School Pride

by BC

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Reluctant, Coercion, Slut Wife, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, .

Desc: Sex Story: "You've heard the rumor about the head cheerleader sucking off the football coach before the season opener every year, right? Well, not only is it true, but kickoff's in a half hour and he's waiting in his office for you."<br><i>(Part two of "The Proper Grip")</i>

"Hey, Crystal, make sure you suck his cock real hard."

"Yeah, and remember to drink all his cum!"

"Ooh, I heard he likes that."

Just entering the locker room after practice, eleven of the twelve sweaty cheerleaders erupt into laughter.

"Shut up, you guys," orders the senior member of the group. "Their bus already left."

"We're just joking around, Crystal."

"I'm not," sincerely states Kimberly, the shortest of the red skirt clad girls, as she slides hers off. "Maybe it's only for home openers."

"I don't care what it is," says Crystal, who grabs a crimson book bag from her locker. "There's no way I'd ever do it."

"Why not?" Kimberly asks while pulling off her purple panties and stepping onto the shower's tile floor. "I'd love to suck his dick."

"Damn, Kim, he's like fifty years old," interjects Stacy, who unclasps her sports bra, freeing the largest breasts on the squad.

"Who cares - he's hot. Fuck, that's cold!"

Not waiting for the water to get warmer, she snatches the body wash and squeezes out a thick line from nipple to nipple as the showerhead coats her firm ass.

Having never taken a shower at school, Crystal isn't the only one a little surprised by the new girl's actions.

"Well, maybe you'll get your chance in a few years," she tells the bubbly red head, who smirks jealously while lathering up her tan chest.

"I hate being a freshman!"

Rolling her eyes to Stacy about Kim's slutty remarks, Crystal straps on her backpack.

"Well, I'm off to my golf lesson," she says in a mock sophisticated tone, and then makes her way through the swarm of half naked classmates. "Don't forget - everyone back here at 8 a.m. tomorrow for practice."

Hearing all the groans, she turns her head and yells, "We need it!" Catching a glimpse of Kimberly thoroughly washing her pussy, Crystal continues to walk, but her head stays transfixed on the image in the shower. Not looking where she's going, she suddenly bumps into a very tall and sleek woman, who was pacing in front of the exit.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Webb."

"What - um, oh, no problem, Crystal," the cheerleading adviser and choreographer says nervously. "I've actually been meaning to tell you something. Can we talk in my office?"

"Well, I kind of have to --"

"It'll just take a minute," insists Mrs. Webb, entering the office. "And close the door behind you please."

Still smarting from where her 34-year old teacher's 34D breasts smacked her in the side of the face, Crystal hesitantly follows. Lowering the volume of her friends' laughing, she takes one last peek at Kimberly through the shut door's window. She starts to wonder how her body compares while taking a seat in front of Mrs. Webb's desk. Confident that she has Kimberly beat, her spirits sink when she sees the beautiful older woman across the way.

Well over six feet in heels, her figure remains perfectly proportioned. But what Crystal is most envious of is her ass length, golden brown hair. Always struggling with what she considers to be a dirty mixture of dark brown and brunette, she wears hats whenever possible. Wishing she had one on now, she's positive that Mrs. Webb is disappointed in her. Anxiously crossing the longest legs that can fit on a 5'4" frame, Crystal reads the wall clock.

"Um, if this is about tomorrow's practice, I'm sorry, but you said I could schedule some of them when necessary, and we're nowhere near ready for the home opener next week."

"No, I agree," says Mrs. Webb, who breaks into a smile. "Good call there. You're really doing a wonderful job."

"Oh, thank you," says Crystal, beaming. "You know, if this was last year, when we were doing all the road games too, we would have been in huge trouble tonight."

"Well, we would have made sure we were ready," the adviser says sadly. "I still can't believe how few girls came out for the squad."

Now upset at herself for ruining the mood of the conversation, Mrs. Webb considers not bringing up the topic she called Crystal in to discuss.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

Mrs. Webb's body language is surprisingly comfortable. Slumped back in an old leather chair, crossed arms resting on the platform that is her chest, her beady gray eyes appear to be lazily sizing up the young pupil. She finally decides to just get right down to it.

"You've heard the rumor about the head cheerleader sucking off the football coach before the season opener every year, right? Well, not only is it true, but kickoff's in a half hour and he's waiting in his office for you."

From all that Crystal has heard, she leans toward believing it, but won't allow herself.

"That's not funny, all right?" she says, starting to feel very out of place. "Please tell me you're joking."

An apologetic shake of the head clearly says she's not.

"Well I'm not doing it," Crystal insists while picking up her backpack and rising from her seat. "This is insane. I can't believe you just said that."

Still silently assessing her student's every move, Mrs. Webb herself seems like the hard one to read. Before opening the office door, Crystal spins her head back quickly, getting a face full of her swaying, shoulder length hair.

"Don't ever talk to me about this again," orders an increasingly livid Crystal, who brushes away the dark strands while turning the door's handle.

"If you don't do it, I'll have to."

"What?" asks Crystal, completely bewildered and shocked. "Why?"

"He'll get me fired if neither of us do it."

The teenager can't comprehend this at all, but doesn't leave.

"How? Why? That's illegal! That's like sexual harassment, or worse even. And, and - wait, this can't be - Mr. Davies is my economics teacher. He wouldn't do this. He's a great guy."

"He is a great guy, but he's the most superstitious person in the world."

"Superstitious? So?"

"Sit down for a minute," Mrs. Webb calmly instructs while getting up and walking around the desk.

Crystal narrows her eyes, but reluctantly sits just the same. Meanwhile, her teacher, who wears the exact same practice uniform of a tight white shirt and short red skirt, rummages through the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet, sticking her ass right in Crystal's face.

"I'm sorry, but it's hard to reach this."

Backing her head away, Crystal watches the ongoing search through the legs of Mrs. Webb, who emerges with a yellow index card. Returning behind her desk, she studies the card briefly before flicking it onto Crystal's lap.

"No one has ever seen what I'm about to show you. Not even the coach."

All Crystal saw of the card was its neat red print before her eyes were jolted up by the sound of moaning. The television in the corner of the office shows a grainy image of a pretty young blonde happily taking a facial from the coach's throbbing cock. A "1986" graphic is super imposed on the bottom of the screen.

Ready for anything now, but looking quite uncomfortable, Crystal is most surprised by how much the girl on the tape seemed to enjoy it. The next year's footage follows fast - another facial. Then 1988, where a very short cheerleader deep throats the coach with her eyes closed, swallowing all of his cum.

"Check the card."

Almost forgetting it, Crystal looks down to see it half crumpled by her clenched fist. Straightening it out, a chart appears. Using 1984 through 1999, it lists the head cheerleader, the result of the blow job (swallow, facial, etc.), if the football team won or lost the season opener, the team's record for the year, and their performance in the playoffs, if any.

The 1990 blow job follows.

"What happened to '89?"

"Jimmy had just cleaned his office and there was no place to hide the camera."

"Do you have a camera hidden right now?" asks Crystal, who receives a firm nod. "What's all this about him being superstitious?"

"Just look at the chart. They won the season opener every single year he got a blow job from the head cheerleader, and they lost it the only year he didn't, in '85, which is also the only year they missed the playoffs," explains Mrs. Webb, who peeks at the 1992 footage of a gorgeous brunette milking every drop out of Jimmy. "And if you go even further, you'll see that they won the state championship all four years the girl swallowed, and finished the 1984 season ranked number one in the nation, the first year a cheerleader sucked him off - his first year as head coach."

"But I still don't understand why he'd get you fired if neither of us do it this year. That's just wrong, and not like him. Can't we tell someone about this? Call the cops or something?"

"Crystal, you don't understand," says Mrs. Webb, who takes a deep breath. "I was the head cheerleader in 1984. I started the whole thing. I seduced him. And then when I became the adviser in '86, I started it up again."

Blown away, Crystal refers to the index card.

"Suzy Newton?"

"Newton's my maiden name."

Too restless to stay seated, Crystal gets up and paces the room.

"Your cum is so sweet, Mr. Davies."

Immediately recognizing the voice, Crystal turns her attention back to the video and is stunned to see her old best friend, Jessica Rosen, licking the coach's cum off her own breasts in 1997. This is the first time she's heard from her since she graduated and went off to college. The final two girls were also good friends of Crystal's.

"I'm not like them. I'm not a slut," insists Crystal, looking her teacher in the eye. "You did it before, you can do it again."

Showing a sense of urgency for the first time, Mrs. Webb walks over to Crystal, who is picking up her backpack, and puts a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm married now. You know Mike. I can't do that to him. I'm not a slut either. And you wouldn't be if you did this."

"I can't believe you're putting me in this situation. This isn't just a little thing. This is a bigger deal than that to me. I can't have my - I mean, I just can't do this."

"Crystal, have --"

"Hey, Kimberly would love to do it! She was taking a shower. I think she's still here."

"She's 15 years old, Crystal. It's always been legal, with someone over 18. That's why only seniors are allowed to be head cheerleader."

"But no one would know."

"Jimmy would know. This has come up in the past, and he wouldn't allow it," explains Mrs. Webb, who cracks a smile. "Besides, he kind of has a thing about the head cheerleader always being the HEAD cheerleader."

Both still standing in the middle of the office, Crystal slowly shakes her head.

"How's the team looking?"

"The football team? Why?"

"Because if they win every game anyway, surely he wouldn't get you fired or do anything like that."

"Hey, that's true."

"So what are their chances this season?"

"Horrible. They don't have any returning starters on offense."


"I've heard their defense is good, though," the teacher adds. Clearly losing the argument, and running out of time, she has to think fast. "Crystal, do it for your school. That football team is the only reason anyone knows about us. This is a small town. We only have 700 students. But we're on the map."

Just then, the phone rings. Mrs. Webb cautiously moves to answer it, watching her student the whole time.


"I'm sorry, but I have to go," Crystal hastily says before bolting out of the room.

"No, wait!" pleads Mrs. Webb, still holding the receiver. "Damn, Crystal just left."

Putting on her backpack while running past the rows of lockers, Crystal is glad to see that her fellow cheerleaders have all gone. Struggling with her emotions, she mainly feels angry with her adviser for letting her down, and placing her in such an unenviable position. Do it, and the first sexual act of your life will be performing a practically forced blow job on your high school's 46-year old football coach. Don't do it, and your long time friend and mentor will most likely lose her job, reputation, and marriage.

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