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Savage has to make a decision.

I turn to Megan and give her an exploitive kiss, sucking out her tongue and lower lip. She saunters over to you and grabs you by the wrist, harshly. I crook my finger at Charlie and say, "Now." She totters nervously on her high-heeled sandals and I grab her at the bicep and pull her inside. All four of us disappear behind the door to my office as the locker room murmurs.

The office is painted entirely black and is dimly lit. Large nude portraits of the team's veteran members, in pornographic, pussy-spreading, boob-clutching, nipple-pinching centerfold poses, line the walls, lit by small lamps over them. There are studio lights and a camera on a tripod behind my desk. My desk is a disaster, strewn with porn magazines, DVD cases, two big handles of liquor and an ice bucket. A nasty porn slideshow is playing on my screensaver. A velour couch that looks like a pair of red lips is against the wall, next to a cheesy vanity pouf that looks like a high-heeled shoe. The office reeks of booze, cheap cologne and cigarettes.

On the wall facing my desk is a chain running through three rings. Megan handcuffs your wrists behind your back and then locks you and Charlie to the chain. Megan stands at your side, stroking your neck and licking your ear with little kitty-cat flicks of the tongue as I begin the pretext for our "counseling" session.

"Uh, girls," I say boozily, "we gotta back it down on the lezzie crap. I mean it's hot, we definitely like bi girls here, but you're out there for the male gaze and you need to act like it."

You're confused. So is Charlie. All you do is dance during timeouts and at halftime, maybe visit the skyboxes to smile at the big season-ticket holders. "Ladies," I say curtly, "what about this is hard to get. We had you up in the auto-mall's luxury box against Miami and you spent more time eyefucking each other than you did any of the men in there."

You blush. Charlie is likewise chagrined. No one told you about this part of the job! "You don't have to blow the guy but Christ, make him think you want to," I grumble. "Get it?"

You stammer out an affirmative. Charlie does too. Megan is chuckling at your misfortune. The truth is every cheerleader goes through a standards meeting. I always think of some way they haven't performed appropriately. Then we have an instructional session, and it usually ends with the girl dabbing a washcloth on her cheeks and forehead and replacing her fake eyelashes.

"So I need you two to be a lot more outwardly hetero," I say, "and we're gonna start with Charlie." A knot of fear forms in your stomach. Charlie sets her jaw and shakes her head, preparing to meet her fate.

I stand up and walk to the back of the room as Megan, ever the bitch, unlocks Charlie from the wall chain and leads her over to my desk. There are metal loops at the corners of the desk. Megan locks Charlie's wrists to them, leaving her spread-eagled over my messy desk, her ass high in the air, poised daintily on her heeled slippers.

Megan saunters back over to you and holds you by the neck, forcing your chin high. "Watch and pay attention," she commands.

"Thank you, Megan," I say nonchalantly, as I remove my robe. My penis is semi-hard but already it looks enormous to you. It's bigger than the strap-on dildo Charlie fucked you with after the big win over Tampa Bay, when you two first fell in love.

"Oh God," Charlie whimpers, as I fish through a desk drawer for some lube. I squirt some in the tip of my fingers and rub it around Charlie's exposed, hairless pussy, murmuring something coercive in her ear. Then I squirt more in the palm of my hand and stroke myself to a full erection.

"We need to educate you two on the feminine ideal of the Cheetah Cheerstars," I say. Charlie looks up at you with a silent, pleading expression. "Just breathe deeply," I say. Her eyes roll back beneath her painted lids and her face dissolves into a mask of pure lust, despite herself, as I enter her pussy from behind.

"Watch her, bitch," Megan commands, pawing at your tits an

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