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Foreplay: I began this story over 2 years ago and broke off, stuck wondering how to progress. Since then I’ve written ‘Spider’ and ‘Twins’ but I felt Cheers had to be completed. Hope you enjoy.


“Please, daddy, pretty please.”

Ellie had the top three buttons of her blouse undone, exposing the deepest cut bra that the budget stores could offer. “No! And that’s final,” I snarled back. “And button your blouse up before your mother sees you.” I was annoyed at the number of times she’d asked me.

“You rarely complain though, do you?” she snapped, fastening just one of the offending buttons. “Look, we’re in desperate need of a coach. You used to enjoy helping out when I was younger. Why not now?”

“Because,” I said, “It was a long time ago and only when Billy was ill that time and on the odd occasions when he was on holiday. The team was much younger then. They were happy to follow the simple routines that Billy taught me.” Ellie was distracting me. This was by no means the first time she’d unbuttoned her blouse when she wanted me to do something or lend her money. She had blossomed tremendously over recent years. Her puppy fat had transferred to her breasts and buttocks, her teeth had been tidily rearranged by dental braces and her legs were now slim and toned. A further two years of endless diet fads and exercise later she became a very fit young lady that any father would be proud of.

“So,” she added after a suitable pause to allow me to reconsider her request, “You seem to like gazing at my tits whenever mum isn’t around and with most of my friends when they come round.” She’d noticed. Of course she’d noticed. My thoughts went back to the last slumber party she’d had.

“Me? You think it’s my fault that you and your friends display every inch of flesh legally possible?” I snapped. That wasn’t completely true – winter was only slowly giving way to spring and this reflected in the clothes they wore and their long tanned legs were often hidden by leg warmers … except of course down town at weekends. Shortly after her 18th party I’d been recruited to taxi Ellie and her friends almost every weekend – many opportunities to learn that skirts got shorter when the girls hit the nightclubs. My initial reluctance to become a regular chauffeur was now an eagerness to help whenever I could. The girls rewarded me with a view of my back seat beauties’ panties through the rear mirror! And a kiss from each as a thanks for saving them the taxi fare. Oh, yes, and the slumber party. Tom, Ellie’s big brother, was now living with his latest girlfriend. That left accommodation for two girls in his old room and two in Ellie’s room. The two in Tom’s room were in the Cheerleader troupe; ample tits inside barely decent nighties left little to my imagination.

“Just think about it,” snorted Ellie as she stomped out. “Or else stop borrowing my panties from the dirty linen.” Fuck, that was something else I thought I’d got away with.

I must admit, I did. I thought long and hard. It was embarrassing enough that my daughter had sussed out me perving her intimate scent but the thought of training a dozen pre-chosen beauties – some of whom I’d taxied – got my pulse racing, my heart beating double speed.


“Did Ellie have a word with you Phil?” asked Lynne, my wife of 24 years.

“About what?” I asked, in as innocent a voice as I could muster.

“The Cheerleaders,” Lynne answered, her small naked breasts pressing against my back. “They’re having a rough time at the moment, trying to support a football team who are having an even rougher time near the bottom of the league.”

“Yes she did, earlier this evening. Why do you ask? I’m a happily married man with a beautiful daughter. I don’t want to be seen as someone letching at a group of scantily clad young ladies.”

“It could be good for you.” Her hand moved around and lightly stroked my chest, brushing against one then the other nipple. “Let’s face it, we don’t fuck anywhere near as often now.” Lynne pulled gently on my shoulder, turning me on to my back. These talks in bed happened only when Lynne needed an answer to a question I couldn’t get away from.

“Are you serious?” I replied, as her hand stroked up and down my belly. She kissed me gently on my neck, a kiss that ended in a tiny lick. That always got my attention. Lynne crossed her leg over mine and I could feel her silky smooth sex rubbing against me. Lynne had purposely shaved and she rubbed against me when she wanted more attention, moving just enough to cause the delightful feel of her engorged sex against my leg.

“Why not?” she asked as she raised herself up sufficiently to kiss me while slowly humping my leg. “It’s not as if you don’t know most of them.” As I turned to face her the kiss became deep, passionate, my response causing her to hump faster. My mouth was now her property. The kiss deepened, saliva flowed, tongues played games, the movement of her moist pussy lips against my leg became faster. Then she broke away. “Agree to help and bahis firmaları you can fuck me any way you wish. And it’s not as if you don’t know some of them already.”

I remained silent and Lynne pulled away, leaving me with a raging erection. Then she rolled over away from me and feigned sleep. I lay for a while considering what I should do. After mulling over the possibility of watching a team of fit young ladies practising high kicks and bending over, my erection was even more steely hard. “OK,” I said finally, “But I’ll need to catch up on stuff.” All that baton twirling, throwing them up and expertly catching had been far too difficult for me but Billy had done some dance routines and all I had to do was stick to his instructions. The dance and march moves were simple enough, but getting schoolgirls to synchronise was damn near impossible. Of course, getting a dozen 19 to 23 year old young ladies to do likewise might be equally challenging.

Lynne turned over once more and again I could feel her soft naked breasts touch my skin. “So you’ll give it a try?” She recommenced humping my leg. The humping had been there right from the start, not so much a habit but her way of getting things rolling. Occasionally I wondered just how long she’d been humping. It turned me on when we were Ellie’s age and it still did now, many years later.

“It’s going to be very difficult. When Ellie was 12 all her troupe just wanted to shake pompoms, twiddle sticks and march accurately enough to win competitions; more majorettes than cheerleaders but try telling Ellie that.”

“But you’ll try?” Lynne moved over, raised herself up and with minimum effort she rose, manoeuvred herself and expertly enclosed my rod within that warm, wet cave of pleasure. Toned thigh muscles from regular exercise helped lift and lower her love tube giving me blissful feelings, slowly bidding my piston to release its payload.

“Yes,” I answered, hardly able to speak amid the pleasure Lynne was giving me, “I’ll give it a go.” The payload didn’t arrive, for Lynne knew me too well. She slowed and I could feel her clenching inner muscles to grip me like a super-oiled vice – not that I’m small, but 20 plus years’ use of what was once tight needed just that bit extra. That extra was reserved for special times … birthdays, anniversaries, valentines, Christmas and, especially, New Year when we toasted the occasion with fizzy wine while watching the Thames fireworks display on TV. Then we went upstairs and made our own shooting stars.

“Mmmm, good,” was Lynne’s only reply. In the faint moonlight I watched her cute pointed breasts rise and fall, entranced by the slow deliberate movements. Breasts, like the vast majority of the male population, fascinated me. In the weak light they were a pale greyish blue, her darker nipples even more so. Rise and fall, rise and fall, an almost hypnotic rhythm that just lulled me into allowing Lynne to reward me with an overwhelming cum.

But it didn’t stop there. Lynne had aroused her own needs beyond where she might use fingers to satisfy herself. Hell, that used to be a real turn on for me, but now she rarely let me watch.

“Now lick me out. Make me cum.” Lynne ordered, she rarely wasted words.

“Mlie niss,” I managed, my nose nuzzled where it always smelled best, my tongue busily coaxing an oh so eager clit to send urgent messages to Lynne’s sex brain. Lynne also knew my tongue hated stubble as much as she hated a stubbled chin. This had been planned.

“Oh yes, oh, yes, just there, make me cum.” Her hips rose, pushing her cunt hard against me. I paused for breath. “No, no, no don’t stop, mmmm yes, there, yes, mmmm.” It wasn’t often that Lynne spewed out a torrent of naughty words but on this occasion she exceeded herself. When the four, five and six letter words had ceased, she grinned, “Sorry about that, but that’s the best cum I’ve had for years. Why don’t we do it again?”

“Sorry,” I said, “But I don’t think I can.” Even with my tongue teasing Lynne’s clit and even with the heavenly scent of her most exquisite aphrodisiac I hadn’t even produced a semi.

“No problem,” she began, her tits now resting on my chest, “Just think of the benefits of coaching a dozen,” she now whispered in my ear, drawing out her words, “Young beauties, their long silky legs, their tits, their curves, their honey pots.” All the while her fingers were coaxing my hardly semi to become thick and hard. It worked. “And you’re always in a good mood when you’ve taxied them back from the nightclubs.”

Lynne left me to muse over Friday and Saturday nights. Most weeks it was past midnight when I collected the boozy girls, tits a-plenty as they ducked to get in the car, kisses a-plenty as they left, some lingering enough to leave Ellie with an envious look on her face.

“Doggy,” Lynne commanded, breaking me from my reverie.

“You said my choice.”

“Oh did I? Well you were too slow deciding. It’s doggy or nothing.”


“Did I? Was it in writing? Rules have to be written kaçak iddaa down and countersigned.”

“That’s not fair … You said … “

“You have proof? Witnesses?”

“OK, OK, doggy it is … but if you fart even once you get spanked.”

Lynne smiled the broadest smile I’d ever seen, “Sounds good!”

I could see that I just couldn’t win. The disagreement had let me droop but that was just temporary. Lynne’s lips soon restored me to full size. We hadn’t done doggy for ages and more’s the pity. I was soon pounding hard and deep.

“Fuck,” she said, panting heavily, “I’d forgotten how much you could fill me.” Both of us were working up a sweat. “Slower,” she asked, “Please Phil. This is good and I want it to last.”

“That OK?” I answered. It needed no reply. Lynn’s soft moans said it all.

“Now,” she said finally. “Fuck me hard.” I gave it all I had, knowing I could ram her as hard as I wanted; I didn’t risk cumming before her and going limp. Going by my recent attempts, sometimes I was too knackered to cum once let alone twice. Perhaps it was MY fault we didn’t fuck more for a second time. “Hey …” Lynne complained, “You asleep? Keep … going …” she panted, “Keep thinking about those Cheerleaders and if that don’t keep you awake, think about your daughter. Come on, cum inside me, come on, RAM ME,”

MY GOD, I was going like a prize stallion, so hard my balls were slapping loud.”

“Faster, fucking faster, COME ON,

Now I was getting pissed off by the complaints, but all at once Lynne gave out a mighty roar and she visibly shook. At the same time my balls contracted and a second burst of cum shot into Lynne’s magic cave.

We lay together exhausted. Lynne finally reached over, kissed me with deeply meaningful passion, just like when we first got together.

“Why did you almost stop?” Lynne enquired, “It was as if your mind was wandering.”

“I was chewing things over in my mind, I’m sorry.”

“So did it help?”

“What? You complaining?”

“Thinking about those Cheerleaders?” She paused, “Or Ellie’s tits?” She raised herself up on her elbows. Even in the curtain-filtered moonlight I could make out the inquisitive expression on her face. “Or her panties?”

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a pervert. I’ll stop looking and stop sniffing.”

“If it gets you in the mood like tonight? No way!”

“But you’ve told me … “

“I’ve told you about looking at Ellie’s tits for her benefit, but it turns out she gets quite horny because her daddy now appreciates her beauty.”

“Say that again, slowly.”

She laughed, “It’s OK, believe me, but not too often. I might get jealous.” And that note we both settled down to sleep.


“Daddy, daddy,” said Ellie, shaking my shoulder. Hell, I’d just had the best night’s sleep in ages. “I brought you coffee,” said Ellie, “Before I get a shower.”

I opened my eyes to see my beautiful daughter leaning over, towelling robe open just enough to see most of her tits. “Thanks,” I replied, smiling.

“Mum told me you’d agreed to help with the troupe, thank you.” Ellie leaned over to kiss me and her robe came completely open. She quickly moved to tie the belt which had come undone but not before I could see her breasts in their full glory. “Oops!” she said, “I didn’t mean that to happen.” And as she turned to leave, she winked.

“Thanks daddy,” she said as soon as she came downstairs. On Saturday mornings she had a relaxed shower. If you didn’t make it to the bathroom before Ellie then you had to wait. There had only been one occasion when I couldn’t wait following a skinful of beer the evening before. My eyes had caught a glimpse of ample butt but the shower glass had been well misted and I admit defying her request, “Don’t look,” after I’d knocked urgently on the bathroom door.

“I’m not sure what I’m expected to do,” I said, “But I’ll have a go.”

“It’s OK, you’re my daddy and I know you’ll work it out,” Ellie continued and bent to kiss me on my lips.

“Ellie!” cautioned Lynne, “At least tighten your belt first.” But no mention about the lingering kiss, just the fact that her towelling robe revealed far too much. Ellie just smiled.


I had a chat with Billy over a pint or three at the Stammering Stud, Billy’s well frequented local, and I also went to watch the routines of other Cheerleader troupes. The girls in Ellie’s troupe, ranging in age, I’d say, from 18 to 22/23, trained in a church hall they rented cheap and in a local park whenever the relentless north England rain stopped falling or the ground wasn’t frozen as hard as a stone.

First impressions were good from an eye candy point of view but watching them work their routines left much to be desired. They just weren’t working together and they had little impetus to improve. I also went to watch our local soccer team, basically just trying to keep possession so that their opponents couldn’t score many goals. They failed miserably.


“Don’t kaçak bahis just give up,” said Ellie, my face dead serious on the drive back home.

“But they’re fucking useless,” I spat out, “Both the girls and the 10 stupid twats running like headless chickens round the pitch, not to mention the 11th stupid twat who couldn’t keep goal if his hands and arms were three times the size. Didn’t anybody tell him he’s supposed to stop the fucking ball before it goes between the posts.”

Ellie placed her hand on my leg, “Daddy,” she said in as soft a voice as I’d heard for a long time, “We know we really need to improve, and when we do we can hopefully inspire the players. Stick with us and you will be rewarded.” She moved her hand further up my thigh and I was in no mood to chastise her. Suddenly I noticed her perfume as she turned and kissed my cheek, briefly moving her hand up to my zipper, then back to where it had been.

“You can stop that,” I said bluntly.


“Because it’s wrong.” Her hand continued along my inner thigh, “Ellie!”

“But it’s relaxing. Chill, daddy.” Her fingers pressed more firmly, now against the bulge which was growing and pressing against the zip of my pants. “OK, try to convince me that it doesn’t feel good.”

“Keep doing that and I’ll cum in my pants, crash the car or both.”

Ellie giggled, “Lets just call it a gentle massage,” And I felt my zipper go down.

“Ellie, no.”

“Daddy, you’re so negative. You are going to train the troupe so they can inspire the soccer team, aren’t you?”

“I suppose ‘no’ is not an option?”

“Correct.” Ellie was now expertly teasing my swollen member, running a fingernail along the outline of my cock. Barely a millimetre of cotton between it and Ellie’s nail. Hell, I was steel hard, glancing about and aware that anyone nearby only had to peer through the car windows.

“No Ellie, not here, not where … “

“Oh stop whingeing like a little child. Didn’t mum ever entertain you while you were driving?”

“You want a CD10 on my drivers licence? And 6 points for careless driving? Can’t do your stupid friends if I’m banned.” Ellie sat upright, still teasing my cock with just the lightest of touches. Twice I was sure I was going to cum but Ellie must have sensed my cock twitching and she stopped. Thankfully my clothing was back to normal before I dare enter the house, the patch of precum the only clue as to what had taken place.


Ellie and I talked awhile about the troupe. All their self confidence had gone, their morale was low. Cheerleaders need something to cheer about, the football team needed cheers to give them momentum.

Brenton Rovers had seen better days. As often happens, lack of money meant lack of talent and lack of talent meant thrashing defeats. Thrashing defeats meant less support and less support meant no money … a vicious circle. One solution was to tempt supporters by a super sexy display of curvy Cheerleaders before the match. An idea was born.

Whilst no-one would argue that the girls were beautiful, they certainly weren’t fit. OK, they still had curves but after just a few minutes of Cheerleading they looked ready for an hours break. Add on too they’d probably look even better if they cut out all the extra portions.

“I think a bit of working out would improve things a lot,” I told Ellie. I knew rather more about gyms than waving giant pompoms and synchronised parading.

Ellie nodded, “Me too,” she admitted.

“I’ll have another chat with Billy,” I said. “He mentioned something about improving morale, getting their mojo working again but never went into any details.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Ellie, then she kissed me on the cheek and gave me a hug, something she was doing more and more. I felt we were closer than we’d been for years.


“There’s an Internet site – not advertised and just word of mouth.” Billy took a good drink of the pub’s guest beer, a local brew, Hobgoblin’s Hangover, five quid a pint on my tab. Wiping his lips with his shirt sleeve he continued, “Have you heard about subliminals?”

I nodded, “There was talk about it some years ago, background music in a chain of supermarkets which had repeated phrases telling people it was wrong to steal, always to pay for things they’d got. The phrases were hidden in the music, so that people could hear them without being aware of them. The phrases went straight to their subconscious.”

Billy nodded, “And, I seem to remember, they were plugging some of their special offers. Thefts went down and profits went up. The official line is that subliminal messages in stores are now banned but they use music and scents and product placements to influence what people buy.”

“This beer’s quite good,” I said, and I made another trip to the bar.

Billy nodded, taking another swig of the expensive brew, “And this guy on the Internet is some kind of self-taught psychologist. For a fee he will send you some backing tracks, either classical music or modern, chill-out tracks, and the software plus information you need to get you started.” He looked around to see if anyone could overhear, winked and continued, “Then what you put on the subliminal track is up to you.”

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