Cheerleader Betrayed


"Yeah, we like that shit," Roscoe said. "Take it bitch." He jerked his hips, buried a third of his length inside Ella's tight, warm fuckhole.

"Fuck me, this shit is tight."

Grunting, Roscoe lunged again. He was a little over halfway in.

Ella's pussy was on fire. It had never accommodated anything this big around—it was definitely like a forearm, an invader fighting tooth and nail for every inch. Ella raised her arms reflexively, grabbed Roscoe's shoulders. It was better than laying back against the harsh steps.

Roscoe stood, hoisted his massive frame out of the three-foot shallows, lifting Ella effortlessly out of the water at the same time. Even Roscoe was smart enough to know it would be easier to get it all inside without the nearly weightless water working against him. Holding her ass securely in both hands, he lowered her while simultaneously thrusting upwards with his hips. A few strokes later, he was penetrating her almost completely.

"Fucking tight," he whispered again. "Can you takes it all?" he asked, glaring down. He pumped again, felt it all slam home. The head of his cock jammed up against her cervix. Slowly Roscoe eased back down into the water, enjoying the feel of her constricted cuntal walls against his inflated cock.

Ella's Kegels kept squeezing, trying hopelessly to expel the force so rudely imbedded in the depths of her womanhood.

Roscoe grinned like a fool, unable to believe he was planting one deep in this fine piece of ass. 'Roscoe come ta school here,' he thought. 'Roscoe like this place.'

Ella felt her chest pressed firmly against his upper body, her hard nipples mashed against his unyielding muscularity. She was bouncing now, slowly, easily, the water lapping against her chest, as he moved her body where he wanted it. She felt the length of him sliding back and forth, about a third of the way out, then back in.

Roscoe tilted Ella back, looking down at her immense breasts floating magnificently in the water.

"Big fuckin' tits, tight fuckin' snatch," he breathed, increasing the depth of his motions. "You was built for fuckin'." The grin had disappeared, replaced by a look of fierce concentration. Now he was pulling his cock almost all the way out, then slamming it all back in, penetrating her in long full strokes. He laid her back against the steps, reaching his hands down so he could grab her breasts.

It was all Ella could do to support her weight with her arms, to keep from being crushed on the steps. Powerless to do anything else, she bit her lip, a keen look of frustration plainly visible. She closed her eyes, turned her head to the side.

"Love them titties—hey, look at me," he said.

Ella continued looking away.

Roscoe shifted his arms, took Ella's face between his hands. "LOOK AT ME," he said, turning her face towards his.

Reluctantly she opened her eyes, looked up. Ella saw a look of comprehension on Roscoe's face she hadn't seen on the giant before, an understanding. Then it dawned on her—recognition spread over her face as well, accompanied by a heavy feeling that took root in her stomach. She felt it, the impertinence—she was nothing, a sheath. A tool.

A receptacle.

Impaled on his long, fat cock, she wasn't going anywhere except back and forth, back and forth, riding it involuntarily.

"Fat tits," Roscoe whispered thickly, grabbing the areolas and nipples firmly between his fingers. "Big ol' nipples, fuck yeah." He continued moving, back and forth, a few minutes more. He let go of the tortured nipples, slapped the sides of her breasts with his hands, watching them bounce from side to side.

Suddenly Roscoe grabbed her shoulders, anchoring himself. His pace quickened; he started pumping furiously.

Ella had never felt so... full. The only thing in her consciousness was Roscoe's enormous cock, permeating everything she heard, everything she saw, everything she felt. She couldn't accept the extent of it, the girth, the way it was just... it was inescapably, unavoidably THERE. Tears welled, began flowing down her cheeks; a sob caught in her throat.

"Here it comes, bitch," he said, and did it ever. Ella felt the load of spunk hit her cervix, the hot seed filling her completely. Roscoe kept pumping, gradually slowing his pace. He pulled her all the way down and stopped, twitching his cock in her inner depths.

"That's how Roscoe likes it, you done real good." He patted her on the head, chuckling.

Spent, Roscoe lifted Ella off his slowly deflating cock and backed away, watching her slump down on the pool steps.

"Here," he said, handing over her bikini bottoms, "I think they comin' back down soon, might wanna cover up."

Pulling his own swimming trunks back on, Roscoe walked up the steps and out of the pool, strode over to one of the picnic tables and pulled a beer from the cooler. He popped the tab, leaned back and took a big gulp, followed by another. He drank the whole beer in four gulps, then reached down to the cooler and took out another.

"Roscoe like beer," he said, looking at Ella. He walked up to the house, opened the sliding door and walked in, nodding appreciatively all the way...

Chapter 7 -- Dave Begins

Left alone, bikini back in place, Ella drifted out into the water and leaned back, eyes closed. She felt the sun beat down on her, its rays warming her body. The feel of the water, lapping softly against her neck, was quite nice. The languid movement of it relaxed and reassured her, gently rocking back and forth. Ella allowed her arms to float at her sides, her mind adrift in a sea of free association. For just a moment, she could imagine she was the only person in the world, could escape the harsh recollection of what had just happened—ignore the fear of what lay ahead, the waves of humiliation that still crashed over her body. It was like a nightmare: afterwards you wake up, thinking that it's finally over, that you can go get a tall glass of milk, a handful of cookies, and dismiss as so much bullshit the horrible dreams your subconscious mind just subjected you to—

And then reality hits. The hands, suddenly on her shoulders, large and demanding—they were real. The feel of his knees, bent slightly, as they slid against the back of her thighs—oh, those were real. The bulk of his chest pressing against her back, the length of his erect penis nestling between the cheeks of her ass—that was absolutely real.

"Hey," he whispered, "how's it going?"

His voice was real, too.

Ella felt his hands move down her arms, underneath her buoyant breasts, squeezing them firmly under the water. She felt the cleavage form, push up beyond the surface of the water, felt his eyes staring holes through the thin material of her bikini at the dark, jutting nipples.

It was all very, very real...


REMEMBER: It's only fantasy!

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