Love Taps

Story 07 – Red Sox Nation

Please take note! Adults Only Literature

The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

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This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental, etc.

Copyright 2004

***

"Go Sox," I groaned squeezing the cock of the Red Sox player sliding into my pussy. My hands grasped the outside edge of my feet pulling my knees to my sides. One two three push I counted. I was rhythmically using my arms to contract my core muscles each time middle reliever Alan Embree drove his high hard one across my home plate.

"You are one great fuck, Deirdre," whispered Alan enjoying the sensations of my tunnel grabbing his manhood.

Not bad for an avid fan of forty-three summers who'd popped out three kids over the years I told myself. I wiggled my butt from side to side settling in to savor the moment that frankly I never thought would happen. Alan was the last of the 2004 World Champion Red Sox to fill my hole. I had screwed every member of the active roster that trounced the St. Louis Cardinals in four straight games to bring Boston its first series since 1918. It was something that my grandmother and mother only dreamed about.

"Mind if I plow his butt while he fucks you?" asked Melanie Embree interrupting my thoughts. Melanie was one of the nicest of the Red Sox wives. A pretty California blonde, she looked like something out of a Victoria Secrets catalog. Dark hose with a wide lace tops were held in place by a matching French lace garter belt. Fuck me strap sandals added to the allure of her outfit. But the part that immediately caught my eyes was the ten-inch latex strapon cock dangling from her crotch. A leather harness circled her waist and thighs holding that ass splitter in place.

"Oh yeah, man, fuck me in the ass, Mel," moaned Alan pumping slowly away in my cunt as he felt his wife begin to work the cockhead past his sphincter. I'd done Alan several times during the season and he definitely had a thing for anal. Before he flipped me on my back, I'd been between his hairy legs with three fingers up his ass while I sucked his cock.

"You want some juice, Deirdre?" said Alan.

"Sure, give it to me," I replied opening my mouth. Letting a ballplayer use you as a spittoon was part of the tradition for the whores of Red Sox Nation. Over the years, I'd learned to recognize the brand of chewing tobacco or snuff the player used by the taste. Alan put his mouth over mine and hawked a mouthful of Red Man my way. I savored the strong slimy taste then swallowed.

This is my last season. It's time to clean out my locker and leave the fucking to the younger generation. My eldest daughter Celeste who's nineteen was nearby getting all her orifices filled by Red Sox meat. She's a dedicated three-hole girl who's been lucky enough in only five years to achieve what I her mother had to wait thirty-three for, the honor of fucking a World Series winner.

Alan's eyes started as Melanie slapped him hard on the ass then dropped ten inches of latex inside his lower intestine.

"Take it easy, Mel," whispered Alan.

"You don't tell me to take it easy, you piece of shit," hissed Melanie as she landed two hard slaps to his flanks.

"Oh fuck that's hot, more," groaned Alan his eyes lighting up as his masochistic tendencies took over.

Melanie, knowing her man's proclivities well, grabbed a leather paddle she's brought and went to work turning his ass red. I was the beneficiary of this craziness as he started to thrust hard in me, grinding against my clit and crushing my nipples between his pitcher's fingers. Over the years one thing I've learned is that nobody can crush a tit like a major league pitcher.

Pedro Martinez who's got a mean streak loves to wrap his paws around your boobs and squeeze until you are out of your mind with pain. The first time he fucked me was in spring training when he first came to the Red Sox. Celeste and I flew down to Florida to check out the pre-season action in the Grapefruit League. We did it in a motel. I had to stick a corner of a pillow in my mouth to keep from screaming. He took me from the rear, reached those long arms forward and grasped my boobs like they were baseballs. Then he applied the pressure. My tits were purple the next day.

It's definitely the year to retire. My youngest, Sarah, turned thirteen this season and Manny Ramirez did the honors. He's a sweet guy and has a drop dead gorgeous wife Juliana that eats pussy like there is no tomorrow. Manny's got a thing for watching girl on girl action before he joins in.

I only wish my mother Grace (God rest her soul. She's with the Angels now. And I don't mean those shitheads in Anaheim that my Sox obliterated in three games. ) was here to enjoy the triumph of the 2004 Red Sox. She was with me thirty years ago when in this very room seventy feet under Yawkey Way; the incomparable last man to win the Triple Crown Carl Yastrzemski had taken my virginity. I remember it like it was yesterday.

Per Carl's instructions, I was dressed in heels, hose, garter belt, silk panties, and French cut brassiere. Carl was the kind of guy who got a hard on watching old Shirley Temple movies. He gave my mom the money to buy my outfit and even suggested a store over on Newbury Street.

"Make her look like a nymphet, young like a little kid, Grace. And oh yeah, get her a pair of the dark glasses shaped liked hearts and a lollipop to match," said Carl from the hotel room bed he occupied with my mother and me. Up to that point, I had been limited to helping Mom provide Carl oral relief after weekend doubleheaders.

As a horny twelve year old, not going the final step of sliding The Yaz's sizeable cock in my little pussy that was dying for Red Sox dick hadn't been easy. But I was a good Catholic girl that followed the commandments especially the fifth. Mom and Dad had both emphasized that I wasn't to be penetrated until I was thirteen and then only by a star on the Red Sox. While Mom did the elevator on Carl's cock I made due with straddling The Yaz's mouth while he slurped away on my cunt.

Mom had mentioned to Carl that the following Wednesday was my thirteenth birthday and that I wanted Uncle Carl to bust my cherry. Carl like all of the really greats was not an easy man to know and he had his quirks.

One of his favorites was for Mom to get down on all fours. Carl would mount her like a jockey. He'd grab a handful of her auburn hair to use as a rein. He was a big guy but Mom was a very strong woman for her size. Carl had a ridding crop he'd been presented by the management of the Suffolk Downs racetrack. He'd whip Mom's bottom as he rode her around the room until she collapsed. I recall putting my hands in the whelps he'd raised on her bottom and thinking how hot they felt. Once Mom was lying there sobbing and begging Carl not to hit her anymore, he'd tear into her like a madman, biting and gouging until he exploded. It was kind of frightening to watch. But Mom said that was the way with all the great players.

"They're not like normal men when it comes to sex and thank God for that," was my Mom's final word on the topic. Mom liked it rough. That was one of the reasons that The Yaz would send a car all the way to Jamaica Plains to pick her up and bring her to his hotel room. When I reached twelve, I was allowed to go with Mom and help out with the oral part.

On the great day of my deflowering, the team gathered in that special room that Tom Yawkey had secretly constructed under what is now Yawkey Way. Mr. Yawkey was getting up in years by that time. He'd owned the Red Sox since the early 1930's and he was something of a legend in the game of baseball.

He was a red neck millionaire from the South who had a particular dislike for Negroes. Boston was one of the last teams in professional baseball to have a black player. His distaste for integration did not extend to attractive young black females. In fact, he had a strong preference for what he referred to as 'dark meat'.

"It's more flavorful," I recall him saying in the Georgia accent he never lost.

The secret 'clubhouse' as he preferred to call it was built so he could indulge his love of miscegenation without the nosy Boston press becoming involved. Per Mom, Mr. Yawkey liked his Negro bitches skinny and black as the Ace of Spades.

"I prefer the racially pure women whose bloodlines are straight from darkest Africa. Metizos, high yellows, even octoroons, that's racially mixed trash that ought to done away with," said the great man holding forth when we were all gather for a party after Boston won the pennant.

"Now, Minnie here is a perfect example of the Negress. Walk around, Minnie, and let these good folks see how a female darkie should look," said Mr. Yawkey. Minnie dutifully passed among us naked as her African forebears. I remember Minnie as having skin the color of coal. She had large lips and a flat nose. I suppose that was what Mr. Yawkey was referring to. At the time, I remember asking my mother if I could examine Minnie's pussy to see if it was made like mine.

Mom told me to hush up and be quiet. In those days, lesbian sex was taboo in Yawkey Way. That's changed over the years. This past year I've eaten almost as many player's wives pussy as I have fucked their husbands.

Even though a racist, Mr. Yawkey was the epitome of a Southern gentleman. He was something of a dandy in his dress. I remember he wore a pocket watch in his vest picket that hung by a thick goal chain. On the day that The Yaz deflowered me a beautiful Negress named Salome was hanging around his neck when I was lead into the room by Mom. She was so proud she was beaming.

A collective awe went up from the assemblage of ball players, their wives and girl friends as I appeared from a nearby room where I'd dressed for the first time in the kind of things a woman not a girl would wear. Mom had curled my hair with a hot iron and it hung in ringlets. I was a rising eight grader at Bishop O'Malley's Elementary School in Southie.

"Doesn't she look sweet," exclaimed one of the player's wives as I tottered on high heels toward the big bed in the center of the main room. I was sticking my tongue way out taking long licks of this enormous heart shaped lollipop that Mom had purchased.

I've still got the lingerie at home in Jamaica Plain even the half eaten sucker. It's wrapped in tissue stored in a trunk in the attic where I keep my special Sox memories safe.

Uncle Carl took my hand and helped me climb up on the bed. For once, he was on his good behavior. Later, I would learn what it was like to be ridden around a hotel room while he wailed the daylights out of me with a ridding crop. Carl stood up in the bed so that right there in front of the entire team and guests I could suck his dick.

"Grace, she does that so pretty just like her Mom," I recall one of the wives saying.

Once I got Carl hard, he laid me down, gathered my skinny legs in his powerful arms spreading me wide. He parted my labia, giving me the thrill of having his cockhead rub my clit.

"Give everybody a thumbs up," Carl whispered to me when he was in position. I reached both arms toward the ceiling giving the thumbs up sign. Carl plunged down forcibly expanding my love tunnel. I gave out a little yelp of pain then realizing where I was and what was expected of a team whore in Red Sox Nation I sounded a long groan of pleasure.

Everybody clapped as Carl pounded away until he blew. Carl lay there for a moment catching his breath. Then he rolled off me picked up the open bottle of Jameson's that he had sat on a nearby table and took a long swallow.

"She's good pussy. Anyone else want a piece?" said The Yaz getting up to go to the Men's Room for his after fuck piss.

"Come with me, Grace, and wash my dick. Your little slut got blood on my pecker," said Yaz to my Mom as he passed her. She disappeared into the lavatory with him while I experienced my first Red Sox gangbang. Don't ask me how many times. I lost count.

It was during the course of what turned out to be a seriously drunken afternoon and evening that two of the players took me in a back room and gave me my first taste of anal intercourse. I'd snuck some whiskey when no one was looking so I'm not totally sure what happened.

All I recall is finding myself in a storage closet with Carlton Fisk and one of the equipment managers. Carlton was an enormous hulk of a man with huge hands and as it turns out a cock to match. I was sort of half on and half off a large trunk. My belly was on the trunk lid but my feet were on the floor. Long thick fingers were working their way into my cunt.

"Spit on her ass, Eddie," said Carlton to the skinny kid who was the equipment manager.

"You're not going to butt fuck her are you, Carlton? She's just a kid," said Eddie.

"Fucking right I'm going to split her shitter wide open. You'd don't mind? Do you Deirdre? You want my big dick up your sweet little ass," whispered Carlton as I heard Eddie spit and felt a large glob of spit land on my anus.

"Will it hurt?" I asked. My cunt was already sore.

"Yeah, it's going to hurt like hell. That's why I'm going to put my hand over your mouth to keep you quiet," said Carlton.

"Ouch," I said when I felt a finger press past my sphincter.

"Ever been fucked in the ass?" asked Carlton.

"No," I answered wondering how much it was going to hurt.

"This will probably be just the first of many. You're just like your Momma, potato eating Irish whore, fuck anything with a dick, that's right ain't it honey?" said Carlton.

"Yes," was all I answered. What else could a thirteen-year-old girl say to a giant of a man who was about to rape her anally in a dark closet?

Carlton Fisk is considered the greatest of all the Red Sox catchers and possibly the best to ever play the game. From my own experience I can say he had the largest cock of any Red Sox I have ever fucked.

"She got cute little titties," chimed in Eddie from beside the trunk. I'd been so fixated on my conversation with Carlton that I had not noticed that Eddie was pinching my buds, digging his nails into the flesh.

"Hold her I'm going to work her asshole open," said Carlton right before he placed his mouth on my butthole and with incredible force opening my sphincter then spitting a gob of well chewed Bull Durham up my bung hole.

Eddie was holding my shoulders as Carlton orally attacked my rear. After a minute or two, Carlton stopped munching my butt. His hand was working my pussy. Having Carlton Fisk's finger in your twat was a greater sensation than most men's cocks.

"She's open enough," said Carlton placing one of his catcher's hands over my mouth as his other hand guided his dick head past my wet tobacco products lubricated asshole.

"Here it comes, sweetheart. Long as you live, I bet you don't forget this moment," said Carlton as he forced a very large object into a very small place.

The pain caused me to scream not once but many times. His palm muffled my cries. After what seemed like forever, he finished.

"She's all yours, Eddie," said Carlton sitting down on a truck.

Eddie screwed me in my pussy and ass adding his load to Carlton's.

"Here's a twenty sweetheart, buy yourself something pretty," said Carlton pressing a bill in my hand when they were done. They left me here lying across a trunk with spunk and Bull Durham dribbling out of my rectum.

It was not the last time I had sex with Carlton Fisk. Over the course of the ten seasons he played for the Red Sox, he traveled my Hershey Highway many times. During the summer, I'd collect several of my girl friends and we'd go over to his place for a party. It always got wild and I'd wind up in bed with him. As I recall it was at one of those parties that Carlton watched while I ate my best friend, Mimsie Phelps, pussy.

I stumbled out of the closet and found myself another shot of whiskey. It took me a while to find Mom. She was sucking the pitching coach's cock.

"Let Deirdre join in. I never had a mother and daughter suck my dick together," said Coach Sims.

Mom never refused a Red Sox player or coach anything so she held his cock out for me. In spite of my exhaustion and the pain in my pussy and ass, I knelt down and covered the head with my mouth and licked the tip.

"Grace and Deirdre, mom and daughter cock suckers," exclaimed Coach Sims in a tone of wonderment.

We worked on his cock and balls using the techniques we honed in The Yaz's bed. Before long Coach Sims made an announcement.

"I'm going to blow but it would certainly be nice if you two could sort of swap my spunk back and forth before you swallow it. I'd like to watch that."

Mom a true member of Red Sox Nation gave Coach Sims what he asked for.

Party over we climbed in the back of the limo and headed back to Jamaica Plain.

"How are you feeling?" asked Mom.

"I hurt all over and I'm a little drunk," I said.

"You know you actually had it pretty easy compared to my first time," said Mom.

"Who busted your cherry, Mother? You've never told me," I said. I was curled up in her arms.

"Only the greatest hitter to ever swing a bat, Ted Williams," said Mom proudly.