Author's Note: This story is a continuation of and conclusion to Cheerleader Betrayed. I recommend reading Cheerleader Betrayed before Cheerleader Crushed.
*
ROSCOE -- Finished
Roscoe strolled into the house, a strong sense of satisfaction coursing through his veins. He pulled the big sliding door closed, heard and felt it "whump" shut.
"Big place," he muttered, looking around the spacious confines of Jenny Thompson's home. Laughter and soft music to his left guided him in that direction. He stepped through a hallway and out, into a large open room that had a red-felted pool table right in the middle and a dartboard in the corner, with a garishly taped line that he rightly assumed was where you stood to pitch. Nodding in approval he continued walking through the game room and into the den, where he found everyone lounging variously on a black leather sofa, loveseat, and a trio of matching recliners.
Several empty beer cans were strewn on the coffee and end tables, which no doubt fueled the low roar that had met his ears upon entry into the room. It was like they were all talking at once—and then immediately stopped when he stepped across the threshold.
"Roscoe! What the fuck, bro?" Stone Moore asked, his hand draped casually over Anna's shoulder. The two of them were sandwiched into one of the recliners, she nestled comfortably into his lap.
Roscoe smiled sheepishly, unsure how to respond. Stone had told him Ella wanted it, that she was all about hooking up with the football players; but in the pool, when he made his move, she had been kind of standoffish. That didn't stop him of course—she was toned, her body was supple and lithe, topped with an impressive rack he just couldn't take his eyes off of, all of it practically begging him to come 'play ball.' So no, he didn't stop, and didn't remember her asking him to; well, maybe halfheartedly, but she pretty much just took it, let him drive that big old horse cock right up in there—
Starting to get excited again, he returned his attention to the question at hand. He racked his little brain for a response, a reply that seemed appropriate; this proved to be very difficult. He was searching for just the right words, the straight path to Stone's approval. He wanted very much to come to Key Biscayne JC, a top-notch JC program, because he knew that would make jumping up to the next level that much easier. Frustrated, he again mentally cursed his non-qualifying ACT score and low GPA.
Stone sensed his hesitation, the slowness that must accompany anything this brute had to actually think to do, and quickly threw him a bone.
"Hey, it's ok Roscoe, you don't have to tell us any of the details," Stone said. His eyes narrowed: "But, was it good?" Stone laughed suddenly, a throaty sound that filled the room. "I mean, she's fucking hot, right? It had to be good!" Everyone laughed, including Roscoe who by then had plopped down on one end of the sofa.
"Yeah, she was good Stone, jus' like you said." Roscoe took a big swig of beer. " I like her."
"Good, good. Very good," Stone commented, turning his attention to Dave.
"What do you say, Dave?" Stu piped up, jealous as hell. "You gonna go get you some now?" He still wanted a piece of Ella for himself, was a little irked Stone had made this big production out of saving her for these two recruits. Granted, they were top notch, two of the highest rated recruits in the state, but all Stu had from the little whore up to this point was a blowjob for crying out loud—he was fucking due, by his calculation. 'All in good time,' he reasoned.
Dave looked around, sensing the approval and encouragement building...
"She's willing, bro," Stone said, lifting his beer as if to toast Dave on his way.
"Yeah, she plays shy and bashful and shit, but she'll take it, just give it to her," Ricky chimed in. Like Stu, he still had some unfinished business with one Ella Sanders, so the sooner these two recruits were done, the better. 'Bitch'll probably transfer after we get done with her,' Ricky thought, nodding to himself.
Dave, most of a six-pack in the tank already, felt the liquid courage boiling within. He stood, pounded his chest like Tarzan, and headed back out the way Roscoe had come in.
"Atta boy," Anna called, clapping.
"Get her, Tiger!" Jenny screamed enthusiastically. 'Take that bitch down one more peg,' she thought, 'she's got a lot to learn about what her fucking place is.' Jenny was determined that Ella would get her comeuppance, one way or the other.
DAVE -- Begins
Dave stood at the wide glass door, taking in the meticulously landscaped backyard. Flowers, bushes, timbers, rocks, all were placed strategically to give the area a depth and texture one normally expected to find at only the finest of country clubs. He absorbed it all, letting his gaze wander seamlessly over every detail until he found himself looking at the chrome bar by the stairway of the oblong swimming pool, at Ella floating in the water...
'Sweet Jesus,' he thought, 'look at that shit.' He watched as Ella drifted away from the steps, head tilted back, arms spread weightlessly at her sides. Her full breasts bobbed at the surface of the water, hard nipples straining their way through the silky, flimsy bikini that tried unsuccessfully to restrain them. The lines of her jaw were subtle yet strong, framing a face that exuded absolute innocence. She looked for all the world like his sister's best friend, the one who was almost a '10' but carried herself around as though she were merely a '5.'
Ella Sanders was one of the most incredible looking pieces of tail he had ever seen.
Dave still remembered the phone call—Stone Moore, quarterback and captain of the football team, had told him, 'Wait until you see this one, she's smokin' hot. She's gonna give you a good time while you're in town,' he had promised. 'She'll give it up. Trust me.' Remembering the conversation, his excitement about coming to town for this recruiting visit, he felt almost giddy.
Dave suddenly grinned, slowly opened the door and began sneaking his way across the bent Bermuda grass, careful not to interrupt Ella's preoccupied state.
Dave had an athletic build, not nearly as big as the other football players, but then he was kind of a 'tweener.' Pretty boy good looks graced his face, punctuated by a dazzling smile. He was the prototypical boy-next-door who could cut your grass, change your oil, hit a fastball, and be trusted to bring your daughter home on time when they went out on a Saturday night date—all with a dark side, of course.
In football terms it was somewhat unclear what position he would play, although Key Biscayne was promising him a shot at corner, which would free up lots of options once he had two years under his belt. He was strong without being overly muscular, had power to lift heavy weights in quick bursts rather than strength to pound out massive amounts of weight in prolonged sets, over and over and over. This gave him a lightness of step that suited him well on the football field—and in other endeavors.
Dave continued stealing his way over the manicured lawn until he finally arrived at the shallow end of the pool, opposite Ella. Very delicately he glided down into the tranquil blue pool, careful not to disturb the water's surface anymore than he absolutely had to. Satisfied Ella remained undisturbed—she still lay back, eyes closed, obviously lost in some daydream—Dave began moving towards her, the anticipation straining his concentration.
He couldn't wait to feel her curves under his hands, the feel of her fine brown hair between his fingers, the touch of her thighs rubbing back and forth over his own. He gulped, suddenly nervous. Dave hadn't looked forward to just holding a girl in his arms like this since he was 14, a freshman in high school. Now 18 and fairly experienced, it was novel to feel this all over again, especially with such surprising power. His stomach churned; a surge of euphoria filled him.
Sliding up behind Ella, Dave placed his hands on her shoulders, taking hold of them solidly, and gave a little squeeze. Sliding forward he spread his knees apart, slipping them around her soft thighs. He watched as goose bumps gathered on her shoulders and crept down her upper chest, then down the swell of her breasts. His upper body came to rest against her back—her body was warm, enticing. His cock settled between the cheeks of her ass, listing back and forth involuntarily. He was almost dizzy, his cock was so fucking hard.
"Hey, how's it going?" he asked, looking down over her shoulders into the depths of her cleavage.
No answer, just a small gasp.
'Finally,' Dave thought, 'I get to handle these fuckers.' He moved his hands down her arms, past the sides of her floating breasts, brought them underneath and squeezed with his fingers, pushing them firmly together. The billowy tit flesh bulged, causing the nipples to flatten slightly against the stretched material of the pink bikini. He stared at the dark color, the sheer size of the areola, his eyes bulging.
Exhaling deeply, Dave brought his hands up—were they shaking, just a little?— and took the bikini straps between his fingers, started slowly pushing them across and down her shoulders, down her upper arms until they approached the elbows. Flicking his hands brought the straps over the elbows, allowing him to smoothly slide them the rest of the way down Ella's arms.
The material of the bikini cups shifted with the motions of the straps, moving down, exposing half of the areolas to his view. The top caught momentarily on the jutting nipples, then flipped over them and quickly slid down the lower bulge of her creamy white skin.
"Yeah baby," Dave whispered, eyes held transfixed by the swollen breasts. Clumsily he reached to her back and tried to unfasten the bikini top, but the little catch wouldn't come undone. The effect of his attempts to take it off caused her breasts to tremble, shaking back and forth in the tepid pool water. Frustrated, Dave yanked, felt the top give. Pulling it away he saw he had ripped it at the fastener.
"Sorry," he muttered, throwing it to the side.
