Story: The Cheerleader Conversion, Part 5

Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four

(CW: incest (father-daughter))

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“So you want to be a cheerleader, suddenly?”

Coach Storm was looking at Laurel dubiously, as though he sensed he was part of some elaborate prank.

For her part, Laurel was blushing furiously.  She didn’t want to be a cheerleader.  She hated cheerleaders.  She thought they were sluts and bimbos.  She didn’t want to be popular.  She didn’t want to be “pretty”.  

But her stepmother Annika had been clear.  She hated Laurel’s skater-girl style, and wanted Laurel to be more feminine.  Either Laurel would successfully find her way onto the school cheerleading team – or Annika would schedule Laurel for breast surgery.  And Laurel’s father had supported this mad ultimatum.

Being a cheerleader would be embarrassing.  Being forced to get giant fake tits would be infinitely worse.  Laurel had made her choice.

Laurel already hated the compromises she had made even before she walked into the Coach’s office.  She was wearing her school uniform – but beneath her white button-up school blouse she was wearing a push-up bra, something she had never worn before.  Laurel had never quite realised how big her breasts really were until she saw the impressive cleavage that the bra produced.  And she was wearing the high heels that she hated, and walking as Annika had taught her to walk, in a way that made her hips sway enticingly.

Just walking in the school gates in the bra and heels had made her feel like the world’s trashiest prostitute.  Some people had looked at her.  Some of them had been boys.  They had liked what they had seen.  Laurel had blushed and just kept walking.

And now she was sitting in front of the man who ran the Eltham Sugars cheerleading team, Coach Garrick Storm, and begging to become the very thing she hated.

Coach Storm wasn’t an unattractive man, by most judgements – but he was old, of the same generation as Laurel’s father, far older than Laurel would ordinarily have had eyes for.  He might generously have been said to look a little like George Clooney, and he was the kind of man who could get away with wearing a tracksuit all day long without seeming rumpled or scruffy.

“Yes, Coach Storm,” said Laurel.  “I’ve been thinking about it, and I really want to be an Eltham Sugar.”

The coach made a brief snort of laughter, and looked off to one side.  

“You know you’re not very athletic, Laurel,” he said.  “Those arms and legs are scrawny.  I know you’re a skater, and perhaps if you spent more time skating and less time… smoking weed or whatever you do with your dropout skater friends, you might have something, but…”

“I can learn,” said Laurel.  “I can exercise.  I’m very motivated.”

“Putting that aside, I don’t know why you *want* to be a cheerleader,” said the coach.  “You’ve never seemed to want to be popular.  You could probably be attractive, if you scrubbed that shit off your face” – indicating her makeup – “and stopped hiding yourself under hoodies.  But you’ve never shown any inkling of wanting that.”

Coach Storm had no way of knowing that Laurel’s stepmother had thrown out all of the baggy hoodies in question.  Nothing left in Laurel’s wardrobe allowed her to “hide”.

But nevertheless, Laurel knew she had to convince the coach that she genuinely wanted to be a cheerleader.

“I just… I don’t want to be that person anymore,” said Laurel.  (A lie, which made her wince.)  “I want to… get along with people and… be popular.”

“And why would you want to be popular, Laurel?” asked the Coach.

There was only one reason that a teen girl would change her life overnight in this way.  (Other than being forced to by her bimbo stepmother, that is.)

“There’s a boy…” said Laurel, shyly.

There was no boy.  If anything, Laurel wanted a little less attention from boys right now – from her father, who stared at her with decidedly un-fatherly lust; from Hunter, who had made her expose her tits in front of all her friends; from Gavin, who now had a topless photo of her on his phone.

But it was all she needed to say to explain herself to the coach.  It just made sense.  Teen girls thought with their cunts.  Laurel had seen a boy, and decided to change her entire life to get his attention.  That was just what girls like Laurel did.

The coach looked at her, thinking.  Laurel became aware that his eyes were roaming across her chest, sizing up her tits beneath her blouse, and she blushed.

“You say you’re motivated,” he said finally.  “How motivated?”

And this was the critical moment.  Laurel had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.  But Annika had pointed out to her how all the girls on the squad were pretty, with big tits, and how that was certainly a deliberate choice of the coach.  Annika had told Laurel what she would need to do, to get onto the cheerleading squad mid-year, with no particular athletic ability.

Blushing, Laurel began to unbutton her blouse.  And when it was unbuttoned all the way down, she reached for the clasp between the two cups of her bra, and undid it.

The bra swung open, exposing Laurel’s large tits to Coach Storm’s gaze.

“Very motivated, sir,” she breathed.  

She was trying to project confidence and maturity, but she couldn’t help but blush bright red.  She was showing her tits to a man – a teacher – an older man.  She was deliberately intending to make his cock hard  It was whorish.  But it was better than having her boobs surgically expanded by two cup sizes, wasn’t it?

Coach Storm looked at her.  Then he stood and walked around his desk until he was standing beside her.  He grabbed Laurel’s chair and turned it, so Laurel was facing him.  And then he took his cock out of his pants.

Laurel gasped, and instinctively drew back.

The coach sighed.  “I’m not asking you to suck it,” he said.  “You’re just going to stroke it.  Aim it at your face, and stroke it, while you talk to me.”

Hesitantly, Laurel reached out and touched the coach’s cock.  It felt strange in her hand – the skin soft, and yet the cock as a whole very hard.  It was warm, and it throbbed when she gripped it.

Slowly, she began to pump.

The coach sighed with pleasure.  “Good girl,” he said.  “Now, being an Eltham Sugar is about more than just athletics and routines.  It’s about attitude.  Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” said Laurel quickly.  Then – “No.  I mean, I’m not sure…”

“Cheerleading isn’t a sport, in the traditional sense, Laurel,” said Coach Storm.  “The goal isn’t to be the best in some technical way.  The goal is to entertain the audience – and we’re talking a  sporting audience, so we’re talking primarily about men.  Cheerleaders are entertainment for men, Laurel.”

“I understand, sir,” said Laurel, although the idea made her wrinkle her nose.

“That’s why it’s okay to take a pretty big-titted girl even if she can’t do lifts and jumps yet,” said the Coach.  “It’s okay because men will enjoy looking at her tits.”

He looked down at her.

“If men were given the choice between watching a cheerleading routine, or watching those same women masturbating themselves while naked, which do you think they’d prefer?” he asked.

Laurel blushed.  “The… the naked girls, sir,” she said.

“Damn right,” said the coach.  “So I need my cheerleaders to always know that whatever they do on the field is more disappointing and boring than if they were lezzing off nude for the audience.  And I want them to do their best to bridge that gap.”

“Yes, sir,” said Laurel, still pumping the coach’s cock.

“The Eltham Sugars have three simple affirmations that I expect all girls to learn and live by,” said the coach.  “Number one: all attention is a compliment.  If a man is interacting with you, you should be pleased, no matter what that attention is.  I don’t want to hear my girls use words like ‘sexual harassment’ or ‘objectification’ or ‘rape’, on or off the field.  If a man gives you his attention for any reason, you say ‘thank you, sir’.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Laurel.

“Number two: Eltham Sugars please men,” continued the coach.  “I expect you to find out what men want from you, and deliver.  Dress how they want.  Act like they want.  Talk like they want.  Be the girl they want you to be.  Do you understand?”

Laurel didn’t, yet.  Not really.  But she said, “Yes, sir,” anyway.

“And number three: Good girls help other girls be good,” said the coach.  “You cheerleaders are a team.  The other girls will help you follow rules one and two, and you’ll help them do it too, even if they say they don’t want to.  If any girl on the team breaks the rules, every girl on the team will be punished.  Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said Laurel quickly.

Coach Storm peered down at Laurel, searching her face, perhaps for signs that she wasn’t taking him seriously.  He seemed satisfied by whatever he saw there.

“If I let you onto the team – and that’s an if,” he said, “I don’t want you thinking that suddenly you *deserved* to be a cheerleader.  I don’t want you getting it into your head that you’re athletic, or that you have skills, or that you know anything about cheerleading.  I don’t want you acting like you’re smart, or talented.  I want you to remember that literally the only reason you’re on that team is that you have big tits.  Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, sir,” said Laurel.

“Tell me,” said the coach.  “Tell me how you don’t deserve it.  Talk to me about it, and keep talking until you make me cum.”

“I only deserve to be a cheerleader because… I have big tits,” said Laurel, blushing.  “I’m not smart….”

She paused.  She wasn’t used to this – deliberately talking herself down.  It made her feel self-conscious.  She was humiliated enough that she was masturbating an older man’s cock with her tits out, in order to get something that she didn’t even really want.  Saying that she wasn’t smart, and that her only value was her breasts, made her feel small inside, in a way that she didn’t like – a way that made her feel that Annika was right, that this was truly what she was meant to be doing in life.

“Go on,” prompted the coach.

“I’m not talented,” said Laurel.  “And I don’t know anything about cheerleading.  I’m unfit and I’m…”  

She paused again.  She had run out of things that the coach had said, but clearly he still wanted more.

“And I’m ugly,” she continued.  “And kind of a bitch.  And I’m failing all my classes and… and my stepmother thinks I’m a slut, and she’s making my father think that too.  And all my male friends only want to see my tits.  The only reason I’m going to be a cheerleader is I have big tits.  My own father likes looking at my tits, and… and…”

The way the coach’s cock pulsed and twitched in her hand with each fresh new degradation Laurel described had an almost hypnotic effect, and Laurel realised to her distress that her cunt was throbbing in time with it.  There was something cathartic about saying all these horrible things about herself – something freeing, as though she had been pretending all her life and she was finally dropping a mask.

“And I *am* a slut,” she said, “because I’m showing you my tits right now and stroking your cock, and only a slut would do that.  A dumb slut.  I never get good marks on my tests and the only interesting thing about me is my big tits, and…”

She didn’t get to say anymore, because at that moment the coach began to cum, and the first glob of semen that spurted from his cock landed right in Laurel’s mouth.  The next hit her in the eye, and then the chin, and the rest hosed down her tits, until only a few dribbles remained, dripping from the hand Laurel had been masturbating him with.

“Good girl,” said the coach, looking down at her cum-soaked face and tits with approval.  “You’re on the team.  You can buy a uniform at the school clothing store.  We’ll do this again after your first week of training to make sure you’ve learned what I was telling you.  In the meantime, there’s a poster on my desk with the three affirmations.  Put it up in your room to help you learn.”

And as Laurel accidentally swallowed the cum in her mouth, and then moved to clean her face with a tissue, she realised that it had really happened.

Just like that, Laurel was a cheerleader.

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