the aforementioned someone else, checking in with story
anonymous
May 16 2011, 21:06:21 UTC
As soon as Avila's arms close around him on the mound, he knows who his first phone call is going to be. His friends can wait. His parents can wait. This is his second no-hitter, one of the best things he has ever done on a baseball field. He's ten miles high, hands shaking with the sudden flood of adrenaline he's mostly kept at bay all game long; he's babbling a mile a minute at his teammates, heart hammering, blood pounding in his temples. He's calling Emily.
She picks up right away. She must have been watching the game, she knows exactly what he's done. Justin rambles excitedly at her for a bit, words stumbling over each other in his mouth in their haste to get out. He giggles after every half-sentence and he's probably not making too much sense, but Emily laughs with him and stays on the line until he starts to calm down a little bit.
"How're you feeling?" she asks. The emphasis she puts on that last word goes straight to Justin's groin. Emily was at his first no-hitter. She knows how he was after the game, burning bright and hard and unable to keep his hands off of her. It's something in the excitement, the triumph, the sense that he has completely and publicly mastered an entire professional baseball team. It made him horny as hell, and he's starting to feel the effects of it this time around too.
"I feel... man." He giggles into the phone again. "Fuckin' amazing. Like last time, y'know? I wish you were here."
"Me too," Emily says, with feeling. "But since I've got you on the line..."
"Hell yeah," Justin breathes. He sits down in a folding chair-- he's in the laundry room, the only place in the clubhouse quiet enough to let him make a phone call-- and shoves a hand into his pants. His belt is already long gone, who knows where. Hopefully someone will have found it and stuffed it back into his locker.
"You showered yet?"
"Nah. I'm all wet though, Valverde got me with the cooler while I was talking to Trevor on the field, and soon's I got down the stairs the guys started sprayin' me with beer. Then I came right in to call you."
"Well, good. Damp and sticky, just how I like you." Emily is laughing. Justin closes his eyes, grins. He presses the phone to his ear and wishes it was her face. He's already mostly hard, has been ever since that last out, so worked up that even the ice water bath couldn't suppress him. His pants are cool, soaked through, and his hand feels big and warm on his dick.
"Are you touching yourself?" Emily asks. "Stroking yourself the way I would?"
Justin exhales into the phone, letting her hear it. "Yeah. I mean, yeah, I'm touching myself. Not as good as you, though. Fuck, babe, I really wish you were here."
"Me too. Mm, Justin, it was so good last time, you were so hot for me--"
"Always," Justin says, fervent and meaning it. "I'm always hot for you."
He can hear the smile in Emily's voice. "Sweet-talker. I know it. But having you no-hitter-hot, that was something else. What'll we do this time, mmm? You in the clubhouse now? Take me into the video room, do me over a table? You want me to sit on a table and wrap my legs around you, we can fuck with your strikeouts on all the TVs in the background..." She trails off, and Justin knows she must be occupied on her end. He groans, picturing it, her soft smooth thighs spread wide, busy little fingers working between her legs, or maybe just one hand, the other higher, fondling one of her breasts; they always look so big in her hands, but they're an easy palmful for Justin. His own hand speeds up in his pants, making him feel like he's about to overheat.
The only thing he can hear for a minute is the stereo echo of his and Emily's breathing, just slightly off-sync. Then there's the quiet click of the door opening.
She picks up right away. She must have been watching the game, she knows exactly what he's done. Justin rambles excitedly at her for a bit, words stumbling over each other in his mouth in their haste to get out. He giggles after every half-sentence and he's probably not making too much sense, but Emily laughs with him and stays on the line until he starts to calm down a little bit.
"How're you feeling?" she asks. The emphasis she puts on that last word goes straight to Justin's groin. Emily was at his first no-hitter. She knows how he was after the game, burning bright and hard and unable to keep his hands off of her. It's something in the excitement, the triumph, the sense that he has completely and publicly mastered an entire professional baseball team. It made him horny as hell, and he's starting to feel the effects of it this time around too.
"I feel... man." He giggles into the phone again. "Fuckin' amazing. Like last time, y'know? I wish you were here."
"Me too," Emily says, with feeling. "But since I've got you on the line..."
"Hell yeah," Justin breathes. He sits down in a folding chair-- he's in the laundry room, the only place in the clubhouse quiet enough to let him make a phone call-- and shoves a hand into his pants. His belt is already long gone, who knows where. Hopefully someone will have found it and stuffed it back into his locker.
"You showered yet?"
"Nah. I'm all wet though, Valverde got me with the cooler while I was talking to Trevor on the field, and soon's I got down the stairs the guys started sprayin' me with beer. Then I came right in to call you."
"Well, good. Damp and sticky, just how I like you." Emily is laughing. Justin closes his eyes, grins. He presses the phone to his ear and wishes it was her face. He's already mostly hard, has been ever since that last out, so worked up that even the ice water bath couldn't suppress him. His pants are cool, soaked through, and his hand feels big and warm on his dick.
"Are you touching yourself?" Emily asks. "Stroking yourself the way I would?"
Justin exhales into the phone, letting her hear it. "Yeah. I mean, yeah, I'm touching myself. Not as good as you, though. Fuck, babe, I really wish you were here."
"Me too. Mm, Justin, it was so good last time, you were so hot for me--"
"Always," Justin says, fervent and meaning it. "I'm always hot for you."
He can hear the smile in Emily's voice. "Sweet-talker. I know it. But having you no-hitter-hot, that was something else. What'll we do this time, mmm? You in the clubhouse now? Take me into the video room, do me over a table? You want me to sit on a table and wrap my legs around you, we can fuck with your strikeouts on all the TVs in the background..." She trails off, and Justin knows she must be occupied on her end. He groans, picturing it, her soft smooth thighs spread wide, busy little fingers working between her legs, or maybe just one hand, the other higher, fondling one of her breasts; they always look so big in her hands, but they're an easy palmful for Justin. His own hand speeds up in his pants, making him feel like he's about to overheat.
The only thing he can hear for a minute is the stereo echo of his and Emily's breathing, just slightly off-sync. Then there's the quiet click of the door opening.
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