The New Cheerleaders The New World of SwapTech chapter 6 by deleted_user

“Five minutes, girls!”

The booming voice echoed from the tunnel.

Carl—currently Jasmine, a tall, busty Black cheerleader with way too much bounce in her step and not enough fabric on her body—stood near the sidelines, panting. The sun beat down on his bare midriff, glistening sweat running down smooth caramel skin. Every time he shifted his weight, his hips popped like they had a mind of their own.

His thong had completely disappeared between his cheeks.

“This is a war crime,” he muttered, tugging at the waistband of his cheer skirt, only to have his hand slapped away by another girl.

“Jasmine, seriously. Stop adjusting your panties on the field!” That was Amber—short, perky, blonde, twenty-one, and annoyingly chipper. The kind of girl who put little hearts over her i’s and had a pink sparkly vape pen. Carl wanted to strangle her. With one of his own pom-poms.

But before he could retort, someone stumbled into him from behind. A cheerleader—curvy, brunette, sweaty, clearly disoriented. Carl turned, eyes narrowing.

“Kyle?”

The brunette blinked up at him. She had long, tangled chestnut hair in loose pigtails, pale skin flushed from exertion, and a tight, round ass barely contained in her skirt. Her top strained against a pair of DDs that jiggled with every breath. She looked hot. Like, really hot. The TV hadn't done her justice before.

“Dad?”

Carl groaned. “We thought that might've been you.”

Kyle nodded, looking sheepish—and bouncing the entire time. “I was trying to test the remote, but I missed the football player and hit the cheerleader instead. You believe this shit?”

“Oh, I believe it. I’m wearing mascara and I just peed sitting down. I fucking believe it. I got tit sweat under my tit sweat,” Carl muttered. “I tried to run and almost face-planted into my own damn cleavage.”

They stood in awkward silence for a second, looking each other up and down.

Then Carl raised a perfectly waxed brow. “So. What’s your name in here?”

Kyle blushed. “Natalie. And you?”

Carl sighed, defeated. “Jasmine.”

They both winced.

“...They gave you a Black girl body?” Kyle asked, blinking.

“Apparently,” Carl muttered. “Which means I’ve got a fat ass, soft skin, and legs for days… and no fucking clue how to move any of it.”

The two of them stood side by side, arms crossed under their respective cleavage, watching the other cheerleaders stretch and giggle and practice lifts. The bounce. The giggle. The near orgasmic levels of flexibility.

Then came the worst sound imaginable: "SQUAD FORMATION! HALFTIME ROUTINE! POSITIONS!"

A petite Latina with a clipboard marched by and shouted, “Natalie, Jasmine! Front and center! You’re leading the pyramid!”

“Pyramid?!” Carl hissed.

“Oh god,” Kyle said. “They’re gonna lift us?!”

They got shoved onto the turf, surrounded by glitter, sweat, and giggles. From the stadium speakers, the music dropped. Loud, pounding pop beats. The kind you could only twerk to. And then they were dancing. Pom-poms shaking. Hips popping. Carl flailing like a drunk muppet in heels, boobs jiggling so hard it was practically slapstick. Natalie had accidentally locked into some kind of sexy autopilot and was gyrating against a teammate with full stripper energy.

They looked ridiculous. And if anyone knew to look for it, it would have been clear they were two middle-aged men trying to act sexy. But the bodies did a lot of the work; nothing could make them not look hot.

The crowd ate it up.

Carl locked eyes with Natalie as they both tried not to trip into the grass.

“This is your fault,” he growled. "No more TVT Remotes after this."

“I know,” Natalie moaned. "Worst part is, I think I'm turning myself on."