index


Message-ID: <55844asstr$1178917803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Rev and RP - Playing the Game (Ch. 1-2 of 30) by R.C. Mather
Lines: 538
Date: Fri, 11 May 2007 17:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d




Rev. Cotton Mather
Senior Pastor,
Church of the Erotic Redemption
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ReverendCottonMather/www
http://www.storiesonline.net
www.ruthiesclub.com

Would you like to be notified when I post new chapters or stories?  Sign up 
at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/RCMStories/join

**If I had to do it all over,
I'd do it all over you**

<1st attachment, "PTG01.txt" begin>



--------------------------------------------------------------------

Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather.  This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as
there is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of
acquiring this material.

   (Copyright 2002, revisions c. 2007, R.C. Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather at hotmail dot com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------


PLAYING THE GAME

A Novel

by R.C. Mather




- 1 -

MEET SEAN PORTER



You wonder, sometimes, how you get yourself into situations like
these. Looking back, I have to believe that, somewhere along the
timeline of my life, I was led to this point, that I would be here
no matter how I led my life. But I digress...



Flash back to 1980. At that time, I was a fifteen-year-old jock,
having spent the past several years honing my skills on sandlot
baseball fields. At some point during the previous year, I caught
the soccer fever that was just beginning to grip the American
landscape. By the end of that summer I was playing on two teams, and
earning a little side money as a youth referee. Since they had some
trouble getting enough qualified adults to be referees, I had the
chance to work games played by older kids than I otherwise would
have been allowed to referee.

Typically, I would be a referee for the real young ones, say six to
eight years old. These kids would play what I liked to refer to as
"swarm-ball". Every kid on the field, except the designated
goalkeeper, would swarm to the ball like bees around a hive. No
matter where it was on the field, they would kick at the thing as if
it were a biting dog, all the time laughing, shouting, and having
absolutely no idea where it was going to go next. The coaches and
parents, meanwhile, would be screaming on the sidelines, as if the
sheer weight of their voices would make little Kimmie or Matthew
suddenly do a bicycle kick like Pele and score the game-winning
goal.

A couple of times that year, I was given a game with older kids,
usually in the under-fourteen girl's division. These kids were
usually fairly new to the game also, but they were a lot more
coordinated in their athletic abilities. The older players could see
how a play could develop, so they tended to play positions a little
better than the young ones. Their games were a lot more fun to
officiate, and the girls were a lot more fun for a perpetually horny
fifteen-year-old guy to watch running up and down the field.

A lot of these kids were the little sisters of friends of mine, so I
knew a lot of their names. On the soccer field, though, I began
seeing them as individuals, instead of as that annoying kid who was
trying to hang around with us older guys. At the first of these
games that I officiated, I could see groups of girls huddled
together, glancing over at me before the game started, talking and
giggling. I thought of myself as an official however, and
acknowledging that I knew some of them was beneath my dignity.
During the inspection and instruction prior to the game, as I
checked cleats and shin guards, a couple of the girls that I knew
softly said hi to me, almost embarrassed to know me.

As the game progressed, I forgot about who they were and
concentrated on the play. Some of the girls had been playing for
several years, and others were just learning the fundamentals.
Nearly all of them, regardless of skills or experience, played
enthusiastically, and played hard. It was kind of a revelation to me
to see these kids running hard up and down the field, heads down,
shoulders and hips and feet fighting for possession of the ball, and
sweating. Not "glowing", not perspiring, but honest-to-God, hard-
work sweating. My estimation of their commitment to athletics
climbed, and I decided then and there that I would never again think
of them as annoying little kids.

I learned a lot about those kids that day, and learned a little
about myself, too.

I didn't have any idea then, of course, but I had a lot more that I
would learn about them... and me.




(Continued in Chapter 2)
<1st attachment end>


<2nd attachment, "PTG02.txt" begin>



--------------------------------------------------------------------

Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather.  This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as
there is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of
acquiring this material.

   (Copyright 2002, revisions c. 2007, R.C. Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather at hotmail dot com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------


PLAYING THE GAME

A Novel

by R.C. Mather





- 2 -

FIRST AID



It was a couple of weeks before school was supposed to start, and my
friends and I were not looking forward to the end of summer
vacation. I rode my bike over to my buddy Jake Lehigh's house,
hoping to scare up enough guys for a pickup baseball game. I dropped
my bike to the ground, walked up to the front door, and knocked.
There was no answer, but as I was walking back down the sidewalk to
my bike, I heard some noise from the field behind his house. I
walked around to the back and saw Jake's little sister, Kayla, and
two of her friends playing around with a soccer ball. Kayla was
thirteen, and just learning how to play soccer. She had been on the
field when I worked as a referee the previous Saturday, as had her
two friends.

I was about to turn around and continue my search when Kayla looked
over and saw me. She began waving and calling out to me.

"Sean! Can you help us?"

I sighed, and began walking back to the field. As I was approaching
them, I looked again at the three girls. Kayla was about 5'4",
slender and athletic, with long blonde hair that reached the middle
of her back. Her hair was so pale it was almost white, and she wore
it tied back in a ponytail. She was dressed in a loose-fitting tank
top and short shorts that looked like they were tight enough to
inhibit her circulation. I knew her fairly well, since she was the
sister of one of my best friends, but it was like I was seeing her
for the first time. 'Damn,' I thought to myself, 'this isn't the
little kid I used to see hanging around.'

With her were Jaimie Jacks, who was fourteen, and Jaimie's twelve-
year-old sister Tara, who lived next door to the Lehighs. Jaimie was
shorter, barely five feet tall, but she had a more grown-up shape to
her. Her hips were not boy-slim like Kayla's, and her boobs were much
more pronounced. She had dark brown, slightly curly hair, cut just to
her shoulders, with thick bangs brushing her eyebrows. Tara was even
shorter, but much thinner than her sister. She was just developing
and hadn't blossomed to Jaimie's proportions as yet. She had always
kept her dark hair cut very short, but was in the process of letting
it grow out. It gave her a bit of a wild look. Of the two of them,
Tara was the more athletic, having played soccer and other sports
since she was in kindergarten.

Kayla was trying to juggle the soccer ball, bouncing it on her knee,
and not having much success that I could see. After it bounced away
from her one more time, she turned to me and said, "Can you please
show me how to do this? Jaimie and I are really having a tough time
learning this."

Tara puffed up a little and said, "Yeah, these klutzes can't do
anything. We were trying to pass the ball to each other without
letting it hit the ground, and Jaimie and Kayla kept on missing it."

"Well," I said to her, "you've been practicing for a lot longer than
they have, Tara. Just because they can't pass the ball in the air
doesn't mean they can't pass the ball on the ground, does it?"

"No, not really, I guess," she replied. "But juggling skills are
still important, according to my coaches."

"Sure," I said. "Juggling is good for your hand-eye coordination. Or
should I say foot-eye coordination?" All three girls giggled. "But,"
I added, "I know lots of really good players who have a tough time
juggling. It still comes down to different skills required to juggle
compared to running and dribbling and shooting the ball."

At that, I lashed out with my right foot and kicked the ball out of
the air as Kayla was attempting to juggle. The ball bounced off my
laces, up in the air. I trapped it and dribbled away a few yards.
Tara yelped as I kicked out, then ran after me to try to take the
ball away. I called out to Kayla to get open, keeping my back between
the ball and Tara, and whipped a pass across the field to Kayla as
she sprinted past a startled Jaimie. Jaimie ran after her, and the
game was on. It was two-v-two keep-away, a common soccer drill among
many of the coaches in our area, Kayla and me versus Jaimie and her
sister, Tara.

A few minutes into the game, I was about to pass the ball off when I
heard Kayla cry out, followed by a thud. We all stopped and looked
over to see her rolling over onto her back, holding her leg and
grimacing in pain.

"What happened, Kay?" Tara cried out as she ran over to her friend.

"I don't know," she said through gritted teeth. "I think I tripped
over a rock and pulled a muscle in my leg."

"Let me see," I said as I ran up to her. Being the oldest, and
having taken first aid as part of my referee training, I was
naturally going to take charge of the situation. I knelt down beside
her and asked her what muscle she hurt.

She hesitated, then, almost embarrassed, said, "My... thigh muscle,
I think."

I held her leg at her knee with both hands and tried to straighten
out her leg. She grimaced with pain, still holding on to her upper
thigh. She could bend her leg without any discomfort in her knee, for
which we were all grateful, though we could see that she was in some
pain from her pull.

"Can you stand?" I asked.

"I don't know, but I'll try," she replied. I held out my hands for
her to grab, while Jaimie and Tara each grabbed an arm to help her to
her feet.

"Oof!" She nearly collapsed against me when she tried to put some
weight on her leg. I grabbed her around her waist and held her up.

"Here, Kayla, just hold onto me. I'll help you into the house," I
said.

"You're going to have to help me walk," she said to me as she leaned
against me. "I hope I'm not too heavy," she added.

"A little pipsqueak like you?" I teased her. "C'mon, squirt, I've
got you."

I moved over to her bad side, grabbed her around her waist, and
helped guide her as she hobbled toward her house. Because we had been
running around, we were both a little sweaty. My grip kept on
slipping on my hand at her waist, and she would slowly slide down a
little at a time. The first time it happened, my hand just naturally
found a convenient spot to grip, until it suddenly occurred to me
that I was holding onto her small breast. I stopped, flustered, and
readjusted my hold on her. My mind was aswirl with conflicting
feelings. 'This is Kayla, after all, the kid sister of my pal Jake.
What am I doing copping a feel? And by the way, why don't I feel a
bra on her? Uh-oh, what if she notices? What will she say? Will she
tell Jake what I did while she was helpless? Christ, what a dilemma.'
I wanted to help, but I didn't want to get into trouble here.

But then I felt her slip down again, and when she did, her breast
slid once again right into my palm. I stopped again, pretending I was
getting tired, and readjusted my hold on her once more. After I did,
I thought I heard - or felt - her giggle softly. I could have been
mistaken, though.

We made our way into their family room, and I set her down on the
couch. I tucked some pillows behind her so she could sit up more
comfortably. I went into the kitchen and got big glasses of water for
both of us.

"Where is everybody?" I asked her.

"Dad's at work, Mom and Jake went shopping for school clothes," she
said. "Sean? Could you please massage this leg for me?"

She looked so hurt and vulnerable lying there. How could I refuse? I
knelt down by her and started gently massaging her leg just above her
knee. Her shorts were very tight, and they ended just an inch or so
from the junction of her legs. Her skin was incredibly soft and
smooth, and the big thigh muscles under the skin were pliant.

"Ooohh, that feels good," she sighed. "Go a little higher, please?"
Her head was back against the pillow, and her eyes were closed. I
worked my way up her leg, from her knee up to mid-thigh.

"Where does it hurt the most, Kayla?" I asked.

"Up higher. I don't think it's a bad pull. I think I might just have
cramped up. Do me a favor, Sean? In the upstairs bathroom, the one
off the hall, there is a bottle of liniment. Could you go up and get
it, and rub it into my leg for me?"

"Sure thing," I said. I ran up the stairs to the bathroom, and
rummaged around in the closet until I found the liniment. I also
grabbed a couple of towels and washcloths. I soaked one washcloth in
cold water, and carried everything downstairs.

As I came back into the room, Kayla was sitting up, taking off her
shoes and socks. Her loose tank top gapped at her arms, and I could
clearly see her breast and her slightly swollen nipple as she untied
her shoe. She looked up at me and smiled, causing me to blush and
quickly look away. She got both shoes and socks off her feet, then
settled back, taking her hair out of her ponytail and giving her head
a small shake. I couldn't help but notice how her boobs pushed out
her top like two small volcanic cinder cones. Her nipples were quite
noticeable, accentuating the absence of her bra. The sight of this
very pretty, very young, blonde girl lying there began to have its
effect on me. I could feel the heat of my blood rushing to my crotch,
causing me to stiffen. I quickly knelt back down, dropping my
supplies on the floor beside me. I handed her the damp washcloth, and
she gratefully wiped off her face and the back of her neck.

"Okay," she said, "I'm ready for you." She smiled, pretending not to
notice my discomfort.

I poured a small amount of liniment into my hand, and started
rubbing it into her skin. It seemed like her shorts were pulled up
even higher than they were before. They were pulled up so tight I
could almost detect her slit. Her entire leg, from her toes to the
cheeks of her tight butt, was bare.

She had her left leg bent at the knee, and her injured right leg was
straight on the couch, so I could rub the liniment around on the top,
the outside, and the inside of her thigh. As I started to massage her
leg slowly, trying to push the heat from the liniment into her muscle
tissues, she spread her legs apart slightly. I slowly worked my way
up from her knee once again, moving up to about mid-thigh, then back
down again. Each time I moved up, my hands crept higher on the top of
her thigh. Then I worked them around to the sides and down again.

Once again, her head rested on the pillows, and her eyes were closed.
I glanced up at her and noticed her tongue was slightly sticking out
of her mouth, and there was a small sheen of perspiration on her
upper lip. I thought she might have been breathing a little heavily,
and every once in a while she let out a big sigh, never once opening
her eyes.

My eyes, however, were wide open, and probably bugging out just a
little bit. I had never been this close to a real live girl who was
actually letting me touch her thigh before. Even though I was still
thinking of this as a medical exercise, I was still a bit nervous -
and intensely curious.

I massaged the oil into her skin with hard strokes, but then I
couldn't resist lightly drawing my hand back down toward her knee,
almost caressing her. I had never felt such smooth, supple skin
before. I couldn't get enough of the feel of her against my
fingertips. I could feel her leg quiver very slightly as I massaged
her.

She apparently couldn't get enough of the feeling, either, for I
heard her whisper to me, "Higher. Higher, Sean." I looked up at her,
but her eyes were still closed. She may not have even realized that
she had spoken to me.

I allowed my hands to travel all the way up her leg along the long
quadriceps muscle, activating the heat of the liniment. As I got to
the edge of her shorts, I rubbed down along the outside of her leg
with my left hand, and along her inner thigh with my right. As I did
this, a slight moan escaped her lips, and her legs parted even more.
I stroked down her thigh to her knee, and began kneading her muscle
back up again. When I got up to her shorts this time, I again moved
my hands to the sides, but this time I could not help but lightly,
slowly, run my palm and my fingers gently down her leg. As I began
this movement, her hips lifted slightly, again seemingly
subconsciously, as if to draw even more feeling from my touch.

I was in turmoil. My dick was as hard as stone, sticking straight up
in my shorts. I was sweating, and my breathing was shallow. I didn't
dare even blink my eyes, for fear that I would break this spell, and
our session would end.

I needn't have worried. As I caressed her inner thigh from her
crotch to her knee, she whispered a single word that held my
attention and caused my cock to jerk: "More."

As softly and gently as I could, I slowly ran my hands back up her
leg. This time, I continued up onto the leg of her shorts before
caressing down the sides. As I moved my hands down along the leg band
of her shorts, my left hand caressed the cheek of her ass, then
passed down off the material back onto her skin. My right hand
brushed along the edge of her pubic mound, then down between her
legs. As my fingertips passed down across her shorts over her slit,
she jerked slightly, then pushed her hips up sharply into my
fingertips, while moving her legs a little further apart. I pressed
the material of her shorts into her pussy, feeling the heat she was
generating radiating through her clothes. My right hand then slowly
descended, down onto her skin. I spread out my fingers so that I was
brushing against both legs for a brief time, then dragged my
fingertips slowly back down.

'What the hell,' I thought to myself, 'nothing to lose by trying
again.' So I ran my hand back up again, teasingly slow, fingertips
softly playing along her skin. Kayla was breathing heavily, and her
nipples stood out sharply against the material of her top. Her chest
was heaving, which caused me to nearly go off in my shorts without
even touching myself. When I reached the juncture of her legs, she
reached down with both hands and pressed my fingers hard against her
mound through her shorts. She rubbed my hand up and down several
times, pressing hard, along her slit. I tried to use my other hand
to reach under the leg of her shorts, but they were too tight, so I
had to content myself with moving my fingers along the leg band of
the shorts, back and forth, in time to her rubbing against her
center.

Suddenly, she stopped rubbing and just pressed my fingers hard into
the center of her slit. She arched her back, and her hips bumped up
several times. She softly cried out, eyes still closed, then
collapsed back against the couch. She still held my hand against her,
but the insistence was gone. She softly grazed her fingers over my
wrist as my hand lay quietly against her cloth-covered pussy. I
continued to rub the outside of her leg with my left hand, marveling
at the soft, smooth skin.

Slowly, her eyes opened as she released my wrist and she looked
shyly at me. She looked down, and then glanced up through her
eyelashes at me. 'Don't think badly of me,' she seemed to be saying.

For my part, I was in such a painfully rigid state I could not have
stood if my life depended on it. I was also in a bit of a state of
shock, realizing I had just fooled around with my best friend's
sister. I was dreading seeing him next time, and I was dreading
seeing Kayla next time, for fear of my reaction to either one of
them. Even so, I desperately hoped that I would get another chance to
be alone with Kayla once again, despite our age difference.

Kayla sat up and threw her arms around me in a fierce hug. She
whispered in my ear, "Thank you, Sean. That's the nicest thing
anybody has ever done for me. Thank you."

Well, that sure surprised me. I figured that I was the one who
should be doing the thanking, but who was I to not accept a little
heartfelt gratitude? Especially when it came from a thirteen-year-old
fox who was only recently putty in my hands.

I returned her hug, enjoying the feel of her hard nipples and small
breasts against my chest. She looked up at me then, and quickly,
softly kissed me. It was kind of a little-girl kiss, puffy lips and
closed mouth, but I didn't care. I knew that, given an opportunity, I
might be able to teach her what a real kiss could be like.

She lay back down on the couch, turned onto her side, and watched me
as I busied myself cleaning up with the towels and washcloths. I
fumbled around for a few minutes, desperately waiting for my boner to
deflate before I ran out of things to do. Finally, I felt comfortable
enough to stand. I gathered up the liniment and towels and stood up
to take everything back upstairs. As I was climbing the stairs, I
heard a car in the driveway. Jake and his mom were home.

They were surprised to see me, until Kayla explained about her
accident. Her mom was effusive in her thanks to me for helping her
out. Jake, meanwhile, had run upstairs to change into more
comfortable clothes for baseball.

When I walked back into the family room, Kayla was watching TV while
she was lying on the couch. I looked down at her and said, "Are you
going to be all right, Kay?"

She looked up at me and said, "Yes, it feels pretty good now. Do you
have to go?"

"Yes, I think I'd better. Jake will be down in a second."

She grabbed me around my leg as I was standing there, and pressed
her cheek against my thigh. She looked shyly up at me and said, "I
think everyone will be gone again tomorrow morning. My leg could use
another treatment, if you are willing to play doctor with me again."
She blushed, and let go of me as we heard Jake running down the
stairs.

"Okay. Maybe I'll stop by tomorrow and see how you're doing," I
replied softly.

She let go just as Jake ran into the room. He grabbed my arm and
began pulling me toward the back door. "C'mon," he said, "let's find
the guys and get a game in before it gets dark."

With that, he pulled me out the door, grabbed his bicycle and
baseball glove from his garage, and we were off.


* * * * * * * * * *


Late that night, I lay in bed thinking of Kayla. By the time my
eyelids began to droop, I had practically worn blisters on my hand
and on my dick from visions of such a willing and lovely participant
in a young boy's inspired fantasies.




(Continued in Chapter 3)
<2nd attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+