Stepfordized: Part 6 (Patreon)

Isabella did her best to control her breathing as she rounded the bend on her final lap. In her practice she’d gotten her run times down to 16 and a half minutes for two miles. The soccer team was her main love, but the teams at DGWA were encouraged to cross train when they felt there would be benefit in doing so. So in an attempt to fully dedicate herself to her scholarship, Isabella had been taking on a full time practice schedule to build her skills to their absolute peak.

(1)

She had been training the entire off season to make it onto the team, but the coach had been extremely liberal with who was allowed to pass the tryouts and virtually everyone who went out for it got on. The only exception was a single Freshman who instead opted out of any demonstration of athletic ability, instead claiming to be from a rich family with a history of producing athletes. Other than that, the team was largely overcrowded with Coach Campbell insisting that it was important to have just as many subs as there were first string players. Not only could each girl learn a specific position that suited them, but they would never be short a player and could practice as teams against each other. It made sense, especially given the fact that the school was so new, but Isabella had to wonder why tryouts were even held in the first place if everyone made it save for a bitchy local who assumed she was queen bitch for no reason.

Most practices involved light warmups followed by a technical demonstration and then several scrimmages between the two sets of teams. Several of the girls were talented enough to start but for the time being, the real surprise was Coach Campbell herself. Despite her obvious breast and butt implants, the Ansley Park local was remarkably fit and did genuinely have a very strong knowledge of what to do and how to work with a team. Each practice was another trial and error lesson involving a new technique she’d devised to shoot at just the right angle or get the greatest amount of power out of her kicks. Even with her beyond-generous curves, she was able to snatch a ball from the best of them and then run down the field with it to score without ever being stopped. She wasn’t just beautiful; she fast and VERY fit. It was hard for even Isabella to not be jealous.

Coach Campbell explained that her body was the result of two things: Hard work and plastic surgery. One of them made her strong and fast, and the other was nearly inconsequential when it came to sports. Not only that, but she explained that she’d already had two kids and it had only slowed her down for a year at a time before she got back to a place that she wanted to be.

Every one of the new recruits looked on her with awe and admiration. To them, she was everything a woman should be: Strong, smart, beautiful, and a mother on top of it all. Hayley Campbell was perfect.

(2)

Which was why Isabella had been training so hard. She ran the track every other day to increase her stamina and speed, then spent the days in between running drills to build her technique and ball control. While the other girls only practiced on actual practice days, Isabella was hard at work to be the very best player she could be. At first she’d felt self conscious about how much more time she was putting in than the other girls, but the results began to show quickly. After a few weeks, Isabella’d not only increased her running speed, but she was regularly outmaneuvering the other girls on either team.

All of that was great and she was very proud of herself. She’d lost 5 pounds and had become the biggest rising star on the team, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was…off.

It was almost too easy. In fact, it WAS too easy. Whereas the first month, the Spanish girl had trouble keeping up with some of the faster girls or taking the ball from the more talented technicians, lately she was cutting through them like a razorblade through hot butter. Coach Hayley hadn’t said anything about it at all. Sure, she praised Isabella up and down for her abilities, but she did that with literally every girl on the team no matter how well they were performing that day. It was great for morale, as the mesmerizingly beautiful woman had an immense charisma that could make anyone feel like a million bucks after just a few peppy compliments. Each girl including Isabella came to practice glowing with confidence every single time.

Confidence. Not motivation.

It had become apparent as Isabella had crossed the finish line for her self imposed practice that she wasn’t just resenting her teammates for no reason. Something really WAS bothering her and only then did she realize what it was.

She recorded her time at 16:15. It was a new record and one she was proud of but as she looked around, she found that she was the only one really practicing in earnest. There was a moment of irritation buzzing around her brain like one pissed off red bee in a hive of happy yellow ones, but that bee soon tired and buzzed itself out as the anger turned to a subdued sense of disappointment and realization. She’d known for a while that something wasn’t right. She wasn’t just getting unstoppably good because she was just the best soccer player or the most devoted at practice. The other girls were slipping.

Every week it seemed like the margins of her victories were growing wider and wider, but not because she was performing that much better each time. It was like the other girls were just not as into it as time went on. They were peppy and excited, but they had become slower and more clumsy instead of faster and more dexterous. Despite their overflowing confidence levels, the DGWA Storks rarely did much after the warmups and lesson was over. The girls on the team would enthusiastically go about trying what they learned a few times, but would quit the moment they got the movement right for the first time. It wasn’t about mastery, it had become about satisfying a requirement before they all broke into groups to chat and kick the ball around a little; the games more like cute, beer-league rounds than competitive matches.

Isabella wiped the sweat pouring from her face with a towel then splashed a generous amount of cool, refreshing water into her mouth. She walked slowly around the track to cool down, feeling the brisk, gentle breeze on her face and appreciating the relief it brought. The other girls had attended practice and fulfilled the requirement for obvious participation, but few were doing much more than that. Balls were being kicked and some women were doing some light stretching, but that was really it. As Isabella rounded the first bend, she could tell that there were changes just becoming visible in her teammates.

(3)

What had first looked like muscle thickened thighs on her teammates due to squats and kicking had become jiggling masses that that spilled out from under increasingly small shorts. Slowly but surely, she could see firm abs giving way to squishy muffintops as little puffs of flab began to show on the majority of the players.

(4)

Isabella wasn’t just getting better, she realized. The others were getting worse. At first it was easy enough for her to see the change as self improvement on her end, but after several weeks she had become increasingly aware that the other girls were running slower and kicking more softly, but put it from her mind in order to allow herself to acknowledge her own growth. But now it was impossible to ignore the entire team slacking off and gossiping for the entire second half of practice. They were lazy and the majority of them had gained a visible amount of weight. It didn’t matter how good it made HER look, if there was no one else on the team who could play well, then they were doomed to lose every match Isabella couldn’t take by herself.

(5)

Isabella’s mind buzzed again with possibilities. Little bees flitting about, filled with purpose and drive, telling her that this was her chance to step up. They had been told that a captain wouldn’t be chosen from the start, but rather would rise on their own over the course of the practice season. This was her time, she decided. If their team was going to get anywhere in real competition, they needed a leader who would step up and get them motivated and in shape.

With a big, proud sigh and a weakly suppressed smile, Isabella marched over to Coach Campbell to make her bid to save the soccer team from themselves.