Headmistress Naylor

It takes you a moment to recognise the figure who coils in the batting cage, then unleashing her body in a slashing swing that sends balls rocketing back to the machine. She's in tight black spandex shorts and a sports bra that shows a sleek torso that gleams with perspiration. A cascade of dark hair hangs from beneath her batting helmet, swirling with each swing of her bat. It's only when you see her profile that you recognise Headmistress Naylor as the batter.

Surprised both at finding her and at seeing how proficient she was, you step closer to the cage to watch. Almost automatically, you start to evaluate her as a hitter, even as you admire her taut body so delightfully displayed by the tight spandex. She is lovely, you realise. Sleek legs, a firm, round rump, an almost impossibly narrow waist, and ripe breasts compressed by the sports bra and all the more intriguing for their hidden promise.

She fouls off a ball, and gives a little snort of irritation, then fouls off three more in succession, muttering to herself each time.

"You're pulling your hips out," you say. Her head snaps around in surprise to look at you, a blush colouring her pretty face. She pushes a button to stop the pitching machine and steps towards the fencing.

"How long have you been watching?"

"About thirty pitches. You're pretty good."

"I like to come here sometimes and hit. It helps me de-stress," she makes a little grimace of annoyance, then smiles at you sheepishly. "What did you say I was doing wrong?"

"You're opening your hips too early, you weren't doing it at first but you changed your front foot and you're pulling out early. The bat is getting there late and you're fouling them off."

"Come in and show me," she says, opening the gate to the cage. You take the bat from her and demonstrate what she was doing at first, then what she started to do. She watches and listens carefully, then steps in and duplicates what you showed her, a look of determination on her face.

"You learn quickly," you say. "Where did you play."

"Right here. I played shortstop. Just like you," she adds with a blush.

"From the looks of it you were a better hitter than me," you smile.

"Why thank you Brian, that's very sweet," she says with a glowing grin. "Now can you watch me again while I try to do what you showed me?" She starts the pitching machine again and steps in, fouling the first pitch off, and then another. You reach over and stop the machine.

"You're letting your front foot drift as you take your stance," you say as you step towards her. "It means that when you stride your hips are breaking early. Bring your foot back here." You reach down and adjust her foot, feeling the warmth of her ankle as you touch it. She smells delicious, a blend of perfume and sweat that is all woman.

"Now when you stride your hips should follow properly. You want them snapping through, not just turning."

"Show me," she says, putting the bat down. "Hold my hips as I swing and turn them as I should. Show me what you mean."

You're more than a bit surprised at the request, but you're far from unwilling to put your hands on this very attractive older woman. She takes her stance and holds and invisible bat, as you stand behind her and hold her hips. When she strides you turn her hips sharply, as her hands streak through the zone. You repeat the performance several times before she declares herself satisfied and bends to pick up the bat, her rump brushing against your thighs as she does so. Your cock, already twitching from her scent and proximity, swells inside your pants as you step back, turning to one side to hide your arousal.

She starts the machine again and swings, making full contact and sending a vicious line drive back down the cage. She hits five more before she's satisfied, making happy noises with each contact. Shutting the machine off she removes her helmet, shaking out her long hair and looking extraordinarily pretty.

"Thank you Brian, that was excellent. I knew that you'd be a great coach! I just wish someone like you had been coaching here when I played."

"It's easy to be a good coach when you have a talented student," you grin, seeing her blush again. She looks at the ground, then looks up at you with a shy smile.

"You don't remember us meeting, do you? That night in the bar I mentioned yesterday. When you were still playing?"