Cheerleader's Revenge

Ella shook her head—she couldn't cope with all that had happened, especially this last. She had no mechanism to understand the level of cruelty that had been perpetrated on her, no reference point for this kind of deviant human behavior. Breathing unevenly, drool spilling from the corner of her mouth, Ella was experiencing a deep layer of profound shock.

She was totally Fucked, in every way imaginable.

"Now, we're finished," Jenny said as she stood, releasing Ella's arm. Audrey quickly followed suit. "Frankly, I don't give two shits what you do from here." Jenny looked up at the guest room window and saw Stone, leaning out, staring back down. Evidently he had seen it all. Maybe more—it looked like he was holding his cell phone. Had he recorded it? The corners of Jenny's lips rose slightly. She turned back on Ella. "If I were you, I wouldn't stay here—it might be hazardous to your health. Fucking BITCH," she concluded bitterly, viciously kicking the chaise lounge as she walked back towards the house.

Cold shock was evident on every face in the room. No way this could have happened; it all seemed so calculated, a level of degradation no one would have ever figured on from the likes of Jenny Thompson, former captain of the cheerleaders. There was no describing what they had just seen, the empty feeling it left inside, the cold reality of a young woman wronged, of Jenny being the mastermind, of Stone and Stu and Ricky and Roscoe and Dave, even Junior College All-American Dave Baxter, being the perpetrators.

They did it, they talked about it, they even seemed proud of it. And they made no apologies.

Uneasy murmuring and muttering filled the air. Disgust settled palpably over the crowd. John Boy looked around uncomfortably; how had this gone so horribly wrong? And where was Jenny?

*

Ella, a look of intense vindication on her face, had her hands on the floodlight power switch. looked outside, saw the two of them on the grass—not far from where the incident recorded on video had happened, as it turned out—and decided now was as good a time as any.

She flipped on the floodlights.

And then she began laughing.

*

The lights came on in a flash. Robert, taking his cue, began pumping earnestly, using his hands to draw her hips back in counterstroke to his thrusts. It was rough, animalistic sex. He was sure he had never fucked a hole this brutally before.

Jenny responded. "Fuck me, baby," she hissed, "fuck me like you hate me!"

Robert complied, adamantly pile driving his cock home. He felt the orgasmic tickle begin, knew he had only a few seconds more.

He hoped everyone was watching.

Just to be sure they saw what they were supposed to see, he reached up and grabbed Jenny's hair, pulled the curly golden locks so that her head was forced back, facing her home for all to see. Strain evident in her corded neck, Jenny's eyes were closed in intense concentration.

She was on her own, blissfully ignorant of everything around her. Her focus was fixed on the earth-shattering orgasm building within—and nothing else, no matter how big or small, mattered.

*

"Look, outside," a voice said. It was echoed by another, and then another. And then a collective gasp as one voice, louder than the others—a female voice, from over by the sliding glass door, to be precise—said: "Isn't that Jenny?"

"Oh my God," John Boy whispered, putting his hand over his face. "Oh my God."

Onscreen, John Boy sat in the recliner. "Jenny is so great. What can I say? I love her." The image froze there, John Boy smiling.

Not that anybody was paying attention. They were all watching the spectacle outside.

*

"Here it comes," Robert said with a grunt. "This is for my sister, bitch. All of it, the testimonials I had to drive around and collect, the copies of the video I sent to all of your families, friends, and co-workers. The copy I sent to the Junior College Athletic Association, and the copy I sent to your church."

He grunted again, paused.

"Oh fuck," he said softly as his cock gushed blistering cum deep inside Jenny Thompson.

"Aahhhh yeesssss!" she screamed, oblivious to the lights, to the grass, to the rumble of noise coming from inside her home. She hadn't heard a thing Robert Sanders said, had instead been absorbed in the pending orgasm, and when it came OH MY FUCKING GOD it came.

Tears of pleasure ran down her face as her cunt clamped down on the invading cock, forcing it to roughly jerk back and forth, heightening her towering orgasmic inferno.

Robert laughed wickedly, unable to comprehend how audacious all of this must have looked from inside the home. He kept cumming, filling Jenny up with load until it splurged out around his plunging cock. He kept pushing it in, prolonging the moment as long as possible.

He needed everyone to see.

This, truly, was a moment that would live forever.

April 9^th — Satisfaction

Ella waited with Robert at the airport, sharing a moment before he flew home. They sat together at the Starbuck's kiosk, he sipping a latte, she nursing a hot cocoa.

Robert looked at his sister. "Everybody got copies: family, friends, and co-workers. Every player and cheerleader involved is going to pay for what they did. I was even able to add a bit of Jenny's Bash performance as a final touch."

Ella nodded and raised her cocoa. "Was it hard to get them to talk?" she asked as she took a sip.

Robert shook his head. "Not really. Getting them alone was the hardest part. Once I was able to do that, it was nothing to get them talking. They were eager, practically bragged about it," he said, his hand tightening briefly. "I wanted to kick their asses, but I didn't. I played it straight." He nodded. "I followed the plan."

"It was a good plan."

"I'm glad you think so."

"A very good plan," Ella added. She was satisfied with how things had turned out.

Very satisfied.

"Of course, the best part is you aren't really in the video. They have no way to know who the girl was, you can only see from behind—and nobody involved will ever want the 'victim' to come forward, you can count on that."

Ella nodded, sipping some hot cocoa. She grabbed her stirrer and lazily swirled some melted marshmallows around.

"How are you sleeping?" he asked.

Ella looked up and smiled. "Better. Pretty good, actually. No nightmares so far!"

Robert smiled, put his hand on Ella's. "I'm glad to hear that, sis, really glad."

"Me, too," Ella replied with a smile.

"Flight 595 to Tallahassee, boarding at gate B7 in fifteen minutes," a disembodied voice announced.

"That's me," Robert said and stood.

"Thank you so much, Bobby," Ella said, stepping over and wrapping her arms around her big brother. Robert hugged her back.

"I'm glad you trusted me," he said, stepping back.

"Me, too."

"Bye, sis."

"Buh-bye, Bobby."

June 27^th — Dr. Samuels

"This will be my last visit," Ella announced as she stood, the session nearing its end. Dr. Samuels didn't seem surprised.

"I must say, I'm very impressed with your progress. The way you've come to grips with everything, it really is an inspirational story. These last ten weeks have been wonderful, seeing you come out of your shell. I'm very happy for you."

Ella grinned. "Thank you."

"And still no nightmares?"

Ella smiled, a twinkle in her sea green eyes. "Nope, not a one."

"Good," Dr. Samuels said. She paused a moment before asking: "Can I have a hug?"

Ella melted. "Of course you can, we've been through a lot together!"

"I know, and I couldn't be more proud of you!"

Ella was sure she'd never have another nightmare about what had happened at Key Biscayne Junior College again.

She couldn't help but smile.

EPILOGUE — The Fate of Dr. Tarsal

(Robert Sanders was more than thorough—the doctor who had taken advantage of his sister during her Cheerleader's Physical Exam had to be dealt with. Jail, in this case, seemed the most obvious course of action. Dr. Tarsal made a few 'friends' in jail…)

The two men shared a small, ten-foot by ten-foot cell. It contained a wiry twin-sized bunk bed, a small empty bookshelf, and a single exposed toilet. The slender man slept on the top bunk, the fat man on the bottom. During the day, both men followed the same routine: morning formation, breakfast, eight hours on a work detail, dinner, and then three hours to themselves they could spend lifting weights, playing basketball, reading in the library, or any of the other sundry things convicts do these days.

At night, it was very different.

The slender man would climb down off the top bunk, lean over the bottom bunk and pull down his drawers. The fat man would giggle liked a little schoolgirl—he always giggled—as he rolled out of his bunk and crawled over behind the trembling, skinny man.

The fat man would pull down his trunks, releasing a short fat uncircumcised cock that was always hard and always ready. Positioned behind, he would line up and drive it home, taking that ass.

Every. Single. Day.

Initially, the slender man had resisted.

On his first night, he had refused the offer, opted instead to stay in his bunk; the next morning, in the shower, three men pinned him in the corner and beat the shit out of him before throwing him face-down and taking turns, one after the other, corn-holing the new inmate.

On the second night, he refused again; this time, it was six men in the shower, squealing like pigs as they circled him and repeated what had happened the day before.

On the third night, he had finally learned. He climbed down, swallowed his pride, and bent over. Abject humiliation washed over him as he laid there; apprehension mixed with inevitability and disgust as he bent over, squeezing his anus tightly shut, waiting for it to happen.

And it always happened.

At first, the fat man came quickly. The skinny ass was so tight, he just couldn't hold back. After a few days, it began to take longer. And longer. And longer. Now, he was up to at least half an hour of pumping before unleashing a heavy load deep in the slender man's bowels, always with a running commentary. "Squeeze it, bitch" seemed to be his personal favorite, a suggestion he frequently made while slapping the small man's ass. He was keen to point out that "You're getting' a lot better at this, boy" and often suggested "You gonna learn to suck cock," just as he fired his load.

After two months of this, Tarsal was starting to get used to it. His rectum was stretched to the point that he could mostly tolerate the abuse he received after lights out every night.

He rarely bled anymore.

Most importantly, the former doctor never thought about touching schoolgirls ever again.

REMEMBER: It's only fantasy.