Cosplay

By now Madeline had slid her breasts all the way up his lap. Her big, warm, luscious soft pillows were now comfortably resting on his crotch, or more precisely, on his dick. He shifted his hands back away from himself, and from her, throwing them back behind himself, trying desperately to avoid any inappropriate contact with those youthful breasts, while at the same time experiencing a much more inappropriate contact with his thrusting dick.

Madeline wrapped her hands around his waist and pressed her breasts deep into his crotch, smiling at the feel of his stiffness as she said, "Now, we've been all through that, Mr. Jones. I know who you are and what you can do. I think you could make me very, very happy too."

She softly ground her naked boobs into his lap, into his stiff dick, all the while smiling up at him. She said seductively, "Big boobies are good for some things, aren't they, Mr. Jones."

Madeline smiled triumphantly. She so much enjoyed the power of the cheerleader. She had him wrapped around her finger, or more precisely her breasts were literally wrapped around his erect cock, and she gave him a little squeeze to accentuate the point.

Keeping her twinkling eyes fixed on his, she let go of her boobs and burrowed her hands beneath them, searching around for a treasure hidden beneath the big bubbies.

Jackson lurched in his seat as he felt her fingers moving along his crotch. "Diane, what are you doing?"

She replied innocently, "I was just looking for something." She let her fingers briefly slide along his stiffness, and then shifted to the left of his bulge, grasping hold of his zipper and quickly sliding it down.

"No, no, no!" He protested, "No, Diane, please, you really shouldn't do that. You, we, really can't."

His body though contradicted his words. He could have forcefully shoved her away. He could have reached down to pull his zipper back up. But, he did not. He only said what a part of him felt, and instead did what the other part felt even stronger. He let her reach into his pants, into his boxers.

But as soon as her fingers made contact with his erection he squirmed away. This really wasn't right at all. This was in fact very, very dangerous. Yes, she was the active participant. It wasn't like he was demanding, requiring, that she show him her tits and grab hold of his cock in order to become a cheerleader. But, what if she found out that he really couldn't help her? What if she in fact failed to become a cheerleader? She would likely be awfully disappointed, and might feel terribly exploited. He let go of the chair to grab her arms, to try to discourage her from grasping hold of her goal.

"Oh my gosh," he gasped as he felt her feminine fingers wrap around his cock and firmly extract it from his slacks.

Madeline smiled in triumph. "Cheerleaders are really very good at many different things, Mr. Jones, and one of them is getting big hard penises out of tight spots." She smiled mischievously up at him as she softly slid her fingers up and down his length. "We can get them into some pretty tight spots too."

Perhaps it was the concrete sight of his hard naked cock in the young lady's hand, poking out from in between her bulbous breasts, that jolted him fully back to his senses. In any case, his sense of responsibility, of duty, finally took control. Just as she wanted to be a cheerleader he wanted someday to be a coach, perhaps even more than she desired, or needed, to reach her goal. And, getting caught in his office with his cock in the hand of a topless coed would surely ruin his entire career. "Diane, that's really enough," he asserted, and he pulled her hands away, something he could have, should have done, before.

Her voice became softer, more sultry. "Have you ever done it with a cheerleader, Mr. Jones?"

He actually hadn't. For a moment he wondered how many men had done it with a cheerleader. Maybe that was in Wikipedia? Probably not many at all, at least proportionally to all men, and many more probably would have wanted to, or at least they must have thought about it. He shook his head.

"Have you ever wanted to?" She leaned over and planted a soft wet kiss on the head of his hard dick.

Yes, he had certainly wanted to. The wavering of his resolve, the weakness in his will, was evident in the nervousness of his response, his voice, and the swelling of his exposed cock. "Well, yes, certainly, I would think men have probably thought about it, but that's not really the point."

He gasped as he felt her tongue lick the head of his dick. "Oh, Diane, please," he groaned, not entirely sure whether he was pleading for her to stop or to continue.

She assumed it was the latter and continued to lick and lap at the head of his cock, like it was a sweet, tasty treat, and for Madeline it was indeed. She so much enjoyed licking a man's cock. A hard stiff cock was so very impressive: so manly, so powerful, yet capped by such a delicious soft bulb.

She even enjoyed their smell. It was a sort of earthy, musky aroma, like a rustic, woodsman, masculine cologne.

She did though stop to ask a very important question. "You won't tell anyone we did this, will you Mr. Jones?"

He shook his head. Frankly, she was clearly holding the upper hand, quite literally so.

"It's very important, you know, for a cheerleader to keep her reputation. If she were to do anything that might embarrass the school she would be off the squad for sure."

"Oh, I understand. I certainly do." He wasn't about to tell anyone anything about this.

"And, you will put a good word in for me, won't you?"

He finally gave in. He just couldn't have her stop now. "Yes, yes, I will, very much so." A part of him felt guilty, but it's difficult for guilt to drive your behavior when your stiff dick is leading the way, being tempted, pulled, and drawn by the tongue of a pretty cheerleader.

She smiled broadly, as if she had finally obtained her dream. "Oh Mr. Jones! I'm so grateful, so happy. A man as big as you, you know, must be terribly powerful and influential. After all, didn't Abraham Lincoln say, 'Speak softly and carry a big stick?'"

He didn't correct her. After all, it wasn't like he was her history professor.

She let go of his cock, got up off the floor, and turned her back to him.

What was she doing?

He didn't have long to find out. She bent over, thrusting her bottom back toward him and lifted up her skirt, presenting to him the soft round curves of her red pantied butt.

"Would you be so kind sir as to pull down my panties, Mr. Jones?"

Did she lock the door? Clearly she hadn't. He wondered if he should at least do that, but he really didn't want to interrupt her. What if by doing so she became self-conscious, aware of what she was doing, aware of how wrong it was? He reached out, grasped hold of the waistband of her panties, and pulled them down, opening up to his eyes the terribly delightful sight of a young lady's naked white tush. It looked so defenseless, so enticing, so tempting, poking back at him as if she wanted him to take a big bite out of that round white apple, split down the middle so that he could spread it open and enjoy the fruit hidden inside, and beneath this delicious fruit was an even better desert, the small, soft, white pie of her cunnie, poking out between her thighs, just asking, begging, to be fucked.

He pulled her panties all the way down to her ankles, Madeline being careful to let her bottom accidentally bump his face a few times as he clumsily extracted her ankles from her cheerleading panties.

Jackson's cock was now yearning to be satisfied, his balls aching for release. He started to get up, wanting to take her just like this, bent over in his office, her cheerleading skirt tossed over her back, her bottom submissively upraised for his pleasure, his mounting.

But, as he started to get up she turned around, pushed him back down, and straddled his legs, presenting right before his eyes a so provocatively sexy frontal view of her young luscious cunt.

She was hairless. He had never actually seen such a thing. He had heard girls doing this for the pleasure of a boy. College girls today were doing so many things now that were just unheard of when he was a student, even though he would argue that it really hadn't been that long ago for him, or at least he felt that way. He wasn't so sure though that she had shaved for the pleasure of a boy, or a man. She could be doing it as a cheerleader. You certainly wouldn't want any stray hairs slipping out during a routine, nor perhaps would you want the outlines of hairs to be evident through the tight panties. Of course, she then risked the clear sight of a camel toe but that would be rather innocent, wouldn't it? It certainly looked rather innocent now: so virtuous, so virginal, just a naked white, hairless slope, split by an enticing slit. Well, maybe it wasn't so innocent looking.

Madeline sat back down into his lap and slid her slit up against his hard dick.

Jackson groaned with delight at the feel of her warm, soft, wet slit pressing against his hard, stiff dick. Yes, hairless was very nice, visually and tactually.

Madeline wrapped her arms around him, pressed her naked breasts against him, and said, "You know, I should warn you, Mr. Jones, that I haven't been with a lot of guys since I'm not a college cheerleader, not yet. I'm still awfully tight, you know. I just think you should know that."

He felt like cumming right then. It took considerable concentration to restrain himself.

She slowly slid her slippery slit up and down his stiffness, and whispered into his ear, "Can I do another cheer for you, Mr. Jones?"

He closed his eyes and responded, equally softly, "Yea, yea, sure," although there was something now much more that he wanted than simply a cheer. He wanted her cunt.

Madeline smiled and whispered, "I slip. I slide. On the coach's cock." She matched her actions to her words.

"I jiggle. I wiggle. His thingie makes me tingle," she added, as she wiggled her bobbling huge jugs against his face and then, as she thrust her pussy lips against his dick,

"I hump. I pump. I want him all inside." She was now gyrating her naked wet cunt against his dick.

"He's hard. He's stiff. His thingie makes me drip."

She rose up higher and positioned her cunnie slit atop the round head of his cock, and then slowly, sensually, softly, screwed it down onto his dick, gently twisting her bottom round and round as she fitted his thick cock into her hot, wet, tight cunt.

"I'm hot. I'm wet. I need his cock so much."

She drove her cunt up and down his cock, the room filling with the sound of her slurping, sliding slit slopping against him.

Madeline was riding his cock fast to her climax. She always came more quickly, more intensely, more wonderfully, in cosplay.

She gasped, "His stick, so hard, so long and so thick."

Jack wasn't far behind her. After all, it wasn't too often that a pretty coed cheerleader with giant tits was riding up and down his hard, stiff dick.

She moaned, "I'm so small. So tight. I don't think he can fit."

He was not an old man. At best he was middle-aged, but it had been some time since he felt a cunt as snug and tight as this. It felt so, so good.

"I push. I strain. He gives me every inch."

She pulled him tightly against her as she thrust her hips, fucking his cock with her young, wet, tight cunt. Being a cheerleader was so cool, so exciting. Actually, more than half her fun was being the fantasy for the man she was fucking, enjoying the fact that she was the dream of this man's life. What could be more stimulating, more satisfying, more wonderful than being the dream.

"We pump. We hump. He fills me up so good."

She scratched his back with the nails of her fingers and whimpered into his ear,

"I shiver. I tremble. He squirts so hard, so much. Oh, Mr. Jones," she gasped as she felt her body melt into his, and she gave herself over to her orgasm, trembling and shivering into his arms.

He felt his dick twitch and jerk in the cheerleader's slit, as if it was thrusting, jerking, struggling to escape from a wonderfully smothering skin-tight engulfment, an absorption that was so satisfying, so fulfilling, so gratifying. He breathed deep sighs of relief and satisfaction as he felt his cum surge through his cock and release into the wet confines of "Diane's" tightly clinging pussy, quickly filling her up with his hot, sticky stuff.

He grabbed hold of her soft round bottom and pulled her cunt more tightly against him, thrusting forward to squirt his stuff as deeply inside as he could, while at the same time burying his face into those lusciously large and soft fleshy pillows. His face felt as engulfed by her boobs as his dick felt absorbed by her cunt. He snuggled into her womanly jugs, gasping and groaning as he felt his cock spurt and spit into her tight girlish cunnie. It was an orgasm he would long remember.

The next day Jack went to the office of the Director of Cheerleading to put a good word in for her. He felt rather uncomfortable doing so. He didn't know the Director, and he worried that even attempting to do this might put him in jeopardy. Would not the Director wonder why this Assistant Coach felt so strongly about this particular applicant? But, curiously enough, the Director replied, "Diane Weston? Absolutely! You are in fact the third person to nominate her. We are really looking forward to her application, but I must say we have not yet heard anything from her."

That was a bit odd, but he did feel better about trying.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dr. Lowenstein's heart was beating rapidly at the end of the story, and there was a warmth between her legs, her thighs. Professionally, it was called counter-transference. She had been well trained as a clinician and was prepared for such difficulties. Still, it was a little disconcerting to have her patient's life, her story, affect her so significantly, to stir within her such base, primitive feelings. At the moment, she felt more like a voyeur than a clinician.

It took considerable strength, and clinical acumen, to gather herself, to regain her professional demeanor. After all, she was there for the benefit, the development, the growth, of Madeline, not for her own prurient interests. It was at times very difficult being a sex therapist; although it was also very satisfying, very pleasing, particularly when she was alone, in her bed, at night, and she recalled that day's sessions. Sometimes she even played the tape of a session, as she played with herself beneath the covers, the sheet, of her bed. She felt she developed even further insights into her patient's conflicts and problems when she masturbated to their sessions. She would gain a better appreciation, a better understanding, of their perspectives, their fantasies, their impulses, dreams, and wishes. And, besides, it was rather fun.

Dr. Lowenstein did now though understand Madeline's concern, or at least she thought she did. Madeline was placing herself at considerable risk by engaging in this "cosplay," as she preferred to describe her fetishistic escapades.

Dr. Lowenstein was quite reluctant, as a therapist, to attempt to govern a patient's life. Patients were free to make their own decisions. It was important in fact for them to do so. A therapist can not, and should not, control a patient's life. But, she also felt some responsibility in at least informing Madeline of the risks that some behaviors might entail.

"Madeline, I understand that pretending you're a cheerleader could be enjoyable, even a bit stimulating," she said, as she pressed her thighs together.

"Oh, it was really very, very stimulating, Dr. Lowenstein," Madeline replied, as she pressed her thighs together.

"Well, yes, of course, but you do appreciate that you might be placing yourself at some risk. I mean, what if you were caught posing as a cheerleader? I wouldn't think that the college would look favorably upon such behavior."

As soon as she said it, Dr. Lowenstein regretted the remark. It did sound rather paternalistic. It was important to convey to patients an unconditional positive regard, no matter what their behaviors, interests, or peccadilloes. This was particularly important in sexual therapy.

"I know I take risks, doctor, but that's really part of the fun, the thrill. It's not the risks that trouble me."

Apparently the doctor didn't understand. "What does trouble you, dear?"

"It's just that this is pretty much all I do now. Cosplay is not easy. I mean it can take a lot of planning and preparation, and well, it's also a lot of fun. And, someday I'm going to get caught and get into all sorts of trouble."

Wasn't that the precise point she had been trying to make earlier? But it is always best to have the patient come to an insight herself rather than simply provide it to her. She pretended not to have noticed. "Do you really think so?"

"Well, yes, like, you know, well, one of my more favorite cosplays is being a nurse."

"You've pretended to be a nurse?"

"Oh yes, many times." Madeline then proceeded to recount her most recent nursing cosplay.

NURSE

"Are you here for your sperm donation?"

"What?" The young man asked as he looked up into the prettiest brown eyes he had ever seen. Well, at least the prettiest he had seen for a few days. She was though the prettiest nurse he had ever seen, and certainly the one with the biggest tits he had ever seen. This petite doll of pretty femininity was leaning down toward him, her hands on her knees, her face just inches from his eyes, the front of her uniform bursting with the bulging strain of her breasts, which appeared to be barely restrained from their release by the tenuously clinging, straining buttons of her uniform. He read the name on the tag, "Nurse Betty Sizemore."

Timothy was in the waiting room of an ancillary branch of the Templeton clinic. He was there for a blood donation, waiting for his name to be called. He hadn't heard about any sperm donation. He had not in fact ever done anything like that before. In fact, he must not have heard this nurse correctly. It would not be surprising for such a pretty face to confuse your mind. "Excuse me?"

She smiled patiently and exclaimed, "Sperm donation!" with the most engaging and sweetest smile, as if a sperm donation was somehow an everyday, routine sort of thing. She tilted her head as she smiled, and then stood back up straight, her hands clasped demurely before her.

The standing up straight did little to diminish the prominence of her breasts. On the contrary, they now thrust out like two big white beach balls. He tried to pretend that he didn't notice. He had heard that girls can tell when you are looking at them there, and he could imagine that it might be annoying to them. But goodness, when you have breasts as large as these, what should you expect? Still, this was a nurse. You really shouldn't look at a nurse like that. It wasn't like they were wearing some sort of revealing blouse or negligee, and she was a professional, a member of the health care system that warranted your respect.

Still, his cock swelled in his pants, and he could not help but feel that her appeal was in part precisely because she was a nurse. He wasn't at all sure why she looked so especially enticing, so alluring. She was wearing the traditional nursing uniform: the simple white dress that came down to her knees, buttoned all the way to the small, rounded collar; with matching white nylons, white pumps, and the white cap. What made her so bewitching, so tempting? Perhaps it was the fact that the buttons did appear to be on the verge of bursting through their loops, her breasts placing considerable strain on the strength of the threads.

Perhaps though it was the fact that the uniform was entirely white, conveying a purity, an innocence, a virtuous modesty. Sluts and skanks didn't wear nursing uniforms, only good girls would be a nurse. Perhaps more than this, though, a nursing uniform conveyed her willingness, her desire, to be caring, considerate, helpful, and healing. It was a feminine garment, a feminine profession, whose mission was to do what she could, as a nurse, to cure your ills, no matter what may in fact be troubling you, to make you feel better, to make you feel good. She was devoted to your comfort and care, not as a doctor, who only looked upon you as a sick, malfunctioning organism whose treatment, successful or not, provided a very handsome salary. Nursing was a vocation, not an occupation, a calling, and one that paid very little despite its importance, its value. The nurse was a woman with a heart and sympathy for her patient's feelings, his concerns, his needs. Yes, a nurse is really very attractive, very appealing.