Thomas Makes the Cheerleading Team

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When Thomas came home from work, I had the present wrapped and waiting on the kitchen table.

“Awww! My birthday’s not until next week, honey,” he said, shrugging off his coat. He gave me the usual kiss hello as I sat at the table observing him, and he immediately went to the pantry and got out his apron, hanging from its usual hook.

I had Thomas well-trained.

Our weeknights went as follows:

Thomas would return home from work.

He would give me a kiss.

He would put on his apron and make us both cocktails of my choice. (Tonight it was mojitos.)

Then I’d sit at the table and watch him while he prepared dinner.

Not only was he an excellent chef, he was a competent mixologist. Of course, it had taken time to train him.

I liked to watch him as he cooked. Thomas is handsome, and he knows it, and he likes subtly showing off for me…bending down a little deeper than he needs to put the chicken into the oven, reaching extra high to show off his biceps as he grabs the food processor from the top pantry shelf. I like watching and he likes being watched. And I like that he does all the work, and I get to put my feet up and enjoy the show.

But I don’t usually have wrapped presents waiting for him. He was right about that.

“This isn’t your birthday present,” I said, watching him muddle our drinks. “In fact, it’s really my present. It’s a present for you. For me.”

Thomas raised his eyebrow. He accidentally dropped a lime on the floor. “Oh!” He looked a little nervous.

Let’s just say that Thomas isn’t new to my ideas. I get a lot of ideas. About the way our relationship should be. About the way he should treat me. About the things we should do together and the things he should do to me and the things I get to do to him. And these ideas are a good part of why Thomas likes me. I know that because he tells me and because I know Thomas. I know the kind of man he is and the kind of woman he requires, and I know that I am that kind of woman.

And that gives me a lot of power.

I like power.

But that doesn’t mean that some of my ideas don’t make him nervous. In fact, that’s probably why he likes some of them so much.

“Are you nervous?” I ask. Although obviously I already know.

“No,” he says, not meeting my eyes.

“Just a little, I say.

“Not even a little.”

He crosses the kitchen and hands me my mojito. I grab his hand after my drink is safely on the table.

“Oh. I think you are,” I say. “But you can play coy if you like. Do you like to play coy, baby?”

Now the red rises in his face. He drops his eyes. “Maybe,” he admits.

I can see the bulge growing under his slacks. Like I said, I know Thomas and what he needs.

“Do you like to bend over so you can show off your ass to me when you’re making dinner?”

“Sometimes.” He gulps. The bulge grows.

“Are you my little slut?”

“Oh, Serena.” He slumps down to his knees and puts his head in my lap. “Yes. Yes I am.”

I take a sip of my drink. He’s done a good job. It’s tasty. “Yes, you are what?” I prod.

It’s barely a whisper. “Yes, I am your little slut.” He kisses my leg. “Thank you for letting me be your little slut.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” I tilt his head up so he can look into my eyes. “Do you want to see my present?”

“I do. Please. I do.”

He’s getting really excited now. It’s in his voice. He picks up the package and after I nod my head, he pretty much tears into it. Wrapping paper gets dropped on the kitchen floor. He’ll have to clean that up later, but it can wait. I admit I’m getting a little excited too about seeing his reaction.

The wrapping paper is off and how he’s opening the slim cardboard box that was underneath it.

He gives me a quizzical look as he sees what’s inside. He’s holding a few sort of shiny pieces of red, white and blue fabric and something yellow and silky underneath.

“Lay them out,” I tell him. “On the table.”

He does so, and the fabric takes shape. One red short flouncy skirt. One white tank top with a large blue monogrammed S on the front. A white pair of ankle socks. And a blond wig. In pigtails.

“Go team, go!” I bat my eyes at him.

“Serena. I…”

I can’t tell if he’s going to laugh or cry, but either one will do.

“A cheerleader? I don’t know….”

So, look. This idea didn’t come out of nowhere. Like I said, I KNOW Thomas, and we’ve batted around this cheerleading fantasy during sex before. Thomas likes to feel sexy. He likes to feel taken. He likes to feel slutty. And I think I do a pretty good job of evoking those feelings in him when he’s dressed as a man, or better yet, as I prefer him, not dressed at all.

But the cheerleader thing is deep in his psyche. Just like most high school boys, he watched the school cheerleaders bounce around in their short skirts, their tight tops. He saw the looks the boys gave them—the looks HE gave them, and he imagined things. He imagined what it must feel like to be those girls, to feel desired, envied, wanted.

Also, like most guys, Thomas watches porn. And porn has its fair share of cheerleaders. Porn cheerleaders aren’t real cheerleaders. They are slutty cheerleaders. Vapid cheerleaders. Cheerleaders who exist for the sole purpose of getting fucked often, eagerly and carelessly.

So, Thomas wants to feel like a cheerleader? A slutty, eager, vapid cheerleader? Then he can be MY slutty, eager, vapid cheerleader. Rah! Rah! Sis! Boom! Bah! For me.

The thing is that I’ve never dressed him up in women’s clothes before. A few times I’ve had him wear lipstick. But a full outfit? A wig. This will be a first.

“What if…?” He frowns. He knows he’s not supposed to question me. I know what he’s going to ask anyway. What if I look stupid? What if you laugh at me?

“No. Just put it on,” I tell him. I point to the downstairs bathroom. “Oh, and there’s pink lipstick in there. Be sure to apply it liberally. I want to see it coat my cock.”

Then I take my mojito and go upstairs to wait in the bedr

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Written by The Gentle Domme
Hochgeladen February 15, 2021
Notes I dress my pet up as a cheerleader and fulfill some of his slutty fantasies.

"Let’s just say that Thomas isn’t new to my ideas. I get a lot of ideas. About the way our relationship should be. About the way he should treat me. About the things we should do together and the things he should do to me and the things I get to do to him. And these ideas are a good part of why Thomas likes me. I know that because he tells me and because I know Thomas."
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