Cindy adjusted the bill of her red cap, then repeatedly tossed the ball into her leather glove, squinting for the catcher's signal.
Two fingers. Curveball.
Cindy pretended to scratch her nose to show she understood. Added a couple of fake gestures to throw off anyone from the other team who might be watching, signalling their batter. Closed her eyes, getting herself psyched.
This was the pitch that mattered. Classic scenario. Bottom of the ninth, two outs, two strikes, blue team one run behind, bases loaded. A homer over the fence would cost Cindy's team the game and end their season on a loss. A hit would bring a runner in, dragging into extra innings. A strike would end it now, with the red team, Cindy's team, the winners. It all came down to this pitch.
Even more important than the game was showing up her rival, Blythe, on the blue team. The brunette was just jealous, Cindy decided. It was sad. Just because guys happened to like flirting with Cindy, the snotty skank had to take it as a personal threat. So what if Cindy'd told a few fibs about how far she'd gone, with a few certain guys? They didn't seem to mind, she wasn't hurting anybody, and it helped her get loads of attention, which she loved. Besides, gentlemen preferred blondes. There was even a movie that said so.
The crowd watched tensely, some in silence, others trying to throw the batter out of her zone with calls of "Hey-batta-batta!"
Cindy took a deep breath. Focus.
Directly behind Cindy, Blythe eased her way off second, but not too far. She kept a steady eye on Cindy's movements. She could spin around and pick her off base if Blythe wasn't careful. Can't let that little bitch make me the last out of the season, she thought. At least, not before I get a chance to carry out my plan.
Blythe had been waiting for the opportunity to get Cindy all year, and this was it. That blonde bitch was always so damn goody-goody, but never without her phony bad-girl act. Always flirting with guys, and she got them. Away from Blythe, even. Spreading rumors about herself, all the guys she'd done, dressing like a little slut, in skimpy outfits that showed off her big "D" breasts, flaunting herself. But Cindy never actually went through with any of it, never let the guys -- Blythe cringed at the pun, now -- hit a home run with her. Or even get past first base, for that matter.
Yeah, Cindy was a poser, but she'd built herself a reputation. And a guy always felt inferior after she'd used him then turned him away. Then Cindy'd let it slip that she'd fucked him, and was the guy going to deny it? Hell no, bragging rights. And so her rep grew until it was legendary. It made Blythe sick, knowing that Cindy was nothing more than a little cock-tease, she'd never done a third of the guys she'd claimed. She just liked being the center of attention, having people talk about her. Hell, she was probably still a virgin.
And on top of it all, Blythe suspected Cindy'd intentionally tried to bean her on that last pitch. Oh yeah. It was ON.
Cindy never showered with the other girls, always running bases a good twenty minutes after every game, waiting for the locker room to clear out. And thanks to an inside source on Cindy's team, Blythe now knew why. Blythe was a genuine bad-girl, who chewed tobacco (the outline of a canister showed in the pocket of her tight pants now), and HAD slept with many of the guys Cindy hadn't... including Cindy's team's coach! This torrid little affair had gotten her entry into the red team's locker room, access to Cindy's uniform, and the ability to carry out her plan.
Blythe smiled in anticipation. Even if this cost her team the game, it'd be worth it. For all of them. She'd show Cindy how a real bad girl acted.
She glanced at her teammates, on first and third, at bat, on the bench. All their eyes were on her.
The crowd, too, seemed to sense something was amiss. Even the red team could feel it, though they had no idea what it was. Only Cindy on the mound, her back to Blythe, was oblivious.
It's now or never. Cindy wound up... Okay, Blythe, you stupid whore... watch THIS!
Time slowed to a crawl as her famous curve ball spun from her grip toward the plate.
The instant the ball left Cindy's hand, Blythe bolted for third... then abruptly turned on her heel, making directly for Cindy.
The batter swung, popping a fly in a high parabolic arc. Reaching its apex, it stopped in midair for a split-second before reversing direction earthward... directly toward Cindy's outstretched glove.
Blythe crept up behind Cindy, who stood with her arms yawning skyward, awaiting the descent of the ball.
She reached for the sides of Cindy's red uniform pants.
Blythe and the other blue team girls had stayed up late "modifying" them, ripping out the seams down both legs and replacing them with flimsier thread, inferior stitching. Cindy hadn't noticed a thing, and before the game she had pulled her pants on one leg at a time, just like all the players. It's how her pants will come OFF that'll be unique! Blythe thought.
Hands around the pockets, she gave a hard YANK--!
Cindy clapped her other hand over the ball as it landed with a leathery flop in her mitt.
Exhiliration coursed through her like a wave. She caught it! She won the game!
She felt... a sudden breeze on her legs...?
SHE WAS STANDING ON THE MOUND IN JUST HER UNDERPANTS!!
As Blythe pulled, the flimsily sewn cotton-poly fabric peeled right off Cindy's legs, revealing her pink cotton panties with a floral print and violet lace trim.
Blythe was surprised and amused. She figured Cindy would dress the part, wear something more provocative. But then, the cutesy undies just proved she was all talk. No guy had ever seen under Cindy's uniform before. But all that had changed in an instant, as Blythe could tell from the rows of packed bleachers, male eyes staring with grins spreading out below them.
She held the ripped halves of Cindy's pants up triumphantly for all to see.
The game had crawled to a standstill. The red team's jaws dropped in horror at their fellow teammate's predicament. The blue team fell over laughing, or raised hands to cover their mouths, astounded that Blythe was actually going through with it.
But she wasn't finished yet. Let's see what's behind garment number TWO!
Cindy gasped, and quickly hunched over. The ball rolled from her big leather mitt as she moved it to hide her exposed underwear from the crowd... many of whom, she noticed with rising despair, were snapping pictures or zooming in with video cameras to capture her embarrassment. Cindy was helplessly certain that within less than a day, everybody on the Internet would be able to witness her degrading experience. She turned and glared with rage at the BITCH who had the AUDACITY to do this to her...!
...only to realize, too late, that Blythe already had both hands on Cindy's collar! With an ear-pleasing RRRRRRRIP! the jersey was quickly pulled off Cindy's torso, seams tearing down the arms and sides.
As the shirt fell away, another pair of objects tumbled out, and Cindy SHRIEKED, trying desperately to grab them. But Blythe had been expecting this and was prepared, snatching them first, holding them up for the crowd and members of both teams to see.
They were the pads Cindy wore to make her bust look bigger, D-size. In reality Cindy's tits were tiny nubs, barely enough to fill an A-cup. Puh-thetic, thought Blythe.
Quickly Cindy clapped a hand over each of them in a vain effort to keep her embarrassing secret hidden from the crowd. Then she realized she'd already been seen, and she'd be DAMNED IN HELL before she let Blythe get away with this!
Still waving the breast pads before the crowd, Blythe was totally unprepared for Cindy CHARGING into her. The two hit the ground in a heap, Cindy on top of Blythe, slapping at her face, her face contorted with fury.
The already stoked crowd positively ERUPTED.
Blythe, meanwhile, was doing her best to push Cindy off her, but the blonde's vicious rage made her the stronger. Almost on instinct, she grabbed a handful of mound dust and flung it into Cindy's face, making her rival choke and sputter. She scrambled to her knees and tried to crawl away, but Cindy recovered enough to grab the waistband of Blythe's uniform in the back. As Blythe attempted to stand, her legs became tangled in her half-mast pants, and she went down HARD on her stomach. Blythe was wearing a miniscule black thong that neatly divided her perfectly sculpted ass-cheeks, which were now face-up for all to see.
Winded from her fall, Blythe was unable to do anything but try to crawl away with her hands. Wiping the dust from her eyes, Cindy took advantage of the moment to straddle Blythe's back, pinning her arms down with her knees. She knocked off her opponent's blue cap, grabbed a fistful of tangled brunette hair and jerked it back as hard as she could. Blythe screeched in pain and thrashed about, kicking her feet.
"YOU LIKE IT, BITCH?!" Cindy screamed at the top of her lungs. "YOU LIKE IT, YOU UGLY SKANK-ASS FUCKING BITCH?!!"
Blythe summoned all her strength and shook Cindy off. The pair rolled around in the dirt, exchanging blows, invectives and expletives, many of which neither of them had ever used aloud before. Cindy grabbed the front collar of Blythe's jersey and ripped it open down the middle, unveiling a black sports bra. Blythe clawed at Cindy's eyes as Cindy tried to bite her fingers. The other players rallied around, cheering on their teammate while taunting the other, as the coaches tried unsuccessfully to break it up. The fans were going NUTS.
Finally the two collapsed, panting, from sheer exhaustion. Cindy lay on her back on the mound, trails of sweat and tears running through the dust on her face. Her underwear had been ripped away, and she had dirt and grass in her thick blonde hair (both patches of it). Her face was red with rage and mortification.
Blythe, nearby, stood triumphantly, wiped her brow. Spread across her face was a hideous rictus as she hiked her pants up again, pulled the canister from her back pocket. She popped a wad of dip in her mouth and chewed, working up saliva. Then, stepping slowly over to Cindy, Blythe stood above her, opened her mouth, and let the slimy gob of chewed tobacco ooze out and fall, splattering right between Cindy's eyes.
Then, pulling her jersey closed as best she could, she turned and walked calmly toward the dugout, not caring about her own public exposure or that her coach was bellowing at her, or even about the penalty she knew would be coming. She had accomplished what she'd intended. Cindy had a new reputation, and people would be talking about her in a whole different way from now on. Blythe had won.
But not the game. That would have to be replayed at a later date.
In all the excitement, the umpire had missed the final call.
(This story is Copyright © September 2004 by ToddCheese.)