and hit the wall.

"Jake," I gasped.

His mouth was on my neck, open and hungry, the ruined blouse all but forgotten on the floor. I loved the rasp of his razor stubble over my skin as he kissed and licked and sucked his way down my chest to the cleft between my breasts. His tongue pushed into it, and a low growl erupted from his throat. He slid his hands up my sides to push my abundant mounds together, rubbing his face against my flesh before pressing his hot mouth to a turgid nipple, wetting the lace of my bra with his tongue. Sharp teeth clamped tight around the aching bud and pulled.

Reaching behind me, I released the hooks on my bra and shrugged out of it, tossing it aside. Jake's mouth was on me again in a flash, his mouth open wide, sucking in a considerable amount of flesh, and then scraping his teeth over it as he released it. I held his head with both hands—held on for dear life, rocking and grinding against his hardness, my orgasm imminent. He switched to the other nipple, suckling like a hungry baby, then clamped down on it hard and shook his head back and forth, pushing me over the edge. My back arched, and my body quivered as waves of intense pleasure overtook me.

When I opened my eyes, Jake was gazing at me, his breath shallow and quick, eyelids heavy, as his head rested against the back of the chair.

"Wow," I whispered and kissed his lips.

Jake's hands clasped my ass and squeezed as my hands slipped down his chest, and my mouth devoured his neck. I slipped off his lap to kneel on the floor between his legs. My lips and tongue and teeth worked over his skin all the while, my hands squeezing and rubbing his crotch.

"Oh, yeah, baby," he groaned as I opened his pants, and his stiff cock sprang out, thick and heavy in my hand.

A bead of precum sat poised on the head, and I dipped the tip of my finger into it and rubbed it around the soft skin. Jake slouched further in his chair and watched me as I touched the tip of my tongue to his essence on my finger, swirled it around, and then sucked my finger into my mouth.

"Carly," he murmured and closed his eyes.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a sample packet of strawberry-flavored lube that I'd been saving and tore it open with my teeth. Squeezing a generous amount into my palm, I rubbed my hands together to warm it. Jake's cock lay curved up against his belly, and I wrapped both hands around the base with a gentle squeeze and pulled out to the tip, coating it with the viscous fluid.

The lube packet claimed to be water soluble and non-staining, which I sincerely hoped was true. I squeezed more out onto my palm, rubbed my hands together again, and slipped them under Jake's balls, squeezing and massaging his sac. My gooey fingers slid back further to rub his taint, while the other hand began to stroke his shaft. His hips jerked, and he moaned and gasped. I felt his balls tighten against my hand and draw up, the skin shriveling, and I knew he was close.

"Come on, baby. Come for me. I want it. It's mine. Give it to me," I urged, continuing to pump my hand up and down his shaft.

After a final squeeze to his testicles, I pulled my hand out from underneath, and stroked his cock with both hands. Jake arched his back, and wrapped both his hands around my slick ones on his cock. With a loud cry, he erupted, stream after stream of semen flying into the air and showering us both.

Just as Jake was recovering, and I was attempting to dab up some spatters of cum with my ruined blouse, we heard the front door opening and Mike calling his thanks and good night.

"Fuck!" Jake whispered, frantically pulling his pants up while I grabbed for our clothes. We both made a run for our bedroom, reaching it just in time and closing the door. I leaned against it, panting for breath.

"Mom? I'm home," Mike called, no doubt on his way to the fridge.

"Hi, honey. Be right there."

Jake and I stared at each other, smiling. Then I remembered.

"Oh, my God!" I gasped. "I forgot the lube."

We collapsed against each other in horrified laughter.

For the next few games, I found myself sitting at the very back corner of the bleachers. It was not that I didn't want to see the games and show my support for the team. It was that I was afraid of making a spectacle of myself if, heaven help me, Brian were to get another hit. I was disappointed, though, when the games all turned out to be nail-biters. As well as Brian had done lately, there was no way that Jake was going to risk putting him out there in that sort of game.

It happened in the only game I missed, an away game on my mom's birthday. While I was taking her to lunch, the Sox were playing the Yankees, a team we were expected to battle for the league title.

I came home late at night to find Jake all alone watching television. He had already cleaned up, and looked happy and relaxed sitting there.

"Where's Mike?"

"Spending the night at the Nutters'," he said.

"Really?" I was delighted. "I didn't realize that he and Brian were good friends."

"Oh, yeah. I don't think they'll actually spend any time sleeping, though. They were both pretty keyed up."

My heart was already hammering.

"Why's that?"

He tossed the scorebook onto the coffee table.

"Your son pitched a three-hitter for one thing."

"How wonderful!" I clapped my hands together. "And?"

"And what, babe?"

"Why would, um, Brian be all keyed up?"

He nodded toward the book.

"Fourth inning. Jimmy Bush twists an ankle. Nutter goes in to play third."

I could see Jake watching my chest rise and fall.

"And?" I asked.

"Kid played well." Jake nodded. "Did real good."

He picked up the remote and flicked off the television.

"How well?"

"Doesn't it make you ashamed to have your sex life depend on a fourteen year old like this?" he asked.

I stamped my foot.

"Shut up and tell me how he did."

"Doubled," he said. "Drove in the winning run."

"Doubled," I echoed with a waggle of my eyebrows.

"And stole third," Jake added nonchalantly.

"Third base?" I asked.

He broke into a big smile.

"That's right, babe. Third base."

He stood up and grabbed me around the waist. I let out a mock scream and pounded his back as he carried me into the bedroom and threw me onto the bed. I watched him peel off his shirt and toss it aside, exposing the rippling abs with which I had been so impressed when we were dating.

Then he turned his attention to his belt and jeans. My panties were already soaked as I saw that big cock waving at me. Jake walked to the edge of the bed.

"You know what goes together, in the good old U.S.A?" he asked, singing a snatch of song that was vaguely familiar to me.

"What?" I gasped out the word, my mouth dry.

He climbed on to the bed, straddling me. I watched that cock get closer and closer to my face.

"Baseball, hot dogs, apple pie . . ."

He reached back when he sang the last two words and gave my pussy a squeeze through my jeans.

"Oh."

I moaned as I felt his fingers and palm massaging my crotch. Jake was quick to take advantage, taking his cock in his other hand and slipping it between my open lips. I closed my mouth around it and began to suckle. His fingers found the zipper on my jeans and slowly pulled it down. His hand slid into the fly, underneath the little bikini panties I was wearing.

"It might not be an apple pie," he said, his eyes twinkling. "But it's nice and warm and juicy, isn't it?"

My mouth was full of delicious dick, so I just groaned my agreement as I began sliding him in and out of my throat.

"And it's not a hot dog, is it?"

"Mm-mmm." I moved my head slowly from side to side and briefly let his cock pop free.

"That's okay." My voice was dripping with husky arousal. "I bet they sell a lot of big, fat sausages at the ballpark too."

I grabbed him in one hand and slid the other around his tight ass. I lifted my head once more and pulled him into my mouth. It was all I could do to keep my attention on sucking him as his talented fingers began to strum my clit.

I let him go one last time.

"I'll tell you what, honey," I said. "How about you let me enjoy this sausage for a while, and then you can have some pie for dessert?"

"Sound like I win both ways," he answered with a laugh.

"Maybe so, coach. Maybe it's a tie, though. Maybe we'll have to play extra innings. Heck, it's such a nice day. Let's play two."

That earned me a look of awed delight. I hadn't let him know that I had been reading up on baseball on the Internet over the summer. Ernie Banks' famous "It's a beautiful day for a ballgame. Let's play two," had come in very handy. I returned to my blowjob, my eyes full of love for him.

The playoffs started the following week, and they were absolute torture for me. We had the best record in the league, so all of the games were home games for us. But all of them were close. And when each game got close to the end, with our team holding on to a one- or two-run lead, Jake would find me in the stands and give me a small shrug. Brian would have to wait another day to get his next at-bat.

That day didn't come in the quarterfinals, though, or in the semis. Before I knew it, we had arrived at the finals. The White Sox against the Yankees. It was the hottest day of the year with temperatures expected to reach the mid-nineties. The game was put off until four o'clock. I spent the day in a bikini and a pair of shorts, lazily lounging on the back patio while I supervised Mike and Jake working on the lawn.

Finally, at three, I called out that it was time to get ready for the game. Mike ran inside to get ready. Jake followed more slowly and I stood up to give him a passionate kiss. I was nearly breathless when I finally pulled myself away.

"Whew," I said. "I need to go in and get dressed."

"You look good to me," he said.

"I can't wear this," I protested.

"Why not?"

"'Cause I look like a cheerleader!"

"It's the championship," he said. "The boys could probably use a few cheerleaders."

"Then how about 'cause I look like a slut?" I said.

He shrugged and I slapped him on the shoulder.

"How about you just throw that white shirt of mine over it?" he suggested. "That one you like to tie off over that gorgeous stomach."

"Flatterer." I slapped him again. Then I went inside to find the white shirt I had stolen from him last summer. He had worn it so much that it was wonderfully soft. Mike rolled his eyes when he saw me wearing it, but I didn't care. This was for Jake.

Michael seemed to save his best games for the Yankees. He no-hit them through the first four innings, and still hadn't allowed a run when he reached his maximum pitch count in the sixth. Gary Steffy, who relieved Mike, only allowed two hits himself. Unfortunately, the Yankee pitchers were equally good. The game was still tied 0-0 at the end of the regulation seven innings.

"This is just a little too exciting, isn't it?" I said to Candy Nutter.

"It is," she agreed.

In the top of the eighth, the Yankees got a man into scoring position on second with only one out. Their clean-up hitter was the next one to bat. He popped a 2-1 fastball into foul ground along the third base line, and Jimmy Bush made a full-out run for it. We all came to our feet in horrified silence when he tripped and slammed into the chain-link fence right in front of us.

"Jimmy!" his mother cried as she hurried down the bleachers.

"I'm fine, Ma," Jimmy said.

The thought that his mother might actually enter the sacred diamond propelled him to his feet. It was clear, though, that he had hurt his ankle again. Jake helped him back to a seat in the dugout and then looked around for a sub. I could easily read Brian's lips.

"Put me in, coach. Put me in."

Jake thought for a minute and then nodded. Brian grabbed his glove and raced out to third base. Candy grabbed my arm.

The Yankees' clean-up hitter wasn't about to waste a second chance. After watching the next pitch sail wide to run the count to full, he took Gary's fastball and hit a low line drive toward the left field. The boy at second had already taken off running on the pitch, determined to make it all the way home and give the Yankees the lead.

Candy's nails dug into my skin as we watched the ball head between her son at third and Carl Root at shortstop. We stared in stunned disbelief as Brian took two steps to his left and dove. The ball met his glove with an audible thwack and then his glove met the oncoming runner.

The dugout erupted in shouts, and we were only a half-second behind. Candy and I jumped into each other's arms, shrieking like wild women. Her son had just turned an unassisted double play. Brian, for his part, calmly got to his feet, stared only briefly at the ball in his glove, and then flipped it toward the mound.

Jake called the White Sox together for a brief pep talk before he sent the first batter, which turned out to be Brian, onto the field.

"He is such a great guy," Candy said. "You are so lucky to have found him."

"I am," I agreed.

"I'll bet he's telling them that it isn't important whether they win or lose at this point," Candy gushed. "What's really important is that they got this far."

"As a team," I said.

"Yeah."

It must have been something to break the tension because the boys all started laughing. The meeting broke up with smiles all around. Brian ran to get his bat and take a few cuts.

Just before he entered the batter's box, he turned around and gave us a little wave. I thought that was very cute, acknowledging his mother like that. Then he proceeded to rip the very first pitch into right field, a clean single.

Candy looked over to see me fanning myself with the scorecard.

"Heat getting to you?" she asked with a smile.

"You might say that," I said. Without really thinking about it, I reached down and unbuttoned the top button on my shirt. I mean, it wasn't like I didn't have on the bikini top beneath it.

Gary was up next. I didn't really know him that well, but just before he entered the batter's box, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder at the stands. His parents were on the other end of the bleachers and it was evident that he wasn't looking at them but directly at me. With a slight smile on his face he returned his attention to the pitcher.

He squared to bunt on the first pitch, and dropped a beauty down the first baseline. The pitcher had no choice but to go to first, leaving Brian in scoring position with only one out.

I glanced toward the dugout then and realized that all of the boys were looking in our direction. I was stunned. Jake couldn't possibly have told them what was going on. Could he?

Michael was the next one up and he, too, looked toward us. He shook his head slowly as if he couldn't believe that his mom was involved in this. But he was far too good a baseball player to let it affect his play. He lined a clean single into left field. I leapt to my feet.

"Way to go, Michael! Way to give that ball a ride, slugger!"

As I cheered, I suddenly became conscious that my boobs were doing some leaping of their own. The second button had popped open all on its own.

"I am so sorry," I said to Candy after I quickly sat back down and pulled my arms across my chest.

She just laughed.

Brian had stopped at third on Michael's single, and represented the winning run. The other coach pulled his outfielders in. With one out, a fly ball to the deep outfield would score Brian whether it was caught or not. Only a short fly ball or a ground ball would keep Mike at third. Joey Bush was up next and I resolutely kept my eyes away from him. Even so, I couldn't help but squeeze my legs together. The tingle between them intensified.

The Yankee pitcher had only thrown three pitches so far, and Joey Bush was waiting on the fourth. He popped it into right field and we watched their right fielder take a few steps backward and drift beneath it. Was it far enough?

Even before he had caught it my eyes were on Brian. He was poised at third base, not watching play but depending solely on his coach to tell him when to race for home. And then he was off, his legs churning beneath him like pistons. It was going to be close.

"Slide!" Jake yelled from the dugout.

"Slide!" the first base coach yelled.

"Slide, Brian!" I screamed.

I like to think he listened to me. It was a very close play, but Brian executed a perfect slide that just beat the throw from right field. His teammates stormed the field. Candy and I fell into another hug. The White Sox had won the pennant. And Brian Nutter had finally gotten to home plate.