Mel, Kenna, Tasha, and Brie, four women playing racquet ball - A magic whistle that enforces the rules

Mel Hartley tossed her gym bag onto the floor just outside Court 3, rolling her shoulders and listening to the familiar squeaks of sneakers and the sharp thock-thock-thock of rubber balls slamming against glass walls. The mature women, often described as a MILF by her daughters guy friends, had a curvy frame that drew stares at the YMCA, particularly her plump ass, and was toned from years of racquetball and a confident posture that made her presence felt. Her auburn hair was tied back in a practical ponytail, and she carried herself with the easy authority of someone used to balancing work and play.

“God, I needed this,” she muttered. “Work was a nightmare.”

Her daughter Kenna, was already loosening up her serving arm. At nineteen she had the boundless energy of someone who hadn’t yet felt real joint pain, and she flaunted it mercilessly. She was a student at the local community college and still lived at home. She had the trim, athletic body of a gymnast, and the flexibility to match. Although not nearly as curvy as her mom, her pert butt drew as many stares as her mother’s did in the tight athletic shorts she wore.

“You ready to lose, Mom?” Kenna said, bouncing a racquetball off the wall and catching it with lazy ease.

Mel snorted. “You keep talking like that, I’m gonna remind you who taught you every move you know.”

The glass door clattered open as Tasha Moreno swept in, her ponytail swishing, tank top bright enough to violate several decency ordinances. “Ladies! And Kenna,” she added with a teasing wink. Tasha exuded strength, and was amateur body builder. Tall and powerful, she knew she was built like wonder woman and wasn’t afraid to flaunt it.

Kenna rolled her eyes, already laughing.

Following her was Brielle Collins, quieter, softer, hugging her racquet to her chest like she needed emotional support from the thing. She offered a small wave. “Sorry I’m late,” Bree said. “Traffic.” Not nearly as fit as the other three women, Brielle still turned heads with her ample curves. Thick thighs, a nice fat ass, and a chest that pushed F cup straining against the sports bra she wore under her tank top.

Mel smiled. “No worries. What’s the plan? Same as always? Me and Kenna versus you two?”

“Only if you’re ready to get demolished again,” Tasha purred.

“Last week was a fluke,” Mel shot back. (It wasn’t, but she’d never admit that out loud.)

The four of them stepped onto the court, the enclosed space echoing with their voices. The glass walls trapped every sound, every breath. Mel loved the intimacy of racquetball, the way you were all sealed in together with no escape from laughter or smack talk.

They took their places at the center line, stretching and warming up. Kenna launched into a series of jumping lunges; Tasha responded with exaggerated, dramatic push-ups, alternating between one arm and clapping push-ups to show off; Bree followed along gently, doing whatever seemed least likely to draw attention.

Mel felt loose, ready, alive. “Alright,” she called. “First to fifteen wins. Losers buy smoothies.

Tasha served first.

THWACK — the ball bounced off the front wall like a gunshot, ricocheting low and fast.

Kenna darted left, graceful as only a nineteen-year-old athlete could be. She lunged, swung…

SMACK — the ball rocketed back, arcing just high enough to keep the volley alive.

“Nice!” Mel called.

Tasha dove for it, laughing, her ponytail snapping behind her.

Bree scrambled after the next bounce, making a soft squeaking noise as her shoes slipped on the polished floor. Her return hit the side wall, clipped the back wall, and died just short of Mel’s reach.

“Point to us!” Tasha crowed.

Bree clapped politely, cheeks pink.

Mel rolled her eyes. “Warm-up point. Don’t get cocky.”

The next rally was longer, faster. Kenna’s serves were brutal, slamming the ball in tight zigzags that **** Bree to practically sprint across the court. Mel loved watching her daughter play: legs coiled like springs, racquet slicing through the air with perfect form.

Mel got into it too, her muscles remembering the rhythm. Pivot. Swing. Recover. Her heartbeat syncing with the echoing thuds off the glass.

At one point, Tasha went for a risky drop shot.

“Dirty,” Mel muttered under her breath.

“You love it,” Tasha shot back.

Mel sprinted forward and returned it with a narrow rebound just above the tin. It skimmed the wall and died in the back corner.

Kenna whooped. “That’s 6-3!”

Tasha groaned dramatically. “This is rigged. I want a rules committee.”

Bree giggled, brushing a curl behind her ear. “Let’s just keep playing…”

By the time the score reached 11–8, Hartleys leading, all four women were flushed and catching their breath. Mel leaned her shoulder against the side wall, taking a long drink from her water bottle.

“Okay,” she wheezed good-naturedly. “Two-minute break, then we finish this match and—”

CLICK

The door to the court opened and shut, a pudgy boy sheepishly entering. He was wearing a pair of loose athletic shorts and a shirt bearing the logo of the local college, both looking like they’d seen better days. His skin had numerous patches of acne and scarring from where he’d clearly picked at it in the past. Around his neck was a battered looking whistle on a leather cord. He carried a sports bag that was filled with some sort of equipment. His eyes roved over the bodies of the girls, and he licked his lips hungrily.

“Excuse me? This courts taken.” Mel said.

“Oh…uh…um…I’m like…” The boy stuttered, and then held up the whistle. “I’m…here to ref…”

“Is that…Reginald? Mom…I think he’s a student at the college. Pretty sure he’s in math with me. I think…he’s kind of a perv.” Kenna whispered the other women.

That was all Tasha needed to hear. She knew the effect she had on little men who tried to perv. She drew herself up to her full height, flexed her muscles a bit, and began stalking towards the boy, a scowl on her face. “I think you’ve made a mistake buddy. We don’t need some peeping tom Why don’t you turn your ass right back around.”

Reginald backed up until he hit the wall, a look of panic on his face. He glanced back and forth as if looking for help before his eyes widened as if he’d just realized something. He brought the whistle up to his lips.

TWEEEEET!

“I’m uh…here to be the ref…for your match.” He stuttered out.

“Oh god, why didn’t you say so in the first place.” Mel exhaled, a look of relief on her face.

Tasha had a broad grin break out on her face. “Oh wow, sorry about the misunderstanding.” She clapped Reggie on the back. “We definitely need someone to keep these two cheaters in check.”

Kenna stuck her tongue out playfully at her mom’s friend, all her earlier fears forgotten. “Looks who’s talking.”

Reggie stepped into the court, scratching the back of his neck like he wasn’t totally sure why he was doing this, either. He cleared his throat. “Uhh..I think the first order of business should be…Logistics issue,” he said, like he’d just realized it. “Hard to keep track of teams. You’re all dressed the same.”

Tasha blinked.

“…We are?”

They looked down at themselves, four women in dark athletic shorts and fitted tops, racquets dangling loosely at their sides. Sure, they were all SORT of similarly dressed but it was never an issue before.

Brie looked confused. “But there’s just the four of us? Why is that a concern.”

TWEEEEET!

“Easy fix.” He said, trying to project some confidence into his voice. “Just like in the school yard. Shirts vs Skins.”

Silence between the girls. Then…Mel snorted. “Oh my god. Like playground dodgeball?”

Kenna laughed. “That’s actually… kind of genius.”

A huge, shit eating grin broke out on Reggie’s face. “You two,” he pointed at Tasha and Brie, “are skins. So tops off.”

The two girls couldn’t help but laugh as they stripped off their tank tops and sports bras.

Tasha hooked her thumbs under the hem of her tank and paused a beat, like she was stretching between volleys. Then, never missing a chance to show off what her hard work at the gym earned her, she playfully tightened her abdomen, causing six solid, thick-cut ridges that looked carved more than merely toned. “Hope you ladies don’t mind seeing a bit more muscle today!”

As the fabric of her sports bra slid upward, and her torso flexed as she lifted her arms. Her lats flared across her back, wide and sculpted, tapering inward to a narrow waist. Muscles moved under her skin. shoulders rolling, triceps shifting, the whole chain of her physique working together. Despite the musculature, she still had an impressive B cup breast, and her nipples stood at attention.

Brie blushes slightly as she realizes it's her turn. With a shy smile, she grasps the hem of her shirt and slowly pulls it up and over her head. As the garment clears her face, it reveals a truly breathtaking sight, Brie's enormous, gravity-defying breasts spilling free, barely constrained by a sports bra that seems seconds away from bursting at the seams. Her ample cleavage draws the eye like a magnet, the soft mounds jiggling enticingly with even the slightest movement. Below that she had a slight belly, the cute soft tummy that most guys she knew dreamed of resting their heads on.

“Oh my, Brie!” Melissa exclaimed, her eyes wide with genuine awe. “I knew you were big, but never realized exactly how big!. Those poor bras never stood a chance!”

Kenna giggles and added “Seriously, girl, the baggy hoodie look does you ZERO favors! If you’ve got it, flaunt it. And you’ve got em.”

Brie's cheeks flush an even deeper shade of pink at the attention focused on her ample bosom. She ducked her head shyly, causing her breasts to bounce slightly with the motion. “W-well, they do come in handy sometimes...” she stammered, trying to play it cool despite her embarrassment. “Great for intimidating opponents on the court, right?”

She attempted a playful wink, but it comes out more like a nervous blink. Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she inadvertently drew the eye to the way her breasts swayed hypnotically with every tiny movement. “I hope you ladies don't mind the view too much.” She added with a self-deprecating laugh.

TWEEET!

“N..now you two…” Reggie pointed at Kenna and Mel. “Since they’re Skins…you’re shirts. So, you need to take your bottoms off.”

Mel looked to her daughter first. Kenna already had her racquet tucked under one arm, hip cocked in that impatient, competitive way that always reminded Mel of her own teenage years. The “shirts team” rule had been declared, and neither of them questioned it.

Kenna hooked her fingers into the waistband of her athletic shorts.

They were snug, stretched over runner’s thighs that spoke of hours of court drills and sprint workouts. She peeled them down in one smooth, practiced motion, a movement that made her quads flex beneath sun-gold skin, tendons drawing sharp lines across the tops of her legs. Her pert, athletic ass, perfectly sculpted from countless hours on the court and track came into view. The globes of her buttocks were firm and round, tapering smoothly into the backs of her powerful thighs. Contrasting nicely to her tanned thighs and ass, was her pale, cleanly shaven mons. The shorts hit the floor with a soft slap, and Kenna kicked one heel free, balanced, then stepped out of them like she was taking off track gear after a meet.

Mel followed more slowly. Her body was fuller, softer, her ass easily the most curvaceous of the group. The curve of her hips pushed the waistband outward as she slid her fingers under it, tugging the elastic inch by inch. The fabric eased down over the swell of her ass. She shifted her weight to one leg, letting the shorts drift past her thighs, the hem brushing lightly over the contour of muscle beneath. In contrast to her daughter, she had a small, neatly trimmed patch of fine downy hair between her legs.

Reggie’s eyes widened, darting back and forth between the four women as if trying to memorize every curve, every jiggle. He swallowed hard, his throat working visibly against the collar of his shirt. “Uh…t-that’s…that’s perfect,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He fumbled with his whistle for a moment before managing to grip it properly between suddenly sweaty fingers. “L-let’s play!”

The next serve was pure chaos, not because of the game itself, but because every movement sent ripples through flesh and muscle, a mesmerizing dance of athleticism and raw sensuality that Reggie couldn’t keep his eyes off of.

Kenna lunged for a low return, her tight ass flexing as she pivoted, the smooth globes bouncing with the sudden stop-and-go motion. Her thighs, toned from years of competition, trembled slightly with the effort, the play of muscle beneath her skin drawing Reggie’s gaze like a moth to flame.

Tasha, ever the showoff, put extra power into her swings, her thickly corded shoulders rolling with each strike. Her breasts, smaller but firm, jiggle enticingly as she moved, although her pecs did most of the work to keep them steady, and her abs clenched and released like a living sculpture, sweat glistening in the valleys between each defined ridge. When she leapt for a high shot, her powerful legs propelled her upward, the muscles in her thighs straining visibly.

Brie struggled a bit more than the others, her generous curves rebelling against quick stops and starts. Her breasts, heavy and unrestrained, bounced with every step, the weight of them pulling her off balance slightly with every shift in momentum. Her soft belly jiggled as she scrambled for a low shot, her thick thighs rubbing together with a faint, slick sound from sweat and exertion.

Mel moved with the confidence of experience, her mature body swaying with each calculated step. When she bent to retrieve a stray ball, her ass, round and full, strained against gravity, the cheeks parting slightly before snapping back together as she straightened.

Reggie’s whistle hung forgotten from his lips as he gawked, his face flushed, his hand groping the bulge in his shorts. "Uh…fault!" he blurted belatedly when Tasha’s serve sailed out of bounds, his voice cracking.

Kenna smirked. "You sure that’s the only fault here, ref?"

The women burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the glass as Reggie’s ears burned red.

TWEEEEET!!

“Uh…ok for the penalty….” He had a look of anger on his face from the women’s laughter, and sputtered angrily, “Is you need to play the next set with a mouthful of cum. Swallowing or spitting it out early results in forfeiture of points!”

“Oh my god, what?” Kenna choked, her smirk vanishing.

Mel’s grip tightened around her racquet. “That’s not…that’s not a real rule.”

Reggie’s grin widened, shaky but triumphant. He fumbled with the ties to his athletic shorts, before pulling them down, revealing his hard cock. “House rules,” he croaked. “Section 4.2. Player conduct penalties. Mouth… uh, mouth discipline.”

Brie’s hands flew to cover her breasts, her face scarlet. “That’s…no, that’s not…a bit much”

Tasha snorted, flexing her shoulders. “Guys, cmon. He’s the ref, why would he lie about a penalty?” She was already walking towards him and dropped to her knees, taking his cock in her hand and pumping slowly before leaning in and giving the tip a kiss.

The other women looked mollified. Mel spoke up. “I guess you’re right. It doesn’t make sense for the official ref to make up some stupid rule.”

Tasha's lips wrapped around Reggie's cock with theatrical enthusiasm, but the moment the tip hit her tongue, her nostrils flared. The musky, unwashed scent of stale sweat and locker room funk hit her like a physical ****, like gym socks left to ferment in a damp bag. She suppressed a gag, her throat tightening as the bitterness of precum mixed with something distinctly... cheesy. Her brow twitched, but she powered through, pumping him with practiced strokes while her other hand pinched her nose shut.

Reggie's hips jerked forward eagerly, his fingers tangling in her ponytail. "Ohhh fuck, yeah, just like…" His voice cracked into a wheeze as Tasha hollowed her cheeks, her tongue swiping along the underside where a suspicious crust of dried... something clung to his skin. She scraped it off with her teeth, grimacing as it dissolved into a gritty paste on her tongue. “Dude,” she thought, “Has this kid ever washed?” Still, she had a job to do, a penalty to work off. She fought the urge to cough.

Across the court, Kenna wrinkled her nose. "Jesus, is that... smell coming from him?" she whispered to her mom.

Mel fanned her face, her racquet dangling forgotten at her side. "Like a rat died inside a gym sock.” she muttered back.

Reggie's breath came in ragged gasps, his grip tightening painfully in Tasha's hair. "Gonna…gonna cum!" he warned, his voice pitching into a whine. Tasha's eyes widened in alarm,she'd expected more time, but before she could pull away, hot, ropey spurts flooded her mouth. The taste was somehow worse than the smell: salty-sour with a metallic afterbite, like a penny left in a jar of spoiled milk. She gagged for real this time, her throat convulsing as she struggled to hold the disgusting liquid in her mouth so as not to incur a second penalty.

Brie covered her mouth, torn between horror and laughter. "Oh my God, can you play like that?"

Tasha sprang to her feet, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk hoarding rancid nuts. She gave a thumbs-up, her eyes watering. "Mmf!" she attempted, nodding vigorously.

Play resumed with Tasha positioned at the backline, her jaw clenched tight, her nostrils flaring with every panicked inhale. Every bounce of the ball sent a fresh wave of sloshing movement through the foul liquid in her mouth. A trickle escaped the corner of her lips, but she caught it with the back of her wrist, blinking away tears.

Mel served, her swing tight with distraction. The ball ricocheted off the side wall, and Tasha lunged only for a glob of cum to slide down her throat. She choked, clutching her throat as she barely managed to return the shot.

Brie frowned. "Focus, girl! You're letting them score!"

TWEEEEET!

“Penalty.” He said, pointing at Brie.

“Me?! What did I do?”

“Uhhh…Section 12.8,” Reggie stammered, his eyes darting between Brielle’s jiggling breasts and the rulebook he hadn’t even opened. “Player…distraction. Unfair visual…advantage.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Penalty is…uh…must give the ref an enthusiastic tit job, complete with dirty talk, and then take a facial.”

Brie’s hands instinctively flew to cover herself, her soft belly quivering as she stammered, “Th-that can’t be a…”

“Its in the rulebook!” Reggie interrupted, his voice cracking with **** authority, as he held up copy of the rulebook he had yet to even crack open. His cock, still glistening with Tasha’s spit and remnants of his own sour release, twitched against his thigh. A thin sheen of sweat and something vaguely yellowish clung to the base of his shaft, the scent wafting up like a noxious cloud of used gym socks. Brie’s stomach lurched as she inched forward, her plush thighs brushing together with hesitant steps.

When she finally knelt before him, her heavy breasts spilled into her hands, the warm weight of them pillowing against her forearms. Reggie’s breath hitched as she sandwiched his cock between them, the heat of her flesh a stark contrast to the clammy stickiness of his skin. She **** a giggle, pitching her voice higher than usual. “Ohhh, you’re so big,” she lied, her nose wrinkling as a whiff of something fungal, like unwashed foreskin left in a damp jockstrap hit her sinuses. Her tits jiggled as she slid them up and down, the friction making his cock twitch against her cleavage. A bead of precum smeared across her sternum, the tacky string of it clinging like spoiled glue.

Reggie’s fingers dug into her shoulders as he thrust between her breasts, his hips stuttering. “Yeah, fuck, talk dirtier,” he panted, his breath reeking of stale energy drinks. Brie’s cheeks burned, but she **** a moan, her voice trembling. “Y-you’re gonna make me so messy,” she whimpered, her throat tight with the urge to gag. His tip bumped her chin, leaving a wet trail that smelled like expired milk and unwashed laundry.

“Ohhh fuck,” Reggie moaned, his fingers clutching her hair now. “Tell me…tell me how bad you want it.”

Brie swallowed bile. “I…I need your cum,” she **** out, her voice wavering. The lie burned worse foul stench in her nostrils. “Wanna be…your dirty little…racquetball slut.” The words tasted like ash. His cock twitched against her chin again, smearing another glob of precum along her jawline. She fought the urge to wipe it away, knowing it would only earn her another penalty.

“Louder,” he demanded, his voice trembling. “Say it like you mean it.”

Brie’s breath shuddered. She could feel the others watching. “Just get through this. She, whispered, and then **** a moan, pitching her voice higher. “P-please, ref,” she whimpered, her face burning under the drying mess. “Wanna be your…your cum dump. Wanna swallow every drop.” The words choked her, but Reggie’s gasp of pleasure made her stomach lurch

Reggie’s cock pulsed against her collarbone. “G-gonna cum!” he warned, his voice cracking. Brie’s stomach twisted. She didn’t want his mess on her face but the penalty was clear. She braced herself, her fingers tightening around her own breasts as his hips jerked. The first spurt hit her cheekbone, warm and thicker than she expected, the scent musky and sour. She flinched, but held still, her breath hitching as another rope splashed across her nose. It dripped toward her lips, and she clenched her teeth, refusing to let it in.

Reggie slumped in his chair breathless, spent

TWEEEEET!

“P-penalty!” Reggie wheezed, pointing at Mel. “You…uh…Section 9.3. Failure to… uh… applaud the ref’s performance.” His cock, slowly softening and glistening with a combination of his own funk, Tasha’s saliva, and Brie’s cleavage sweat, twitched pathetically. “Penalty is… uh….” He looked around the room before his eyes settled on Mel. “69 your partner. 15 minutes while your opponents cheer you on, so I can catch my breath.”

Mel and Kenna exchanged horrified glances. Kenna muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “fucking bullshit.” Slowly, reluctantly, they lowered themselves onto the court floor, positioning themselves in mirrored arcs. Kenna’s toned legs trembled slightly as she hovered over her mother’s face, her pulse hammering in her throat. Mel’s breath hitched as Kenna’s hips settled above her, her daughter’s tight cunt inches from her nose.

The scent of sweat and something faintly floral, likely Kenna’s body wash. filled Mel’s senses as she hesitated. This was wrong. So wrong. But the rules were the rules, right? The ref had laid out the penalty and they had to deal with it. She swallowed hard, her lips parting slightly as Kenna shifted above her, her thighs pressing against Mel’s shoulders. Across from her, Kenna’s breath came in shallow gasps, her fingers gripping Mel’s hips as she lowered her face inch by inch.

Reggie’s whistle blew again. “No hesitation! Full contact, or penalty doubles!” His voice cracked with excitement, his half-hard cock twitching as he groped at it, trying to coax it back to hardness.

Kenna squeezed her eyes shut and let go.

Their tongues moved tentatively at first, then with growing desperation, spurred on by the hoots and jeers of Tasha and Brie who were, admittedly, enjoying the show far more than they cared to admit.

Brie’s fingers pinched her own nipples absently as she watched, her lips parted. “Damn, Kenna,” she exhaled. “You’re really going for it.”

Kenna whimpered against her mother’s slick folds, the vibrations making Mel buck beneath her.

“Cheer louder!” Reggie demanded, as he watched, enraptured. His cock strained back to life, bobbing obscenely. “Tell her how good she looks licking her moms pussy!”

Brie groaned, rolling her eyes, but complied. “Yeah, Kenna!” she called, her voice dripping with sarcasm…mostly. “Lick that pussy like you mean it!”

Mel’s fingers dug into her daughters pert ass as her daughter’s tongue swiped in broad, **** strokes. She arched off the floor, her thighs clamping around Kenna’s head as pleasure coiled tight in her gut. Her own tongue gently probed her daughters slick folds, finding the clit and circling it delicately.

Kenna came first—a sharp, shuddering gasp, her thighs trembling violently—and Mel followed only seconds later, her body stiffening before collapsing back onto the sweaty court floor. They stayed locked together for a long moment, panting, sticky, mortified…and strangely satisfied.

TWEEEET!!

Reggie’s grin was predatory. “Good job ladies. Penalty served.” He licked his lips, glancing between the spent women and his own still-hard cock. “Now…time for the tie breaker! Each women must insert their racquet handle first into their asshole. Then...a relay race...first team to do 10 laps is the winner. If the Racquet falls out, you lose 3 laps.”

Brie blanched. “I…you can’t be serious.”

Tasha, however, was already reaching behind herself, lubing her grip with a mix of leftover sweat and spit, her other hand guiding the tapered end of her racquet handle toward her clenched hole. “Rules are rules,” she grunted, pushing the tip inside with a slow, deliberate twist. Her thick thighs quivered as she worked it deeper, her abs flexing with the effort. “Cmon Brie, we can’t lose to these two again!” She moved over and took her friends racquet, guiding the racquet against her tight holer and shoved it home with a single brutal thrust. Brie’s scream was half pain, half pleasure, her legs buckling as she dropped to her knees.

“Th…Thanks.” She murmured as she struggled to her feet.

“No problem. I think depth is gonna be key here. Don’t let that racquet fall!” Tasha half encouraged, half reprimanded her partner.

Mel cursed under her breath, her fingers slicking her own handle with the remnants of Kenna’s arousal, using that to lube the handle of her racquet. She winced as the cold aluminum breached her, the stretch burning just enough to make her hips jerk. Kenna herself, fumbled with her grip, her smaller frame struggling to accommodate the width, until her mother assisted her, gently shoving it in. “Its all about the clench honey. Don’t let it fall out.”

TWEEEEET!

Reggie’s whistle cut through their groans. “Go!” he barked, his cock twitching back to life as the women lurched forward, their movements hobbled by the intrusive lengths jutting obscenely from their asses. Brie whimpered with each step, her thick ass jiggling violently around the embedded handle, her tits swaying majestically as she waddled forward.

Tasha, ever the competitor, sprinted ahead, only for the friction to send a shockwave of pleasure up her spine, making her stumble. She quickly recovered, and kept her lead.

Mel gritted her teeth, her stride shortening as the handle rubbed against her sensitive walls. She waddled slowly forward, a look of determination on her face, struggling to keep up with her more athletic friend.

By lap three, Kenna was a mess, her thighs slick with a mix of sweat and arousal, her voice hoarse from grunting with each **** stride. The handles, warmed by their bodies now, slid easier, too easy almost and with each step, the subtle *clench-release* threatened to cause the racquet to fall out.

Suddenly….CLATTER!

Brie looked mortified as she lost the clench and her racquet slid slowly out of her ass, hitting the floor. Frantically she bent over, picked it up, and shoved it back in, but the damage had been done. Although Tasha had easily finished her 10 laps first, Kenna and Mel both crossed the finish line long before Brie.

TWEET!

“OK, you two…” Reggie said, full of confidence, the shy side of his personality long since eclipsed by this new, sadistic persona, “the reward for winning is me fucking those tight cunts.”

Mel gasped as Reggie pushed her onto her back, his fat frame heavy as he settled between her thighs. His cock, still tacky with with the various juices and unwashed funk, slid against her folds, the sour musk of him making her nose wrinkle. “You’re gonna take it like a good mommy, huh?” he panted, his hips jerking forward without finesse.

Mel arched off the floor with a gasp as he slid into her, her nails digging into his tubby shoulders. He fucked her in short, frantic thrusts, his breath reeking of stale Doritos and nervous sweat. Across the court, Kenna watched, her own thighs rubbing together, whether in horror or arousal, she couldn’t tell.

Reggie came too soon, his spunk flooding Mel’s pussy in hot, uneven spurts. He pulled out with a wet pop, panting, before staggering toward Kenna. “Your turn,” he slurred, dragging her onto all fours.

He slapped her ass, and quivered as he positioned himself behind her. He didn’t bother with foreplay, just shoved inside with a grunt. Kenna’s forehead hit the floor, her fingers splaying wide as he hammered into her, his balls slapping against her with each messy thrust.

“Take it you little slut…this is for ignoring me in Chem!” He yelled, thrusting into her roughly from behind.

Kenna’s moans echoed off the walls as Reggie’s hips stuttered. “G-gonna cum again!” he whined, his fingers digging into her hips.

Mel, still dripping, rolled onto her side. “Just…just take it, baby,” she sighed, exhausted. “The quicker he finishes, the quicker we can shower.”

Kenna squeezed her eyes shut, and moaned as she felt him shoot what little ejaculate he had left into her cunt.

The four women stood up and began doing cooldown stretches, Reggie, panting on the ground, admired his handywork. All four of them had some degree of his spunk plastered on their bodies. Brie had the lions share of it, her face and chest covered with what hadn’t run off due to her sweating. Tasha had a bit that she had failed to swallow plastered to her chin, while both Kenna and Mel had had his release dripping down their inner thighs.

Grinning, he brought the whistle up to his lips…

TWEEET!!

“Ladies, regulatory celebration needs to be conducted.” He pointed at Tasha. “All of you go to her place, and conduct a 72 hour lesbian orgy. No stopping, except for hydration. Get toys if you think you’ll need ‘em. If you get hungry…get foods you can lick off each others bodies. Skip work, classes, whatever, I don’t care.”

The four women looked between each other and sighed. “Well, it’s the rules…” Mel said, reluctantly.

Reggie watched with a shit-eating grin as all four women headed out of the court, mouthing a silent “thank you god” towards his whistle.