She tries to gather herself, eyes drooping back into the usual carefree expression. That’s one down, four to go, and then we win the game. I raise and lower the net, messing the girl up, watching her fall and roll around stupidly. This sick game has made Mindy into nothing more than an object. Lines around her waistline, probably from pants and skirts hugging so tightly all the time. Luckily we’re surrounded by the perfect solution. And she makes it! She should be thankful. But as I glance at the computer monitors, I notice only 15 seconds on the clock. Mindy lays writhing on her back on the net above me, and I stand in the center of the computer lab with my head and arms up through the netting, face fully enveloped between her thick thighs.
