Top 1st
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“You ain’t got shit today, Cap.”

Khloe’s catcher clattered along behind her in the short tunnel, the locker room doors open and waiting for them.

“I mean, maybe you’ll have a chance the first time through, just because they’ll expect this hot shit they been hearin’ all about to be, you know, good or something,” Sierra said from behind her as they rounded the corner into the locker room, where no one could see them.

The fancy digs were a real luxury. Usually they had to try and find someplace nobody could see or just keep it down. But all the state tournament games were being held at a top-flight, D-I collegiate stadium. So all tournament long, they’d been able to let loose in relative privacy while they went through their routine.

Khloe snorted and wheeled on her catcher once they were both out of sight of the dugout above.

“Bullshit,” Khloe said, a confident smirk as permanently etched on her face as she could make it. “I’m fucking invincible today. I can fucking feel it already.”

She slammed Sierra into the wall, pressing herself against the padded gear on Sierra’s chest and grinding herself against her fellow senior.

The eye black smeared at the top of Sierra’s cheeks made her brown eyes look even darker. They had a playful glint to them now.

Khloe tried to devour the taller, more muscular young woman, as if her tongue could convince Sierra there was no way she was going to let the championship slip away. Not today.

She kept kissing down Sierra’s jaw, licking hungrily, and gave her catcher a playful bite.

“In fact,” she said in between nibbles on Sierra’s neck, “let’s get this gear off you. You won’t even need it today. They won’t fucking touch me.” She slid her hand between Sierra’s legs to make her point, and Sierra smirked back at her, pressing herself against Khloe’s exploring hand.

“They better not,” Sierra growled. Sloppily, she attacked Khloe’s lips with the same energy Khloe had shown, jolting the pitcher with electricity.

She really did feel invincible. It was tingling from her lips to her toes.

A voice rang down the tunnel.

“C’mon, Khloe, you’re in the hole.” It was Coach Lawson. She knew better than to come down and interrupt. As long as they could hear somebody yell down the tunnel, they could do whatever they needed to do. That was the deal.

“Hmm ... it’s like Coach knew where I was headed next,” Khloe muttered with a silly half-grin, and slipped her fingers into Sierra’s waistband.

The catcher snorted and sighed a little when Khloe’s fingers found the softest part of her panties. But before they went any further, Sierra grabbed her pitcher’s wrist and leaned in even closer.

“Get a hit, Cap,” she said in a low tone that drove Khloe even wilder. Sierra winked and yanked the hand out of her pants.

Khloe grinned, their faces still centimeters apart. “With an incentive like that?” Her playful smirk was still etched on, and her lips grazed Sierra’s while she spoke. “I’ll make it a double.” She winked and kissed Sierra with a quick peck.

“You got this, Cap,” Sierra said more seriously, but with a confident smile, before Khloe could separate. Khloe could feel the confidence seeping into her.

“Fuck yeah I do.”

“Fuck yeah you do.” Sierra whacked the C on the top left of Khloe’s chest with her mitt.

Khloe trotted up the tunnel, feeling even more invincible, if that were somehow possible.

Coach Lawson gave her a “hurry up” glare, but that was all. Khloe had her routines, and it’d led to too much success for anybody to mess with them at this point.

She shoved on her batting gloves and grabbed her bat. Somebody swatted her backside. “Get us goin’, Cap.”

Khloe barely heard.

Personally, she didn’t think she should’ve had the C on her chest. It’d been there since she was a sophomore — a unanimous vote every year. Yes, she was the best player on the team. To deny that would’ve crossed too far past humility and into insulting delusion. But that didn’t mean she was captain material.

She wasn’t the rah-rah type. She was always laser-focused on executing her gameplan, playing out every scenario in her head, and making sure she was ready to do her job and put her team in the best position to win. And she expected everybody else to do the same.

When she’d explained that to Sierra once, her catcher just laughed at her and said, “Ohhh, you don’t say. Well I’ll see if we can vote again then.” Khloe hadn’t been sure what the joke was.

At bat, Carli took an off-balance hack and whiffed on a dropball. She stepped out to regroup and her eyes met Khloe’s in the on-deck circle.

Khloe smacked her palm to the inside of her shoulder a couple of times.

Gotta hang in, Carl. Can’t fly open.

They’d talked about it enough that words weren’t necessary. Carli nodded and stepped back into the box.

Khloe took a practice swing along with Carli, timing the opposing pitcher, Morgan Jennings. Morgan was good. Maybe better than Khloe.

No. Get that shit outta your head. You’re fucking invincible.

On the next pitch, Carli didn’t pull off the ball and made solid contact — but into an easy flyout.

Khloe stalked to the plate, in no hurry. She knew she was going to get a hit.

Nobody wants this more than me. Nobody. Failure isn’t even an option this time. I’m gonna will us to a fucking win.

She could feel it in her bones. The tingling in her body had nothing to do with the moment.

The novelty of playing in such a big stadium had long since worn off, though the size of the crowd for the championship game was more difficult to ignore.

With a deep breath, she shut it out, narrowing her focus to the lane in front of her.

Same distance from the plate to the pitcher. Everything else is just a distraction.

She tapped her bat on home plate and slowly pointed it in front of her before coiling it above her shoulder, ready for the weak imitation of a pitcher 43 feet away to try and get something past her.

The ball sizzled by.

“Strrriiike!”

Displayed on the scoreboard, the radar gun reading — another luxury of playing in such a big venue — said 60. Khloe just nodded, still that faint smirk showing under the helmet. She didn’t think Morgan had probably ever thrown a riseball that fast in her life before now.

That’s what I thought. Ain’t got shit. And humpin’ up just for me, huh? That’s cute. Try that shit again, go ahead.

Morgan wound up again and grunted as she slung in another of her best attempts at a riseball.

Khloe swung, her hands quick to the ball to get on top of it, and easily pulled it into right-center. She was digging for two as soon as her foot left the box, even as she saw the center fielder in the corner of her vision cutting it off in the gap.

The ball came in just as Khloe hit the dirt, sliding into second base.

“Safe!”

She popped up and slapped her gloved hands together, pointing back to her cheering dugout — immediately finding those brown eyes above the eye black.

“Fuck yeah! Let’s fucking go!”

The next batter grounded out.

But Khloe could still feel it.

Seven innings from being champions.

Bot 1st
WILDKATS 0 1 0
LADY BOMBERS 0 0 0

Khloe windmilled her left arm and shot in another riseball, even higher out of the zone. The batter swung again. Strike two.

She snuck a glance at the scoreboard: 63 mph. She could pump it up higher, if she wanted. But she was just getting started.

They were always looking for her riseball. They had to be ready for the velocity and the movement. She knew that was the book on her.

It’s an extremely difficult pitch to master. The speed is important, of course, but it’s really about movement, about getting just the right angle and just the right backspin to make the ball seem to almost hit a rock in the air and shoot up when it’s nearly over the plate — just above a batter’s wide-eyed swing.

But Khloe’s long, strong fingers were ideal to make the ball do what she wanted. And on the diamond, there was nothing she couldn’t will to happen — as long as she worked hard enough at it.

Other pitchers — lesser pitchers — fell in love with their velocity. Khloe knew better. It was a weapon, like any other, but it was really just margin for error. She could throw 40 mph and succeed, as long as she hit her spots.

Today, she didn’t have to choose one or the other.

She wheeled in a changeup that started just above the hips — right where her riseball would strap a rocket to its ass and end up at the hitter’s chin — and the batter swung over it as the pitch faded down and inside instead.

Strike three.

Khloe didn’t let out so much as a smile as Sierra started the ball around the horn. Instead, she turned to the second baseman and subtly signaled in front of her body.

Keep going. Keep going. Liiiittle more ... stop. Right there.

Most pitchers her age — most softball pitchers any age — didn’t get the kind of freedom to call their own game Khloe had. But Coach Lawson, just like her coaches in middle school, eventually relented. The results couldn’t be ignored.

Sierra put down two fingers.

Dropball.

Khloe didn’t even have to nod. They were always on the same page.

She wound up and delivered. The batter, a lefty slap hitter geared up for Khloe’s velocity, hooked a grounder right to where the second baseman was now standing.

Two outs.

Throwing three pitches that all looked so similar out of her hand — as long as she executed properly, nobody would be able to touch her. She knew that — today even more than every other time she toed the rubber.

The opposing pitcher, Morgan, stepped to the plate. Sierra called for a riseball.

They’d both learned at a young age that pitching wasn’t just about throwing it past the batter. It was about anticipating and countering.

Strike one without a swing. Morgan swung at a second riseball, this one even higher, and came up empty again.

Sometimes, though, it was easy to overthink things.

Like throwing a changeup with the season on the line when you’ve got the best riseball in the state.

Morgan swung under a third riseball. Strike three.

Half of the larger-than-usual crowd cheered, and Khloe let her gaze drift to the front row as she jogged toward the dugout.

Her 10-year-old brother had a broad grin on his face, minus a tooth he’d lost on the trip here. He was always real into it when she was pitching. Charted all her pitches, and after every game, always gave her a new picture he’d drawn of her. She had the one from last year’s final game taped up in her locker. To remind herself.

As if I’d forget.

Draped over the short wall was a banner he’d made with what she thought was a very impressive — if unrealistic — likeness of her mid-pitch in front of a fireball. Like a cartoon superhero. They hung it out every game. Even had it laminated for the tournament.

Their mom was trying to keep him from toppling onto the dirt while he taped another addition at the end of it — KHLOE WITH A K K.

Top 3rd
WILDKATS 0 1 0
LADY BOMBERS 0 0 0

Khloe smashed herself against her catcher, snaking a hand under the chest protector and sliding her leg between Sierra’s. Squeezing Sierra’s breast over the jersey, Khloe could feel the heat between both their legs that had nothing to do with the intensity of the game. She ground herself into Sierra again and again, mashing her catcher’s back into the wall.

“Told you I’m fucking invincible today,” Khloe said with a smirk in between jamming her tongue into Sierra’s mouth. It was animalistic, primal. She just needed to feel Sierra everywhere she could — inside and out.

“I dunno,” Sierra responded, her eyes fluttering from the sensations, “only struck out three so far. I think you’re losin’ it, Cap. Gonna tell Coach to get Allie warming up. Just in case.”

Khloe bared her teeth, unable to contain the growling laugh that escaped into Sierra’s mouth. The goading, incandescent grin Sierra returned seemed to intensify the tingling over every part of Khloe’s body.

She slid her other hand into Sierra’s pants, under her panties this time, Khloe’s long fingers raking through the trimmed patch of short hair that was a little damp with sweat. Sliding her fingers down further, the sweat mixed with the wetness coating Sierra’s slit — radiating with eagerness.

“I seem to recall some talk of a hole,” Khloe said with a devilish smirk, teasing the thin, familiar folds against her fingertip.

Sierra’s cheeks were flushing red. “Better take what you earned then, Cap,” she said, slightly breathless. Her voice was daring, but her brown eyes were warmer — more inviting than challenging. Khloe was just as turned on by both.

Their mirrored mouths went wide at two fingers hooking inside Sierra’s equally warm, welcoming pussy.

Sierra inhaled sharply, her knees buckling a little in her shin guards.

“Gonna have to... ahh ... dial it up, Cap. May... ahhhhh ... not get so lucky next inning.”

While her fingers worked faster, Khloe kissed Sierra hard, unable to resist the need to taste her catcher — to feel her excitement in every way she could. It was buzzing just as loudly inside herself.

“Maybe I will,” Khloe said, managing barely more than a ravenous whisper while she licked down the side of Sierra’s neck — lapping up the sweat, salt, and dust coating her soft skin.

TAP TAP TAP

It was an aluminum bat on the concrete tunnel wall.

Another part of the deal: They could do whatever they needed to do and nobody would ask any questions they didn’t want the answers to.

But the two of them better not be late. And they never had been, never missed a signal.

They both groaned in disappointment and Khloe reluctantly pulled her hand out of Sierra’s pants.

“You got this, Cap,” Sierra said, still catching her breath an inch from Khloe’s face.

Khloe brought her hand up into the tiny space between them and slowly licked her long fingers clean, letting her tongue gather up every last drop of Sierra still lingering on them. Her knees wobbled and her whole body felt like pure, unstoppable electricity.

“Fuck yeah I do,” she said with a satisfied hum.

Sierra smirked and slammed Khloe’s chest with her mitt.

“Fuck YEAH you do.”

Top 6th
WILDKATS 0 3 0
LADY BOMBERS 0 0 0

The banner outside had stretched into KHLOE WITH A K K K K K K K K K K. Still zero baserunners.

In the locker room, Khloe could feel the barely restrained hunger in the way Sierra pawed at her, yanking down her pants to her knees.

“FUCK, Cap, you’re gonna fucking do this,” she moaned out, not wasting a second before pressing her lips to Khloe’s smooth mound. Her fingers rubbed greedily at Khloe’s pussy, just as impatient.

After five innings, that’s when the chance at a perfect game really starts to sink in. Only two more to go. Six batters. Well, as long as the offense could scratch together a run.

Then ... champions.

That was the only perfection Khloe was really after. And this time, she wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. She’d score the run herself if she had to.

Sierra planted her into the wall, eagerly attacking her bare pussy. With each tease of her tongue on Khloe’s throbbing clit, she could feel her catcher’s excited moans reverberating through her body.

“Fuckkkkk yessss I ammm,” Khloe groaned out. Sierra’s excitement and confidence were contagious.

Nobody made her believe like Sierra. There was nothing she couldn’t do — nothing they couldn’t do — together.

They’d been partners on the diamond since they were little. Khloe didn’t trust anybody else to catch her. The few times Coach Lawson had made her try it as a freshman, things didn’t go well. She just ... didn’t feel the same in the circle — didn’t feel as though she could bend the physics of the ball itself to her will.

So like with all their other little quirks, Coach Lawson finally just gave in and let them do it their way — even though Sierra wasn’t a very good hitter. Certainly not the best hitting catcher on the team. She hadn’t had a hit all tournament.

That didn’t matter to Khloe. She didn’t throw to anybody but Sierra. Period. That was a rule she was going to carry into college, too. She’d made the coach there promise or she wouldn’t sign.

Some schools told her that kind of “diva behavior” wouldn’t do her any favors. Khloe didn’t care. She wouldn’t do them any favors, either.

“You’re so fucking perfect.” The words seemed to slip out of Sierra with a wild earnestness from between Khloe’s quivering thighs. Khloe had never heard her so turned on. “Now everybody else is gonna know it, too.”

That made Khloe snort and laugh, as much as she could between the waves of pleasure crashing through her, anyway. “Oh my God — ahhhh — did you — ahhh — did you really just say that?”

Sierra’s tongue flicked Khoe’s clit, maybe to let Khloe know she didn’t care how she sounded. “You fucking love my lame ass.” Khloe could hear the grin even as Sierra’s mouth buried itself deeper between her legs.

Her knees shivered in response and she bit down on her lip.

“Yeah I fucking do,” Khloe gasped out.

TAP TAP TAP

They both groaned in frustration as Sierra separated herself from Khloe’s pussy, licking her lips and pulling her pitcher’s pants back up. She tucked in Khloe’s jersey roughly, then kissed Khloe as deeply as she ever had.

“You finish this off, I’ll finish you off — in the fucking pitcher’s circle,” Sierra said with such a straight face that Khloe wasn’t sure she was kidding.

Right now, Khloe was hoping she wasn’t.

Let everybody fucking watch, I don’t care.

“I’m holding you to that,” she said with a wink.

Sierra picked up her catcher’s mitt and grinned, smacking Khloe back into the wall with another solid strike against the C on her chest.

“You fucking GOT this, Cap.” Her brown eyes could barely contain their excitement. Their conviction.

Khloe couldn’t do anything but believe in herself.

“Fuck YEAH I do,” she said back, giving the chest protector a hard whack with her fist in response.

Sierra got closer, more serious, even with a smile hinting at the corners of her lips, and used her glove to pull Khloe into one more tight, passionate kiss.

“Fuck yeah you do.”

Top 7th
WILDKATS 0 3 0
LADY BOMBERS 0 0 0

Khloe stared out from the top step of the dugout, gripping the padded railing as Morgan delivered a riseball at the letters. Sierra swung under it. The radar reading said 55.

Maybe Morgan’s getting tired. Sierra just missed that one.

Sierra stepped out of the box and tapped her bat against her cleats, thinking through the next pitch.