Assistant Softball Coach (Part #1)

Mark volunteers to help coach his friend's sister's softball team of 14-year-old girls. He's surprised when he becomes the focus of their lusty desires.

Author's Note:

This is a resubmission of a well-received story that appeared on this website about nine months ago. It was removed in May 2025 as part of the Great Purge of stories that had characters who were not 18 years old. Since the rules have now been liberalized to allow for 14-year-old characters, I am presenting it again, slightly tweaked, to abide by the rules. Its two sequels will follow.

Part One

My name is Mark Patterson. Four decades ago, when I was 20 years old, I spent part of that spring as an assistant coach for a girls’ softball team. I didn’t really sign up for the job. I was persuaded to do it by Wally Henderson, my longtime friend whom I had known since my first day of high school.

Wally had a sister, Marie, who was six years younger than he was. She had signed up to play in a short-season recreational softball league for 14-year-old girls that ran from the middle of May until the end of June. Not long afterwards, her family got a phone call saying that interest in the league had been surprisingly high—and now it was facing an unexpected shortage of coaches. There were enough players for eight teams but only six coaches thus far had volunteered to run them. Basically, the league’s organizers were pleading for anyone to step up and fill the two coaching vacancies. Marie asked Wally if he would volunteer. Wally thought about it and said he would on the condition that I would be his assistant coach. He promptly phoned me.

Wally explained the situation and added, “I’d need an assistant to do this, Mark. There might be some game nights where I’m unavailable. Anyway, we both like the sport, the girls need coaches, and it would be fun. Besides that, it only lasts for six weeks.” I agreed to help out, and Wally officially registered to become the coach of Marie’s team.

By the following night, Wally had received his roster of 14 players and their phone numbers. Each team had been assigned practice hours at certain public diamonds, so Wally and I split the list and began calling the players to tell them where to be and when to be there for the team’s first practice. As it was a short-season league, there would only be time for a couple of practices for each team—and then the seven-game, round-robin schedule would start.

At the first practice, all 14 girls showed up. They were certainly a cross-section of the city’s girlhood: short, tall, skinny, chubby, blonde, brunette, redhead. Most of the girls were obviously pubescent, others had the torsos of eight-year-olds. Luckily, some of our alleged ballplayers had some experience playing the game. Clearly, they were going to be the stars of this ragtag team. To others, softball was something entirely new. One newbie showed up wearing shorts. (She was exempted from sliding practice!) Two girls had to be taught the basics of gripping a bat. There was no shortage of softball fundamentals that these girls didn’t require. Wally took charge of batting practice while I watched the girls trying their best to throw and catch properly. I intervened whenever it was necessary—which was quite frequently. More than one girl had to be taught the basics of balance, such as to step forward with her left foot while throwing with her right hand.

Near the end of the practice, one of the league’s poohbahs showed up with two large cardboard boxes containing our “uniforms”—which were merely t-shirts paid for by a local sponsor. They were an unattractive lime-green color that had “Martini’s Pizzeria” printed on the front of them. All eight teams’ sponsors were informed that their shirts had to be worn by the coaches and players at every game, which was a reasonable demand to keep people who financed the league happy. Wally and I were told this dress code would be strictly enforced. Any coach or player who was not clad in an official team shirt could not appear on the diamond.

We were also told we had gotten lucky. “Teams were assigned their sponsors by lottery,” it was explained to us. “Having Martini’s Pizzeria as your sponsor means that your team will be treated to a big pizza party at the end of the season. It’s a tradition of the proprietor.” Other less fortunate teams were sponsored by a funeral parlor, a fertilizer company, a pet supply store, and a laundromat. Of course, this happy news was greeted with cheers by our players. I considered that to be our first win of the season. Given the skill level of many of our players, I suspected it might be the only one.

I had only met Marie Henderson perhaps twice before, but she apparently remembered me in a very flattering way. Marie had talked several of her classmates into joining the softball league. By random chance, three of them ended up on the Martini’s Pizzeria team with her. Our first practice was held on one of those rare days where the wind carries voices very clearly at a distance. When the practice broke up and the girls began to scatter, Marie and her three school buddies went into a huddle. With acoustics in my favor, I heard Marie proclaim, “I told you he was dreamy, didn’t I?” To my amazement, I realized she was talking about me! I never considered myself to be more than an average-looking guy, so I was truly startled that any girls—even those in the seventh and eighth grades—would think I exuded manly charms. One girl named Vicki replied to Marie, “Yeah, coach Mark is a studly beast.” My male ego got an enormous boost from those seven words. I made a point of approaching the foursome to say, “Good job today, girls. I hope to see you all again at the next practice.” A red-haired girl named Jasmine swiftly responded, “Yeah, we want to see you, too!” Her less-than-subtle flirting led to much giggling. I just smiled at them and walked away. Before that day I never thought I could be attracted to girls that young, but upon much reflection I couldn’t help but think, “Damn! They’re cute little things.”

By the end of our second—and final—pre-season practice, Wally and I had at least figured out who could pitch and who would comprise our infield. I held up our list of players and frankly stated, “We certainly don’t have the 1927 New York Yankees here.”

“Nobody does,” replied Wally with his typical good humor. “I think they’re all dead.”

On the bright side, Wally and I both figured that all eight teams in the league would be equally inept, so we had as good a chance as any of them to win the championship. As it turned out, we were a middle-of-the-pack outfit. We had the habit of winning a game, then losing the next one, winning another game, and losing the next one. The girls were generally having fun and nobody got hurt. Overall, it was an enjoyable six weeks of softball.

Before our fifth game, a 22-21 nailbiter victory over West Side Laundromat, the mother of Cathy Sheppard, our 14-year-old left fielder, approached me for a favor. “I think you live fairly near our house,” she said. “I can’t stay for the game. When it’s over, can you drive Cathy home?” Once I found out she lived only two blocks from me, I happily agreed. Anyway, I certainly wasn’t going to abandon her at the ballpark.

Cathy, a slim brunette with a pretty smile, had never played softball before that season. In fact, she had never played any sport in her young life. Her mother joked to me, “Before she signed up for softball, Cathy’s favorite sport was shopping.” Cathy’s progress was a success story. She went from knowing nothing about the sport to being able to throw, bat, and catch more than adequately. She enjoyed the fun and the new friends she had made. I found out that night that Cathy also enjoyed my presence as her coach—very much indeed.

During the drive to her house, I complimented Cathy on her progress as a left fielder. She generously deflected everything I said by insisting that I was a great coach. She then asked me how old I was. When I told her I was 20, she said with a cheeky smile, “My dad is seven years older than my mom. That’s just like you and me!” Seconds later, when I pulled up to the curb in front of her house, Cathy surprised me with a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek. “Wow!” I said, “Cathy, that was unexpected…but very nice!”

Cathy then looked directly into my eyes and said something rather shocking. “Well, you can expect this on the day of our team’s pizza party at Martini’s.” She promptly slid her pants and panties down to her knees to give me a clear glimpse of her 14-year-old pussy! Cathy just sat there, in my front seat, grinning naughtily for what was probably no more than ten seconds. She pulled her pants back up, got out of the car, and waved to me as she entered her house. I remained parked in front of the Sheppards’ home for two or three minutes wondering if what had happened actually happened. Finally, I smiled contentedly, accepting that it really did happen! Then I drove the two blocks to my house. When I got home, I immediately went into my bedroom and promptly jerked off into a handful of tissues. It occurred to me that the last time I had masturbated while envisioning a pretty 14-year-old girl’s vagina was when I was exactly the same age.

Part Two

The season ended with Martini’s Pizzeria girls’ softball team finishing fourth out of eight teams with a 4-3 record. At the conclusion of the final game, Wally and I assembled the girls at our bench and told them it had been a pleasure to coach them. We also reminded them of the team party the next Saturday at Martini’s, which was wholly unnecessary. “It’s all free, girls!” Wally told them. “Bring your appetites.” I glanced quickly at Cathy Sheppard. She was eying me, too. By the lustful look on her face, she would definitely be bringing her appetite—but for more than just hot pizza.

With the exception of Marie, the girls all went their separate ways. Wally and I packed up the equipment one last time. It was supposed to be returned to the league’s organizers by the next day. Wally thanked me for being his assistant coach. I thanked him back because I had enjoyed the experience thoroughly. Wally paused for a moment. He made sure his sister could not hear what he was about to say to me. He added, “Mark, do you realize the girls are all smitten with you?”

I didn’t mention the incident with Cathy Sheppard, but I was honest enough to admit I sensed that a couple of them had tiny crushes on me. Wally shook his head. “Not a couple of them, Mark. It’s all of them! Or at least 90 percent. And, trust me, they’re not tiny crushes at all!”

I laughed at that revelation and suspected the number was highly exaggerated. “So, how do you know this?” I inquired.

“During every one of our games, I overheard several comments on the bench that were supposed to be whispers. I’ve also overheard Marie talking on the telephone to her teammates. They’re not discussing softball strategy, Mark. They’re discussing you! Marie thinks you’re a cross between a rock star and Clark Gable in his heyday.”

“Well,” I said, “Marie is a very intelligent girl! You know, it’s a damn shame I’m not 14 years old anymore. I’d likely be getting plenty of action!”

“That’s my sweet little sister you are referring to, Mark,” Wally reminded me, “but I’m also a normal, healthy male. I’m completely onboard with what you’re saying!”

The day before the pizza party, Cathy Sheppard telephoned me. First, she asked if I remembered what she had said to me the day I gave her the ride home. I responded, “Are you kidding me? How could I forget?” She said, “Good, I meant every word of it!”

Furthermore, since only the coaches and players on the softball team were invited to the party—without their parents—Cathy was going to ask her mom to ask me for a ride to Martini’s. “That way you can give me a ride home, too…and we won’t go directly home. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mark?” I did indeed. Within an hour I received the expected phone call from Mrs. Sheppard. I said I’d be delighted to drive her daughter to and from the pizza party.

Part Three

Martini’s Pizzeria was a fairly prominent restaurant in my city that specialized in pizza, of course, but it also had a sizable menu of other Italian foods. They did most of their business via delivery and pickup, but they did have a dining room for those customers who wanted to relax with a sit-down meal. For our party, half the tables were marked with “reserved” signs. The restaurant was incredibly generous, bringing pizza after pizza to the 16 of us, as well as unlimited pitchers of soft drinks. The girls were very happy and grateful for the hospitality, as were Wally and I. I joked that Forbes Funeral Home may have won the league title, but all they could offer to their players and coaches was free embalming.

We thanked our hosts at the end of the night with a long round of applause. Parents arrived to pick up their well-fed daughters. Wally and I made sure every one of “our girls” (as he liked to call them) had been accounted for before he headed home with Marie. Curiously, I could see Marie and Cathy engaged in a private conversation. I suspected that I—and what Cathy planned on doing with me—was the central topic of their discussion.

Only seconds after Cathy got into my car, she instructed me to drive to Wilson’s Creek Park instead of to her home. That was a small public gathering spot about four blocks from my house and six blocks from Cathy’s. It was basically a place that parents of small children took them to play in the sandboxes and on the tiny playground equipment. I was curious enough to ask her, “Why there?”

“I checked it out in advance,” she told me. “It’s secluded and it’s after sunset. Nobody will be there…but the two of us.” Cathy had put a lot of thought into planning this tryst. Without hesitation, I drove to the park. Cathy had done her homework well. We could park the car, walk down a slight incline and be completely unseen by any passersby. That’s what we did—in the glow of the late June moonlight.

Cathy did not hesitate to be the sexual aggressor—and I happily let her have her way. She told me to lie on the grass and then she laid on top of me kissing me passionately. It was terrific. We shared one long, passionate kiss after another. Cathy lifted my shirt off and began to massage my chest. “Do the same to me, Mark!” she insisted.

How could I deny such a sexy request? I lifted her red t-shirt over her head. She was wearing a small brassiere; she was one of the few girls on the team who needed one. She reached behind her back to undo the clasp, but I stopped her. “I want to do that, Cathy,” I whispered. “It’s much sexier that way.” A few seconds later, Cathy’s small bra was on the grass, and I had a topless 14-year-old girl lying on me—and an obvious bulge in my pants. I caressed Cathy’s small, supple breasts, telling her they were lovely. I was completely sincere. I lifted her up about of foot so I could suck on them. Cathy’s reactions ranged from giggles to sighs. Finally, Cathy confessed, “Mark, I’ve been wanting to fuck you since the day of our team’s first practice.” If memory served me right, Cathy had not been one of the merry foursome whom I'd overheard that day discussing my surprising sex appeal on middle school girls. Maybe Wally’s stat had been accurate after all!

Without further ado, we both fully disrobed. I insisted on tugging Cathy’s sky-blue panties down her sexy legs. “I think you’ve seen this before!” Cathy joked as she proudly exposed her vaginal area to me. She had a right to be proud. Her pussy was simply beautiful to behold.

“Yes, I certainly have!” I replied. “I wanted to fuck you then. I want to fuck you now.”

“Not yet,” Cathy insisted. “I want to play with that gorgeous thing first.” Cathy was pointing at my prominent erection. I quickly sat beside Cathy on the grassy incline and let her do whatever came into her mind. She caressed, massaged, and tugged at my dick until I felt like my aroused penis had grown another inch. She even gave me a very short blowjob. I think she feared that I would come in her mouth if that particular sex act went on very long. I suspect that was a correct assessment.

“Now it’s fucking time,” I declared. I rolled Cathy onto her back. Since we were lying on an incline, it made her pussy easier to enter than if we had been on a level surface. Therefore, I found I could penetrate Martini’s Pizzeria’s gorgeous left fielder with passionate, long, deep thrusts. This seemed like paradise on earth to me. It was good that the park was completely deserted at the time. Anyone within 50 yards of us would have heard Cathy’s squeals of delight and my moans of ecstasy.

I had no intention of pulling out. This vixen was definitely going to be the recipient of a load of my hot cum—and likely a large one. As our lovemaking progressed, Cathy became less and less coherent. She managed to stammer, “Fuck…me…Mark…yes…yes…oh, yes!” That was enough to push me over the edge. I launched several blasts of sperm into Cathy’s beautiful and sexy vagina. My dick stayed hard for several minutes, which meant I could continue thrusting long after the ejaculation. What a sensational fuck this eighth-grade sweetheart was! I made sure I told her so.

Cathy’s planning of the night’s nocturnal pleasures was very thorough, indeed. As we put our clothes back on, she consulted her wristwatch and said, “The pizza party broke up about 45 minutes ago. If my parents ask why we are arriving home so late, tell them you treated me to ice cream!”

The next day I happened to find some catcher’s equipment in my trunk that should have been returned to the league with the rest of the team’s gear. I called Wally about it. He said he hadn’t turned in the equipment yet, so I could just bring the items I had to his house. I did so immediately.

As I was leaving the Henderson abode, Marie waited until her brother was back inside the house before walking briskly toward me. In a voice just slightly louder than a whisper she informed me, “Cathy Sheppard called me this morning. She said last night was completely fantastic.” All I could do was grin. Somehow, I knew Cathy would not or could not keep our fucking session a secret from her softball teammates.

After a slight, awkward pause, Marie looked at me and smiled sweetly. Then she asked, “Mark, will you take me to Wilson’s Creek Park tonight?”