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  • Cheer Squad Orchestration

    Chapter by smatster · 21 Oct 2025
  • The Squad have trouble unifying their actions.
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  • The third morning in the new house dawned with a soft, pearly light, but inside our shared head, it was a groggy, chaotic mess. The seamless unity we’d achieved during the bathroom crisis of the first day had, apparently, been a fluke born of desperation. This was the reality of waking up with seven distinct consciousnesses, all struggling toward coherence at different speeds.

    The problem began, as it often did, with a rumble. A deep, resonant need that reverberated through our colossal form, pulling us from our collective slumber. But this time, instead of a unified front, it was met with a jumble of half-asleep, uncoordinated responses.

    “Mmph... someone’s gotta...” Chloe’s thought trailed off into a mental yawn.
    “Five more minutes...” Hannah mumbled, her consciousness trying to burrow back into sleep.
    “The body requires elimination,” Maya stated with sleepy logic, but made no move to act.

    Before Josh or I could take charge, the body moved on autopilot. It was a drunken stumble toward the master bathroom, guided by a committee of sleep-addled cheerleaders playing a bizarre game of hormonal tag. Whoever was most awake at any given second had the con, but only for a moment.

    We slumped onto the cold porcelain of the giant toilet. The moment our cheeks made contact, a small, surprised fart escaped. It was a high, fluttering note.

    “Hey! I wasn’t ready!” Zoe’s voice chirped, suddenly alert.
    Control shifted. The body tensed slightly, and another fart, this one lower and more decisive, echoed in the tiled room.
    “Oops, my bad,” Hannah giggled, her consciousness surfacing.
    “Would everyone please focus?” I tried to mentally shout, but my voice was lost in the fog.

    For twenty solid minutes, it was a symphony of futility. The body would shift, a different girl would accidentally seize control for a second, produce a random toot, and then lose focus. It was a musical chairs of flatulence, with no one actually achieving the goal. We produced a startling variety of sounds—short puffs, long drones, a few comical squeaks—but nothing of substance. The actual pressure and need continued to build, a dull, painful ache beneath the farcical performance.

    Inside, it was pandemonium. Stacey’s consciousness snapped to attention, a general roused by the incompetence of her troops.

    “Okay, knuckleheads, enough!” she barked, her mental voice cutting through the fog. “We’re not doing the musical farts again! We have a system! Josh, get them in line!”

    We managed to wrestle back a semblance of control. Josh focused on the physical relaxation, while I tried to project a calm, commanding presence to the other five, herding their scattered awareness.

    But it was like herding cats. Cats that were half-asleep and passing gas.

    “Ooh, that one felt weird,” Brianna’s soft voice observed with dreamy curiosity, and her giggle triggered another tiny, bubbly pop.

    “The internal pressure is fluctuating unpredictably,” Maya noted, her analytical tone at odds with the absurdity of the situation. “A coordinated effort is statistically improbable in our current state of disarray.” As she spoke, her focus on the “pressure” caused a sharp, precise toot.

    I—Josh—felt a headache brewing behind our eyes. We were a five-story tall futanari megazord who had defeated an evil queen, and we were being brought to our knees by a chorus of sleepy flatulence.

    “Everyone, just stop trying!” I pleaded, trying to emulate the calm control from the day before. “You’re all pushing and pulling in different directions! We’re gonna blow a gasket!”

    “I’m not trying!” Hannah whined. “It’s just happening! It’s like my butt is sleepwalking!”

    Pfffft. Braap. Poot.

    The musical continued. The pressure was building from the failed, conflicting efforts. It was becoming genuinely uncomfortable.

    “Alright, that’s it!” Stacey declared, her will firming up. “We’re doing this. Everyone, on the count of three. We focus. We breathe. We… synchronize.”

    Groans and mental grumbles answered her, but they listened. The embarrassment from the day before was gone, replaced by a desperate need for resolution.

    “One…” Stacey began.

    We took a deep, shared breath.

    “Two…”

    We could feel the cheerleaders’ consciousnesses reluctantly aligning, letting go of their individual control.

    “THREE!”

    “Alright, deep breaths. Everyone together. We’re not pushing, we’re just... letting go.”

    It was starting to work. The random farts ceased. The body stilled. We were on the verge of a breakthrough.

    It wasn’t the smooth, unified release of the day before. It was messier. A stumbling, jolting, deeply communal effort that was less a symphony and more a cannon firing after several misfires.

    The relief, however, was just as immense. A collective mental and physical sigh washed over us. The awkwardness was immediately replaced by a wave of sleepy, affectionate laughter.

    And that’s when the bathroom door creaked open.

    Elise shuffled in, her eyes heavy with sleep, clearly not fully awake. She moved on autopilot, drawn by her own morning needs. In her half-conscious state, the world was simple. There was the toilet. Her husband was on it. Without a second thought, and seeing a comfortable-looking lap, she simply turned around and gently lowered herself onto our lap, her back to our chest, settling right onto the erection that was, unfortunately, a standard feature of our morning physiology.

    The sensation was so sudden and unexpected it almost broke our hard-won concentration. Elise, comfortable and still mostly asleep, sighed contentedly and began to empty her bladder into the toilet bowl beneath us.

    The sound of her gentle stream was the final, bizarre cue our body had been waiting for. The relief of her presence, the strange intimacy of the moment, and our own desperate need finally synced up. With a deep, shuddering sigh that was a chorus of seven souls, the logjam broke. The release was monumental, a simultaneous event happening in the same porcelain vessel.

    It was at that exact moment that Elise finished and fully woke up.

    She blinked, becoming aware of the hard warmth beneath her, the massive arms encircling her waist, and the... aftermath of the shared event happening just inches below her. She froze, her entire body stiffening.

    “Oh,” she whispered, her voice a mixture of shock, horror, and dawning understanding. “Oh, my God.”
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anon_a581f035a3ff ∙ 29 Nov 2025