Cheerleader Spoils

Cheryl has explained that the accident wasn't her fault. She was quite insistent on it, as a matter of fact and, to be honest, she had a point. She also had a delectable little bottom, which was the cause of the immediate problem.

We had all been boarding the buses, heading off to Lawndale for the big match, a match that we were red hot favourites to win. Cheryl was boarding the bus and it seems that Chris, our star quarterback, found that delectable little bottom too much of a temptation. He goosed her.

Cheryl screamed and slapped at the hand poking at her anatomy. She should have used that hand to hold the handrail while she got on. She slipped and fell backwards. Ever the hero (or possibly hoping for a free feel), Chris tried to catch her.

I guess you could say that he broke her fall, after a fashion. He slipped and went down as well, holding onto Cheryl. She landed on him and no harm done. To her. Chris had a broken wrist.

Our star quarterback was out of the game and our reserve quarterback was not nearly as good. What should have been an easy win now looked as though it would be a tough match, although still one that we should win.

The odd thing about the incident was that Chris seemed to find the whole affair amusing.

"Just what is so funny, Chris?" one of the guys asked him.

"Oh, it's just that I have a bet riding on this game and I'm probably going to lose it."

"You're not allowed to bet on the games and what's so funny about losing your money."

"Who said anything about money?" said Chris. "Let's just say that this was a non-monetary stake. More of a dare, really. Not that I'll be in a condition to collect even if we do win."

Apart from that Chris wouldn't discuss the bet, turning the conversation back to the game and the strategy the team would use, especially as it would have to be modified due to Chris not playing.

After a while the team and supporters were all on board the buses, bar Chris, who had been carted away to get his wrist plastered. One of the teachers volunteered to stay with Chris and drive him to the game afterwards, Chris being insistent that he not miss it. The team headed off to Lawndale, checked in at the motel and went out for dinner. Everything was normal.

The game went ahead and Carlos, our reserve quarterback, starred.

For the first quarter.

The second quarter he was tired. The third quarter he was missing in action, a totally useless prick. For the last quarter the coach swung in an emergency to quarterback and he did a reasonable job.

Quite frankly, the writing was on the wall at half time. We were leading but not by much. Chris, who had managed to make it to the game, said something rude about wannabe's who can't, complained that his wrist was worse than he thought, and went back to the motel to rest. Oddly enough he still seemed amused at the fact that we were going to lose.

We lost and quite badly at the end. Cheryl copped some stick but, as she said, it wasn't her fault. We were rather a despondent group when we went back to the motel.

Back at the motel the manager was waiting for us with a message of the good news/bad news type. He was extremely apologetic but, not to put too fine a point on it, he'd stuffed up. He was double booked. He was terribly sorry and all that, but some of us had to change quarters.

We asked why the newcomers couldn't take the rooms he wanted to stuff us in and he explained. The only room left was their deluxe suite. It could sleep four of us with no problems, but it would have to be four people from a group. Not two couples who didn't know each other. The deluxe suite would be ours at no additional cost.

There promptly arose a debate as to who should get the luxury suite, but the manager hushed us up. It seems that a certain gentleman by the name of Chris had been there when he found out the problem. He had promptly offered to help and had picked four young ladies to take the deluxe suite. These four ladies turned out to be Cheryl, Marie, Simone and myself. (I'm Wendy by the way.) Our things had already been moved in.

Rather high-handed of Chris was the general attitude, but the four of us didn't mind. He was just doing his best to help out in an awkward situation. We happily retired to our luxury suite. Once there, it seemed only fair and reasonable that we relax in the spa bath. A fitting end to a trying day.

After the spa we put on our nightwear and the telly. Checking out the fridge revealed a nice little assortment of goodies which we promptly raided. We sat around nattering, watching the telly and nibbling on the goodies, in no particular hurry to go to bed.

It was reasonably late, and we were thinking of retiring, when the door to the suite opened and four men trooped in, locking the door behind them. We were all excited squeals and protests and the guy in the front held up his hands to quieten us down.

"Listen," he said, "and I'll explain. About a month ago a young man who you may know was visiting our fair city. We were having a friendly drink in a hotel when he came waltzing in, spotted us and joined us. Uninvited, I might add. He mentioned that today's game was coming up, boasting about how his team was going to beat us. He was the greatest he told us, a natural born raider and pillager. When he came to town he was going to fuck us on the field and, after that, he was going to chase down our cheerleaders and fuck them, too, not wanting them to miss out on all the fucking he was going to do.

Now you understand how it is. We couldn't take that sort of challenge lying down. We flatly told us to put his money where his mouth was. He just laughed at us and said we couldn't afford to lose the money he'd take from us but, fortunately for us, his coach strictly forbade gambling on the results of matches.

I suggested a non-cash wager. Would he be interested in something like that?

Could be, he told us, and asked what we had in mind.

Well, I said, you seem to be the horny type. If you win, you and some of your mates can screw out cheerleaders. We'd even help line them up for him. If you lose, we get a free go at your cheerleaders. You can line some up for us.

We agreed on four girls being served up and here you are."

"Did it occur to you that the cheerleaders may not be agreeable?" asked Simone. You could hear the sarcasm dripping off her voice.

"Well, we did consider that, but your boy said who cares. We're all raiders. The girls are just girls and natural targets for us. Willing or un, they get fucked. Gambling debts must be paid.

Guess what, girls? It's time to pay."

"You want to get fucked?" asked Simone. "Then fuck off out of here. We start screaming and half the motel will be here to see what's happening.

"Not really," came the smirked reply. "That's why you're in this suite. It's been sound-proofed to allow people to party here without disturbing other guests. Scream away and watch the help not arrive."

"And I'm quite sure you don't need that," said one of the men, grabbing Marie's phone out of her hand.

It was unfortunate but all out phones were in plain sight, and the guys glommed onto them pretty quickly.

"Come along, girls. Let's get with the plan. We want you all to strip, now. As a little incentive, any of you that we have to strip also gets spanked. To give you a hurry up, the last one naked is going to be spanked, even if she does undress herself. She'll also be the second to be fucked.

"Hold on, why second?" I asked, curious.

"As a favour to our mutual friend we agreed that we'd pay special attention to whichever of you is Cheryl. She's to be the leading act. We were told you would know why."

"Fucking Chris," snapped Marie. "That's who's behind this. You shouldn't have broken his wrist Cheryl."

"I didn't break it. He broke it himself. I was an unfortunate bystander."

"It occurs to me that I'm being slightly remiss. Allow me to introduce ourselves. I'm Brad, and these are Tom, Aaron and Nick. We will be your hosts for this evening. Perhaps one of you ladies would be so kind as to introduce yourselves."

"I'm Simone. The rest of us are Marie, Wendy, and Cheryl, the bone breaker. Be careful approaching her."

"I didn't break it. He did that all by himself," insisted Cheryl.

"Now that we all know who we are, may I point out that I haven't seen anyone removing their clothes yet. It can't be that hard to take off pyjamas and things. What's the delay?"

"Not going to happen," snapped Marie, glaring at him.

"Dear me. Rebellion in the ranks. We really can't have that, you know? Cheryl, it's time for you to face reality. Do you want to get undressed or will I assist you to do so?"

Cheryl just looked at him, shaking her head.

Brad then demonstrated that he was an athlete. He moved fast. I also recognized the smooth way he moved. He was the Lawndale quarterback. He seemed to just glide across the floor and had hold of Cheryl before she could dodge.

Cheryl was wearing a cute little set of baby-doll pyjamas. 'Was' was the operative word. Brad scooped her up, dumped her on a bed, and removed her pyjamas and panties with a minimum of fuss. True, Cheryl squealed and wriggled, but that didn't help her. She was naked in no time flat.

With Cheryl naked and wriggling, Brad grabbed her ankles and lifted them high, holding them almost at her ears. He gave a nod to another of the guys and he moved up behind Cheryl and took hold of her ankles, holding her pinned for Brad.

"Sorry about this, Cheryl," he said to her, "but we did specify a penalty if we have to undress you."

With that he started spanking her, using both hands, would you believe. I couldn't actually see the spanking because Brad was between me and Cheryl, but I could hear his hands slapping down and Cheryl's squeals.

A couple of things struck me as wrong. Cheryl wasn't squealing the way I would expect her to if she was getting spanked. There seemed to be a tinge of excitement to her squealing. And the rhythm of the spanking was wrong. With a single hand spanking you expect a single spanking sound going on regularly. Using both hands you could expect a spank, spank rhythm, with a pair of spanks landing in close sequence. What I was hearing was a triple spank.

OK, so I was curious. So what? I edged slightly to the side to see exactly what was going on. Cheryl's bottom was stuck up in the air and her legs were parted, resulting in her mound also being presented. I suspected that Cheryl could actually see her both her pussy and her bottom. Brad was delivering a triple spank.

It was spank to her right cheek, spank to her left cheek, then a slap to her pussy. Now we cheerleaders are all girls together. We shower and change together and no one makes anything of it, so I had seen Cheryl's pussy before this. When I've seen it previously it was closed and smooth. Now it wasn't. Her mound was flushed and her lips were pushing up and out of her cleft. She was actually getting turned on by the spanking. I'd have been shocked if it wasn't for the fact that I could feel my own heat rising. (Rather embarrassing, being turned on by another girl getting spanked.)

Brad wound up his little penalty, waving his assistant away.

"Just stay like that," he told poor Cheryl.

We watched in horror as he dropped his trousers. We were all like, my god, he's really going to do it. Not that we could stop him. All we could do was watch. That's also what Cheryl was doing. She'd obediently stayed as she was, bent almost double. (Nobody can say cheerleaders aren't flexible.) Brad just knelt in front of Cheryl, his cock coming slowly down, not stopping even once he was touching her. He just pushed into her while she watched with a look of disbelief on her face.

She couldn't disbelieve it for long. He just slid all the way into her. Once in her, Cheryl's legs just wrapped around his waist. I'll swear she did that of her own volition, too. I didn't hear him tell her to.

After that it was all over bar the shouting, as they say. Except, in this case, it was all over bar the squealing and bouncing and gasping and bucking and screaming and squealing and more bouncing and. . . I'm sure you get the idea.

I don't know about the others but I'd never seen someone getting screwed before. Hell, I can't really remember seeing myself being screwed. It usually happened in the dark. I couldn't take my eyes off what was going on. Brad would pull back and then seem to drop down on Cheryl, which action would be met by a squeal from her and she'd seem to bounce up of the bed. I'd have thought having Brad drop down on you would sink you into the mattress, but not so. I'm quite sure I saw daylight between the bed and Cheryl as she bounced up to take him.

I'd always thought that Cheryl was a little bit of a prude. Witness her action when Chris goosed her. He obviously should have waited until he had her on a bed. She knew just what to do with that body of hers, humping her hips upwards and managing to offer her breasts to Brad in the same motion. (He wasn't backwards in accepting the offer, either.)

We could tell when things reached the finishing stages. Brad was bouncing harder and faster and Cheryl was squealing louder, excitement plain in her cries. Then Brad banged in one last time and you could tell he was squirting her while her legs shot up in the air while her nails dug into his shoulders and she just shrieked before slowly sinking back onto the bed.

Brad rolled off the bed and got to his feet, looking awfully smug. It dawned on me at that point that one of the rest of us would be next. The question was, who?

I didn't have to wonder long.

"Hi. In case you missed it earlier, I'm Nick," said a voice in my ear. "Tell me, am I going to have to strip and spank you first?"

Oh god. I was up. I dithered. How the hell could I just take off my pyjamas in front of the men? There again, if I didn't I'd still wind up naked, but I'd also get spanked. Um, there was a thought. What would it be like to be spanked before being ravished with make-up sex? I was curious, but not that curious. Not with an audience. Maybe another time and place I might consider it.

Nick reached out to undo the buttons on my top but I slapped his hand away.

"I can do it," I muttered, starting on the buttons.

"Pity," he murmured.

I gave him a nasty look, but I also slowly unbuttoned my top and took it off. (The whistles I got were flattering. I have a nice chest and the pyjama top had effectively hidden it. Now it was on display and being appreciated.) Reluctantly I dropped my pyjama bottom and panties, standing there bare, and feeling it.

Nick took my arm and directed me to a bed. I so did not want to get on that bed.

"Al right," he said quietly. "Hop on the bed and get on all fours. Head down, bum up."

Swearing to myself, I did so. Resistance wasn't going to help me. It would probably just get me some bruises. It was a case of go along and make the best of it. I couldn't help but wonder what Simone and Marie would do. Neither of them was renowned for meekness. They expected men to do what they wanted, not them do what men wanted.

Nick settled on the bed behind me, his hand closing over my privates, rubbing them. If he was trying to get me aroused he was a little late. Watching Cheryl's performance had already gone a fair way to doping that. Embarrassingly, I found stripping off in front of a bunch of strange men had done the rest. Is that weird, or not?

Nick prodded me a couple of times, his fingers sliding past my lips and stroking me internally.

"My, my. Hot little thing, aren't you?" the bastard commented.

Then it was far too late for me to fight or protest or pray. I could feel his, pressing against my lips, pushing past my lips, sliding into me. He had no hesitation, just driving his cock right in, not caring if I was ready for it or not. I was both ready and not ready. Ready, in the sense that my body was aroused. Not ready in that I was still telling myself this isn't really happening.

It's pretty hard to tell yourself it's not happening when a cock is charging up your passage and you're giving a shriek of mingled shock and excitement. I could feel my passage yielding, letting him pass only to close around him.

There was a slapping sound as Nick's groin hit my pussy and he paused for a second. And that would be generous measure of the length of time he paused. He went sliding out again, and I was able to tell exactly how far he pulled back. He didn't pause when he considered himself out far enough, just reversing direction and driving back into me.

What the hell was his hurry, I wondered. It wasn't as though I was going anywhere. Whatever the reason he was banging in hard and fast. I was bouncing my bottom to match him. A lot easier on my poor passage if I have some say in how it's being used. I was already breathing hard, the excitement I felt rising with each vigorous thrust. I just wished he'd take a bit more time with what he was doing. It wasn't a fucking race.

It was fortunate that Cheryl's little contretemps had got me aroused. It gave me a head start in dealing with Nick and, god knows, I needed it. He was banging away in fine style and I could feel his cock right where I lived. I was burning inside, but I was all in favour of a long slow stoking of the fire. Nick was just throwing on gas, trying to burn me to the ground.

I was gasping and pushing hard to meet him, swearing that if he didn't let me reach the spot I'd kill him. Damn it, it's his duty to make me get there. I could hear him panting now, and I was starting to worry that he'd collapse before he got there, let alone me.

I swear he was going to finish without me, if he succeeded in finishing at all. I finished up with a little self-help. Hoping no-one would notice I slipped a hand down there, flicking a finger against my clit. It helped. I'm terribly sensitive there. A couple of discrete touches and I was ready.

Nick probably got a tremendous shock when he found me climaxing. My passage clamped around him and I milked him, taking him like a milkmaid drains a cow. I closed around him tightly and just dragging him over the edge. I didn't scream when I climaxed, as I was expecting it. I can't exactly say the say for Nick.

He got off me and off the bed, swaggering away as though he was Mr Studmuffin, the First.

"Before you jump another girl, may I suggest you get some instructions from someone who knows what they're doing," I suggested, giving him a pitying smile, which depressed that swagger a bit.

Now that I'd been jumped I was able to relax. I'd had my turn. Now it was up to Marie or Simone.

"So, who's next?" I asked.

Marie and Simone looked at each other and they both shook their heads. Neither of them was going to be volunteering.

"Um, might I remind you that whoever is last to get naked is going to get spanked? If the boys choose and undress you, you also get spanked?"

Both of them glared at me. I just smiled at them, watching them work it out. Brad had already demonstrated that the spanking threat was real. Unless they wanted to be spanked they'd both have to strip, and even then the last would be in strife.

Marie worked it out first. If she stripped fast, Simone would be the spanked one. She started undoing her top, moving fast. Simone saw what was happening and reacted in self-defence. Poor Marie didn't have a chance. Simone was wearing a sexy nightie and panties while Marie had proper pyjamas. She whipped off her nightie with one hand while pushing down her panties with the other, leaving Marie still undoing buttons.

Marie gave Simone a filthy look but I don't think she could really complain. She'd started the race. She gave a resigned shrug and continued undressing and it wasn't long before there were four naked damsels in distress.