Busimax Contamination
“Alright girls, bring it in!” Coach clapped her hands and the twenty members of the Silver Oak High School track team jogged off the track, where they’d been doing cool-down stretches. The sun was low in the sky, and the team had been going all-out all afternoon in preparation for the coming meet.
Silver Oak prided itself on both its academic rigor and its athletic prowess, and that pride was evident in the varsity track team. The girls were all excellent students and highly motivated runners, treating their training sessions with the same intensity that students at other schools would have approached extracurricular activities like smoking weed or hooking up – but not for the disciplined, serious Silver Oak squad.
Every other school in the district despised them.
But when a shipment of donated sports drinks arrived at coach’s office, she didn’t think twice about handing them out at the end of the day’s practice to her team. “Fruit-aid!” One of the girls yelled, excited.
“I thought you girls needed a little extra treat for how hard you’ve all been working,” she said, passing out the punch-flavored beverages. She hadn’t noticed that the seals had all been carefully voided, or that the plastic caps were a little looser than they should have been. The thirsty team, on the other hand, couldn’t chug them down fast enough.
“OK, I want everyone to have a good quiet weekend, and we’ll be here bright and early Monday to head off to the meet!”
Jasmine felt bloated.
The tall Afghani-American girl was the star of the Silver Oak track team, and she knew her body better than anyone. She treated it like a well-tempered machine, and even the smallest change in her statuesque form drew her notice.
This, though, was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Her tits, which normally fit quite easily into her B-cup sports bra, were bulging out all over on Saturday morning. Her thighs jiggled in very unexpected ways, and her gym shorts were so tight it was hard to believe she’d managed to squeeze into them without the aid of vaseline.
“I’ve heard of retaining water, but this is ridiculous!” She squeezed her breasts in front of the mirror and felt her knees buckle a little. It did feel good… perhaps it was just her period starting early. Maybe it wasn’t anything to worry about.
Susan laid in bed, panting.
Minutes before, she’d brought herself to her first-ever no-joke-about-it boobgasm. This was notable because a. she didn’t even know girls could cum from just playing with their nipples and b. she had a LOT more boob to play with than ever before.
Susan was a runner, and had always had a very slim, slight build, with very little in the way of extra weight to carry around the track. She anchored the relay team. She was, by her own admission, a tall, skinny stick.
All that was out the window. Well, maybe not the tall part. She was still tall, maybe even taller than before if she was being honest. But “skinny” was no longer a word you could use to describe Susan. “Curvy” didn’t do her justice, either. “Titzilla” started getting you a little closer, truth be told.
They were enormous, as big as boulders on her still-narrow frame. Her arms could barely wrap around them as the Sunday morning sunlight streamed in her window. And even when she did, the moment her hands reached her thumb-sized nipples she could feel her arousal spike through the roof and she’d come all over again, drenching her sheets in sweat and girlcum.
“I’ve gotta get up and go for a run,” she whispered to herself, her willpower still focused on the meet the next day. “…somehow.”
Coach stood in the parking lot of Silver Oak High School and contemplated her situation.
It was Monday morning, the day of the biggest district-wide track meet of the year, half her team was missing, and the other half, arrayed before her, was in no shape at all to race.
It was sabotage, she could see that, but no one would believe her if she’d told them the form it took. Hell, she was looking right at it, and she could barely believe it herself.
Her star long-jumper had suddenly gained 300 pounds and looked like an ancient fertility idol, her hips wide enough to hide a hurdle behind. Half her relay team had tits big enough to render them unable to do more than slowly waddle down the racetrack, each massive breast slapping against their hips as they did so, and they were the lucky ones who weren’t simply bedridden.
Her discus-thrower had arrived looking mostly intact, but revealed that instead she was now smuggling almost eighteen inches of very virile manhood in her very baggy sweatpants, and had to jerk off once an hour or so in order to keep from exploding with arousal and trying to fuck anything that moved.
And she hadn’t even heard from some of the girls, whom she assumed were in even worse shape than the motley crew who’d made it this morning.
“What do we do, coach?” A girl with an ass so large you could use it as a bookshelf asked her.
“Go home and try and relax,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ll call the FDA about how to counteract Busimax poisonings.”