Louise had always been the type to lose herself in spreadsheets and endless Zoom calls. At 32, she was a mid-level financial analyst at a mid-sized firm in downtown Atlanta, buried under reports and client demands. At the same time, her body begged for something beyond sedentary hours and takeout dinners. She wasn’t built like the Instagram models; she had soft, generous curves, wide hips, thick thighs, and heavy breasts that strained against every blouse she owned. Her dark hair fell in loose waves, often pulled into a practical ponytail for work, and her pale skin was decorated with a vivid sleeve tattoo on her right arm: blooming roses wrapped around a banner that read “Time heals everything,” accented with birds, a small cage, and delicate script. A delicate nose piercing caught the light whenever she turned her head, a quiet rebellion from her college days. Lately, the mirror had been brutal, highlighting the rolls she hated and the jiggle she couldn’t ignore. She needed movement. She needed sweat. She needed to feel alive again.

That’s how she found herself at tryouts for the local cheer squad. The team was the Atlanta Thunder, a semi-pro minor league American football outfit, weekend warriors who played for bragging rights, cheap beer, and the love of the game. No NFL scouts, no million-dollar contracts, just community fields with folding bleachers and a concession stand that sold hot dogs and light beer. The cheer squad was small, volunteer-driven, and desperate for bodies. Louise arrived in black leggings that clung to every curve and a sports bra that barely contained her chest, her heart hammering as she lined up with younger, slimmer girls. She stumbled through the choreography, high kicks, jumps, pom-pom waves, her body bouncing in ways that made her flush with embarrassment. But her energy was infectious, her smile bright, and somehow, against all odds, she made the squad. “We like real women on this team,” the head coach said with a shrug. “You’ve got spirit. Welcome aboard.”

Practices started right away. Three evenings a week, the squad ran drills on the sideline while the Thunder took the field. The players were all Black men, big, athletic, loud, mostly in their 20s and 30s, built from construction jobs, warehouse shifts, and years of pickup ball. They moved like predators, laughed in deep, booming tones, and carried themselves with easy confidence. Louise kept her focus on the routines, trading her office pencil skirts for tiny cheer shorts that rode up her ass and cropped tanks that showed the soft swell of her belly and the underside of her breasts. She felt their eyes, stolen glances, low murmurs about the “thick new girl with the ink.” It sent a forbidden thrill straight to her core, heat pooling low in her belly every time one of them smirked in her direction.

One humid Thursday evening, after a particularly brutal practice, Louise stayed behind to stretch out her hamstrings. The Georgia sun was sinking, painting the field in gold and orange. She headed toward the locker rooms, a squat cinder block building with separate men’s and women’s entrances connected by a dim hallway. As she approached, she saw Amanda.

Amanda was the squad’s veteran captain, mid-40s, sun-weathered blonde hair cut in a sharp bob, body softened by time but still carrying the muscle memory of a former athlete. Everyone knew she was married, with a big diamond solitaire on her left hand, constant stories about her husband, some corporate sales guy who travelled too much. But right now she was giggling, fingers laced with Darius, the Thunder’s star quarterback.

Darius was a fucking monument: 6’5”, shoulders like doorframes, skin the colour of dark mahogany, long dreads pulled back in a neat knot. He moved with lazy power, voice deep enough to rumble through your bones. Louise froze as they disappeared into the men’s locker room, the heavy door thudding shut. Something wicked curled in her stomach. She shouldn’t follow. She did anyway.

She crept to the door, found the gap where the latch didn’t quite align, and peered inside.

The locker room smelled of sweat, Bengay, and Axe body spray. Dim fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Amanda was already on her knees on the tiled floor, cheer skirt flipped up around her waist, black thong pulled to the side. Darius stood over her, gym shorts shoved down, freeing a cock that made Louise’s breath catch, thick as her wrist, veined, nine inches at least, heavy balls hanging low. The head was swollen and glistening.

“Open wide, you cheating little slut,” Darius growled, voice low and commanding.

He fisted Amanda’s hair and fed his dick into her mouth in one smooth thrust. Amanda gagged instantly, eyes watering, throat convulsing around his girth. Spit bubbled at the corners of her lips as he started fucking her face, slow at first, then harder, hips snapping forward until his balls slapped her chin. “That’s it. Take every inch. Your husband can’t fill this throat as I can, can he?” Amanda moaned around him, hands braced on his thick thighs, wedding ring glinting obscenely as she struggled to breathe. He held her down, nose buried in his pubes, until her face turned red and tears streamed. When he finally pulled out she gasped, coughing, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his shaft. Then he shoved back in, relentless, using her mouth like a fleshlight until he groaned deep and unloaded, thick ropes of cum flooding her throat. She swallowed greedily, milking him dry, then licked the head clean like a good girl.

They cleaned up fast, shared a filthy kiss, and left separately. Louise slipped away before they saw her, heart pounding, pussy soaked through her shorts.

She pretended nothing happened. Smiled at Amanda during the next practice, cheered beside her like always. But the memory played on loop, Darius’s dominance, Amanda’s eager submission, the casual betrayal of her marriage. It soaked into Louise’s dreams, left her touching herself every night thinking about that massive cock.

Two weeks later she “forgot” her phone in the equipment shed and doubled back after dark. Sure enough, they were at it again, this time in the showers. Steam clouded the air. Amanda was bent over, hands braced on the tile wall, ass high as Darius pounded into her from behind. Water sluiced over their bodies, her moans bouncing off the walls.

“Fuck me harder, Daddy,” Amanda begged, voice wrecked. “Stretch this married pussy.”

Darius slapped her ass hard, leaving a red handprint. “You love this big Black dick ruining you, don’t you? Bet that limp dick husband hasn’t touched you in years.” He gripped her hips, slamming in deep, balls smacking her clit until she screamed and squirted, clear fluid mixing with the shower water. He didn’t stop, flipped her around, shoved her to her knees, and throat fucked her again, water streaming down her face as she choked and drooled.

Louise shifted for a better view. Her sneaker scraped the floor.

Amanda’s eyes snapped open through the steam, locking right on her. For a heartbeat, Louise thought she’d scream. Instead, Amanda smiled, slow, wicked, cum-smeared, and kept sucking.

When Darius finally pulled out and painted Amanda’s face with another load, she wiped her mouth and crooked a finger at Louise. “Come here, baby girl. I know you’ve been watching.”

Louise’s legs moved before her brain caught up. Darius turned, cock still half-hard and dripping, eyes raking over her body like she was meat. “New cheer slut wants in?”

“I—I didn’t mean….” Louise stammered.

Amanda laughed softly, pulling her close by the waist. “It’s okay. This is how we keep our spots. Right, Darius?”

“Required,” he rumbled, stepping forward. “Strip, thick girl. Let me see what I’m working with.”

Louise’s hands shook, but she obeyed. The top came off, breasts spilling free, nipples tight and dark. Shorts followed, revealing her bare, slick pussy. Darius grabbed her roughly, spun her around, and bent her over the bench. “Ass up.”

She braced herself. He didn’t tease, didn’t ease in, just lined up that fat head and slammed home in one brutal thrust. Louise cried out, the stretch burning, her walls fluttering around his impossible girth. “Fuck, you’re tight for a big girl,” he grunted, hands digging into her hips as he started pounding. Her tits bounced wildly with each thrust, slapping against her arms. He reached around, mauling her breasts, pinching her nipples until she whimpered. “This cunt belongs to the team now. You stay on the squad, you spread these legs whenever one of us wants it.”

Amanda knelt beside them, fingers circling her own clit. “Not just him, Louise. The whole Thunder lineup. Every big Black cock out there gets to use you. Free use cheer slut. Keeps things exciting, trust me.”

Louise’s body betrayed her completely. Orgasm after orgasm ripped through her as Darius fucked her raw, his pace merciless. He pulled out at the last second, fisting his cock and spraying thick ropes across her back, ass, and tattooed shoulder, hot and sticky, marking her.

“Good girl,” he said, smacking her cheek lightly. “See you at practice.”

Louise stumbled to her car on trembling legs, cum drying on her skin, mind spinning. Shame and exhilaration warred inside her. But the thrill won.

The next morning, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

“Practice early tomorrow, 7 a.m. sharp. The boys are hungry. Don’t be late. -D”

Louise arrived at the field at 6:45 a.m., the Atlanta dawn still hazy and pink around the edges. Her heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat. She’d barely slept, replaying the previous encounter in her head, Darius’s cock splitting her open, Amanda’s wicked smile, the casual way they’d claimed her as team property. She wore her cheer uniform already: tiny pleated skirt, cropped top stretched tight across her heavy breasts, hair pulled into high pigtails with red ribbons. No bra, no panties, just as the text had instructed in a follow-up message from Darius at midnight: “No underwear. Be ready to serve.”

The parking lot was empty except for a cluster of pickup trucks and SUVs. She walked toward the locker room entrance, heels clicking on the cracked asphalt. The door was propped open. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of fresh coffee, weed smoke, and anticipation.

The entire Thunder starting lineup was there, eleven Black men, all built like linebackers and receivers, lounging on benches, leaning against lockers, already shirtless in gym shorts or compression gear. They turned as one when she stepped in. A low chorus of appreciative murmurs rolled through the room.

“Morning, cheer slut,” Darius said from the centre, arms crossed, that same cocky grin on his face. “Right on time. Strip.”

Louise’s hands trembled as she peeled off the top first. Her breasts bounced free, nipples already stiff from nerves and the cool air. The skirt followed, pooling at her feet. Naked except for her sneakers and the red ribbons in her hair, she stood there, curvy and exposed, tattoos vivid under the fluorescents, septum piercing glinting.

“On your knees,” one of them, Malik, the wide receiver, ordered.

She dropped. The circle closed around her.

It started slowly. Darius stepped up first, pulling his shorts down. That familiar thick cock sprang free, already hard. He grabbed her pigtails like handles and fed himself into her mouth. “Show them how good you suck, baby.”

Louise opened wide, tongue flat, taking him as deep as she could. He didn’t go easy, thrusting steadily, making her gag and drool almost immediately. Saliva ran down her chin, dripping onto her tits. The others stroked themselves, waiting for their turn, phones already out.

Darius pulled out after a few minutes, stroking fast. “Open.” She did. He erupted, thick, hot ropes landing on her tongue, filling her mouth until she had to swallow or choke. She gulped it down, eyes watering, and he smeared the last drops across her lips like gloss.

Next was Jamal, the running back. Shorter but girthy, he face-fucked her hard from the start, balls slapping her chin. “Fuck yeah, choke on it, thick girl.” He didn’t last long, pulled out and painted her left cheek and eyebrow with cum. She giggled through the mess, high on adrenaline and degradation.

They rotated. One after another. Some held her head still and used her throat like a sleeve until she gagged violently. Others let her work, sucking, licking, swirling her tongue around swollen heads while they groaned. Phones flashed constantly. “Smile for the camera, slut,” someone laughed. Louise did, lips parted, tongue out, cum already streaking her face like war paint. She posed when they told her to: head tilted back, hands cupping her tits, pigtails pulled tight so the cum didn’t drip into her hair too much.

By the eighth guy, Tyrell, the tight end, she was a dripping mess. Cum coated her forehead, cheeks, nose, lips, and chin. It ran in slow rivulets down her neck and between her breasts. One load had landed directly across her closed eyes; she had to blink and wipe it away with trembling fingers, giggling the whole time because the absurdity and filth of it made her dizzy with arousal.

“Goddamn, look at her,” someone said. “Team cumdump in full effect.”

The last two finished on her face together, twin streams hitting her cheeks and mouth at the same time. She opened wide for the final spurts, swallowing what landed on her tongue, then posed one more time: peace sign, tongue out, eyes half-lidded under layers of white.

“Shower,” Darius commanded. “We wanna watch.”

They herded her into the open shower area. Hot water hit her skin. She stood under the spray, soaping her body slowly while eleven sets of eyes devoured her. She ran her hands over her breasts, down her soft belly, between her thighs, teasing her swollen clit until she moaned. Cum sluiced off her face in white rivers, swirling down the drain. They cheered, whistled, and took more photos.

“Clean pussy too,” Malik called. “Gotta be ready for later.”

She obeyed, fingers slipping inside herself, washing thoroughly while they stroked themselves again, already half-hard.

When she stepped out, towel-dried but still flushed, they let her get back into her uniform. Practice started in twenty minutes.

On the field, everything was normal, at least on the surface. The squad ran routines, high kicks, and chants. Louise smiled, pom-poms flashing, body still tingling from the morning’s abuse. The players practised plays, but every time she caught one of their eyes, she felt the promise of more.

Halfway through, Darius jogged over during a water break. “Locker room. Now.”

She followed without a word.

Inside, the room was empty except for Darius and Amanda. Amanda was already naked, perched on a bench, legs spread, fingers lazily circling her clit.

“On the table,” Darius said.

Louise climbed onto the padded training table they used for taping ankles. Darius pushed her thighs apart, skirt flipped up, no panties to obstruct. He didn’t bother with foreplay, just lined up and sank in deep in one brutal thrust. Louise gasped, back arching. He was thicker than she remembered, stretching her sore pussy to its limit.

Amanda knelt beside the table, stroking Louise’s hair. “That’s it, baby. Take that big Black cock. Let him fill you up.”

Darius fucked her hard, hips snapping, balls slapping wetly against her ass. The table creaked under them. Louise moaned, hands clutching the edges, tits bouncing free again from her cropped top.

“Gonna breed this fat white pussy,” Darius growled. “Pump you full.”

Louise’s eyes widened. “Wait, I’m not on birth control…”

Amanda laughed softly, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “That’s not an issue, sweetie. You’re built for it. Look at these wide hips, this soft belly. You were made to be Black-bred. To carry one of their babies. It’s what cheer sluts like us do.”

The words hit Louise like a drug. Her pussy clenched hard around Darius, orgasm crashing through her without warning. She cried out, legs shaking. Darius didn’t slow, pounded deeper, grunting.

“Fuck, here it comes.” He buried himself to the hilt, hips jerking as he unloaded. Hot, thick spurts flooded her, pulse after pulse, until she could feel it leaking out around his shaft.

He stayed inside her for a long moment, letting her feel every drop. Then he pulled out slowly, a thick glob of cum oozing from her stretched hole.

Amanda scooped some with two fingers and fed it to Louise. “Taste your future.”

Louise sucked obediently, dazed and dripping.

Darius slapped her thigh lightly. “Back to practice. We’ve got a game this weekend. You’ll be earning your spot all over again.”

Louise slid off the table on wobbly legs, cum trickling down her inner thigh. She fixed her uniform as best she could, wiped her face one last time, and walked back out to the field, smiling, cheering, already aching for whatever came next.