Her ass looked like heaven. He’d never seen a smoother, more perfectly shaped set of feminine hips. Her hips couldn’t be better displayed than in those skin-tight, white and pinstriped, polyester baseball leggings.

She was the batgirl and he’d been told she was strictly off limits, but Hollywood Kasey couldn’t keep his eyes off her ass. Even standing in the ‘on deck’ circle, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her ass. He couldn’t be more mesmerized. Bent over scooping up some scattered baseballs by the dugout, her ass seemed to point right at him, beckoning him.

Hollywood was completely unaware as the pitcher wound up and delivered a ball to homeplate. The batter swung wildly.

Crack! The ball plopped to the ground as the wooden bat split into pieces. The biggest piece slammed into the visitor’s dugout, sending their team diving to the floor. The hoopla caught Hollywood’s attention. Laughing under his breath, he thought that they looked silly as they scrambled to their feet

Just then, the batgirl came running from his team’s dugout and bent over to pick up a splintered piece of bat right in front of him.

Her ass looked so fine, he again lost concentration on all else and as he half swung the heavy warm-up bat, it slipped right out of his grip. It scooted across the infield straight toward the pitcher’s mound. Jumping to avoid the warm-up bat, the pitcher lost his balance and fell flat on his ass, right on top of the rubber.

Laughter rippled through both dugouts and across the sparsely attended stadium. It was another typical night in minor league baseball.

She turned and looked at him curiously. “Hollywood?”

“Sorry, Lizbeth.”

Lizbeth turned and trotted out onto the infield to retrieve his warm up bat. Hollywood just stared at her ass. That has to be the finest ass I’ve ever seen.

Trotting over to him, she shoved the bat at him, hard. Her big, gorgeous blue eyes seemed to sparkle. They actually did reflect the overhead lights that lit up the stadium, along with the night sky for miles around, all the way to the gulf beach.

“Get your head in the game, Hollywood,” she said, shaking her head. “Duh!”

The stadium organist belted out a few notes of “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” before he announced, “It never gets boring here at Fort Walton Beach. Go Fish!”

On the next pitch, the batter dribbled an easy grounder to the second basemen who scooped it and tossed it to first base for an easy out. That was the third out, ending the top half of the inning. Hollywood tossed the warm up bat toward the dugout as he went to grab his fielder’s glove. Before he could get there he was greeted by the manager, Homer Joe Harris.

Homer Joe offered the glove but wouldn’t let go of it when Hollywood reached for it. “Hollywood, what’d I tell ya, son?”

“Uh, dunno, Coach.”

“I told ya, she’s off limits. That’s my daughter you’re leering at. I don’t care what you do with other batgirls or all of those Annies over behind third base, but not Lizbeth. Got it, boy? Or am I gonna have to snatch you bald?”

“Yessir, Coach.”

“Now get your head in the game.” Homer Joe loosed his grip on the glove and gave Hollywood a hard swat on the ass as he turned toward the field.

Hollywood jogged out to his position in right field. He knew he had better get his mind on the game. He sure didn’t want to still be in the Florida panhandle playing for the Fort Walton Beach Fightin’ Fish, this time the next year.

Hollywood Kasey was Homer Joe’s biggest project that summer. The Red Sox had signed the college All-American from Texas A&M to a very expensive multi-year contract. Homer Joe knew the Sox management planned on the kid becoming the franchise player of the future that would lead them back to the World Series. The twenty-year-old kid certainly had the talent to do just that, but he was raw, and needed a good two to three years of development before he’d be ready to take on major league pitchers.

Homer Joe knew better than anyone that pushing these aspiring players too fast could break them. Twenty-five years before, he’d been a rookie in the National League, but his team had brought him up too soon. Projected to be a power hitter, he mostly struck out against major league pitching and was sent back down to the minors. His confidence at the plate destroyed, he struggled a few years in the minors and by the time his hitting had recovered, they considered him too old to bring back up. He had been coaching in the minors ever since.

The few fans in the stadium cheered Hollywood as he took his place in right field. He was supposed to be a future superstar and he looked the part. His cocky attitude was mirrored in his appearance. Night game or day, Hollywood had his sunglasses squeezed on top of his snug fitting baseball cap, not to mention the black sun strips he always wore under his eyes.

One not so impressed fan asked very loudly, “Why the hell does an outfielder need wrist-bands?” Hollywood looked down at his wrist-bands. Having worn them since high school, he considered them a good luck token. Do these really look silly on me?

Standing in his spot in right field, Hollywood first daydreamed of big league stardom, then he thought of Lizbeth’s pert little ass and long shapely legs.

The crack of the bat drew his attention, but it was just a hard foul on the other side of the field. Looking down he noticed clover in the freshly mowed grass. I’m sure they don’t have clover in the grass in the majors.

The crowd cheered. The batter had just struck out. One away. Two more outs and I’ll be batting.

Smack! That was the sound of a ball coming off the sweet spot of the bat. Hollywood tensed ready for action, but the ball was a line drive toward deep left field. All he could do was jog up closer to the infield and be prepared in case an errant throw over someone’s head came in his direction.

Watching intently, he saw the left fielder streaking toward the wall. The ball sailed over his head, smashed hard into the wall, just inches short of a home run. The hard hit baseball ricocheted off the wall back over the left fielder’s head again, just as he had arrived on the dirt warning track.

The ball scooted quickly across the grass until the center fielder, running over to help out, scooped it up and overthrew the third baseman. If the pitcher hadn’t been over there to back him up, the runner could have made for home. Instead, he was standing on third base grinning from ear to ear.

Asshole got him a triple. Hollywood was eager to get these guys out so he could come in and bat.

He slowly trotted back to his usual spot in right field. Just as he turned to face the infield, his team’s pitcher had already wound up and hurled a fast ball toward the plate. The batter swung. Smack!

A screaming line drive came rocketing to right field. Dammit! It’s going straight for the fuckin’ corner.

Hollywood pumped his legs as fast as he could. He was a decent runner, but if had been faster he’d be playing centerfield instead of right. I don’t want to look like that goofball in left field. Still in stride, he stretched his gloved left arm out as far as he could.

He felt it. He had the ball barely in the web of his glove. That sucker is out!

Whirling around, he acrobatically flipped the ball out of his glove, grabbed it in his right hand prepared to launch it. This was one of the main reasons why the Sox signed him, he had a cannon for an arm.

The second baseman was waving for a cut off throw. But Hollywood saw the third base runner was almost home. No way did that guy wait and tag up. Hollywood slung the ball as hard as he could. It sailed well over the second basemen’s head straight toward third base.

The third baseman quickly stepped on the bag and stretched his glove hand out toward the throw. Hollywood wasn’t sure if it got there in time or not. The runner had dived face first at the bag at about the same time the ball was hitting the glove.

It was only a few hundredths of a second, but it seemed like slow motion, as all eyes in the stadium were on the third base umpire. Suddenly he jerked his arm over his right shoulder, thumb out from his fist. The runner was out.

“I got that sucker!” Hollywood was elated. He had turned an awesome double play. He looked up in the stands and sure enough the camera guy for the tiny local TV station was there. I’ll be on the sports highlights tonight.

The little crowd cheered as Hollywood ran for the dugout. Just as he got there, Lizbeth greeted him with his favorite bat.

“Here ya go, stud.” Handing the bat to him she grinned and took his glove.

“Stud?”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up and go get a hit.”

Stud?

Hollywood gently swung the bat as he strolled to the right side of the plate. Stepping into the batter’s box, he tapped the end of the bat onto the far side of the plate like he’d done since he was in Little League.

Stud?

Looking toward the pitcher’s mound, his mind was still on Lizbeth calling him ‘stud.’

Smack! The baseball pounded into the catcher’s mitt.

“Steee-rike!” yelled the umpire.

Where’d that come from? Shit! I wasn’t ready.

Just then a bellow came from his team’s dugout. “What the hell are you waiting for? Do you want ‘em to gift wrap the goddammed ball? At least swing at it!”

I can’t believe I just let him throw a sweet fastball right down the middle of the plate.

The smirk on the pitcher’s face really irked Hollywood.

The pitcher got into his wind up. Hollywood dug his feet in. He was total concentration.

As the ball came out of the pitcher’s hand, Hollywood glued his focus onto it. He swung, dropping the head of the bat to meet the ball.

He barely felt a thing. One usually does not feel much impact at all when they crush a baseball like that. The ball took off; it seemed like it would go into orbit. It did come down. In fact, it came down somewhere well past the empty left field bleachers. It might have landed on the roof of The Oasis Massage Parlor that was across the street from the stadium. Some of the players had received “happy ending” massages over there. But Hollywood didn’t want to settle for a cheap handjob. He had the batgirl on his mind.

Truthfully, she really was on his mind as he trotted around the bases. Looking over his shoulder, he wanted to know if she was watching. Of course, she was; everyone in the stadium was watching him.

Hollywood’s teammates were all piled up at the entrance of the dugout to congratulate him on his monster shot over the bleachers. Some smacked him on the head, some slapped his butt, and some punched him in the arm. It was their normal congratulatory ritual. But there was one butt slap that lingered. Yes, lingered!

Hollywood almost freaked. He sure did not want to be felt up by one of the guys. But as he quickly jerked around to see who it was, he was greeted big, pretty blue eyes and long blonde hair tucked under a baseball cap.

“Great hit.” Lizbeth’s smile was mesmerizing.

Thud! A hard smack to the back of the head knocked Hollywood out of his staring trance. He quickly jerked around to see who had smacked him in the head.

Homer Joe was in his face. “What’d I tell you, Holl-eee-wood?”

“Uh, um, yeah, coach, I wasn’t-“

“Yeah, you was.” The manager’s stern face then turned to a smile, “Great hit, keep it up.” Homer Joe punched him hard enough on the upper arm to make it sting.

Hollywood found a spot on the bench and plopped down. Javier, the second baseman, took a seat next to him.

“Hollywood, man,” Javier said in his thick Dominican accent, “you got a thang for da Coach's daughter.”

Hollywood exhaled impatiently.

“Not so good, man,” Javier continued. “We got all dose fine ass Annies over dere, and dey just wantin’ to give us — give you some of dat fine ass pussy.”

“Look, you don’t need to worry ‘bout me.”

“But I do worry ‘bout you. All dem hot ass American groupies over dere and you just be a starin’ at Coach’s daughter. You know Coach want her to finish college an’ he don’t want her seein’ any of us players. She’ll get you messed up man, an’ you got da best chance of any of us a makin’ it to Boston. Da bigs, man. Da Show!” Javier shook his head. “Just don’t fuck it up.”

Hollywood nodded. “I hear ya, dude, I hear ya.”

When the game ended, the Fightin’ Fish had beat the Waycross Swamp Bears 5 to 4, thanks to Hollywood’s eighth inning homerun. As he made his way behind the dugout into the dressing room, he grabbed the trainer by the arm.

“My shoulder is just a little stiff after that throw tonight, can I get some ice and heat treatment?”

“Yeah, but I ain’t hangin’ dude,” answered the trainer, “so ya gotta do it yourself. Ice bags in the freezer over there and we got heatin’ pads on the table by the door.”

“Right, self-serve ‘round here.” Hollywood rolled his eyes. Just another reminder, I ain’t in the big leagues yet.

Grabbing a large cold pack, he stripped and sat down on the bench in front of his locker. ‘This ice bag sure does feel good,’ he thought as he draped that large cold pack over his shoulder.

Within minutes everyone else had showered, dressed and gone. Hollywood actually thought he’d enjoy the solitude while he iced and heated his shoulder for a while.

While he sat icing his shoulder, Boston came to mind, knowing that a video of his awesome throw, combined with his towering homerun, would be watched over and over by the Red Sox upper management.

He was dreaming of Boston’s Fenway Park and smacking homeruns against the top of the Green Monster. He was dreaming of a multi-million dollar contract.

The solitude was peaceful, and soon Hollywood felt like he could doze off. That was until he was startled awake.

“Hey, big guy.”

His eyes shot open and he immediately sat up straight.

As he focused, he saw Lizbeth standing right in front of him. Oh, my god, I’m naked!

Hollywood panicked as he looked to the left and to the right, desperately seeking a towel to cover himself.

“Oh, I’ve got your towel.” Lizbeth held it up with one hand taunting him.

Hollywood quickly reached for it and she jerked it away just beyond his grasp.

“Whu – wha — what’d you do that for?” he stammered, desperately trying to cover his pecker with one hand.

“It doesn’t look like you can cover that thing with just one hand.” Lizbeth was grinning.

Squirming around on the bench, Hollywood frantically looked around to make sure no one else was there.

“Don’t get so fidgety, Hollywood.” Lizbeth stood confidently with her hands on her hips. “Ain’t nobody around.” Her cheeks dimpled as a devilish smile crossed her face. “It’s just you and me and I know what’s been on your mind.”

She tossed the towel back over her shoulder across the room.

“Wha-?”

“Don’t start acting all innocent. You been leering at me like a horndog all week.”

Stunned by Lizbeth’s forwardness, Hollywood sat motionless. By then he had both his hands cupped over his cock. And to make matters worse for him in his nervous state, he could feel his pecker twitch and start to engorge. Yes, he was getting a hard on.

“What if Coach walks in?”

“Homer Joe’s already left.”

“You call your daddy by his name?”

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?”

“Nnnu – no.”

“Look, Homer Joe has already gone home. I have my own place, so no one is waiting up on me or anything silly like that.” Lizbeth giggled ever so slightly. “So-”

Twitching as he sat, Hollywood was still nervously covering his hardening cock while he stared at Lizbeth standing in front of him. Her eyes seemed to twinkle as she watched him. Soon she moved her hands to the front of her Fightin’ Fish jersey.

His eyes shot wide open as Lizbeth, starting at the top of her jersey, began unbuttoning it. She pulled the tail of it out of her tight leggings and jerked the jersey open exposing a white lacy bra. Hollywood had not moved, and from his expression, one would’ve thought he was hypnotized.

Lizbeth then reached behind and unsnapped the bra. With the straps loosened, she let it fall to the floor. Her pert tits were exposed before him, causing Hollywood’s jaw to drop open.

He gazed at her seemingly perfect tits, so firm, smooth, and crested with large brownish-pink silver dollar nipples. Turning around, she bent over, pointing her ass to his face. Lizbeth cranked her head around and smiled as she looked at him. Hollywood’s gaze was still just as enthralled, his jaw still hanging open.

Lizbeth kicked her sneakers off, then her hands slipped into the waistband of her leggings. Still grinning at him and clearly enjoying the teasing, she slowly started pulling the leggings down.

As she pulled them lower, her little white thong panty was exposed. Her firm, round butt cheeks were right there in Hollywood’s face. She slid the leggings all the way down to her feet, pulling them off.

Giggling mischievously, Lizbeth turned to face Hollywood. Now like a statue, he had not moved. She stepped even closer, the crotch of her little panty in front of his eyes.

“Pull ‘em off, big boy.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me, silly.” Lizbeth moved even closer, pushing her crotch almost into his nose. “Pull my panties off.”

As soon as Hollywood removed his hands from over his penis, it sprang upward.

It was Lizbeth’s turn to get all big-eyed. “Shit! That is a damn big cock you have, Hollywood!”

As she spoke, his fingers clenched the elastic of her thong panty. Her eyes lit up with anticipation.

Hollywood slid the panties down to her feet and she stepped out of them. He tossed them across the room, where they landed on top of the open laundry bag full of jock straps.

“Uh! What’d you do that for?” she asked defiantly.

She saw from the smirk on Hollywood’s face that his usual cocky demeanor had returned.

“That seemed like the best place for ‘em.”

“Okay then,” Lizbeth grinned. She gently pushed at his shoulder. “Lie back on the bench.”

Hollywood did as she said. He laid with his back on the bench, his legs splayed on either side. Lizbeth straddled and sat on the bench just in front of him and took his erect pecker in her hands, gently stroking it.

She bent over him and pulled her long blonde hair forward, letting it fall on his lap. With one hand gripping a wad of her hair as if it were a brush, she used it to tease and tickle his inner thighs, then his cock and balls.

“Oh, my god,” he moaned breathlessly.

Lizbeth teased him for several minutes, letting her hair gently tickle him all along his belly and crotch. Hollywood’s cock throbbed but he resisted the urge to yank her face down onto his cock.

Finally, he felt her hand directly on his dick again. “Oh – oh, my god,” he moaned again as he felt her gently kiss the head of his aching pecker.

Her lips spread and her tongue flicked at his velvety dick head. She began to swirl her tongue around the top and then down the side of his thick, veiny prick. “Mmmmm,” she moaned.

Rubbing her warm wet tongue up and down the length of his pecker, Lizbeth began licking all around it. Soon she had it deep in her mouth. Hollywood gently placed his hands on her head as she began bobbing up and down.

Lost in the ecstasy, Hollywood began to squirm almost uncontrollably on the bench. Lizbeth clenched his thigh to hold onto him with one hand. With the other hand, she pressed her finger into his asshole.

“Oh, fuck!” Hollywood’s body tightened as he felt her finger press into his pucker hole. “Oh, yeah.”

For several minutes, Lizbeth continued her sloppy blow job, as well as pressing and teasing his asshole.

“I better let you up before you cum,” Lizbeth sat up, slinging her hair back out of her face. “Ya think you can show me what you can do?”

“Of course.” But Hollywood looked a little bewildered about what she wanted him to do next.

Seeing his expression, she giggled. “C’mon, now.” She lay back on the bench spreading her legs. “Show me some of that tongue action you baseball players are famous for.”

“Alright.” He looked around the room. Standing up, he reached down and grabbed Lizbeth by the hand, “That large padded training table will be better than this hard bench.”

Hand in hand and butt naked, the two of them made their way to the table. Grabbing Lizbeth by the waist, Hollywood lifted her onto the table, then climbed on himself. Lizbeth immediately spread her legs wide, inviting him to dive between her legs, which he eagerly did.

As soon as he ever so gently pinched her hoodie, she began a steady moan. Pushing his forefinger in between her already wet pussy lips, Hollywood discovered just how soaking wet she was. A trail of juice followed the end of his finger as he retracted it.

“You’re ready for fun with that sweet pussy?”

“I’ve been ready, stud.”

He gently began licking her juicy labia up and down real slow. Sliding his forefinger back into her twat, he kissed and nibbled at her pussy lips and hoodie. Soon he had coaxed her little clit out from hiding, but did not lick it directly.

With her hands running through her own hair as he licked her, Lizbeth’s moans grew even louder. She squirmed her buttocks along the table padding back and forth. All of that only inspired Hollywood more as he sucked, licked and fingered her twat.

In a few minutes, he felt her hand on his head. By this time she had her other hand on her tits, pinching and pulling at her own nipples. Undeterred by Lizbeth’s squirming, Hollywood continued his erotic oral assault on her willing cunt.

Without warning, she grabbed his head hard with both hands. She clenched his head as if she needed to hang on for dear life. Her torso punched forward, almost smashing his nose. She shoved his head back as she began to spasm.

As Hollywood watched Lizbeth’s eyes roll back in her head and saw her mouth shoot wide open to gasp for air, he realized she was having an orgasm. He actually felt quite pleased with himself for causing such an orgasmic blast.

Gasping for air for several seconds, Lizbeth collapsed almost limp onto the table pad, laying one forearm across her forehead as she caught her breath. Her lips curled into a sly grin, she looked up at Hollywood.

“Now fuck me!”

He was ready to go as his cock was still standing at full erection. “Alright.”

Crawling on top of Lizbeth, he laid his swollen cockhead between her soaked, puffy cunt lips. He pushed in and she let out a deep moan. He started to grind faster and Lizbeth squirmed underneath him. Her hands were all over his back, and soon turned into nails digging into his skin.

Hollywood thrust away hard and fast between her legs. The harder he went, the more Lizbeth seemed to like it.

“Oh, god, fuck me!” she yelled out. “Fuck me hard, damn you, fuck me hard!”

Lizbeth’s pussy was so soaked that each thrust produced a loud squish. The table itself was bouncing, actually sliding slightly along the tile floor.

“Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!” Her splayed legs bounced with his every lunge into her. Trickling pussy juice oozed down her crotch onto her butt cheeks and the padding underneath her. Hollywood’s nutsack was soaked where it caromed against her crotch.

The room echoed with Lizbeth’s moans and screams and the sound of the bouncing table. Both bodies were drenched with sweat, their wet skin glistening against the overhead lights.

Hollywood pulled off her and sat on his knees. Swatting the side of her ass, the slap making more of a splat sound against her wet skin, he beckoned her onto her knees.

Lizbeth obliged, and onto her knees she went. “Oh fuck yes!” she echoed, “I love doggie!”

“Well, you’re gonna get doggie.” Hollywood gripped her tightly by the waist. “I’m gonna fuck your cunt good ’n hard.”

He slid his swollen cock between her spread cunt lips. His pecker easily pushed into her drenched twat.

“Oh- uh- oh…” Her voice shook.

The skin-to-skin slapping of his torso against her dripping buttocks came loud and fast. Hollywood clenched her long hair in his hand and yanked her head back hard.

“Do you like it?

“Oh, fuck I do!” Lizbeth could barely speak. “I love it! I love it! Fuck me hard, dammit!”

Smack! His hand swatted her ass hard. A spray of sweat shot everywhere as his open hand collided with her shiny ass cheek. “Oh yes!” she screamed.

Using one hand used to steady herself on the table pad, her other hand worked furiously fingering her clit. Her tits bounced from one side to the other, back and forth, swinging in circles underneath her at times. Hollywood continued plowing her drippy cunt from behind.

“Oh, god! I’m gonna – I’m gonna – “ Her eyes rolled back in her head as they had earlier. “Cuu-u-um!”

Her loud moan vibrated more than it shook. It was like a very loud purr being shaken hard.

Hearing her cum amplified Hollywood’s arousal enough to spur him toward orgasm. A low deep grunt and moan emanated from his throat. From his testicles, he felt the pressure. His entire scrotum spasmed and he could feel his jizz shooting through his throbbing cock and emptying into Lizbeth’s waiting pussy.

He pushed his cock into her a few more times, straining to ooze out every last drop of cum. Finally, he halted his thrusts and just held her in position, one hand still clenching her by the hair and the other against her waist.

“Oh, damn!” Hollywood finally let go and eased back onto his butt. Sweat ran down his chin and dripped onto his chest.

Lizbeth rolled over onto her back. Her body was so covered in sweat that she looked like she’d been oiled up for an oil wrestling match at a night club. Her legs fell open, facing Hollywood. He couldn’t help but notice her creamy splayed open cunt lips.

I hope she’s up for another round.

“Well, how was it?” he asked her.

“Oh, your performance matched your game earlier.” She smiled.

Then she shot up into a sitting position. “Oh, fuck!”

“What?” His eyes shot wide open.

“I forgot to make you wear a rubber!”

“Shit!” Hollywood sounded panicked. “You’re not on the pill?”

“No.”

“Oh, fuck!” His shoulders sank. No way! If she gets pregnant, I may never get to Boston.

Suddenly Lizbeth cracked up laughing. “Ha ha, I gotcha!”

“What do ya mean?”

“Of course, I’m on the pill.” She giggled more. “Working summers as a batgirl around all you hot baseball players, I’d be crazy not to.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, god, you ain’t the first player I’ve had, not by a long shot.” Her shoulders bounced as she laughed. “I’ve already tried out the pitching staff and most of the infield. I’m just starting on the outfield.”

“But your dad, Homer Joe?”

“Are you kidding, Coach hasn’t a clue.” She smiled and pushed her foot to his crotch, rubbing her toes against his limp pecker. “Let’s get that big guy up again and go another round.”

“Uh, yeah.” Hollywood scratched his chin. “Okay.”

The next morning one of the equipment managers remarked to Homer Joe. “I’ll be damned, Coach, we’re gonna have to wash this table pad again.”

“Already.” Homer Joe looked perplexed.

“It smells like pussy.”

“Goddammit, I wish those guys would just take those damn Annies home rather than bang ‘em in our clubhouse.” Homer Joe’s anguish turned to a grin. “Well, I almost forgot, I hid a security camera over on top of the lockers. I guess I’ll have one of ‘em dead to rights and somebody is gettin’ a serious butt chewin’.”