by Penny Birch
‘What about your sister?’ I asked Tiffany.
‘She threw a tantrum because she isn’t in the team,’ Tiffany answered.
I wasn’t surprised, as Talana was the most spoilt of all, possible excepting the Princess, and had been furious about being made first reserve. Tiffany didn’t look too happy, and there had obviously been a row, but everybody was in agreement that she’d made the right decision.
They talked tactics as we drove south through Manhattan and under another tunnel, with the tension increasing as we drew ever nearer to Brooklyn. I could feel it myself, even though I’d only be sitting on the substitutes’ bench, and it was impossible not to think of the crowd staring at us in our little costumes and, if we lost, the thick, hard strap-ons sliding up our pussies as we were fucked in public. Or rather as they were fucked in public, because there were only six Brooklyn Bitches to do the fucking, and among the Tribeca Tails I was very firmly number seven. Besides, we might win.
Greenwood Hall was a converted warehouse next to one of the biggest cemeteries I’d ever seen, with a forest of monuments set among trees on a low hill. I wasn’t feeling too sanguine about what was to come, as I hate sport and I hate crowds, and the sight of all the tombs didn’t do much for my spirits. Fortunately the others seemed unaffected, bouncing out of the minibus and into the hall, full of enthusiasm and the will to win.
We went straight to the changing rooms, where my hopes sank lower still. Along one wall a line of large black rubber strap-ons had been hung on pegs. They were hideously realistic, with bulging ball sacks, thick veins crawling up the cock shafts and fat, glossy helmets, which each had a condom rolled on, presumably for hygienic purposes. Beneath them, on the bench, was the most enormous tub of vaginal lubricant I had ever seen.
The display had obviously been put together to daunt us, but Tiffany refused to take the bait, gloating over how much fun it would be to use the hideous things on our opponents. After watching the video of Melody and the others I wasn’t so sure. As three out of six had had to be spanked they presumably weren’t that accurate with their throws, but those who’d appeared in the videos looked like tall, athletic girls.
They were, as we discovered when they trooped in while we were changing, marching with military discipline and forming a line at one end of the room, each and every one immaculate in her blue and white uniform, while most of us were half naked. Melody gave the faintest of nods as she saw me and Jemima, then went back to attention as Shana stepped to the front, sneering at us.
The next person to enter the room was Buttman Bailey, which caused a frantic covering of pussies and breasts among the Tribeca Tails.
‘Do you mind?’ Tiffany demanded.
‘Not in the least,’ he answered, allowing his eyes to caress what was visible of her flesh, ‘and why so prissy? In not so long you’re going to get fucked in front of five hundred people.’
‘I don’t think so,’ she answered, but he just laughed.
‘Look at you!’ he said. ‘You’re a bunch of pampered daddy’s girls, that’s what you are. Now we are the real thing. Make a muscle, Shana.’
Shana tensed her arm, showing off the lean, hard musculature, including a biceps that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a man. She was also just about six feet tall, with the longest legs in proportion I’d ever seen on a woman and not an ounce of spare flesh. The others were only slightly less impressive.
‘I’m sure posh girls like you feel it’s polite to be introduced to anyone who fucks you,’ Buttman Bailey was saying, ‘so let me introduce to you my captain, Shana, whom I know some of you have already met. And here, our guest player and something of a wild card, Big Mel from London. Step out, Mel.’
Melody stepped forward, folding her arms across her chest. Shana was taller, and younger, but for sheer power there was no comparison, while I knew only too well what she was capable of physically.
‘Next in line,’ Bailey went on, ‘our ace, Abi May Harrison.’
Abi stepped out, taller even than Shana and seemingly impossibly thin, with snake hips, while the breasts showing through the cut-outs in her uniform were no more than low swellings, although each was topped by a large jet-black nipple.
‘Is she even a girl?’ the Princess demanded.
‘You want a genes test?’ Bailey answered. ‘You got it, and, just for that, you’re the one she gets to fuck, Courtney Reifsneider. Oh yes, I know who you are. I know who all of you are. Next on, Felicita Suarez, the first of my Spanish honeys, and so fast she’ll make your eyes water.’
Felicita was one of the girls Shana had spanked, and the smallest of them, but still as tall as Jemima, with a lithe, active look about her.
‘Number five, my own baby girl, Babs Bambi Bailey.’
The sole white girl in the group stepped out, another of those I’d watched spanked, blonde and pretty, all legs and arms, with breasts as perfect as two bags of silicon and a good surgeon could make them. She was pretty, which seemed remarkable if Buttman Bailey really was her father, as he looked like a badly weathered garden gnome.
‘And last off,’ he said, ‘my reserve, Maria Guerrero, and even she could take any one of you down, one on one.’
Maria was the other Hispanic girl from the spanking clips, middle-sized, at least relatively, and with awkwardly large breasts for basketball, but otherwise compact and muscular. She gave us a knowing smile and stepped back into line.
Jemima had listened to all of this with her arms folded across her chest and her head cocked slightly to one side, a posture of deliberate insolence, while she was topless and hadn’t bothered to cover her breasts.
‘If you’re so good,’ she demanded, ‘how come four of you had to be spanked last week? Less than ten shots on target, wasn’t it?’
‘Four spankings in two months, with training every day?’ Buttman Bailey shot back. ‘I call that good.’
‘Oh,’ Jemima answered, somewhat crestfallen. ‘Well, we’re just as good.’
‘Sure, honey,’ he sneered. ‘Come on girls, let’s give the crowd a show while these losers try and get their shit together.’
The Brooklyn Bitches trooped out at a jog, the motion of which made their tiny skirts rise to show off their bare bottoms beneath. We were doomed, I was certain of it, but Tiffany didn’t seem to think so, pulling the other girls into a huddle for an encouraging speech while I hurried to finish changing.
During training, most of the girls had worn bras and panties under their costumes, but that was now forbidden, so that if we lost we could be conveniently fucked through the slits in our shorts. I’d only ever worn mine bare anyway, I’d already been fucked, and I wasn’t going to be getting it anyway, but that didn’t make me feel any less vulnerable as I wriggled my bottom into the tight shorts and adjusted my bra top.
‘Masks on,’ Tiffany instructed. ‘Let’s do it, girls!’
We trooped out, with me at the back, into a large hall full of light and sound. Buttman Bailey had said five hundred, but it looked more, a lot more, with tiers of benches on either side packed full and people standing at either end of the room. The centre was our court, with the nets on tall poles and a system of lines marked out on the floor, lines that meant nothing to me whatsoever.
I went to sit by Hudson on the bench, extremely glad I wouldn’t be playing, while the other girls ran out on to the court, Tiffany and Jessica bouncing balls, all of them cheering and clapping to egg on the crowd. Morris was there, in the front row, with Mel’s sister Harmony and Annabelle to either side, but they were the only people I recognised. The rest were a mixed crew, and a pretty sleazy one, maybe eighty per cent male, with everything from smartly dressed city types through utter nondescripts to a surprising number who might very well have been pimps from some US cop series on TV.
The referee wasn’t much better, an enormously tall man who Hudson had told me was an ex-pro of some standing, but he obviously considered the whole thing a joke, running out on to the court as if he himself w
as the star attraction and immediately twitching up Felicita’s skirt to show off her bare bottom. He had a cordless microphone, and introduced himself to wild cheering from the crowd, who obviously knew who he was.
Most of the crowd seemed to share his attitude, catcalling and making rude suggestions to the girls of both teams indiscriminately. That was more or less what I’d expected, and I contented myself with a resigned sigh and moving a little closer to Hudson so that I wasn’t so obvious in my absurd bunny costume. He was yelling to the girls and giving Tiffany instructions, which she ignored as she stepped into the centre circle to face Shana.
The referee blew his whistle and threw the ball high. I immediately felt a sharp increase in tension and, to my surprise, I found myself clenching my fists and biting my lip. It wasn’t as uneven as I’d imagined it would be either, with Tiffany jumping so high she managed to pull the ball back to Jessica before Shana could get to it. Jessica immediately passed it to Roberta, who managed to put it through the net from more than halfway across the court. The scoreboard buzzed and a three replaced the zero which I’d been confidently expecting to remain beneath the Tribeca Tails’ name for the entire match.
I didn’t know enough to understand half of what was going on, but I could see well enough, and was soon hoping we might actually win. When the buzzer went to end the first quarter we were fifteen to eleven ahead. Jemima had scored a superb goal from almost the full length of the court. Not that the crowd seemed to care very much who was winning, as they were far more concerned to watch bouncing breasts and the way the Bitches’ skirts lifted as they played. I could see their point, though. While not many seemed to be dedicated fans of either team, we had provided a bum and tit show straight out of some dirty old man’s most fevered fantasy.
We scored first in the second quarter, just as we had in the first, this time with Tiffany bouncing the ball to within feet of the Bitches’ line before passing to Becky, who popped it into the net with what seemed casual ease. She tried to do the same again a few moments later, only for Melody to crash into her at full speed. Becky went down, hit her head on the pole supporting the net and stayed where she was.
It was a blatant foul, and I found myself on my feet, yelling at the referee, along with Hudson and the rest of the girls. He just shook his head, made some remark about taking the knocks and raised his hand for a pause while poor Becky was helped up and the Princess ran out to replace her. My stomach went tight at the realisation that I was now first substitute. Becky had been led off by what passed for a physio and it didn’t look as if she was coming back.
The game began again, but the Bitches hadn’t done themselves any favours. Roberta was furious, playing like a whirlwind, and she’d scored another two goals within less than a minute. We were well ahead, twenty-nine to twenty-two, when we reached half-time, and I was now glancing at Maria Guerrero and wondering how it would feel to slide my dildo between the cheeks of her full, golden bottom while the crowd cheered and yelled for more.
It was only then that I realised how aroused the tension of the game and the prospect of what would come afterwards were making me, and perhaps also the display of female flesh in front of me, which might have been smutty but was also beautiful. I was wet, and my nipples were stiff, making little bumps in the pink fur of my bra top, while my bottom felt full and sensitive.
I pulled my attention back to the game as the scoreboard chimed to record yet another goal for Roberta and the Tails, giving us a ten-point lead. Hudson had cheered every one, and now so did I with equal enthusiasm, my normal shyness and embarrassment gone in the excitement.
We scored again a moment later, and I was imagining an easy victory when Melody and Felicita slammed into Bobby from either side, bringing her down. She hit the floor with a bone-jarring thump but bounced back immediately, glaring at Mel as she spat something I didn’t catch. Mel just laughed, but Shana was close, and responded by spitting at Bobby, the blob of phlegm catching her between her breasts.
Bobby responded instantly, lashing out to catch Shana across the face with an open slap. Shana reacted with a scream of rage and the two of them went down together, scratching and wrenching at each other’s clothes and hair. Bobby’s bra top had been pulled down in an instant, baring her tiny breasts, and she was obviously going to lose, with Shana firmly on top and indifferent to the display she was making of her bottom.
The crowd were anything but indifferent, whooping with joy at the show. Shana’s miniskirt was right up on her back, showing the full spread of her cheeks, the tight black dimple of her anus and a wet pink cunt between her long thighs, while her breasts were right in the desperately struggling Bobby’s face. The referee was laughing his head off, and when the crowd began to yell for Bobby to be stripped, Shana obliged, catching hold of the furry pink shorts and yanking them away with a single tug.
Bobby’s cunt came bare to yells of encouragement, and as she threw herself on to Shana in blind rage the crowd began to chant ‘Bitch fight! Bitch fight!’ ever louder. The girls were soon in a tangle of arms and legs and hair, bums and tits and flaunted pussies, and two of the cameramen had come right on to the court. The other girls had clustered close too, and it looked as if the entire match was going to end in mayhem when the referee finally stepped in.
He was a big man, and simply picked the girls up by their hair, pulling them apart and holding them at arm’s length. They were still spitting and cursing at each other, but quietened down after a moment, with the referee trying not to laugh as he spoke.
‘Off, both of you. Go and sit on your benches and cool your tails.’
Shana made to protest, but Bobby gave in straight-away, red-faced with anger and embarrassment as she hastily gathered up her torn costume and ran to us, whereupon Hudson put his coat around her shoulders. I gave her a kiss and would have cuddled up to her but for Hudson jerking a thumb towards the court.
‘Come on, Penny, you’re up!’
It was less than a minute since Bobby had been knocked over, and the implications hadn’t sunk in. Now they did, and I found myself staring numbly at the court, where Maria had already joined the Brooklyn Bitches and they were getting ready to restart. I had no choice but to step forward, to the position Bobby had been in, only for Tiffany to tell me sharply to move back as she motioned Jemima forward. Other than the vague outlines I’d picked up in training, and I hadn’t bothered to listen most of the time, all I knew was that the ball was supposed to go through the net at the far end of the court.
That was not enough. Within seconds I’d managed to commit a foul I didn’t even understand, and while the referee didn’t seem to care about girls ripping each other’s clothes off on the floor he definitely wasn’t inclined to go easy on me. I was also the shortest girl on the court, by at least five inches, and undoubtedly the least sporty. By the time the buzzer went for the third quarter our lead had fallen to just four points, but the referee declined Tiffany’s furious demands for Bobby to be allowed back on, threatening to send her off as well if she didn’t shut up.
All of them were glaring at me, even Jemima, and Hudson had his head in his hands, bringing me to the verge of tears as the game began once more. The others tried to avoid passing to me, but we were in a mess, while the Bitches constantly got the better of us, until the scores were only two points apart, and Tiffany was yelling at us to put everything into defence.
Abi May was right next to me, about to throw the ball, but I couldn’t even have reached it as she poised herself, and in it went, unerringly aimed from half the length of the court. The scoreboard chimed and they were ahead, at fifty-eight to fifty-seven, and I was sure there could be only moments left before the end of the game.
The game started up one more time, there was a frantic scrabble in the middle of the court and the ball bounced loose, slowly and right into my hands, so that even I couldn’t drop it. Time seemed to slow, the screams of the girls hanging in the air as I lifted the ball, threw it high, and watched it sail clean
over the net and the board behind, to land in the lap of a man dressed in a lime-green suit over a black shirt, just as the buzzer went to signal the end of the game.
We’d lost, by a single point, and I could only stare aghast at the scoreboard. It wasn’t my fault, not really. It was Talana’s for throwing a tantrum and not showing up. It was Melody’s for playing dirty. It was Bobby’s for getting into a fight. Somehow I knew that the others weren’t going to see it that way.
Seven
THE CROWD WAS in turmoil, every man and woman on their feet, whooping with glee and yelling for the fucking to begin. I barely heard, standing dumbstruck where I had thrown the final shot and not knowing if I was going to burst into tears or hysterical laughter. Even as Buttman Bailey stepped out on to the court brandishing the six huge strap-ons in his fist it hardly seemed real, but my senses were slowly returning and I found myself trying to avoid the other girls’ eyes as we were ordered to get into a line on the floor.
‘Down you go!’ Buttman Bailey was calling. ‘Butts high, facing turn and turn about so everybody gets a good view. Come on, don’t be shy, you all know the rules!’
I’d never heard so much glee in a human voice, but his girls were no better. Shana had come back off the bench and was helping Melody buckle a strap-on into place, while Felicita already had hers on, poking up obscenely from beneath the front of her tiny skirt as she made rude gestures to the crowd, tugging on the shaft in imitation of a man masturbating.
Bobby tried to hold back, but they weren’t having it and two officials pushed her out on to the court, though they at least had the decency to leave her injured sister alone. Unfortunately that meant there were six of us and six of them, although I suspected that after my performance I would have been the first one put up for fucking and the last to be let off.
It was going to happen, that was all there was to it, and I got down on my knees next to Jemima. She gave me a dirty look, which I answered with a shrug, and stuck her bum up as she had been ordered to, a little exhibitionist even in defeat. I did the same, feeling immensely self-conscious as I felt my cheeks round and spread, with only the split crotch of my furry shorts to protect my rear view from the lecherous gaze of the audience.