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My Cheerleader
*
Author’s Note
I’ve been feeling the need for a short and sweet middle-aged romance for a while. Nothing overly complicated. No ‘girl meets girl, girl almost loses girl, no wait, girl is back’ kind of a story. Just short and sweet. And it helps to start with a couple of characters who already have the sweetness thing down—Dani and Ava.
If you haven’t read parts one or two of their tale, you should. But if you’re pressed for time, here’s the story so far…
In part one, Dani is a client at a physical therapist’s office where Ava (a recent divorcée) works as a receptionist. Dani has a serious crush on Ava and finally gets the nerve up to say something which results in dinner and a chance at more.
In part two, Dani freaks out and tries to push Ava away. Dani’s been hiding the fact that her physical therapist visits are because she has Multiple Sclerosis (MS), a disease of the central nervous system that has manifested itself in Dani by affecting her ability to walk. She’s afraid of how it will affect Ava emotionally as the disease progresses.
Needless to say, they make it through all of these trials and continue their relationship. However, MS is an unforgiving bastard and Dani is now regularly using a cane to get around. This is where our story picks up.
*
Can I Give You a Lift? Part 3
“I met the new neighbor,” I say, the letters from the mailbox still clutched in my hand. “Actually it was the neighbor’s dog who introduced us. Damn near knocked me over.”
I hobble over to the breakfast bar and drop the mail on top of a pile to be sorted later. “Ava? Where are you baby?”
“In here.”
I make my way to to the spare room that serves as my work from home space on days when the relapses make it too tough to get into the office. The first thing I notice is Ava in a very short, red, pleated skirt and white knee socks. Ava has some seriously enticing legs, so it takes me a while to work my way up from there to see the fuzzy, white, pull-over sweater with the big red D in the middle of it. Ava stands with her hands on her hips, grinning, while I struggle with the big red D being pushed out by Ava’s fabulously well-endowed chest.
“Let me guess,” I say, “you’ve been Halloween shopping already. I like it.”
“Not exactly.” Ava moves to the side and with a flourish of her hands that would make any of the Price Is Right girls green with envy, she presents what is behind her.
“Is that—?”
“A rowing machine? Why, yes it is.”
I keep waiting for her to say, ‘Tell her what else she’s won, Don Pardo,’ but she doesn’t. “It looks like a really nice one,” I say. “Aren’t those things kind of expensive?”
“And who works at a place where she can get exercise equipment at wholesale?” Ava grins and comes bounding over to wrap her soft fuzzy sweater arms around my neck.
I’ll admit that it takes me a while to make the connection, obvious as it was, because, well, I’m sort of fixated on Ava’s smoldering dark eyes at the moment. That, and her glorious boobs. I lay my head on her chest and pet the arm of her sweater with my free hand.
“You’re so soft,” I say, grinning. Let her figure out if I mean the sweater or her tits.
“Don’t you want to know what it’s for?”
“If it comes with you dressed in a cheerleader’s outfit, I really don’t care what it’s for.” I pet her arm some more. “So soft.”
“Dani.” Ava backs up and holds me by the shoulders at arm’s length. “Focus.”
I try focusing, but it kind of turns into a lecherous grin instead. Ava does not look amused, so I get myself under control.
“You know how you’ve been using the rowing machine a lot at physical therapy?”
I nod. It’s easier than walking or biking, because most of the muscle groups still güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri obey my commands.
“And you remember how you wanted to try competitive indoor rowing, but you keep putting it off, saying you aren’t ready yet?”
“Yeah,” I admit. Truthfully, it’s on my to-do list, just never quite at the top. “I suppose this is to motivate me.”
“The rowing machine is to make it more convenient for you to train.” Ava slinks her way around so that she is standing beside me, with one leg bent at the knee, rubbing seductively against my thigh, while she wraps her fuzzy sweater-covered arm around my neck to pull me in closer.
Her hot breath is tickling my neck. I shudder.
“This is your motivation.” Ava takes my free hand in hers and slides it up under the hem of that fuzzy sweater, that I quickly realize is not nearly as fuzzy on the inside as it is on the outside, but I don’t care. Ava’s skin is warm, and in that moment I also confirm that any bras she owns are still safely tucked away in her dresser drawer.
Ava slowly outlines my ear with her tongue, while I outline her left nipple with my index finger. Ava bites down on my earlobe. I shudder again and let my hand wander down to her waistband. That earns me a slap.
“Not before dinner,” Ava says, as I stand there looking as dejected as possible.
“It’s chicken soup, if it makes you any happier.”
I stop trying for the Academy Award in the crestfallen category, and perk right up. Ava makes the best chicken soup I have ever eaten in my entire life, and that’s not an exaggeration. She likes to tease me about it sometimes, saying that it’s the only reason I married her—her chicken soup. I usually tease her right back and say, no, it’s because of the baklava.
But not this time. This time I’m rendered speechless as I watch Ava shimmying out of her sweater and laying it over the back of the desk chair. One. Two. Those fabulous breasts jiggle as they’re set free.
“I don’t want to get any soup on my outfit,” Ava explains. “It’s dry clean only.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat and nod weakly.
“Be a dear and help me with these socks, won’t you?” Ava has hoisted her leg up so that her pointed toes are resting on the seat of the desk chair. Ava’s short little skirt falls to the side and I can see she’s shaved recently.
“That’s a good girl,” Ava says.
I shudder.
* * *
Dinner is fabulous. Ava isn’t kidding when she brags about her homemade chicken soup. And then there’s the freshly baked bread. Actually, heat and serve from the freezer, but I’m not getting hung up on details tonight. Ava plated up the whole thing up while wearing only a kitchen apron. And to think that when I first met her, I thought she was so shy.
“Did I get any packages in the mail?” she asks as we eat.
“No, were you expecting something?”
“Something sexy to wear under my cheerleader outfit,” she says, looking me straight in the eye as she puckers her lips to blow across a spoonful of hot soup.
I shudder again.
Sex for me is ninety-percent cerebral these days. It has to be since the disease that makes it so difficult for me to walk also makes it difficult for me to enjoy traditional sexual stimulation. So for Ava and me, it’s a lot of teasing and mind games, but not usually during dinner. Ava’s definitely going all out tonight.
“Under your cheerleader outfit?” I dip my spoon into my bowl.
“Mm-hmm.”
“I really want to spank you right now,” I say, and hoist the steaming soup to my lips.
“I know,” says Ava. “Eat your soup, first.”
* * *
Ava looks absolutely delicious as she leans over the corner of the kitchen counter. She’s bent at the waist and has her feet spread apart. She still has her apron on, but it doesn’t cover anything güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri from the back. She’s propped up on her elbows, holding a wooden spoon in her hand and occasionally licking the back of it as she watches me loading our dirty dinnerware into the dishwasher.
“So, what’s the spoon for?” I ask.
“You said you were going to spank me.”
“Yeah, I thought…” I look at the spoon that Ava’s been working on like it’s an all day lollipop. “Oh… Really?”
Ava took another long, slow lick over the back of the spoon. “You know my safe word. Now get those leftovers put away.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I grin.
* * *
Snap, goes the lid on the leftover container. I watch Ava’s buttocks jiggle just a bit as she’s startled by the noise.
“Last one,” I say, opening and closing the fridge.
Ava is still bent over the kitchen counter. She’s not licking the spoon anywhere near as frequently as she was when we started this.
I make my way over to the junk drawer and pull out a small ball of twine along with a pair of scissors. Ava can’t see what I’m up to, though she’s arching her back and craning her neck in a valiant attempt.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what you’ve got there,” she says.
“It’s no secret.” I pull out a short length of twine, just enough to get a double bow tied in it and still have some ends left over. I snip it off and let it fall to the counter just in front of where Ava’s pretty face is perched. “These are your chances.”
Ava’s brow is knit together in thought, as I snip another bit of twine and let it fall.
I touch my finger to Ava’s shoulder and slowly drag it to the other side as she shivers. “Help me get this apron off and I’ll show you.”
Ava pushes herself up on her elbows and hangs her head down low so that her dark hair is brushing against the counter top. I swear I can hear her purring as I hook my finger under the apron strap at her neck and pull it over her head. A little help from Ava in the form of a seductive shake of her gorgeous mane, and she is free of any covering.
I wrap my fingers around the spoon in her hand. “May I?”
Ava releases her grip.
Starting at the back of her knee, I drag the spoon lightly up the back of Ava’s thigh. “Stand, please.”
She does as I ask.
“Good girl.” I give her a light tap of the spoon on her right butt cheek.
Ava nearly jumps to the ceiling.
“Relax,” I say. “I told you, you’ve got two chances.” I set the spoon on the counter and reach for the first length of twine. I loop it around her left nipple once before tying a simple overhand knot.
“This is the first,” I explain, as I complete the double bow.
I lift up the other piece of twine and dangle it just short of touching Ava’s nose. “This is the second.” I drag the end of the twine up over her forehead, and across her shoulder, before using it to give her right nipple a matching decoration.
I stand where Ava can clearly see me as I pick up the wooden spoon again and tap it against my palm. “I want to know about the underwear you ordered,” I say.
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.” I touch the spoon to the small of her back and drag it to trace an over-sized figure eight over and around her buttocks.
Ava shivers.
“Two chances, baby.” I rest the spoon just over her right butt cheek.
“What? To tell you what kind of underwear I bought?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And if I don’t?”
I place my hand on Ava’s left shoulder and encourage her to arch her back and pull away from the counter top. I lean forward to take the twine I’ve tied around her nipple and roll it between my finger and thumb a couple times before giving it a gentle tug. “Then you lose a chance.”
“And when my chances are gone?”
I güvenilir bahis şirketleri straighten up and hold the wooden spoon with the heavy end just a short distance above her left buttock. I loosen my grip on it and let gravity do the rest. “You understand?”
“No.”
“No, you don’t understand?”
“No, I understand alright, I just can’t tell you about any underwear.”
“Suit yourself.” I reach for the free end of the twine encircling Ava’s left nipple and give it a slow, steady tug.
Ava lets loose a low, throaty moan. I’m almost sad when the knot releases and I am left with nothing but a piece of string.
“One more chance,” I say.
Ava is silent, so I entertain myself by tracing designs over and around her back with the serious end of the spoon. I wind up my meandering at the tops of her buttocks and leave the spoon there to rest.
“Anything to tell me about your underwear?”
“No.”
I lean forward and brush my thumb over Ava’s right nipple. It’s crinkled and erect.
“You sure about that answer?” I say.
“Yep.”
I give the end of the twine a short, sharp tug. I hear Ava moan as I feel the tension give just a little bit. Another tug and the knot is almost ready to pull free. Ava moans a little louder and I am left with another piece of twine for my collection.
“That was your last chance.” I drag the loose end over her shoulder to illustrate.
“Then what?” she says.
“You know what.” I pick up the wooden spoon again and trace a couple more slow figure eights while Ava shivers.
“Tell me about the underwear.”
“Can’t.”
“Oh, Ava. Wrong answer.” I lightly tap her left buttock three times and then pull the spoon back. Ava sucks a breath in anticipation.
Thwack!
Ava grunts and the pink begins to rise on her skin. I trace the outline with my fingernail. It’s shaped like a spoon.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” I say, dragging the spoon in lazy circles on the other side. “Just tell me about your underwear.”
“Can’t.”
Thwack!
Ava grunts again, and I trace my finger around the matching hot pink skin on the other side.
“Underwear.”
“Can’t.”
Thwack!
“Underwear.”
“Can’t.”
Thwack!
“Under—”
“Okay, okay,” Ava says, heaving. “Bring me the catalog.”
“Catalog?” I say. “Since when do you get an underwear catalog? I’ve never seen it in the mailbox.”
“Craft catalog,” she says.
I lay the spoon on the counter, and turn to the pile of mail on the breakfast bar that I’ve been meaning to sort.
“Look for the page with the corner folded over.”
I shuffle through until I find it. “Macrame cord? Oh, macrame cord.” I grin as the realization sinks in. “Seven millimeter. Nice. I’m assuming the red, to match your outfit.”
Ava stands up to face me, draping her bare arm gently over my shoulder. She’s smiling.
“Now you know why I can’t tell you about underwear.” She leans in and licks my earlobe. “I was hoping you could do me up in one of those full-body harness things again, with the diamond patterns that run up and down the front and back. That one makes me feel so sexy.”
“Mm-hmm.” I remember we did one before, but her breathing on my neck right now is really not helping my concentration. “Might have to practice.”
“That’s okay, baby.” Ava wraps her arm around my neck and pulls me in as she slowly traces the outline of my lips with the tip of her tongue.
I shudder.
“But first,” Ava nips at my lower lip. “My ass is really on fire right now, and I need somebody to take care of that for me. Would you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, as Ava leans forward to rest her elbows on the counter again.
I extend my tongue and trace out the outlines of the two criss-crossed spoon patterns on each cheek, blowing them dry before starting in with tiny kisses. “Such a nice ass,” I mumble.
“Dani,” Ava sighs, “don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
Afterword
Short and sweet, just as promised. Thanks for reading.
—WP
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