Robert Vickers: Chained cheerleader

"Would you ever pose in the nude?" the man asked, his eyes raking over Debbie's prominent tits. She stirred uncomfortably in the chair, wishing for the first time she had worn a bra. The tiny buttons of her nipples hardened visibly at the question. She tried to will them down into their normal soft state, but the more she tried, the harder they became and the more obvious her boobs became.

"No, sir," she said weakly. "I don't believe in such things."

"Good," Mr. Bradford said, checking off another spot on the long questionnaire. "We've had bad problems with the other girls posing naked for those skin magazines. Other teams have dismissed their cheerleaders after too much bad publicity. We want no such thing with the Condors. We're an up-front, moral football team and we intend to maintain that attitude."

"Yes, sir," Debbie said again. She nervously brushed back a strand of her long, lustrous blonde hair. The girl had been sitting on the uncomfortable hardwood chair for over twenty minutes. The interview seemed interminable, but she was willing to go through hell to get this job.

Or non job, really. Cheerleader with the Condors didn't pay very well. Only about fifteen dollars a game, if the rumors were true. But so many of the girls had used their public exposure to go on into a modeling career, Debbie decided she would try it. Besides, all the way through high school, she had always wanted to be a cheerleader. They seemed to end up with all the burly, virile football players. She had been too shy then to try out, but now, with the added bonus of maybe becoming a model to burn away her shyness, she would do just about anything.

Just about.

Debbie was glad that Mr. Bradford didn't want her posing nude. She saw all those magazines of course, but she always wondered how any woman could get up the nerve to bare her all for millions and millions of men.

"One last thing, Miss Connors. You've got to fit into the cheerleading costume. Please try this one on."

The man tossed the skimpy costume across the desk. For a moment Debbie wondered where the rest of it was. She mentally pieced it all together and decided this was it. A g-string to cover her snatch and a tiny little jacket that would barely cover her ample tits and that was all.

"This is all?" she asked, her voice quavering just a little. She was a moral girl and didn't know if she would like being seen in public wearing so little.

"No. There are knee-high boots that come with it. But we have to buy those special, and only for the ones who make the squad. Well," he said, his eyes cold and probing, "put it on."

"Uh, where do I change?" Her green eyes darted around the tiny office. There didn't seem to be any dressing room visible.

"Hell, you can change into it here. I'll turn my back."

His words hardly reassured her, yet she did want the job. She glanced at the man just as he swiveled around in his chair. Debbie thought she could trust Mr. Bradford. After all, he was the general manager of the entire team and that had tote a responsible position.

Her hands shook slightly as she reached out and took the skimpy costume. With sudden resolution, she began stripping off her blouse. Ample tits spilled out and bounced slightly, swaying to and fro in front of her chest. The red nipples were still embarrassingly large, but the man's back was turned. He couldn't see her obvious arousal. She cupped her tits and tried to pour them into the small jacket. They crushed flat against her chest, but she managed to button up the front of the vest.

"Do I have to…" she started.

"All of the costume," the man snapped. "And hurry. I have an appointment in less than ten minutes. I have to decide if you're the right one for this job or not. Other girls are waiting, you know?"

She knew. She had been damned lucky to get such an early appointment with Mr. Bradford. She began unzipping her skirt. The tall, lithe blonde gracefully stepped from her skirt and kicked it away. With a sinuous wiggle, she pulled down her pantyhose.

For no reason at all, she blushed furiously. She looked at the back of the man's head. He hadn't turned to spy on her. It was just her own unease at being more than half naked that was playing on her nerves. She quickly got out of her shocking pink bikini briefs, her blonde pussy hair crinkly and damp. Pulling up the g-string, she wondered if she might not have to shave off some of that snatch patch.

Tiny blonde hairs peeked out over the top of the tiny triangle of cloth. She tried to push her pussy fur back down but it refused to obey her command. Rather than keep the man waiting any longer, she finally said, "okay, Mr. Bradford. I'm ready."

He spun around and his eyes went wild. They couldn't stop anywhere. They danced from her prominent tits to the deep canyon between them to the trim waist and depression of her belly button to her flaring, womanly hips; from her fleshy ass to her thighs velvety, milky and smooth. Tapering legs finished off the picture.

From her vantage point, Debbie could see Mr. Bradford's crotch. A huge lump grew there. She didn't know if she should be happy about that or not. She felt vulnerable, almost naked, and totally uneasy about this situation.

Still she wanted the job. It would put her on nationwide television and she would be discovered. She was tall enough to be a high fashion model. The only problem she saw was that she was well-fleshed, and the super-skinny types usually got the modeling jobs.

Mr. Bradford didn't seem to mind having ample tits and ass. His cock tried to turn cartwheels in his pants.

"Very good, Miss Connors. Very good indeed. You've got the job, if you still want it."

Debbie almost backed out as the man slowly licked his lips. She had heard about casting couches and how it was almost impossible for a model to get high-paying jobs without balling men from the advertising agencies. But Mr. Bradford had beer so firm about her not posing nude for any magazines, she knew he wouldn't proposition her.

And he didn't. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw him signing his name on the bottom of her contract. She hastily signed after the man. Now she was a member of the Condors, too. But when he looked up at her, a cold chili raced up in spine. The look wasn't one of an employer to an employee. It was leering. Well he demanded. "Get out of that uniform I still got a couple more chicks coming to try out."

"Turn your back," she said weakly. The girl somewhat knew that it wasn't going to work that way this time. And it didn't.

"Look, baby, you're going to be sharing a dressing room with fifty other women, with people coming and going all the time. Some of those people passing through are going to be men. Tough shit. That's the way it works. This is show biz and modesty has no place in it. Do you want me to tear up the contract or are you going to get that costume off?"

The way he said it told Debbie that he wasn't kidding. And what he said was plausible. She knew that big time models sometimes had to put up with dozens of buyers moving through their dressing rooms. There wasn't any privacy at all.

She began unfastening the tiny vest, conscious of his eyes on her. They seemed to devour every single square inch of her naked flesh. She blushed furiously but the man didn't turn his eyes away. If anything, he stared even more.

She tried not to hurry, but she was soon fumbling as she got out of the g-string. Conscious of her naked pussy, she chastely turned to one side. As she bent over, she was aware that this was almost as bad. Her ass was naked, too. The girl wanted to cry but continued until she was safely dressed. The man hadn't quite broken out into a cold sweat watching her, but it was close. He pushed a strand of his hair back nervously, and finally relaxed in his chair.