It was the bottom of the ninth inning, and Cynthia hoped that her husband George was taking some pleasure from the fact that he'd gotten this college baseball team to the championship game. At mid-season, it didn't look like the team had much of a chance since they were second last in their division. But George's coaching and working with each player on the fundamentals of the game began paying off, and they started winning.
Cynthia had started this game sitting on the edge of her seat, yelling words of encouragement to urge the team on. But perhaps the pressure of being in this final game had gotten to them, since they'd committed some mistakes that had allowed their opponents to take a 3 to 1 lead by the time they reached the ninth inning. Every time his team came off the field, George was right there, reminding them of those same fundamentals that had gotten them to this point. As each of his batters headed for the on deck circle, he reminded the batter of things to watch for with this pitcher. He was also sending signals to his first and third base coaches and managed to get the first run in, giving them a 1 to 0 lead at that point early in the game.
But the other team came back in the very next inning and scored two runs. And in the following inning, they scored their third run. And George's team had left those runs unanswered. Cynthia could tell that all 34 players on George's team were hyper focused on the game, and trying their best to follow their coaches' will directions and score, and win -- but nothing seemed to be working.
Consequently, Cynthia was now sitting back in her seat, still mildly hopeful as this last inning started. The peanuts that she'd nervously consumed were only a faint memory. Their first batter struck out on four swings, and her heart sank a little. Perhaps the opposing pitcher was tiring, because his third throw to their second batter went a little wild, and hit the batter's thigh. The umpire called out, "Take your base." And just like that, they had a man on first with one out. Their next batter gave a determined swing at the very first pitch he was offered. His bat drilled the ball like a rifle shot between the first and second basemen and skipped across the grass all the way to the warning track before the center fielder could retrieve it and throw it in. That gave enough time for the runner on first to race all the way to third base, while the batter himself was held at first.
They now had runners at the corners, with only one out. Cynthia moved closer to the edge of her seat again. Their next batter also took two swings, but completely missed the pitches. He managed to foul off the next three pitches, protecting the plate, but the fourth popped up and was easily caught by the pitcher, who glared at the third-base runner, almost daring him to try to score. The third-base coach could be heard telling him to stay put. So they still had runners at first and third, but now there were two outs. Only one out remained in the game.
The next two pitches were judged by the home plate umpire to be balls, and the batter wisely waited for a better pitch. However, the next pitch was a called strike. That may have unnerved him, so he took a swing at the next pitch and barely nicked it with the bat, causing it to fly backwards over the catcher's mitt and alongside the umpire's head to smack hard against the backboard. Cynthia groaned with disappointment since the batter now had two balls and two strikes. One more strike and the game was over! With two outs, the base coaches were telling their runners to run on anything.
The opposing pitcher might've wanted to end the game there and then. His next pitch was a fastball straight down the middle, hoping to blow it right past the batter and end the game. But the batter connected! There was that sweet sound that occurs when the ball and the bat strike perfectly together. Virtually everyone jumped to their feet watching that ball sailing up and out in a beautiful arc toward mid-left field. And the opposing fielders stood helplessly as they watched the ball sail over the fence. It was a home run! And not just any home run! It'd batted in the two runners from first and third, tying the score. And the batter himself jogged around the bases and jumped on home plate, scoring the winning run! He was mobbed by his joyous teammates as they began celebrating. Cynthia was cheering so loudly that George looked back at her and grinned before he trotted over to join his team in their triumph.
Later, as George was driving the two of them back home, Cynthia was congratulating him on his excellent coaching and the championship win. "Thank you, dear," he said. "But I'm not sure that this team would have made it all the way without your strong encouragement." He smiled rather mysteriously.
"Well, I admit that I attended every game and cheered loudly," she replied. "But many of the college staff, the students, and the players' parents did the same."
"I'm not talking about your attendance or your cheers, love. I'm talking about the promise that you made to the team at mid-season."
Cynthia looked perplexed, wondering what he was talking about. "What promise?"
He laughed. "That day, they had just lost again, and things looked pretty hopeless. That's when you said to them that if they pulled themselves together, and won the championship, you'd let each and every one of them have you sexually in whatever way they wanted."
Cynthia cast her mind back to that day, and gasped as her face turned bright red and hot. "Oh my God - I did say something like that, didn't I? I'd completely forgotten!"
"Yes you did, honey. And they took that to heart. These are horny college athletes, and you are one hell of a good looking woman, and you sounded sincere. That motivated them probably 100 times better than any speech I could have given them. When we went back into the locker room after this championship win, in their elation, they asked me if you're going to make good on your promise. I told them that I could only remind you about it -- so I am."
Flabbergasted, she decided that it would be a good idea to let him concentrate on his driving, and save her questions until they got home. But during the drive she thought over the ramifications of what he'd said. He didn't sound upset at all, or angry -- he just sounded sincere, like the decision was hers. She couldn't help it -- her mind brought up images of all those healthy, virile young men. She fantasized about watching them undress for her, and her naughty imagination pictured each of them with rampant, stiff erections. Her pussy began to moisten and waft her sexual perfume into the car, so she pressed her thighs together to try to keep that under control.
When they got into the house and settled down on the sofa, she turned to face him. "George, are you seriously proposing that I make good on my promise? It sounded like you're on board with this. If I did it, wouldn't you feel jealous?"
George gave her question a serious consideration before he answered. "Well, love, a promise is a promise. When you made it, I probably should've objected way back then. But I thought we'd be lucky to finish the season, let alone win the championship. So it seemed like a safe promise at the time. Then we began winning, and from time to time in the locker room I heard players mentioning your promise. It was obvious that they hadn't forgotten, and it was motivating them. And then we made the playoffs. Before we entered today's game, I heard them saying something like 'we need to win this for the coaches wife' and I thought it was wonderful that they wanted to dedicate the game to you. It wasn't until the second inning when the true meaning of that statement hit home to me! They wanted to win it to claim your promise."
"So you're saying..."
