The game goes on

By halftime, the Sharks clearly have the upper hand.

Sure, they're playing in what amounts to no more than tiny little string bikinis. Their shorts are basically thongs, exposing every last inch of their toned athletic backsides. Their nipples keep popping out of their sports bras, now reduced to little more than inch-thin straps which barely conceal their full breasts. They're red-faced, blushing, jiggling, casting dirty looks at the crowd as they leap around the field.

But every time an Eel touches a ball, her pants fall down. There's no such thing as panties in elf volleyball. The girls squeal prettily as their shorts plummet to the floor, cupping their hands between their thighs to cover their tender blue pussies, their pert bottoms revealed in all their lovely feminine glory. Meadow misses one easy shot after another, dancing around the field, clutching at her sports bra as it threatens to slip away as well.

They're just about able to keep in the game, but only by forfeiting their dignity. One by one, the Eels have to kick off their shorts, sacrificing their modesty and their privacy in favour of mobility and one last meagre chance of winning the game. Bras follow, entangling arms and slipping off shoulders.

So by half-time, the Eels are completely naked.

And the crowd isn't letting them forget it. Even the Eels fan club is chanting "Nice tits, Meadow!" and "Where's your panties, girls!" whenever the team of naked losers misses a shot. At half-time they go into a huddle, faces pressed together, bare bottoms presented to the crowd as they try to ignore the Sharks' jeers and the wolf-whistles of the audience.

"We need a strategy, girls!" barks Meadow to her team-mates. "We can still pull this off!"

"But, Meadow, we're naked!"

"Shut up!"