Chapter 3
It was a long, grueling practice for the girls and when it was over they all struggled to the dugout for one last pep talk by coach Wilson before heading home.
Sweat poured from Gordon Wilson's brow. His hands were raw from batting fly balls into the outfield and his voice was hoarse from barking commands.
Any other coach in his condition would have headed to the nearest bar for a few cold beers and then drive home to a hot shower and a good long sleep.
But Gordon wasn't going home right away. All through the afternoon, he had watched Sherry Jackson running back and forth across the outfield. He was positive that she was the girl. The walk was a giveaway, but so was the way she stooped for ground balls.
She was beautiful to watch in action, too beautiful. Careful, Wilson. This isn't 'nam. And your ass is in the slammer if you're not careful.
After the pep talk he kept his eyes focused at the back of the dugout avoiding the girl's scrawny, waif like body. His cock coiled into a knot and he didn't want to look down. Spring a hard on with these girls and I'm finished, he realized.
And yet the thought of sex was never far from his conscious mind. Having given his speech, he watched the girls scamper away and breathed a sigh of relief. It was going to be a long season. A very long season.
Sherry was sweating up a storm. The tight fitting wool uniform scratched her skin and without underpants on the itching became unbearable. She dragged herself to her bicycle and swung a leg over the seat.
It was a long way home, over two miles, and Sherry was so pooped that it seemed more like two hundred. The hot leather seat rubbed between her legs. The back and forth motion of bicycling had rubbed her cunt raw. It felt like her twat lips had been sandpapered right down to the naked flesh.
The pain was bad enough. But the sweat had trickled between her butt cheeks causing her rump to itch. She watched the other girls as they left the park. Most had rides with their parents who made special trips out to watch their girls play baseball. If only her mommy didn't have to work, thought Sherry. Then she could ride home in a hurry and run upstairs and scratch her itch.
But that wasn't the case. She had a long ride home and that made her mad. Which made her crotch itch even worse. It felt terrible and she had to scratch her wet mound right away.
Walking behind a bushy elm tree, Sherry unbuckled her pants and slid her hand down between her thighs. The flesh was all puffed around the long dark slit that split the center of her crotch. She heard car engines starting in the parking lot as the happy families and their tired daughters began the trip home. Sherry leaned against the tree trunk which concealed her from the view of passing drivers and scratched her crotch.
Ohhhh, that felt so good. The more she scratched the more her skin itched. Her fingernails attacked her pubes. But no sooner had she finished then her thighs began to tingle and then her rump and then the soft, downy skin between her butt cheeks. It was maddening for Sherry; it itched worse than poison ivy! The rash grew and grew until one hand was not enough to satisfy Sherry. She jammed both hands down the open fly of her pants, trying to keep her pants from falling off by clutching the waist band with her forearm.
But it didn't work. And as she squatted by the tree, her pants suddenly dropped around her knees exposing her raw, red skin. Sherry didn't really care. Her fingers went back and forth across her clitoris, causing a strange, thrilling pleasure to shoot back through her cunt. It felt good. But not good enough. So she did it again. And again. Until Sherry was lost in her own little world rocking her hips back and forth like a human rocking horse as jolts of pleasure excited her pussy.
Nothing could stop Sherry from masturbating. Nothing that is, except Gordon Wilson's grating voice. "What are you doing?" he barked. He knew damn well what the little brat was up to. He could hear her bleating like a sheep all the way from the dugout. Luckily, Gordon was the last one to leave the field or Sherry would really be in trouble.
He stood staring there, not moving really, just letting his eyes take in the beautiful sight of Sherry's small curving rump and those nice, slender legs trapped at the ankles by her pants.
The rise in his crotch, made Gordon sweat. Everywhere he turned, he found this girl with her pants down doing this lewd thing to herself. He thought possibly that she was part of some sinister plot to get him fired or thrown in jail. It was a crazy notion, but then Gordon had been fucking quite a few bored housewives and the word had to be circulating.
Just then Sherry turned around. Her hands crossed her crotch and Gordon wished secretly that she would move her hands so he could study that hairless crotch that so enticed him.
"I've got poison oak," she blurted out. Tears welled in the girl's huge blue eyes. "It hurt so bad," she blurted out. "I scratched and scratched and it only got worse. And I've got to ride my bicycle home too and that will only make it hurt worse."
Instinct told Gordon, the girl was lying. He knew damn well what she was doing behind the tree And she deserved to be punished. Little girls have to learn sometime that they can't carry on in such a depraved manner with impunity.
"Your father would give you a good spanking," said Gordon. "What your doing is . . . wrong."
He could barely get the words out before his voice cracked. Yet her response was totally unnerving.
"My daddy ran off," Sherry answered. "I have just mommy. And she has to work all the time."
A flood of compassion went out to the girl. And Gordon forgot himself. Poison oak could be very dangerous if it was allowed to spread. It wouldn't be the first time he had misread a situation.
He looked at Sherry with compassion, keeping his eyes leveled above her naked crotch. It's your job to keep the girls healthy, he told himself. Back in his car there was medicine for just such emergencies. It was only right to help Sherry. And give her a ride home too. That's what grown ups were for after all. To offer help children growing up in the world.
"Pull your pants up," he demanded hoarsely. He turned quickly around to keep her from seeing the tent shape sticking out from his crotch.
Sherry was terribly embarrassed. Her face was red as a beet. The itch had nothing to do with poison oak.
But she couldn't tell the coach why her crotch was on fire. As she pulled on her pants and buckled the belt, Sherry started to smile. If her mother had been the coach, Sherry would have had her young ass paddled for sure. But Mr. Wilson was just feeling sorry for her. And that was fine with Sherry. Tagging along behind the coach, she decided he was a pretty good egg.
By the time Gordon had retrieved his tote bag with the first aid medicine inside and walked back to the dug out, his face had broken out in a sweat and his hands shook so bad he could barely get the cap off the tube.
Get hold of yourself, he thought. This is for the girl's own good.
Sherry was also feeling excited. The back of the dug out was confining and the walls seemed to loom up at her like the walls of a cage. She felt shaky and sweaty and embarrassed. Her panties were on Mrs. Anson's lawn.
She wanted to say no when Gordon asked her to unbuckle her pants and lie down on the bleacher seat, but she couldn't. She had made a little white lie about the poison oak and she was just going to continue, there was no backing down now.
Biting her lip, Sherry dropped her pants. It was cold in the enclosure and goose bumps appeared on her milky white skin. She gritted her teeth and promised herself never again to be caught without panties on. She was just waiting for Mr. Wilson to ask why she wore nothing under her wool pants and despite the frantic way her mind sought a solution, Sherry could think of none.
"Hmmmmm", said Gordon, admiring the smooth curve of her buttocks. Her buns were flexing and squeezing together in a manner so seductive that he could barely breathe. He fumbled with the tube of antiseptic cream as he watched her butt so nice and virginal it nearly made him spurt jizz in his trousers.
"That's a-a-a nasty rash," he croaked. In his eagerness, Gordon had managed to squeezed the whole tube of goo into his hand. Shit, he felt so clumsy. But there was no stopping now. He had started and now putting his hand on her rump, he was going to finish.
"Is that better?" he asked.
Sherry wiggled. Relief spread through her body in wave after glorious wave. The cream was cold against her skin. But his palm was very, very warm. The goo went on nice and thick all over her buttocks and thigh and along her hips. The hand felt soft as silk against her skin and Sherry almost went to sleep because the stroking felt so good.
"Has the itching gone away," he asked once more. All the time he rubbed her flanks, Gordon told himself he was only doing his job as a baseball coach. But now staring down at his hand wedged between the fleshy curve of her thighs, he realized how pointless his self deception was. He was dazed by the impact of his own salacious thoughts. Pulling his straight fingers through her legs sawing his way closer to her pubes, Gordon felt the collapse of whatever good intentions remained in his soul.
"Now turn over," he said.
Sharon giggled out loud. His hand was acting funny down there; it was almost as nice as her firm little bicycle seat. "Turn over," she asked. "Why Mr. Wilson. My rash is back there."
"That's right, but weren't you scratching yourself in front," he reminded her. "I distinctly remember you using hands to . . . scratch."
Well, he was right on that point and she couldn't very well deny it. He had seen her by the tree and pretending otherwise was foolish.
I'll just keep my eyes closed, Sharon thought, turning on her hip. He'll be through in a minute and I can go home. Besides his hands do feel good.
It was a good thing that her eyes were snapped shut because Gordon's tongue was hanging half out of his mouth giving him the appearance of a mad man. He raised his sticky fingers and brought them down gently on her hairless pubes. Sharon groaned out loud, raising her hips slightly off the bench. Her swelled cunt mound was still pink from her tiny hand rubbing the clitoris. And Gordon didn't waste any time stroking her slit. He followed the hollow of her thigh working the cream into a concentric pool. Her splendid pussy, wet still from her own stroking was exquisite jewel to be tended gently by his daring fingers.
"Oooooo!! ! " she gasped. A laugh formed on her lips, but she realized how angry Mr. Wilson would be with her. He was being very nice to her and laughing, even though her skin was ticklish, was impolite.
"Just about through," he wheezed. His eyes followed her tender slit which cut a fine little trail down through her legs. Her legs were clamped shut and he wanted desperately to reach through and touch her velvet flesh all the way down.
He pushed in a futile attempt. She wouldn't budge without forcing Sherry and he wasn't ready for that. After all fooling around was one thing; rape was something else.
So he withdrew momentarily and concentrated on her cunt. It was so small and tight, yet he knew how ripe that channel flesh could be inside. And the smell was thick and pungent. It formed a cloud around them and it drew Gordon closer to the little girl.
"I think there's just a.. . " he began. Then suddenly Gordon quit stroking the girl's swollen mound. Because he was tired with the charade and in a momentary aberration, he drew his finger up against her slit and forced his way inside.
Sherry's eyes popped open. He went into her cooze so quick and smooth that there was nothing she could do. The wet, finger felt terribly foreign climbing into the funnel shaped channel between her legs. How it tickled! She wrenched backwards, arching her pelvis straight up in the air towards his mouth.
"Ooooooooo!" she gasped.
The deep resonant sound of her voice crackled with electricity in his ear and immediately he removed his hands. Man alive, get hold of yourself before you go completely crazy.
"Well, er,. . . That takes care of your rash," he said. He smiled down at Sherry and tried a fatherly chuckle which failed miserably.
She was an urchin laid out before his lecherous hands. The shock of her nakedness made him recoil. Her tender flesh was covered with the thick gooey cream and it was pitifully obvious what had transpired. He hungered for that cold beer in the ice box. The bubbly fluid would feel soothing going down his parched throat. Anything but this, he said to himself. He held a hand out to Sherry and as quickly as his conquest had begun, it was over.
"There you go," he said, pulling her wool pants up around her waist. "You're all set."
Sherry was no fool, but she couldn't make head nor tails of the coach's bizarre behavior. It was wrong for him to stick a finger into her slit. Mr. Wilson knew it too because his eyes were all glassy and he was acting very strange in her presence. She looked down and was surprised at the bulge in his crotch. It was enormous and Mr. Wilson made no attempt to hide himself or turn away. Mommy would be angry if she told about Mr. Wilson. But she wouldn't tell of course. He had seen Sherry doing that awful thing to herself by the tree. And that was very bad. Mommy would really be angry with her.
Sweat poured from Gordon's face. He brought his finger covered with the wonderful stink of Sherry's ripe virgin hole up to his nose and sniffed the wonderful fragrance. He knew right then he had to have Sherry's body. He could no longer satisfy himself with warm over reveries of Vietnam. Those Chinese girls had awakened deep dark desires in him that could never be capped.
Sherry's hole was hot and moist. Ramming his finger into her slit had been sensational. Her cunt was so awfully tight, it was like fitting a soft bun around a hot dog. Each twitch of her hips had caused new sensations to churn in his gut. His cock had not gone down in half an hour and the thick shaft hurt terribly. He could go jack off, but his prick would get hard again after a few minutes and he would be right back where he was now dreaming of Sherry little cunt.
There was no way out; he was trapped. Sherry was buckling her pants and if he were to act, it would have to be in a hurry.
"Are you feeling better?" Not that he gave two shits about her health or the rash, if there had been one. But he felt forced to say something. Her bicycle was in the rack. Already darkness was setting in and he could see that there was no light on the handle bars.
His brain began whirring like a computer spitting out bits of information. How simple it would be to offer Sherry a ride home. After all, little girls should not ride bicycles at night without a headlight. It was against the law.
He took Sherry's little hand in his hand led her to the car. "I'll give you a ride home," he said.
"That would be nice," Sherry answered.
Very nice indeed.