Read an extract from Christie St Claire's new story and find out the dirty little secrets of the Fenton University Cheerleader Squad:
At first I didn’t see her. All I saw was the hour glass back
of a woman over six feet tall in high heels. She was wearing the tightest
corset I had ever seen. It was black leather with a shine of regular use and
must have been made with iron rods. Her ass cheeks and shoulders puffed out
heavily tanned skin at either end of the corset. It didn’t look like a fake
tan; it looked like sunburn scorched into a violent tan. Her hair was a large
weave of black cables twisted together like electrical wires. Her ass cheeks
were held up by stocking attached to the bottom of her corset.
In her long gloved hands, the woman held a large wooden
paddle. She shifted her weight, giving me her profile. She was in her forties
with heavily applied make-up in dramatic reds and blacks as if she didn’t often
use make-up. When I looked past her towards the benches I saw Brittany. She was
dressed in a cheerleader’s outfit. It wasn’t her outfit. Well it might have
been her outfit, but it wasn’t an outfit any squad would let their cheerleaders
wear.
The tunic was barely holding her boobs. Even from the side I
could see the pink and white material straining against her breasts, rounding them
out and popping those nipples as hard as rocks. The skirt was the pleated style
that you imagine cheerleaders wearing, but never actually wear. It was tightly
secured around her waist and rolled up her back. Her bloomers were held firmly
under her knees to reveal her naked ass.
