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Dean's Cheer Checkup — Description

Every year the cheer squad gets called to the Dean’s office for the official “are you fit to represent us on the road” inspection. Uniforms. Panties. Pussies. Assholes. The whole package.
This year the Dean invited the main patrons — the men who actually write the giant checks. They walked in looking like Christmas came early.
The girls didn’t even pretend to be shy. First one hopped on the desk, yanked her navy skirt up, hooked those little white panties around one sneaker and laughed while a sixty-year-old donor buried his tongue in her. Next girl bent over the blotter so two patrons could take turns fingering her open, checking “flexibility” and “how wet she gets when she’s being inspected.” She kept smiling at us like this was the funniest thing she’d done all week.
They all lined up. Pink St Dicks tanks still on, skirts flipped, panties stretched between ankles. Some of the patrons licked. Some shoved fingers in both holes at once. One girl sat on the edge of the desk, legs wide, and let the Dean hold her open while the biggest donor tasted her like he was sampling next year’s endowment. She giggled the whole time.
Nobody failed.
By the end the desk was slick, the panties were ruined, and every patron left looking like he’d just gotten the best return on investment of his life.
St Dicks cheerleaders don’t just bring spirit.
They keep the money hard.