index


Message-ID: <61659asstr$1320081001@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Kenny Gamera <turtlemeat69@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Night of the Drunken Cheerleaders {Gamera} (nc, hum, FF/MMFF)
Lines: 369
Date: Mon, 31 Oct 2011 13:10:01 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Disclaimer

The following is a work of fiction.  Mrs. P told us in first
grade that fiction means made up, and Mrs. P wouldn't lie, now
would she.  So in no way should the reader think that any of
this happened.  Nor should one assume that any stewardesses,
librarians, nurses, cheerleaders, or Japanese schoolgirls are
hot, bisexual nymphomaniacs, because none of us could be that
lucky. No one was harmed in the writing of this story.  The
possible excessive use of safewords is under investigation.
Unlike pre-school teachers, copywrite law is on my side.  So,
close your eyes and imagine me clutching this story like a
toddler shouting, "Mine!  Mine!  Mine!  No!  You can't have
it!"  Mr. M told us back in the Regan administration that porn
is bad for us, and okay, Mr. M would lie to us, but that
doesn't mean non-adults should be reading this.  What are you
doing here anyway, kid?  Naruto is on Cartoon Network right
now.  This story is brought to you by the letter ! and the
number  B1 (hex).

Thank You and Good Day,

Kenny N Gamera

(now at) turtlemeat69@gmail.com

because Hotmail hates me.





Night of the Drunken Cheerleaders

by

Kenny N Gamera

That it was a dark and somewhat stormy night should be of no
great surprise.  It was October, the sun dropped below the
Earth noticeably earlier everyday.  With this event came of
the first of the heavy gray clouds which would cloak West
Michigan for all but a hand's worth of days until mid spring.
The clouds brought with them a constant drizzle that would
soon turn to snow, but for now only worked in concert with a
slight chill to bring the appearance of misery.

The rain also turned the fallen leaves of surrounding oaks
into an impossible to rake mat that made the old deer path
into a treacherous trek.  Four boys and three girls walked
gingerly over the slick mass, but with no slips that the good
balance of a careful youth could not correct.  The trail led
through a forest still mostly in the pine phase of succession
to an opening hidden behind a lakeside dune.  Bare hands were
universally thrust into light jackets.  Postures were
scrunched.  No one spoke even to cuss the poor traction.

The border of forest and field was abrupt.  Each in the line
took one step that carried them from beneath the canopy to a
meadow filled with trampled, damp grass that on the unvisited
edges still stood above the knees of the tallest of the boys.
Towards the center, placed with no where near geometric
procession, sat a corroded oil barrel.   Flames flickered
above the lip.

Other kids stood around it huddled in a way that would remind
the better students of pictures from their history books of
their very ancestors manning the first picket lines.  A small
stereo boomed the heavy beat of music.  They all held cups of
bright red plastic in the one hand not crammed into a pocket.
A careful observer would note the occasional shift of the
drink to the other hand, so that the exposed hand could be
quickly shoved into some protection.

One, a tall dark haired boy, stood facing the pathway in.  As
he lifted his head to take a gulp, he saw the seven trudge
into the field.  He diverted his lifted arm and held the cup
high in greeting.

"Yo, Brad."

The boy in front of the bunched up line, blond haired and
fair, took a hand from its pocket and raised it in a hail.  He
didn't reply to the shout, but with continued purpose lead his
troop to the gathering.  The dark haired boy left the circle
and approached the newcomers.  They met closer to the barrel
than to the woods.

"Whattup, Ricky?"  Brad held his right arm out at a high
angle.  Ricky slapped his hand into his friend's and grasped
it.  The rest of the line continued pass while shifting toward
a single, lonely keg set off a distance from the barrel.

"Man, we shouldn't be out here doing this."

"Hey, it's nothing that Jesus and the apostles didn't do."

"Yeah, well.  They were in a hot dessert.  We're out here
freezing."

Brad nodded, but also pointed back to the kids around the
barrel, who were greeting the party he brought.

"What's bible camp without a kegger?  Tradition is tradition,
and this was our last chance.  The counselors could only turn
their backs so long.  I barely talked them into letting happen
tonight."

"It is Halloween."

"That's tomorrow."

"Even worse, dude.  That makes tonight Devil's Night."

Brad shook his head and said with an easy toothy smile.  "This
ain't Detroit."  He drew out the city's first syllable with an
exaggerated long e.

"That's in bad taste, man."

"Yeah.  Sorry.  But it's true.  We're not working mischief;
were just listening to some tunes, drinking a little beer, and
talking.  That's it."  Brad pointed to the keg.  "Speaking of.
Give me a chance to get some.  We don't have all night."

Together, they walked to the keg.

"No, we don't."  Ricky pointed behind them the black shape of
the dune.  "We may not be celebrating Devil's Night, but the
football team is on the beach with a bonfire."

"So?"  Brad leaned over and began to pump the tap.  "No skin
off my nose."

Ricky released a released a huff.

"What?"

"Cheerleaders.  They got the cheerleaders with them.  JV and
varsity."

When Brad rolled his eyes, Ricky parted his arms and held his
hand open in a gesture of frustration.

"Ricky, don't tell me you believe those stories."

"They ain't stories."  Air escaped Brad's mouth in disbelief.
Ricky replied, "My brother used to play chess.  He's seen it."

"Sure."   Brad again drew out the vowel.  "Rick, that was just
to keep you from going geeky.  And yes I'm saying your
brother's a geek. "  When Ricky started to protest, Brad
lifted a hand.  "He calls himself Juan Carlos."

"That's his name."

"He pretends he's a sword fighter."

"He's on a fencing scholarship."

"Peace.   You can believe those stories all you want.  But as
far as I'm concerned--"

"Whatup, bible boys," came a voice from behind Brad.  "You
picked a bad night to sneak away from Camp God."

"Yeah, Ty.  Like coach would be happy with you endangering
your immortal soul and your conditioning the weekend before
playoffs."

"Me?  I'm on my way home to nestle up with a good playbook.
The rest of the team is spent, and I want to be gone before I
join their unhappy condition. You guys might want to break it
up before anything happens."

"Not me.  I just got here."

Ricky pointed at Brad.  "Preacher's boy doesn't believe the
stories."  He emphasized the final word by raising both hands
level with his head.  He wiggled the beer and flashed an air
quote with the other.

"Can't save them all.  Isn't that what you've said?  Well, I
gave it try, so don't say I didn't warn you, Brad."  Ty jerked
his thumb toward the path.  "I'm outta here.  You coming,
Ricky?"

"Yeah."   Ricky tilted his cup.  With a flinging motion, he
sent the small amount of beer flying off away from them.  "I
need to get Toni.  I'll catch up with you."

Ty nodded and turned away.  Brad and Ricky turned to the
group.  Neither said a word in the short distance.  Ricky
tossed his empty cup into the flames and called out to a
short, wide girl with a cute face and spiked hair highlighted
to the outskirts of blonde.  She waved back and came over
after a short good bye to her friends.  The boys shook hands
as before while they bid each other farewell as if nothing
else had been said between them.

With his arm around Toni's waist, Rick walked away.  Brad
turned to the others still around the fire.  He had a few
words with those he knew, but he stopped to talk with a young
girl, a freshman, he hadn't had a chance to talk with during
the weekend camp.  She held a cup, only partially filled, as
if it were diseased.  They settled into a discussion of the
Wedding of Cana.  He was saying something reassuring when a
shrill shriek filled the night.  The cup slipped from the
girl's hand.

More than one voice asked "what," but it was Brad who said,
"That was Toni."  A few looked at him, but he repeated it
louder, most turned to him.  "Let's go.  Come on.  They might
be in trouble."

He threw away his cup and headed to the path.  The freshman
was next to him, keeping pace.  He looked behind; the others
were following at varying distances.  There were enough that
not all could come at once up the path.  Some waited as a line
slowly formed.   Others tried to move along the sides of the
path.

Both groups struggled.  Those in the woods fought through
fallen trees, rotten stumps, and exposed roots.  Behind Brad
came the gasps and exclamations of people slipping on the
slick leaves and falling.  Others yelled as they were tumbled
into and knocked over and spilled into the way of still more.

In a short time, only the freshman and one other boy, older
but still new to the group, were left with Brad.  The others
were not far behind, but the distance was enough that they
didn't see the scene that awaited the three in the forefront
when that caught up to Toni and Ricky.

Ricky was pinned against the trunk of a large pine.  His head
lolled to the side and his tongue hung from his mouth.  He was
limp, and he moaned faintly and hopelessly.  He pants were
opened and pulled slightly down.

It front of him kneeled a cheerleader.  With a smooth precise
motions, her head bobbed toward and then away from his body.
Both arms pushed him hard into the rough bark, but it was
clear that he had long given in and was within her power.  The
three would be rescuers stood dumbstruck in view of the girl's
beautiful face as her mouth slid over Ricky's swollen member.
It was thick, and her lips were stretched tight around it and
drool ran down her chin.  Still, with each sure, forward
thrust, it sank until her throat bulged and her nose smashed
against his abdomen.

Toni lay spread across the path, her jeans caught around one
ankle.  Between her legs, holding them spread, a second
cheerleader lay on her belly.  Toni tossed and turned.  Her
pleas were incoherent.  Her arms moved to her attackers head.
Her fingers twisted into the cheerleader's blonde locks which
framed the shining purity ring on one hand.  She pulled the
head tighter to her womanhood.  She released another shriek
like the first.

The boy had stood motionless in the heartbeats it took to take
this in.  Then, in a voice that filled the curse with the
truth that made it prayer, he called out, "Heaven help us!"
With that he ran, not back where already shouts for help had
erupted, but forward into the pair of girls in their unholy
union that block the path out of the woods.  He passed them
both with a leap above their bodies.  As he landed, however,
the cheerleader's arm struck like a serpent.  She grasped his
ankle and he went flying.

He landed face down with a thud.  For a moment he lay catching
his wind.  When he turned face up, the cheerleader had left
Toni and began to slither over to him.  He screamed and backed
away, dragging himself by the elbows as quickly as he could.
She took hold of a pant leg and pulled herself to him.  She
climbed him like a ladder, taking handfuls of material and
pulling up.  He flailed at her with his arms, but the blows
glance uselessly off her as she reached one hand for the fly
and the other for the belt.  He tried to push away, but he was
trapped.

As he fought and failed to escape, Toni struggled to her hands
and knees and crawled like a baby to where the Ricky twisted
under the assault to the other cheerleader.   She shoved the
other girl away and pulled the unresisting boy to the ground.
A sharp yank brought his jeans further down his legs, exposing
even more of him to the world.

Dragging her pants behind her, she moved over him.  With great
ease, she mounted him.  She tilted her head back as she slid
down his member.  She gasped a sigh of relief turned to
pleasure.  The cheerlead leaned over;  their mouths met in a
kiss as Ricky came to life and thrust his hips up into his
girlfriend.

Screams now filled the forest.  The freshman grabbed Brad by
the arm.

"We got to get away from here," he said to himself in a soft
voice.  He turned to the side from where the yelling seemed
the least.  "This way.  Let's go."

She held tight to his arm as her dragged her into the woods.
They ran together with little regard to the hazards on the
ground.  When one would stumble, the tightness of their grip
would hold them upright.  At last, though, they both tripped
over a dead branch hidden in the leaves.  They lay there,
taking heavy breaths.  All around the terror of their
compatriots turned to shouts of pleasure.  The girl shivered
as she wept against Brad.

"I don't want it to happen.   Someday, I know, but...  not
now.  Not like this."  Her voice trembled.  "I have so much to
live for."

Brad swallowed hard.

"What's your name?"

"Hanna."

"Hanna, I'm Brad.  I promise you that I won't let it happen."

He listened for a moment.  The screams were far off.
Carefully, he stood up.

"I think it's safe.  Let me help you."

He bent over, offering his hand down to the girl.  As she
reached up, there was the sound of a sudden movement.  He
turned to see two cheerleaders, naked save for their knee high
socks and short skirts, charge from the bramble.  He reeled
back and fell.

Hanna screamed and struggled to get to her feet.  Brad found
his and scrambled to his feet.  Behind him Hanna shouted his
name, but he turned only his head to watch one of the pair
fell on her and grabbed her in an embrace.  The girl shook her
head, shout and crying out for Brad, who only ran harder
towards a stand of young pines.  He dived beneath the ground
hugging boughs.

He crawled just ahead of the second cheerleader's clawing
hand.

Soon, the cheerleader shambled away.  Hanna's cries became
weaker and instead of calling to Brad, she pled to God.
Slowly, shouts to God changed from pleas to something more
perverse.   Brad clutched his knees and waited out the night,
tears running down his face.

They found him the next day among discarded clothing and
bodies, pink from the cold and covered in sweat, saliva, and
other fluids.  He was holding a rotted log as if he could use
it as a club without it crumbling.  He flinched when some well
meaning person touched his shoulder.

"All night," he told the concerned face.  "All night.  They
just kept cumming."
<1st attachment begin>

<HTML removed pursuant to http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/erotica/assm/faq.html#policy>
<1st attachment end>

----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+