The Head Cheerleader

Diana Swanson carried herself with the sort of casual elegance that screamed money, culture and class. Her work outfits were down to a science, pencil skirts often with an almost-provocative slit up one side, that hugged her form and displayed slim hips and her workout-hardened ass. She wore stockings, always stockings, typically with some fancy adornments high up on the thigh. How many deals had she closed because the male buyer got a glimpse of those stockings? Enough that she was a well-to-do woman in a town filled with them. When you're among the high-class and wealthy, showing off that you were higher-class and wealthier was the dirtiest of all struggles. Diana played to her strengths, her body and her looks and that coldly analytical mind that drove it all.

Lucas Swanson was a killer in his own right. He had turned three successive positions into equity stakes into the companies, which he had guided the sale thereof, and now was a venture capitalist. He was a busy man, running to and fro, watching how the millions that he'd invested were being used. Together, Diana and Lucas were among the most powerful of the power couples, and of course the bow was tied up neatly with their daughter Kaitlyn.

Kaitlyn - never Kate or god forbid Katie - drew the best of the genetics from both mom and dad. She had Diana's lean, rather leggy body and perfectly toned legs and ass, and she had Daddy's strength. She began tumbling in the local gym when she was five, and were it not for an unfortunate knee injury when she was fourteen, might have made the Olympic team. But as she aged beyond fifteen, her body sprouted upward and outward in key positions, which would have made the Olympics a distant dream; few gymnasts could survive sporting a more womanly, curvy body. Despite the handicap of six months in a brace and a major surgery under her belt, she tried out for the cheerleading squad and naturally made it. She turned eighteen on the day after the cutoff - her parents had chosen for her to be an older rather than youngest student in her grade - and therefore when her senior year of high school started, she was one of the oldest, the captain of the cheerleading squad, dating the team's high school quarterback who himself was being doted on by schools like Ohio State and Florida, and generally was the big boss bitch of a town filled with them.

There were some things, though, that tended to happen when you were young, gorgeous, head-strong, intelligent and acutely aware of your own budding sexuality. The arrogance of youth mixed with the general inanity of high school, and quite honestly Kaitlyn was the single meanest girl in a school ran by them. She had perfected the little look, the up-and-down, with the snorted scoff followed by the perfect toss of her radiant blond hair that utterly dismissed him (or her) and left them feeling perfectly inadequate for merely breathing the same air as this young goddess. She ran the squad out of a mixture of dominance and fear, and no one dared question her absolute authority. Which is where I came in.

My name is Brittany. Like Kaitlyn, I am beautiful. Like Kaitlyn, I am smart. But my parents are neither as rich nor anywhere near even the middle rungs of the social ladder. This used to pain me tremendously. We moved into this godforsaken town two years ago after my dad got transferred again, and I thought that I'd seen it all when it came to the queen bee bitch. I was so wrong, like, so SO wrong.

I tried out for the squad out of boredom. I made it because I am as athletic as Kaitlyn, though my shorter and rounder body does not seem that way. My boobs, butt and legs are bigger than Kaitlyn's, and she took the time in the first week of tryouts to slowly inspect each of the girls who made the team, and point out their flaws. She made a lifelong enemy when she stood in front of me for the longest time, taking her sweet time in pointing out all that was wrong with me. What really infuriated her was the fact that I kept a sweet smile on my face the whole time. I never let her see my fury, because the one thing I got from my dad was the ability to harness that anger in a cold manner rather than letting the hot one rule the day. Yes, Kaitlyn was my enemy from that moment forward, and each time she looked at me with that sneering look, I vowed to continue my plans for revenge. They would be a dish served cold; my father, an old hand at pro revenge, would be proud of me.

My mother had cultivated a successful high-end women's retailer in the eight years that we'd lived in the last town. Mom is a soft-spoken, pleasant woman - never an unkind word for anyone. And truth be told, she has one of the best eyes in the business; a crone could come out of mom's stores looking like a goddess. So when Kaitlyn's mother Diana began frequenting my mother's store, I found my opening for my pro revenge. Because as it turned out, I knew a little something about Diana that her glorious princess Kaitlyn never knew. Diana had a secret. A deep secret. The only problem was that mom has always been completely honest with my dad, her husband, and me. My mom is gloriously bi-sexual. She has never, ever been with another man except for my dad since she married him. But she has enjoyed, savored even, multiple women as her lovers. I am aware that sometimes mom's lovers have joined her and dad in bed, though I refuse to acknowledge anything beyond that. This one-sided open-marriage might have been a problem for my dad, except that he seemed to revel in mom's bi-sexual and deeply carnal nature. Put more bluntly: mom likes to fuck. And mom doesn't give a damn who knows that she likes to fuck. And Diana? She wanted to fuck my mom.

I was manning the store after cheer practice on a Thursday night. It was a cold night, with the rain falling gently but steadily. Mom's shop was on the main street of the town, and the shopping traffic was greatly depressed due to that rain. Normally on Thursday nights, I'm hustling alongside of mom. Mom would work with her customers, and I would go and fetch clothing. My sense of style was growing leaps and bounds working with mom - I could anticipate what she was thinking (even if I disagreed) and so we worked well together. I loved working with mom, and learned a lot. Like how to smile in the face of a nasty customer. Which, unfortunately, we had learned that Diana was one.

On the counter in the back was the remnants of my tiny birthday cake. Dad had to go to Florida for work for a week, and called me earlier in the night, nearly in tears for missing my eighteenth birthday. But I understood it and told dad that several times. I heard the quaver in his voice and knew how distraught he felt. I was saddened that he had missed it, but thrilled that he had taken the time to call me and had been so upset. I guess any kid likes to know they are loved; I had felt deeply loved in that moment.

So Diana barged into the store. My mother was with another customer, another high-paying customer who, like Diana, was rather difficult. Diana sneered at this other woman, who matched the look of disdain. Clearly these two were competitors, and so Diana saw me standing there and made a beeline to me. I'd waited on her before, and she was as arrogantly demanding that night as she'd been those other times. She wanted a new top, silk, purple, perfect with a scarf that she'd just acquired, and one that strategically missed the top button, so that the cleavage she had would be adequately displayed. Diana was not all that well-endowed, a solid B cup woman regardless of the maker's cut. I had two items in stock, retrieved them both, and then invited her into the changing rooms to try them on.

It was time to make the move. I knew two things; first, my mom would be tied up with her current customer for at least another forty-five minutes because that airheaded bimbo of a client couldn't ever make up her damned mind, and two, she had deliberately chosen to soundproof the back stalls from the front because there were times that things just got...heated...in the back when two classy women were nearly nude in front of one another. So I had time, I had opportunity, and you can bet your sweet ass that I had motive.

Diana stomped into the back-most stall. I could almost hear her ripping at her clothing. "This goddamn blouse," she snarled. I had heard that she was looking to secure a closing the following day, and if Diana was anything, she was predictable. She would want the sexiest, laciest, skimpiest bra that would do their best to show off her titties to whatever poor sap was about to be sexually steamrolled into making the sale.

She was bare from her waist up when I walked in with the skimpiest little bra that I had. I opened and closed the door behind me, and used the little trick I knew (my mom never figured out that I learned her trick for some of her steamiest trysts) to lock the door from the inside. The piped-in music was just a trifle louder, and I was standing there with my legs spread firmly, my skirt hiked up just a little and my sweater too-tight around my chest. And Diana? She turned, dismissed, and then turned back again.

"What?!" she demanded.

I boldly stepped forward, snatching the shirt from her hand. I saw her eyes widen, and she took a step back until she bumped into the wall. "I know something about you, Diana," I said firmly.

"Get away from me, you simple harlot!" she snarled, but her words lacked conviction. Her eyes gave her away.

"You...tried to seduce my mother." I stepped back, and casually raised my hand, as if I was studying my nails for a moment, "and funny thing, we have the video to prove it, since you tried it in the hallway, you simple bitch."

Her eyes flared hugely at the insult, and her mouth trembled. But I held up my hand. "Silence, bitch. If I want you to say something, I'll fucking tell you what to say. Because you know, if that video would, oh, I don't know, get leaked to every student in the school..." I said as my voice trailed off.

Diana's face turned a pasty white in the matter of a blink of an eye. "You wouldn't!" she said.

"I wouldn't, no. I don't have the access codes to my mother's security system," I agreed. "But I might persuade my mom to do it, especially since your little cunt of a daughter called me out for being - in her words now - a filthy fat disgusting pig. Just because I have a bigger and better ass than she does and I definitely have nicer tits!" I said. Now I said all of this quite conversationally, even though Diana's face was a mask of fury and anger.

"You...Kaitlyn...team...can't..." It wasn't horror that muted her; it was rage. The impotent type of rage that a coward feels when they are confronted with their own weaknesses.

"I mean, can you imagine? What about all that money you spend at the club? Wouldn't it be such a pleasure to waltz through there...except now you're wondering who's laughing at you? Who's mocking you?" Nothing stoked the fears of society people more than the loss of face in the society to which they belong. And sure enough, Diana's eyes dropped and her body sagged. She seemed to realize that she was topless, and moved her arms to cover her small breasts.

"Did I tell you that you could move your fucking arms?" I snarled. "Get 'em back at your side. I'm enjoying you standing here, half naked in front of me!" I demanded.

There's something else my mother inadvertently taught me, and that's how to spot a submissive personality. See, my mom's a strong-willed woman, and that will carries into the bedroom. Now I've never bothered to find out, but I think part of the reason why mom can carry on the relationships that she does is because she has my dad wrapped around her finger, lock, stock and barrel. They're pleasant with each other but argue bitterly at times, though it's never sexual in nature (usually money, unfortunately), but when that bedroom door closes each and every night, I think in there, between the two of them, she is the boss, and rules with an iron fist. And I had been following in her footsteps, and my pro revenge designs got even better when I realized that Diana here cowering in front of me...was not merely cowering because of the loss of social status. She was cowering to try and hide the truth.

I stepped forward again, and stood right in front of her. "Look at me, Diana. Look. At. Me." Each word, a separate sentence. The dawning realization in her eyes as they dragged over my body before meeting my gaze answered my question. "I'm going to ask you this once. Just once. If you lie to me..." I said, letting my voice trail off. "My mother dominates you, doesn't she?"

The way her mouth fell open then snapped shut, and repeated itself a couple of times was all the answer I needed.

"She'll kill me," Diana whispered.

"You slutty little carpet muncher," I sneered at her. "No wonder you were so angry tonight. You didn't want a shirt. You wanted my mother!" I shook my head slowly, sadly.

"No, no, no, I need this shirt, it's for the big deal I'm hoping to close next week!" she blurted out.

"Next week? Your message earlier said it was for tonight. So if you come in asking to buy a purple blouse, that means that you are hoping to submit to my mommy?" I asked, affecting the cruel, casual disdain that came so naturally to this bitch and her daughter.

The mouth flapped again. Her face was chalky white. "Y-yes."

"Kneel, bitch," I told her right away. "Kneel before me!"

She blinked, yet in that moment I thought I saw something else - a hunger. I reached down and ran my fingers slowly through her hair. She had wonderfully soft, flaxen hair, and I could not stop my pulling so taut that she winced, and pushed her head back. I stepped forward, staring down at her between my two more generously-sized breasts. "Take a sniff. What do you smell?"

Diane gulped, her tongue working reflexively in her mouth before she answered. "I smell your beautiful scent."

"Oh, no, I'm not some beautiful woman up on a pedestal. I'm a young, cruel bitch. So what do you smell?" I asked again.

Diana's face fell again. "I...I smell...your pussy," she stammered.

"Do you wanna lick it? Do you, hmmm? Do you wanna lick my snatch and go home with my pussy juices dripping off of your chin? Is that it, Diana?"

"Oh god!" she moaned.

"I don't believe you, Diana. I believe that's exactly what you want."

"Yes! Yes it is! I love licking pussy, eating snatch!" she moaned, shuddering.

"Beg me, Diana. Beg me. I wanna hear you beg me, so you better fucking impress me."

She gulped, and again I saw in her eyes not dismay or horror, but the hot spike of lust. She liked the degradation. "Please, Brittany, please let me lick your pussy and make you cum, please let me drink your nectar from your pussy, I'll be a good bitch, I promise you!" she moaned this fast, hard, too fast and hard to be anything but the pure-D truth.

"I don't fucking believe you. You little worm. You think that merely begging me once will allow you the....privilege...of seeing my pussy? Oh no, you wanna see my pussy? Do you, bitch?"

"Yes! Please, Brittany, I wanna see your pussy!" she moaned.

"Awww, Mrs. Bitch wants to see my cooze?"

"Yes! Yes please let me see your pussy, let me lick it, please I'll make you cum, I promise I'll make you cum!" she moaned. I saw that her nipples looked stiff, almost painfully so.

"What makes you think you've earned the right to gaze upon my snatch?" I asked, cruelly sneering my words. The hand gripping her hair pulled it tighter, and the wince on her face told me all I needed to see. "You think that you can just...fucking waltz in here....kneel...and that's it?"

"N-no!" she stammered.

"Yet you begged me to lick my cunt," I replied, releasing the grip on her head. She exhaled a few times, relieved from the pain.

"I...I..." she stammered.

I leaned over, my fuller breasts pressing into my sweater, dangling down and sure enough Diana's eyes dropped to them in the scant moment she had before I was nearly pressing my forehead against hers. "You, Mrs. Bitch, have to earn the right to gaze upon my young, hot pussy. You have not earned that right. Yet. But you'll have a chance. The question is, do you want that chance, Mrs. Bitch?" My voice was cold and hard, even though it was delivered softly, almost conversationally.

This close I could see the pores in her skin, not so flawless this close and personal, and her scent was alluring for sure. Her eyes were deep, welling with intensity and need, and maybe a trace of fear. Her lips parted slowly, her tongue poking out between her lips. She ran her tongue over her upper lip before speaking very softly. "Yes, Brittany, I would like to earn that chance," she admitted.

I reached up and found her nipples with my fingers. They were stiff, and I maintained a very steady eye contact. As I applied pressure, I saw the liquid in her eyes, the thrill of the sensation, the agony of the pain. I released her after a moment. "Are you absolutely certain that you will follow my direction?" I gave her another quick, sharp pinch.

"Y-yes, Brittany," she gasped explosively, "I will do as I'm told."

"That's a good bitch," I said, standing up. I shuffled backwards until the backs of my legs pressed to the little bench in the room. I pointed at the floor. "Crawl."

I saw the flash of abject humiliation crease her expression, but only for a moment. She fell, and scooted forward, hands and knees moving her across the floor. At reaching me, she sat up and returned to a kneeling position.

I slowly turned around. I looked down, and as my hands reached for the button of my pants, I saw the flutter in my own hands. No wonder mom loved domination, I thought. I had this woman dancing, an utter puppet, and the knowledge of that power was the greatest aphrodisiac I had ever experienced. The flutter was from my own need, as I felt my sex pulsing, hot and needy, but I also knew that the control I had over Diane, I would have to have over myself. I could not let her know how aroused I was, or I might show her that she had some power over me. I unbuttoned and unzipped, and drew my pants slowly down over the curve of my strong, muscular and well-formed ass. I had chosen to wear a purple thong, as I liked how it fit snugly between my cheeks, and how the skin of my butt brushed against my pants as I walked around. I felt that it had been a fortuitous option for the moment.

"Are you gazing at this ass, Mrs. Bitch?" I asked softly, infusing my tone with acid.

"Y-yes Brittany."

"Address me as the Young Goddess, and yourself as 'the worm'," I told her.

I heard the hard gulp. A little moan. A stutter. "T-the w-worm is gazing at...at the Y-young Goddess' ass," she finally managed. Yet through it all I heard the heat in her voice, the throaty sound of a woman enthralled by the situation.

"The worm kisses the Young Goddess' ass," I told her coldly.

I was rewarded with a flush of pleasure as I felt her lips press to my flesh without delay. I reached back, lightly guiding her head up and down, in and out, over the expanse of my butt. "Keep those worm hands at your side," I warned her, as I was not fully able to look back and see. Nor did I want to. I wanted to savor the moment, the head cheerleader's mother on her knees, actively kissing my ass. I don't think that I had ever felt such a rush before in my life, and I nearly swooned with lust in that moment.

"Beg me to burrow your nose in my asshole, worm," I said next, feeling the thrill of expectation. I got the hard gulp I was expecting. In a very small voice, spoken softly, yet filled with that need, I got the reply I was hoping to hear.

"The...worm begs the Young Goddess to stick her nose in your asshole!" Diana mewled. "Oh god," she whispered softly.

"The worm may sniff my asshole," I told her almost graciously.