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Old 06-24-2012, 08:41 PM   #1
Ingenue
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Default The Cheerleader and the Nerd

I need to state beforehand that all characters in this story are of legal age.


The Cheerleader and the Nerd

The boys' locker room is empty. The bathrooms, too, except for him. He sits in a stall, door open, lid down, head in hands and elbows on knees. He is counting breaths, working his way up to something.

He can hear the click-clack of heels all the way along the hallway. They reach the door and pause. He lifts his head. The door to the hallway opens; but these are the boys' bathrooms, and he stands and takes a step.

He sees her and his vision suddenly blurs, seeing double for a second. He blinks and it is gone. The black-haired girl is standing with one hand on her hip, skewering him with her eyes. She is wearing her cheer uniform: a little pleated skirt with the blood-red stripe around the hem, a shell with a deep V neckline that only just covers her midriff, and that only when her arms are hanging still by her sides (they never are). A letterman jacket over that, open and one side swept back by the hand on her hip. Her hair is tied back with a ribbon in the same red and white of the school colors. She is a bitch and he is in love with her.

His feet feel twice the size of his dress shoes. His shirt collar is strangling him and he has just started sweating heavily. "Brittany?" he says in a quavering voice. "You can't come in he-"

She rolls her eyes at him. "Shut up, Alex."

"You know my name?"

"I said shut up, you filthy little nerd." She clickety-clacks toward him and shoves, one hand in the dead center of his chest. He stumbles back against the tile. His head narrowly misses a hand dryer.

"Br-?"

Brittany slaps him sharply across the face. "I said no talking. You don't get to talk to me. You're not worthy to even look at me. And that's a problem, isn't it? Because you have been looking."

He opens his mouth to - what, apologize, try to deny it, something. He sees the look in her eyes, just waiting for him to do that, and closes his mouth again, instead shaking his head no.

The heels leave her less than a head shorter than him. Brittany grabs his chin, using her nails, digging them in deep so that their flawless scarlet polish stabs into his pasty skin and he gasps.

"You can't lie to me, Alex. You want me." She laughs. "Everyone wants me. You want my body, and you want these." Her other hand slides down her neck and past the collar of her shell, pauses to weigh one of her perfect breasts (oh, how he's dreamed about them) and lets it go and it bounces, oh God, back down into its privileged arrangement with gravity. He moans aloud before he can stop himself. She's so close to him. No girl in the whole school has stood this close.

Before he can lift his hands to put them around her, she yanks his head forward and knocks it back against the tiles. He moans again. She shakes her head at him. "Alex, in one second I could run out of here screaming rape. If your creepy hands come anywhere near me I promise you this: your pathetic life will be over before you know it. You do not touch me. You will never touch me." She hisses the last words right in his face. She shoves his head back into the wall again and steps away. He stands pressed back against the slippery white, digging his fingernails into the mortar between the tiles. His teeth are clenched and he can't look away from her. Worst of all, she can see the bulge in his pants.

Brittany just looks at him for a moment. There is no pity in her gaze. Then she runs one hand down her other jacket sleeve, pulling it infinitesimally down so that the collar edges toward her shoulder. He is staring so hard his eyes are watering. Brittany says "How do I look? You can answer that."

"You're - beautiful," he gasps.

She rolls her eyes again. "You can do better than that, Alex. I thought nerds were meant to have a way with words." The sleeve is tugged down a little, then a little more. He's throbbing down there; he has trouble concentrating on what he's hearing.

He licks lips that feel like sandstone. "You're sexy. You're so sexy, Brittany." More words tumble out, more and more as she toys with her sleeve. Her sleeve may as well be attached by string directly to his eyes, which are definitely strung directly to his balls. All of them twitch with every little move of hers. "God, you're fucking gorgeous. Every time I see you my heart wrenches out of my chest, you're so-"

Brittany fakes a yawn loudly. "My God, you're boring. Shut the fuck up, Alex." He shuts the fuck up.

She pulls the jacket sleeve down now, in one smooth motion. The cheer team's shell tops are sleeveless; her shoulder is bare. He wants to kiss her shoulder, suck and lick it, kiss it with his lips and again with his teeth. This time Alex smacks his own head back against the tiles. It's that or lunge at her and face ruin and humiliation. She wasn't bluffing. She has no reason not to destroy him. When she's sure he's looking again, she slides her other sleeve off and tosses her jacket on top of her sports bag.

"I want you to see my tits," says Brittany. His mouth falls open. She grips the bottom edge of her shell and pulls it up over her head. The bleach-white sports bra underneath is hugging her breasts so tight he can see the outline of her areoles and nipples. God, fuck, Jesus, he thinks, both of his remaining active brain cells firing profanities and blasphemies at each other.

Brittany puts her head to one side, sizing Alex up in some way. "Not like that," she says at last. Grabbing his chin with her nails again, she pulls him forward, and as he stumbles, he makes sure to keep his hands far away from her, though he wants to grab her tiny waist and crush her against him and never let go. But he is no athlete, and if he did that, he strongly suspects she could beat him bloody. And then she would ruin him the other way, just like she said. Brittany turns him through 90 degrees and pushes him toward a sink, with a hand on the back of his neck, forcing him to bend forward over it until his face is a couple inches from the mirror. His shirt collar is cutting uncomfortably into his neck.

"That's better," she says, "and now." She wedges her knees against his legs, lets go of his neck and - he grips the sides of the sink so hard his knuckles turn white - she pulls the sports bra swiftly up over her head and tosses it aside. Her breasts, her glorious globular tits, bounce with the movements. She has gorgeous dark areoles and large nipples, exactly how he has imagined them so many times. He turns his head to see them directly. She strikes his ear a vicious blow. "Don't fucking move, you hideous nerd. You fucking greasy, pallid, basement-dwelling little freak." He doesn't move. His reward is to feel Brittany press up against him, grinding herself against his ass. Every so often he can just see the edge of her skirt flick out behind them in the mirror. He wants those tits, wants to feel them, at least to have them pressed against his back, but she doesn't, the bitch, the beautiful fucking bitch.

Then she reaches down and unbuckles his belt. As she does so, one of her fingers brushes against his bulge and even through several layers of material, the jolt is intense.

"Brittany, what-"

She punches him in the back of the head, three times in quick succession - "Slut. Shut. Up" - making him see double again. For a second it's like there are two different girls in the mirror, then it passes. The pain does not. Mercilessly, she returns to his pants. The belt comes undone, she unzips him; she has more difficulty with the fastenings, but those come open too. She grips the back of his waistband and yanks downwards, bringing his pants and underpants down - they scrape his front as she yanks them out from between him and the sink edge - and leaves them to fall around his ankles.

Then, then, oh God this can't be true, her hand comes forward and wraps itself around his dick. Alex moans loudly, bites his lip. His hands are gripping the sink edges so hard now that he can't even feel them, but now he can feel nothing, nothing else but her fingers encircling the base of his dick and beginning to move.

Brittany grabs his short hair in her other hand and yanks his head so his ear is touching her lips. She begins to whisper to him, as she jerks his dick harder, faster. "You're nothing to me, Alex. You can't even touch me. I know you lust for me. I see you looking day after day. You're just another lowlife to me, Alex, one more desperate, disgusting nerd who will never get any because even a strung-out hooker would turn you down."

Alex groans desperately, breath coming hard, knowing he can't speak, can't move, or she might stop. Or then she might continue. They're both the worst option. Her hand flashes up and down his shaft with thunderous speed, her hips continue to grind into him, and those glorious tits bounce above his reflected head. Further up, he sees the cruel line of her eyebrows, the nasty glint in her eye, and his own desperate expression, his face flushed and blotchy and his mouth hanging stupidly open. "You're my bitch, aren't you, Alex? My little bitch."

He has jerked off hundreds of times, many of those while imagining her, but this feels nothing like it. Those are not his fingers. This is not his shame. Not the faint guilt of self-abusing, as his pastor calls it, and just to make it worse, doing it to a girl he could never have. No, this is the utter humiliation of getting everything he wanted, but all of it wrong.

"Oh Brittany!" he moans, and she digs her scarlet bitch fingernails into his dick, and he quivers and comes, screaming. Thick globs of him spurt out, shooting who knows where under the sink. The orgasm holds Alex in its throes for what seems like forever. His arms shake and give way and he collapses on the sink, realizing Brittany has let go of him and turned away. She bends down, with a flash of kickpants, and retrieves her bra from on top of her sports bag. She pulls it on, then her top. The jacket she tucks through the bag handles to carry off.

Alex watches her in the mirror. He can't say a word.

She smirks back at him over her shoulder. "You're my bitch, Alex. You'll think of me whenever you're near any other woman. Oh, and you can count on this never happening again. Come up to me, ever, and I'll make you wish you were never born." She grabs up her bag and, with a click-clack of heels, walks out of the bathroom.

Alex slumps to the floor between this sink and the next. His pants are still around his ankles. His breathing is ragged, shocked.

And he hears someone else come into the bathroom. This woman is the same height, a few years older; soft brunette, not raven-haired; an elegant beauty, rather than the cheerleader's in-your-face sex appeal. She is in formal wear, a slightly rumpled blouse and straight knee-length skirt. And her face is full of concern. "Alex? Are you all right?"

"Yes," he says, "yes."

She hurries over to him and sits right there next to him, on the floor. She puts her arms round him. He reciprocates with an arm around her waist and leans his head against her.

"You were amazing, Sarah," Alex says. "You were her. I actually saw her instead of you."

"I was worried it was getting too real for you. And I know I deviated from the script and got some stuff wrong.."

"It's fine. It's not like you were recreating something that ever happened. You were meant to improvise. You were perfect." Alex kisses the side of Sarah's head, then her cheek.

She turns her face to him and presses her lips to his. "I'm sorry. I'm acting like this has shaken me up more than you. Do you.. think it.. helped?"

Alex lets go of her for a moment. He stretches his arms over his head and thinks. "You know, I think it really did. I did lust after her for years, you know. Even though she never touched me. I really did think of her when I finally started to meet women who saw me as an equal. Ten years to the day since I last saw her, and I was still hung up on her. And I think you've changed it all tonight."

He turns back to Sarah and kisses her again.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Alex. My handsome nerd. Too good for any mean old cheerleader." She strokes his cheek tenderly. "And we should get cleaned up and get back to the party before we're missed. Got to see what the rest of your old class is doing with themselves, right?"

He gets to his feet - Sarah holds his arm, and he's unsteady for a second, but it's fine - and pulls up his suit pants, then straightens his tie. Sarah retrieves his tux jacket from the back of the stall door. The suit cost about a thousand; it'd be best not to leave it behind.

"Should we clean-?"

He grins, shakes his head no. "Leave it for the janitors. We won't be the only couple hooking up for a nostalgia fuck tonight."

Sarah straightens her hair, makeup and clothing in the mirror, then takes hold of his arm with pride. "Say, Alex, if the real Brittany is here tonight, point her out for me, will you? I want to meet who I was being."

He looks down at her, surprised. But of course, she wouldn't know. "She's the one we saw when we arrived, at the punch bowl."

Sarah's eyes widen. "The, um, big woman who was already drunk?"

"That's her. Married the quarterback straight out of school, three kids and two divorces, now unemployed and with an alcohol problem."

"Golly."

"You got that right." Alex grins. He and his girlfriend turn to walk out of the bathroom side by side. "And you know, if not fucking her is the reason my life turned out like this.. I think it was the best regret of my life."
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Rape is such a harsh word.
I prefer to think of it as a struggle snuggle.

Stories:
An Obedient Puppy
Cheerleader and Nerd
Left Alone
Bikers' Prisoner
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