A Softball Game
by Excluvius (excluvius@hotmail.com)
Battle of the sexes softball, and what happens to the losers


FFFFFFFFFFFFFFF/MMMMMMMMMMM; Femdom, humiliation, bondage, 
paddling, strapping, fastballing, CBT, severe.

DISCLAIMER: This story is fantasy intended for entertainment of adults. 
It contains sex, violence, rape, nudity, corporal punishment, role 
reversal, and a little baseball. If any of these may be offensive to 
you, or if it is illegal for you to read this,  do not read it. 

Any similarity to real persons or events is purely coincidental. If your 
name or the name of an acquaintence appears in this story, it is 
definitley a coincidence, since I just made them up as I went along. 
This story is pure fantasy; I never had any experience like this or 
actually heard of such a thing, honest. But I really got off writing it. 
Hope you all do as well. 
______________________________________________________________________ 
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 

This story is distilled from and inspired by many stories which have 
appeard over the past few years on alt.sex.femdom, 
soc.sexuality.bdsm.femdom, alt.sex.stories. moderated (r.i.p.) and 
various archive sites. This story is a give-back, and I will attempt to 
distribute it to sites I have enjoyed. Comments are welcome at 
excluvius@hotmail.com. Flame if you must - I have a delete key. 
______________________________________________________________________ 


The bet was made in a bar, which is always a worrisome thing. They 
sponsored a women's softball team, made up largely of regulars from the 
neighborhood. They practiced once a week and played whenever they could 
get games, but they did not play in the park district or any other 
league. Our team was second in the park district's eight team Wednesday 
night league. Our only loss had been a forfeit early in the season when 
about a third of the team was out sick and another third too sick to 
play well. We hadn't particularly sought the place out; it just seemed a 
good spot for a victory celebration: Gloria's Sports Bar. 

We didn't see too many guys in the bar, but there were quite a few good 
looking women, and as we loosened up, we tried to engage them in our 
discussion. That was when it came out that we had softball as a common 
interest, and that they began picking at us, trying to get us to play 
them. As the evening wore on and the exploits of our respective teams 
grew in Bunyan-esque stature, the game became inevitable. The associated 
bet however was not, particularly when our legal eagles decided they had 
to write down the rules we eventually agreed to. 

1. The winning team gets to paddle the losing team. 2. The number of 
swats per player is the difference in the score after five innings. 3. 
Each member of the winning team paddles each member of the losing team 
that many times. (!!!) 4. If the difference is greater than five (5), 
the losing team gets paddled naked. (We insisted on this!) 5. The 
pitcher(s) on the winning team get to punish each batter he or she 
struck out during the game. (They never did write down what the 
punishment would be!) 6. If the pitcher on the winning team strikes out 
the side in any inning, he or she gets to punish every member of the 
opposing team in addition. (Ask me how we agreed to this!) 

You've probably guessed by now that we had stumbled into a  bar catering 
to a very select clientel, and that they had led us on real bad. When we 
showed up at the agreed site the following Saturday, we not only found 
out how good they were, but how many fans they had. Over a hundred women 
boosters were on hand, expecting a good show. Their team numbered 
fifteen. 

We had smugly been planning on paddling some nice butts and had brought 
along a cricket bat one of the guys owned for the purpose. We had put in 
the strike out clauses intending to fuck some or all of the team after 
we had beaten their butts. We had few supporters and only eleven 
players. 

Following a coin toss, we took the field first. Our best pitcher was 
touched for six runs, and the crowd really made noise for them. Only one 
batter struck out.  In our half, we left two men stranded, and two of 
our batters, me included, struck out to their powerful fastballing 
pitcher. Once again the crowd was noisily into it in their support. 6-0. 

The second inning, they scored only one run, and two of their batters 
struck out. In our half we finally got on the board with two runs, both 
on solo home runs. All three of the outs were by strikeout! 7-2. 

The third inning, we held them to two runs, but there were no 
strikeouts. Their pitcher then struck out our side. The crowd went wild. 
The bet was obviously known. 9-2. 

In the fourth inning, we finally retired them in order, but with no 
strikeouts. In our half, they switched pitchers. The new pitcher was 
small and wiry, where the first one had been stocky and powerfully 
built. The new pitcher used a totally different delivery, sort of cross 
body, and clearly had a working curve ball. She struck out the side 
again, and the crowd went wild. Still 9-2. 

In the fifth inning, we were getting desperate, and started to make 
fielding errors as a result. They scored seven runs, including three on 
errors. There was one strikeout, but little good it did us. In our half 
of the inning, we faced their second pitcher again, and once again she 
struck out the side. 16-2 was the final score. Their pitchers had struck 
out our side three times! 

The crowd surged onto the playing field, literally trapping us. They 
even sent squads of fans out into the outfield to prevent any players 
escaping. And that is exactly what we had been thinking of. Fat chance. 
The few friends who had come along to boost us made their escape, as the 
crowd grew boisterous and belligerent. They herded us into the middle of 
the field where we had no chance to escape. Our collective gooses were 
cooked.  The crowd began chanting "STRIP! STRIP! STRIP!"  Their team 
captain stood before us holding the signed agreement and quieted 
everybody down. 

"According to the agreement both teams signed, each member of your team 
gets paddled fourteen times by each member of our team." A great cheer 
went up from the crowd. 

"Since you lost by more than five runs, you will all be paddled naked!" 
An even louder cheer went up from the crowd. 

"Following the paddling, the pitchers will deliver special punishments 
to all those who struck out, which seems to include all of your 
players!" The crowd screamed even louder. Apparently, they knew what the 
special punishment was. 

"NOW STRIP! OR WE'LL TEAR YOUR CLOTHES OFF YOU!" 

There was nothing for it - we stripped. Then they pushed and dragged us 
all to one of the low fences, which represent team dugouts. They piled 
our clothes over the fence tops as they pulled us over them. Then 
something we hadn't expected: RESTRAINTS! Dozens of velcro straps 
appeared from the crowd and were used to fasten our wrists to the fence, 
forcing us to bend far over; some guys' feet were actually pulled off 
the ground. Then more straps were used to fasten our ankles to the 
fence, pulling our legs and butts wide open. Eleven guys, bare-ass 
naked, bound to the fence, our asses up in the air, our privates hanging 
down, and our assholes on display. 

With the huge crowd of women around us, we were not visible to 
outsiders, but within the rough circle, they could see EVERYTHING. 

"LADIES, IS THIS NOT A GREAT SIGHT?" yelled the captain, and a huge 
scream filed the air. "Our guests have very considerately brought along 
a paddle which is superior to what we intended to use. Let's show them 
our appreciation!" Another great cheer went up. "First up, center 
fielder Pamela Endres!" 

And Pamela stepped up, took the cricket bat, and began whacking her way 
down the line! They crowd counted for her, fourteen blows for each 
player. I can tell you from direct experience, they were all line drive 
hits! She smacked my ass and thighs up and down, and stung my balls on 
at least three of the blows. As she moved down the line, my backside 
stung and ached and grew hot. When she finished the last guy, the crowd 
applauded and cheered. 

It was really weird watching, because I was looking at things upside 
down. When she was doing me, I could see every blow coming, and I could 
watch her doing the guys on either side of me. But when she was out of 
sight, I could see the crowd of excited and noisy women. Most were 
watching the paddling, but others were just looking us up and down, 
probably itching to get at us and do us further insult! 

"Next up, second base Jill Mazzilli!" The crowd applauded as Jill 
started down the line. She chose to whack each guy once and move on, 
then back up and down the line. The crowd counted at each end as she 
turned around and whacked the end guy a second time and started down the 
line the other way. I was third from the front, so I got whacked twice 
in about forty seconds; then about a minute and a half later twice in 
forty seconds and so on. I guess she was a switch hitter, because she 
alternated sides as she went up and down the line. She was not as strong 
as the first hitter, but she was more inventive. She managed to land 
blows on my thighs that ran nearly their full length from knee to butt, 
and she turned the paddle the narrow way to land one hard stroke between 
my cheeks. That one hurt more than all the others put together! 

"Shortstop Paulette Goddard!" Paulette whacked each guy with one hand 
while squeezing his balls with the other. There would be a pause until 
the guy started screaming and then she would hit him hard and fast while 
the crowd yelled approval. When it was my turn, she walked up to me, 
grabbed my balls with her right hand and began squeezing. 

"Cry for me, stud!" she hissed. "I won't start paddling until you cry!" 
And she squeezed harder and harder until I had to obey her. As I 
screamed and bawled, she began smacking me up and down my left side with 
the paddle. When she was done, she gave my balls a twist as she released 
them. That sent a severe jolt of pain through my gut. 

As Paulette worked her way down the line, some of the crowd began 
pushing up close to us. I felt hands rubbing over my legs and butt. Then 
I felt somebody grab my balls and pull on them. I yelled "OH HEY HELP!" 
and the guys around me began yelling too, but our cries were drowned out 
by the whoops and laughter of the mob surrounding us. Somebody starting 
snapping fingers on my balls, eliciting a yell each time. Somebody else 
had hold of my cock and was rhythmically squeezing and pulling on it. It 
would have been fun if I hadn't been in such pain! Then I felt something 
in my asshole! It was cold and hard, and whoever was pushing it in 
wasn't gentle! All I could do was scream some more. 

"HEY YOU BITCHES! GET AWAY FROM THERE!" The captain and the rest of the 
team came storming back toward our end of the fence. "THIS IS OUR BOOTY! 
WE WON IT, AND WE SAY WHAT HAPPENS TO IT!" The crowd melted back in the 
face of the onslaught. "LET'S GET ONE THING STRAIGHT! THIS ISN'T A MOB 
SCENE! We have an AGREEMENT with these guys. They may be dumb assholes, 
but WE PLAY FAIR. NOW BACK OFF!" The crowd continued to pull back as she 
faced them down. 

I watched it happen upside down, and as strode past me, I said "Thanks." 
She paused, smiled at me, and squeezed my cock. "You're welcome, stud. 
I'll collect in a while."  

There are ten positions on a softball team, but they had five extra 
players, each of whom was going to get a shot at us! Another loophole 
our legal eagles had left them! At one hundred forty paddle strokes, we 
were in for a severe beating, but we were to get two hundred ten! We 
were already hurting bad after forty-two strokes, and there was no end 
in sight! 

Next up was their clean-up hitter, Inge Bjorklund. She batted right and 
she hit hard. Where Paulette had battered our left side, Inge bruised 
our right. It sort of evened out. The crowd applauded as she did each of 
us, but the hysterical screaming of before had been undercut by a low 
muttering and a more restrained sort of cheering. 

The fifth hitter, Sheryl Angles, wanted to use a strap instead of the 
paddle. So they went to Tim Johnson, the team captain, to get his 
agreement! He was in a very odd negotiating position, restrained and 
bent over naked with his screaming red ass in the air. He agreed, 
apparently feeling that it couldn't be any worse. Well, I guess it 
wasn't worse, but it was different. Where the paddle hit a wide area 
flat, the strap hit a narrower area and wrapped around it. When she hit 
me on the ass, the end wrapped around and kissed my hips and flanks. 
Blows to my thighs wrapped around to the front or between my legs, and 
with her last few strokes she connected glancing blows to my cock and 
balls. 

The sixth hitter, Ida Tolus, followed Sheryl's lead, but the seventh, 
Nicole Welsh, preferred the paddle. "I like the sound better!" she 
explained as she started down the line. "And I really like using two 
hands better!" She stood straight behind me and wailed on one side, then 
the other for the first ten strokes, and then landed the last four on 
the insides of my thighs. 

The number eight hitter, Friede Beckland, offered us the opportunity to 
straighten up for her. "I will offer each of you the opportunity to take 
a strapping on the back. If you agree, I will let you up, but you must 
keep your hands on top of your heads while I beat you. If you fail to 
keep position, I will double your number of strokes remaining." It was 
such a relief to be able to stand up, everyone accepted her offer. When 
she came to me, I accepted her offer, and she released my hands, but not 
my legs. I stood up slowly, and put my hands on my head. She started 
wailing on my back with the strap. Compared to what I had been taking, 
it was a major relief, but it still took its toll. After twelve strokes, 
I flinched at the thirteenth and dropped one hand. She gave me the last 
two twice. 

Following Friede, the scrubs took their turn at us. The first two lets 
us stay upright. One paddled us as we stood; the other took the strap to 
us all up and down. Several of us took penalty strokes for moving our 
hands. The crowd had gradually quieted down. There had been some 
disgruntled noises when Friede had let us up, but there was scattered 
applause every time somebody got penalty strokes. 

The third scrub initiated a conference with several other players, and 
then announced she would restrain our hands behind our heads. She and 
several other players took the velcro bands that had been left in the 
fence and lashed our forearms together behind our heads. Then she 
announced she was turning us around to take the strap on our fronts! We 
were all worried, but between the beatings we had taken, our partial 
restraint, and their superior numbers, there was little we could do. One 
by one, we were turned around and our legs spread wide and strapped to 
the fence. We were acutely aware of our privates hanging down presenting 
inviting targets. Our fears were not unfounded! 

The three remaining scrubs strapped us over our chests, bellies and 
thighs. But each spent about half of her strokes on our privates, 
whipping our cocks from side to side, or snapping the strap up between 
our legs, catching both cock and balls with strong snapping blows. With 
this exhibition, the crowd started to come alive again. Applauding each 
stroke to our crotches, especially when we screamed. 

The captain, whose name turned out to be Gloria Bull, and the second 
pitcher, Virginia Willie, were last to bat. They left us standing, 
facing them, and they did not whip our crotches. They both worked at the 
same time, one with the paddle, one with the strap delivering blows to 
our thighs, bellies and chests. We were in such pain and so exhausted, 
who knows how many times they hit us? The crowd was getting increasingly 
noisy as they finished up. 

Gloria took control and announced there would be a ten minute break. The 
team members left us bound to the fence, but fed us each a couple of 
beers. Despite all the beating we had taken, there was almost no 
bleeding. A couple of guys had cuts from where they had been bent over 
the fence. The team members patched these up. 

The crowd was getting wound up again. Apparently, the pitching 
punishments were getting them excited. 

Gloria decreed "For the first special punishment, each batter who struck 
out will take three fastballs from the pitcher who struck him out. If he 
takes one in the nuts, he is out early." 

The team members took shoelaces from our shoes and tied our cocks up 
around our waists, so that our balls hung free and vulnerable. Virginia 
went first. We watche dterrified as she sent her first two pitches into 
Phil's stomach, trying to hit his cocks. She got him one out of two. 
Then on the third pitch she aimed for his nuts., but narrowly missed, 
smacking into his thigh. Each guy she pitched to she did in the same 
sequence. When it was my turn, it was a terrifying sight, watching her 
wind up, seeing the ball headed straight for my tender bits and being 
unable to dodge as it slammed into me. She hit my cock once, but missed 
my balls, the third pitch whistling below them and bouncing off the 
fence. Two other guys weren't as lucky. Virginia had pitched to six 
batters, striking all of out, and they had actually kept track of who 
had struck out whom. 

You can imagine the crowd while all this was going on! They were 
cheering for each pitch, and they went wild each time she hit a cock or 
a pair of nuts. 

Then Gloria came up. She had struck out seven of our players, one of 
them twice. So she started and finished with Walt. She didn't screw 
around trying to make sure she got all three pitches into us, but aimed 
her powerful fast ball at our nuts on every pitch! As much as Virginia's 
pitcches hurt, Gloria's were much worse. She eventually nailed every one 
of us, but she missed a fair amount too. I took one pitch on my cock and 
the second one on my balls. If I could have moved my hands to my crotch 
I would have tried to grab myself. But my hands were behind my head, and 
I couldn't move them. I buckled over, but just succeeded in falling over 
onto my head, to the amusement and applause of the crowd.  My nuts hurt 
so bad, I didn't even realize I had torn up my face until a couple of 
their players came over to pull me up and I saw blood on their hands. A 
couple of our players took three pitches before she hit their nuts. She 
hit Walt on the first pitch both times. 

After Gloria finished the crowd went crazy. She and Virginia took 
repeated bows while the other team members started to turn us around for 
the next special punishment. They tied our cocks to the top rail of the 
fence, and they interlaced our legs so we were standing almost hip to 
hip, each right leg bound over the left leg of the guy to our right. 

"The second special punishment is for Virginia, who struck out the side 
in the fourth inning." Cheers and catcalls "She will take three pulls on 
each pair of balls. Each cock has been tied to the fence, so the guy 
isn't going to just fall over!" Even louder cheers and screams. 

Virginia took a lasso of heavy cord and slipped it over each set of 
swollen balls in turn. Then she pulled the loop tight, wrapped the end 
around her hands several times and gave the heave-ho three times. The 
crowd was yelling encouragement at each pull, and as we each tipped over 
on the first pull or we bellowed and screamed in pain, the crowd would 
cheer her on. I could feel the guy on each side of me getting it, and 
when it was my turn, I could feel them suffering with me as I got it. 
When she had done me, she roughly pulled the loop free without fully 
loosening it first, and that hurt almost as bad as when she was trying 
to yank my nuts off. She couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds. I 
shudder to think the damage Gloria would have done in her place. She had 
to weigh in at 160 or more, and she was not fat! 

When she had yanked the last pair of nuts for the last time. Virginia 
turned to the crowd and bowed to thunderous applause and deafening 
screams. We lay over the top of the fence in intense pain. We hardly 
noticed when the other team members started lubricating our assholes. 

Gloria quieted the crowd and announced the next special punishment. 
"When we arranged this game, our opponents insisted we have this special 
punishment section. They were confident they could strike us out and 
intended to take advantage us SEXUALLY!" Boo's and hisses from the 
crowd. "They were going to fuck us all if they could strike out the 
side!" Roars of anger and calls of "RAPE! RAPE!" From her equipment bag, 
Gloria pulled out a strap-on dildo harness, and the crowd went nuts 
again! "Turnabout is fair play!" she yelled as she strapped on the 
harness. 

She singled me out and came up behind me. As the dildo pressed into my 
asshole, she said to me, "You're welcome!" and then she was ripping my 
ass open. While she was tearing me up, Virginia and the other team 
members were pulling out harnesses and strapping on. Within in a minute, 
our entire team was screaming as the women were opening up virgin 
territory for many of us. I guess Gloria must have cum, because she 
finally pulled out of me, and one of the scrubs took her place. By that 
time, I was wide open. I didn't hurt any worse now, and I could feel the 
girl really wailing on me and then shuddering in orgasm as she rode me. 

I have no idea hope long the rape went on. I would guess thirty minutes 
or more. I was raped by three other women that I remember. I have no 
idea if they were on the team or not. I know they had a better time than 
I did, but it was still better than being beaten over two hundred times 
and having my nuts smashed repeatedly. Eventually somebody started 
blowing a whistle, like it was a football game. Dildos were noisily 
withdrawn, and there was happy chatter as equipment was removed and 
stowed in equipment bags or purses. I had my butt pinched a dozen times 
or more before things quieted down. 

I heard Gloria addressing the crowd. "That was a GREAT special 
punishment!" The crowd cheered long and loud. "And now for the last 
special punishment!" I couldn't believe it! There was another to go! "We 
will escort our guests back to the bar and stand them a round of drinks 
for being such good sports!" It didn't sound like much of a punishment, 
but the crowd started laughing and hooting. 

Soon they were releasing our legs and allowing us to stand up. Two women 
I did not recognize released my arms from above my head. They gently 
lowered them, and it felt great, but then before I could protest, they 
refastened them behind my back! Then the three additional straps that 
had been used to bind me to the fence were being installed up my arms 
pulling my elbows together. The shoelace that had bound my cock to the 
fence they used to bind my balls. The trailing end they ran between my 
legs. One held my balls on the leash behind me while the other led me by 
my cock. "Come on stud! Have a drink with us!" they laughed. 

Thus we were all led naked and in bondage the half mile to the bar. Some 
gathered our clothes and gear and brought them along. It all went so 
smoothly, it was as if they had done this numerous times before. We were 
surrounded at all times by a thick phalanx of women, so no one passing 
on the street could tell we were naked, merely lucky to be surrounded by 
such large group of women. On entering the main taproom, several dozen 
more women awaited our entrance and began applauding and cheering as we 
were led in. 

We were led down stairs in the back to the basement, where our light 
velcro bonds were changed for serious steel and leather. Gloria brought 
drinks as promised. About thirty women crowded into the dungeon area 
where we were chained, and Gloria proposed the toast. "To our good 
friends, the Welsh Park Wildcats! Good sports all!" The women all drank 
and applauded; we were fed our toasts. "You will be our guests this 
evening. You are all welcome back any time. And if you wish another 
game, we will be more than happy to take you on again!" She went around 
kissing all the guys, and me last. 

Taking the chain attached to my collar she said, "Come on stud, you're 
with me tonight!" and led me upstairs to her office. There she chained 
me to a bench on my back, took off her baseball uniform, and straddled 
my face. "Better get busy stud, if you know what's good for you!" -© 
July 1999 by Excluvius