Apartment Eight Makes A Golden Challenge - Sex Stories

Apartment Eight Makes A Golden Challenge

... clenched upon her straw. His mind’s eye saw that shattered glass smile that must have been wedged upon her lips. Oh yes… because of her. ***** The previous Saturday afternoon… Carie always had a way with balls. Ever since she was a child playing her very first game of jacks, to setting the class record for the number of knock-outs during dodgeball at school, to leading her field hockey team in high school and college, she had a knack for the spheres. No matter the size, she always handled them with confidence. It was to no one’s surprise then that, despite her somewhat lithe and petite figure, she was an ace pitcher when it came to softball. Starting with a firm, yet almost flirtatious, stare toward the plate, then bending forward and cocking her arm straight back, to propelling herself forward a step, whirling the her arm, and launching the ball from her hip, she always managed to fire it in with surprising power and precision. The immediate sound that typically followed of a bat whiffing through the air and the orb slapping into the catcher’s glove with a crisp, leathery “pop”, always sent a delicious ping of satisfaction that coursed through her skull like a drug. If she could loop that sensation in her head before she slept at night, she was sure she would have many pleasant dreams. Today, she was doing particularly well on the field. This mixed-gender house league had done wonders to inspire her game. The satisfaction she got from striking out guys as well as women ...

... could almost be described as… well, a little orgasmic. She tugged the lid of her cap down over her eyes as she peered at the next victim standing in front of her at the plate: a burly guy with a slight gut and puffy cheeks that made him look a bit like Popeye in Oakley's. With a fluid sweeping motion, she stepped back, leaned down, sprung forward and rotated her arm like a whirlwind. Woosh! Thup! “Strike one!” Her tidy lips slanted to the side. The smirk remained there as she repeated the drill two more times. “Strike three! Yer out!” Carie sprung up on her toes and slapped her glove. “Yes!” she whooped. “Sit your ass down, bitch!” ‘Popeye’ glared at her as he dragged his bat back to the bench. She was damn competitive, as well. The big guy gave her a what-the-hell sort of glare. Like she gave a fuck. Her team clapped and cheered her on. Only one more out to go and the game was over. Carie wasn’t really thinking about the score, not the one scrawled in chalk on the scoreboard anyway. Her thoughts were focused solely on the next batter. Now she cracked a sharp, toothy smile as she watched him come off the bench and approach the plate. Vasily walked towards the batter’s box holding and looking at his bat as if it were the Singing Sword. Five games into the season and he was still not sold on the sport. Hockey, that was his thing. Fast, non-stop action, constant banging and checking, and slapping frozen slabs of rubber at other human beings, that’s what he liked. "Softball"... what ...