He hated her, little overachieving, athletic, ripped teen girl who made his son look as he operated in slow-motion. She could pitch, catch play any position infield or outfield. For years, his son had played her on opposing teams or he had coached her on his son's team. She out ran, out hit, and out hustled everyone else. At 15 years of age, she played baseball for nine seasons. The team she was on won the championship six years and second place three years. She had lost a single game as starting pitcher in three years.

He hated her burr hair cut, her hard-muscled arms and legs, her washboard flat tummy, and small round ass. The cunt had won player of the year four years. She took home the pitcher of the year five times and runner-up three years. For nine long years, she led the league in home runs and runs driven in, and every other award they gave at least once. Fucking bitch was a damn Tomboy, soon to be a member of the pussy munching bitch society if she wasn't already.

Bitch wore her tops as loose as she cold to hide what little tit she had. Even at fifteen he doubted she even needed a bra. He gotten her in the lottery this year his son was her closest competitor, but he didn't hold a candle to her. She would probably hit thirty home runs this year. Could be more, she had hit thirty-eight the previous year with five games where she hammered it multiple times out of the park. One game she hit three home runs. But he knew her kryptonite and just like superman it could kill her, or maybe superwoman, that was what he thought the bitch believed she was. There were twenty games this year. Two a week for two months and two weeks with three games. Then of course the playoffs eight more games if you go all the way. She wouldn't go all the way through this season and steal his son's glory- not going to happen.

He had suffered more than a thousand insults because of her, often veiled as compliments. "Your boy did really well this year, no shame in coming in second to Alex." Then there was the, "If it weren't for Alex your boy would have won all the trophy's." He knew what they meant you boy can't even compete with a girl. Well, that shit is about to end. He coached the little bitch this year and he had a plan. It was the day after school let out, still may two weeks before the season opens but practice would start today.

Alex decided to wear a black, very loose fitting sleeveless t-shirt and black shorts today. Under the t, she wore a tight fitting tube to hold everything flat. She dawned her team hat, brim out front like all players should wear their caps, well the catcher can wear it backward, no on else. She wore black shoes and got her special bat, the aluminum bat that her father bought her the year before he was killed. He died in Afghanistan two years before in a helo accident. She had dedicated the season to his memory the year before, every home run was for him. She planned on topping that this year. Her goal was to be the first female to play for the home team, the Colorado Rockies.

At first, she planned to ride her bike to the field but decided to run it would be a better type of exercise. She ran hard the two miles she should arrive about ten minutes before practice but she got there they were putting up equipment. The coach stood there looking at her with an odd look on his face.

"What the," he broke off, "why are you so late? Practice began at 2:00 we just finished it is almost 4:00 little girl." God, she hated him calling her little girl. "Okay, Alex, I'll stay and let you at least get some batting practice but damn girl learn how to tell time." The other left including his son Bobby. Alex hated, Mr. Heckler, he was mean, short tempered, and foul-mouthed. He made rude comments insulting her when no one could hear him.

"My mom said you said it was at 4:00!" She yelled out at him and pounded her bat into the dirty.

"Your mom was wrong, I said 2:00. Now get at the batter's box and bat left-handed for now." Heckler took to the mound.

"You're right-handed, I only bat left-handed against lefties," she complained.

"I'm the manager," he barked back at her, "Do what I tell you." The first ball he threw she slammed it in a line drive that barely missed his head. He glared at her for a moment and threw her another ball it went over the fence. Looking around he saw they were alone. This was the most remote field and had a high fence around it. Throwing a third time again she hit it dead center, it ascended to its pinnacle mid-center field clearing the center field wall by eight feet. "I don't you have given your usual effort so far." She looked at him as her temper flared.

"I hit the last two out of the park," she howled at him. Heckler ran up to her she stood there not comprehending the danger. It dawned on her she was in trouble just before her arrived at where she stood, his arm raised up, hand clenched into a fist. She turned to run and he struck the five-foot-one-inch girl in the back of her head. Face down she fell into the dusty outfield. She wasn't out, not completely that was. He pounced on her and he felt his grimy hand to her mouth. He forced them into her mouth and screamed in her ear to swallow them. Dragging her to her feet he put two fingers over her nose shutting off her breath and kept his hand clutched over her mouth. The peanuts trickled down her throat.

He held her there against his hard body as the nuts went to work. She felt the blisters burst forth in her mouth and down her throat. Her mouth and face itched as lungs grew labored and her nose began to run. Her hand went to her back pocket, but Mr. Heckler had already removed it, her EpiPen.

Grabbing the back of her t, he put his hand down in the back of the tube as well. Holding the pen in front of her "You want it bitch?" Alex nodded her head. Letting go of her shirts he put his hand into the back of her pants. He yanked her off her feet, carrying her up the bleachers two stairs at a time. At the top, he unlocked the announcer's booth and roughly threw her on the couch face down falling on top of her.