Trapped In The Locker Room With The Cheerleading Squad

 

            I was doing my best, not to make a sound.  I had managed to sneak into the locker room, where the cheerleading squad would soon be changing.  I had found the best hiding place I could find, in one of the stalls, standing on the toilet.  I could peek between the cracks around the door (which I had locked, so that they couldn't bust it open and catch me), or if I was real careful, I could peek over the top of the wall.

            One by one, they entered the locker room, and began undressing.  This was great, I could see everything.

            Soon they were all in there, and several of them were walking around in their bras and panties.  I couldn't believe how easy this was.

            "I've got to go," one of the girls said, and started walking over towards the stall where I was at.

            She pushed on the door, and of course it wouldn't open because it was locked.

            "Hmm," she said, "this door's locked."

            That's right, I thought to myself.  Now, just go on to the next one.  But, no!  She was persistent.

            "Well, I guess I'll just have to crawl under."

            NO!!!  I almost said it out loud.

            Within seconds, there she was staring at me face to face.  She was a cute one, too.  Brown hair, about 5'3", tan skin, and in her bra and panties.

            "What the...?"

            "He girls," she shouted, "we got us a peeper."

            All the girls started questioning among themselves.

            The stall door opened, and I walked out with my hands in the air (kind of a peace gesture).

            "I'll go get the coach," one girl started.

            "NO," I said, almost reflectively.

            "Yeah," the girl who found me (we'll call her Jessie) said.  "He's got the right idea.  Don't go get the coach; I've got a better idea.

            Henceforth, I'm going to start throwing in names (none are the real names, mind you, it's just easier than saying "this girl", "that girl", and so on and so forth).

            "What do you wanna do," Gina asked.

            "Let's make him real sorry," Jessie said.

            "Wait a minute, now," I tried to plead my case.

            "Shut up," Jessie said, and used her hand to gag me.

            All of the other girls rushed over and seized me.  I fought a little, but first of all, there were too many of them, and second of all - come on, the whole cheerleading squad with their hands all over me - why fight it?  They picked me up, carried me over to one of the benches, and laid me down on it.  Ashley grabbed a pair of pantyhose, and using them to tie my hands by my side, while the other girls used other things such as jeans, pantyhose and shirts, to finish tying me to the bench.  When they were finished I was bound from shoulder to ankle, almost completely immobile.

            I struggled, but I could scarcely move.

            "Alright, that's e-nummphhh."

            Jessie stuffed a dirty sock in my mouth, and used another sock to tie it into place.

            "Mmmph, mmmmph," I tried to plead with them.

            "That's Dez," Shelly said, "isn't it?"

            "Yes, it is," Jessie said.  "What should we do with him, now?"

            One of the girls I had grown up down the street from, Kelly walked up to me.

            "I seem to remember," Kelly said, "that he was really ticklish as a child."

            Oh, no.  I was still really ticklish, too.

            They hovered over me, staring intently, deciding what spot they wanted.

            I wasn't sure if this would be bliss, or torture.  I'd always had a little thing for tickling, but this might've been too much.

            "Mmmmph, mmmph," I tried to plead with them, shaking my head, and begging them with my eyes.

            "He's trying to say something," Angela said, "how cute."

            "Yeah, didn't you hear him?" Kelly said.  "He said mmhmm.  That means, yes.  He wants to be tickled."

            "Mmmmmmph," I tried to plead my case, but that was obviously impossible.

            They all jumped in at the same time, some poking at my ribs, some around my waist, some at my underarms, some grabbing my legs, and two more girls at my feet untied my shoes, and removed them along with my socks.  There I lay in short and a t-shirt, being tickled, mercilessly, by an entire cheerleading squad.

            I screamed into the gag at the top of my lungs, but I could scarcely hear myself over the roar of the giggling girls.  It was pure torture, but I was still enjoying it, to a degree.  There were 11 of them and 11 times 10 is 110, so I had 110 fingers probing every ticklish spot on my body.  I was soon sweating, profusely, and laughing so hard I could scarcely breathe.

            "Gee, he really is ticklish," Amanda said.

            Three of them were now going full force on my feet - that's thirty fingers tickling my feet.  Well, at time, anyway.  Part of the time some of them were occupied with pulling my toes back, so that other fingers could dig into my toes.

            It was the most torturesome, yet exhilarating feeling I had ever felt.  Part of me wanted it to stop.  Part of me wanted more.  I soon forgot about how much I was enjoying it, as Angela had ventured into the janitor's closet and found some scrub brushes.  They started scrubbing my soles, and Teri pulled up my shirt, and started scrubbing my stomach.  I couldn't take much more, but they were showing no signs of relent.

            All of sudden, everything stopped.  When I could finally focus, I saw Coach Sherry, a fine specimen of about 29 standing at the foot of the bench, glaring at me.

            She was almost a full six feet tall, and had a body that would make anybody stare (men and women alike).  She was the type of woman that liked to wear high-heels with everything, and always dressed to a T, even for cheerleading practice.  She was quite possible the most feminine woman I'd ever seen, and she was also the star of many of my fantasies.

            Jessie was explaining the situation to her, and she was nodding, and SMILING in amusement.

            "Okay, girls," Coach Sherry said, "I think ya'll have tortured him enough."

            I saw an end to my torture in sight, but NO.

            "Now, it's my turn," Coach Sherry said.  "Ya'll stand back and watch a real tickle master."

            I saw her crack her knuckles, and kneel down at my feet.  She had long, red-painted fingernails.

            I felt those fingernails hit the soles of my feet, and she was right.  She was an expert tickler.

            I was back into spasmodic laughter, within mere seconds.  Her tickling was more intense than the whole squad's tickling foray.

            I was soon just a shaking, giggling shell of a man, totally immersed in horrific ticklish laughter.  I could scarcely struggle against my bondage, it tickled so much.

            She tortured my feet for what seemed like an hour, but in reality was only about ten minutes, before straddling my midsection, and putting those long nails to work, probing my ribs.  I couldn't breath at all, I was laughing so hard.

            "Oh, my God," Lisa said.  "He's turning very pale."

            "It's because he's not breathing enough," Coach Sherry said.  "I'll fix that."

            Upon saying that, she dug her nails deep into my ribcage, causing to me surge maniacally against my bondage.  I started making loud, raspy, wheezing laughter noises as her expert fingers relentlessly probed deeply into my helpless ribs.  I felt the urge to pee, and it soon went away, as I wet my britches.  She moved up and down, methodically, making sure that every round she made, she hit all the spots that made me surge the hardest.  She tortured me for another twenty minutes, before finally stopping.

            "Alright, girls," she said.  "Finish getting dressed, we've still got practice to do.  We'll leave him here, and finish with him, after practice."

            Oh, no, I thought.  They're going to leave me here, tied to this bench, while they go practice.

            "Mmmmph, mmph."  I tried my best to argue with them, but once again, you can't talk with a mouth full of sock.

            Coach Sherry reached over and stroked my face with her long fingernails.

            "Don't worry," she said.  "We'll be back.  We wouldn't leave you alone, too long."

            That's what I was worried about.  I wasn't sure I could survive another attack like that.

            They all left, and true to their word, came back and tortured me some more, when practice was over.

            Coach Sherry even ended practice early, so that they would have some extra time to devote to my torture.

            Another solid hour, I had to endure 120 tickling fingers, 10 of those being the expert tickling fingers of Coach Sherry.  When they were finished they untied my legs, removed my shorts and threw them in the garbage.  Lisa then took the garbage out the dumpster.

            "Your shorts are in the dumpster," Coach Sherry said, "if you still want them.  I wouldn't.  They stink!

            They finished untying me, and left me there to figure things out myself.

            I just ran as hard as I could to my car.  Fortunately, there weren't many people there (as it was almost dark), just enough to see me and talk about it the next day.

 

THE END