All chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five
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As the year progressed towards its close, it became important for Ms Saunders to set up her cheerleaders for what Mr Gordon had called “the path to their future”.
It was becoming clear to the girls that their slutty cheerleading had destroyed the blissful, chaste future they had once imagined for themselves. Just last week Taya had learned she was pregnant, and she didn’t even know if it was from being raped by her “boyfriend” Steve, or from her gang-rape on the beach. The pregnancy wouldn’t begin to show until after Taya graduated, but either way, she knew that Steve had no interest in supporting her as a father to her child, and that if she claimed he was the father and he denied it, no one would believe that slutty shows-her-cunt-while-cheerleading Taya hadn’t fucked many other men as well.
The other girls were discovering that they were internet famous. The video of the first time Sarah had squirted over the squad had gone semi-viral, and it could be found on both regular video sites and porn sites, almost always with Sarah’s full name attached, and often with the names of the other girls as well.
Other videos of them cheerleading bare-cunted were also easy to find, their exposed boobs swinging around under the influence of the carrot-weights. And some of the boys who had fucked the girls over the past months – both their “boyfriend”, and other students who had taken advantage of them – had posted videos of the girls being fucked, or otherwise humiliated, in a range of places.
Each girl was independently processing the knowledge that the top result for a Google search of their name would be a picture of their cunt, usually with something being stuffed into it.
Meanwhile, Ms Saunders had been progressively breaking down the girls’ last resistance to being public sluts. One week she had pretended the body paint was missing, and made them go out without even the illusion of paint to conceal the fact they were naked from the waist down. The next week she made up for it by having them paint their groin *and* their tits, and go out wearing no clothes at all other than the paint.
Then she bought them a third carrot-weight – this one designed to clip to their clitoris, to significantly increase the pain and humiliation of their routines.
She called in a professional photographer to take photos of their girls in their cheerleading uniforms for a calendar, which would be sold to friends, family and supporters. The final calendar included photos of the girls spreading their pussies to the camera, squeezing their tits lewdly, and lezzing off with each other, including explicit shots of the girls fingering and even licking each other’s cunts.
The girls got used to seeing these calendars hanging in their own homes, and in the houses of their friends, and their family’s friends – and in truckstops and sex shops and men’s bathrooms around the state.
Then came the ultimatum.
“Girls,” said Ms Saunders, “our sponsor wants you to get bigger breasts.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bethany, never very smart.
“I mean boobjobs,” said Ms Saunders. “Breast augmentation. Cuntbunnies has a reputation for buxom women, and Mr Gordon is concerned that you are under-representing the brand.”
“Even me, miss?” asked Elisabeth. She already had quite large breasts – maybe an F-cup.
“Even you,” said Ms Saunders firmly. “Every girl is required to go up two cup sizes.”
The girls were stunned. They were much more inclined to assess their self-worth by their tits now than they had been before the start of the sponsorship deal – but still, few of the girls were excited about surgery to permanently make them more buxom.
“How will we afford that, miss?” asked Jenny. “Is Mr Gordon paying?”
“No, he’s not,” said Ms Saunders. “Your small tits are your fault, not his. But he is prepared to help out with your costs by offering you work shifts at the brothel.”
Their eyes widened further. “As *prostitutes*?” wailed Sarah.
“No, Sarah,” sighed Ms Saunders. “As receptionists, cleaners, admin assistants – but you will be required to wear your cheerleading uniform. Being pretty *will* be part of the job. He’s graciously going to loan you the necessary money for the surgery, and you can do shifts at Cuntbunnies until it’s paid back.”
The girls hated it – but by now, Ms Saunders had so many holds on the girls, and their will was so broken by daily objectification and rape, that they all did as they were told. They each allowed their surgery to be booked for them, and went in to receive their boobjob.
When they returned to school, Ms Saunders was amazed by how much more they looked like sub-human fuckdolls. The surgeons had made no effort to give the girls tits that looked realistic. Each girl had a pair of oversized round, fake melons stuck to her chest. No one would ever respect these girls ever again, and the first thought of anyone looking at them would be a sexual one.
They began spending their time at the Cuntbunnies brothel. Working off their debt would require being there pretty much every evening that they weren’t at cheerleading practice, and often till late.
They were given jobs as receptionists, janitors, and other make-work positions, but inevitably on their first night they would be asked to show a male client to a room to visit one of the brothel’s regular girls. Only when they got there, the room would be empty, and then the man would push the silly big-titted cheerleader down and rape her.
By now most of the girls were used to having cocks stuffed into their holes whether they wanted them or not. Some were even able to smile and orgasm as they were raped. But whether they enjoyed it or not, it was immediately clear afterwards that there was nothing they could do about it.
After all, they’d spend most of the year telling the whole district to indulge their cheerleader rape fantasies. They had chosen to get oversized fake fuckdoll tits, and they had come to work in a brothel with those tits out, and nothing below the waist except body paint. They’d escorted a man to a bedroom… what had they thought would happen?
And if that wasn’t enough, Mr Gordon made it very clear to them that it would probably happen again, and they would let it happen. He would *not* be having police visit his establishment. If girls who worked with him were difficult, there would be consequences – both from him personally, and from Ms Saunders, who would be told to kick them off the cheerleading squad.
And so the girls turned up for their shifts, and inevitably they would be raped – sometimes three or four times in a night. Mr Gordon urged them to rub their pussies as they worked, or to make out with each other if there were two cheerleaders on shift at the same time, so they would be nice and lubricated if any “sexual accidents” happened with a customer.
Those “accidents”, of course, were arranged by Mr Gordon. The customers who raped the girls paid for the privilege. The men of the town had been primed by a year of teasing to have a desperate kink for raping cheerleaders, and they would pay well to indulge in it – *particularly* if the girl struggled.
None of this money went to the girls. They would work off their tit debt at minimum wage, to keep them in his establishment longer. In fact, he added a $25 “slut tax” to their debt every time they got raped, to “punish them for being distracted from their work”.
Twenty-five percent of what the girls made from being raped would go towards paying off the costs of sponsoring the girls all season. Twenty-five percent would go to Ms Saunders, as a thank you for creating such a fine harem of whores. And the rest would go into Mr Gordon’s pocket.
The men who frequented the brothel were hardly strangers, either. The girls got used to being raped by their teachers, their classmates, the fathers and brothers of their friends, and even their *own* fathers and brothers. Plus the occasional woman who wanted a lesbian experience with a pretty cheerleader.
For the final football game of the year, the girls went out on field wearing nothing at all, except their tit and clit weights – and a big red ball-gag. They bounced and jiggled and drooled in front of the audience, openly masturbating as they did so, and at the end Ms Saunders helped to ungag Taya so that she could announce to the crowd, “We’re nothing but jiggly little cheerleader rape-dolls. You can do whatever you want to us when you visit us at Cuntbunnies.”
After the game, the football team were invited into the locker room to fuck the girls. They had been encouraged to be rough, but by now the girls hardly struggled. Most did their best to please the boys with their mouth and pussy and anus, and at least half had embraced their roles as fuckdolls enough to feel real brain-numbing pleasure from being violently gangbanged.
Ms Saunders thought that might be the night that the once-innocent Sarah was impregnated, but she couldn’t be sure.
At the end, the boys tried to decorate the face and tits of each girl with cum. A good number of them had cum in a girl’s twat or ass, and weren’t able to generate another load, so the girls who didn’t have cum on their tits were encouraged to scoop it out of their pussies and smear it on their face and breasts.
When they were prepared, the school photographer came through – and the photos he took would be photos shown for each girl in the school yearbook that year. Bare-titted, smiling, with gobs of cum visible stuck to her eyes or cheeks or cleavage – a perfect final summation of the cheerleader’s education.
As graduation loomed, the girls knew they wouldn’t have a normal life after school. Any job they applied for would be able to see footage of them nude, lezzing off, being fucked. They had a reputation around town as prostitutes. Sarah and Taya were pregnant, and any talk of abortion was off the table – neither could afford it, Sarah didn’t believe in it anyway, and Mr Gordon had made it clear that he wanted them to carry to term. (There were people willing to pay a lot of money to rape a pregnant lactating cheerleader, after all.)
There was only one real option for the girls – prostitution. Ms Saunders urged the girls to beg Mr Gordon for a permanent job as a whore, which they all did, not realising that they already were one.
Mr Gordon didn’t agree easily. He told the girls he would only accept them in his brothel full-time if they agreed to a single condition – to become his property. They would each sign a contract declaring them to be the property of Mr Gordon. They would make no money, and own nothing themselves, but Mr Gordon would put a roof over their head and give them work to do fucking his customers.
Now, there was no legal way to make a contract to own a person, but the silly bimbo cheerleaders didn’t know that, and they all signed, thinking it to be a binding agreement. Mr Gordon took them out back, and introduced them to the dog cages they would be allowed to stay in if their parents didn’t let them keep living at home.
He had them bring him all their clothes and possessions – which he promptly sold or threw out, except for a few slutty costumes that might make the girls look even more rapeable.
And as the girls settled down to their new lives as rapedolls, Mr Gordon made it known that there was a new service available at the brothel. If you were very rich, and very taken with one of the silly little cheerleader sluts – well, you could just buy her. Forever.
Ms Saunders used a large part of her share of the proceeds to buy Bethany. She kept the girl in a cage in her basement, and brought her out each night to have Bethany service her pussy. She actually came to have feelings for Bethany, and began to have regrets about keeping Bethany all alone in her cage.
It was all right though. It was a new year – and Ms Saunders had a new squad of cheerleaders, fresh-faced and eager to cheer. They knew what sluts the cheerleaders from last year had been, and they were eager to show that they were *much* more chaste and well-behaved than those degraded whores.
Ms Saunders knew it would take a while until she had broken them down enough to regularly enjoy their tongues on her pussy. But she would get there. She was even looking forward to the challenge.
And she hoped to have the chance to buy whichever one turned out to look prettiest while crying, to give Bethany a girlfriend of her own in the cage.
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