by bobwhite
Fucking Tom Peterson. That’s all I could think. Fucking Tom Peterson. Julie and Heather would never let me live this down, not that I was to blame. So, he’d asked me out. The dorky kid who took more science per year than I took math all through high school didn’t have a chance, and it’s not like it’s never happened before. You expect this when you’re a cheerleader, especially if the sock dance is next weekend and you’ve let it be known that you don’t have a date yet.
It’s not that he looks bad or anything—he’s cute enough, in a nerdy way. No muscles, though—he’s skinny, too skinny if you ask me. Well, if you ask me an anyone else. And, there’s the fact that he’s the gym coach’s son. Nobody knows who his dad is, not even him—Coach Peterson is the type of lady who likes her 1 inch long hair bleached blonde and done up in those short little spikes that screams, “I am a dyke!”
Nobody dates the kids of teachers here. Especially a kid whose mom is probably a lesbian and who doesn’t have a dad, a nice car, or muscles. Who wants emotional baggage from a guy when there’s none of that nice eye candy to make it worth the time? Sure, I’ve done what Heather did and wore my cheerleading outfit to Tom’s house so he could help me with Algebra II. But other than that, the guy is pretty much out of his league with most of the chicks here.
I had to deal with Julie and Heather between classes all day. And when they told the others on the squad, the teasing got worse. Well, I’ve done it to them when they’ve been asked out by geeks before, and I knew the only way to make it end. So, with a few of my fellow uniformed gals by my side (basketball game tonight, and the Dance is on Saturday night), we found him. I can’t remember what I said to him, but my friends laughed and he almost cried.
At least his friends were there to console him. He’d get over it, but he’d probably never help me with homework again.
Last period was gym for all of the cheerleaders and a few of the jocks. They got the better of it—about seven guys were in the class compared to fourteen of us girls, and we didn’t have ugly cheerleaders. Things started going wrong in gym, though. For one thing, Coach Trimple was out. We’d seen her earlier, but she went home sick, according to Coach Peterson.
“Well, Coach Eckhouse can run PE,” Heather said when Coach Peterson broke the news. “But, he can’t run cheerleading practice, and that’s right after school. Is there practice today?”
“I can manage that,” the mannish woman told us. “I’ll even go easy on you so you’ll be ready for the dance tomorrow. I’m sure you all want to have a good time.”
The rest of PE went pretty much normally. Mom must have used some new detergent when she washed my gym clothes, though—I’d brought a clean outfit to practice in and whatever the bra was washed in was making my nips itch a little. But, maybe it was something else—I looked around, and a bunch of the other girls were rubbing their tits when they thought nobody was looking. I’ll definitely have to take a shower after practice, I thought. Damn... oh well, maybe one of the girls can help me do my hair... I didn’t bring anything but a brush.
I normally shower when I get home, but my tits were driving me crazy. My nips were really hard and poking through my shirt—thankfully by the time that started, PE had ended and the boys had showered and gone home. Practice is always right after school, so we would usually stay out and keep going. Coach Peterson pretty much stayed out of the way, opting to watch us and let the squad leader (Veronica) run us through the routines.
When the sweating started, I thought I might be sick. I mean, I always sweat, but I was soaking my shirt and shorts through. I was going to take a seat, but all the other girls were sweating, too. I guess it’s just hot... oh well. More reason to take a shower.
Practice went on for two hours, and by the end, we were all really sweaty. My hair was a wreck, even though I’d tied it in a ponytail like everybody else did. Hell, everybody’s hair looked like shit, and we were all soaked with sweat. I noticed that everybody’s nipples were perked up nicely, and I again caught some of the girls reaching up discreetly rubbing their nips when they didn’t know I was looking. I’m sure they caught me doing the same, my nips were almost on fire with the strange itching-tingling and it probably wouldn’t go away till I was nice and clean.
At the end of practice, Coach Peterson didn’t let us go to the showers. Instead, she told us to go to our lockers and get our cell phones, but we were to come right back to the gym. It was a strange thing to ask, but we all did it—no need to make a coach mad, especially when your normal coach is sick and could be out for a week or so, like she was last time she left early.
Once we got back to the gym, the coach wasn’t there. But, for some reason, most of the girls (the ones with dates) called up their boyfriends and told them that they weren’t going to go with them to the dance. They did that all at the same time, breaking the hearts of a dozen guys who had been put through the paces of dating a cheerleader. Once the calls were over, though, the phones were turned off and we all just stood around in the gym, talking about why it had been so important that we all go to the dance together—and dateless.
At some point, Coach Peterson came back in. She must have overheard us, because she said, “Oh, you’re not going dateless. Bitches, line up.”
We did. I wanted to protest her calling us “bitches,” but I found it impossible to do anything other than stand in line with my thirteen fellow cheerleaders. The itching in my nips became unbearable, but suddenly I was unable to rub the sensation away.
“So,” the coach began, “you all suddenly find yourselves dateless for the sock dance. I think I can help you out, so this is your lucky day. Jennifer, be a dear and run to the supply room. Here’s the key. Go in, and bring out the bar stool that’s in there. There’s also a long extension cord and a brown box marked “Wrestling.” Bring it out. You might have to make a few trips, so please hurry.”
Jennifer ran like hell out of the gym, in the direction of the huge storage room used by the coaches at the school. Then, Veronica and Kim walked forward a few steps and turned around, facing the rest of us.
“OK, girls. Veronica and Kim here are going to pick teams. This is the last thing we’re doing in practice today, so pick wisely,” Coach Peterson said. Her tone of voice made me wonder if she was pissed off about something. One by one, we were picked... well, by we, I mean, everybody but me. I was the odd one out, since Jennifer was still gone. When the picking was done, she had retrieved the stool and box, but she had to find a janitor because the extension cord was gone.
“Alright. Sheila, you come over here,” the coach told me. I went over and stood by her. “Heather, give these instructions to Jennifer when she gets back. She’ll be in charge until I come back out; Sheila and I have to talk in private. But first... bitches, form a single file line behind the cunt who picked you for her team.”
Now, the looks on the faces of the girls I saw were priceless. I could almost hear their thoughts, as I’m sure we were thinking the same thing: Did she just call us the c-word? We call each other bitches sometimes, in fun, but never the c-word.
“Now, bitches, turn and face the other team.” Like they had done with every other order Coach Peterson barked out since practice was supposed to have ended, they all did exactly as told.
“Dress right,” was the next order.
Hands reached out, and soon the girls were spread out fairly evenly in two lines, and facing each other. Right then, Jennifer came in. Heather looked like she was trying to move, but her feet didn’t budge. The coach laughed a little—and there was no humor in that laugh—and she motioned for Jennifer to go talk to Heather.
“OK, you girls are now looking at your partners in this last exercise. Jenny will fill you in on the details,” Coach Peterson said. Jennifer was reading the note with a shocked look on her face. The last thing I saw before I found myself following the coach into the office in the locker room was a tear running down her eye as she unrolled the long extension cord and walked over to where there was an outlet.
Once in the office, Coach Peterson took a seat behind the desk. I was going to sit in the chair in front of the desk, but I found myself unable to move. I was going to ask why everything was so weird today—this wasn’t how practice usually ended—but I couldn’t talk.
“So, Sheila. You are probably wondering why you’re here, standing, unable to sit, speak, or calm the intense arousal focused on your cute titties. Please, make yourself more comfortable.”
At that, I took my shirt, bra, shorts, and panties off. My shoes stayed on, though. Still, I couldn’t talk. All I could do was rub my nipples and think, What the hell is happening! This can’t be happening! Why can’t I stop pinching my nipples... shit, why can’t I cover up! Ooooooh, at least this tingling is going away....
“You know, I had a talk with Tommy, my son. You’ve met him, you’ve teased him, and all he ever wanted was to take a cute girl to a dance just once in his high school life. It’s not been easy for him, you know. Years ago, I wanted a kid. Being a dyke makes that kind of hard, but I have other talents, as you are going to realize.”
“What... mmmm, do you mean?” I said. Shit, how long have I been able to talk?
“Well, I found a nice guy who had a bunch of kids with his wife. Five kids, I think. So, I figured that he wasn’t shooting blanks. I can play with anybody just as easily as I’m playing with you cheerleaders right now, so it was no problem to make him fuck me until I was pregnant. It took a few weeks. Thankfully, his wife was pretty. I don’t normally go for the femme look, but with her in the bedroom, it was easier to let that man put his filthy thing in me.
“Sex with a man is cheaper than in vitro, but still too distasteful unless you have a pretty pussy to lick. Hell, they were such great sports that I even let him keep her. And, unlike you, she escaped with her sexuality intact. She only ended up getting a haircut.”
“What do you mean? Why can’t I just walk out of here?” I asked.
“You can. Tell ya what: go to the locker room over there, and go to the mirror. I’ll be right behind you.” As she said that, she dipped her finger in a jar of petroleum jelly and got up from her chair. Before I could move, I felt her slide up behind me... then I felt her finger go down my back, leaving a greasy trail straight down to my ass... and then I felt it find, and penetrate slightly, my anus.
Holy shit! What the... mmmmm, OK, it’s not as bad as I thought, but dammit, she can’t do this!
“I can do this, cunt. You love it, in fact. I bet you’re wondering why you ever went out with guys in the first place,” Coach Peterson said. Soon, we were standing in front of the long mirror that was mounted above the line of sinks. Each sink had a shelf and an electrical outlet—clearly, it was designed with hair dryers in mind. But on the shelf in front of the sink we stood at, there was only a pair of hair clippers. The comb had a marking—3/4 Inch—and I was instantly worried.
“What are you going to do with those clippers?” I asked. My hair is black and it flows in carefully applied (and paid for) waves down to the middle of my back. My hair is my best feature, seeing as how I’m not big on top. Come to think of it, nobody who was picked for Kim’s team had a big chest—when we pick teams, it usually ends up as tits vs. mosquito bites—and I wondered suddenly what was in the box marked “Wrestling.”
“I’m not going to do anything with them,” the coach said, moving up behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist. Her hands came up and started playing with my small breasts. As much as it should have disgusted me, though, I felt my skin anticipating her touch with little goosebumps. And as she felt me up, I felt my pussy get wet. Gingerly, I reached for the clippers and plugged them in. I hit the “On” button—they were already adjusted and there was no loud buzz. Just a soft, vibrating hum.
“Hmmmmm, this’ll never do, Sheila. Let me take this ponytail down for you... there. Now, you know what to do. Jennifer needs a date for the dance, but you can’t go looking like this.
“No! No, I don’t go with girls!” I screamed, but that had no effect on my hands or arms. With a strange hum, I erased one stripe of hair from my scalp, leaving only very short hair (a little longer than fuzz) behind.
(Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!)
“Look at how nice you’re looking. No longer timid or docile, doesn’t this just make you look... assertive? Aggressive? Powerful?”
(Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!)
I looked as I shook out the hair in the comb. It did look interesting, and I imagined that people wouldn’t treat me like a ditz if my hair were all that short. Nobody treated Coach Peterson like a stupid girl. Willingly, I took off another two stripes of hair. Coach had stepped back and grabbed a towel, she was using it to sweep my long hair off my back.
I wish she could do that with her finger in my ass. Or, my pussy... but I’d rather have a cock in my pussy... wouldn’t I?
(Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!)
(Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!)
No... no, a cock isn’t right for my ass, and it’s too big for my pussy... no, I need to have a woman’s slender, knowing fingers on my sex... in my sex... my ass, hell all over my body... girls know girls’ bodies, it’s only natural....
(Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!)
(Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!)
Well, maybe fingers aren’t enough... but dildos don’t ever go soft, you can go all night with one... I could go all night with Jennifer... yeah, she’d look good on her knees....
(Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!)
(Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!)
(Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!)
Missed some on the sides... there... oh yes, little Jenny on her knees, my hands gripping her hair... stupid bitch keeps long hair, and that’s just asking for someone to grab a fistful... yeah, that hair is like a handle on her head, and I can rub her face into my pussy till my arms are tired...
(Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!)
(Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!)
Yeah, nobody can grab my hair, so it’s easy to know who’ll be in charge... something’s missing....
“Uhm... Coach Peterson?” I asked, turning around. By now, she was as naked as I was. Jennifer was between her legs, and the coach was using her long, red hair as a convenient handle with which to grind the kneeling cheerleader’s face into her shaved pussy. I didn’t know Coach shaved... I’ll have to do that....
“Yes, Sheila? Oh, hope you don’t mind me using your girl’s face. Just giving her a little training; you’ll thank me.”
“No problem,” I said, although there was no way Jennifer was going to go unpunished for cheating on me—even if she didn’t have a choice. But that was for later. “I wanted to know... your hair... how do you get it spiky?”
“Ungh! Damn, Jenny, you’re a quick learner... oh, Sheila.... yeah, I just use gel. There’s some over there on the bench. Go take a shower with the rest of the girls who got their hair cut. I’ll show you all how to do it, it’s pretty easy. Oh Jenny? Go out and sweep the floor, and put everything up. You and the other subs don’t get to shower until your Mistresses tell you to do so.”
I walked to the shower with the coach, and found six of the girls—all of them from Kim’s team, in fact. We quickly washed the hair off our bodies, and it’s nice how little shampoo it takes to clean hair that’s only an inch or so in length. We’d all have to get together before the dance and do some final trimming, but I have to say, we looked hot. Before we got out of the shower, we had our hands all over each other’s heads, tits, asses... and pussies. But, Coach didn’t let us play for too long.
“OK, dykes. Out of the shower, I have one final thing to teach you all before you go home. And I expect you to practice every chance you get. Come on.”
When we got out of the shower, three benches had been taken from in front of the lockers and lined up in rows. On two benches, three girls—still in possession of their long hair and girly makeup, which I knew I’d never wear again—lay on their backs, naked, looking straight up. Some were playing with themselves, but they stopped when they were aware of us looking them over. On the bench closest to us dykes, though, Jenny lay back alone. I saw that her pussy was wet, and I couldn’t wait to taste it.
“Now, dykes, find your partners from before. Straddle the bench right above your partner’s head. You too, Sheila.”
We obeyed... which was an odd feeling. I somehow felt that I was the one who should be obeyed... but looking down at Jenny’s frightened face, I knew that there would be plenty of time for that.
“OK... good. Listen up, bitches on the benches. You’re looking up at the thing that controls you from now on—your Mistress’s cunt. It is your love, your life, your passion. You will do anything the woman attached to that cunt tells you, because when you obey your Mistress, her cunt tingles. And when it tingles enough, you’ll be allowed to lick it, finger it, fist it, or whatever else your Mistress wants you to do to it. And when you make her cum, maybe she’ll return the favor.”
Without further command, I—and my fellow dykes—found ourselves lowering our burning slits to our slave’s mouths. Most of the girls didn’t do anything, and a few begged their friends to get off of them and let them leave. But it was Carrie who first shouted, “You know what to do, slut! Eat me out while I grind on your face!”
Obedience was immediate. And as soon as Rachel, Carrie’s slut-slave, obeyed, the rest of us who were squatting over our partner’s faces shouted similar commands. I came almost instantly, and by the second orgasm, Jennifer was reaching up and playing with my small tits. I turned around so I could slap her tits, and after awhile, I even fingered her to a quick orgasm.
I guess Coach Peterson left me in charge, because it was me who told everybody to shower (again, for some of us) and go home. Everybody listened and obeyed. After the showers, though, the coach was nowhere to be seen—but we all had a card in our lockers. The same message was written on each one: “Remember, cunts, you’re now in a lifelong relationship that you’ll enjoy. And every morning, when you wake up, you’ll repeat this phrase to remind you of how this all happened: If Tom’s not good enough for me, no man is.”
When I woke up Saturday morning, I said that phrase before I could say anything else. I am pretty sure all of the cheerleaders did the same thing. It was nice to wear jeans to the dance, but Jennifer wore a nice dress. I even had her put her hair in pigtails, which she hated but which I saw as a great way to tug her around.
I was going to apologize to Tom when I saw him, but from what I heard, he was here with two girls—Valerie (from the volleyball team that his mom coached), a cute Hispanic girl with great curves; and Sandy, from the track team, a petite blonde. A scan of the dance floor confirmed this—I was surprised the chaperons were allowing them to rub on each other like they were and call it a dance, but I was going to get lucky tonight, so what did I care if Tom did too?
Maybe I owed him an apology. No, I did owe him an apology. Perhaps I’d offer him dibs at Jenny tonight to get him ready for what promised to be a hot night for him. I could always ride Jenny’s face later.
“That sounds like a good idea—you’re so considerate now that your hair’s not clouding your thoughts with girlishness,” Coach Peterson said from behind me.
Heh... so she’s the chaperone... hell, I’m surprised she’s not letting her boy fuck those two sluts right on the dance floor....
“That’s not a bad idea either, Sheila... tell ya what, forget about loaning out Jenny. My boy deserves some pussy, but so does your girlfriend. Why don’t you go out there and have Jenny teach him how to eat pussy? She can do you, and he can watch and learn how to go down on a woman. Nothing sucks more than someone who can’t eat pussy, and dammit, my boy’s going to put lesbians to shame if I have anything to say about it.”
“Right here on the dance floor?” I asked.
The crowd parted, and Tom’s dates started stripping. Jenny walked over to the mostly empty part of the dance floor, taking off her clothes as she went, and knelt, apparently waiting for me. Nobody else seemed to notice. When I found myself going to her, and taking off my shirt in the process, I had my answer.
“Hey Tom, listen. Sorry about embarrassing you the other day. But, I’ll make up for it. Jenny here is a pretty good pussy licker—she’s a natural. I want you to pay attention,” I told him, finally getting my pants and panties off and kicking them aside. “You can practice on your dates, they’ll let you know how you’re doing.”
He was silent, and he sunk to his knees to watch what Jenny was starting to do to me. Soon, though, I was on my back, and he was studying Jenny’s actions like he probably studied science. And judging by Valerie’s moans, he was a quick study.
Too bad he’s a guy. I bet he’s going to be really good with that tongue.
© 2006, bobwhite, emc.bobwhite@gmail.com. All rights reserved.