Boys can t play basketball a tribute
- 1 year ago
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Parallel: Boys Can't Play Basketball Either free porn video
To the best of us, the brightest, and to the Wyrdest.
MAKING OUT IN THE BLEACHERS
'Wyrd' doesn't just sound like weird. I'm a buff for mythology and
fantasy, so I know that Wyrd is an old idea for inescapable fate,
destiny, and the power to shape it entirely. The three witches in
Macbeth's weren't just unusual siblings; they were wyrd sisters, with the
power to change the world.
This fact is important.
I looked down from the second floor. Of all the days to have extra
practice, it had to be today.
Rachel came up from behind and put her hands around me, nuzzling my
shoulder and whispering "Hey," in my ear. I could not love this girl
more, and told her so.
"But on the one day we get some time to each other...the basketballers
are having a battle of the sexes below." I grumbled.
She cast a disparaging eye on the rowdy kids below. One of them seemed to
be doing his best caricature of a bimbo failing at basketball.
"Huh. Didn't know Mack wanted to be a girly-girl so much," she sniffed,
and then kissed me hard, one hand snaking around to grab my butt.
I kissed back, one hand around the small of her back, the other reaching
for her breasts. I got in one good grope before she smacked my butt and
disengaged.
"You boys, going for the boobs, all the time." She smacked my butt again.
"Naughty naughty."
I pulled her into my lap; she settled in side-saddle, arms around my neck
and I leaned down to peck her cheek. She's short - I'm tall - only like
this can we see eye to eye. "So. I guess that's it for sexy-times today,
huh."
"What's wrong with up here? We could get caught..." I liked the naughty
look she gave me. Thrilling. I like her wicked grin even less. "Tell you
what; let's have a bet. Our boys are crap at basketball. If the girls
win, you go home commando."
I have a few pairs of her sexist at home, hidden -- hope Mom doesn't find
them and misunderstand -- so I can't really say no. Instead I grin back
and bait my trap. "Sounds fair. And what if the boys win...?"
She bumps her chest into mine and winks. I laugh and grab her, she grabs
me, and we seal the deal the sweetest way we can.
"Deal."
"Deal."
It was going to be a good day. We kis-
-sed. Well, our lips touched, briefly, then Rachel broke away. I looked
up to see her staring down her top, one finger pulling it open
incredulous.
Now, Rachel's not all that big -- years of sports bras and softball will
do that to you and give you a bit of insecurity -- but peering down her
shirt, it just looked like she had completely flat, if nicely toned
pectorals. Did I just see her boobs shrink to nothing? Her nipples didn't
look too different from mine, either, small and flat. Wasn't she wearing
a sports bra just moments ago? I swore I felt it through her top...
I goggled. She boggled. We stared, speechless at each other. Huh.
"Where did your boobs go?" I blurted, breaking the silence. She bristled
slightly, then dropped her eyeline.
"Looks like you have them," she muttered wryly.
I looked down. Denting out of my fitted shirt were small cones, slowly
inflating. Happily, I did not need to wonder what was happening, as
buttons begin popping open, revealing two lovely, pale, un-sun-kissed
globes trimmed with a whisper of pink lace.
I stared at her. She stared at me. We looked at her flat, hard pecs. We
looked at my soft, bulging cleavage.
"Huh."
"Huh."
She reached out a hand and squeezed. My left breast (what!) popped out of
my bra, the nipple hardening immediately at the pleasant sensation. I
hardened instantly, and instinctively tried to shove it back in my
(shudder) bra.
Mom was so going to have a fit.
The boob was much bigger than I was used to and IT WAS MINE ON MY CHEST
FLAILING AROUND WHAT THE HELL WHY DID I HAVE BOOBS and so proved quite a
challenge to tame, the straps digger into my shoulder, pleasant
squishiness all round, and the right boob making its bid for freedom.
I did grope myself, somewhat, but when I'd succeeded in flailing both
tits out of my bra I looked to Rachel for help.
Leaning over the balcony, she was musing delightedly to herself. "So,
that Wyrd girl, so she's a witch too..."
"Rachel -?" My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again, my
baritone somehow high and breathy now. "Rachel? What's going on - gawd, I
sound like a bimbo - what do you mean, she's a witch - what do you mean
'too'?!"
I grimaced again. I felt it this time, a sudden tightening about the
chest, a slithery, silken feeling running around my torso and up my
shoulders and my breasts being thrust skyward. Rachel's eyes widened and
the wicked look came back, a cat with a prize.
"It looks like it's going to be a good day." She swaggered over to me,
doing her cocky walk.
I stared up at her and stood up. And up. And up. And still looked up at
her. Rachel was notoriously short. I was awkwardly lanky and tall. We
hardly fit in the same photo.
But now I was so short didn't even reach her nose.
At this point, my brain finally stopped focusing on the pleasant draft on
my boobs and clicked. Wyrd, the weird girl Rachel had gym with, was a
witch. My girlfriend, Rachel was a witch *too*. Eldritch, arcane magicks
were being wrought and we were being caught up in it.
This make-out session was going to be a lot different to what I expected.
Rachel's face burst into laughter, and suddenly there was thick, blonde
hair everywhere, tickling my shoulders, down my back, slipping between my
breasts, blocking my eyes. I tried to comb my hair back and caught my
fingers helplessly in a tangle of hair ribbons and barrettes.
Rachel stepped up, her face in mine, breathing heavily, hot breath on my
nose. She slid her hands teasingly down my diminished torso, holding me
by the hips, grinning. Her chest bumped against mine, and her top was
rough and arousing against my new nipples. I barely suppressed a moan.
"So," she started, triumphant. I tried to push her arms away with my arms
-- long, slender, skinny arms with glossy pink painted fingernails
Instead, she pinned my wrists behind me easily and I gasped, a sultry,
sexual little sound.
She leaned down to kiss me and bumped into my forehead. All of a sudden,
my comfortable sneakers pinched in and kicked my heels up. I teetered and
leaned into her as we both looked down at my new stiletto heels. Well,
she saw them, anyway; I couldn't see past the goosebumps on my huge, pert
breasts and my engorged, darkening nipples.
She squeezed my butt again -- I suddenly realised just how tight my jeans
had gotten, both in front and behind -- and but the squeeze told me that
I now had plenty of ass to balance my boobs, plenty more than five
minutes ago.
Rachel pulled me into her lap, holding my wrists with one hand, tangling
my legs with hers, trapping me entirely in her clutches as I struggled
uselessly. With the other hand she groped, teased, cuddled and played
with my breasts, first one, then the other, Frenching me harder and more
passionately than she'd ever before. We broke for breath, me gasping
despite myself. Electric.
"You are so hot right now," she whispered, nibbling my ear, tonguing my
earstud. Her eyes glittered and I dreaded the next change. "Ooh, that
Wyrd girl. Such a kinky lesbo."
We watched my blue dress shirt pale to a translucent, gossamer-thin white
and tie itself into a tiny sleeveless crop-top, the high knot pushing my
breasts skyward and revealing the new diamond stud in my bellybutton. A
sudden tightening below told me I wasn't wearing boxers any more and from
the way her fingers traced the lacy edges under my jeans, Rachel had
found out for herself.
"Thong panties! Are you wearing mine?" I gulped. I did have a black, lacy
pair of hers -- never thought to try them on, just kept them as a prize -
- but let me tell you, thongs? Uncomfortable.
She got her answer a moment later. My jeans tightened against the new
curves of my legs, and split, forming a pair of tight black stockings
held up by garters, disappearing up my pleated, plaid, scandalously short
mini-skirt. Oh, god. I was dressed up like my fantasy schoolgirl -- hell,
I was stacked and racked like an exaggerated wet dream -- and Rachel knew
it, and was clearly turned on herself.
Heaving bosoms. They're really uncomfortable if they're yours.
Rachel traced a neat line with her nose, nuzzling my jaw, down the soft
of my neck, around a bare shoulder, nudging a breast aching to be groped.
"Well, you wanted to get to second base with me...Let's see how far the
rabbit hole goes..."
I found myself holding on to her, hands around her neck, in massive shock
of being the sexier half of a lesbian schoolgirl fantasy with my
girlfriend. I found myself enjoying it tremendously. But the best moment
came next, when she lifted my tiny schoolgirl skirt, goggled, put down
the skirt, stared, and then flipped it around my hips to show me what she
saw.
I giggled. Wyrd seemed to have forgotten something.
"God, you're hard. You're really turned on by this, aren't you?" She
muttered, and then our eyes met again. She quirked her lips and I nodded.
She tipped me unto the floor, releasing me. I reached up, running my
hands through her short-cropped hair, touching her new, hard chest. She
pulled down her jeans and thong, flipped up my skirt, and triumphantly
yanked my panties off in a deft sweep.
She lowered herself unto me, and I groaned. Well, more of a soft, throaty
purr, really. She felt warm and tight and wet, much better than my own
left hand, and it felt even better when she put both hands on my breasts
and started thumbing my nipples. I spread my legs wide and hooked them
around her as she started bucking her hips, sliding up and down my penis.
We came almost immediately.
She finished with a triumphant grunt; I came with a sex-kitten squeal and
a satisfied, drawn-out purr. I blushed, red and wild, realizing how I
sounded; she didn't notice, motorboating me softly, stroking my thighs.
"I guess I know why guys like big boobs now," she gave me a quick peck,
then stood up, pulling on her. She waved my panties in front of my face
before pulling them out of my reach and stuffing it in her pocket. "I'll
be taking these. Mine are wet...oh, and looks like the girls beat the
boys, 78-0."
I looked at myself: blonde tresses everywhere, huge bosoms heaving, crop
top and skirt around my waist, legs spread wide in heels and stockings.
"How can you tell?" I finally got out. That sexy voice of mine made me
twitch.
She shrugged and grinned her wicked smile at me again. "Come on. Get
dressed. Let's go. I want to see the new world she made. And you need to
practice walking in heels, crossing your legs...or not," she winked.
She helped me tie the ribbons in my hair and we finally tied the crop top
after three tries. The bra had disappeared into mid-air. My skirt was too
small to really rearrange but the feel of the cloth, coupled with the
feel of the stockings and the pull of the garters had my nipples pert and
hard...and also elsewhere. I teetered on the heels until she put her arm
around me, claiming me.
"Told you," she smirked, pressing me against her. "Boys can't play
basketball."
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