The Widow's Gift Pt. 03

Carmen ran out onto the pitch under the raucous cheering of her fans and the loud groans of discontent from the opposing side.

Let them grumble. Her team had managed to even the scores during her penalty time out, and her noble sacrifice had cost Chicago State their best kicker. Now Carmen was back on the field, the tides had well truly turned, and another brutal victory was all but in the bag.

She licked her lips in anticipation and frowned at the saccharin flavor she tasted there.

Coach Holt had led the team into the locker room at half-time, only to find Carmen napping on one of the long timber bench seats. The weird thing was that she didn't remember laying down or much beyond storming off the field after the referee flashed her the all-too-familiar yellow card.

It was all part of the plan, of course. Pushing too hard and getting a red card with the accompanying match ban in the first half would have removed Carmen from play too early. Robbing her team of her bloodthirsty talents in the second half of the game.

That simply wouldn't do.

Carmen ignored the crowd but inwardly reveled in their cheers and jeers in equal measure. Her shoulder-length raven hair was pulled back into a strict high ponytail, and her jersey was knotted up at the side to leave her flat, toned midriff exposed for hungry eyes to devour.

The blue athletic skort had frustrated Carmen at first. The skimpy wrap-around skirt/yoga shorts combination was something pretentious tennis ladies favored, not dedicated practitioners of foot-the-ball. Soccer players wore running shorts or those airy microfiber weave pants that ended above the knees and gave them plenty of room to move.

It had seemed like whoever was in charge of designing the UIS team uniform was pandering to the masses-the male masses in particular-and Carmen resented it as a serious sportswoman.

At least she had resented it until she clocked the watching crowd's ebullient reaction to the ruffled skirts flipping up and revealing her tight spandex-clad rump during moments of particularly energetic play. It was the perfect blend of excited anticipation and whiny disappointment that serenaded her twisted soul.

Better than foreplay, and the ludicrous garment showed off whole leagues of her slim, shapely legs besides.

Dios, were her nipples stiff already?

The ref hadn't blown the whistle to start the match yet, and Carmen was chomping at the bit to get into the thick of it.

Thicker...

She frowned as a stray thought-more of a tickling at her memory, really-distracted Carmen long enough to miss the starting signal. She faltered briefly as both teams rushed the center field and began skirmishing for control of the ball. It passed back and forth quickly, nearly buzzing past Carmen's knees before she regained her composure and tore after it, kicking up clumps of verdant turf in her wake.

Her brief lapse in concentration had cost her side some of their opening momentum, and now she was going to have to fight to get it back. That was fine. Fighting was something Carmen relished. Fighting excited her. Fighting set her clit thrumming with wicked joy.

The opposition's winger had the ball and was tearing down the sideline with it. The blonde puta with a scarlet number seven on her back was quick, but Carmen was quicker. She was considering how best to clip the girl's heel and send her tumbling out of bounds when her eyes fixed on the other player's thick, rolling rear-end.

Thicker...

The fuck?

Carmen almost stumbled over her own feet as her skin prickled and heat blossomed in her chest. If her rosebud nipples weren't pointy little diamonds before, they sure as shit were now. Like two loaded bullets poking through the elasticated fabric of her sports bra. Every little jounce and shift of her meager breasts caused them to rub and fire urgent signals of scintillating pleasure throughout her running body.

"Fuck..." Carmen snorted, pressing her forearm across her chest as she ran in an attempt to arrest some of the oscillating motion. "Not now, dammit."

Number seven must have sensed her presence as the blonde sent the ball rocketing into the midfield where their forward, crimson number ten, caught it on the inside of her knee and began to weave towards the goal with it practically glued to her feet.

Carmen wheeled away from the sidelines to follow it like a homing beacon.

"What are you doing?" Coach Holt screamed from across the field, "Stay on her, stick to the play!"

What was the play again?

Carmen couldn't rightly recall as she chased after the ball like a dog playing fetch. How was she supposed to think clearly when the top of her thighs kept rubbing together? The warmth of that friction seemed to rise like hot vapors to gently toast the mound of her womanhood, which was pushing firmly at the thin spandex covering her crotch under the swishing skirt.

It would be fine. Carmen was her team's best attacker. Let her within five feet of the ball, and she would...

"Hey, watch it!"

In her blind haste, Carmen almost clipped Sarah Dalton, her own center back. The busty young brunette swore at her as the player she had been defending broke away and opened up some valuable space between them. Carmen didn't notice that so much as she did her teammates' ample endowments, swaying thickly within her blue and white jersey.

Thicker...

"Nnnmph!"

Holy Mother Mary, but her sports bra was feeling uncomfortable, and the seat of the tiny shorts portion of her athletics skorts compressed her toned butt-cheeks as though they had shrunk in the wash. The added pressure against her rock-solid nips wasn't helping her game face any either, as the teasing little tingles intensified to small static sparks of electrified jouissance that buzzed at her fraying nerve endings.

Carmen staggered sideways a fraction as slowly she gained on red number ten, unblinking eyes refocused on the ball at her feet, only to watch the young woman toe the ball up into the air and perform a textbook-perfect sidekick. It soared over the pitch and across the goal line where the same player that Sarah had been guarding moments before lunged and headbutted it straight past the leaping goalie's outflung gloves and sent it smack into the back of the nets.

"GOOOAL!!!"

The Chicago State fans went wild, red and white banners waving and air horns blaring as the University of Illinois-Springfield stands grumbled and groaned with discontent. Carmen looked about in confusion and tugged down the back hem of her blue skorts to cover the round swell of her ass.

What the hell had just happened?

________________

Carmen watched nervously as the referee placed the ball at the feet of Tessa Hastings; UIS's top striker, and jogged backward as he raised the game-starting whistle to his lips.

Illinois's Bag Girl of soccer wasn't angling her body forward in anticipation of said whistle like so many of her fellow soccer players. Partially because leaning over that far would cause her aching tits to shift deliriously inside their ever-constricting confinement but also because she worried that shifting her rigid upright posture in any way at all would cause her too-small skorts to ride up and unveil the fleshy lower globes of her increasingly bubbly ass.

That and the prominent camel toe Carmen could feel growing by the way her overstretched lace panties and the sky blue lycra were being gobbled up by her engorged lower lips.

She stood out like a straight-backed sentinel amongst supplicants bowing in the sacred rite of the kick-off, standing at parade ground attention and staring ahead at Tessa's thick, muscular thighs as the sporty redhead prepared to boot the ball back to her. That would begin their latest Hail Mary play to regain lost ground on the scoreboard.

Thicker...

Her breasts seemed to throb in sync with her quickened heartbeat, straining her tightening sports bra and pushing out the front of her tied-off jersey with each heavy breath Carmen dragged in. The waistline of her shrinking underwear was beginning to dig uncomfortably into the flesh of her hips too, as she clenched and wiggled her butt, trying to surreptitiously dislodge the wedgie growing back there.

What the hell was going on with her fucking clothing?

The packed bleachers rumbled in agitation. None of the cheers or chants for "Killer Carmen" that usually rang out like musical accompaniment to the second half. Her current performance had left the crowds wanting, and they were being shy about letting her know it.

Carmen gulped, and for some reason, her saliva tasted cloyingly sweet and creamy.

The tinkling of a melodic laugh cut through the low grumbling, light and joyful, turning the anxious Latina's head to seek out the discordant splash of cheer in the ocean of audible discontent.

A statuesque blonde woman wearing an outdated black skirt-suit was seated in the front row, her slender arm looped through that of her male companion as her laughter subsided. She was tall and beautiful, with incredibly long golden hair that shone like the sun and a ripe feminine figure that was drawing the eager eyes of every guy around her.

She looked decidedly overdressed for a Sunday morning college football match but strangely familiar, and the young man with her-

Beeeep!

The starting whistle brought Carmen's attention back to the game just in time to witness the soccer ball bounce past her shin guards. The crowd groaned, and Tessa was screaming something at her as the angry striker dashed madly after the fumbled pass with the other team hot on her heels like a herd of gracefully stampeding gazelles.

Oh shit, that was meant to be her ball! What was the plan again?

Carmen spun to give chase herself. Desperate to salvage the squandered advantage and some scrap of her sporting reputation. It was so hard to focus, though, with the alien sensation of her fat butt clapping behind her and the way that every inch of her olive skin was beginning to run with buckets of hot sweat.

Dios, even her pussy was sweating...

A pervasive, dripping dampness darkened the blue spandex, hugging her crotch like a second skin and adding a silky smoothness to the rubbing sensations down below as her thick legs pumped like pneumatic pistons in pursuit of the errant sphere.

Thicker...

Carmen almost howled at the way her hypersensitive cleavage careened wildly about upon her heaving chest. They felt as though they were about to be pinched in half by her shrunken sports bra as her tanned tit-flesh rose like baking bread dough up under her chin from within the increasingly insubstantial cups.

The leg holes of her tiny elasticated pants dug into the soft flesh of her upper thighs like tightening garters, biting into the tanned skin there in a perfect ring. The ruffles of the skirt portion of the ridiculous garment flapped about, completely inadequate to the task of covering her tremendous bouncing buttocks and immense flaring hips. The only part of Carmen's clothing that wasn't intent on torturing her was the skort's drawstring waist which, if anything, felt looser than ever...

"Play or get out of the fucking way, you stupid cow." Tessa snarled as she blew past Carmen and got her foot on the stray ball, kicking it off their full back, who began dribbling it back up the field, much to the roaring approval of the home crowd.

That stunned the panting Latina as though she had been slapped in the face.

She simply stood there as her team hustled up the pitch, fighting for breath and staring after the vitriolic redhead, shouting encouragement to the rest of her team.

What did Tessa call her?

Nobody spoke to Carmen that way unless they wanted to get their eyes clawed out. She waited a few thumping heartbeats for the berserk anger to erupt like molten lava within her. To fuel her charge down the field and start cracking skulls indiscriminately.

But it never came.

Instead, she felt exhausted. Tired and jelly-legged after less than ten minutes of moderate exertion. Where was all her hard-earned stamina and endurance? What had happened to her boundless energy and vicious fighting spirit? Carmen leaned over to plant her hands on her knees as she struggled to catch her breath.

There was a soft twang and then a sound like hempen rope fraying as she bent. It heralded a mild easing of the strangling tightness around her double-wide hips and globular ass, bringing immediate relief and a moaning sigh from Carmen until she realized what was happening.

"No, Dios no! No, nononono..."

The blue lycra choking her lower half had begun to ladder like cheap nylon stockings. Great rents-beginning at the seams and across the broad expanse of her compressed rump-lengthened and stretched, exposing her overwrought white lace panties and baring the sensitive skin beneath to over a thousand rabid soccer fans and her academic peers alike as the seat of her uniform skort was reduced to tatters.

"Oooooh!" The crowd gasped, and Carmen didn't know if it was for her shameful display or at the Chicago U attacking midfielder who had stolen the ball in a shocking mid-game reversal.

Scarlet number nine broke away from the scrimmage and bore down on the mortified college coed with a determined expression hardening her young features. Looking past and through Carmen as if she wasn't there, laser-focused on the goal box behind her.

Apparently, Carmen didn't register as a threat or an obstacle in the young athlete's path to personal glory.

Some small partition in the sadistic coed's quaking psyche objected violently to this harsh dismissal, even as her light skirts fluttered in the gentle springtime breeze and revealed more of her most private parts to the baying crowds.

Then, as the opposing player went to weave around her, Carmen spread her arms, leaped, and dive-tackled the girl like an NFL linebacker. Bringing her down under a tangle of soft limbs and bouncing curves.

Beeep!

The referee's shrill whistle and the red card that shot up into the air were the sweetest salvation to the defeated Latina's eyes and ears. She fled off the field and towards the locker room under a damning chorus of groans and jeers from her one-time supporters.

...and cutting through all the crushing animosity was the tinkling laughter of the beautiful blonde stranger, still seated in the front row of the bleachers.

________________

Carmen staggered through the swinging door of the women's locker room as though drunk.

There was no handy dandy trash can to kick this time, and she wasn't sure she could have managed it if there was. Carmen wasn't angry. The fury that so often armored her twisted heart was shockingly absent. Instead, she was on the verge of ugly tears of frustration.

"Wha-What's happening to me?"

Her body felt hot, sweaty, and thick. Her knotted-up jersey was working a double shift as a hammock for two frankly stupendous knockers pouring out of every open angle of her dangerously ill-fitting bra. The ivory lycra straps were pulled so thin and taut that Carmen didn't know how she was supposed to get the breath-stealing underclothing off.

Because Carmen really needed to get off...

"Fuuuuck..."

The hotspot between the once-fiery young woman's rippling thighs was building like a forest fire and making her knees knock together as she almost tripped on her way to the wall of changing room mirrors.

How the fuck was she so goddamn horny after that humiliating showing?

At least the horrifying rips and tears in her blue activewear bottoms made it easier to access the source of ignition. The soothing wash of the cool climate-controlled air across her bare sensitive folds only fanned the ardent flames below. Her once-practical cotton panties were drawn tight as a guitar string across her flaring hips, and the tensile gusset sank deep into her dewy cleft, applying appalling pressure to her thrumming clitty as she reached for it.

"Hrrnngh~!"

The slightest strum almost took the legs out from under Carmen as she lurched sideways into a steel locker with a loud crash and an animal whine of desperation.

This was like her, not at all!

Carmen didn't get excited at the prospect of her own failures in front of others. Where was the burning desire to see someone hurting? All the flustered college athlete could feel was a yawning emptiness in her puffy nethers that yearned to be filled. To be stuffed deliciously full with something long, hard, and thick...

Carmen floundered on unsteady feet, using the lockers for support as she finally reached the bank of mirrors.

"Andrew Turner has a ten-inch tallywacker - '92"

Her watering eyes locked onto the scrawled graffiti at the top of the glass and Carmen licked at her bee-stung lips. She lacked much up close and personal experience with the male appendage for reasons she couldn't clearly remember. Ten inches did sound like a lot though, but would that be enough to quench the feverish inferno blazing down below decks?

How was she supposed to find this Andrew Turner person anyway? If the date was to be believed, the listed owner of the much-lauded fuckstaff would have graduated decades ago...

Then Carmen's big brown eyes drifted down to her own reflection, and she almost shrieked in panic.

She was fucking huge!

Well... parts of her certainly were. The olive-skinned coed was still her average five and five in height, but a lot of her body had expanded to boggling, wobbling proportions. Her clothing hadn't shrunk. Carmen had inflated like a goddamn flotation device.

Her tits and ass were packing some serious freight, a fleshy collection of hefty round hemispheres exploding from her toned young body. Vast hips and broad thighs transitioned cartoonishly up into a waspish waist and down to slender calves, respectively.

Carmen looked like an overemphasized caricature of the classic hourglass figure, plumped up and juiced out to the extreme. Under the merciless glare of the fluorescent lighting, every swollen inch of her sweat-slicken flesh was highlighted in agonizing detail.

Even her shoulder-length raven hair hadn't been spared. The white scrunchy that had bunched up her ponytail close to her skull was bobbing close to Carmen's lower back, securing the end of a voluminous mess of silky midnight tresses that hung like a long fluffy panther tail down past her trembling butt.

The weight of it alone should have been crinking her slender neck...

"What... Why?" Carmen sobbed, pressing a hand against the cool surface of the mirror and staring in confusion at the uber-voluptuous copy of herself who returned the bewildered expression in kind.

"That you need to ask is disappointing, dear." A richly accented voice said from behind her.

For the second time that day-not that she recalled the first-Carmen looked over the shoulder of her reflection and spotted the gorgeous blonde woman in the smart black skirt-suit standing a few feet inside the door behind her. The older lady's irises were icy novas of gunmetal gray agate that bore into the curvy Latina-like augers.

"You... Did you do this to me?" Carmen wailed, fuck but her nipples were sore. Compressed. They ached in a syncopathic rhythm with her wet, vacant pussy with every beat of her racing heart. "Why? I've never done anything to you!"

"You must call me Ms Makarova. We have not met before today. This thing is true." The beautiful stranger clicked over to a bench seat in her tall black pumps and dropped an expensive-looking handbag onto it. "But I know the type of woman you are, Miss Perez, and what you enjoy doing to other people. What you did to my Darling."