The Widow's Gift Pt. 07

Britney tore herself away from Tara and Farah who had begun to lick and caress each other's newly bodacious bodies, slurping the scrummy sludge off their growing curves with increasingly amorous moans of gastronomic gusto.

She didn't want to miss it!

Still clutching the forgotten scrap of yellow paper in hand and dismissing any thoughts of getting changed into her ruined uniform, Britney fled for the large doors leading out to the main arena, her booted heels skidding precariously on the tiled floor as she went.

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Britney crashed through the double doors and immediately tripped over a coiling trail of power cables running the length of the arena's back wall. Her golden hair flew and her little plait skirt fluttered as she toppled ass over tea kettle onto the polished wooden floor.

"Who the fuck left those there?" She groaned, pulling herself up onto hands and knees, "If I get a bruise, some asshole is going to pay!"

In a way she was grateful. The pain and consequent anger took precedent over the anxiety and confusion that had so recently pervaded her hard outer shell. Britney was all sugar and spice and everything nice on the surface, strategically so, but the moment someone dared cross her... the claws were always ready to come out.

"Are you okay, Miss?"

Schooling her expression to something approaching neutral, Britney looked up into a massive pair of tanned boobs stuffed into a slutty french maids costume--of all things. A smokey pair of concerned eyes under a thick head of voluminous midnight hair was just visible peeking over the circumference of the jutting hemispheres that otherwise obscured the rest of the young woman's face.

She was carrying a metallic briefcase in each hand, sealed tight with heavy locks like something out of a cold-war era spy movie and was wearing the tallest pair of heeled mary-janes Britney had ever seen.

There had to be five goddamn inches on the ridiculous footwear.

Sensing a soft squishy target for her boiling ire, Britney lashed out.

"Do I look fucking okay, bitch? Did all the nutrients meant for your brain growing up drain into your tits instead? Don't just stand there, help me up!"

The worry in the dark eyes watching her cooled considerably and the chesty tramp seemed to consider for a moment before carefully placing her burdens on the ground and quickly hoisting Britney to her feet by her shoulders.

The rapid motion set the olive-skinned girl's immense bosoms to bouncing about in braless fashion.

"You really should speak nicer to people. You never know who you might be talking to," She said, straightening the short sleeves of Britney's white blouse. "The old me might have taken exception to your tone but she's gone now and Mistress says anger is a wasted emotion."

The cheer squad starlet didn't have time to listen to insipid drivel and was turning back towards the basketball courts where rallies were usually held, when her left ankle wobbled and a shot of pain lanced up her entire leg.

"Shit! Not now..." She snarled, latching onto the other girl for abrupt support. The high tempo dance music of the Prairie Stars signature cheer routine had started blaring through the stadium speakers and she could see the corner of audience-packed stands only a few dozen feet away. "I need to get out there, I'm on the squad! I don't--"

"--want to miss it, I know. It's going to be amazing." The curvaceous Latina finished for her as though reading her thoughts, looping an arm around Britney's narrow waist to hold her upright. "But your ankle is twisted pretty badly, I can see that clear as day and I should know. Don't worry though, Britney, I know just the person to fix you properly."

The use of her name snapped Britney's attention back to the strange girl's serenely smiling face as she tried to place when they might have met before. She had an excellent head for names--if only because it was good business to remember who your friends and enemies were--but the far reaching nature of her online media presence had led to mostly friendly run-ins with total strangers before.

It was simply another perk of the game but it paid to be careful. Some fans got... pushy and had to be reminded of their place with a publicly humiliating tongue lashing. It rarely happened twice.

"Have we met?" She asked, wincing and limping as they moved away from the packed stands filled with curiously quiet spectators. "You seem familiar but I can't quite place where I know you from. Are you related to my friend Carmen?"

"You may call me Kitten and yes, I am distantly related to that awful young hellion you used to know. Mind your step now, we don't have far to go, Britney. Soon you'll be better, you will see."

For some reason, those soft words of reassurance only sparked off warning flares in Britney's sharp social instincts. She feebly attempted to pull away from the so-called Kitten but her injured foot couldn't hold much weight and the surprisingly strong grip around her waist pulled her further into the shadowy wings of the large sport arena.

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"Dolly... no! You are supposed to be getting everything ready for the main event!"

Britney blinked spots of pain out of her vision as she hung from Kitten's arm and stared at a strange scene that just added to the unsettling weirdness of her day so far.

They were in the athletic center's AV control room. Britney had never been here herself but knew the computer nerds needed somewhere to do their necessary work of teeing up the tunes for the cheer squad's routines. Switch-covered sound boards and consoles with blinking digital displays lined the the four walls of the small room as Jock Jam's "Y'all ready for this" blasted through heavy bass speakers.

...and squatting on the floor moaning happily with her plush purple lips pressed to one such throbbing speaker was the most outrageous Asian barbie bimbo Britney had ever seen.

"Dolly is sowwy Kitten." The startled slut lisped over the pounding beat. Her fat drooling lips were pumped fuller than a suckerfish on collagen injections. "Got howny and distwacted..."

Her hair was long, straight and almost white blonde, shot through with streaks of bubblegum pink where it hung thickly down past her slim waist. Dolly was short and trim, almost petite until it came to her monstrous tits which looked like they had been attached to an industrial air pump and grossly overinflated.

Despite that, they shone like polished ivory under the harsh fluorescent lighting, bubbling up out of the low spaghetti neckline of an audaciously small tiger print micro-dress with so many revealing cut-outs she would have been spilling out of the undersized clubwear, if not for the black fishnet bodysuit holding everything together beneath.

"That's no excuse," Kitten scolded, dropping Britney none-too-gently into one of the two desk chairs. "This is why Master only uses you as his personal mouth-whore cumdumpster and hasn't fucked you properly yet."

"Nooo~ don't say that, Dolly will be good! She pwomises..."

"Then act like you want it! Prove to him that you're more than a cum-hungry cocksleeve and actually be useful. Then you might be worthy enough to ride his incredible Lion dick every day like Mistress and I."

Britney gaped as she tried to follow the frankly unbelievable exchange. Dolly looked like she had been physically slapped and on the verge of tears, while Kitten growled and stalked around the cramped space flicking switches and adjusting different incomprehensible settings on the complicated sound equipment.

Through it all the young social media diva couldn't shake the horrible feeling she knew these two lusty lunatics from somewhere. Their voices, if not their appearances, were dreadfully familiar...

"Um, my ankle?" Britney ventured, more timidly than she would have liked but the growing heat and tension in the room was oppressive. "You said someone could fix--"

"At least you remembered the record player." Kitten hissed down at the despondent Dolly--who was sucking petulantly on her thumb and pulling at a pointed, barely concealed nipple with ass-wriggling excitement. "Seems like you got that much right."

"Mmmhmm!" The peppermint-haired bimbo nodded in avid agreement, clearly appeased by the back-handed recognition.

Britney craned her neck to see the curvy Latina maid arranging an old-timey gramophone complete with a conical brass horn beside a desk-mounted microphone.

It looked antique in design but lacked any signs of the wear and tear of age. Where there might once have been a crank handle was a black plastic box with colorful wires looping up to the tone arm and needle. Otherwise a small toggle switch in the upward 'off' position was the only other modernizing feature.

With reverence, Kitten blew the dust off an ancient record sleeve then gently slid out the vinyl disk to rest upon the turntable. Nodding in appreciation, the raven-haired maid turned back to Britney, reaching under her skirts to tear free a length of her layered petticoats.

"You're both lucky I'm Mistress' good girl now." She muttered, bending at the waist and exposing acres of swaying tanned cleavage as she began to wrap the blonde cheerleader's ankle tightly. "This is gossamer not gauze but it will have to do for now. You're wanted out there for the main attraction."

Britney hardly registered the grumbled words as she stared at the many monitors showing video feeds of the sporting arena. The Prairie Stars were putting on a good show--flipping and spinning--shaking their fluffy pom poms, happy tits and cheeky asses for the home crowd.

But why were they doing it all topless?

"Yes..." She said in a confused daze. "I don't want to miss it."

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