I honestly thought it would be apple juice. This is not apple succus. But I already told everyone I made the cheerleading squad. My Friend even threw a party. What is it going to count like if I back out now ?

"seminal fluid on, you piss-sluts. If you don't hold your toilet trap spread out, you can forget about taking a cascade after this,"the promontory cheerleader announces, aiming her super soaker full of her cold pee at the row of raw daughter on their knees in the locker cascade. The colourful gas let the seniors stay far away from the spatter zone, for a individual droplet would tarnish their immaculate red and golden uniforms.

It's just three of us rookie left. Two walked out when they were told what a first-year cheerleader's job entailed. I stayed because I thought it was a joke. Two Sir Thomas More had an epiphany in the last 60 minutes that maybe swallowing the football game players'urine so they didn't have to depart the field of honor during a secret plan was not the glamorous cheerleading life sentence they dreamt of. I stayed because I take a series of motorbus home, and doing it with my hairsbreadth soaked and stinking of piss was less enticing than continuing to swallow. The promise of a exhibitor was an effectual carrot on a stick.

I don't get it on how many litre I've rummy, enough to get a sloshing piss belly. The streams from the water guns hurt the vertebral column of my throat when they hit at full pressure. I gag whenever my tongue gets submerged in the bitterness, acidic brew, gag when a jet punches my uvula like a speedbag, gag whenever I force myself to withdraw a mouthful. But I haven't thrown up yet. The truth is, I don't faith the bucket our cheering overlords provided for this purpose. Why would they give us a receptacle when the rain shower drain between our legs would twiddle it all away ?

My neighbors are more believe or more stupid. They threw up so much that their buckets look as full as my tum feels.

"Little Tits and culture medium tit, your buckets are getting full-of-the-moon. Drink up !"the head cheerleader says. I guess that makes me ‘ Big Tits'?

Horrific realization etched in their faces, my fellow cub struggle to lift their sloshing bucketful of cast-off kidney juice. Medium knocker brings the rim to her lips, the abhorrent subject matter kissing her closed lips repeatedly like the tide, but she can not convert her mouth to open. The bucket lower berth, and she gets up, head low, leaving wet footmark behind her walk of shame.

Little Tits has Thomas More motivation ; she's guzzling her bucketful of peeing like a party girl downs a beer. But from my slope angle, I see her pretty font distorted by wrinkles of horror. I would take root for her if I knew her gens. You can do it, Little Tits doesn't phone encouraging. She finishes the whole matter, but instead of smiling triumphantly, the gaze of her pale look stays locked on the bottom of the evacuate pail. I look away at the inaugural sign of pharynx movement ; watching her refill the integral bucket would possess made me satiate mine. Just the guttural sounds of LT's reset induction a series of gags I can hardly keep under control.

The ewwws of the uniformed cheerleaders echo in the exhibitioner."Pathetic,"one of them says, and I dare to calculate again. LT is dry-heaving over her refilled bucket, teardrops and pee drip mold from her backtalk rippling on the foamy surface.

"Do I have to double myself, short teat ? Your bucket is full phase of the moon. Drink up !"

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

"Alright, you're done. Get out. Big Tits, it's your clock time to shine. Drink what's left, and your tribulation is over."

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

"You think we're going to let you conform to the musician looking like an old urinal cake. You'll get a shower, a uniform, we'll even braid your have a go at it tomentum. Now drink up ; they're going to be here soon."

A shower ... Meeting the thespian ... suddenly, the worldly concern doesn't smell so bad. I've walked past the quarterback in the hallway this morning, and he's positively dreamy. I lift Medium Tits'abandoned bucketful and slurp my world-class mouthful or regurgitated piddle. A shudder rides up my spine, but a few deep breathing time later, I'm gulping down throatfuls stopping only for small, dignified burps.

"Sorry ..."is all I can think to say to the small-tittied little girl still in a brutal dry heaving cycles/second as I steal her pail to slurp the top layer on all four like a bitch. I have to close my eyes ; this twice-thrown-up mix of piss and bile is too nasty to attend at. Gulp, gulp, gulping ... The solely thing stopping the backwash is a constant menstruation into my expanding stomach.

I'm like a beached giant when my bucket makes a hollow plastic thud on the tile floor, the live on mouthful refusing to go down until my stomach makes space. But, hey, it is technically inside my consistency, right ? Apparently, the cheer team agrees, and one of them turns the shower knob, carefully avoiding my aura of mephitis. The initial fusillade of icy piddle doesn't startle me ; I welcome with exposed weapon any take in, untainted water supply that doesn't burn your eyes.

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

They remove me from one locker room to the other. The context is already a disappointment. In my piss-induced fantasy, I greet the big strong actor at a party, not in a son'toilet. I never knew how filthy it could get in here.

"On your knee,"I'm ordered.

You'd think pressing my knee joint against a dingy floor wouldn't faze a girl who spent the final two 60 minutes drenched in piss, but I still hesitate before settling my knee between a chuck out Band-Aid.

The languid field general comes in, his squad following close behind. He wraps his arm around one of the cheerleaders and squeezes her butt under her annulus while they kiss. I'm a bit jealous, honestly. But practiced her than me ; I can't imagine the world-class impression kissing me would leave after what my rima oris has been through this evening.

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

"Yeah, she's not much to reckon 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 looks before. If this is a psychological game to make me essay validation from my breasts ... it worked. I'm proud instead of embarrassed when the quarterback elevate my shirt and nods his favorable reception along with his forty-or-so teammates.

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

"I'm ready to burst, myself. The fullness subliminally intensifies the import I understand why I'm on my articulatio genus in the boy's bathroom surrounded by replete bladders.

"Have at her,"his girl says before turning to me."You're wearing this unvarying every day, and you're not allowed to wash away it, so make sure you don't run out a cliff. You're on the team, but you're still zilch 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 mouth open, and my eyebrow raised that I begin my training. My real education, I guess. lovesome peeing is a completely dissimilar beast. Urine is one of the few things in life where freshness makes it more wicked. The sense of smell and taste are on a wholly different scurf of intensity level. But, I've come so far, swallowed so much ... As long as my tum's quick to stretch a little more, I consume.

Boys can sure pee for a farsighted time. The offset stream doesn't end when a second one joins in. The box of my oral cavity hurt from keeping it spread out so wide, but I have to move over them a big target if I don't want peeing splashing against my chin, running down my neck, and soaking the shoe collar of my rolled-up shirt. A third current hit me in the eye before adjusting to my sassing. With subtle head bowel movement, I guide the pee from eye to mouth like a tilting marble game. My throat can barely keep up with the pace at which urine pools on my tongue.

"I need a break,"I want to say after not even ten mo, jaw sore, stomach straining, my own vesica ready to explode. But I don't have a chance to gurgle out a one word. The moment weewee stops filling my mouth, a cock takes its office on my tongue.

"sucking it fresh, piss toilet. I want that putz shiny and drip-free when it comes out."The quarterback's girl is the lonesome girl left in the room if you don't tally the pot, but she finds fourth dimension to skin orders when she 's not tonguing my dreaming guy.

I never had a penis in my mouth before. The predilection of old fret is not a refreshing change from the weewee permeating my lingua. If someone had told me this morning that I would see and taste the member of every boy on the football team, I would have never believed it. It's an interesting storey to tell at parties, I guess. By the time each role player has given their better impersonation of a racehorse 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, piss john often complain about blindness after drinking too much piss. It'll fix itself in a few hours. Now, listen to me. This bath 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 squad. Understand ?"

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

"It won't just be the football squad visiting you. Every boy in schooltime will be instructed to use the locker room bathroom and to hold their pee for you as much as possible. 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 point is swimming. I just want to lay down on the nasty base and mental process my pee in peace.

Gameday. While my teammate shake their pompoms and flash their panties with in high spirits kicks, my knee joint are in the cold mud next to the player'judiciary. There is plenty of way on the terrace, so I'm not sure why I can't just sit. Maybe because all of my training was on my knee joint and they don't want to throw me off.

A player walks up to me. I'm nervous. This is my showtime prison term in a real-life urinal situation. My parents came to see my first biz, and now they are watching their daughter tilt her head word up and welcome a steamy flow of water down her pharynx. Probably not what they imagined I would be doing, but the least I can do is do it well. My tit are rock hard from the coldness. The warmth of the piss down my esophagus is a grace for once. I cradle the penis with my mouth while the instrumentalist finishes and suck the urethra dry before giving it a good poriferan bath with my lingua. Then I wait for the next role player ... I feel so useless when I'm not drinking.

The whistle shock, the players bump helmets ... Is that it ? They barely used me at all. Sure, the grooming is grueling, but being a field urinal is a breeze ! I would n't bear in mind doing it in the NFL .