Delay of Game
Bounce-bounce-bounce.
Adelaide swapped. Her paw! Swipe!
But Field had already moved to the right, trying to go around her. She spun, pursued, and leapt up. He was on the left side of the goal. She expected him to go for the lay-up, or stop for a jump-shot. But the mouse leapt before reaching the paint ... and went under the basket. Under, with an arm outstretched, paw pushing the ball up. In mid-air. Ball off the glass. Like a reverse lay-up. Two points!
Field huffed, as the ball went ...
... bounce-bounce-bounce. On the cement of their makeshift court. Behind the house. In front of the pasture. The lines drawn in black paint.
Adelaide reached down and picked up the ball before it stopped bouncing. And dribbled, backing away. Backing to where the cement ended and the grass and dirt started. Her back to the alfalfa fields across the gravel road. And the tilted telephone polls. Her short, foot-long tail ... giving her balance (her tail being meant more for the air, not the ground, though).
"I'm leading," Field stated. Dishy ears swiveling at the breeze.
"Yeah?" A toothy grin.
"Twenty-two to ... fourteen. We're going to ... "
Adelaide leapt. From behind the three-point line. Leaving an arm in the air ... as the orange-colored ball arced. As it swished through the net. And the bat, panting, nodded at her mate. The mouse. "Thirty. We're going to thirty. I believe I have seventeen."
Field giggled, nose sniffing. "Ooh ... "
"Come on ... get the ball." The pink-furred bat bobbed on her foot-paws. Wearing a pair of old barn sneakers (that were Field's). She opened and closed her paws (which had sharper claws than the mouse's, giving her a better grip on the ball ... when she had possession).
"This is a best-of-seven series, you know," Field reminded her, retrieving the ball, and dribbling it to the back of the smallish (but big enough to have a three-point line) court.
"I got you worried?"
"I'm leading two games to zero."
"Ooh, I'm really scared," she taunted.
Field giggled. "Adelaide, I swear ... "
"What?" She showed her fangs. Her teeth. Grinning. Challenging.
"I may be meek and milk-mannered, but I take my basketball ... very," he said, speed-dribbling to the left. "Seriously," he huffed, making a drive for the basket.
The bat pursued, and Field stopped. And she jumped on by. Faked out. And the mouse sank the two. "Twenty-four."
"I know the score ... " Adelaide retrieved the ball. Dribbling. And going to the grass, picking up a water bottle. Putting the ball down for a second. Pouring water onto her muzzle, into her mouth, on her face. It dripped from her in drops. And she tossed the water bottle to Field. Who drank of it. Whiskers sniff-twitching. Bare, furry chest rising, falling. Slender, but toned. Wearing a pair of tattered jean shorts. Wearing sneakers with holes in them.
The mouse watched the stray water drops cling to her muzzle, her chin ... he wanted to lick the dampness off her. Suck her fur. Oh, to ...
"You need a belt," she teased, smiling, dribbling again, walking around the perimeter of the three-point line. "I can see your briefs." She could, the white band. She tried not to stare.
"Is that a complaint?"
A giggle, and a head-tilt. "No ... " And she tried for the three again, but Field had already taken a step or two forward, had already leapt. Paw tipping the ball, which sailed to the right and went into the grass. Out of bounds. "Still my ball," she claimed. "You knocked it out of bounds. You retrieve it."
"It went under the electric fence," Field noticed.
"Need me to get it for you?"
"No." A head-bob.
A giggle.
"No, I just ... you've been shocked by that thing. You know how it feels. I don't wanna get shocked."
"Then don't touch it. Problem solved."
"Like I touch it on purpose?" He was already strolling into the grass. And paused. "Bet you," he called back, "I can jump over that."
"Like a hurdle?"
"Yeah ... yeah, like, a running start, and I jump over it."
She squinted. Walking into the grass with him. "How far off the ground is that thing? I don't want you to get tangled in it."
"Um ... four feet. Three and a half." Pause. "I can do it."
"Go for it, then ... " A smile.
"What are you gonna give me," he asked, turning his head, smiling. Whiskers twitching. Ears swiveling in the springtime sun. The air was near 70 degrees. It was so nice out today. The blue, and the ... creek-bugs. Everything. It was later in the afternoon, so they needn't worry about the sun burning their fur-less parts (their ears and noses ... were susceptible to sunburn).
"My admiration."
"Ooh ... "
A giggle. A fidget. "Get the ball, Field. You're just trying to chill my hot streak."
"You're on a hot streak?" The mouse took a deep breath, and took to a run.
"Yes," she called after him. "I am ... "
The mouse reached the fence, the white wire that was strung between little polls in the ground (a fence meant to keep the cows from getting out ... to keep them in the pasture and out of the road and fields). He cleared it, landed on the other side. Raised his arms.
Adelaide clapped.
Field giggled, and turned around, and decided ... he didn't have the momentum to try that again, so he got on his belly and rolled under the fence (on return trip). Finally arriving back at the court. And tossing her the ball.
"Score?" she asked, eyes on his pert rump, and the tail that strung out of his spine ... other species might've had flashier tails, but there was NO tail like a mouse tail. It was perfect for nibbling. Nibbling. Mm ... and twining it around your paw, reeling him in like a ...
"Twenty-four to seventeen, right. Game three ... " The curves of her body, her hips ... unmistakable. Her breasts, the outline of her nipples ... that he could see through her tank-top. Her pink, velvety fur ... oh ...
The bat was already bolting, and Field lunged, swatting the ball away.
"Second time you've done that," she said, retrieving it. "You gonna let me get a shot in?"
"You mean, am I gonna LET you win? Should I?" A grin.
"I'm a femme. You may be the submissive, wispy half of this mate-ship, darling, but ... you're still male. Gives you an unfair edge in ... this."
"So, what, I should spot you points?"
"You should let me get a shot off."
"I have been ... "
She jumped. At the top of the key. Swish!
Field's whiskers twitched. He retrieved the ball. "You're trying to distract me." His eyes were on her thighs, And her filmy wings ... delicate, flowery things. But so functional. He liked to lick the webbing of her wings. It felt so different ... on his tongue. Not like fur, but not like flesh, either.
"Not that hard to do, mousey. Not that hard ... " She smiled, nodding. She was dressed in shorts, too, and a tank-top shirt. And she stretched her wings. Taking some of the five-thirty sun. But unable ... to get her eyes off those muscles. His arms, his ... chest. Those cute, little nipples. Slender hips. And he was semi-erect. She could see the bulge in his jean shorts ... and she, herself, felt moister between the legs.
Anyway, now that it was getting warmer, they could spend more time outside. And being that they lived in the countryside, it ... wasn't hard to persuade them. And this (basketball) was good exercise. And was fun, and ... it was fun to play. Though Field had been playing since he was a little mouse. And he was a Hoosier, so ... but so was she. And she wasn't going to give up on this. Even if he was winning.
Field dribbled.
Swipe! Miss!
Field pulled back, and ... went to the left. As did she, and ... he went tot he right, and she followed, and planted herself in front of him, legs slightly apart. Arms open, waiting for his move. She would follow him ... no matter which direction. She would aim for a steal. Or a foul. They were playing with fouls, though ... it was hard for them to correctly determine what was a foul and what wasn't. Being that neither was impartial. Being that both of them wanted to win.
Field, without a word, quick as he could manage, bounced the ball ... right between, right under her legs, and ... spun around her, chasing it. And she, blinking, pursued. But instead of going for the lay-up, the mouse scurried to the left corner of the court. The far left corner, and ... while running, pulled up for the three. A fading shot, and ...
... in!
"Yes," he squeaked. Giggling.
"That's SO unfair." She chittered.
"What? How?"
Adelaide went and retrieved the ball, which hadn't stopped bouncing. She continued the bounce-bounce, and ... went to the back of the court. To reset the possession. "No, you just ... you've made that shot four times in THIS game. I mean ... "
"It's my favorite place to shoot. You should anticipate me going there."
"You're too fast," she accused. Oh, his legs ... oh, those foot-paws ... " ... my mate," she posed to the air, "is made of squeaky-squeaks, whiskers, a mousey-mouse tail, a bit of twitch ... and a whole lot of scurry-scurry."
Field smiled brightly. "I'm a mouse. I'm built for speed on the ground." Why couldn't he stop stealing glances at her belly ...
"Well, I'm built for speed in the air," she reminded him, "and don't think I can't jump."
"Oh, I know you can jump," Field teased. Smiling. Loving their verbal back-and-forth. The playfulness in both their voices. The energy. The huffing for air. The passion to play. The passion for each other (which rang in their voices, and stemmed from a deep, emotional love ... something so pure). The sun, it warmed their fur, and the birds were singing. The mockingbird was on the roof of the house, watching them (with the lightning rod ... and Field had an image of the mockingbird and lightning rod calling color commentary on their game here).
Adelaide bounced, bounced the ball. "You got twenty-seven?"
"One possession game," Field reminded. Whispering it.
"Yeah ... yeah ... " She bounced, bounced the ball, and ... turned her back to him, backing up, up. Backing up to the basket. The mouse's arms open and trying to defend, and when she'd gotten him below the basket, she turned to her left, faked the shot, and leapt. Field's arms and paws tangling with hers. "Oh ... foul," she insisted. "Foul."
"Foul?"
"Yeah ... give me a break."
"Alright, alright ... two shots."
She nodded, going to the foul line, and dribbling. In this series, she'd made nine foul shots. Out of twelve taken. He'd only taken eight, but had made them all. She dribbled, bending her knees. And did a little jump. The ball went up, bounced on the back of the rim, and ... went in. Point.
Field bounced the ball back to her.
"You don't have to jump when you do foul shots," she noted. "You can sink threes without ... really aiming."
"I've spent more time playing basketball than every other sport combined."
"I know, but ... you're good, is what I'm saying. How come you never played in school?"
"I was too shy. I mean, I'm ... " He watched as she shot the ball. And made her second shot. "I played in elementary. My parents wanted me to play ... later on, as I got older, in high school, but I didn't. I mean, I like to compete for fun, you know. Like you and me. Here. Just ... playing. I'm not very aggressive, though ... not enough to play organized ball. Besides, I'm shy, and my ...anxiety," he said, trailing. "I just like to play for fun."
"Just saying you're good, is all."
The mouse smiled, going for the water bottle again. The honey-tan fur on his chest ... matted a bit. With sweat. "Well ... thanks."
"Well, I still think you've got unfair advantages playing an actual GAME with me," Adelaide defended. "I mean, seriously."
"Hey, you agreed to it."
"I'm not complaining ... "
A chuckle. "No?"
"No." A toothy grin. "I'm just saying, Field, let's play a game of 'horse,' huh? Or 'around the world,' yeah? THEN we'll see who wins."
"You wanna play those, we'll play those ... but you're not getting out of this series. You can't withdraw."
A toothy grin. Angular, swept back ears ... picking up the mouse's heartbeat. His slight panting for breath. "Oh, I don't plan to withdraw."
His tail, thin and silky, snaked behind him ... as he dribbled round the arc. Back and forth. She stayed a few feet away, prepared to leap. Prepared to pursue.
The mouse was biding his time. He didn't need to win the game with this possession, but he wanted to. Wanted to sink that fading three again. But not from the corner this time. From the top. Off the glass. He had a way of being able to bank in his threes. But if he thought about it too much, he couldn't do it. He just had to let go and ... allow his body to go through the motions. Basketball was a game of actions and reactions. Of constant movement. Of precision aim. You couldn't think TOO much about how you were releasing the ball or ... how you were jumping ... or you would get too self-conscious. And would start to miss.
Bounce-bounce-bounce ...
Adelaide watching.
Field swallowed.
"Make your move," she dared. Licking her lips ...
"I will." Chest heaving. "Don't worry," was his returned whisper. A breathless promise. And he pump-faked his arms. She fell for it. Again.
And he squared up and let the ball fly. As it went, as it hit the glass (higher up than he'd anticipated), and it fell to the front of the rim, bouncing off the front inside of the rim and hitting the glass, and ... going through.
"Oh! Yes!" The mouse raised his paws to the air. "Ooh ... "
Adelaide smiled at his enthusiasm.
"Three games to none, darling."
"Field, I hope you're not gloating."
The mouse wore a wide-eyed look of innocence. So cute! "Gloating?"
She giggled and gave him a gentle shove, right up next to him. Whispering, "You're beating a femme at basketball, Field. Really something to brag about." She grinned.
"You saying you're a bad player, then? Femmes are worse players than boys? So, my win is ... so, you lost cause you're a femme, and femmes can't play?"
She squinted. Ooh, he got her there ... trapped her.
"Are you saying that?"
"I'm not a bad player," she said. Smiling slightly. Wanting to giggle. "Field, just ... alright ... you win."
"No, you can't quit." His eyes glowed.
"I'm, uh, not quitting ... just taking a timeout." Her belly was now against his. "Let's use all our timeouts."
He bit his lip, squeaking silently. Smiling. "You're ... tempting."
"I'm your mate. I would hope so."
A giggle.
"Well, isn't it ... you know, I read in an article once," Field said, "that ... after climax, the male body loses energy. But the femme ... has more energy."
"Where'd you read that?"
"The newspaper," he defended.
"So, you're saying I'm ... seducing you so I can win the next game?"
"I'm saying ... " The mouse trailed. What WAS he saying? "Okay." He tossed the ball away, taking a deep breath. "Okay ... timeout." He nosed her. Breathed of her ... hugged her. "Mm ... "
She put her muzzle on his shoulder. Breathing. Closing her eyes. "Pick a tree. We'll ... be in the shade," she said, "for this."
The mouse swallowed. "The sycamore." He pointed to the other side of the pasture. Where the creek was.
"That's a walk," she remarked.
"The sycamore. You told me to pick a tree, and I said," the mouse whispered, "the sycamore."
"Wanna make love under a sycamore?" A grin. "Why?"
"No reason. Just ... " A giggle. Eyes darting. "This is silly."
"Yes," she whispered, paws clutching his chest fur. Pulling him toward her. Head tilted, muzzle putting a kiss on his lips. Soft, sweet. Succulent. Scrumptious! Saliva stringing as the kiss broke. "Yes, it is ... silly." She felt light-headed now. "I'm not gonna make it as far as the sycamore."
The mouse swallowed, paws on her sides, running up and down (beneath her tank-top). Over her pink, soft fur. "Neither ... neither am I."
They settled for the grass. In the late-day sun. The warmth, the heat ... making them sweat, making them pant all the more.
Maybe it was because they'd been running around, bumping into each other, sweating ... for over thirty minutes. Maybe it was because they were in rural confines. But they both felt aflame.
Her tank-top peeled off ... bra tugged off ... the bat's body arching as the mouse kissed her belly, up her chest. As he nosed her breasts. He kiss-kissed all over her front. He cupped her breasts.
"Shoes," she panted. "Off ... off ... " She kicked her own shoes off, and he did the same, sliding out of his jeans. His shorts and pants got stuck at his ankles. One of her bare, pink-furred legs slid between his, her foot-paw working the clothes completely off the mouse.
She huffed. A nipple being suckled. And then the other. Field's body sprawled atop of hers, having her pinned to the grass.
She clutched a paw at his tail, tugging it ... tug-tug ...
A good eighty percent of the time they yiffed, Adelaide was on top. (Or in whatever position was dominant for their chosen method of yiff.) Field was a natural sub. And she loved being the dominant one ... but, sometimes ... oh, THIS time, it was part of the twenty percent. Field was going to play dominant this time. His confidence still brimming, his body still hyped up from the competition, he was already erect. Already whimpering for her vaginal grip ... pre stringing from his tip to her furry folds.
Their hearts were hammering. His mouse-hood poking her labia ... flesh jabbing flesh.
"Field, h-honey ... " She gripped his sides. "Slow down ... calm down." She huffed, chuckling, patting his rump. "Over-eager ... huh, boy?"
Field's cheeks and ears flushed hot. "Um ... I ... "
"I'm only teasing," she whispered gently. Stroking his sides from beneath him. Wrapping her wings round his back. "Just ease in ... ease in ... I'm not going anywhere."
Field huffed, swallowed, and nodded. Easing his pink, pointed cock-head through her furry folds, angled to her vagina. Poking into her opening. "Uh ... "
She gripped his rump ... with her foot-paws, which raised off the ground. She dug her paws into his upper back. Feeling his shoulder blades. She latched to him with her limbs. She grinned with glee, unable to help it ... feeling her mouse mounting, readying for his ride. She didn't bottom very often ... but when she did, she relished the safety of it. The warmth of it. Which she felt now ...
... as his pink, smooth mouse-hood slid slowly into her feminine sheath. "Oh ... " The sun warmed his bare, arching back. Matting his fur with more sweat, but ... making him feel like he was melting, too. Which he was liable to do ... his shoulders angled and then sagging. His sac between his legs, snugging closer to his body with each passing minute. Balls getting tight.
Adelaide closed her eyes ... began licking his neck. Numbing a spot for her bite. She didn't even know she was doing it. It was total instinct. Bats HAD to bite during intercourse ... if they were denied their bite, they would become aggressive ... antsy. But the biting instinct was triggered only by the onset of intercourse. Once bitten, the fangs couldn't be safely removed ... until the biter and the bitten ... had their orgasms.
Bats had complicated sexual systems ... which Field LOVED. Her fangs were in his neck at least once a day (except for her bi-monthly heat ... an eight-day stretch every two months ... bats and mice were just compatible enough to successfully breed ... and Field and Adelaide simply couldn't risk it right now ... the one time they'd risked it, Field had worn a condom, which didn't stay on ... but they'd been too far gone to stop; they'd gotten lucky) ...
She gripped and kneaded his rump. More, more, pressing her finger right at his soft, fleshy tail-base, where his tail connected to his furry rump.
"Oh ... huh," he huffed, working a paw between their heated bodies.
"What are you do-do ... ooh ... " She sucked in air, head lolling to the side. He was applying the gentlest of pressures ... to her clitoris. "Uh ... " She flushed.
He massaged her nub for a minute, and then withdrew his paw ... putting both paw-pads on the grass. Hump ... hump ... huff. Turning paw-pads over, sliding them underneath her shoulders. He pulled back ... and slid in. Began to find a humping motion. Her wetness and his pushing and pulling ... making a slick, slurping noise where their bodies were joined. The sound of it nearly lost in their huffing.
Hump, slurp, slick, sigh, chitter, squeak! Sexual symphony.
She bit. Bit deep. White drops of her mating milk clinging to his fur. Stray drops. For most of it was being pumped into his blood. Linking them ... the bite, for both, was pure pleasure. Her eyes watered shut. Her mouth produced more saliva. Her bite always made her heavily drool ... which soaked the mouse's neck-fur. Field's neck muscles SO loosened by this ... he felt a drunk euphoria.
"Uh ... uhn," the mouse squeaked, humping slowly (sweetly) in and out of her. Bitten from below, humping from atop. His vision blurred. He, too, had to shut his eyes. "Ohhh ... "
Adelaide gurgled, teeth embedded, drooling onto his neck. FEELING it from his perspective. The stiff sensitivity of his mouse-hood. The tightening of balls.
The mouse feeling his own nipples harden as he felt, from her perspective, the bat's nipples being swept over by Field's sweaty chest-fur ... with each hump.
Their own pleasure. And each other's.
Their own thoughts. And each other's.
And one shared love.
The bat, on her back, legs spread ... clutched at him. Urging him on with her mind. Unable to actually speak (due to her embedded teeth).
Penis and pussy continued their tug of war. One drilling, pumping ... the other squeezing, encompassing. Perfect fits. Perfect friction.
Perfect pleasure.
"Mm ... mm ... "
"Uh ... " Field's maleness was absolutely marinated with femme fluid. The scent of which ... found his twitching, sniffing nose. Slip, slide, slip ...
The sweaty, bare furs, whimpering, writhing in the grass ... began to tense. Field's squeaks shifted to their pre-orgasm pitch. High pitches. Effeminate moans.
"Uhn ... ohn, ohh ... uhn. Uhh ... uh! Uhhhh ... " There, there! Orgasm ... oh, orgasm. Just like that. His movements erratic, he seemed to deflate, panting, squeaking. His mouse-hood twitched and flailed in her body, milked by her muscles. Spurting, sowing seed. Born of such want and love and need. He huffed and lay, in pleasure, shock, on top of her. Unable to move. Cum leaking from their joined spot ... stringing lazily to the grass. "Uh ... " Soft, soft sounds, trailing ...
The bat's body shuddered at his orgasm, and she growled from her throat ... as she lost it. Spasms! Shudders! Warm, wet waves ... dripping of her own fluid. Pussy swollen, moist, filled. Spasms ... oh ... " ... ohhh. Oh, uhn," she grunted, clutching to him, smelling of sweat and sun.
Field whimpered. Pawing at her body, clutching, stroking.
She huffed. Hugged.
They were matted in sweat and seed and ... smelling of fur and sex. Heaving, unable to think clearly.
A minute passed.
She pulled her teeth out of his neck, severing the direct link. Throat dry. Wings tingling.
He rolled off of her body, to the grass beside her. His chest heaved.
They nuzzled. Side-by-side, they nuzzled.
"I think I'm ... all tuckered out," she whispered eventually, breathing deeply (with contentment).
"Mm ... delay of game," he whispered. "Permanent," he breathed, "delay of game."
A giggle.
Field scritched her hips. Staring at her (eyes now open). "Oh ... you're lovely. Darling ... look how the sun lights your fur. You're ... beautiful," he breathed, swallowing. Trying to slow his heart.
"So are you," she breathed in reply. "My handsome country mouse." A warm smile.
Breathing. The both of them.
Waiting for their shot clocks to reset ... so they could have another go at each other.