This year's Super Bowl was going down to the wire.
There were 5 minutes left in the fourth quarter. Elena's team was down by 5, but they had possession. All it would take was a single touchdown to turn things around and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
All around Elena and the other cheerleaders, the packed stadium was a dizzying maelstrom of light and noise. People were cheering, chanting, calling out insults and jeers to fans of the other side. This was professional sports at its most basic and most visceral, and everyone watching, both in the stands and around the world, was eating it up. In the old days, a game like this--down 11 points with 3 left on the clock--people would have already been filing for the exits. But not anymore. Not since the NFL had decided to start implementing rewards and penalties of a decidedly adult nature in order to increase their ratings.
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Elena couldn't think about that right now, though. Not while there was still hope.
The hope did not last long. The ball was snapped, the quarterback dropped back and passed. Elena felt her heart surge with hope, but then, to her horror and the horror of the other girls, the ball was intercepted by a player from the opposing team! The player, whose jersey was marked with the number 27, clutched the ball and ran like hell, ducking and dodging and weaving as Elena's team tried desperately to stop him.
He's going to make it, she thought numbly.
And, unfortunately for her and all the other cheerleaders on the losing side, she was right. The quarterback completed the touchdown with a flourish, and the stadium erupted. Pandemonium reigned, a great buzzing noise signaled the end of the game, and all the players on the winning team began celebrating and clapping each other on the back. The guy who'd scored the touchdown was treated to the time-honored tradition of having Gatorade dumped on him, but he was smiling the whole time.
"Shit," one of the other girls, a petite redhead, whispered softly.
Elena nodded. The game was over, but the most-anticipated part was still ahead. Fear mingled with anticipation and her pussy grew damp beneath her skimpy cheerleading skirt. Elena and the other girls had been cheering their team on all year and during the regular season they had all helped their team "celebrate" whenever they won by fucking them--sometimes one-on-one, sometimes all at once at parties organized for the team's benefit. And of course the NFL broadcast every single one of those celebrations on Pay Per View. It was part of why American football become one of the world's most popular sports. Millions of people tuned in after each game to see the conquering heroes on the winning team receive their rewards, and millions of young girls grew up wanting follow in the footsteps of those strong, sexy cheerleaders they saw on TV all the time.
But fucking her own team was just fun and games. Now, Elena and the other girls faced a much more serious kind of partying. Losing had consequences, and at the Super Bowl those consequences were that the cheerleaders for the losing team were handed over to the winners be fucked--not just for pleasure, but for the purpose of impregnation. The victorious players would plant their seed inside fertile, unprotected wombs, and the babies they fathered would be a sort of living trophy--a permanent, indelible mark of their victory that would last a literal lifetime.
She and her fellow cheerleaders had spent months preparing for this possibility, even as they hoped their preparations were unnecessary. Per NFL policy, at the end of the regular season, all birth control was banned (and the cheerleaders were carefully tested to avoid cheating). There were no celebrations after the play-off games, and the cheerleaders were regularly examined to ensure they were in peak health and fertility. Additionally, the NFL had introduced a twist this year: miniature wireless cameras no bigger than a paint chip, attached near the cervix in the women to capture the exact moment of insemination.
There was no requirement or pressure on the players to be involved in the lives of either the girls they knocked up or the children they fathered. The pressure to provide for and raise the kids was all on the women. This, too, was part of the penalty for losing, as were the jeers and ridicule and lewd comments that would follow the cheerleaders wherever they went.
Needless to say, the NFL had been playing up the after-game celebration for weeks prior to the Super Bowl. They had done interviews with all of the cheerleader on both teams, tantalizing the fans with ads made from snippets from all of the potential ladies who might take part. A storm of advertising stoked the public's anticipation into a frenzy. The whole world was going to see Elena and all her fellow cheerleaders turned into single moms.
She tried to put on a brave face, as did the other girls. It wasn't like they hadn't known what the risks were. Every cheerleader who cheered for the NFL knew what they might be in for. They went into it knowing that getting pregnant was a real possibility, so they had no right to complain. All they could do was accept it and embrace it with as much poise and sexiness and good sportsmanship as they could muster.
"Nothing for it now," she said, turning to address the other members of her squad. "Girls, let's give them a celebration to remember."
As one, they went in for a big group hug, holding each other tightly as they gathered their courage for what was to come. Then, with Elena in the lead, they went down to their locker room for a quick post-game interview. When they got there, the cameras were set up and the interviewer--a gorgeous blonde in a pencil skirt--was ready as they filed in and sat down. "Looks like you girls are it for this year. The uncertainty is over. How does it feel to be going to help the other team celebrate this time instead of your own boys? And with what is on the line this time?"
"It's really frightening," the redhead, Sasha, admitted. "I don't know if I'm r-ready to be a mom."
"I'm nervous too," Elena admitted. "But I also know it'll be a lot of fun, and I can't wait to see what my baby looks like."
"I just feel really sorry for the boys on our team," said Ramira, a jaw-dropping Latina from West Texas. "They played so hard all season and it's really a shame they aren't the ones ravaging the other team's cheerleaders, instead of the other way around."
"Yes," said the interviewer. "But what about yourselves? Our viewers have seen you rewarding your own team many times, but now they are going to see you rewarding the opposing team and having their babies. How do you feel about the world watching you taking on the whole team, unprotected? And what about the new pussy cam? Everyone is going to see the most intimate details of your humiliation."