Theater: NovelMaster | Language: English
Synopsis
I took a gig as a college cheerleader just to cover my living expenses. The pay was insane—twenty grand a month.
I never imagined that our job wasn’t just hyping up the crowd on the court.
Behind closed doors, we were expected to take care of the players’ private needs.
Staring into their lust-filled eyes, my trembling hands slowly let go of my skirt...
It all started when my dad was in a brutal car crash. The emergency surgeries and hospital bills wiped out every last cent of our family savings.
He couldn’t work anymore and had to rely on disability checks.
"Chloe, honey, don't worry about us," my mom told me over the phone, her voice shaking. "The doctors said he's out of the woods. Just focus on school. If you need money, let me know."
A lump formed in my throat. There was no way I could ask them for a dime.
I put on a brave face and lied, telling her I’d scored a scholarship and had plenty of cash.
When you're out on your own, you only share the good news and swallow the pain.
To be honest, college life was bleeding me dry.
Dorm spots on campus were super competitive, handed out on a first-come, first-served basis with crazy price tags. On top of that, there were non-refundable application fees and security deposits.
Since I didn't get a room on campus, I had to rent an apartment.
Prioritizing my safety, I chose a gated complex with decent security, which cost sixty-five hundred dollars a year.
After paying the rent, my bank account was completely cleaned out.
With asking my parents out of the question, I had to scramble for cash on my own.
The second word got out that I was looking for part-time work, recruiters came knocking. They were pitching either gigs at strip clubs or bottle-service jobs at dive bars.
Honestly, I was confident in my looks.
Years of skincare and fitness had given me glowing skin and an athletic, curvy build—tiny waist, full curves, and long legs.
Walking down the street, I constantly drew predatory stares from guys. Even when I glared back, they wouldn’t look away. They just took it as flirting.
As an broke undergrad with no connections, finding a respectable, high-paying job was next to impossible.
I tried landing some modeling gigs using my looks, but the industry was toxic. Almost every agency demanded a fat "portfolio deposit" upfront.
That was when Coach Blanco, from our university's top-tier basketball team, reached out.
"The varsity cheer squad has an opening. Twenty grand a month," he said. "If you're interested, I can put in a good word for you."
Blanco, a middle-aged white guy, kept a straight face while saying it.
Yet I caught his eyes scanning my chest and thighs.
Deep down, I knew no ordinary cheerleading gig paid that kind of money.
But I was backed into a corner. I figured an on-campus athletic department would be safe and regulated, so I took the bait.
The next day, I went to the athletic facility for my interview.
To my surprise, Blanco was the sole interviewer.
As head coach, he didn't just manage the team; he also had the final say on the cheer squad.
The moment I stepped inside, he locked the office door behind me, claiming it was for "confidentiality."
Like many retired athletes, Blanco had packed on the pounds, but he was still massive, his bulk a mix of fat and dense muscle.
His gaze crawled over my body without shame, lingering on every sensitive curve.
I felt a prickle of fear, but he assured me it was standard procedure, so I swallowed my urge to run.
"You know we operate like a pro program," Blanco said smoothly, grabbing a clipboard. "Our physical standards for the squad are extremely strict..."
His formal demeanor made me drop my guard slightly.
Then, his tone shifted.
"What are your exact measurements? Bust, waist, hips? And your cup size? I need to verify them."It sounded somewhat logical for athletics. After a brief hesitation, I answered honestly.
"Uh... 36, 24, 37. And a 32E cup."
Blanco nodded. He pulled a measuring tape from his desk drawer and told me to strip so he could "verify" the numbers himself.
"Miss, this is standard protocol," he said firmly. "I have to ensure applicants aren't lying on their files."
I wasn't stupid. I knew he was trying to cop a feel.
Just as I opened my mouth to decline, Blanco tossed a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills onto the desk.
"Five thousand dollars signing bonus. Pass the physical check, and it's yours right now."
My heart skipped a beat at the sight of that cash.
After agonizing over it, I reasoned that it was just a quick measurement. What was the big deal? I agreed.
I usually wore high-support sports bras and compression shorts.
Stripping off my outer clothes wasn’t totally embarrassing; the athletic wear covered as much as a bikini.
Blanco frowned. He demanded I take everything off.
"We don't just check measurements," he said, pushing the boundary further. "We also screen for contagious skin conditions and underlying issues. It's part of the pre-employment physical."
I pushed back, arguing that medical checks should be conducted at an authorized clinic.
Blanco shrugged nonchalantly, claiming clinic results were easily forged with a little bribe.
"I'm responsible for the health of the entire program. I need to see for myself. If you have a problem with our vetting process, the door is right there."
I stared at the stack of cash. Needing the money so desperately, I treated it like a private boudoir shoot in my head and reluctantly peeled off the rest of my clothes.
Nothing overtly physical happened, and Blanco didn't force himself on me.
Yet his eyes devoured every inch of me.
He saw everything.
When he wrapped the tape around me, he pulled it uncomfortably tight, brushing his fingers against my bare skin.
A wave of disgust washed over me.
To survive, I endured it. Being broke in college leaves you with no dignity.
Satisfied, Blanco let me get dressed. He pulled out an employment agreement along with a strict NDA.
Desperate to get out of there, I signed without reading the fine print, grabbed the cash, and moved toward the door.
Blanco pinned my hand to the desk, telling me to calm down.
He took down my phone number, filed the paperwork, and told me to report for duty the next morning.
Only then did he let go.
Clutching the envelope of cash, I unlocked the door, eager to escape.
The moment I pulled it open, I slammed right into a solid, sweaty chest.
I stumbled back and looked up. Towering at nearly six-foot-eight was a massive Black guy in a loose jersey. His exposed arms and legs bulged with shredded muscle.
He was built like an absolute tank.
He paused, staring at me. His gaze was far more raw and predatory than Blanco's, his pupils dilating as he drank in my figure.
My pulse spiked with pure adrenaline. Terrified, I kept my head down and squeezed past him.
As I rushed down the hall, their muffled conversation drifted out of the office.
"Is that the new cheerleader? Damn, Coach, she's fire! I wanna wreck that..."
"Keep it down, Tucker. She's still within earshot."
...
I sprinted out of the building.
With the five thousand dollars, I bought some basic groceries and supplies, planning to stretch the rest over the next couple of months.
That afternoon, an email from the bursar’s office hit my inbox: course material and digital access fees were due.College textbooks and access codes were ridiculously expensive.
Looking at the massive balance due, the crushing weight of reality hit me all over again.
I called student financial services. The advisor was sympathetic and allowed me to set up an installment plan: pay per term, but if I defaulted, my registration for the next semester would be dropped immediately.
My entire monthly check would barely cover these academic fees.
I needed a safety net. I thought about asking friends, but everyone was scraping by, and borrowing money among classmates was taboo. My relatives back home had already tapped out their savings for my dad.
While I was spiraling, my phone buzzed with an unknown text.
"Hey, it's Tucker. Saw you at Coach's office earlier."
The image of that muscular giant flashed in my mind. Frowning, I texted back: "How did you get my number?"
"Coach gave it to me. Told me to show you around the squad."
"Bullshit. Shouldn't another cheerleader be doing that?"
"Oh, the other girls? They're kinda tied up right now."
A second later, Tucker sent a photo.
It was him, half-naked, with a blonde girl wearing our cheer uniform draped over him in an explicit pose.
I slammed my phone screen down, my face burning in disgust.
Before I could breathe, the phone started ringing. It was him.
I declined the call. He called right back. Declining again didn't stop him; he was relentless.
I wanted to block him, but knowing we had to work in the same program, I finally picked up, ready to chew him out and threaten him.
The moment the call connected, a woman's breathy, ecstatic moans flooded the speaker.
Beneath her cries were the low, guttural pants of a man driving hard.
My mind went blank for a few seconds before the reality sank in.
Tucker’s voice came through, heavy and ragged. "Hear that? Told you... she's busy."
The girl let out another filthy, uninhibited scream.
"You're a sick bastard!" I spat into the mic. "Call me again and I'm dialing 911!"
I hung up and beat my pillow in rage.
It took a long time for the anger to subside.
Involuntarily, the memory of Tucker standing over me in the hallway crept back into my thoughts.
His towering frame, the outline of his physique under that jersey, and that raw, primal hunger in his eyes... My breathing grew shallow and uneven.
Between the stress and the isolation, I hadn't touched another person in months.
Human bodies have needs, no matter how much you try to deny them.
I opened my nightstand and pulled out my little vibrator.
When it was over, I lay alone on the mattress, swallowed by a deep, suffocating emptiness.
For a terrifying second, I thought that if I died right here in this apartment, nobody would even notice for weeks.
I took a cold shower, tossed and turned for hours, and finally drifted off into a restless sleep.
The next morning, the alarm snapped me awake. I brushed my teeth, put on light makeup, and headed to the university arena.
My first official day on the cheer team.
My stomach was tied in knots.
I still hadn't deleted the photo Tucker sent me.From that picture, it was clear the girl was on the squad.
I worried about predatory locker-room dynamics, which put me on high alert.
The cheer captain, Kelly, was a tall, leggy blonde who looked like she belonged on a runway.
She took me backstage, handed me my uniform, walked me through the basic sideline choreography, and placed me with the rest of the squad to rehearse.
No male athletes were around in the morning.
By afternoon, the varsity basketball players walked into the arena to begin their training session, and the atmosphere instantly shifted.
During water breaks, players casually pulled cheerleaders into private lounges or trainers' rooms. They would disappear for fifteen or twenty minutes and emerge looking flushed and unbothered.
The exchanged looks between the athletes and cheerleaders were blatant and heavy with lust.
During practice, Kelly constantly praised my curves, pressing close to guide my posture.
Her hands lingered a little too long on my hips, her breath tickling my neck. She was a girl, so I brushed it off as overly friendly coaching.
After rehearsal, Kelly asked for my SnapChat and invited me to dinner. That was when her intentions became obvious.
She casually let slip that she swung both ways, and she made it clear she wanted to get closer to me.
"If you're up for it, we can play together sometime," she whispered with a smirk. "I promise you'll lose your mind..."
I pulled back and turned her down on the spot.
Kelly didn't push. She just gave me an amused, knowing look and reminded me that our first home game was in two days.
Sweaty and exhausted, I went into the women's locker room to shower.
The place was completely deserted. I wondered why none of the other girls were showering after such an intense workout, but assumed they headed straight to their dorms.
I stepped into the stall, lathering shower gel over my body.
Then, heavy footsteps echoed on the wet tiles outside.
Thinking another teammate had walked in, I kept rinsing off.
As I washed the suds away and turned around, a massive silhouette was standing right outside my shower curtain. A man.
Before I could scream, Tucker's deep voice boomed through the stall:
"Heard you need cash. Five hundred bucks for a round?"
Without waiting for an answer, he stepped closer.
"I'm the star player here. Half the scouts in the NBA have their eyes on me. You scream and damage my rep, and the school will sue you into bankruptcy over that NDA you signed."
Panic hit me like a truck. Blanco's "confidentiality clause" wasn't meant to protect the team—it was a trap.
Before I could process it, Tucker ripped the curtain aside.
His eyes locked onto my naked body like a predator cornering its prey.
Chapters (4)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Watch & Promotions
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