Tortured by the T-Girl Tutor

Duncan reluctantly put his coat on. He wasn't good at sports and basketball was no exception. Plus Miranda was practically a full head taller than him. He didn't want to lose to a girl. Duncan thought of a quick game, which might limit his embarrassment. They got outside. "Do you want to play H-O-R-S-E?" he asked.

"One-on-one," she told him in a way that left no room for negotiation. Miranda began to bounce the ball she'd picked out of his closet and remarked, "Just enough air left in this thing to play a game. You take it out first." She thrust the ball hard into Duncan's chest.

It was only about ten minutes before Duncan went numb. Not from the cold, but from her brutalization. She manhandled him. She pushed, shoved and physically dominated him in every sense of the word. Duncan's resolve to hold his tongue for fear she'd put him in hot water with his mom was in jeopardy. On one possession, Duncan's head ended up on the driveway pavement, then under her sweaty arm and finally against the garage door as she pushed him away and laid the ball softly in. "Think I should spot you ten points, lightweight?" she gloated with a big smile.

Duncan muttered something nasty low enough that he knew she wouldn't hear it and took the ball. He started to dribble up the driveway. Miranda pushed her big, broad body into him in such a way that he couldn't get by. She pushed herself into him so hard that he fell backwards on his butt. "Foul!" he cried out at her finally.

"I don't see no refs." Miranda pulled the ball from his grasp. "We're playing street rules," she told him.

"So what am I supposed to do when you foul me?" He got up off the ground.

"If you get fouled then you foul back, Einstein," she laughed at him.

"Yeah, all right. I get it." Duncan rolled up his sleeves and readied himself to play more physically.

"But remember," Miranda started to dribble the ball, her tits bouncing hypnotically as she did, "If you foul me, I'm gonna punch you in the fucking face."