Apartment Eight Makes A Golden Challenge - Sex Stories

Apartment Eight Makes A Golden Challenge

... Puerco Hermanos, The Spaghetti Westerners and Chocolate Reign, he wasn’t sure if he was umping softball games or managing a politically incorrect kitchen. Though the score was 4-1, for all intents and purposes, the only score that mattered was the one Carie and Vasily kept in their heads which was 2-1, still in her favour. After celebrating with her team on the field, Carie pranced over to Vasily who was still standing at home plate. Skipping around the heavy hitter, she proclaimed, “Just another victim.” He was too preoccupied to notice her at the moment. He was contemplating a way to lay blame on the inanimate length of pipe he wielded in his hands for this impotent plate appearance. There must have been a magic hole in it somewhere. “Hey!” Carie jumped up and slapped him on the back of his head with her glove. “Give a girl the satisfaction of gloating, would you?” Vasily eyed her as she hopped away from him backwards. She was sweet, sexy and annoying as all hell all at once. He felt the urge to either carry her to the bleachers to engage in some serious, post-competitive coital relations, or to dump a bucket of water over her chirpy, taunting head. "We settle up at the pub," she said, winking and pointing her finger at him like a pistol. "Your ass is mine, Boris!" She turned and skipped away, her tight little butt wiggling to and fro. The bucket of water and then the bleachers, Vasily decided. ***** It had all started that night in Number Seven, on the floor of Vasily’s ...

... apartment, when Carie, her short kimono robe, and a bottle of tequila had managed to rope him into joining her softball league. Even though he had lost track of how many shots he had knocked back, he was still aware enough to know that he would regret his decision. Yet, the heady combination of Mexican alcohol pumping through his veins and the vision of Carie’s silky skirt hiking further and further up her smooth, white thighs managed to subvert his better judgement. Carie, of course, was ecstatic that he had yielded to her insistence and endless jabs of her finger. And once she got her way, Carie, of course , wanted more. “Bet?” Vasily grumbled. “Yes,” Carie said, wobbling as she sat on the floor, “Let’s spice up the stakes, shall we?” He swatted his hand dismissively. “I am not hungry,” he mumbled. Just the thought of eating almost made him want to puke. Carie paused and eyed him --or perhaps her lid was just droopy from the alcohol-- then laughed, “Stakes! Not steaks , you… you Bolshevik! Stakes! Stakes!” Vasily frowned. What the hell was she talking about? He attempted to grab the bottle of tequila from her clutches and earned a slap on his wrist for it. Carie, her cheeks in full bloom, wagged a finger at him. “Listen, listen. Shut up and listen,” she slurred, “I’ll put my pitching hand up against your bat.” Her hand? His bat? Was she talking about jerking him off? “Outs versus hits,” she continued, “That’ll be how we keep score against each other. Fuck the game. Every time ...