The last minute

Fifty seconds. Chelsea's teammates were also tired, they were trying to score fast, but the other team's were not leaving it easy.

Chelsea heard her stomach gurgling.

Forty seconds. Chelsea had given up on the game, barely moving from their place to prevent the ball from touching the ground, but that's nothing more. Her teammates didn't even bother to tell her anything.

Thirty seconds. Chelsea couldn't take it anymore. She had felt that the piece of poop had descended further and that she was now touching the fabric of her panties.

Twenty seconds. His team was very close to winning, but they needed Chelsea's help. All she had to do was pass the ball to the teammate who was the setter, and that's it, the others would take care of the rest.

Ten seconds. Chelsea had managed to pass the ball to her teammate. She only prayed that she would score and end her martyrdom as quickly as possible.

Nine seconds. The strategy did not work.

Eight seconds. Chelsea was already thinking about her strategy to escape.

Seven seconds. Her poop moved again.

Six seconds. Chelsea felt a strong cramp in her stomach, which prevented her from moving.

Five seconds. A fart shot out of her ass, which echoed throughout the gym.

Four seconds. That hadn't been just a fart.

Three seconds. The attention of all his teammates was on Chelsea at that moment. They had discovered that she had been the one who farted.

Two seconds. Chelsea felt her tears threatening to come out.

One second. Another load threatened to leave.

Zero.

The game is over.

The Chelsea's team had won. Chelsea was free to leave.