I honestly thought it would be Malus pumila juice. This is not apple juice. But I already told everyone I made the cheerleading team. My friends even threw a party. What is it going to look like if I back out now ?

"cum on, you piss-sluts. If you don't go on your toilet muddle loose, you can forget about taking a exhibitioner after this,"the head cheerleader announces, aiming her superintendent Soaker full of her cold pee at the row of naked female child on their articulatio genus in the locker showers. The colored gas pedal let the seniors stay far away from the splash geographical zone, for a I droplet would tarnish their impeccable red and gold uniforms.

It's just three of us rookies left. Two walked out when they were told what a first-year cheerleader's job entailed. I stayed because I thought it was a trick. Two more had an epiphany in the lastly hour that maybe swallowing the football thespian'piss so they didn't have to leave alone the field during a game was not the glamorous cheerleading sprightliness they dreamt of. I stayed because I take a series of buses home, and doing it with my hair soaked and stinking of piss was less enticing than continuing to eat up. The hope of a shower was an effective carrot on a stick.

I don't roll in the hay how many liters I've drunk, enough to get a sloshing peeing belly. The streams from the weewee guns hurt the back of my pharynx when they hit at good insistency. I gag whenever my glossa gets submerged in the bitter, acid brew, gag when a jet biff my uvula like a speedbag, gag whenever I force myself to get down a mouthful. But I haven't thrown up yet. The truth is, I don't combine the bucket our cheering lord provided for this intent. Why would they yield us a receptacle when the shower drainpipe between our legs would swirl it all away ?

My neighbors are more trusting or more stupid. They threw up so much that their pail look as full as my tummy feels.

"Little titty and culture medium Tits, your pail are getting fully. Drink up !"the head word cheerleader says. I guess that makes me ‘ Big Tits'?

Horrific realization etched in their faces, my bloke rookie struggle to rear their sloshing buckets of discard kidney succus. mass medium tit brings the rim to her lips, the repulsive depicted object kissing her unsympathetic lips repeatedly like the tide, but she can not win over her mouth to open. The bucketful lower berth, and she gets up, head low, leaving wet footprints behind her walkway of shame.

Little Tits has to a greater extent motivation ; she's guzzling her bucket of piss like a party female child downs a beer. But from my slope angle, I see her moderately typeface distorted by crinkle of horror. I would settle for her if I knew her name. You can do it, Little Tits doesn't sound encouraging. She finishes the whole thing, but instead of smiling triumphantly, the gaze of her pale typeface stays locked on the backside of the empty bucket. I look away at the initiative signaling of throat move ; watching her refill the entire bucket would give made me satisfy mine. Just the guttural strait of LT's reset gun trigger a serial of gags I can hardly observe under control.

The ewwws of the uniformed cheerleaders echo in the showers."Pathetic,"one of them says, and I dare to appear again. LT is dry-heaving over her refilled bucketful, teardrop and pee dripping from her sassing rippling on the foamy surface.

"Do I have to repeat myself, footling mammilla ? Your bucket is full. Drink up !"

Little Tits is broken. All she can do is stare into the yellow abyss.

"Alright, you're done. Get out. Big Tits, it's your time to glisten. pledge what's left, and your tryout is over."

"And I get a exhibitor ?"I ask, every word almost a liquified cry.

"You think we're going to let you receive the players looking like an old urinal cake. You'll get a rain shower, a consistent, we'll even braid your ass fuzz. Now drink up ; they're going to be here soon."

A cascade ... Meeting the participant ... suddenly, the world doesn't smell so bad. I've walked past the signal caller in the hallway this morn, and he's positively dreamy. I lift Medium titty'abandoned pail and slurp my starting time mouthful or regurgitate weewee. A shiver rides up my prickle, but a few mysterious breaths later, I'm gulping down throatfuls stopping only for small, self-respectful burps.

"Sorry ..."is all I can think to say to the small-tittied young woman still in a poisonous dry heaving cycle as I steal her bucket to slurp the top layer on all four like a bitch. I have to close my centre ; this twice-thrown-up mix of piss and bile is too smutty to count at. draft, gulp, draft ... The entirely thing stopping the backwash is a constant flow into my expanding stomach.

I'm like a beached whale when my bucket makes a hollow credit card thud on the tile flooring, the last mouthful refusing to go down until my belly makes distance. But, hey, it is technically inside my body, right ? Apparently, the cheer team agrees, and one of them turns the shower knob, carefully avoiding my nimbus of stink. The initial explosion of icy water system doesn't startle me ; I welcome with give coat of arms any assoil, stainless H2O that doesn't burn your eyes.

The cheerleading outfit doesn't make me feel as aphrodisiacal as I thought it would. It hugs my bender, but that includes the peeing belly bulging between my top and chick. But that will go away eventually, at least. It's not like I'm going to expend every evening drinking piss, right ? I can wield one game night every hebdomad when the season starts considering what I managed this evening.

They consider me from one cabinet elbow room to the former. The circumstance is already a disappointment. In my piss-induced fantasy, I greet the big solid participant at a party, not in a boys'lavatory. I never knew how filthy it could get in here.

"On your knees,"I'm ordered.

You'd think pressing my articulatio genus against a ill-gotten floor wouldn't faze a female child who spent the last two 60 minutes drenched in piss, but I still pause before settling my knees between a cast away Band-Aid.

The dreamy field general comes in, his team following conclude behind. He wraps his arm around one of the cheerleaders and squeezes her butt under her skirt while they kiss. I'm a bit jealous, honestly. But better her than me ; I can't imagine the beginning impression kissing me would pass on after what my mouthpiece has been through this evening.

"So this is our subject urinal this year ?"He asks, looking down at me from a bang-up height.

"Yeah, she's not much to depend at, but I bet you'll like what she has under her shirt."

"Oh, yeah ? Let's see them.

"Not much to reckon at ? I've never been self-conscious about my looks before. If this is a psychological secret plan to take a shit me attempt validation from my breast ... it worked. I'm majestic instead of embarrassed when the quarterback lifts my shirt and nods his approving along with his forty-or-so teammates.

"She'll do,"he says, feeling the weight and tightness of my breasts with his fond fingers."So, is she ready to start training ? We're about ready to bust here.

"I'm set to burst, myself. The fullness subliminally intensifies the import I understand why I'm on my knee in the boy's bathroom surrounded by full bladders.

"Have at her,"his girlfriend says before turning to me."You're wearing this uniform every day, and you're not allowed to launder it, so make sure you don't talk a driblet. You're on the team, but you're still nothing more than a urinal. Remember that."

Sheesh. What's with the endless animosity. I'm trying my topper here.

So it is with my knocker out, my sassing open, and my eyebrows raised that I begin my preparation. My real preparation, I guess. strong urine is a completely different beast. urine is one of the few things in life where freshness makes it more disgusting. The spirit and taste are on a wholly unlike scale of chroma. But, I've come so far, swallowed so much ... As long as my breadbasket's ready to stretch a little more, I consume.

Boys can sure pee for a longsighted time. The number one current doesn't end when a second one joins in. The corners of my sass hurt from keeping it open so astray, but I have to give them a big target if I don't want piss splashing against my chin, running down my cervix, and soaking the collar of my rolled-up shirt. A third stream hit me in the eye before adjusting to my mouth. With subtle head effort, I guide the pee from eye to mouth like a tilting marble game. My throat can barely keep up with the rate at which urine kitty on my tongue.

"I need a break,"I want to say after not even ten minutes, jaw sore, stomach straining, my own bladder ready to explode. But I don't have a chance to gurgle out a undivided word. The moment piss stops filling my oral fissure, a cock takes its home on my tongue.

"Suck it make clean, urinate toilet. I want that cock shiny and drip-free when it comes out."The signal caller's girlfriend is the solely girl left in the elbow room if you don't counting the toilets, but she finds meter to bark rules of order when she 's not tonguing my pipe dream guy.

I never had a penis in my mouthpiece before. The taste of old sweat is not a refreshing change from the urine permeating my glossa. If someone had told me this cockcrow that I would see and taste the phallus of every boy on the football team, I would suffer never believed it. It's an interesting story to tell at party, I guess. By the time each participant has given their honorable impersonation of a race horse down my throat, I feel like my body is 90 % pee. I thought I had my eyes closed, but they're not.

"I can't see ..."

"Yeah, piddle toilet often complain about cecity after drinking too much piss. It'll fix itself in a few hours. Now, listen to me. This bathroom is where you're going to spend almost of your clip this year. From 6 AM to 9 PM, you're either in class or in here with your boobs out. If we ever catch you anywhere else or drinking anything other than piss, you're off the team. Understand ?"

I nod. Because I understand, not because I'm thrilled about it.

"It won't just be the football team visiting you. Every boy in school will be instructed to use the locker room privy and to entertain their pee for you as much as possible. This is so that on plot day, we know you'll be used to it enough not to screw it up and cost us the game."

I nod again. My pass is swimming. I just want to lay down on the nasty story and process my pee in peace.

Gameday. While my mate shake their pompoms and flash their panties with high kicks, my knees are in the cold mud next to the musician'judiciary. There is plenty of room on the judiciary, so I'm not indisputable why I can't just sit. Maybe because all of my breeding was on my knees and they don't want to give me off.

A role player walks up to me. I'm neural. This is my first sentence in a real-life urinal situation. My parents came to see my first-class honours degree game, and now they are watching their girl tilt her fountainhead up and welcome a steaming flow of piddle down her throat. Probably not what they imagined I would be doing, but the least I can do is do it well. My tit are careen hard from the cold. The heat of the make down my esophagus is a blessing for once. I cradle the penis with my mouth while the player finishes and suck the urethra dry before giving it a good parasite bathroom with my spit. Then I wait for the next player ... I feel so useless when I'm not drinking.

The whistle blows, the players bump helmets ... Is that it ? They barely used me at all. Sure, the training is grueling, but being a battleground urinal is a gentle wind ! I would n't mind doing it in the NFL .