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The Ultimate Big-Tit Game

By Sex Stories

  It wasn't until she was standing behind Krystal Steal that Heather appreciated the sheer size of her roommate's ass. It was enormous! Still, it was nothing compared to the Hawaiian girl's big black tits, mammoth swells tipped by large cocoa nipples nestled on a pair of discus-sized areolae.

     Twenty-one-year-old Heather Lacey was a slender Midwestern blonde who'd always been proud of her perky but huge tits. They looked as good in sweaters as they did in bikinis, but after getting a load of Krystal Steal's heavy hangers, Heather felt oddly inadequate. She ran her hands between the 25-year-old's thighs to await the snap under Krystal Steal's right hand.

     Krystal Steal, veteran center on the Sioux Falls Sirens' offensive line, had been the rookie kicker's roommate since the top of the Women's Football League season. Heather had often seen Krystal Steal naked, but tonight, instead of hopping into bed in the buff like she always did, Krystal Steal had announced they would practice snaps. It gave Heather a funny feeling south of her stomach. Everything about Krystal Steal was alluring: her big brown eyes, her long blonde hair, and her bountiful form, a firm hourglass with generous hips, big butt and a mountainous chest.
     "Don't you want some sweats or something?" Heather had asked.
     "Next best thing to suiting up is stripping down, Heather," Krystal Steal said.
     "You should, too."
     Heather, who'd changed into comfy flannel pajamas, knew Krystal Steal was right. The uniforms of all 16 WFL teams consisted of little more than tiny pads connected by strips of material.
     Heather had signed on with the Sirens before the eighth season of the WFL had begun. She hadn't realized the Sirens would take the game so seriously, fighting long odds over their 10-week season to make it to the first-ever Mega-Cup Showdown, the WFL's answer to the Super Bowl. Nor had it occurred to Heather, or anyone else, that after making it to the Mega-Cup, the Sirens would cut half their team to free enough money to lure away

quarterback Tina "T&A" Torres and her favorite receiver, Joy "Boy-toy" Joyner, from the playoff-eliminated Miami Vixens. Many starters and every backup had been cut a week before the big game, while superstars Torres and Joyner, the"Miami Connection," were getting paid more for their one-game appearance than the rest of the Sirens were getting for the entire season.
     Gutting the roster destroyed the Sirens' depth, and Heather found herself taking over punting duties and also being listed as the Sirens' only backup quarterback, though she had yet to take a snap in either a game or practice.

     "If Goldfish thought there was any chance I'd go in," Heather had protested, "she'd have me doing this, right?"
     Goldfish was the nickname of Sirens Coach Nancy Harrington, granddaughter of coaching legend Cyrus "Red" Harrington. This was Goldfish's first year coaching, and her only credential beyond her bloodline came in the form of Red's old playbook. It supposedly contained every play he'd ever drawn up.
     "Maybe, maybe not," Krystal Steal replied. Dropping into a three-point stance over the football, her big body teetered like a seesaw with lopsided weights: huge caramel haunches rising high, mammoth cocoa tits sinking low.
     "Come on," she said. "Let's try again."
     Heather crouched behind the center and positioned her trembling hands between Krystal Steal's thighs, jumping when her fingers brushed Krystal Steal's soft pubes.
     "Don't be shy," Krystal Steal said. "Jam your hands in there!"
     Heather did her best to mix up long, hard counts with short ones, but every time Krystal Steal hiked the ball to her, Heather would bobble it, or else drop back in the lane they'd set up between their beds and plant the wrong foot. The WFL's regulation football was smaller than the NFL's, yet Krystal Steal might as well as have been pushing a beach ball though her legs the way Heather kept muffing it.
     Heather was a horny wreck. She wanted to get down on her knees and run her tongue over every inch of Krystal Steal's big ass, or, better still, pull up her own top, grab her tits and rub her nipples over Krystal Steal's ass.
     Krystal Steal peered upside down through her tremendous cleavage and looked into Heather's big, blue eyes. Her udders swayed as she said, "You gotta get this right!"
     Heather got behind Krystal Steal and took the snap. This time, Krystal Steal didn't let go. She kept the ball mashed against her cunt while a confused Heather

yanked it along the folds of Krystal Steal's pussy, leaving a wet streak on it.

     Krystal Steal moaned as she and Heather began playing tug-of-war across her soaked twat. Heather straightened, using her free hand to slide down her pajama bottoms. Nestling the football against her blonde patch, she glided it between Krystal Steal's legs. Krystal Steal dropped to her hands and knees, surrendering her big body to the ample-titted blonde. Cradling the football in one hand, Heather spanked the center's ass with the other until Krystal Steal was screaming with ecstasy and her musky juices had drenched the football.
     Krystal Steal resisted cumming and walked over to the bed. She sprawled out on the mattress, fingering herself until Heather finished pulling off her pajamas and crawled between her legs, kneeling over Krystal Steal to fondle her tan tits. After running her tongue across Krystal Steal's mouth, Heather scooped up her big breasts and pressed them to Krystal Steal's massive ones, brushing her yearning pink peaks across Krystal Steal's brown nipples.
     Krystal Steal looped Heather's legs around her own hips, then sandwiched the football between both their pussies at once. Heather rocked her pelvis and watched Krystal Steal release the ball, lean back and gyrate her hips on Heather's nose, which was now pressed to her cunt. Krystal Steal and Heather were getting themselves and each other off without laying a hand on the ball.

     Krystal Steal's big, brown eyes watched Heather come so hard, her entire body shook. Then Krystal Steal was getting off along with her. Each girl fondled her own, huge breasts as they came and rode out their orgasms. Finally, Heather went slack, panting as she watched Krystal Steal climb off the bed and contort her sweat-streaked body into a three-point stance.
     "Let's try this again," Krystal Steal said.
     Heather jumped off the bed and got behind the center. Her big, tawny tits splayed across Krystal Steal's bountiful backside. Although it surprised Heather, it didn't surprise Krystal Steal when Heather's graceful hands now performed the snaps flawlessly.
     "That's how it's done," Krystal Steal said. She stood up.
     Heather narrowed her eyes. "That's why we're doing these snaps, why you're constantly quizzing me on the craziest plays in the book," she said. "You know I'm going into the game tomorrow night."
     Krystal Steal tossed Heather the ball. "No one on the offensive line trusts Torres or Joyner. If we think T&A's throwing the game, Torres will find she's got no protection up front. Now get some sleep."
     Heather wanted to know why Krystal Steal suspected the ex-Vixens, but she turned out the light and went to bed. Heather tossed and turned all night, formulating conspiracy theories about the WFL, fighting her nerves over the Sirens' looming championship game against the Los Angeles Lost Angels.

  When the Mega-Cup Show-down's eight o'clock kickoff time rolled around, Miami's blue skies had faded into a scorched peach-and-purple twilight.

Because GGM, the WFL's marketing company, had made good on its promise to fill the stadium with rowdy college kids, Pay-2-See-TV's director had a field day aiming his cameras at hordes of co-eds showing off their summer-vacation tan lines.
     Although ticket sales were brisk among loyal fans and brought locals eager to cheer on hometown-girl T&A Torres, GGM had waited until a week before the Showdown to launch its local promotional blitz. It dumped a fortune of ad dollars into Miami media and withheld the stadium's best seats for contests and giveaways. Armed with free tickets, GGM hit beaches and bars, clubs and malls, going wherever vacationing collegians could be found to push the Mega-Cup's wild tailgate party, which had been designed to get the guys horny and the co-eds wild before they took their premium seats.

     Meanwhile, GGM had bribed, bullied, and blackmailed the mainstream media into covering the Mega-Cup. Al-though Pay-2-See-TV's WFL games ruled their Friday night slot­the first time any pay-per-view program had accomplished that­sports desks still called the WFL the XXXFL and refused to treat it like a real sports league. To them, it was a Friday-night wankfest, an excuse to dress up hot, young women in tight, little uniforms that couldn't possibly stay on their curvy bodies through four quarters of cat-fighting. So, while organizing the pre-game party, GGM execs were also coaxing sportswriters by swearing the WFL was transitioning from its over-the-top sex appeal and becoming a bland, if wholesome, sport.
     It was a bait-and-switch game that GGM excelled at. As late as kickoff, some reporters were still ignorant of the wall-to-wall advertising touting the Mega-Cup Showdown as the "Ultimate X Game."
     To the Sirens, the crowds and the noise were overwhelming. Most of the fans in the stands didn't know the players, and as they were introduced, only ex-Vixen "T&A" Torres received cheers on a par with the L.A. players, who outnumbered the Sirens and looked unbeatable in their skimpy black-on-black

uniforms. Even their numbers were a varnished ebony that gleamed like wet ink on their half-jerseys. On one side of their helmets was the Lost Angels' logo: a feather-winged angel, complete with a halo and gigantic hardcore tits. On the other side was the Lost Angels' alter-ego logo: a leather-winged she-devil complete with horns and even larger tits.

     Compared to the Lost Angels outfits, the Sirens' skintight, red uniforms seemed like throwbacks, a combination of an old Kansas City Chiefs' uniform and a Chiefs' cheerleaders outfit. Flaring red skirts that didn't come close to covering their panty-sized shorts gave a false impression that the Sirens were accidentally showing off their hips and asses. Even their logo was nostalgic: a chesty redhead holding up the bottom of her cleavage-popping red dress to show off her curvy legs.
     Losing the coin toss was the least of the Sirens' problems. On the first play of the game, L.A. returned its kickoff for a touchdown. The next L.A. possession had the Lost Angels going long for another score. After a field goal by the Sirens, L.A. responded with another touchdown. One of the few bright spots for the Sirens came when Heather set a WFL record with a 54-yard field goal, but the Los Angels led 21-6 at halftime.
     In the Sirens' locker room, Heather sat in her pristine uniform while exhausted teammates slipped off shredded jerseys and replaced missing pads. The Sirens were so strapped for players that they had linebackers and defensive ends filling out big sets on offense while cornerbacks and safeties were lining up as receivers. They had no time for on-field equipment changes.

     Heather watched identical twins Sheniqua

and Teanna Kai to help each other maneuver their massive boobs ­two pairs of 44Fs­into the breast-cups hinged to their shoulder pads. The players called the cups "titty-clamps." Like all WFL pads, the titty-clamps were transparent. They routinely popped off on their own, so players would toss them aside and line up for the next play bare-breasted.
     Sheniqua, a defensive tackle who was also filling in at left guard on offense, squeezed her vast, coffee-brown tits into her cups while Teanna struggled to swing them shut. Teanna, a right guard lining up alongside her twin as a tackle on the defensive line, looked perplexed as she scooped up Sheniqua's dark melons for another try. With the exception of Krystal Steal's colossal 48J-cups, the twins' tits far surpassed the other girls' on the O-line. Hennessey Copper, the caramel-skinned, 6'4" right tackle, came in at 42E, while left tackle/Saint-Pauli-Girl-look-a-like Lisa Kawalski sported a 44D.
     The Sirens' number two receiver, Kelly Lefebvre, appeared before Heather.
Both of Kelly's pink big nipples were standing firm on her creamy breasts. She hadn't put on her snug half-jersey yet, and her titty-clamps were swung wide open.
     "Clamp me?" she said.
     Heather smiled and nodded. Kelly looked over her shoulder and watched the twins' attempts at squashing their tits into their pads. Heather snuggled Kelly's boobs in place and then snapped the cups together.
     "Think we should help them?" Heather asked.
     Kelly shook her head. "More fun watching." At 34, Kelly, an auburn-haired knockout with legendary legs, was the WFL's oldest player.
     "Think we can come back and win this?" Heather said.
     Kelly shook her head somberly. "We're gonna lose this one. There's nothing we can do about it."
     "What, like it's predestined or something that we lose?"
     "Predestined by the WFL. They wanted a New York Nymphs/Lost Angels match-up. They would've settled for L.A./Houston Hotties, Pittsburgh Pussycats/Miami Vixens game or Frisco Gold Diggers/Vegas Showgirls. Being from South Dakota, we're considered a soft market. If we win, the WFL makes less money and has fewer viewers next year. Pay-2-See-TV wants to see an upward trend, and we can't give them that. So if Los Angeles loses, this'll probably be the WFL's final game."
     "So the WFL's fixed?"
     "It's business now," Kelly said bitterly. "Everything's fixed."
     Heather leaned back and closed her eyes. Outside, the halftime show was in full-swing.
     A "Halftime Flash Wave" had been organized by GGM, and Senior Executive Evelyn Tranh herded the mainstream VIPs out of the sky box before this variation on the wave got going. Entire sections of screaming co-eds jumped to their feet, hitched their tops up for a tit-flash, then sat down. The next section did the same thing. Tits and more tits.
     When the VIPS were out, Evelyn made her escape down the corridor to find a quiet place where she could pump some relief into herself with her lesbian dildo, something she'd been doing more frequently as the WFL's scheme heated up. She required the tension-breaker that only her orgasms could bring.

  "You cows had better start protecting me!" T&A Torres screamed at her teammates in the huddle early in the third quarter.
     "Maybe you should throw the fucking ball!" Sheniqua snarled.
     The entire offensive line was worn ragged. The Lost Angels were predicting the Sirens' plays, and Sioux Falls' situation got even worse when Joyner got hurt. Torres had set the dubious league record for times getting sacked in a game. The Sirens had managed to score 13 points, six of them with Heather Lacey's legs, the rest thanks to a kickoff that Mercedes Chaise returned for a touchdown to open the second half.
     Teanna held Sheniqua back from knocking the quarterback on her ass.

     "Better tighten that leash," T&A said. Then, shaking her head, she eyed the other Sirens as they lined up: Sydney Moon, the heavy-breasted, bubble-butted tight end; Kelly Lefebvre, the Sirens' wide-out; Tabitha Stevens, an exhausted cornerback now filling in at receiver for Joyner; fullback Candice Kain, a fireplug with ample tits and luscious, dark thighs; and the Sirens' stacked back, Yolanda Pierce.
     T&A ignored the blitz L.A. had telegraphed and didn't adjust for the linebacker-heavy three-four stance the defense had taken to counter the Sirens' six-and-out. When T&A dropped back after the snap, the exhausted Sirens offensive line stood straight up and watched the entire Lost Angels defense rush right by them.
     Having been sacked and grabbed so many times, Torres had little left of her uniform. Play-by-play, piece-by-piece, the defense had plucked off T&A's pads. Thus, Torres' bare tits, a pair of awesome 38DDs, flopped freely as she scrambled away, realizing too late that she'd run into the linebacker who'd been making her life hell.
     Miko Lee had also lost her breast pads but had refused to come out for an equipment change. Under her jersey, her tits were swinging as

pendulously as T&A's. Her sweat-streaked, body was a thing of beauty as she closed in on T&A and then pounced, driving the quarterback into the turf with a force that quieted the entire stadium.
     T&A could only stare up at the linebacker, who celebrated her sack by hiking up her jersey, grabbing her big, black tits and half-pumping, half-squeezing them as if squirting milk all over Torres's face. No one noticed Krystal Steal walk over to the Sirens' prone quarterback and order, "Stay down."
     On the sidelines, Goldfish Harring-ton looked terrified as Torres was carted off the field. She had no advice to give Heather, her kicker/backup quarterback, other than the bleak mantra, "Kick it away! Kick it away!"

     Heather found herself at the back of a punt formation. When a breeze licked her damp pussy through her torn shorts, Heather realized her nervousness had turned her on. She knew cameras were zooming in for her X-rated punt, but the camera crew got a shock when the blonde instead bootlegged to the right, pump-faked to the Sirens' fullback, Candice Kain, and then went deep for Krystal Steal , the center who had routinely reported as an eligible tight end on special teams. Krystal Steal caught the ball and lumbered downfield with surprising speed. It took half of the Lost Angels' defense to bring down the bountiful woman.
     Heather sprinted to the new line of scrimmage 15 yards away. With most of the Sirens playing offense and defense, they already had a workable offense on the field. L.A. had a mix that hadn't been ready for the fake punt and no-huddle drive.
     Krystal Steal, back at center, called the audible to change the play before snapping the ball into Heather's hands. Lacey threw another perfect spiral that connected with Tori Tanner 11 yards downfield. After the play, the Lost Angels called timeout to get the right players on the field.
     Reporters rifled through press kits but found nothing to explain how this rookie kicker had come out cold to deliver two perfect strikes. Heather used the L.A. timeout to run to the sideline and exchange her kicker's helmet for one of T&A's wired backups.

  When the WFL scout had approached her during summer break, Heather was more thrilled than she'd let on. Determined to drive guys nuts by stuffing her big breasts into an itsy-bitsy bikini, she and her friends had been playing beach football with a bunch of half-drunk, half-hard guys. Heather had been so into jiggling her huge tits and pretending her nipples were popping out accidentally that she hadn't noticed the scout.
     Heather hadn't handled a ball in years, but she was soon throwing accurate spirals. The guys, all jocks, had started paying less attention to Heather's tits, ass and legs and more attention to defending against the passes that Heather's friends caught in self-defense as ball after ball sailed between

their tits. Humiliated, the guys eventually stalked off. Had the scout not approached just then, Heather's friends would have killed her for not throwing the game.

     "I think you pissed those boys off," the scout said, smiling.
     Heather shrugged. "It's just a game."
     He laughed. "Yeah, but it's a game you won."
     The scout smiled and held out his hand. "My name's Jack Kurtz. I'm working with the WFL. You ever thought about playing professionally?"
     Heather, looked at Kurtz as if he were kidding. "Seriously?"
     "Seriously. You know who those guys were?" When Heather shook her head, he said, "They play for Michigan. Two of them are first-team."
     "Is Michigan good?" Heather asked, although she knew. She didn't want the scout to know she knew. She suspected this meeting wasn't so random and that
Kurtz knew more about her than he'd been letting on. She'd been big news in South Dakota a few years ago for quarterbacking her high school's varsity boys football team to the State Finals.

     "Michigan's very good," he said. "Where're you from?"
     "Canton, Ohio, the birthplace of football. You probably got the game in your blood."
     Heather shook her head. "Canton, South Dakota."
     "Even better. I'm recruiting for the Sioux Falls Sirens. But I'm looking for a kicker, not a quarterback."
     Heather smiled. "I'm better with my legs. I'm going to college on a soccer scholarship."
     "You don't say?" the scout said. He eyed Heather's tan legs.

     They walked over to the parking lot, where Kurtz confirmed Heather's ability to kick a fooball as he checked out her rack. Later, Kurtz put Heather's friends up in a suite GGM kept reserved in Daytona, and Heather was whisked to Sioux Falls, where she met the Sirens' owners and coaches. Heather rapped her knuckles against her helmet. She'd expected crosstalk between Goldfish and the coordinators, but either they were keeping quiet or the wiring had shorted. She jolted when the speaker in her helmet chirped to life.
     "Pat Krystal Steal on the ass if I'm coming through all right," Kurtz said.
     Heather spanked Krystal Steal's ass. The center winked back.

     "Good," Kurtz said breathlessly. "L.A. has Red Harrington's playbook, but we're gonna try some plays they haven't seen."
     He paused, then Heather heard a wet smacking sound, followed by a faint, feminine moan. "Oh, God, your cock tastes so good!" the voice said. When Kurtz grunted, Heather realized he was getting a blow job. She glanced at the dwindling play-clock.
     "All right," Kurtz said. "We're going for a LEFT TIT-FLASH YANK 0-2-1 RED DOG H-CREAM. Remember that one, Heather?"
     They were going deep into the playbook here. When Heather recalled the play, she nodded vigorously for Kurtz to see. She repeated the play to her teammates, who moved into a Weak I-formation. Heather suddenly felt as if she were on an adrenaline/endorphin cocktail as plays blurred together. The aural sex filling her helmet was like a 1970s porn soundtrack as horny Kurtz groaned out passes and runs while some woman purred around a mouthful of his shaft.
     "Oh, God, ram it up my pussy now! I want that hot cock!"
     Heather's nipples strained against her titty-clamps, and musky juices seeped through her torn short-shorts. She was unbearably horny, but her lust kept her focused. The rapid-fire drive toward the end zone was like foreplay. As her team neared the uprights, Heather knew she'd orgasm if they scored. She could hear a wet spanking sound over her speaker while Kurtz grunted. The desire to reach down and frig her pussy was unbearable.
     L.A. didn't know what had hit them as the Sirens scored a touchdown on Heather's short pass to Tori Tanner, then made the score 31-21 after the two-point conversion.
     "I'm coming so hard! Yes-yes-yesss, uhh, shoot all over my pussy! Oh, fuck yeah. Now put it back in my mouth! Hurry! Now!" Heather heard through her headphones.
     But once Kurtz came, he seemed to lose his edge. The entire stadium, which had been getting behind the Sirens, booed when they didn't go for the onside kick and repeated its disgust when the Sirens settled for a field goal on their next possession, leaving them behind 31-24.

     Kurtz had Heather go for the onside kick this time, and, judging from his sounds, Heather imagined that he was fucking the girl in the missionary position, pounding her on top of a table. Heather was so horny for a fuck, she was trembling.

     "No," the girl screamed. "Do me from behind so I can watch!"
     Heather used her long legs to trick L.A. into thinking the ball was going to the hands-team the Sirens had assembled to face L.A.'s own hands-crew, but instead she chipped it straight down the field and charged after it.
     "It's so big. Mmm. Slide it all the way in!" the female voice moaned.
     Heather put just the right amount of spin on the ball and recovered the ball 10 yards downfield. L.A. piled on top of her. At the bottom of the stack, she desperately clung to the ball as her uniform was ripped off her buxom body.
     "Fuck me harder, Jack! Harder! Harder!" Heather couldn't listen to any more. Her pussy juice was dripping down her legs.
     Engulfed by hard bodies and soft tits, Heather felt hands on her breasts and fingers probing her pussy and ass. Kurtz's groans and the mystery-woman's cries filled Heather's helmet, and Heather felt like her pussy was being drilled from behind.
     When Heather emerged from the stack, she found that, although her titty-clamps had disappeared, her snug half-jersey was mostly intact. The other Sirens were staring at her as she walked to the huddle.
     "Why are you looking at me like that?" Heather asked.
     Hennessey laughed and pointed at Heather's pussy. Heather was shocked to find that her shorts were gone, leaving nothing but her little skirt: a decorative frill slung around her hips that didn't come close to covering her blonde muff or her pussy lips. Several Lost Angels had taken Heather's tit-cups and shorts to the stands and hurled them to the crowd.

     Dressed in the world's shortest micro-miniskirt, her liberated tits jutting out from under her jersey, Heather knew every camera in the stadium was on her. She placed the finger inside her naked pussy and raised it to her lips for a cheek-hollowing suck.
     Meanwhile, Kurtz, who was obviously cumming, said. "Look, um, we need to get this tied up, so it's important­OHHH!" And then he was gone.
     The Sirens looked at Heather. Only two minutes remained in the game, and losing her connection with Kurtz made for a dire situation. Heather's erotic euphoria dissolved into nausea.
     "What're we going to do, Heather?" Sheniqua asked.
     "I don't know." She looked at Krystal Steal. "I lost him."
     "Kurtz is gone. We're on our own."
     Krystal Steal shook her head. "Maybe he'll come back."
     "And maybe he won't," Heather said, looking at the clock.

  Although she was otherwise naked, Evelyn had been too ashamed of her freakish nipples to part with her bra. Kurtz, dressed from the waist up, stripped from the waist down, was groaning behind her. Evelyn was bent over the counter that ran along the windows that looked out onto the field. Kurtz had one leg on the counter and was trying to get some leverage on Evelyn's curvy little backside as he thrust into a cunt practically custom-fitted to his big cock. With his cell phone balanced in the crook of his neck, Kurtz gripped Evelyn's hips with both hands to steady her while he got ready to shoot off.
     Evelyn braced herself against the glass with both hands. She half-expected Kurtz to fuck her right through the window, and she moaned as she came again from the cock filling her pussy. She pressed her face to the cool glass as Kurtz impaled her relentlessly, stretching her pussy.
     Knowing Heather was waiting, Kurtz managed to croak, ""Look, um, we need to get this tied up, so it's important­!"
     Kurtz growled and unleashed a blast of white-hot cum. The phone fell off his shoulder and clattered across the floor as he shot his load into Evelyn's pussy. He looked down at the cell phone, knowing he had to get to it, but primitive instinct took over, and he kept pumping into Evelyn's quivering body.
Kurtz forced himself to pull out so he could grab the phone, but Evelyn suddenly wriggled to the floor and scooped it up. Her loose A-cup bra had slid down her scrawny shoulders, revealing her fully erect nipples. They had to be over two inches long.

     Kurtz stared at her in disbelief. "What's going on?"
     "That was a nice fuck, Jack," Evelyn said as some of the huge volume of cum Kurtz had creamed into her came trickling out of her cunt. She smiled darkly at Kurtz, then hurled his cell phone as hard as she could against the wall, breaking it into pieces.
     "But playtime's over," she said. "Back to work."

L.A. busted up two passing plays in a row. One left Heather rolling in the turf until the two-minute warning. The other was a brutal sack by Kazandra. Heather had never been hit so hard. Boys, mesmerized by her massive tits and pretty smile, had always taken it easy on her. But these girls, every one of whom had big boobs, didn't let up.
     Krystal Steal pointed at the clock. "Hurry," she urged Heather.
     Heather stumbled to the line and whispered to Krystal Steal, "I need a sec."
     "We don't have a second!" Krystal Steal snapped.
     "Where are we?"
     "Miami. Jesus, Heather, are…?"
     "No, I mean what yard-line?"
     "Third-and-13 at our own 19."
     "I can't even see straight!"
     "Get into a shotgun and keep the count going," Krystal Steal said. "I'll worry about the clock."

     Heather stared between Krystal Steal's thighs, fixated on the center's vast rack and her big brown nipples that brushed against the turf. Then, so imperceptibly as to make Heather think she'd hallucinated, one of Krystal Steal's gigantic breasts swayed a fraction of an inch. A Lost Angels tackle charged across the line, bringing flags and the referee's whistle. Krystal Steal's swaying tit had drawn the Lost Angels offside.
     Heather had her wits back and stared at Yolanda Pierce. Most of the front of Yolanda's half-jersey had been torn off and her titty-clamps were gone, leaving her big breasts in full view.
     "We need three yards," Heather said in the huddle.
     The Sirens lined up. Heather shoved the ball at Yolanda. Tucking the smooth, brown oblong shape to her chest, Yolanda followed Candice Kain toward the hole in the offensive line. The Lost Angels quickly closed the gap. Sharp-eyed defensive backs moved closer just in case Yolanda surged past the linewomen. Kazandra Kleeves tried to strip the thing from Yolanda and realized the big brown object was really one of the halfback's breasts. By then, Heather, who actually had had the ball, passed the ball downfield to Kelly. Kelly caught the ball just as she was tackled, then got to her feet and limped to the huddle.

     "Same play as before," Heather said. "Weak side."
     "They won't fall for it again," Yolanda said, rubbing her sore tit.
     "They'll fall for it,"Krystal Steal said, then she turned and looked at Teanna and Sheniqua. "If Heather completes this one, you two do your thing. On four."
     Heather's bare tits were resting on Krystal Steal's voluptuous ass as she took the count to a hut-four, bringing the ball up from between Krystal Steal's thighs.
Kelly stayed back to help Candice block for Yolanda while Tori went out for the pass. Yolanda again faked the run, allowing Tori to run downfield by herself, undefended.
     Heather reared back as far as she could and threw. The ball moved so fast, it made a sizzling noise as it spiraled over L.A.'s defense and struck Tori between her titty-clamps. Tori caught the ball, then plowed her way through a linebacker before charging forward. Kazandra Kleeves came out of nowhere, moving with blistering speed that made her huge breasts bounce crazily until she caught up to Tori and tackled her.
     Krystal Steal called timeout. Heather cursed. They weren't near the 50-yard line. Then she saw that both Sheniqua and Teanna were rolling on the ground in pain and grabbing their huge chests. The trainers came out onto the field, but Krystal Steal was more concerned with the next play than with the Jones girls.
     "Tit-fuck ‘em now," Krystal Steal said.
     Heather looked at Krystal Steal as if she were crazy, then nodded.
     The trainers, who'd yanked off the twins' jerseys, worked fast to get the girls back into their tops. The fans cheered as the Sirens lined up once more with both twins back in action.

     Heather handed off to Yolanda, who put her head down and followed Candice Kain as she had on the previous plays. This time, though, it wasn't her tit she was holding. Sheniqua made an expert move that floored L.A.'s stunned nose tackle. Heather grinned when she realized the twins had faked their injuries and pulled a shell-game by switching jerseys and lining up in each other's positions. L.A. had expected Sheniqua but got Teanna and her gifted blocking. Yolanda Pierce skipped right through the hole provided by Teanna. Thanks to the previous two fake handoffs, the Lost Angels' linebackers were playing far off the ball. Yolanda was now in open field and gaining ground as the Lost Angels' backs closed in on her.

     With seconds remaining in the fourth quarter and no timeouts remaining, Yolanda realized she was stranded in the center of the field and wouldn't reach the end zone before being tackled. She spun past a safety but was picked up by two more defenders, both boxing Yolanda in on either side to trap her inbounds and run out the clock. Without breaking stride, Yolanda wedged the football in her cleavage and then straight-armed both pursuers at once, allowing her to race to the sidelines and run out of bounds with the ball snuggled between her luscious mounds with four seconds left.
     In spite of Yolanda's run, the Sirens were still 40 yards away from the end zone. Heather looked around the huddle until her gaze fell on Kelly Lefebvre, who was massaging her long legs.
     Kelly looked up. "What?"
     "Think you can make it?" Heather said, nodding toward the end zone.
     "Can you throw the ball that far?" Kelly asked.
     "Probably not."
     "Me, neither," Kelly said, smiling. "Still, it'd be interesting to find out, you know, just to be sure."

Story courtesy of SCORE Magazine online, makers of and

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Last update: 11/20/2005; 4:46:31 PM.