.

The Final Event

The rickshaw pulled easily toward campus. I glanced back at Haruhi now and then. The expression on her face was priceless. I could almost hear her brain buzzing as she asked herself, What part of agreeing to be a cum dump in the service of thirty horny guys was a good idea? On the other hand, she looked amazing. She always looked stunning nude but seeing her bound and helpless with that cute crown on her head took the view to another level. With her wrist cuffs fastened behind her head and her legs spread so invitingly wide, it took all the willpower I could muster to forge ahead and not fuck her.

I considered aborting the delivery—for about half a second. Haruhi needed to learn that her schemes had consequences, mostly unpredictable ones. Unleashing the sex monster at school had altered so many lives in so many unforeseen ways. It was important that she experience this side of the equation.

Plus, she'd make a spectacular treat for the guys. Nobody had a clue she was coming.

She tested her restraints in earnest as we approached the gymnasium's side double doors. Ryoko's experience during the endless week of sausage service taught us that Haruhi couldn't be bound unless she submitted to it, either consciously or subconsciously. In other words, for my plan to work, her master better do all the binding, which was fine with me. The cart's frame creaked but, as expected, my queen's restraints didn't budge.

In many ways, the rules of the Booster Alumni Midnight League matched those of Fight Club, since that's what the league resembled at first. It specifically required everyone to keep what happened at the events secret. No electronics allowed, and I didn't take any chances with spies. I made sure all of the gymnasium doors were locked except for the double side doors, and I tasked two of the biggest and baddest Boosters members with securing that entrance.

When I approached with the rickshaw in tow, it piqued my bouncers' curiosity. When I got closer and they saw who occupied the seat—and the manner in which she was seated—their jaws dropped.

"Hey, guys," I said, as I pulled the cart past them. "You're doing an awesome job."

Their eyes bulged. "Holy shit. It's Haruhi." That turned out to be the common reaction.

When I pulled the rickshaw into the gymnasium, a familiar view greeted me. North High's gym could be utilized for many purposes. This evening, my compatriots and I configured it for "The Big Game." Bright lights lit up the main central basketball court area while rows of empty bleachers surrounded it. The digital scoreboard clock read 12:05 AM.

I'm sure I could have produced a very successful pay-per-view event and sold tickets, but alas the gym was empty but for the thirty-odd dudes that made up the Alumni Boosters—and my support staff, Itsuki Koizumi, Mikuru Asahina, and Yuki Nagato. Conspicuously missing was Ryoko Asakura, a favor done for Haruhi since the two didn't like each other too much.

About a third of the guys dressed in official North High P.E. uniform shorts and t-shirts, while others dressed more colorfully. Awaiting the game's start, they milled about, stretched, tossed a dodgeball around, and jogged laps around the perimeter of the court. All heads turned when I pulled the Haruhi onto the court. It took the guys a minute or two to get over the shock of what they were seeing. But once that passed, everyone expressed their pleasure with cheering and wild applause.

They chanted, "Har-roo-hee! Har-roo-hee!" Their enthusiasm surprised me. After all, it's not like this was the first cute, helpless naked girl they'd ever seen. That view was pretty standard at these events.

Despite being obscenely exposed and ridiculously vulnerable, Haruhi raised her chin and smiled around her gag. I made a "lower it" motion with my arms. The cheering died down, and everyone resumed their warm-ups.

I pulled the rickshaw to center court, faced it toward the Visitor's hoop, and set it down on its flip-out rests. Then I stepped behind the seat, bent forward, and spoke softly into Haruhi's ear. "This is how the game works." I waved at the locker room door, which was slightly ajar.

Donning attire similar to Haruhi's, Mikuru stepped out and shuffled toward us. Her outfit closely matched the one Haruhi wore, but the leather encasing her neck, ankles, and wrists was colored red. Also, Mikuru wore her restraints differently. Instead of crossing her wrists behind her head near her neck with elbows pointing up like Haruhi, Mikuru's wrists crossed high up her back between her shoulder blades with elbows pointing down. A short chain connected her wrists to her collar. Another short chain clipped to her ankle cuffs, forced Mikuru to take lots of small steps. She giggled into her gag when the guys applauded her.

Meanwhile, the rickshaw and its surprise passenger acted like a magnet. Haruhi glowed in her nudity in an otherworldly way, attracting men like mosquitoes to a bug zapper bulb. The athletes running laps tightened their radius around her. Those throwing dodgeballs back and forth closed in. Though they tried not to be too obvious, everyone was ultra-psyched the Sausage Queen was joining the game.

Sensing their heightened attention to her presence, Haruhi tensed. So, like any good trainer loosening up his athlete, I massaged the girl. Her shoulders and back looked really tight, so I reached around and fondled her breasts. She didn't complain. Instead, she watched with rapt attention as the visiting team's target shuffled to the basketball hoop where Koizumi waited for her.

An errant ball rolled up to the rickshaw seat. I chuckled as the wide-eyed guy who jogged up to retrieve it froze with his mouth wide open, hypnotized by the close-up view of Haruhi's royal nudity. I recognized the classmate as Dizzy, which is a nickname for something I can't remember. He was a likable guy with a reputation for using his warped imagination to pen lewd fanfics—many of which, I believe, were influenced by the beauty seated before him.

I waved to get his attention.

"She's so beautiful." He stared with wonder at her flawless body.

What do you expect? She's a fucking goddess, literally, as you will shortly learn. I said, "It's okay. You can touch her." After all, this guy's innocent groping would pale in comparison to what he'd likely be doing to her later.

Haruhi, annoyed at the distraction, growled and shot him the evil eye. Dizzy turned and scampered away.

Meanwhile, target-Mikuru stood at attention between two bungee straps that dangled from the backboard frame to the floor. After Koizumi released her wrists cuffs, she raised her arms to form a "Y." Koizumi attached her wrist cuffs to the upper metal loops embedded in the elastic cords. When he patted her thighs, she spread her legs, placing tension on the bands supporting her. Once the spread of her legs matched that of her arms—Mikuru's "Y" had become an "X"—Koizumi clipped her ankles to the lower ends of the bungee straps. He finished the job by attaching an aluminum rod to Mikuru's ankles, underlining her sexy "X."

Mikuru's nod signaled her readiness. Koizumi double-checked the cuffs and verified the snugness of the strap holding Mikuru's ballgag in place. Then he flashed a thumbs-up sign to referee Nagato, who manned the scoreboard control panel. She depressed a switch that engaged the motor that pulled the hoop-and-backboard assembly up toward the ceiling. She stopped when Mikuru's wiggling bare feet hovered ten feet above the gymnasium floor.

Now officially the Visitor's target, the busty nude redhead tested her range of motion by twisting her hips, pulling up her knees, pumping her feet, and swinging from side to side as far as her flexible restraints allowed.

Haruhi turned to me with eager eyes and a nodding head before speaking unintelligibly into her gag. "Mngff-mngff." Put me up like that. I wheeled her to the Home team's hoop.

"This game is played like regular dodgeball," I said as I fastened Haruhi's wrists to the upper loops of the bungee straps. "As usual, the goal is to get everyone on the opposing team out by hitting them with a ball or catching the ones they throw. Obviously, you won't be helping out with that aspect of the game."

"Unng-hung." She nodded her understanding.

"Here's the difference. If a player hits the opposing team's target"—I pointed at the nude redhead suspended like an "X" from the backboard at the far side of the court—"one of their 'out' guys can return to the game. It's not an easy throw, and a moving target can make things challenging."

"Unng-hung." Haruhi nodded again. I could sense her mind working, forming strategies.

"One more thing." Kneeling, I clipped her ankle cuffs to the straps. "When a team hits a target five times in a row unanswered—in other words, if you were to get hit five times while Mikuru stays clear—the referee calls a foul."

She looked down at me, her brow furled. "Mngff-mngff." What's that?

"The referee temporarily halts the game, and you suffer penalties."

"Hmngf?" Penalties?

"Spread a little wider please."

Haruhi spread her legs, and I attached the spreader bar.

"Yes, penalties. Use your imagination." I rose, pinched Haruhi's nipples, and manipulated her breasts. "It's nothing you won't be able to handle."

Her eyes widened, and she flexed against the restraints. The bungee straps stretched, but they didn't budge. Her follow-up sigh warmed my heart.

I released her nipples. "Don't worry. That rarely happens. Most teams would be lucky to hit the back wall five times, let alone a swinging target."

Her groan told me she wasn't completely buying it.

"Aside from dodging balls"—and getting fucked, I didn't say—"being a target doesn't require much thinking." I flashed Nagato the thumbs-up sign, then held up my palm. "Hold on. I forgot something." I removed Haruhi's crown and flashed the thumbs-up sign again. As she rose skyward, I placed her crown in the trunk. The game siren blared, warning the teams the game was about to start. The scoreboard clock counted down from five minutes. I rolled the rickshaw off the playing field.

Glancing down-court, I noticed Mikuru had acquired a coach. Some guy was helping her get warmed up. This individual wore a North High sweatpants-hoodie-combo and a flu mask over his face. For a guy, he seemed short, about the same height as his client.

He stood at center court and threw dodgeballs at Mikuru, some to her right, some to her left. Anticipating the throws, Mikuru bucked, twisted, and dodged. The guy's accuracy impressed me, especially when he challenged Mikuru with more difficult dodges, most of which bounced off her breasts. Their interaction fascinated me.

Which didn't sit well with the girl hovering above me. Due to background noise in the echoing gym, it took me a moment to register Haruhi's grunts. She wanted to practice too.

I picked up several dodgeballs and tossed them at her. I considered backing up to center court and throwing my balls from there, but I didn't have the arm strength or accuracy of sweatsuit guy. I also felt I should maintain a ten-foot distance from him just in case.

I nailed her three or four times from the foul line before she got the hang of timing the bounce of the elastic straps. She quickly got really good at dodging. Once or twice, she raised her legs to block an incoming toss with the spreader bar.

"That's a great strategy," I shouted. "If it hits the bar, it doesn't count. It has to touch your skin."

The scoreboard wailed, signaling the end of warm-up time. The two teams took their places on the backcourt line with their targets hovering above them. Koizumi replaced Nagato behind the control board while I stood at the sidelines with my arms crossed.

Referee Nagato, dressed in a sexy black-and-white-striped outfit that accentuated her curves, placed eight red dodgeballs on the centerline. Thirty guys—fifteen playing for the Home team and fifteen playing for the Visitors team—eyed the rubber projectiles from the backcourt line. When Nagato blew the whistle, the players rushed toward the balls.