Natasha wasn’t born very smart, or very clever, or very wealthy. But she had a cute face, and pretty brown hair – and by the time she was 18 it was also clear that she had been gifted with enormous breasts.
They were embarrassing. They were entirely too big for her otherwise petite body, and when she wore her normal school uniform they looked like two bowling balls stuffed crudely into a bra. They were the first thing anyone noticed when they looked at her, and most of the time they were the main reason that people kept looking.
The boys at school lusted after her, and the girls looked at her with jealousy, and they would make fun of her by calling her “Tasha Tits”, or “Melons”.
In her final school year, one of the boys even convinced his older sister to come to school, pretending to be Natasha’s mother, and inform the school that “Tasha Tits” was actually Natasha’s legal name – but that she preferred to be called “Melons” socially.
Natasha didn’t know this, so when the teachers started to call her “Miss Tits”, and “Melons”, she had no idea why they were suddenly being so cruel, and didn’t know how to correct them, and so meekly began to simply answer to the degrading names as if they belonged to her. This would eventually cause her no end of trouble when her high school diploma was eventually formally issued to “Tasha ‘Melons’ Tits”, but by the time she truly understood the mixup it was incredibly difficult to fix.
Natasha knew that she was in a dilemma with school. Her grades were indifferent, and her family had no money to speak of. If she wanted to go on to study at a good university, she would need some form of scholarship – and an academic one didn’t seem likely.
And so, in desperation, she tried out for the school women’s soccer team, in the hope of managing some kind of athletic achievement.
But here, too, she met with initial failure. She was neither strong, nor dextrous, and honestly her oversized tits made it difficult and painful to run, even in a sports bra. Her tryouts for the team ended with Natasha flat on her face, and the other girls in the sporting team – all athletic and flat-chested – laughing at her cruelly.
And yet, somehow, she was still selected for the team. She didn’t know how it could possibly have happened – until Coach Matthews was brutally honest about it in introducing her to the other girls.
“All right, girls,” he said. “A soccer squad has 23 players, and that’s how many the school authorises me to select. Only 11 girls are on the field at any given time, and the rest are substitutes and reserves. 22 of you girls are here because I think you have the potential to be first-grade soccer players. And Melons here is to give me something to look at while I train you all.”
There was laughter, and Coach Matthews looked Natasha in the eye. “Is that all right with you, Melons? You’re the decoration. If you’re not happy with being my eye candy, you can quit the team right now.”
Natasha couldn’t afford to quit, so she just blushed, and looked at the floor, and said, “No, that’s okay.”
Natasha soon learned what it meant to be the Coach’s “eye candy”. For a start, she had a slightly different uniform to the other girls. She had a top, just like them, that exposed her midriff. On the back was printed her surname, just like the other girls – although, from the school’s perspective, her surname was “TITS”, and that was what her shirt said. And her top was both a little too small, and not paired with any kind of bra, leaving her oversized tits unsupported and crammed lewdly into fabric that was too small for them, her nipples poking visibly against the fabric at all times.
And where the other girls had shorts, Natasha just had briefs – little more than underwear. The back vanished up between her butt cheeks, leaving her ass on display, and the crotch was tight against her vulva. When she sweated, the fabric collected the moisture, making it look like she had wet herself, and the damp cloth began to hug every curve of her pussy mound, outlining it obscenely to the public gaze.
She was never allowed on the field. Her task was to provide water and massages to the coach and to the other substitutes as they sat on the sidelines.
She had other tasks too – “special practice sessions’, the coach called them – where she would attend the coach’s office, and remove her shirt, and the coach would push his cock into her mouth, or spit on her tits and rub his cock in between them. She would dutifully service the coach’s dick until he reached orgasm, and then she would allow him to ejaculate over her face, hair and breasts, leaving her a sticky, humiliated mess.
Everyone knew she was only on the team so the coach could stare at her oversized fuckbags. Everyone knew that her only value lay in being something for the coach to ejaculate onto.
And yet that wasn’t enough for Natasha. If she wanted to get an athletic scholarship, she actually had to *play*. And so she begged the coach, at every opportunity she had, to put her on the field.
The coach didn’t want to – and so Natasha did what it took to convince him. She stripped nude for him, and let him fuck her not just in the mouth, but in her unprotected pussy, giving up her virginity to a man twice her age for the chance to embarrass herself in front of the entire school community.
He didn’t even say yes at first – just that he’d “think about it” – but that didn’t stop him from cumming into Natasha’s fertile womb while squeezing her breasts hard enough to hurt, and then cumming inside her again on the next occasion, and again, and each time Natasha nearly went mad from terror that he might impregnate her – and yet that terror only made her more excited. She would find herself orgasming wildly when the coach ejaculated into her – and the coach’s response was to laugh, and lean close, and whisper “worthless big-titted slut” into her ear – and for some reason that would make her orgasm again.
But then a miracle happened. The coach came to Natasha one day, before a game, with a baffled expression on his face, and said, “Melons, you’re playing today.”
Natasha could hardly believe it. “Really?”
“The school alumni – the ones who come to every game – keep asking me about you,” said the coach. “They’ve seen you there on the sidelines, and they want to see more of you. They say, ‘What are you doing with the Tits girl? When will you put her into play?’ I think they just want to watch you running, with those ridiculous hooters of yours.”
He shrugged. “And it’s the alumni who fund the team. That, and the merchandise. So I’ve done up some photos of you for you to sign, which we’ll sell at the merch stand, and you’re going to compete today. Try not to embarrass the team.”
The photos made Natasha blush, because they were ones that the coach had taken of her during their “special practice”, and they showed Natasha topless, covering her oversized breasts with her hands, and the coach made her sign them “Love and Kisses, Melons”.
When Natasha ran onto the field that day, it was to a surprising amount of cheering and applause. Clearly fans were aware of her, and wanted to see more of her. She blushed with pride, even if the cheers were for “Melons” or “Tits” rather than her real name.
But then Natasha proceeded to make an absolute fool of herself. She had no real soccer skills. She jogged uselessly up and down the field, her unsupported tits jiggling painfully. She never got near the ball. On one occasion, she tripped, and fell face down into a puddle of mud, her full weight landing on her tits. There were laughs as she fell – and then applause, when she stood, and it became clear that the mud had plastered her uniform to every curve of her fuckbags, so that she was practically naked to the gaze of the crowd.
And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, in the final quarter one of her own teammates, enraged by Melons’ incompetence, reached out and ripped at Natasha’s top – and it tore easily and cleanly, leaving Natasha completely topless in front of the entire audience.
The cheers were deafening. This is what the fans had come to see.
In the end result, Natasha’s team lost the game – and yet sales at the merch bench had never been better. Every single signed photo of Melons had been sold for a premium, and supporters were lining up to donate to the team – on the condition, of course, that Melons played in every game.
The coach saw the opportunity that had been presented to him, and seized it. It didn’t matter whether the team won games – as long as the fans loved them, and kept supporting the team with money.
And so Melons became the team’s star player. She competed in every game – jogging futilely around the field with her tits bouncing – and every game, one of her fellow players was given the task of ripping off her top in the final quarter to let the crowd see her assets.
It was humiliating, of course, to have hundreds of people staring at her tits, and laughing at her, and know that they were having fantasies about fucking her, or squeezing her breasts, or ejaculating onto her face. It was degrading to know that that was all she was good for. And yet those feelings of shame mixed with the thrill of receiving attention – of being a star – and created confusing feelings in her pussy. She would leave the field after every game with a sopping wet cunt, desperate for the coach to rape her to orgasm in his office as part of their post-game celebration.
The coach wasn’t the only one who got to fuck Melons. One time after she had gotten naked in the coach’s office, she heard the door open and close, and suddenly there was another man in the room, dressed in an expensive suit.
“This is Mr Walton,” said the coach. “He’s a major sponsor of the team, and he’s paying a lot to have a special session with our star player. Be a good girl for him, Melons.”
“Being a good girl for him” involved spreading her legs, and letting a complete stranger rape her, as he squeezed and twisted her nipples hard enough to make her squeal. And still, she orgasmed. And after that it became a regular occurrence for the coach to set her up with wealthy fans, for them to squeeze and torture her tits, and stuff their cocks into whichever of her holes they chose. She soon realised that many of the men she was fucking were the fathers of her schoolfriends, and it made her burn with humiliation to look at the other girls on the soccer team, or in her school classes, and know that she had been fucked by the cock that fathered them.
But the effects of Natasha’s success were wider. Soon the coach replaced the entire team’s uniforms with the same type that Melons wore – with no breast support, and tiny briefs that threatened to vanish between their pussy lips. And the girls noticed that the coach had a new way of picking the team – only the girls with the biggest tits got selected.
The flat-chested athletic girls on the team were furious at the change – watching their chances of an athletic sponsorship being given over to big-titted bimbos. And yet, they had only one real option. So Natasha watched as, one by one, the girls of the team talked their parents into buying them boob jobs. Each vanished for a short period of recuperation, and then returned to the team with large, fake, porn-star fuckballoons.
Their reward for this devotion was a special meeting with the coach – and when they emerged from the coach’s office humiliated, with fresh sperm shining on their face and cleavage, they would begin getting the chance to play on the field again. They would pose for nude photos, to be sold to fans, and Natasha was pretty sure that the coach was making them fuck fans and sponsors, just as Natasha did.
Near the end of the year, they renamed the team to “The Bimbos”. They hadn’t won a game in months, and nobody seemed to care, as long as the big-breasted sluts ran around with their breasts bouncing, and as long as one or two girls lost their shirts in the final quarter.
And to Natasha’s shame, she was starting to notice other teams in her league following the lead of the Bimbos. The players she was playing against more often had large tits – sometimes fake ones – and the fans of those teams were clearly invested in the most buxom and most slutty players, not the ones with actual skill.
Somehow Natasha’s whorish breasts had corrupted the entire soccer league.
But Natasha got what she wanted in the end – an offer of athletic scholarship to a prestigious university, her costs covered to undertake any degree she wanted.
The terms were clear, though. The university didn’t want Natasha – it wanted Melons. It wanted her tits, and her willingness to fuck sponsors, and nothing else. With the help of Melons, they hoped to transform their soccer team into something very much like the Bimbos – a squad of big-uddered wet dreams, for fans to fantasise over and – if they contributed enough money – maybe even fuck.
What else could Natasha do? She accepted.
And when it came time to fill out her application to the university, she knew what she had to write in the “name” field – Tasha “Melons” Tits.
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