Author's Note: This is the first naughty story that I've ever managed to finish. I don't think it's my best work, but it's my most not-incomplete. If it's well received, or received at all, I'd really like to write more. If it feels like no one is actually reading it, I'll probably wallow in self-pity and not post or write other things. What I'm trying to say is, please write and let me know what you think! You can send me an email. Even if you're spent from orgasm (especially if you're spent from orgasm!) and can only manage two or three word emails ("good story" or "that story sucked") you will totally make my day. I also promise to answer emails, too, unless you tell me I shouldn't or your message implies that.
Standard Disclaimer stuff: This should not be read by or provided to anyone under 18 (or 21 depending on your local laws) and should definently not be read in countries that forbid this sort of thing (I'm looking at you English-speaking Saudi porn-hounds). Remember that this is fantasy, and if you feel any urge to act out the things you read in my story, please get professional help.
Special thanks to Gurl_Luver for the encouragement to actually finish something. You are highly encouraged to also check out his stories on Asstr.org.
xo Bree "She's got a decent arm," Coach Mike Hammer said as he stared out from the dugout. "For a girl."
"Not a bad ass, either," said Ed Kotch, his assistant coach. "Wouldn't mind showing her how to handle a bat."
Both men laughed as the batter knocked another of Jenny Mitchell's fastballs over the left field fence.
Jenny didn't look like a softball player. She was a petite little thing, maybe 5-foot-2, with boobs a smidge too big for a gymnast and a smidge too small for a cheerleader. In any other context, Mike wouldn't have minded a few hours to sit back and stare at her.
"How bad does she have to be before we can cut her?" Ed asked.
"Pretty bad," Mike said. "Awful, really."
The school board had decided a month ago, despite Mike's impassioned objections, to merge Filmore High's girls' softball and boys' baseball teams. There was a serious budget deficit, and someone had cleverly noted that the rules don't actually prohibit girls playing in the boys' league—only vice versa. Of course that meant Mike had been forced to cut players from his championship-ready team to make room for girls who were just dead-weight on the roster. Neither he nor his players were thrilled about that.
Another ball disappeared into the outfield. "That's not awful yet?" Ed asked.
"I wish it was," said Mike.
He'd done all he could to make the girls feel unwelcome. They were one team, he said, and that meant they all did the same workouts—50 pushups meant 50 pushups, and he'd hear none of this nonsense about girls' not having the same upper body strength. Most of the girls, and Tom Joyner his overweight center fielder, had quit by the end of the second week's practice. Jenny was the one that just wouldn't quit.
"And we have to let her play?" Ed asked. His voice was almost pleading.
"Maddigan 'll run me out of here in a heartbeat if I don't let her start," he said.
The exodus of girls from his team hadn't escaped the notice of Principal Ellen Maddigan. That grizzled old dyke had called every single one of those girls into her office and grilled them to make certain old Coach Hammer hadn't made them quit. Mike knew if even one of them had cried foul, Maddigan would've canned his ass. Thankfully none of them did.
Ed was incredulous. "But we can't put her in the rotation. The chick can barely throw overhand. We won't even make it to state, much less win."
Mike sighed. "I know," he said. "I fucking know."
He watched his right-fielder scampering over the outfield fence to collect balls. After that many home runs, they'd run out.
"Seen enough?" Ed asked. The sun was starting to set.
"Of course," Mike said as he stood to leave. "Make her throw another bucket, though. Her ego can only take so much, right?"
Ed laughed. "One would think." He trotted out to the mound to lecture the teenage girl on the flaws in her motion.
Mike shook his head and made his way inside. There was paperwork to be done, and he didn't have the stomach for another hour of this.
Paperwork turned into a two hour screaming match with the ex-wife. Apparently his daughter was shacking up with the latest boyfriend, and his ex thought it was unreasonable for Mike to stop paying her rent. "You taught her to be a fucking slut," he'd angrily shouted, "You fucking pay for her." He figured he'd hear from her lawyer in the morning. He felt a little guilty about slurring his kid, but it needed to be said.
The sun had long since set, and Mike didn't expect any of his players to still be hanging around. He was surprised, then, to find Jenny outside the gym with her headphones on. She smiled and waived when she saw him.
"Hey coach," she said.
"What are you still doing here?" He asked. "It's late."
"My mom can't get me 'til she gets off work. She'll be here soon."
Mike cocked an eyebrow. "You shouldn't be out here by yourself, kiddo. It's not safe."
She shrugged. "I guess it's good you made me do all that running," she said with a little giggle, "I'll be ready to run away if I have to!"
In her street clothes, with her hair wetted and pulled back from the shower, Jenny actually looked younger than her 15 years. Mike couldn't help but feel protective, even if she was a giant pain in his ass.
"Well I can't leave you sittin' out here. Can I give you a ride?"
"Sure," she said, smiling gratefully, "if you don't mind."
"Not at all," he said. It was a lie, but it beat sitting here to wait for her mother.
Mike didn't feel much like chatting. Once he'd figured out where to take her, he left the sports talk turned up loud enough to fill the silence, and hoped she'd take the hint. Thankfully, she did.
Mad Man Murphy was talking baseball. "They're morons!" he shouted. "The Rangers need new blood on the mound. They don't need another power hitter that's gonna flop like Rodriguez! This was a dumb trade, with a capital D." He took a call, and Danny from Austin couldn't agree more.
"These guys are morons," Jenny said softly.
"You think?" Mike asked.
"Yeah," she said, "it's like they haven't even been paying attention. That was like the perfect trade. Jackson's in the final year of his contract and he still can't manage 3 solid innings, and Rodriguez can't hit because they walk around him to get to McNammara every time. Rodriguez has a .300 average and more RBIs than anybody else in the American league. He's awesome!"
Mike was a little dumbstruck. "You know your stuff, little girl."
Jenny giggled. "I obsess a little, I know. Sorry."
"'s quite alright," he said. "I just didn't expect it. Most girls your age root for the prettiest uniform if they watch at all."
"I'm weird," she said shyly.
"What got you so into it?" He prodded.
"My dad," she answered, "before he died. He pitched. Not like professional, but you know, semipro. He could've played pro ball, but it didn't work out. You know, 'cause I happened. But he taught me everything."
"I can see," Mike said. "I guess that's why you're sticking with the team, huh?"
"Sort of," she said with a slight crack in her voice. Mike couldn't look over to see if she was welling up, but he figured she might be. "We used to play together, him and me. He taught me everything about how to pitch and stuff. I feel like he'd want me to keep at it, you know?"
"Makes sense, sweetheart."
There was an awkward silence as they listened to Mad Man rant.
"You want me to quit, don't you?" she said.
"Of course not!" he shot back, a little too quickly.
"I'm not dumb, coach Hammer. I know that's why you make me throw all those extra balls and run all of those laps. You wanted all the girls to quit." She said, though it wasn't an angry accusation. "I know I'm not as good as some of the guys," she said. "I just really want to be good enough. If I keep at it I know I can be."
"I'm sure you can be, Jenny," Mike said. He didn't bother to dispute her accusations.
They pulled into her house, a modest ranch place near the edge of town. "Thanks for the ride, coach," she said, chipper as always.
"Any time, Jenny," he said. Mike wished he hadn't talked to her. She was a really sweet kid. If she'd just quit his team, he'd really like her.
Jenny's first start was everything they'd expected and more. Six homeruns, eight batters walked, and two batters beaned. On two occasions, she didn't manage to clear the plate. The umpires called the game in the 4th inning when Filmore was trailing 18 to 2, citing the "mercy rule." For a team with serious championship ambitions, it couldn't have been more devastating.
Jenny, the unanticipated girl, had to wait to use the visiting-team showers until the boys had cleared out, so she was still alone getting dressed as the humiliated boys on the idling team-bus let their coach know what they thought of their pitcher.
They didn't beat around the bush.
"You gotta cut the bitch, Coach!" Said Jimmy Clay, the team captain. His teammates shouted their agreement.
"Guys, I can't," Mike said, shouting back at the bus. "It's not my decision."
"But she sucks!" Someone shouted.
Mike took a deep breath. "I know," he said. "Believe me, I know. But I can't cut her. I'm doing everything I can to make her quit, you know I am."
"We're not even gonna make it to state though, coach. I need a scholarship if I wanna play college ball. I can't let that little bitch fuck that up!" It was Jimmy again.
Mike was exacerbated. He agreed with them. He wanted to cut her. He really did. "Guys, I can't do anything," he said. "If you want rid of her, you gotta convince her to quit. She's not getting cut."
The boys just looked forward dejectedly.
"Ok, coach," Jimmy said. "We understand."
In hindsight, Mike probably should've chosen his words more carefully, because that's when the hazing started.
Hazing was nothing new at Filmore. Mike knew his players had their traditions, and he knew it was better not to ask about what went on in the locker room and at post-game parties. It was all part of belonging to a team, and they'd done the same thing when Mike was in high school.
Jenny'd escaped the locker room hijinx by virtue of a separate locker room, and the traditional pink bellies and beatings aren't so appealing when the hazee's a tiny girl. They had to be creative with her, which is why Mike wasn't shocked the second time someone hoisted her bra and panties over the batter's box, and actually laughed after the Milwater game when each boy onto the bus had tossed his jock strap in her embarrassed direction. All part of the process, he figured.
Maddigan though, felt differently. "They're torturing that girl," she'd snarled in what Mike believed was her first trip ever to his dugout. "Your team is out of control!"
"Ellen, relax," he said. "It's kids' stuff. They aren't gonna hurt her."
"This isn't kids stuff, Coach Hammer." She refused to be so personal as to call him Mike. "I've had two janitors scrubbing her name off of bathroom walls all week. This is intimidation!"
Mike knew he wasn't gonna win this one. "I'll see what I can do to calm 'em down a bit," he said. "You know how kids are, they just got carried away."
"I expect you'll rein them in, A-S-A-P."
Mike rolled his eyes, but the principal pretended not to notice. "Of course," he said, "whatever you want."
She stormed away without further pleasantries.
"Shit," said Ed, who'd sat by silently during the scolding, "I thought the bra and panty thing woulda got her all hot and bothered!"
Mike laughed. "Jimmy," he said to his Captain, who was sitting not far over from Ed. " Tell the boys to cut the crap. No more hazing the princess."
"But coach..." he started.
"No more, Jimmy! I'm not going to lose my job over this."
"You said we could convince her to quit," Jimmy argued.
"She ain't quittin' kid. You did your best."
"'t wasn't our best, Coach. Wasn't even close to our best!"
"No more hazing, Jimmy. I mean it."
Jimmy looked dejected. "Ok, Coach," he said. "No more hazing."
Even as he said it, Mike didn't believe it. All part of the tradition, he thought. All part of the tradition.
Office time dragged on again. Mike's daughter was displeased with having been called a slut, something he denied having said. It was a classy move on his ex-wife's part, passing that little slip back to the kid. A sobbing phone call'd turned into surrender, and he'd agreed to pay her rent with money he didn't actually have. Meanwhile, he thought, his ex and her boyfriend were living in sin off his alimony. For a man's world, he thought, this one sure sides with th the bitches an awful lot.
It was dark again when he left the office. He fully expected to be alone in the parking lot, and he was. He was surprised, though, to see his team still out on the field. Ed should've sent them home over an hour ago. There were rules about keeping kids too late after school, and the last thing he needed was another Maddigan tongue lashing. He dropped his bag in the car and hiked back towards the field.
The boys were all clustered around the mound, he saw as he moved closer, and he worried that someone was hurt. His quickened his pace.
He was about to shout out to the players when he first heard the moaning, and stopped dead in his tracks. There was a low hum of chatter coming from the players, but through that noise, he could hear the distinct sounds of ... well ... it sounded like sex. Grunting and panting and definitely a high pitched moaning.
Mike crept closer, sticking to the shadows as he slipped into the dark dugout to get a closer look at what was happening. It was hard to see for certain in the dark, but it didn't take a genius to guess, and he knew he should stop it. He would stop it, he thought. Soon.
In the pale light, from his dugout perch Mike could finally make out Jenny's tiny form, pinned down in the dirt of the mound. It was hard to tell through the crowd who it was laying on top of her, or what he was doing, but the boy was positioned for sex and Jenny was clearly lying prone. Mike breathed deep as his cock grew impossibly hard in his trousers. He wanted to watch, he realized, but he knew he couldn't. What if someone saw him? He stood momentarily frozen, thoughts of the pretty blonde pinned there on her back racing through his now horny brain. Being in charge sucked!
Mike tried to adjust his cock so that it was trapped in the waist band of his shorts, but anyone who looked close probably wouldn't be fooled. He hoped the dark would cover for him.
"What's going on out here?!" He shouted as he stormed onto the field, the reluctant authority figure.
The boys circled around, forming a wall and hoping that their coach hadn't already spied Jenny behind them. "Nothing, coach," they said, in accidental unison.
"Just, um, practing," said Billy Hooper, a sophomore secondbaseman.
"Yeah, practicing," said Mark Scott, the center fielder.
"Stand aside," Mike said, "I can see her back there."
The boys, seemingly contemplating their now-absent options, hesitated before moving aside.
Jenny was there on the ground, a wad of pink cloth stuffed in her mouth and tears streaming down her pretty, dirt-streaked face. She was naked, save for the ball cap held on by her pony tail, and the tattered remains of a tshirt that didn't cover anything but her shoulders. Jimmy Clay was between her legs, his cock still stiff and buried in her cunt as he looked up at his coach.
"This is between us, coach," the boy said, a wicked rage evident in his voice. "You shouldn't be out here."
Jenny stared up at Mike pleadingly, her big brown eyes still welling with tears. Jimmy, at well over 6' looked like a giant impaling the petite little girl, and she was clearly in pain.
"Jimmy," Mike said, unsure what he could say, "you can't do this. She's just a..." he trailed off. She was just a what? A kid? So were they.
Jimmy bucked his hips hard into Jenny and made her wince. "We're already doing it, coach," he said as he resumed his rhythmic sawing in and out of her pussy.
Mike stood frozen, watching helplessly as his 18 year old captain raped the poor freshman girl. Sure, he was in charge, but what could he do? Jimmy was right—they'd already raped the girl. Whether they stopped now or continued all night, the consequences would be the same. If Mike tried to stop them, they would only turn on him, and a middle-aged man was no match for 20 athletic teenage boys. "Please, Jimmy," Mike said, simply because he had to say something.
"Fuck the bitch," shouted one of the boys, as another implored Jimmy to "fill her up!" Mike's pleading could barely rise above the tin as the others eagerly joined in. Recognizing their coach's apparent powerlessness, the other boys resumed groping Jenny's breasts and legs while Jimmy savagely fucked her. "I bet she's tight," said a boy. "She better be!" said another. "She won't be after this," said a third.
Jimmy seemed to enjoy hurting the girl, and as his orgasm built they could see him slamming himself harder and harder against her slender body. His cock had already disappeared as far as it would go in her, but Jimmy clearly wasn't content with just fucking her deep. Finally, after several furious minutes of spread-legged pumping, Jimmy pulled out of her pussy and made a point of cumming all over her naked chest. The other boys laughed, and traded high fives with their conquering captain.
Mike stared down at Jenny, who was lying, chest heaving from her heavy breathing, with her legs parted to afford an unobstructed view of her newly-violated pussy. The girl had a gorgeous body, tight in all the right places and perky where it mattered. Her tiny stature made her all the hotter, as the innocent appeal of her childish features contrasted with the sordid reality of her current predicament. Mike's cock was swelling, tenting out in his pants, but he fought the urge to stroke it.
With little pause, another senior, Jeff Taylor, knelt down and mounted the pretty girl. There was cheering and more lewd taunts. Mike stood transfixed.
"What's the matter, slut?" Jeff taunted as he thrust in and out. "Don't want more cock?"