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This is the story of a girl with a fetish, inspired by the genre of cosplay within Japanese adult video idols. All of the characters in this story were at least 18 at the time of their actions. Finally, most importantly, my thanks to StoryPal for his considerable help in editing.
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Madeline Hemming was one of Dr. Lowenstein’s latest patients. She was an upperclasswoman, a junior, 20 years old, in her third year at Templeton College, and she had finally decided to do something about her problem; her secret problem. She lied down on the doctor’s couch.
Dr. Lowenstein spent the initial part of their first session gathering basic history, and then asked why Madeline had come for treatment. The doctor had already read the intake forms that Madeline had completed, but it was always best to have the patient describe the problem for himself, or herself.
Madeline explained that she loved to play dress-up as a little girl. It was one of her favorite games. The princess costume was perhaps the one she liked the most. What girl doesn’t like being a princess? But, she liked them all: prom queen, fairy, bride, angel, teen disco girl. Her Barbie costume was a close second to the princess costume. She really did like playing Barbie, as she could pretend that the real Barbie doll was her little sister and they would go out shopping together for, of course, new outfits. She really admired Barbie so much, as she had so many, many, many different outfits. There was her silver dress, her tangerine Oscar dress, her Barbie darling dress, her contest winner dress, her waltzing dress, her golden girl dress, her rose dress, her silver star dress, her shimmering gown dress, her sleek and dazzling dress, her belly dress, her sophisticated dress, her summer dress, her wonderful white dress, her falling leaves dress, her pink silk dress, and her designer evening gown dress. It just never seemed to end. She particularly liked Barbie’s pink and pretty dress. She sometimes went to sleep dreaming that she could grow up to become a Barbie doll.
Well, it wasn’t surprising that her interest in costumes continued into adulthood, albeit transformed. Being an adult provided another layer of complexity, or more accurately, pleasure, to her interest in costumes. It was like the child who loved puppies becoming a veterinarian. Well, it wasn’t quite like that. For Madeline, the outfits now had a degree of sexual undertone to them. Actually, they had a substantial degree of overtone. Madeline really loved cosplay, dressing up in a costume that defined a specific role, and then going out in public and playing that role, seeing if you could get away with it, not get caught, as you pushed the limits of the role into some form of sexual indiscretion. One might even say that she was obsessed with it.
Madeline in fact chose Templeton College largely because everyone came to class wearing a costume. The college administration called it a uniform, but it was pretty close to her own school girl costume: white blouse, black tie, plaid skirt, white socks, black Mary Janes, and even white cotton panties. She thought the white cotton panties was a really dedicated, authentic touch, the sort of special detail that she gave to her own costumes. Nobody was supposed to see your panties, yet the administration saw fit to have each girl wear white cotton panties. She was impressed.
She thought now though of transferring. She had been attracted to Templeton in large part because the college seemed to embrace cosplay. But, it wasn’t too long before she realized that it wasn’t that much fun wearing the same darned costume day after day after day after day.
More importantly, her cosplay was becoming a bit of a risky problem in life. She explained why to Dr. Lowenstein.
“Doctor, this is all confidential, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes, dear, very much so. I would only break confidentiality if someone was in imminent danger of injury or death.”
It wasn’t that Madeline found her admission to be particularly embarrassing. She wasn’t at all ashamed about what she did. Her concerns were more immediate and practical. “So, like, um, if I admitted to breaking a law, or something, not that I would. I’m just askin’ hypothetically like, you know. If I admitted to doing something illegal, you know, you wouldn’t call the police?”
“I wouldn’t. In fact, even if I wanted to do that, which I wouldn’t, I would risk losing my license. You could get me into trouble.”
That was reassuring. She did though still look around the room, as if there might in fact be someone there. Once fully reassured, she began her story.
Cosplay was not an easy fetish, or game, as Madeline preferred to describe it. First, it took a good amount of work and skill to create a good costume, as well as a few pennies. One wanted, of course, a costume that would be fun and sexy to wear, as well as to see. Madeline was more than willing to put in the work. She felt considerable pride in creating a good costume. She casino siteleri was an artist of fashion. The pennies (more like dollars) were a problem, but she would usually manage to scrape together the necessary bits and parts by scouring reclamation stores.
Cosplay also required a bit of acting skill, and a substantial amount of planning and preparation, as well as courage and daring. One could at times go in blind to a new site and target, particularly if one wanted to experience novel and idiosyncratic shifts in the game. But, this could also be rather reckless. Cosplay was inherently risky because there was always the danger of getting caught and exposed, and some cosplays would be considerably costly if the deception was discovered. Dressing up in costumes had been fun as a child, but the risk in going out into the world in costume contributed to its fun as an adult. All of this: the skills, the acting, the adventure, and the danger, was what made it so satisfying, so enriching.
Madeline first told the doctor of a cosplay involving one of the more traditional costumes: the cheerleader. She decided it was best to begin her story with a costume that wasn’t really so bad or risky.
It is not difficult, of course, to obtain a cheerleading costume. Madeline though needed one that would pass as a Templeton cheerleader, and the college didn’t simply offer these uniforms at the local bookstore. An official uniform had to be ordered through a licensed distributor that carefully screened all purchases for official authorization.
Madeline was eventually able to garner all of the necessary components from various sources, some of which were, let’s just say, less than exactly sanctioned. It was, though, an indiscretion that she felt should be excusable. She wasn’t planning on using her uniform for any destructive, harmful, or exploitative purposes. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, depending upon how one understood the word, “exploitation.” The risk, though, was part of the excitement, an integral part, going out into the world dressed in your costume, pretending to be someone you’re not, enjoying the fruits of that role, and escaping detection. It was often really very exciting.
When leaving her apartment she would usually wear a large coat over her costume. A cheerleading costume would not arouse much suspicion among her neighbors, but she didn’t want them to ask her about it, and she certainly didn’t want them to eventually realize that she was leaving her apartment in various costumes. That would suspicion, and inquiry.
She drove to her location. Madeline had carefully investigated and scouted her site in advance. There was no physical or legal danger with this particular cosplay but there was appreciable risk with respect to her status as a Templeton student, and certainly with respect to her relationship with her parents. They would probably never understand her interest, her obsession, in cosplay.
Once she arrived at her destination she parked her car, removed her coat, and entered the Templeton Athletic Center.
The athletic center actually included only a few locations for athletic activities. There were a few handball courts, a work-out room, and an undersized basketball court. It was primarily a set of offices for various coaches, managers, staff, and assistants. Madeline attracted little attention as she wandered through the halls in her Templeton cheerleading uniform, other than the usual “smiles” from men who appreciated her school spirit, and striking figure. Cheerleaders were one of the few students allowed to wear something other than the Templeton uniform on campus. It was an exception that nobody protested, particularly the male faculty.
Madeline filled out a cheerleading uniform extremely well. She was a rather petite girl, always a plus for a cheerleader who needs to be tossed high into the air. But, she was disproportionately large “on top;” in fact, very much so, which was another very nice attribute for a cheerleader, so she felt. At least, she certainly filled out well her white sweater with the school nickname, “PURITANS,” blazoned across her chest in large red lettering. The letters stretched and curved across her thrusting breasts, as the sweater was filled beyond capacity.
The particular risk at this moment was coming across an actual cheerleader, or someone who knew the squad. She was not, though, too worried. She had conducted a few trial runs, and not once had she come across a cheerleader on this side of the athletic center. In fact, a number of persons greeted her with smiles. She would wave back with one of her red pompoms, give them a big large smile, along with a very cheery greeting. Her heart though was racing at the thought of getting caught. She felt like she was some sort of spy, working undercover, infiltrating an enemy organization. She so much enjoyed cosplay.
It did not take long for her to get to her final destination, the office of Jackson Jones or, he preferred, Jack. She knocked canlı casino on the door.
“Yes, come in.”
She took a deep breath and began her play.
She opened his office door part way and peeked around. “Mr. Jones?”
“Yes?” Jack replied. Jackson Jones was a junior assistant to the football coach. He was in charge of securing tapes of the games of opposing teams, and then editing them to highlight particular plays and players. It was pretty important work, although at times tedious.
The pretty girl peeking around his door asked, “Do you have a moment for me, sir?”
He really didn’t. Well, actually, he did. Nobody is really that busy at Templeton. It wasn’t like they were at Longwood. But the Coach did want an edited tape of Longwood’s last game. Templeton had not been able to beat Longwood for sometime now, and rumor had it that the Coach would be looking for a job if he couldn’t beat them at least once. Still, it wasn’t like Jackson was on the verge of discovering the cure for cancer. He could free up a minute or two for a student. And, besides, this one was rather pretty. She had long dark hair, very large, twinkling brown eyes, and an engagingly cheerful smile. He could use a break from the drudgery of reviewing and editing tapes, and a brief moment with a pretty undergraduate never did hurt. “Sure, sure, come on in.”
“You’re so cool, Mr. Jones,” she gleefully and gratefully replied, and pranced into his office.
As soon as she entered, Mr. Jones was glad that he had decided to see her, as she was a sight to see indeed. She was a cheerleader, and a very enticing one at that. She was a pretty little minx, and one with such large tits that quite noticeably jiggled as she almost leaped into his office. Cheerleaders were known for being amazingly exuberant, energetic, and enthusiastic, and this one was certainly no exception. All of the teeth showed with her smile, and her breasts just seemed to be bounce and bobble with enthusiasm, like they were wiggling with excitement.
She went right up to him, shifted the pompoms and her purse into her left hand, and held out her right. “Mr. Jones! Hello! I’m Diane, Diane Weston.”
They shook hands. Her eyes were firmly fixed on his. His were trying hard not to look down at what was wiggling beneath her eyes.
“I’m so grateful for this opportunity! I know how busy you are and everything, like I don’t want to bother you or nothing, it’s just that I really, really, really need to talk to you and everything, and so, well, I just had to come over, and so, well, here I am!”
He had no idea what a cheerleader could possibly want to talk to him about. He had nothing to do with the cheerleaders, regrettably so. “Yes, well, it’s nice of you to stop by, naturally, but I’m not sure what it is you want, of me.”
“Oh yes! Of course! How silly, how just so stupid of me.” She shifted one of the pom poms back to her right hand. “I’m such a ditz! I’m so, so sorry. Yes, how would you know? Let me explain.”
It wasn’t like he was trying to stop her from explaining. He waved his hand for her to get on with it.
She laid down her pompoms and explained her predicament, all the while fixing and fussing with her hair, pulling her long brown strands back over one ear, as she tilted and turned her head, giving him different looks, different poses, all of which seemed a bit flirtatious. It was like she just couldn’t get her hair in the precise way she wanted it, due in large part to her continuously tilting and tipping her head, causing her hair to again fall back over her face. He wondered if all this self-conscious energy was nervousness or just a way to draw attention to her hair, her face, her eyes, her prettiness. “Oh yes, yes, thank you. Well, you see, sir. I’m not actually a cheerleader. I mean, I was in high school, but not here, not yet.”
Well, she sure looked like a Templeton cheerleader. She was wearing a Templeton cheerleader sweater, and the traditional pleated skirt, with the red and white alternating stripes, white socks, and white tennis shoes.
“I know I look like one. Don’t you think I look good?” She dropped her purse, picked up the pompoms and gave him a little pose, holding the pompoms high above her head, and thrusting out her chest.
Did cheerleaders really know how sexy they looked? Of course they must. But, it was a bit of a loaded question. She did look extremely nice. He just didn’t want to explain why. He nodded his head.
“Don’t you think I would make a good cheerleader? I think so. I mean, I would look really good as one, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes, I do.” He was a bit confused. If she was not a cheerleader, what was she doing in a cheerleading uniform?
She smiled broadly, like she was so, so glad, so relieved, to hear him say that. “Oh, I think so too! Everyone says I have good milkshake. I knew it was the right thing to come to you.”
He still didn’t understand, and he certainly had no idea what she meant by ‘milkshake,’ but he couldn’t kaçak casino help but wonder if she was referring to her big tits. What could he possibly offer this girl? “Yes, well, um, what can I do for you?”
“Oh Mr. Jones! Don’t be so silly. You know,” she asserted.
He certainly did not know, that was why he was asking her.
“I’m trying out for the squad, and I just wanted to come, like, and talk to you about it, you know.” She said, more quietly, “Personally, and everything.”
“Um, yea, okay,” he replied. He was of course quite willing to talk to students about their concerns and problems, but only the football players actually ever did approach him. He did wonder, though, what she meant by “personally?”
“I’ll be happy to talk to you.” Even if she made no sense, he would have to enjoy talking to a cheerleader, particularly one with breasts as big, beautiful and bouncy as these. It wasn’t right, of course, to give preferential time and treatment to students simply because they were pretty girls with large boobs, but you couldn’t deny the pleasure of their company. And it wasn’t like he was setting a precedent he couldn’t subsequently follow. He’d be happy to help any cheerleader.
“Cool! You see, Mr. Jones, I really, really, really want to be a cheerleader and I thought that it wouldn’t hurt if I talk to you about it, and like maybe you could put in a good word for me, or something, you know.”
Now he understood. She apparently thought that because he was affiliated with the football team he might have some connections with the cheerleader squad. He wasn’t really sure why she would make such a connection, and he seriously doubted that any good word from him would be at all helpful. Heck, he didn’t even know to whom he should speak. He could find out, but even if he did, why would they care what he had to say? He was an assistant coach, with no actual authority or influence over anyone, even the football players. His authority went no further than obtaining and editing game tapes.
“I mean, like, you’re in the football program, and everything. They’ll listen to you.”
“Well, I don’t really know about that.”
“Don’t be so modest, sir,” Madeline replied, stepping up even closer to him and resting a petite, soft, feminine hand on his shoulder, her breasts towering before his eyes. “You’re a coach on the football team. They’ll have to listen to you.”
He wondered if he should disavow her of this misunderstanding, but how often does an attractive girl, and one with big tits, tell you how big and important you are. It was nice to finally have someone think he was consequential, significant, a man with important connections. He just shrugged.
“For sure, Mr. Jones. Here, let me show you.” Madeline stepped back to demonstrate her cheerleading skills.
She dropped her pompoms and said, “Clap your hands!” She clapped three times.
“Stomp your feet!” She stopped her left, her right, and then her left foot again. It wasn’t much of a cheer, but those breasts were really bouncing around under her sweater. He seriously questioned whether she was even wearing a brassiere. But, how could you have breasts that large and not wear a brassiere?
She picked up the pompoms and alternately thrust out each one, at each syllable, saying, “Puritans can’t be beat!”
Her bounding bouncing breasts bobbled around, kind of following the lead of the pompoms, but adding their own fascinating twists, wobbles, and wiggles, like they had a life of their own. His dick twitched instinctively.
She yelled while dropping down on one knee. “Go red, go white!” There was again more bouncing and bobbling. Jack had to wonder if the cheer was designed to bring her breasts expressively into the routine, highlighting their importance, generating fan spirit.
She added, shifting to the other knee, “Come on team you can do it!”
She leaped back up onto her feet and then went down into splits, her breasts bobbling mightily, “Just put some power to it!”
And, while throwing both hands up in the air, she finished, “Goooooooo Puritans!”
She paused, smiling broadly, her arms still outstretched, her breasts floundering around and then slowly jiggling back into position. She asked, “What do you think? Awesome?”
Actually, he wasn’t terribly impressed. Well, that’s not true. He was very much impressed with her breasts, and she was certainly very pretty. But, it wasn’t a particularly impressive cheer, although he wasn’t too sure that any cheer was necessarily that impressive. “Yea, that was good, Diane. It was real good. I think you’d be a real good cheerleader.”
His tone lacked any obvious enthusiasm.
“It wasn’t very good, was it.” She dropped her hands down, although remained in her splits.
“No, no, it was fine. It was good.”
“It’s because I have brown hair, isn’t it,” she said, shifting the pompoms into one hand while she self-consciously fingered her long strands, curling them around and around a finger.
“What? No! Not at all!” He was sincere about that. He hadn’t thought about the color of her hair at all. Although, now that she brought it up, he did wonder if she would be even prettier if she was a blonde. Blondes do make good cheerleaders.
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