Going Deep (Mustangs Baseball)

by Lee, Roz

  “I asked a question, angel.”

  She nodded, jerking her nipples in the process. The pain was more welcome this time, distracting her from the giant cock in her pussy.

  “It’s stainless steel, and so damned big,” he said. He kissed a line up the inside of her thigh and down the other, fucking her without pause.

  “Do you want it harder?” he asked.

  She shook her head, creating a shockwave of pain in her clamped nipples.

  “Ah, Christ. You almost made yourself come that time, angel.” The cock slipped from her. “Can’t have that, now can we?”

  Another headshake. She groaned and tried to think of something, anything to stop her impending orgasm. Grasping at straws, she thought about the trip she would take tomorrow, but it reminded her this scene was a direct result of her announcement that she was going out of town.

  “Don’t,” he commanded. His hand clamped on her jaw. “Not until I say so. Is that clear?”

  She nodded. Twin pinpoints of pain shot straight to her pussy, and tears formed behind the blindfold. Callused fingers brushed the moisture from her face.

  “If it’s too much, drop the bar,” he reminded her.

  If only she could tell him they were tears of frustration and dropping the bar wouldn’t make them go away.

  “I see,” he said. “Let me tell you what I see then I’ll let you have what you want.” He slowly circled her. When he spoke, his voice came from behind her.

  “I see the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he said, his voice coming from behind her. “She’s totally at my mercy, exposed in such an intimate way that her trust humbles me. Her lovely body is flushed, calling out for release. She absorbs physical pain and mental servitude and turns them into sexual desire. She’s a temptress with her quiet submission and her welcoming body.”

  Footsteps rounded her, stopping between her legs. “I hear the call. My body is hard, primed to take what’s offered, to give what is needed.”

  The steel cock reentered her, startling another gasp from her lips.

  “But this lovely, offered pussy won’t have my body tonight. I’m saving that for when she returns to me. Incentive to make that sooner rather than later.”

  A familiar buzz filled the air.

  “Until then, remember I command your orgasms. I decide what fills your pussy. Your body is mine.”

  He pressed the vibrator to her clit, holding it there with practiced precision. He’d forced her orgasms before, but never with her pussy full of metal. Never like this. Her body reacted, trying desperately to escape. Her head whipped side-to-side. Shooting stars of pain burned through her breasts, morphing to pleasure when they melded with the vibrations pulsing through her pussy.

  Her nostrils flared, fighting for each breath. Just when she didn’t think she could take anymore, he released one clamp, then the other. The rush of blood to her nipples robbed her lungs. She fingered the bar in her hands, considered dropping it, then his voice broke through the screaming in her brain.

  “Come. Now.”

  She let go. Behind the gag, her cries became whimpers. Her hips moved in a primal dance as her body clutched at the imposter buried inside her.

  He’d taken her to some wonderful highs in their time together, but this time, mind-blowing was the only term that came close to describing her orgasm.

  As the violent contractions quieted to mild ripples of pleasure, he eased the phallus from her pussy and removed the vibrator. Her body slumped in exhaustion. She hovered on the edge of sleep when she realized he hadn’t turned the vibrator off. It hummed between her legs, closer, then farther away, but not touching her. Nowhere close she judged by the height from which the sound originated. She listened for the slightest hint of what he was doing.

  A hiss. A curse. “God damn.”

  Holy crap. He was getting himself off with the vibrator. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. He wouldn’t give her that part of him tonight, but he’d show her what she’d done to him, how her absence would torture him.

  His thigh vibrated against hers when he reached behind her head to release the gag. He fisted his hand in her hair and held her head still.

  “This is what I am without you, angel. A lonely, desperate man.” Deep, masculine grunts followed. Hot cum splattered her face and chest. She lapped at it, trying to capture a fleeting taste of his salty essence.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What are you saying, Mr. McCree?” God, she’d hated this man on sight. He could be a poster child against steroid use with that thick neck and those biceps only a comic book superhero should have.

  “I’m sayin’ I got the steroids from Jason Holder, the Mustangs’ catcher. Hey, I didn’t want to do them at first, but he kept after me, telling me all the other big hitters in the league were doing them, and if I wanted to keep up, I had to do them too. I don’t see why I have to be the only one going down for using. Just look at the guy. Last year he hit okay, but not like he is this year. If you ask me, he’s using the stuff himself—going after the record.”

  “Why are you coming forward with this information now, Mr. McCree?” What’s in it for you?

  “Because. I know who turned me in. It was Holder. He wanted me out of the way so he could go for the record all by himself.”

  “You’re saying, not only did Jason Holder provide you with illegal steroids, but he somehow convinced you to take them, then he turned you in so he could pursue the homerun record himself?”

  You couldn’t go anywhere in Dallas these days without seeing Jason Holder’s likeness on something, and you didn’t have to be a baseball fan to know the local team was taking advantage of the hitter’s run for the record to sell tickets. But was Holder using and/or pushing steroids? She’d never seen the man in person, but if the photos plastered on everything from buses to buildings around town were current, then he didn’t look like he was using. He was the best-looking man she’d had ever seen—bar none. It would be a shame if what McCree said were true.

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  She glanced to McCree’s lawyer, a sleazy guy with expensive taste in suits and absolutely no style whatsoever. “What does your client hope this information will accomplish, if anything?”

  “Mr. McCree has turned over a new leaf. He’s seen the error of his ways and wants to set the record straight, so professional athletics can purge itself of the unscrupulous people who enable steroid use from within these organizations. Steroid use is on the rise among teenage athletes in this country, and as long as their professional counterparts persist in using these illegal drugs, teenagers will continue to emulate their behavior.”

  “That’s exactly why I’m writing this article,” she said. “Thank you both for meeting with me.”

  Carrie stood, extending her hand. “I appreciate your time. Speaking of which, I have to be on my way.” If traffic wasn’t too bad, she could make it back to her hotel room in time to call Master. Blood rushed to her pussy at the thought of hearing his voice.

  Nearly an hour later, she hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and dropped her purse and the bag containing her laptop on the foot of the bed. Precious minutes ticked by while she shed her clothes and dug through her purse to find the phone Master gave her.

  “Come on. Come on,” she chanted, urging the power up process to go faster. Damn. She was going to be late. She should have thought to power it up right after she got off the plane, but she’d been exhausted and nothing went as planned from the minute the wheels touched the runway. The rental car agency lost her reservation, and when they’d found a car for her, they were out of GPS units to rent. She’d arrived at the hotel behind a busload of tourists, all checking in individually, just to learn the only room left was a smoking room, even though her reservation specified non-smoking. After a fitful night, she’d begged to be moved and they’d agreed to move her to the first non-smoking room that became available.

  So, here she sat in
her new room, minus her luggage the bell-staff couldn’t locate via the claim check they’d given her just a few short hours ago.

  The interview with Martin McCree and his lawyer was icing on the cake of her miserable trip. She felt dirty having just been in the same room with them. If it weren’t for this phone call, she’d be in the shower scrubbing the invisible taint from her skin.

  The screen came to life, and with a sigh of relief, she punched the speed-dial number that would connect her with her master.

  “I’ve been waiting,” he said.

  “I know. I…this has been a miserable trip, Sir. Nothing has gone right, and I had to wait for the phone to power up. I know it’s my fault. I should have thought….”

  “Tell me, angel.” His voice was a lifeboat, his concern a fresh, calming breeze. “Let me help you.”

  She told him everything from the flight delays up to and including the night spent in a room that stank of stale nicotine, and ended with, “I hated the people I met with this morning. My hair smells like cigarette smoke, and there isn’t enough hot water and soap in the world to get the stench of creepy people off my skin.” Drained from the recitation, she flopped back on the bed with a sigh. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too, angel. Feel better now?” She smiled at the humor in his voice.

  “Yes, I do. It all sounds so silly, doesn’t it?”

  “No. Not silly. Stressful. I wish my demands hadn’t added to it, but I needed to know you were okay. I want to take care of you, always.” His words chased away the last lingering bits of tension. “Did you follow my instructions before you called?”

  “Yes, Sir. I’m completely naked.”

  “Good. Put the phone on speaker and go into the bathroom. Fill the bathtub with hot water. I want to give you a bath.”

  After acquiring all the things he listed, she placed the phone on a towel atop the closed toilet lid and stepped into the tub. The hot water sapped the last of her energy. “Oh, God, that feels good,” she sighed.

  “Lie back and rest your head on the edge,” he said. “Let the water caress your skin.”

  The porcelain was cold against her skin, but it warmed quickly. “Ahh, yes,” she sighed.

  “Let your knees fall open, angel. Let the water caress your pussy.”

  “This is just what I needed, Sir. Thank you.”

  “Oh, we aren’t done yet,” he said. “Lather the washcloth, angel.”

  Pure decadence, that’s what it is. She closed her eyes and imagined him there, her sitting in the cradle of his strong thighs while his hands stroked the soapy cloth over her entire body. By the time he instructed her to place it between her legs, she was only minutes away from a soft, languorous orgasm.

  “Fold the cloth into thirds, angel, then roll it into a ball so it fits in the palm of your hand.”

  “Oh, Sir,” she sighed. “I’m so horny, can’t I just rub my pussy without going to all this trouble?”

  “No,” he chuckled. “No short cuts to orgasm heaven tonight. Just do what I say and roll the washcloth into a ball—something like a roll of dollar bills.”

  She flattened her foot on the bottom of the tub, and used her raised thigh like a table to roll the washcloth. “Okay. Now what, Sir?”

  “Lift your knees and let them fall open. Place the rolled up washcloth at the top of your mound and use the palm of your hand to roll it back and forth over your clit. Use enough pressure to do some good, angel. The harder you press, the faster you’ll get the orgasm you want so badly.”

  The water grew cold and she forgot all about the last twenty-four horrible hours. Clean, sated and now pleasantly exhausted, she followed Master’s instructions and slipped naked between the sheets of her artificially darkened room for a well-needed nap.

  “Sleep well, angel. You’ll feel more like working after you rest.”

  “Thank you, Sir. You take good care of me.”

  “Always, angel. Always.”

  * * *

  Three whole days. He was going out of his mind worrying about her. After the first day when she’d sounded so exhausted and had made those comments about the type of people she’d been keeping company with…God, he couldn’t stop worrying. He was going to put an end to this torture. When she returned, he would tell her who he was and demand she tell him everything about herself. What kind of job did she have that put her in the company of, in her words, creepy people?

  Whatever it was, she couldn’t keep it. No way, no how. He couldn’t live with the anxiety or the frustration at not being there in person to take care of her. Hell, she didn’t need to work. He made enough money to take care of her. He needed to take care of her. She was his lifeboat. She’d saved him from drowning in self-pity. Saved him from a living a vanilla lie. He’d never experienced the freedom of being himself, except in her company. She understood. She accepted. And he would protect her. Always.

  He’d had no choice the last few days but to channel his negative emotions into aggression on the field. The Mustangs had played three games since she left, a double-header followed by a late game the next day. He added four homeruns to his stats, breaking his own season high, and there were still two months to go in the regular season.

  He tried to focus on the report in front of him. Knowing the strengths and weaknesses of every batter on the opposing team was the difference between a decent catcher and a future Hall of Fame catcher. That meant hours studying reports and watching game video, something he’d never minded before, but with Carrie out there somewhere in the great unknown, the numbers might as well have been Greek.

  The phone ringing startled him. His heart leapt then plummeted to his toes when he realized the call was his house line, and not the cell Carrie would’ve contacted him on. Shit. Wiping a hand over his face, he reached for the cordless handset. He checked the caller ID. The Mustangs’ front office. This day just got better and better.

  Within the hour, he tapped on the team manager’s office door. “Doyle? You wanted to see me?”

  “Come on in, Jason. Shut the door behind you.”

  His heart was sure as hell getting a workout this season, he thought as his pulse kicked into overdrive. Closed doors were never a good thing when talking with management.

  “Have a seat.” Doyle waved him to the casual arrangement that boasted a comfortable leather sofa and three matching chairs around a coffee table. If it hadn’t been for the massive desk across the room and the walls lined with framed celebrity photos and trophy cases, a person might forget he was in the boss’s office.

  Jason sat on the sofa, no longer the raw recruit he’d been the first time he’d sat there, but a seasoned professional who had no reason to be as nervous as he was. He crossed an ankle over his knee. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been given a head’s up by the local newspaper. They called this morning to ask me for a statement regarding an article they plan to publish in tomorrow’s issue.”

  “And this concerns me, how?”

  “Martin McCree says you’re the one who sold him the steroids.”

  So that’s what a ton of bricks felt like when it landed on your head. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t find words. He scanned the room, wondering how this alternate universe could look so normal, but be the polar opposite of reality.

  “Jason? Son?”

  A block of ice formed in his gut. Like some sort of alien being, it sent out tentacles to his internal organs, flash freezing each in turn. He sat in mute horror while the alien creature gripped his career in its frigid grasp and reduced it to vapor.

  “Is that all?” he asked through tight lips.

  “He’s accused you of using, too.”

  Bile rose in his throat, the chemical burn almost welcome in the midst of the paralyzing cold. “What did you tell them?” he asked when he pried his jaw from the ice monster’s grip.

  “I told them the truth. That McCree lied.”

  “Thank you.” Jason nodded, processing the unfathomable. “I’ll tak
e a drug test. Hell, I’ll take a hundred.”

  Doyle crossed one ankle over his knee. “That’s the first step, but you and I know it won’t end there.”

  “It never does.” Fuck.

  “I don’t think we can stop them from printing the article, but I’ve already contacted our lawyers. They’re working on it right now. If there’s a way, we’ll stop it. If not, then we’ll decide what to do depending on the reaction to it.”

  Jason nodded again. “So, that’s it. I’m supposed to wait for some reporter with a hatchet to destroy my career?”

  “You’re not guilty, son. This won’t destroy your career.”

  Jason jumped to his feet. “Are you fucking kidding me? It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. They’ll raise the question. That’s all it takes. The media will grab on to the lie and every time they repeat it, it’ll become truth in the minds of the fans. You know how it works.” He forced his legs to move toward the bank of windows overlooking the stadium. Choking back tears that threatened he gazed out at the playing field that had felt like his home. “Who’s doing this?”

  “I don’t know the reporter. He’s not from the sports desk.”

  “What’s his name?” Know thy enemy.

  “Carradine Taylor.”

  The name meant nothing to him. He should at least be able to look his executioner in the eye.

  “He covers random shit, mostly local, but anything that involves scandal or a cover up. Politics, corporate misconduct—that sort of thing.”

  He counted the squares mowed precisely into the outfield, silently wondering into which category he fell into. Random shit? Definitely scandal. And everyone knew there was always a cover up when steroids were involved. If this Carradine Taylor only knew what kind of random shit, scandal and cover up was really going on in his life, he’d have a golden ticket to every talk show on the planet. What a cluster-fuck.

  “Look, Jason. Come sit down. The PR people are coming up, then the lawyers. We’re all over this. By the time the paper hits the news racks in the morning, we’ll have a strategy and a response ready to go. We aren’t going to take this lying down.”