Cosplay

She got back up on her feet, feeling a little deflated. "Head cheerleaders are always blonde."

"That's not true. Is it?"

She started counting them off on her fingers. "She was blonde in 'Bring it On,' 'Super and Spice,' 'But I'm a Cheerleader,' 'Cheerleader Beach Party,' 'Splitz,' 'Revenge of the Cheerleaders,' 'The Swinging Cheerleaders,' 'Cheer!'"

"Okay, okay." He was willing to concede the point. "But, aren't there always cheerleaders with brown hair?"

"Yea, tokens. Affirmative action quotas."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Do you think so? I mean, do you really think I'd have a chance?"

"Absolutely, definitely. You look very good, honest."

She took a deep breath, her breasts filling up like balloons, standing even higher on her chest. She let the air out in a big sigh, an exasperated sigh. However, one could hardly say that her balloons actually deflated.

"I don't know. I've tried so hard. I've practiced so hard. I even bought a uniform and everything."

"Well, c'mon, cheer up," a rather ironic remark, he felt. "I mean, have you even tried out yet?"

She looked dejectedly down at her feet. He wondered if she could even see them past those breasts. One foot traced little circles with her toes. She wrung her hands. She dejectedly confessed, "Yea, last year. I didn't make the cut."

"Oh," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Yea, so was I."

There was a moment of awkward silence. He didn't really know what to say. "Well, you know, not everyone can be a cheerleader. I mean, is it really that important?"

She raised her head, her eyes widened in shock. "Oh, Mr. Jones! How could you say such a thing? Cheerleading is everything, and it can really make a big difference. Lots of famous people were cheerleaders, you know. It's not like we're all just a bunch of bimbos or anything. Cheerleading can be the first step to a real big career!" She started to count them off on her fingers. "Ann Margaret, Paula Abdul, Jessica Simpson, Marilyn Chambers, Kirstie Alley, Patty Hearst, Natalie Maines, Lindsay Lohan, Brooke Shields, Ann Margaret, Calista Flockhart, Madonna, Sally Struthers, Cheryl Ladd, Britney Spears, Alicia Silverstone, Raquel Welch, Vanna White."

She wasn't actually making a strong argument for the absence of 'bimboism.'

"Sandra Bullock, Lily Tomlin, Halle Berry, Cameron Diaz, Katie Couric."

Well, now the list was becoming more impressive.

"Jamie Lee Curtis, Cybill Shepherd, Meryl Streep, Ruth Bader Ginsburg!"

"What?'

"Yea, that one is kinda surprising, even to me."

Mr. Jones really didn't know what to say or do. It was indeed a striking list, but he really didn't think there was anything he could do to help her, or to say, other than that she should just keep trying. Heck, that was the mantra of the Templeton football team, and it didn't seem to be doing them any good.

She looked back down to her feet and said, quite softly, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor, "You know, Mr. Jones, I will do just about anything to be a cheerleader."

"Excuse me?" He wasn't at all sure he understood her correctly, but his dick twitched again at the potential implication.

She moved up closer to him again, standing right before him, her eyes now looking directly into his.

He looked up into her eyes, which shined so sweetly and innocently above those jutting twin towers.

"I want to be a cheerleader so terribly bad. Really, I will do anything, anything at all." She bit her lower lip, as if she was terribly nervous about what she was saying.

Yes, he had heard her correctly but, tempting as it was, he certainly did not want to mislead the young lady. "No, no, no. I don't have anything to do with the cheerleading squad. In fact, really, I don't think I could be of any help."

"Now you're just saying that, aren't you, Mr. Jones, cause you don't want to disappoint me, cause you don't want to put in a good word for me. You really don't think I could be a good cheerleader."

"No, no really, I swear. I don't even know who to talk to about it."

"You can be honest with me, Mr. Jones. I will understand if you feel like I'm not good enough." She looked away from him to ask the next question. "Mr. Jones, can I ask you a most terrible secret question?"

That didn't sound good. He felt though that he could hardly refuse to answer a question. "Yea, okay," he said, hesitantly.

"Um, well, it's not an easy question to ask."

He really didn't want her to ask this question. "That's okay."

"Well, okay, but you have to look away. I don't want you looking at me when I ask."

What could she possibly ask that would be so embarrassing? Was she about to confess to some sort of crime? "Okay, sure," he replied, and swivelled his desk chair away from her.

"You're not looking?"

He absolutely was not. "No, no, I promise."

"Well, okay, okay. And, um, don't laugh."

Now he in fact did want to hear the question, although he wasn't too sure he would want to answer it. "I promise. I won't."

"Okay. Okay. Okay, my question is, well, um, Mr. Jones."

He was feeling like he was tingling in anticipation. Just spit it out already!

"Yes, well, alright. Mr. Jones, do you think my breasts are too big?"

His eyes widened. Thank goodness he wasn't looking at her, as his shock and discomfort would be so apparent in his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, I do like them and everything, but do you think they're too big, you know, for cheerleading?"

Actually, now that she mentioned it he did wonder about that. They did fly around a lot when she was doing her cheer. Perhaps her boobs would be a problem, at least for parents watching the game. But, he had appreciated, at a certain level, the way they had bounced, wiggled, and waggled. Still, how do you tell a girl that? And, besides, he didn't really know. Her breasts were really, really big, but it wasn't like they were ridiculously humongous or anything. "No, no, I don't think they are."

"Well, I guess you actually can't tell if you aren't looking at them, can you."

He didn't say anything, but it was a very good point.

"Well, okay then. You can turn around."

He swivelled his chair back around, to face her, to face her breasts, to which his eyes immediately went.

Madeline was thrusting her chest out to give him a good look. They were big. They were so very big, perhaps looking especially big because she was such a diminutive, petite girl in every respect other than her breasts. No, these breasts would look big on any woman. But, could they really be too big? Was there a regulation for cheerleader boob size? Wouldn't you predict that cheerleaders' breasts are larger than the average breasts? Where would you look that up though? Wikipedia wouldn't have that information, would it? In any case, Diane's would draw some attention, but isn't that all part of the purpose of cheerleading? Aren't cheerleaders supposed to draw attention, to be pleasing to the eye, and his eyes were really very pleased by these.

"You don't have to stare at them, Mr. Jones!"

"I'm sorry," he replied and looked somewhere else, anywhere else, but they did seem to stay in his line of vision. It was like the proverbial elephant in the room, but this time there were two of them. You really couldn't ignore them, especially now that they were the point of conversation. He was confused. She wanted him to look at them, but doing so seemed so offensive, so insensitive, so wrong.

"Here, let me give you a better look," she said, and began to pull her sweater up.

"What? Wait! Wait! What are you doing?" This wasn't right, was it? His heart began to race, for a number of reasons, not all of which were good.

She didn't slow one bit, replying as her taught white tummy came into view, "You really can't tell through the sweater."

"Girl! Diane! No, no, wait, someone might come in."

But, she didn't listen. She leaned forward, the sweater pulling up past her breasts, which flopped out like two humongous mammaries, hanging, swinging, begging to be milked.

Jack reveled in the realization, the concrete revelation, that the girl wasn't wearing a bra. Naked breasts were always a delightful sight, no matter their position, their posture. But, there was something uniquely appealing when they were hanging down, like udders. They filled up so wonderfully well, like water balloons stretching and straining, as if these jugs of milk actually needed any accentuation in size.

Madeline pulled the sweater up past her face, but it got caught there. "Darn it!" She pulled, wiggled, and struggled to get it over her head, her breasts all the while joggling, waggling, and bobbling in the open air.

Jack's cocked swelled with appreciation, and with her face covered he took the opportunity to grasp his cock through his slacks, not only to provide a much desired squeeze to his rapidly growing erection, but also to shift the position of his dick so that it could comfortably expand and grow within his boxers. He wondered, briefly, if he should offer to steady her by grabbing hold of those bulbous bobbling boobs. At the same time, he glanced nervously at the door, beads of perspiration quickly forming on his brow as his eyes tried to watch the door as they also continued to enjoy the more pleasing view of those swinging, jostling, wiggling mammaries.

Madeline abandoned her effort to get the sweater off and stretched her arms straight out from her body. "Here, help me Mr. Jones, pull it off, pull it off my arms."

"I really don't think."

She interrupted him. "Hurry, I'm smothering in here!"

He was really very uncertain as to the appropriateness of this. Actually, he was quite certain as to the inappropriateness, but it would not be good school spirit to deny the request of a cheerleader. Would it? He did as she asked, grabbing hold of the arms of her sweater and pulling it off her body.

She exclaimed, "Wait, wait!" as soon as he had the sweater off her body.

She must be having second thoughts. Thank goodness for that, although he had to admit a part of him was disappointed. What would be wrong with just a little quick peek?

"Don't look! Wait, don't look!"

He again swivelled his chair around and handed the sweater back to her, without turning his head. A moment of panic swept through him as he wondered if in fact she might now be upset, realizing what she was about to do, about to do for him so that she could be a cheerleader. Thank goodness this had ended before it had in fact gotten out of hand.

But, she didn't take it. "My hair is all messed up. Just me let me fix it first." She did have real nice hair, long and wavy, even it wasn't blonde. If she was going to show Mr. Jones her breasts she should at least look her best. "Don't you have a mirror or something in here?"

She didn't in fact have a change of heart. On the contrary, she was only worried about here hair? "Uh, no, no, I'm sorry, no mirror."

"Wait, there's one in my purse." She picked up and fumbled around in her purse, extracting her compact. She smiled to herself as she fixed her hair, standing topless in Mr. Jones' office. It didn't take her long to get her hair the way she wanted it, but she let him wait a bit longer. She wanted his anticipation to build. She knew how much guys were dying to get the first look, the first time they get to see her naked breasts. Her heart was beating in anticipation.

"Okay," she said softly. "You can turn around now."

He did so quickly, her sweater still resting on his lap, which was fortunate, as his cock quickly reached maximum erection at the sight that greeted him.

"Diane" was standing before him, sweaterless and braless. It wasn't clear if she really needed a bra. Her breasts were indeed quite large but they were standing up very well. Madeline though was cheating. Her arms were crossed beneath her breasts. She was thereby holding them up, as well as pushing them together, providing a very nice round full shape and deep cleavage. He did not, though, begrudge her this gesture, as her crossed arms held and framed her breasts so wonderfully well. They were standing up so proudly from her chest, above the two more colorful pompoms, each one hanging just below its respective mate, complementing with colorful red and white strands the pure white hillocks capped by the perky red nipples. He was transfixed, mesmerized, hypnotized by these large white sloping globes with such stiff, pointy nipples that seemed to be begging, yearning, to be kissed, pinched, and suckled.

She admonished him, "You're staring again!" But that was Diane speaking, not Madeline. Madeline was quite flattered by his ogling gaze.

They were so white, so large, so round. He had seen breasts like this only in magazines, in pictures, not in real life. These were the breasts of one's imagination, of one's dreams, of one's lust. He slipped a hand beneath her sweater, squeezing the swollen cock in his lap.

"You don't think they're too large?"

"No, no, not at all."

"You're not just saying that?"

"No, no, not at all." He was feeling a bit limited in his speech. He was really quite impressed, if not stunned.

She smiled appreciatively. "You're so sweet, Mr. Jones."

He didn't feel particularly sweet. He did feel pretty hard. He knew what image he would be jerking off to that evening.

"They do though wiggle a lot when I cheer. Would you like to see another one, another cheer?"

"Very much so," he replied, feeling a little guilty but even more excited.

She smiled, knowingly.

She slowly uncrossed her arms, releasing her breasts from their perch. They fell a bit. They were, after all, real, and really big. But, they did not fall far. They were large, but they still had the firmness of her youth. Mr. Jones rubbed and squeezed his cock beneath her sweater. He was feeling so jealous of younger men.

Madeline did her cheer, but this time with considerably more aplomb and enthusiasm. The pompoms thrust up and out, the legs bent and kicked, and the hips cocked and swung, as she exclaimed rhythmically,

"We're hot! You're not! We'll beat you till you pop!"

A cheerleader can look incredibly hot and sexy when she prances and poses for your entertainment, for your pleasure, but there is a qualitative leap in pleasure when she does so with her naked boobs flouncing and bouncing around, and particularly with ones as big as these.

"We're mean! We're lean! We're a fighting machine!"

She's right, he thought, she really needs to be on the team. Her tits though were always one turn, one twist, one bounce behind the rest of the movements of her body, and they would delightfully overcompensate as they tried to catch up, flying and bouncing and jiggling in all sorts of different directions. He had to wonder if they were throwing her off balance, like bags of water would do hanging from a ballerina.

She provided a big ending. "We're mighty!" She squealed as she thrust her arms out straight. "We're tough!" She added as she posed with her arms bent at the elbow, clenching her muscles. "You're just a powder puff!" She finished, as she pointed her finger at Mr. Jones.

She smiled proudly when she was done, her fists at her waist, holding her red pompoms, her big white pompoms standing out boldly before her. "What do you think, Mr. Jones? Did you like it?"

This time Mr. Jones was smiling quite enthusiastically. He so much wanted to grasp those bubbly breasts in his hands. "Yes, it was really quite nice, very good in fact."

"Oh Mr. Jones!" She exclaimed with considerable relief and gratitude. She impulsively stepped up to him, bent over, and wrapped her hands around his shoulders to give him a big hug, embracing, absorbing, his face into her soft, warm, squishy melons. "I'm so glad, I'm so glad!"

"Mmmmph!" He responded, his voice muffled by her engulfing pillows. He often wondered if girls realized how sensual, how erotic, it felt when they would innocently embrace you, crushing their breasts against your arm, or your chest, at times even your face. Well, this didn't feel so innocent, not with his face crushed against her bare, naked bulbous breasts.

She suddenly seemed to realize what she was doing, how provocative and inappropriate it was. She let go of him and pulled back. "Oh, sorry, excuse me, Mr. Jones. I kinda just lost my head there. But, I was just so excited that you liked it! I've practiced real hard at it." She gleefully clapped her hands, briefly hopping up and down with delight, her boobs seeming to shimmer and shake with equal enthusiasm and joy.

"That's fine, it's fine." Mr. Jones was regaining his sanity. He had indulged this young lady, and himself, for a little while, but he now realized that it really should end before it went too far. He handed over her sweater. "Here, you better put this on before someone opens the door. I don't really think anyone will understand why a pretty undergraduate has her top off in my office."

Once he was uncovered though, his real interest, his real sentiment, was revealed.

"Golly, Mr. Jones," Madeline said, her eyes fixed on the bulge in his slacks, "I guess you really did like my cheer, didn't you."

He looked down to see the guilty evidence and quickly covered himself up. "My gosh, I'm sorry! Yes, well, yes, I am so sorry. I shouldn't have let that happen."

"That's okay, Mr. Jones, lots of guys must get woodies watching a cheerleader. I don't mind."

"Yes, well, this is hardly the time and place for that, don't you think?"

"Well, then, will you maybe, you know, put in a good word for me?" She got down on her knees before him, now looking up at him with those large, pretty, brown eyes. He could not help but think of a puppy, looking up so pleadingly, so submissively, so plaintively, begging for some attention, some consideration, some petting. He could never refuse that look in a sweet, adorable puppy. How could he refuse this young girl? Perhaps he should at least give her a few pets. Of course, though, once you start petting a puppy, she just wants even more.

Puppies, though, don't wait patiently for your attention. If they don't get it right away they press harder, and Madeline did just that. She got up higher on her knees and placed her hands imploringly on his thighs, like a pup more assertively encroaching ever more closely into his private space.

But, what was perhaps more disconcerting than her hands were her naked breasts, which were now resting on his knees. It would appear to be more comfortable for her that way. They were probably providing quite a bit of encumbering weight. But did she not notice, how could she not notice, how her breasts were now so prominently presented? Each was perched on a knee, as if the puppy was laying in his lap toys with which to play, boy toys waiting to be wrestled and squeezed.

She said very quietly, as if she didn't want anyone else to hear. "You know, Mr. Jones, cheerleaders know how to make guys really, really happy."

He suspected that might in fact be true. Of course, it wasn't like they selected cheerleaders on that basis, did they? But he really, really couldn't, shouldn't take advantage of her like this. Even if he did have some influence over the cheerleading selection he shouldn't use her in that way, and given that he didn't have any actual impact, it was even more wrong. But, once one has a full erection, once one feels the blood engorging one's cock, it's so hard, and it's so hard to think clearly.

She pushed apart his knees and maneuvered herself up closer, in between his legs, his thighs, bringing those breasts marching up closer and closer to him, to his crotch, to his bulging stiff dick.

"Diane, no, um, listen, girl, I don't think."

"Shhhhhhhh," she quietly shushed him. "Let me do the thinking."

For some reason, that did not seem like terribly great advice, although he really shouldn't stereotype a cheerleader in that way. "No, listen, I really should tell you that I honestly don't think I can actually help you."