This choice: You hear a faint spectral voice chuckling in amusement. • Go Back...Chapter #5You hear a faint spectral voice chuckling in am... by: Mr. George   Unable to put it off any longer, you steel your nerves and head out to join the other candidates for the cheer squad.
As you reach the door, a rolling, chuckling laugh sounds, it sounds as it's at your shoulder, but also quite far away too. You whirl around, to catch the joker, but the small office is empty apart from yourself.
A shudder runs down your spine, as you convince yourself, it's just girls giggling coming through the vents. You cast around, but can't see any ventilation grills.
"Nah..." you mutter as you grab the chilly door handle, the ghost stories were just stories ... right.
You fit in with the rest of the try-outs, milling around the changing room, the voice and vision just an unsettling memory. There's a buzz in the air, an excitement, the girls are eager to get on the squad.
A whistle blast silences the chattering, as everyone looks over to the impressive figure of the teacher standing in the doorway.
"We're looking for ten girls to form the squad, and I'll have the final decision." She lets the whistle fall down. You just wish you hadn't felt your eyes drawn to the cushioned bounces before the cord settled it in her cleavage.
"Now, into the hall and give yourself plenty of space facing the mirror."
You follow, as the girls pour out of the changing room. You try not to think about getting an erection. But even that thought make the little fellow pulse in his confinement as if sensing a challenge.
You pass Miss Hardbroom, as you do, "No favourites, no special treatment." Her voice was husky, low and clearly aimed at you.
You just wished she knew the effect her sultry voice had on you... or rather you didn't.
There's room towards the back of the gym, and you find a place with enough room for you to circle your arms.
A sense of pride suddenly swells, and you are determined to give this your best shot. You certainly don't want to be the first eliminated.
In front of you the entire wall is mirrored, with a beam at waist height for ballet practices, everyone can see what everyone is doing. You try not to focus on the scrumptious arses, as the girls flex and stretch in preparation.
Dear God, please don't....
You pray sincerely to focus on the routine. When Miss Hardbroom does her stretches you're afraid to look away and miss the start of the try-out. Her body ripples as she stretches, she must be in her mid-twenties, and still has a gorgeous body. You keep noticing the shimmying, and teasing from her chest as her sports bra smothers it's movement.
You swallow loudly, oddly certain that everybody must have heard that. You need to forget about her sports bra, and those breasts held in that lycra embrace, each intimate detail of her perfect nipples held and revealed.
Shit...., she's started.
You start copying her moves, the kicks, the waves of the arms, the balancing. There's even a smile on your reflected face. You're enjoying this, really just enjoying it. Better even than that you see that you're not the worst. Already you can see other girls -damn it- just others, who are flailing like landed fish. Who can't tell their left from their right, and look like they can barely balance with both feet on the ground.
A smirk forms, as you see some of the girls are unprepared. Their own titties flying wildly despite their best efforts, their cheeks turning deeper and deeper red as their embarrassment builds.
Weirdly, you feel satisfaction as they fail, concentrating on imitating her gestures is working. And you're not thinking on ...
Concentrate on the work! You berate yourself.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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