Story: The Cheerleader Conversion, Part 3

Chapters:
One | Two

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Laurel’s schoolteachers would probably have described her friends as “drop-outs and losers” – and, to be fair, they did mostly consist of stoners, petty criminals, and the chronically lazy.

But to Laurel they were rebels, iconoclasts and bad boys – and they *were* almost universally boys.  The only other girl among them was Autumn, small and pretty and pink-haired, who dressed in a slutty short-skirted emo style, and who was rumoured to have spread her legs for every boy in the group at least once.  She encouraged them in making misogynistic jokes, occasionally flashed her small tits on request, and giggled when she was called “cunt” or “bitch”, and she had contributed greatly to Laurel’s fear of ever being seen as a sexually-available female by her friendship group.

The boys themselves were a rotating group of about twelve teens, who ranged from overweight slobs to reasonably attractive hunks.  But their undisputed leader was Hunter, who was 21, brooding, mercurial, and devilishly handsome, who lorded over the group like a feudal baron.  He was cruel, inconsistent, and quick to make fun of weakness or insecurity.  On occasion, he was violent.  He was deeply misogynistic, always referring to women as “fucking cunts”, and it was rumoured that in his final year of school he had raped and impregnated a female teacher, forcing her to resign in shame to avoid a police investigation into why she had fucked a student.

And they believed those rumours, because on one late summer night at the beach he had raped Autumn in front of all of them, slapping her and pulling off her clothes and shoving his cock into her as she struggled.  Autumn had giggled, and her pussy had been visibly wet, but they had all been able to see that she was a little bit scared, too.  But Hunter had made each person present that night approach Autumn as he raped her, and tell her that she deserved what was happening to her, “just like all women deserve it”, and Laurel had been too in awe (and terror) of Hunter to do anything but obey.

To the boys, and to Laurel, Hunter was a hero, and a role model.

Left to her own devices, Laurel would never have let Hunter, or any of the other boys, *ever* see her in the new clothes that her stepmother Annika had forced upon her.  They weren’t slutty – but they also left no doubt that Laurel was a girl, and that she had tits (large tits), and an ass, and (by implication) a cunt.  She looked *pretty*, which to Laurel was basically the same as if she had just turned up completely nude.

It had been her custom in the past to hang out with her friends on a daily basis at the skate park, but following Annika’s forcible transformation of her wardrobe, she began avoiding her usual haunts, scared of seeing someone who might recognise her.

Annika, for her part, insisted on taking Laurel with her on minor errands – to the supermarket, to the chemist, to the mall to browse jewellery – so that Laurel would get used to wearing her new clothes in public.  And Laurel found it wasn’t so bad.  Her clothes weren’t remarkable – they were just *feminine*.  She felt the gaze of a few men upon her, from time to time, but otherwise dressing like the girl she was didn’t make the world end.

Sometimes Annika made her wear high heels, and that was worse.  She had trouble balancing on them, and had to move in slow, mincing steps that made her feel silly and vulnerable.

Annika taught her the trick of walking so that her steps made a straight line.

“Place each foot directly in front of the one before, so that your footsteps would make a straight line, rather than being staggered,” she instructed.  

Laurel didn’t want to.  They had been at the mall for an hour at this point, and she wanted to go home.

“Really, Laurel, we’re not leaving until you get this right,” said Annika.  “One foot in front of the other.”

Pouting, Laurel tried what Annika was suggesting.  It took her a while to get the hang of it, but soon she was doing it easily enough.

“Very good,” said Annika.  “Now, I want you to practice that at home, too.  This is the way that ladies walk.  If I catch you walking like a man, I’ll have your father spank you.”

Laurel guessed (correctly) that such a spanking would likely involve her ass and cunt being exposed, and Annika priming her father to be sexually aroused before it began.  She shivered, and decided that it wasn’t so hard to walk this way, and that she would simply do as she was told.

What she didn’t notice was what this style of walking did to the rest of her body – how it made her hips sway, and her butt bounce, in very enticing ways…

But despite these public excursions, Annika soon grew frustrated that Laurel was not modelling her new fashion to her friends – and so, on one day when Laurel had *thought* they were going to the store to buy some ingredients for that night’s dinner, Annika instead drove Laurel to the skate park.

She parked as close to the teens using the park as she could, and rolled down the car windows.

“Get out,” said Annika, in a quiet voice.  “Go have fun with your friends.”

“No!” hissed Laurel.  “They’ll *see* me… in these clothes…”

“That’s the point, dear,” said Annika.  “They should see how pretty you look now.”

“No,” insisted Laurel.  “I’m not doing it.  Take me home.”

“Get out,” said Annika, in a cold voice, “or I will have a discussion with you, right now, in a very loud voice, about how happy you made your father’s cock when you modelled your clothes for him.”

Laurel went pale – but she had absolutely no doubt that Annika was not bluffing.  The big-titted bimbo would happily humiliate Laurel if that was what it took to get her way.

Her lip quivering, Laurel opened the door and got out of the car, willing herself not to cry – not here, not in front of people that knew her.

She was wearing a short white pleated skirt, with white panties underneath, and a tight white crop-top over a push-up bra.  She couldn’t have looked more different from the other young people gathered at the skate park.  At least she wasn’t wearing heels today.

She thought Annika might drive away then, leaving her stranded – but instead Annika stayed, watching, to make sure that Laurel actually went over to her friends, instead of just running away.  And so Laurel was left with no choice but to approach the benches where she could see her friends sitting.

At first they didn’t recognise her.

“Who’s this bitch?” called out scrawny, short Gavin, as he saw her approaching.

Then Autumn laughed – a silly giggle – and at the same time Bolland – with his copious gut and scraggly beard – yelled, “Fuck, it’s Laurel, she’s turned into a girl.”

“She’s got tits!” laughed tall, wiry Vernon.  “Laurel’s got tits!”

“Is that a fucking *skirt*?” laughed Gavin.

“Shut up,” said Laurel, blushing, as she approached them.  “My stepmom made me wear this.  I hate it.  Just ignore it.”

But they weren’t ignoring it.  And Laurel was uncomfortably aware that every boy present – boys she had been friends with, in some cases, for years – had had the same thought upon seeing her: that she was something they could stick their cock into.  That she was a sexual object, with tits and a cunt, and they could potentially treat her the exact same way that they treated Autumn.

But Hunter was the worst.  He was sitting on the table between the benches, and staring at her with fiery intensity.

“I was wondering when you’d realise what you were,” he said – and he said it quietly, but everyone else fell silent as he spoke, so that the words carried perfectly to Laurel’s ears.

“What… what do you mean?” she said, nervously.  She realised her hand had gone to her hair, playing with it, as if she were flirting, and she hated that, but she couldn’t seem to stop.  Hunter’s stare made her feel scared – but it also was causing a distracting throbbing between her legs…

“I mean that you’ve been hanging out with us all this time pretending that you were some kind of weird boy, instead of admitting that you were a big-titted cunt,” said Hunter.  “But bitches think with their cunts, and I knew you’d want to show off your fuckmelons eventually.”

“No!” protested Laurel.  “This wasn’t *my* idea.  I hate this.  My stepmother *made* me…”

“Do a twirl so we can see,” said Hunter.  

It didn’t sound like a request.

Nervously, Laurel spun in a short circle, making her skirt flair up prettily.

There were hoots and claps from the assembled boys.

“Now bend over,” said Hunter.  “At the waist.”

“I don’t…” began Laurel.

“NOW, CUNT,” yelled Hunter suddenly, with scary intensity, and Laurel found herself obeying, behind forward at the waist.

This had the effect of letting Hunter see straight down her top, into her cleavage – and showing off her panties to everyone behind her.

“Spin,” said Hunter.  “Let everyone see.”

Laurel awkwardly rotated in place, still bent over, giving everyone a look at her cleavage and her ass.  

Were some of the boys taking *photographs* on their phones?  Laurel blushed an even deeper red.

“Now apologise,” said Hunter.

Laurel didn’t understand.  “For what?” she asked, straightening up, even though she hadn’t been given permission to.

“For lying to us,” said Hunter.  “About being a cunt.  You can still hang out with us if you apologise.  Just say, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve always been a cunt with big fuckmelons, and I’m sorry for hiding them.’”

Laurel bit her lip.  She didn’t want to say that.  It was gross.  It was humiliating.

But… this was more attention than Hunter had *ever* given Laurel before.  And she had to admit that she *liked* Hunter’s attention.  She had, from time to time, had sexy dreams about Hunter noticing her – talking to her – appreciating her…

And these were her *only* friends.

“I’m sorry,” she said, quietly.  “I’ve always been a cunt with…”

She paused, her tongue stumbling.

“With big fuckmelons,” prompted Hunter.

“A cunt with big fuckmelons,” said Laurel.  “And I’m sorry for hiding them.”

“Good,” said Hunter.  “Now show us.”

Laurel recoiled.  “What?” she said.

“You just said you were sorry you’d hidden your fuckmelons from us,” said Hunter.  “Apologies need to be paired with actions, cunt, or they don’t mean anything.  So show us your fuckmelons.”

She looked around.  There were at least ten boys, plus Autumn, gathered at the benches and table – but there were nearly 50 more around the skate park, and some of them were looking in her direction, especially after Hunter had shouted.

“Here?” she said, in a small voice.

“Gavin,” said Hunter, “if the cunt doesn’t show us her fuckmelons, be a good lad and rip her top off, would you?”

Gavin looked a bit nervous at this request, but he gave Hunter a thumbs up.

Laurel realised this was going to happen.  She was going to show her boobs to her friends.  If she didn’t comply, it could well go badly for her.  She remembered how Hunter had raped Autumn, in front of everyone, and she could imagine him doing it again, to her, in bright daylight, right here.

Humiliated and helpless, she pulled down the neckline of her crop top, and then her push up bra beneath it, and pulled her tits out for the boys to see.

Other than doctors and her family, no one had seen Laurel’s tits since she was a child.  And now a whole group of boys were staring at her.

“Those are good fuckmelons, cunt,” said Hunter.  “You should be proud of them.”

Laurel couldn’t help but feel a flush of pleasure at the praise – and the throbbing in her cunt intensified.

“The boys can take pictures of your fuckmelons, right?” said Hunter.  “For their records?”

She didn’t want that to happen at all – but she knew there was only one answer Hunter would accept.

“Yes,” she said, quietly.  “That’s fine.”

And every boy present – boys she had known for years – eagerly got out their phones to photograph her naked tits.

“Gavin, what would you like to do with these fuckmelons?” asked Hunter.

“Oh, jeez,” said Gavin.  “I’d like to cum on them.”

There was laughter.

“What about you, Vernon?” asked Hunter.

“She looks like a fucking cow, now that we can see how big those udders are,” said Vernon.  “I’d like to milk her – just grab those things and really *squeeze*.”

“Bolland?” prompted Hunter.

Bolland grunted with lust, staring at Laurel’s tits intently.  “I want to slap ‘em till she cries – leave handprint-shaped bruises on them – and then make her thank me for slapping them, because it’s what cunts deserve.”

This produced gales of laughter from the boys.

Laurel was so humiliated she wanted to die.  Her only friends in the world were sharing their gross fantasies about her tits, confessing how they’d enjoy raping and abusing her.  They would never look at her as “just one of the boys” again, no matter how she dressed.

And to make it worse, her cunt was inexplicably wet, and growing wetter all the time.

“Can I put them away now?” she asked.  She hated how she sounded petulant – and she hated how her instinct had been to ask for permission, instead of just covering them.

Hunter waved a hand dismissively.  “Sure, go back to hiding them,” he said.  “We can always pull them out again later.”

And there was laughter at this – but Laurel knew that Hunter wasn’t joking.  From now on, among her friends, she would be expected to expose her tits on command.  

She hated it.  She hated it.  She hated it so much.

And what she hated most of all was that some part of her *liked* it.

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And in the carpark, watching the whole scene from her car, Annika smiled, satisfied in the progress that Laurel was making towards her true identity.

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