“Tell Old Mother Hubbard to get out the butter churn because we are toast here folks…”
The words of the hometown announcer over the stadium sound system were flattering to Cliff Henderson to say the least, his already overgrown ego took it to heart and it resulted in an exaggerated flex with his bat flung over his shoulder. Largely this was met with jeers from the audience of on the road fans, not helped by the fact that the commentary was well merited. The game was looking to be well and truly over already. Though he was still only in the minor leagues for now, whoever you’d ask that wouldn’t be the case for very long. He really was the best, his name was everywhere and his star was still rising. Every ball hit out of the park was just another 7 figure sum on his eventual major league contract or one more major league team that will surely be driving up the bidding war.

A mighty thwack of his bat later he was showboating around the bases, thumping his broad chest and smugly waving at the crowd.
“And Robert’s your mother’s brother, there it is. Another home run for Cliff Henderson and another nail in our coffin.”
The reactions could be broken into two groups, either more jeering and voicing of disagreement or getting up to leave the stadium. Aside from his own teammates and managers there was only one exception to this, the scrawny and infatuated axolotl bat boy of the home team. He loved his home team but more than that he adored baseball and to see it played so well… by a man so handsome too… He was on cloud nine just getting to be in the same ballpark as what was in his mind a future Hall of Famer. Every time he read an article about the superstar he hung on the attached photo, the stats and graphs fans put together were impressive but the action shots pinned to the top were a phenomenal draw for the young man.

If anything he was excited for the game to be over, not in the same way everyone else in his dugout was, they wanted to go home and end the charade of even attempting to win the game, he wanted the game to be over for the chance to cross the field. To just get the chance to see Cliff up close, maybe even get an autograph. The stories of meeting your heroes, there wasn’t even a thought in his mind about it being unpleasant. In fact what he really wanted was more than just an autograph, he wanted to get everything from him. In his wildest dreams there was a scene playing out where he approached the mountain of a slugger and handed him a ball and a pen, but when he got it back below the signature was the name of a hotel and a room number.

Even a thought that scandalous was actually him metering his expectations, his truest desire was to just get tucked under those beefy arms and carried off to be used however the outfielder wanted. His small body would be totally helpless to the whims of his crush, even if he wanted to fight back he’d stand no chance at even budging the hands so rugged and masculine they barely needed a mitt. And that only made him even more willing. Being barely five foot flat and not even near 100lbs meant he’d be more like a toy than an even partner. When he thought about the ways he’d be willing to be used his prostate throbbed, as if getting ready for the most thorough bout of roughhousing imaginable. His slick pliable body would be very much coming in handy, there was no way a man like that wasn’t packing heat that would make anyone squirm, especially someone with such a diminutive frame.

The filaments of his gills bristled with an excitement that rarely came from just fantasizing, the fact that the object of his desires was barely 100 feet away made things so much more electrifying, as if they were already real. So real that his body that swam in an XS sized uniform was feeling psychosomatic symptoms. His knees were jelly, his tongue was dry, and that pulsating deep inside him at the end of his hole was only getting more intense. It felt like he was already getting pounded, the only thing missing was the weight pressing on him, as if about to suffocate him in the intoxicating scent of a real man. Just an all encompassing full body sensation that arousal doesn’t even come close to describing. Like the sweetest drug imaginable, one with the capacity to engage every single sense.

Seeing everything that his uniform struggles to cover, any video of a locker room interview had already long been committed to memory, this would be the chance to see everything, even what the towel hides. Enveloped in that cloud of musk that could only come from a human man, and an athletic, virile and victorious one at that. Hearing those gruff grunts and moans as he does his best to pleasure him, each miniscule sound only encouraging him to put the naturally lubed body to use more. No amount of touching could be enough, there could always be more, his whole body could wrapped in an embrace from that man and the only thing he’d wonder was what more could he do to just get a square centimeter more. The things that he would do to get a taste of his cock would cause shame to a dozen generations both preceding and yet to come, let alone a mouthful of that hot, heavy load.

Eventually the top of the ninth comes to an end the home field advantage becomes a chance to prolong the embarrassment in front of the few fans left in attendance. The odds of even getting into extra innings was so spectacularly low that the little bat boy that was living in his own fantasies knew he would only have to do his job for another three, maybe four batters. Even then there would only be a major call on his services if one of them got a hit they could run on, and given the performance so far over the past 8 innings, that wasn’t so likely. Phoning in the rest of the game would easy, and that was great because there was no way he was focusing on anything other than that one spot in right field. He almost wanted to wave and signal to Cliff that he was interested in talking to him after the game, or more than talking… But there was no way the full intention could be communicated much less the entirety of the passion and desire.

A three up and three down half was the scenario everyone was expecting and it’s what they got.
“That’s the game, in this announcer’s opinion it wasn’t much of a game, but some good baseball was played, the box score may not tell the whole story but it’ll get you pretty close.” The disappointment of the fans was similar and the stadium had officially reached minimum energy levels as the only thing left was to tell the fans to drive safely on their way home and maybe consider coming to another game at some point. But this was just the beginning for the excitable axolotl, the teams met in the middle and exchanged niceties. Bat boys weren’t typically included in that, but it never really mattered until now. This was the first time he even wanted to, but it was just as well, it was better if he found some way to approach in the locker room or outside the players gate. There he could take his time and really communicate just what he was willing to do, how far he’d go to reward the champ on his win.

There was no time to change, still in his bat boy get up, he wandered the utilitarian painted cinder block halls to approach the away team locker room. He never had any reason to visit until now, and yet now he needed to poke his head inside more than anything. The sounds of celebration were enticing, all the members of the team thrilled at another easy win, hopefully looking to extend their good mood with physical pleasures.

The downside of still wearing his bat boy uniform was that he would immediately be recognized as from the home team, but it made the love forbidden, really it was just an even more sinful layer added to the sensual chorus. It would also help to know that he wasn’t just some rando walking in off the street, but instead a trusted member of the industry and perhaps a liaison from the ball club that was given the responsibility to take care of the needs of the visitors. No one gave him a second look as he ventured into the noisy locker room, with heavy pockets of steam centered around each bank of showers that made the amphibian feel at home. As he spotted the towel clad hero of the game, his tail twitched and he retrieved the ball and marker from his pockets, ready to start with asking an innocent question.
“Excuse me, Mr. Henderson? I’m such a huge fan. Would you please sign my ball?” Looking sheepish, with pleading eyes he stared up at the chiseled jaw line, attempting to see if there was any deeper interest in his eyes.
“Sure thing little guy, anything for a young fan!”
“I’m actually two years older than you…” Of course his whole stat line had been memorized, even though he was the biggest talent in the minor leagues he was so young. But the fact that he was a foot and a half taller than the shrimpy bat boy, not to mention close to three times his weight, the fact about their ages was easy to forget.
“Err, still… Let me see that ball there champ!” He reaches out taking the ball in one hand and the pen in his other, leaving his towel totally unsupported. As it dropped to the floor the axolotl's eyes dropped with it, locking onto what it had been covering.

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Pub: 08 Nov 2025 02:12 UTC

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