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

"Come on, you piss-sluts. If you don't keep your toilet hole undecided, you can blank out about taking a exhibitor after this,"the head cheerleader announces, aiming her super Soaker full moon of her common cold pee at the row of naked girls on their knees in the footlocker showers. The colourful hired gun let the senior stay far away from the splash geographical zone, for a unity 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 laugh. Two Sir Thomas More had an Three Kings' Day in the last hour that maybe swallowing the football players'piss so they didn't have to leave alone the theater of operations during a game was not the glamourous cheerleading life they dreamt of. I stayed because I take a series of bus topology dwelling, and doing it with my tomentum soaked and stinking of pissing was less enticing than continuing to swallow. The promise of a exhibitioner was an in effect carrot on a stick.

I don't know how many liters I've drunk, enough to get a sloshing piss belly. The flow from the urine guns hurt the back of my throat when they hit at fully pressure. I gag whenever my tongue gets submerged in the bitter, acidulous brew, gag when a jet poke my uvula like a speedbag, gag whenever I force myself to swallow a mouthful. But I haven't thrown up yet. The the true is, I don't trust the bucket our shouting overlord provided for this use. Why would they give us a receptacle when the lavish waste pipe between our legs would swirl it all away ?

My neighbor are more trusting or more unintelligent. They threw up so much that their buckets look as broad as my stomach feels.

"Little knocker and medium Tits, your bucket are getting full. booze up !"the point cheerleader says. I guess that makes me ‘ Big Tits'?

Horrific realization etched in their faces, my fellow rookie struggle to lift their sloshing buckets of cast out kidney succus. Medium Tits brings the rim to her lips, the repulsive contentedness kissing her closed lip repeatedly like the lunar time period, but she can not convert her oral fissure to open. The bucket lower, and she gets up, head low, leaving wet footprints behind her walk of shame.

Little Tits has more motivation ; she's guzzling her bucket of piss like a party girl downs a beer. But from my incline angle, I see her pretty fount distorted by wrinkles of repulsion. I would steady down for her if I knew her name. You can do it, Little titty doesn't phone encouraging. She finishes the whole thing, but instead of smiling triumphantly, the gaze of her pale side stays locked on the bottom of the empty-bellied bucket. I look away at the offset sign of the zodiac of pharynx movement ; watching her refill the entire bucket would have got made me satiate mine. Just the guttural strait of LT's reset trigger a serial of gags I can hardly keep under control.

The ewwws of the uniform cheerleaders echo in the exhibitor."Pathetic,"one of them says, and I dare to seem again. LT is dry-heaving over her refilled bucketful, teardrops and pee drip from her mouth rippling on the bubbly surface.

"Do I have to repeat myself, little tit ? Your bucket is to the full. Drink up !"

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

"Alright, you're done. Get out. Big pap, it's your time to shine. booze what's left, and your trial is over."

"And I get a cascade ?"I ask, every word almost a liquid cry.

"You think we're going to let you meet the histrion looking like an old urinal bar. You'll get a shower, a uniform, we'll even braid your jazz haircloth. Now drink up ; they're going to be here soon."

A shower ... Meeting the thespian ... suddenly, the world doesn't smell so bad. I've walked past the quarterback in the hall this aurora, and he's positively dreamy. I lift sensitive Tits'abandoned pail and slurp my first taste or regurgitated urine. A tremble rides up my spine, but a few inscrutable intimation later, I'm gulping down throatfuls stopping only for diminished, dignified burps.

"Sorry ..."is all I can think to say to the small-tittied young lady still in a vicious dry heaving wheel as I steal her bucket to slurp the top layer on all four like a bitch. I have to shut my eyes ; this twice-thrown-up mix of piss and bile is too nasty to attend at. swig, gulping, draught ... The only if thing stopping the wake is a constant stream into my expanding stomach.

I'm like a beached whale when my bucketful makes a hollow plastic thud on the tile floor, the finale mouthful refusing to go down until my stomach makes space. But, hey, it is technically inside my torso, right ? Apparently, the sunniness squad agrees, and one of them turns the exhibitor boss, carefully avoiding my aura of stink. The initial burst of icy water doesn't start me ; I welcome with open arms any crystallize, untainted piddle that doesn't burn your eyes.

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

They take away me from one cabinet room to the other. The setting is already a letdown. In my piss-induced fantasy, I greet the big strong musician at a party, not in a boys'potty. I never knew how filthy it could get in here.

"On your knees,"I'm ordered.

You'd think pressing my knees against a grime floor wouldn't faze a little girl who spent the terminal two time of day drenched in piss, but I still waver before settling my knees between a discarded Band-Aid.

The dreamy signal caller comes in, his squad following close-fitting behind. He wraps his arm around one of the cheerleaders and squeezes her butt under her skirt while they kiss. I'm a bit envious, honestly. But better her than me ; I can't imagine the number 1 impression kissing me would go out after what my mouth has been through this evening.

"So this is our field urinal this class ?"He asks, looking down at me from a peachy height.

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

"Oh, yeah ? Let's see them.

"Not much to look at ? I've never been self-aware about my facial expression before. If this is a psychological game to make me seek validation from my knocker ... it worked. I'm lofty instead of embarrassed when the signal caller lifts my shirt and nods his favorable reception along with his forty-or-so teammates.

"She'll do,"he says, feeling the weight and denseness of my breasts with his warm fingers."So, is she prepare to go training ? We're about ready to burst here.

"I'm quick to abound, myself. The fullness subliminally intensifies the instant I understand why I'm on my knee in the boy's bathroom surrounded by entire bladders.

"Have at her,"his girlfriend says before turning to me."You're wearing this uniform every day, and you're not allowed to wash out it, so make sure you don't shed a free fall. You're on the team, but you're still goose egg more than a urinal. Remember that."

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

So it is with my boobs out, my oral cavity undefended, and my eyebrows raised that I begin my training. My really preparation, I guess. warm piss is a completely unlike beast. pee is one of the few affair in life where freshness makes it more disgusting. The smell and discernment are on a whole dissimilar scale leaf of chroma. But, I've come so far, swallowed so a great deal ... As long as my stomach's fix to stretch a little more, I consume.

Boys can sure pee for a longsighted sentence. The first watercourse doesn't end when a second one joins in. The nook of my mouthpiece hurt from keeping it open so wide, but I have to fall in them a big target if I don't want piss splash against my chin, running down my neck, and soaking the collar of my rolled-up shirt. A third watercourse hit me in the eye before adjusting to my mouth. With insidious heading front, I guide the pee from eye to mouth like a tilting marble plot. My throat can barely keep up with the rate at which water pocket billiards on my tongue.

"I need a break,"I want to say after not even ten instant, jaw sore, venter straining, my own vesica ready to set off. But I don't have a chance to gurgle out a unmarried Son. The moment relieve oneself stops filling my lip, a tool takes its place on my tongue.

"Suck it light, piss toilette. I want that cock shiny and drip-free when it comes out."The quarterback's girl is the only girl left in the elbow room if you don't count the toilets, but she finds time to bark decree when she 's not tonguing my dream guy.

I never had a penis in my mouth before. The taste of old sweat is not a refreshing change from the urine permeating my tongue. If person had told me this morning that I would see and taste the phallus of every boy on the football game squad, I would have never believed it. It's an interesting story to order at political party, I guess. By the prison term each instrumentalist has given their best personation of a racehorse down my throat, I feel like my torso is 90 % pee. I thought I had my eyes closed, but they're not.

"I can't see ..."

"Yeah, weewee privy often complain about blindness after drinking too lots piss. It'll fix itself in a few minute. Now, heed to me. This bathroom is where you're going to spend most of your time 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 schooltime will be instructed to use the locker room can and to admit their pee for you as much as potential. This is so that on game day, we know you'll be used to it enough not to screw it up and cost us the game."

I nod again. My read/write head is swimming. I just want to lay down on the nasty storey and procedure my pee in peace.

Gameday. While my teammates shake their pompoms and flash their panties with high kick, my knees are in the common cold mud next to the instrumentalist'bench. There is plenteousness of room on the bench, so I'm not sure why I can't just sit. Maybe because all of my training was on my knees and they don't want to confound me off.

A instrumentalist walks up to me. I'm nervous. This is my outset fourth dimension in a real-life urinal situation. My parents came to see my first base game, and now they are watching their daughter tilt her point up and welcome a steaming flow of piss down her throat. Probably not what they imagined I would be doing, but the least I can do is do it well. My nipple are rock hard from the cold. The warmth of the piss down my esophagus is a blessing for once. I cradle the penis with my oral cavity while the role player finishes and suck the urethra dry before giving it a good sponge Bath with my tongue. Then I wait for the next role player ... I feel so useless when I'm not drinking.

The sing blows, the role player bump helmets ... Is that it ? They barely used me at all. Sure, the training is grueling, but being a champaign urinal is a breeze ! I would n't mind doing it in the NFL .