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From: taria29c@aol.com (Taria29c)
Subject: SOFT BALL by TAR1A - a homage (#2/2 REPOST)
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I leaned my head back until it was resting against his chest.  "I guess
so," I breathed.  "I could use a little help washing the hard-to-reach
places anyway."

Still leaning against him, I held out the bar of soap in my hand.  He took
it, and reached around my waist with it.  With one hand he guided the soap
in circles around my shoulders, under my arms, down my sides.  Then, with
firm, hard strokes, he soaped up my breasts.  Lathering up both hands, he
cupped my slick and slippery tits.  His hands squeezed and grabbed,
tweaking my small pink nipples until they were hard little points digging
into his palms.  He played with them until I moaned.

I spread my legs apart and leaned back on him for support as those magic
hands descended to my bush.  His soapy fingers plunged through the thicket
of short-and-curlies until they parted my lips.  I gasped as his fingers
entered me, and I moaned as he teased my clit.  His hard-on prodded my
rump, and it slid into the crack between my asscheeks as I pushed back
against him.  

I turned around and hooked my arms around his neck, and held on tight as
he lathered up my back and my ass.  He crouched a little to move his hands
lower, and I spread my legs apart again as he snuck a soapy finger inside
my dark nether hole.

"You do a thorough job," I said.  Actually I kind of croaked.  I was
beginning to lose the power of speech by this point.

"Every nook and cranny," he said, as his hands massaged round and round my
ass.

"Are you absolutely sure?" I whispered in his ear.  "I think I'd like the
full inspection.  You know, check all the connections, make sure
everything's running smoothly."

"Customer's always right," he said.  "Where would you like me to start,
ma'am?"

I wriggled my slick body against him, letting his hard cock poke at me a
bit.  "I think you oughta lie down underneath.  So you can check under the
hood."

I had to give him this: he was game.  Even though this was a public shower
(cleaner than usual, maybe, but STILL...), Mike lay down on his back on
the floor under the spray.  I straddled his face and lowered my pussy down
until it nestled on his mouth.  As his mouth started working on me I moved
back and forth, making "mmm-mmm-mmm" pleasure noises.

"I'm glad you decided to practice," I gurgled through the shower spray. 
"Your tongue has All-Star potential.  Have you ever done this before?"

"Mrrfl mrrfl glub glub," he answered.  But before I could get a
translation, I felt the tremors of my orgasm building.  I came hard and
fast, grinding my pussy harder into his face as I grunted and gasped my
way over the top.  I must've drowned the poor boy, I realized, so I sat
back a little and got ready to administer CPR.

He made a raspberry as water washed over his now-exposed face. 
"Fthw-fthw-ptui" he sputtered.  I lifted myself up a little.

"If you do become a writer," I said, "you should write a story about this.
 There's nothing sexier than a shower, except for eating a girl out in
one."

"Well," he said, "they always say to write from experience.  But I haven't
had that experience enough to really write about it with authority."

"You mean shower sex, or eating girls out?" I asked.

"Either," he answered.  "Are you sure that'd make a really interesting
story?"

"Maybe we could make it a little more interesting," I said with a soggy
grin.  I got up and turned around, then squatted back down over his face
again.  As his All-American tongue returned to its task, I ran my hands
down his sides.  I settled my pussy down further with a contented sigh.  I
leaned forward and grasped his engorged cock in my hands.  I stroked it
once, and was rewarded with a muffled moan from beneath me.  "Mrrrrrf..."
he said, and I leaned down further and took him in my mouth.

I made an "O" with my lips and wrapped them around the mushroom cap at the
top of his cock.  My tongue licked at it, running around the rim and
tickling at his little tiny hole.  Then I sucked the length of him into my
open mouth, his warm hardness covered with a cool wet layer of shower
water.  As my head bobbed up and down, I clutched the base of his shaft
tightly in my hand (this was a trick I'd perfected over years of blow job
practice at the high school level.  It used to drive Joey Jambalaya
totally wild).

I felt the vibrations at my pussy increase as his muffled groans
escalated.  I wasn't about to come again so soon anyway, so I skootched
forward a little on his chest to give him breathing room.  As soon as his
face was free I heard him go "OHHHHurgle!"  Apparently when I got out of
the way Mike got smacked dead-on by a stream of pouring water from the
shower.  He didn't seem to mind much.

I intensified the pressure of my squeezing and sucking, milking his slick
wet cock for all it was worth.  Within seconds I felt it pulse and jerk in
my mouth, and then he exploded between my lips.  I pulled back and pumped
his shaft, letting the running water wash us clean as he came.  No muss no
fuss!  Best thing about shower sex.  

I looked back at him over my shoulder.  His eyes had rolled back in his
head and he really did seem to be drowning this time.  So I clambered off
him and we both rinsed and soaped a bit more before we shut off the water.
 We stood there smiling sorta goofy at each other for a minute, drenched
to the bone.  Then we walked out to the locker room where we'd left our
towels.

We padded out, tracking wet footprints onto the clean floor.  As we
toweled off, I said "is it true?  That you don't have much experience, I
mean."

"Scout's honor," he said.  "I really have been a Boy Scout all my life.  I
always looked a lot, but I never really did anything until I finally had
sex with a girl back home."

I propped one leg up on a yellow bench and dabbed at my upper thigh. 
"When?" I asked.

"When?"

"When was your first time?"

He looked downright sheepish.  "Um - New Year's."

I was incredulous.  "THIS New Year's?  A few months ago?  And how many
times since then?"

He blushed and concentrated on scrubbing a particularly damp toenail.

I dropped my towel and laughed out loud.  "You've only had sex ONCE? 
Jesus, you're practically still a virgin!"

He looked hurt, and cranky.  "We can't all be fast starters, y'know" he
muttered, a little defensively.

I walked over to where he stood behind another one of the low yellow
benches. I stepped over it to stand beside him, and softly touched his
cheek.  "That's not what I meant, Mike.  The way you put the moves on me,
the way you touched me...I was sure you'd done this a million times.  It
never occurred to me that you were still new at this.  At sex."

We were quiet for a moment.  I broke the silence.  "Did you enjoy it? 
Having sex, I mean."

The blush faded and he grinned.  "It was OK.  I mean, it was great - it
was sex.  I can't imagine what 'bad' sex could be like.  I waited my whole
life to get laid, and it was sure a lot better than NOT getting laid.  If
you catch my drift."

I smiled and turned around to grab my towel.  It was on the floor, on the
other side of the yellow bench in front of us.  I bent to get it, but it
was still just out of reach.  I got down lower and bent over even further,
stretching out my arm.  "I think I know what you're saying," I said, still
trying to snag my towel.  "But it seems to me that you didn't really get
the full enjoyment out of the experience.  And that's a shame, because
you're such a natu-raaaaaah!"

I trailed off into a startled shriek.  While I sprawled there all bent
over the bench, he had moved up behind me and run his palms down my
asscheeks.  I felt him spread them apart slightly and then trailed two
"Boy Scout salute" fingers down my crack, over my asshole, and down to my
pussy.  As I crouched there motionless with my legs parted, he inserted
them inside me and circled them round and round.  Then he withdrew them
and spread some of my hot wet juices on the outer folds of my pussy lips.

"Boy Scout motto," he said.  "Always be prepared for anything that comes
up.  And something just did.  Come up, that is."

I "uhhhhh"-ed deep in my throat and rocked my hips a little.  "What does
the Scout Manual say to do in a situation like this?" I groaned.

I felt the tip of his erect cock probing behind me, seeking my opening. 
"To advance in the Scouts you usually have to improvise," he said.  I felt
him poke at me again and reached a hand underneath me to guide him. 
"That's the way you make Eagle Scout," I agreed.  I swiveled my hips
upwards a little and aimed him at my entrance, and he slid in with
pleasurable friction as he drove his hard cock home.

"Oooooooh," I gasped, and he started to slowly thrust in and out of me
from behind.  "Yes, like that.  Are you SURE you've only done this once?"

He laughed, and I felt him grasp my hips with his hands as he fucked me. 
"It's a good thing you brought me off once already," he said, "because
otherwise I'd be finished by now."  "Mmmm, good thing," I repeated.  "Very
good.  Very very.  Oh yes, fuck me!"

We moved in tandem, rocking back and forth as he plumbed my depths with
his erect tool.  I don't know if he was any good as a Boy Scout, and I
don't know if there was a special merit badge for fucking.  Or maybe
they'd call it "Tactile Heterosexual Stimulation."  Or a merit badge in
"Birds-and-Bees Studies."  But he was pretty skilled in any case, and I
felt myself climbing toward orgasm again within a few moments.

"Oh that's good," I said.  "Don't stop."  And he didn't.  Instead his
hands roved around my ass, making me groan even louder.  And when one
finger accidentally (?) brushed my anus I moaned.  And damned if the Boy
Scout didn't improvise!  He moistened his thumb down at the juncture of
his prick and my cunt, and then casually inserted it in my ass.

I rammed myself back, impaling myself on his cock and his thumb, and
screamed.  As the orgasm hit me and exploded all around me I dimly heard
him call out, and then I felt him erupt into my pussy.  My cunt muscles
clenched and spasmed in the aftermath, coaxing yet another few spurts of
his ooze out of his still-jerking cock.  Then our muscles unclenched and
he pulled out (or, more accurately, sort of slid out wetly), and our mixed
juices dripped onto the once-sparkly clean floor below.

The we both straightened up and, for the second time that evening, toweled
off.  We dressed quickly and got ready to go.

"So," I asked him.  "Did you get anything constructive out of our extra
practice session?"

He grinned at me for the umpteenth time.  "Yep," he said.  For one thing,
I think I'm learning to appreciate the enthusiasm and energy of college
coeds."

I stuck my tongue out at him.  "Nothing else?" I said, archly.

"Well," he said, looking at me sidelong.  "I've also developed a taste for
women who appreciate a little competition.  And I found out that a little
advance planning never hurts."

I narrowed my eyes.  "Planning?" I said, in a dangerous voice.

There was a gleam in his eyes for just a moment.  Then it faded, and he
continued.  "I've also discovered that I'm irresistable when I'm charming
and sincere.  And especially when a woman feels sorry for me."  I glared
at him and he chuckled.  Soon I was laughing too.

"You really are a glib devil," I said fondly, and I kissed him on the
cheek.  "That's what I thought when I first saw you, and now I know I was
right."

We left the gym building and started to go off in separate directions. 
"Remember the rules!" I shouted.  "Tell anybody on the team about this and
you're a dead man, Mike Hunter!"

"Right!" he yelled back.  "Rules!"  Then he laughed again.  "Don't worry! 
Your secret is safe with me!"  And then he was gone.

There was no sign of him at the game the following week.  Or the week
after that.

When I checked with the Registrar, I found out there was no student named
Michael Hunter attending the college.  I never saw hide nor hair of the
boy again.

For weeks I wondered about him.  Who was he?  Was he from another college?
 Why had he finagled his way into the softball game in the first place? 
And I kept thinking about what he'd said about advance planning.  What
if...?

No, he couldn't have.  He wouldn't.  The only way it was possible was if
he joined the game, faked his lousy play, convinced me to stay late, timed
the janitor's schedules, maybe paid him off...

All that for me?  No, he wouldn't have.  Would he?

Then again, he WAS a pretty sneaky fuck.

For all I knew, maybe he even wrote a story about it.  But who'd ever want
to read anything he wrote, anyway?



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1) What you hold in your grubby hands (or are reading on your grubby
screens--go get the Windex!  But wait till AFTER you turn off the
computer, Dummy!) is my attempt at a M1KE HUNT story.  I figure I've
written a bunch of stories about My Cunt, so why not M1KE HUNT?  Actually,
my first story was really about My Cock.  For that matter, M1KE HUNT makes
no sense at all.  His name really oughtta be M1KE HOCQUE or something. 
Maybe he was worried that Canadian readers would pronounce it "Mike Hoak,"
which would sound a lot more than "My Coke" than "My Cock," killing the
alliteration.  Of course, in Canada they might already be calling him
"Meek Hoont" and looking baffled every time he makes a name joke.  "Meek
Hoont?  Qu'est que c'est Meek Hoont?  Thees ees funnais een Amairica? 
Eh?"

2) Reproduction of this story is perfectly fine, as long as it's done for
free.  In Canada, free reproductions of this story should be discounted at
seventy-seven cents on the dollar.  Free Japanese reproductions of this
story carry an additional handling charge of $85 to cover shipping,
handling, translation, and World War II reparations for Pearl Harbor. 
Used schoolgirl panties not included.  Send all payments and Formal
Declarations of War to M1KE HUNT's website,
<http//members.aol.com/mrm1ke>.

3) This is a 100% true story by Taria.  Well, some of it's true, anyway. 
OK, none of it's true.  But that never stopped HIM!  Please note that the
second-to-last character in my name is an I <"eye">, not a 1 <"one">,
despite the purposeful HUNT-esque spelling at the top of the story.  That
was just a CLUE, you moke.  In reality, my name is pronounced TAH-reeyah,
as in "AH-reeyah."  But if I spelled it like it sounds, it would be with
an E <"ee"> instead of an I <"eye"> or a 1 <one">, and that would be too
confusing.  It would also be just plain WRONG.  So send all responses to
<Taria29c@aol.com>, and spell it correctly, dammit.

4) Do you know what a pain in the ass these freaking notes are?

5) (c) 1997 by Taria.  So there!

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