Seize the Moments of Your Life

Mel gave Sara all her well-wishes Sunday night so she could get up early and head to camp. She tossed her gear in the passenger seat with her beloved backpack and hit the road. Upon arrival, she was introduced to the owner, manager and GM, and showed into the clubhouse. She looked around. Some girls were gabbing and laughing. Some were unpacking by their chosen bunks. Sara opted for a friendly-looking bunk towards the middle of the room, both halves of which seemed unclaimed. She thought she'd take a bottom—no pun intended—what with her habit of tossing, turning and kicking in her sleep. She began to set her stuff down, looking around in case someone else had already planted her flag there. No one halted her, so she proceeded.

"You're new here, ain't'cha?"

Sara turned to see a tall ginger who could've been Julianne Moore's doppelgänger.

"Yeah! I am," Sara held out her paw. "Sara Kelton."

The smoky, attractive redhead snatched Sara's offered hand and gripped it, almost detaching her arm in the process.

"Staycie Dunheuser. Pitcher. Inventor of the Windmill Fireball."

"...Wow," reacted Sara. "...Well, I'm sure glad you're on my team!"

"Damn straight, rook. Don't mean to brag, but I pitched two no-hitters last season."

"Well...hey!" Sara nodded with a cordial chuckle. "Like I said."

"Yeah. So we'll see if you can get a hit off me. I'll give ya a demo when we hit the field."

"Well, I'm not too bad; I just can't hit a curve ball."

"Oh, yeah; lotta batters hate the breaker. 'Course, my Fireball's no piece of cake either."

They chatted a little longer. At 25, Staycie'd been playing minor league softball for four seasons. She grew up in Green Plains and had just recently graduated from Denmore with a major in physical education. Staycie didn't just play softball. She lived it. She breathed it. She woke up each morning and went to bed each night thinking about it. Funnily enough, her interest hadn't developed until her teens. Like Sara, she took enjoyment in handling large spherical objects.

"By the way," said Staycie, "Not to be whatever, but...aren't you a little, kinda...not young, to be starting softball?"

"Oh, well, y'know, Babe Ruth was 39 when he joined the Yankees."

Staycie made a surprised face. "W—...really?"

"No," Sara shook her head with an amused smirk. "Not really. That's from the movie Patch Adams. My best friend Jake and I saw it when we were thirteen. See, Robin Williams's about to start med school, right, and someone asks him that—isn't he a little old. And that's what he says: 'Babe Ruth was 39 when he joined the Yankees.' And the other guy goes, 'No, he wasn't.' And Robin says, 'You're right. But I could really use an example like that, and if you come up with one, please lemme know.'"

Their conversation was halted by an insistent whistle, from the opposite end of the room. It was the coach and manager, Darcy Adair. She followed up the whistle with a hearty clap of the hands. "A'right, ladies, line up!" The invitees trotted from between the bunks and formed lines on either side. Adair started down the middle of them.

"Welcome to Minnesota Sprites spring training twenty-sixteen! I hope you girls are ready for some serious action, 'cause that's exactly what you're about to get!"

"Ooooh," Sara giggle-whispered to Staycie. "Could be fun, huh?"

Staycie discreetly elbowed her.

"We are gonna run the gamut, ladies," Coach Darcy continued. "You are going through the gauntlet. All of ya. So I hope you've got what it takes. There are forty of yas in this room right now. Of these forty, twenty-eight of you..." She paused for effect.

"...Will not make this team."

Sara's eyebrows jumped. Whoa. She knew making it wouldn't be easy, but...

Adair reached the end and about-faced. "Now, a few of those cut twenty-eight may be kept around as accessories: assistant coaches, record keepers, et cetera. If offered these supplementals, it is your prerogative to accept or decline. But! We'll deal with that when the time comes. In the meantime, we're gonna weed through the lot of ya, and we are gonna find twelve serious potential ballplayers. And those twelve will drive the real guts of this game. Ladies, it is no secret that the sports-conscious world views softball as an average priority. Part of the connotation's right there in the name of the sport: 'softball.' 'Soft.' We are softballers! And as such, we're consequently soft. Right??

"Wrong!" she went on, waiting no time for an answer. "Clear that silliness from your heads this instant! Ladies, we are not out to change the name of our sport. What we're looking to do is improve its level of regard. Our critics're wrong when they deem the sport of softball a cutesy little girls' game—or the inferior form of the national pastime—and we are gonna show them why! So the next time someone says, 'You play ball like a girl,' I want you to make them take a step back and think twice about that!"

Some of the girls cheered. All for this sentiment, Sara clapped along.

"Now, I can see some of y'all're here from last year's team, and some of y'all're new. But first time or not, I'm gonna hold you all to the same standard. You wanna make this team, I wanna see more than just talent in you ladies," Adair shouted. "I wanna see determination in your eyes! I wanna see heart in your gameplay! I wanna see you push yourself past your limits! And by God, I wanna see pride in your souls this season, when we destroy those Longhorns!"

Again, the girls cheered. Sara's ears perked up. Even though she was new here, she recognized that name. The Madison Longhorns were the Minnesota Sprites' sworn rivals in the midwestern women's division. The last title the Sprites took was in 2001. Each of the fourteen years they approached divisional victory since, Wisconsin's fierce Longhorns had swept in and snatched triumph right out from under their noses. But Coach Darcy Adair was absolutely determined that after a decade and a half of upsets, 2016 was the year that had Sprite written all over it. She went on.

"'Cause I will see who's gonna make this cut and who's not. I know what separates the women from the girls. Who has it and who doesn't. This isn't gonna be all fun-times. Apathy and half-asses don't make it here. So if any of yas doesn't have one hell of an investment in the Minnesota Sprites, you can save us all the trouble; there's the door."

She gestured and waited. None of the girls departed. All forty stayed in place.

"Good!" Darcy clapped again. "Then I'll assume each of you's serious about this opportunity. Am I right?!"

Thirty-nine girls responded in unisonous cheers and affirmation. Sara realized she was a bit late. "Oh, uh—yeah!!" she called out, echoing the rest.

Darcy turned to Sara, and approached to stand before her. Oops. Uh-oh, she gulped.

Coach Adair looked her up and down. "What's your name, rookie?"

"Sara Kelton...uh, ma'am."

Darcy waited a moment, and nodded. "You look pretty sharp, Kelton. Hope you can back that up on the field.

"A'right! Suit up, and outside in fifteen for warm-ups!" Tweet!!

*****

"If You Jilled It...She Will Cum"

Thursday, March 3rd, 2016, 6:14 p.m.

Tweet!! "Okay, ladies, hit the showers!"

It was a few grueling evenings later. Sara Kelton, Staycie Dunheuser and the fifteen other girls left in the running for the 2016 Minnesota Sprites vacated the field.

Sara was wrecked. And she'd thought the workouts with her girlfriend were tough. Darcy hadn't been kidding. Her pertinent skills were being finely tuned, if only at the price of stamina. On one hand, she was having the time of her life. She felt like a kid. On the other hand, she was being reminded on a constant basis that she was not a kid, as numerous parts of her body were collectively kicking her ass. She was knocking herself out to stay in the running, but oh, was it taking its toll on her.

"C'mon, ol' lady!" called Staycie as she jogged by and spanked Sara's butt. "Race ya!"

Part of her couldn't help but feel this'd be easier were she younger, closer to these girls' aver-age. But she couldn't change that if she wanted to. At the beginning of the week, Coach Adair's no-nonsense speech had frankly intimidated her. But she told herself to take that intimidation and turn it into the very heart and determination Darcy wanted to see. She reiterated to herself countless times to do one thing each day: her best. She didn't know about going past her limits, but knew enough not to let her expectations and hopes float too high. She could be dismissed any day, but if she did her best, it was all that could be asked, and she'd leave with a high-held head. But Monday passed, then Tuesday, and Wednesday, and she'd yet to be informed that she was going home.

This made it no easier, however, to bid goodbye girls who didn't make it. Sara felt bad for them, in particular those unable to take the news in stride. She perceived making this team was a big step in their hopes and dreams. When she thought of it this way, Sara felt a little guilty. As if she hadn't tried out, she wouldn't have taken a roster spot away from another player. Not that this wasn't important to her. She may not have been as obsessed as Staycie, but this was a childhood dream for her too.

But this was only half the story. She missed Mel like crazy, especially sleeping cuddled up at night. And she'd made a deal with herself this week to try not to think about anything to confuse her mind, and definitely not to touch herself. But she realized she'd underestimated the situation. Gravely. She was surrounded by forty women including Coach Adair, which she'd anticipated. But she'd failed to predict the impact this massive estrogen injection would make on her. At heart, she was a tried and true lesbian. And her devotion to Melleny Hayes was no less absolute. Alas, this did not immunize her mind to unbidden stray and naughty thoughts.

It didn't matter if a few of them were straight, most, or all of them. They were female. Running, throwing, swinging, huffing, perspiring—even in 50° March weather—literally hot girls. And saying goodbye to four or five of them per day didn't curb Sara's urges. She had a wonderful girlfriend back home, the most beautiful on the planet, and she shouldn't be having these impulses. Unfortunately, it wasn't up to her brain alone.

Nothing was wrong in making friends. True, she was here to play ball, not socialize. But nothing said she and teammates couldn't spend off time just shooting the breeze. The problem arose when she'd feel the familiar stirrings inside, and was reminded she didn't have Mel to alleviate them. Sara wasn't by nature a horn dog, but still human. A normal sexually functioning woman with needs and desires. She could and would never cheat on Mel, but by mid-week, she was starting to seriously need some sort of outlet.

Much as she wanted to, she could not just go home, grab Mel, make her drop whatever she was doing and rock her world. At least not till Sunday. The camp was quite a ways from home. And she'd be expected back at the clubhouse and in her bunk by 11:00. By Thursday, the everpresent surge of femininity had her so densely engulfed she could taste it. And Staycie's occasional friendly ass-smacks certainly didn't cool her off. Nor did sharing the shower. Even though the thick steam, standing in the presence of naked teammates soaping themselves under the spray didn't go unnoticed. It was a good thing Sara was shielded by her own steam, where no one could see her coy grin or perking nipples. As the evening agonizingly dragged, and the lights mercifully went out at the stroke of eleven, Sara was so sizzlingly fired up, she'd have to think about her grandparents getting nasty just to dent her arousal. Finally, she had to give in to her pounding libido. Screw it, we're doing this.

Sara intended only to think of sweet Melleny as she jilled off. Little Sara had other ideas.

Madame Dunheuser of the Redheads is only one bunk away.

Don't even think about thinking about her. We're taken. We're a kept woman.

I want Staycie. You know you do too. She's so damn hot! Oh, and that arm! We almost hit one of her pitches the other day.

Exactly. She's too hot. And too fast. She's out of our league.

Ha ha, very punny. Seriously, though, I'm ordering you. Fantasize about her. Right now.

No way.

"No"? "No way"??...Allow me to remind you, you're a horny stoat right now. Have you forgotten who's in charge when you're horny?

Make me.

Oh-ho-ho! Challenge gladly accepted.

Sara was feeling adventurous, but didn't realize the full power of her stimulation. A blaze of passion tore through her as Little Sara accepted her challenge. Her head whipped on her pillow as she fought to keep her voice down. Ideally, she'd run to the girls' room to take care of business like this, but Darcy preferred her girls take care of themselves in the restroom before bed. Should she drop in to check on them and hear suspicious noises, that wouldn't end well. At least in bed, she could hear if the coach slipped in, and quickly unhand herself.

It really was almost quiet enough to hear a pin drop. So Sara shuffled the blanket, to mask the squishy sound of fingering herself. It didn't occur to her that any of the other girls in the room might also be pawing their pussies, consciously or unconsciously. It was hard to think of anything except the feeling that she was just a freak jilling one out in her softball clubhouse during sleepy-time.

"Ohhhh, Melly-belly," she smile-mouthed. She shut her eyes and conjured her beloved to mind. She liked to summon fantasies of Melleny the way she'd looked in 2013 when they'd first met, with bangy tendrils half-covering her indigo-shadowed eyes. Lately, Mel'd been sporting dresses rather than jeans, mascara instead of eyeshadow, and styling her hair a bit differently. This look suited Sara just as well, and she wouldn't lead Mel to believe otherwise. She loved her either way, but had to admit those wispy bangs and that indigo eyeshadow devastated her.

"Sara-diddle..." she imagined Melleny addressing her with a double-meaning innuendo. She quietly giggled.

"Yes, ma'am!" she nodded, arching her back just as during their first exercise session. Imagining her hand was Mel's, she burrowed into her autolubed cunt, sending exquisite loose sparks all over herself. As everything began to accelerate, fantasy-Mel climbed into Sara's bunk and draped her hot, randy body. Sara'd always been pretty awesome at this fantasizing thing, and only got better with experience. Lots of folks were merely good at fantasizing; Sara Jane Kelton raised it to an art form.

She definitely hoped everyone was sound asleep now. She writhed on her mattress, pinching her tits one by one as she dug and clawed into her drenched pussy. The invisible Mel shifted further up on her, infusing Sara with a supplementary dose of warmth. Just as if Melleny'd really been there, Sara began sweating, struggling to keep her moans whisper-level. Digit-banging herself made Sara feel extra naughty here in the company of all these other younger girls. This only strengthened the hot-'n'-kinky factor. Being caught would be an all but literal nightmare, but knowing just that she could get caught blazed her so white-hot she wanted to scream.

Hee hee...I love being bad by myself. Talk dirty to me, Mellywell.

"Yes...yes. Ravage that dirty little cunny for me, Saragraph."

Sara obliged. God, yes, sweetie...more, please, more.

"Grab your titties. Light your pussy on fire and melt it like wax for me, Saraffin."

Sara's head flew to the pillow again, tossing sandy hair over her wet hot American face.

AAAAAAAAAAAHHH! OH GODDESS, MELLENY, DON'T STOP NOW!

"I'm gonna force you to keep jilling off, Saraphernalia. And I'm gonna thrust my middle finger in your lovely ass, and d.p. you till you can't stand it anymore."

Sara left the ground, no longer able to discern how close to the edge she was. Stars and fireworks crashed over her. She felt her eyes spin like a slot machine. It could be broad daylight outside and she'd have seen nothing but a psychedelic rainbow. She focused hard enough to feel Mel's fingertip tickle her asshole, and her cunt started to cum. Indeed, she was at the edge, needing just the little extra to send her over. Her fantasy received one final message as her orgasm began firing. Before her mind's eye, Mel suddenly transformed. She grew taller, her hair went fiery. And her voice changed.

"Hey, old lady. How's your pussy like my Fireball??"

Sara's eyes snapped open. Did...did she just see and hear what she thought she did??

St—...STAYC—...

She was afforded no time to think about it. Her orgasm was already fully underway, and she couldn't stop it if her life literally depended on it. She ecstatically rode it out, silently screeching to the end, clenching her thighs, hand in between. She couldn't function rationally, but if she could, she would've heard her pussy veritably laughing at her.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!! I told you, Sara! I told you I'd make you do it!

The little cunt had tricked her. She'd lured Sara right into her trap. It was Little Sara's plot all along. The first time she'd met Staycie Dunheuser, her pussy'd woken up. The encounter had no effect on her brain or heart, but her libido operated a little differently. And when Staycie teased her by calling her "ol' biddy" or "grammy," and spanked her on the ass, Sara did feel a slight twitch on the other side. The butt slap was of course a teammate gesture, but brought on more weight than intended. Now without Mel around, Sara's pussy was starting to ache for her to jill off, so she could pull this stunt on her owner. And force Sara through a skyrocketing orgasm, with Staycie as the launch fuel.

Sara lay awake a bit longer that night, wondering what to make of this. Should she feel guilty? She couldn't go back and not do it, but she didn't exactly have all mental control in the matter either. Her mind, heart and soul had a bit more sense of right and wrong than did her hormones, and...she decided to forgive herself. She had not cheated on Melleny. Sara should know better than anyone, fantasizing wasn't infidelity. No one could outlaw fantasy. Heck, for all she knew, Mel too thought about others while making love to Sara, or to herself. Someone else only in one's mind wasn't wrong.

Just go to sleep, she advised herself as her eyelids grew heavy. It's out of our system now. Another couple days, we can go home—at least temporarily—hold our girlfriend, and make all the glorious love to her we want. Just go to sleep.

She did.

*****

Suck It, Sierra Mist!

Sunday, March 6th, 2016, 9:22 a.m.

Hell Week was over and done with. The twelve official 2016 Sprites had been chosen from the ranks. And amazing herself more than anyone, Sara Kelton was one of them.

Sunday was a free day. There was no game, and as a reward for making it, Darcy'd granted them the day of rest to just do that if they so desired. Or whatever else they wished. They could play a few casual innings, stay in and relax, or take a trip to their favorite store or restaurant. It was their own personal vacation day, following a few announcements that needed to be made.