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The Sarah Owens Story

By: Cal Y. Pygia



Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters in it are 18 years old or older.

* * *

Bertha Bigg glared at her charges, South Catholic High School's varsity cheerleading squad, whom she'd inherited upon accepting the job as the replacement for Coach Chambers, or Jane, as the cheerleaders had called their former coach.

Coach Bigg didn't believe in fraternizing with her squad. She wasn't here to be their friend, and she didn't care what the girls thought or felt about her. They could hate her guts, as far as Coach Bigg was concerned, as long as they did what she told them, when she told them, without question or hesitation.

The girls had been on a first-name-basis with their former coach. They'd been more like friends, according to Principal Matthews, than a coach and a squad. That was probably one of the reasons the cheerleaders were in such a sorry state. At her interview for the school's head cheerleading coach position, Bertha had promised Principal Matthews she'd not only lead these girls' sorry asses to the National High School Cheerleading Competition but that she'd also win the damned thing. She intended to keep her word, even if she had to kill her charges to do so. She'd called them together this morning to introduce herself, share her--or, rather, their--goals, and establish a relationship built on respect and professional conduct, not friendship and halfhearted performances. Instead, she found herself rebuking the girls.

"You're not fit to call yourselves cheerleaders," Coach Bigg snarled at the teenage girls. "You have no form, no grace, no style. You're clumsy, careless, and lazy."

"I'd like to see that tub of lard shake her pompoms," Sarah Owens whispered to her friends Karen Lewis and Debbie Penn, who stood to her left and her right, respectively.

The girls giggled.

Coach Bigg scowled at the squad. "Your lackadaisical attitude is going to change," she declared, "starting this second."

"If she tried to shake anything, there'd be an earthquake," Sarah predicted.

Karen and Debbie chuckled.

The new coach walked slowly around the formation of cheerleaders, whom she'd lined up, as if they were soldiers, in three ranks and files, of three girls each. Even the way the new coach had had the girls line up, in a military-style formation, on the gymnasium's basketball court, instead of in a circle, on a heavily padded practice mat, was weird. So was her lecturing them instead of coaching them in the practice of team-building exercises and the school's fight chant ("Go, Lions, go fight win!").

Maybe the formation, like the lecture, was designed to intimidate the girls, Sarah thought. If so, it wasn't working. Sarah wasn't the least bit intimidated by the new coach or the bullying trainer's tactics; in fact, Sarah felt nothing but contempt for Coach Bigg.

As she continued to berate the girls, the coach strutted behind the group.

"From now on, you will conduct yourselves as cheerleaders," Coach Bigg thundered, "or you will be off the squad!"

"Ouch!" Sarah jumped at the smarting blow that struck her bottom through the thin skirt and the thin Spankies panties she wore over her own underwear. From the corners of her eyes, she saw Karen and Debbie straighten up as their grins vanished and they assumed somber expressions, as if they were soldiers standing at attention.

Sarah spun on her heels, glaring at the new coach. "How dare you--?"

Before the eighteen-year-old girl could complete her question, Coach Bigg's left hand shot forth, grabbed Sarah's wrist in its iron grip, and jerked her from the formation. As Sarah fought, trying to break Coach Bigg's grip, the trainer dragged the slight, shapely cheerleader to the front of the formation. Sarah tried to make eye contact with one of her peers, but none of them looked at her. Although she'd known these girls for years--some since they'd been preschoolers together--none of the others' gazes met her own. The other cheerleaders stared straight ahead, their eyes fixed on nothing.

To Susan Davis, who stood in the front rank of the formation, Coach Bigg barked, "Get me a chair!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Susan scurried across the gymnasium, seized a folding chair from the basketball court sideline, where someone had left it, and skidded it next to the coach. Quickly, she leaped back into formation, adopting a posture not unlike that of a marble sentinel.

Without releasing her grip on Sarah, Coach Bigg sat, drawing her captive across her lap. Sarah kicked and screamed, struggling, but her attempts to escape were in vain. To her mortification, Coach Bigg pulled Sarah's skirt up and her Spankies and panties down, exposing the girl's bare buttocks to her fellow cheerleaders, and rained down half a dozen swats of her hand, each slap coming immediately upon the previous.

Sarah gasped and cried, squirming, her bare bottom seemingly on fire, as another half dozen blows collided against her naked flesh. "I will teach you to mock me!" Coach Bigg cried.

Another sharp slap, and another, and a third landed upon Sarah's bottom, the flesh deepening to pink where the raining blows had fallen, and the miserable teen squealed, wriggling and writhing. "You don't think life is such a joke now, do you?" demanded Coach Bigg.

The other girls couldn't help but to sneak peeks at their unfortunate friend. Sarah had always had a smart mouth. She took sarcasm to new heights--and depths--but she'd always gotten away with it because she was gorgeous. Blessed with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a trim figure that boasted small, but firm, breasts and a shapely pair of sleek, round buttocks, she turned the head of every boy she passed and was the envy of every girl she met--her fellow cheerleaders included.

The other girls in the squad genuinely liked Sarah. They were, in fact, good friends, all. Nevertheless, whether they were aware of it themselves or not, they harbored a deep-seated desire to see Little-Miss-Perfect get hers, and, now, at last, she was. Coach Bigg had spanked Sarah nine times, and the coach's hand rose again, now, to deliver an additional blow--or blows.

The chair in which the coach sat faced to the girls' left, at right angles to the formation, affording the cheerleaders a perfect view of Sarah's delightful derriere, and they thrilled to the sight of her smooth, firm butt cheeks flattening before each swat and springing back into fullness, much pinker, after each spank. As Sarah struggled on Coach Bigg's lap, trying both to ward off successive blows and to wrench free of her captor and escape further smacks to her bottom, her thighs would widen, enough, sometimes, to give the other girls a glimpse of her shaved labia or a peek of the bright pink-red flesh within her winking pussy.

"I will not have you making snide, asinine comments while I am addressing this squad, young lady!" Coach Biggs rebuked her charge, smacking Sarah's ass three times more, in quick succession. The poor teen's bottom was now bright pink all over, and, in some places, her cheeks were beginning to redden. Her ass seemed to glow as from an inner fire. Over her coach's knee, Sarah, still squirming, gasped and sobbed and whimpered.

"Paula Abdul, Christina Aguilera, Sandra Bullock, Miley Cyrus--" Coach Bigg's pronunciation of each famous name was punctuated with another resounding slap across Sarah's reddening ass-- "Cameron Diaz, Kirsten Dunst, Lindsay Lohan, Madonna--do any of you have any idea what all these women have in common, besides multimillion-dollar careers as world-renown entertainers?"

All of the girls knew the answer to her question, but none dared to voice it.

"They were all cheerleaders!" Coach Bigg announced, with another fierce swat to Sarah's bottom. The well-spanked cheerleader moaned, sobbing piteously, and pleaded for the spanking to stop. Coach Bigg ignored the girl's desperate pleas as she continued her address: "So were Eva Longoria, Mandy Moore, Kelly Ripa, Jessica Simpson, Reese Witherspoon, and Renee Zellweger."

The girls knew this, too, although none had the nerve to share this knowledge at the moment. They knew, also, that even some famous men, Presidents George W. Bush, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and Franklin D. Roosevelt, included, had been cheerleaders, but they felt no urge to mention this information, either.

Another hard swat from the coach caused another shrill screech and more kicking of her legs from the victim before Coach Bigg, her voice stern, directed Sarah to return to her position in the formation.

The teen managed to stand, but, as she started to tug her Spankies and her panties back up and her skirt back down, Coach Bigg ordered Sarah to leave them where they were, holding her skirt up, around her waist, and leaving her Spankies and panties down, around her knees. In such a state, and with her mascara running, her lipstick smudged, and her blush smeared, Sarah hobbled back to her place among her peers, not a sign of sarcasm on her tear-streaked face.

As she limped past the others, they peeked at their friend's bare buttocks. They were shapely and round, as ever, but, instead of their customary soft-pink color, they now glowed red, and there were a few light bruises in the soft-firm mounds.

"As I was saying," Coach Bigg resumed her lecture, "From now on, you will conduct yourselves as cheerleaders or you will be off the squad!"

The girls looked down, at the toes of their shoes, clearly frightened at the fury their new coach had unleashed upon one of their own.

Glaring at the girls lined up before her, three deep and three abreast, Coach Bigg spat out the last word with which she'd address the squad this afternoon: "Dismissed!"

The cheerleaders dispersed, sprinting toward the entrance to the girls' locker room. Normally, Coach Bigg would follow them, to watch them shower, but, today, she had other business to which to attend.

She smiled. How little the girls knew concerning what was in store for them now that she'd been hired to train their sorry asses. She hadn't told the squad that spanking would not only be a key component in the way she trained them, but that it would also be administered to them, whenever she saw fit, on as efficient, impersonal, and methodical a basis as only modern engineering made possible.

In fact, she'd already ordered the spanking machine by which she'd ruthlessly enforce discipline upon each and every tender young bottom in her squad. She'd planned to acquaint them with it later, but, in light of the insolence Sarah had displayed during the squad's initial session with their new coach, she might as well make the introduction sooner rather than later.

Tomorrow, right after practice, in fact, would be as good a time as any, if she could arrange an appointment on such short notice with the machine's quality control expert.

She took her cell phone from the pocket of her shorts, punched in the digits of a number, and waited. When a familiar voice answered, Coach Biggs said, "Dr. Fanner, this is Evelyn Bigg. I know this is a last-minute request, but could you deliver the machine tomorrow--and arrange a demonstration of it for my cheerleading squad?" She waited, listening. "Thank you, Fanny. We'll see you then."

Coach Bigg returned her phone to her pocket, and made her way to the locker room. Maybe, if she were lucky, there'd be a straggler or two she could watch, naked beneath the steaming, hissing needles of water. Next to a well-spanked, bare bottom, there was nothing lovelier than a naked teenage girl.

The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 02



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters in it are 18 years old or older.

* * *

The next day, during practice, the girls were told to position themselves in a circle, facing one another, on a padded floor mat. Coach Bigg stood in the center of the circle, addressing her charges. "Today, after practice, I want to see every one of you in the squad's storeroom."

"The storeroom?" Sarah whispered, keeping her voice especially low as she remembered the sound, humiliating bare-butt spanking the coach had given her yesterday for talking during training. Sarah's bottom was still sore from the swats she'd received, and she didn't want any more of such punishment. "What's she want with us in the storeroom?"

Cindy Baxter, one of the girls standing beside Sarah, shrugged.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough," Becky Stanley ventured, just as quietly as Sarah had spoken.

The storeroom was a windowless cinderblock building with a corrugated tin roof and a concrete floor. It was larger than it needed to be to store the squad's equipment--mats, megaphones, boxes of pompoms, batons, jump ropes, stunt steppers, training inclines, octagons, handspring trainers--because, before it had been pressed into its present service, the building had been the football team's storage site.

An alumnus, who'd been a quarterback for South Catholic High, had donated the funds to build a brick facility, complete with windows and a slate roof. The boys' sports teams always got the best; the cheerleading squad had to settle for second-best and hand-me-downs. Still, even the concrete storeroom was better than the gardener's shack they'd had to use before the alumnus had built the football team's new storeroom.

In any event, none of the girls could imagine why Coach Bigg would want the whole team to meet her there. Coach Chambers--Jean, as the girls had called her--had never made such a request. Of course, Jean was gone now, and the gorilla-like Coach Bigg was, for better or worse, their new leader.

At least, they were practicing drills today, which was something they hadn't done yesterday. All Coach Bigg had wanted to do the day before, it seemed, was to humiliate them, call them names, and point out their deficiencies. Like the other girls, Sarah remembered the coach's cutting words: "You're not fit to call yourselves cheerleaders. You have no form, no grace, no style. You're clumsy, careless, and lazy."

Not only were Coach Bigg's words untrue, but they stung. Sarah and the other girls had given years of their lives to their sport, and, even if they hadn't exactly taken the cheerleading world by storm--they hadn't won one competition--that didn't mean they were worthless. Did it? Sarah found herself squirming as she looked at the toes of her shoes. Maybe it did, she thought. Maybe there was some truth--a lot of truth, even--in their new coach's words. But Coach Bigg didn't have to be so mean. It was as though she got off by bullying and insulting Sarah and her friends. What a bitch!

"All right, girls"--the way Coach Bigg said the word "girls" sounded like a sneer, the way the boys' coaches said the same word in reference to the school's male athletes, as if the guys were girls instead of boys, as if they were effeminate pussies, as if there were something wrong with being a girl--"let's see if we can manage to perform a few 'T' jumps without somebody falling, turning an ankle, or breaking an arm. Maybe a miracle will happen, and one of you will develop a little school spirit."

Imaging that she was performing in front of packed bleachers while the Lions vied against a rival football team on South's gridiron, Sarah chose not to be insulted by the coach's directive that she and the other girls perform one of the simplest, most basic of all cheerleading jumps. As the circle of cheerleaders each executed the jump, and it came Sarah's turn, she jumped straight up, with her arms extended straight out from her shoulders--and promptly struck Cindy in the face with her right hand.

"Ouch!" her friend cried.

What had happened? Sarah wondered. Cindy hadn't been standing close enough for Sarah to have struck her, had she? Had Cindy moved before Sarah had jumped, or had Sarah herself moved? Had she misjudged the distance between Cindy and herself?

"For God's sake," Coach Bigg thundered, calling attention to Sarah's error. "How did you ever make the squad, Owens?"

"I'm sorry," Sarah blurted. She looked at Cindy, who didn't look all that friendly at the moment. The side of her fellow cheerleader's face was pink, where Sarah had inadvertently slapped her. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Maybe, if it's not too much to ask, we could try a toe-touch," Coach Owens suggested. "But, Owens, you execute yours apart from everyone else. I don't want any casualties among the rest of the squad before the football season's opening game because of your clumsiness."

Tears welling in her eyes, Sarah stepped a few feet forward, breaking the circle. She felt as if her friends were miles, rather than mere feet, away. She felt like an outcast. Her lip trembled, and a warm tear spilled down her cheek. Stop it! she ordered herself. Showing her emotions in front of her friends would only make matters worse. She'd be known as not only clumsy, but as a crybaby as well.

"Let's start with Owens," Coach Bigg said. "That way, we can keep an eye on her, to make sure no one else is injured."

Bitch! Sarah thought. She'd show the lard-ass what she could do!

She took a deep breath, and, willing the tears to stop, reassured herself. The toe-touch was one of the easiest jumps of all, she reminded herself. A girl had only to leap upward, stretching her legs outward, so that they were parallel to the mat, extend her arms from her shoulders, as in the "T" jump, and, keeping her back straight, reach toward her toes. Like the rest of the girls, Sarah had done this jump a thousand times.

"We don't have all day, Owens," Coach Bigg called.

Gathering her strength, Sarah shoved off with the toes of her shoes, went airborne--and fell on her back, coming down with a hard thud on the padded mat, the fingernails of one flailing hand scratching Jennifer Adams' calf.

No one said anything, not even Coach Bigg. The squad's leader was content, it appeared, to let Sarah's clumsiness speak for itself. Here was a girl who was unable to execute even the simplest cheerleading jumps, a girl who could hurt her fellow cheerleaders' chance to win even a preliminary competition, to say nothing of the National High School Cheerleading Competition, a girl who should, perhaps, be cut from the squad.

"Meet me in the storeroom in ten minutes," Coach Bigg ordered. She looked down at Sarah, who was still flat on her back. "That includes you, too, Owens--for the moment, at least."

The other girls filed into the girls' locker room. No one offered to help Sarah up or said a word to her. In the two days since Coach Bigg's arrival at South Catholic High School, Sarah had gone from being the most popular girl on campus to being a social pariah.

She rolled onto her side, placing a hand on the mat, to push herself up, and her palm slipped on something slick. Disgusted, she looked at her hand. A clear, thick substance was smeared on her palm. She rubbed the goop between her fingers, knowing immediately what it was: petroleum jelly. Someone had purposely smeared the mat in front of her position with the substance to ensure that, in performing the toe-touch, Sarah would slip and fall, just as she'd done.

And the one who'd assigned them their places in the circle was Coach Bigg. The bitch had planned this scenario even before today's practice, to make Sarah look bad in front of her friends. For some reason, the coach had it out for Sarah. She was gunning for her.

* * *

"Ladies, may I present The Carousel?"

The sexy brunette in the white lab coat with a name badge bearing "Dr. Fanner" attached to one of its lapels stood beside a machine the likes of which neither Sarah nor any of the other cheerleaders had ever seen. All they knew--or suspected--because Coach Bigg had introduced the physicist as the "quality control expert for Spank-o-Matic"--was that the device had something to do with spanking.

As its name implied, The Carousel was a great wheel. Composed of interlocking padded wedges, the machine could hold as many as fifteen subjects, Dr. Fanner informed them. The scientist had come, she said, at Coach Bigg's bidding, to demonstrate the contraption, with the help of her "able assistant," Debbie Johnson, a beautiful brunette with full breasts, wide hips, and an Amazonian build. Debbie had shoulder-length, wavy locks, the color of milk chocolate, and her complexion was rather more bronze than pink. Her eyes were dark brown, with thick upper and lower lashes, and she had a small nose, full, sensuous lips, and a firm jaw. In general, she looked much like Lucy Lawless with a darker skin tone.

A central post rose from the hub that connected the great spokes at the ends of which the pie-shaped sections of the machine were attached. At the top of the post, from a circular band, fifteen long, supple bamboo canes extended, dipping slightly, to overhang the wedge-shaped platforms upon which those who were to be spanked would be positioned, on their elbows and knees, naked, their buttocks facing away from the machine while their countenances faced one another, each pair of eyes looking toward the machine's center. This way, Dr. Fanner explained, those who were being punished could not only expose their own emotions to their peers but they could also discern the pain and misery of their friends as the canes swatted the bottoms of all fifteen victims, individually, each in turn, or all at once, as the operator, Coach Bigg, determined was best on any occasion. Watching others being caned and seeing their contorted, teary-eyed countenances would enhance the dismay, the humiliation, and the misery of each and all, Dr. Fanner believed.

Only a truly evil mind could have conceived such a machine, Sarah thought.

"The apparatus is based upon Coach Bigg's own design," the physicist explained, offering the girls a friendly smile. "Any of the canes, from one to fifteen, can be operated individually, so that only one, or as many additional subjects as the operator deems necessary or appropriate, is disciplined. This feature isn't merely desirable, nut it's necessary when one or more of the platforms is rotated so that the subject's bottom faces the center, or hub, of the machine and her face faces away from the apparatus; otherwise, the cane would strike her face, and--well, you can just imagine the disfigurement that would ensue. The buttocks can bear much more punishment than one's face, after all, and, even when a person's posterior is brutally caned, the flesh is likely, in time, to heal. Such is not the case with one's face, which is easily scarred for life. However, since the operation of one or all of the canes can be discontinued for as long as the operator wishes, none of you needs to fear such mutilation." Dr. Fanner paused, surveying the terrified girls who stood, in a circle, around the perimeter of The Carousel. "Any questions, dears?"

Coach Bigg raised a hand.

"Coach?"

"Could we have a demonstration, please?"

"Certainly." The scientist directed her attention at the cheerleaders. "Girls, take off your uniforms."

Rachelle Thomas stared, wide-eyed, at the infernal spanking machine. "Wh-wh-what?" she stammered, uncertain that she'd heard the physicist correctly.

"Get naked," Coach Bigg directed her charges, "now!"

"There's no way!" Crystal Rogers protested.

"No way in hell!" Sarah heard herself agree.

At a nod from Dr. Fanner, Coach Bigg and the scientist's Amazonian assistant, Debbie, stepped forward. "Assist them," the scientist said.

Before Crystal could flee, Debbie's strong hands gripped and stripped her, just as Coach Bigg hastily undressed Sarah. Nude, the girls were forced onto their wedge-shaped platforms, alongside the other members of South Catholic High School's cheerleading squad, facing one another, their bare buttocks arched backward, and the scientist, her assistant, and the coach went from one girl to the next, strapping each cheerleader in place atop the padded platform whose wedged-shaped sections formed a large ring around the central pole to which it was connected.

Sarah felt absolutely humiliated, to be not only naked, but to be on her elbows and knees, among her friends. No doubt, she thought, they felt the same way as she--mortified.

"You can't do this!" Becky James cried.

"Wrong!" Coach Bigg replied. "We've already done it."

"This is illegal," Susan objected.

"At South Catholic, when it comes to cheerleading, I'm the law," Coach Bigg declared. She gave each of the girls a withering stare. "I was serious when I told Principal Matthews that I'm taking you to the Nationals this year and that we are coming home winners. Stay with the squad, and I'll make winners of all of you, but you have to do things my way, and my way includes spanking when any of you--or all of you--deserve it. Think of it. You can go home and tell your parents, call the police, and have me, Dr. Fanner, and Debbie arrested, or you can shut your mouths, do as you're told, and be national cheerleading champs this year. It's your decision, but the decision has to be unanimous."

After a moment, Karen Lewis meekly voiced her agreement, and, in turn, each of the others did so as well, Debbie Penn, Susan Davis, Cindy Baxter, Jennifer Adams, Rachelle Thomas, Crystal Rogers, and Becky James all accepting Coach Bigg's terms.

"What about you?" the coach demanded, staring at Sarah. "Are you so selfish as to ruin everyone else's hopes and dreams because you're too much of a pussy to submit to the same discipline your friends are willing to accept?"

From every direction, every eye was on Sarah. She knew the coach was subjecting her and her friends to peer pressure, but she couldn't resist the silent pleas of girls she'd known, in some cases, before first grade and, in every case, loved as if each was her one and only true best friend forever. "I'm in," she said.

Coach Bigg beamed. Things had turned out just the way that she and Dr. Fanner had anticipated.

"I will see to it that we go to the Nationals," Coach Bigg again promised the girls, "and that we come away winners--as long as you do exactly what I say, when I say it." She'd started to stroll about the circle, but she stopped now, directly across from Sarah. "And that means each and every last one of you."

Sarah averted her eyes from the coach's stare. She remembered Coach Bigg's rebuke of them as being unfit to call themselves cheerleaders. "You have no form, no grace, no style. You're clumsy, careless, and lazy," the coach had told her charges. Maybe the coach's criticism, harsh as it had seemed, was true, Sarah thought.

"Shall we commence the demonstration?" Dr. Fanner asked.

"By all means," Coach Bigg agreed.

The scientist nodded at her assistant, and Debbie pushed a button. The Carousel began to revolve, spinning slowly round, and Sarah saw the fifteen flexible bamboo canes suspended above them quiver, as if they had quickened, coming to life. 



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 03



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters in it are 18 years old or older.

* * *

Coach Bigg had requested a "demonstration" of The Carousel to which Sarah and her fellow cheerleaders were strapped, each to her own pie-shaped section of the platform that ringed the gigantic spanking machine's central hub, and, at a nod from Dr. Fanner, the scientist's Amazonian assistant, Debbie, pressed the button that started the apparatus in motion.

As the wheel began to rotate, the canes suspended over the naked girls' bottoms quivered to life, and Sarah saw the grimaces of the cheerleaders who were strapped to the platform opposite her. No doubt, they, too, had seen the trembling of the long, thin bamboo canes as the wheel started to turn.

Karen Lewis gasped, her face contorting, as the cane above her struck a savage blow across the teen's sleek, round backside. Next to her, Debbie Penn cried out, the features of her face twisting as the cane above her flicked down, hard, upon her bare bottom. Susan Davis next shrieked as the cane suspended above her swept down, in a whistling arc, to cut into the smooth, firm-soft cushions of her buttocks. Then, Cindy Baxter yelped, as her cane smote her backside. Whoosh! The cane above Jennifer Adams flicked its long, thin tongue across her posterior, and she screamed. Rachelle next cried out, as the can mounted above her station struck her unprotected derriere. Crystal Rogers groaned as the cane over her descended in a vicious arc, igniting a fire in her buttocks. The cane suspended above Becky James swept down in a rushing curve, cutting the flesh of her backside.

Eight of the nine members of the cheerleading squad had been struck a savage blow of the cane; now, as The Carousel continued to turn, it was Sarah's turn to feel the lash.

Mercifully, the machine stopped, before the cane could strike.

"The operator has the ability to increase the force of the stroke, with or without altering the speed of The Carousel's rotation, directing a lash of increased severity to any one individual, or to any number of individuals, on the machine's platform," Dr. Fanner informed Coach Bigg. "Let me demonstrate."

"Please do," the coach encouraged the scientist.

Sarah squealed, louder than any of her friends had screamed, for the cane suspended above her flashed downward at twice the speed with which any of the others had been struck, biting deep into the firm globes of her buttocks, and she felt the pain tremble in her ass cheeks for a moment before the agony really sank into her bottom, and her entire ass felt as if someone had poured molten lava into her anus, filling her bowels with searing heat.

The pain radiated across her buttocks, fiery and painful in the extreme. Tears spilled from her eyes, and she shuddered involuntarily, her buttocks quivering and her thighs flexing like scissors. Could she have seen behind her, she had no doubt but that she'd see a thin red line in her pink flesh, for so savage had been the lash that surely it must have split her skin, leaving a laceration in its wake.

"The pace of the spanking can be increased either by speeding up the lashes of the cane, one or all, or by increasing the rate at which The Carousel itself revolves," Dr. Fanner declared.

"Let's see a demonstration of both features, if you please," Coach Bigg requested.

"Certainly." Dr. Fanner made an adjustment to the controls, and the bamboo canes fell at thrice their initial speed, whipping the poor girls' asses three times in rapid succession, so that their buttocks flattened, rose, flattened, rose, flattened, and rose again, lined with red welts where the cruel cane had fallen.

The flashing canes brought a chorus of miserable shrieks and cries from the recipients of their blows, and not one eye remained dry. The cheerleaders' faces were red and streamed with tears.

Sarah felt humiliated, as if the smarting blows of the cane had reduced her to the status of a mere child. She was sure her friends must feel equally mortified. How could they not, kneeling before three women, completely naked, their bottoms lined with the work of the canes, weeping uncontrollably, their makeup ruined? The girls looked a sight, as Sarah knew she herself must. The garish mask of mascara, eyeliner, eye shadow, blush, and lipstick was a humiliation almost as bad as their nakedness.

Now, the canes paused as Dr. Fanner manipulated the controls again, causing The Carousel to revolve with greater speed, and Sarah and the other girls felt nauseous. The sudden, quick motion was sickening. The canes fell again, each in succession, as the girls spun round on their sections of the spinning platform, the lashes coming fast and furious. Again, the teens made their distress known by their grunts, groans, gasps, moans, and pitiful sobs.

"Capital!" Coach Bigg cried.

The canes slashed both air and flesh, and the scientist let the great wheel complete a full revolution, the cheerleaders screaming and shrieking as the bamboo struck repeatedly, thrashing their bare bottoms. Then, The Carousel stopped, and the canes, for the moment, ceased their impersonal, mechanical punishment of the teens' backsides. The girls' blubbering, however, continued, sounding louder than ever. Their faces were blurs of smeared makeup, mucus, saliva, and tears.

Sarah had lost count of the number of times the supple cane had slashed into her buttocks, but she guessed she'd received more than a dozen strokes, as had her friends. She felt weak and faint, but the fiery pain, flooding her backside anew every few seconds, kept her alert, if not exactly oriented, wishing she could find the temporary respite of unconsciousness.

Someone appeared at her side. She turned her head, and saw the scientist's assistant, Debbie. The Amazonian brunette, breasts wobbling, bent, and Sarah heard something metal slide against something else that was also metal. The assistant had pulled a pin from its socket, freeing the wedge-shaped section of platform upon which Sarah knelt from its mooring, and now the brunette turned the pie-shaped segment of the platform on which Sarah was bound 180 degrees from its original position, so that Sarah's well-caned ass was opposite her friends' teary countenances and she herself faced away from The Carousel, looking into the interior of the squad's storeroom. She could no longer see her friends. She could see only the squad's equipment--mats, megaphones, boxes of pompoms, batons, jump ropes, stunt steppers, training inclines, octagons, handspring trainers--and, occasionally, when one or the other of them strolled into her field of vision, Coach Bigg, Dr. Fanner, or Debbie Johnson.

"Lick her pussy," Coach Bigg told one of the girls.

"No!" Judging by the voice of the protesting girl, the coach had directed her command at Cindy Baxter.

Whoosh! Sarah jumped at the sound of the descending cane, but it was Cindy, not she, who screamed. Cindy's refusal to lick Sarah's cunt had earned the rebellious cheerleader another taste of the bamboo.

"Lick it!" Coach Bigg commanded a second time.

"No!" Poor Cindy cried, but without much conviction.

This time, the cane struck her three savage blows, and Cindy shrieked as if she were being butchered alive. Sarah felt sick to her stomach. She hung her head, felt a rush of warm bile, and puked a torrent of vomit onto the concrete floor.

"Lick Owens' pussy, now!" Coach Bigg barked at Cindy.

Sarah tried to lurch forward as she felt something soft and moist flick her labia. At first, she supposed it was the cane, but, immediately, she understood that the bamboo, had it struck the tender lips of her cunt, would have left her incapacitated with agony. Instead, she'd felt just the tiniest brush of warm-soft-wetness, and, she realized, the next instant, that Cindy had complied with Coach Bigg's order, licking Sarah's pussy.

Sarah had felt the tip of Cindy's moist tongue, tentative and uncertain. The lick, light and brief as it had been, had a most curious effect upon Sarah. The cute blonde cheerleader felt a tremble deep inside her loins, far down inside her pussy. It felt the way she imagined breakers might feel as they crashed, unrolling, upon a distant shore. The waves of passion felt wonderful. Even faint and remote, they were powerful, and the pleasure that they unleashed within her depths made the pain inside her bottom seem to recede, at least for the moment, as the swells of bliss lapped against the folds and tissues of her drenched pussy, the juices of which overflowed her cunt, dribbling, warm and wet, down her inner thighs.

"Lick the bitch's clitoris," Coach Bigg told Cindy, and Sarah felt another brush of her friend's tongue as Cindy obeyed their leader's command, nuzzling the hard bud of Sarah's clit with her lips and tongue. More of the nectar of Sarah's loins overflowed her pussy, and the waves of pleasure rose inside her, swelling, rushing through her as if a tsunami were building, building, building inside her.

"That's enough!" Coach Bigg declared. "The little bitch is enjoying it too much."

Debbie appeared again at Sarah's side, slid the pin free of its socket, and rotated the wedge-shaped section of the platform that she occupied back to its original position, only, this time, instead of looking into Cindy's face, Sarah faced her friend's ass and pussy. Sarah's eyes widened as she saw that Cindy's cunt was as wet as her own. Cindy's labia were wet with the dew of her sex, and the cunt lips glittered in the harsh fluorescent light. Above the crescent curve of Cindy's pussy, the teen's tiny, puckered anus was visible between the smooth, firm-soft mounds of her ass, and Sarah shuddered at the knowledge that she herself had presented a similar view to Cindy only moments ago.

"Lick her asshole, Owens!" Coach Bigg demanded.

Dreading the stroke of the cane, but knowing that, to save face among her friends she'd have to offer at least token resistance to their coach's command that she lick Cindy's anus, Sarah said, "No." She sounded, even to herself, devoid of conviction. Nevertheless, the cane slashed down, against her naked backside, delivering a terribly painful stroke that made a deep furrow in her flattened ass cheeks, and Sarah screamed. The cane struck her again, even more savagely, and she shrieked a second time, feeling tears spilling from her astonished eyes. A third time, the cane bit deep into her flesh, and Sarah, a third time, screeched.

"Lick the little bitch's asshole," Coach Bigg repeated. "Do it now!"

Tears streaming down her face, Sarah stuck her nose into the cleavage of her friend's sleek, smooth ass, feeling the sleek cheeks pressing against her nose and mouth, and, sticking her tongue out, an inch between her lips, she gave Cindy's anus a dainty lick. Sarah expected to taste something unpleasant, but she was surprised (and glad) to taste nothing whatsoever.

"Again!" Coach Bigg demanded. "Harder. Probe her asshole!"

Sarah licked again, slobbering a little, and her saliva dripped down Cindy's cleavage and perineum, past her labia.

"Not like that!" Coach Bigg directed. "Stiffen your tongue; jab it into her asshole!"

Another savage stroke of the cane fell upon Sarah's ass, and she quickly made the tip of her tongue rigid, poking it into the tight circle of Cindy's sphincter, and felt the tip of her oral appendage press through, and into, Cindy's bottom. Again, Sarah expected to taste something nasty, but was glad to have her expectations thwarted. Cindy's rectum was as tasteless as her asshole. 

Cindy moaned, and her pussy released a flood of lubricant that dribbled down her smooth, ivory thighs. Sarah felt her own cunt fill and overflow with her own juices. Was Cindy a lesbian? Sarah wondered. Was she herself a lesbian, too? No, she told herself, no way! She'd been made to lick Cindy' asshole, just as Cindy had been forced to lick Sarah's cunt. Neither of them had performed such a perverted action voluntarily.

No, but you liked it, didn't you? her own thoughts charged her. You enjoyed it.

No, I didn't, Sarah told herself--or started to, but stopped, admitting that, yes, she had enjoyed licking Cindy' asshole and inserting the tip of her tongue into her friend's butt, between the soft, sleek cheeks, and into the void of her friend's bowels. It had been both humiliating and exhilarating. Maybe it had been exhilarating, in fact, because it had been humiliating. Maybe, deep down, Sarah got off by being humiliated. Maybe, somehow, Coach Bigg had known or suspected that Sarah was masochistic and needed to be degraded and disgraced.

"Did you enjoy licking your friend's pussy, Cindy?"

"No, Coach!"

"You sure?"

"Yes, Coach!"

Sarah saw Coach Bigg pat Cindy's bottom gently, with a tenderness of which neither Sarah nor any of the others would have guessed the woman capable. It was a sensitive, compassionate, even loving touch, a sweet and kindhearted caress.

The coach walked around the circle of buttocks to Sarah. "Did you enjoy licking your friend's asshole, Owens?"

"Owens" again, never "Sarah," Sarah thought. Why had the coach singled her out? Why was the coach on her ass? "No, Coach!" she declared.

"Liar!"

The cane suspended above Sarah's station on the platform whistled, cutting the air, as it rushed down to slash her backside, and the teen howled with renewed anguish as the bamboo left another red line in the flesh of her well-caned bottom.

"Did you enjoy licking your friend's asshole, Owens?" Coach Bigg demanded again.

"Yes, Coach," Sarah whispered, fearful of receiving yet another lash of the cane.

"What? I can't hear you!"

"Yes, Coach!" Sarah yelled.

Around the circle, she heard a chorus of giggles and whispers.

Now, the coach gave Sarah the same gentle pat as she'd given Cindy, and, although the coach's touch had been tender, it awakened another wave of pain in Sarah's beleaguered buttocks, and she repressed a cry.

"You may wonder why I asked Dr. Fanner to include all of you in this afternoon's demonstration," the coach said, addressing the squad. "What could you have done to merit a group punishment of this sort? The answer is that none of you did anything to warrant such treatment--none of you, that is, except Owens. Because of her attitude, her sarcastic quips, and her clumsiness in performing even the simplest cheerleading feats--" Sarah thought of the petroleum jelly on the mat that had caused her to slip and fall while she'd attempted the toe-touch--"you have all been punished, as you shall all be punished again, any time any one of you develops an attitude or otherwise screws up. You can thank your friend and fellow cheerleader, Owens, for your glowing asses and the pain in your butts."

As Coach Bigg finished her lecture, Dr. Fanner and Debbie released the teens, and they dressed as quickly as they could, their pain notwithstanding, and hobbled and wobbled from the storeroom. Although Sarah dressed alongside them and limped from the storage facility with them, none of the other teens paid her a moment's notice. It was as if she didn't exist.

Finally, as they were about to part ways at the edge of the campus, Cindy turned to Sarah. Tears of pain and humiliation still in her eyes, Cindy said, "Thanks a lot, Owens!"

Now, even her friends were calling her by her last name, Sarah thought. Correction, she told herself, her former friends were. Sarah didn't have any friends anymore, it seemed. Coach Bigg had made her a total outcast.

Sarah winced as she turned toward home, the fiery pain in her ass rekindling with each movement she made. She could hardly walk, but she had to hurry home. If she were late, her dad would tan her hide good, and she couldn't stand another lick, whether of his hand, a paddle, or a belt.

Besides, she thought, it wouldn't do to let him or her mom know about the caning that she and her friends had received this evening, courtesy of Coach Bigg and The Carousel, not if she and the other girls wanted to win the Nationals this year, the last year most of them would be students at South Catholic High School.



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 04



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters in it are 18 years old or older.

* * *

Practice had improved greatly since Coach Bigg had instituted spanking as part of the cheerleading squad's training, punishing all of the girls for the clumsiness, insolence, or mistakes of any one of their number. There was nothing like a warm, sore ass to correct one's attitude and to focus one's efforts.

It seemed that, of late, the coach had singled Sarah out less often than she'd done before she'd instituted group punishment for the squad. That was a benefit, at least, of collective responsibility. The downside--a severe caning every time someone screwed up--was pretty harsh, though.

Still, Sarah, an outcast among her friends since Coach Bigg had singled her out as someone deserving special abuse and, therefore, as the one who brought additional punishment down upon everyone else, had been able, slowly, to earn back the squad's trust and affection; she was one of the girls again. She hadn't forgotten what it had been like to be ostracized by the group, though; it had been dreadful.

The coach had also stopped berating the squad on a daily basis, occasionally even suggesting that there was some hope for the girls, after all, despite the awkwardness, the ineptitude, the laziness, and the careless attitude they'd displayed when Coach Bigg had first arrived on the scene, taking the place of Coach Chambers, whom Principal Matthews had fired. The new coach was determined to make good on her word to the principal that she'd not only take South Catholic High School's cheerleading squad to the Nationals, but that they'd return home as the reigning champions.

The principal, having heard that the squad had improved drastically, had sat in on one of their practices. "I don't know how you've managed it," the chief administrator had told Coach Bigg, with a knowing wink, "but you've certainly brought out the best of the girls' talents."

"Do you think the principal knows about the spanking machine?" Susan Davis asked Sarah after the practice session, while they were showering with their fellow squad members.

Sarah had been looking at Becky James' buttocks. Ever since Coach Bigg had made Sarah lick Cindy Baxter's asshole during their first group session on The Carousel, as the spanking machine was called, Sarah had found herself checking out the other cheerleaders' tits and asses while they showered. Sometimes, as when one of the girls executed a split, she also glanced at her crotch. Sarah's erotic interest in the other girls disturbed her a little. Sometimes, it disturbed her a lot. Sarah had always been close, emotionally, to the other girls, but she'd never had sexual thoughts about them before, nor had she been interested in checking out their charms on the sly.

All the girls were good looking. Some, like Sarah, were gorgeous. Becky's ass was especially attractive, Sarah thought. It was full, but compact, sleek and soft, but, at the same time, firm, with a well-defined, sexy shape. The cleavage between the cheeks of Becky's ass was as lovely, Sarah thought, as the cleavage between a girl's breasts.

At Susan's question, Sarah looked away from Becky's buttocks, not daring to be seen ogling one of her fellow cheerleaders' asses. As far as any of the other girls knew, she was strictly and totally into guys, like them, her licking of Cindy's asshole something she'd been forced to do but had taken no more pleasure in than Cindy had taken in having been made to lick Sarah's pussy. "Of course, he knows," Sarah answered Susan's question.

"How can you be sure?"

"Did you see how he winked at Coach Bigg when he said he had no idea how she's managed to shape us up as a squad?"

Beside her, Susan shrugged. The motion, Sarah noticed, looking quickly away, made her friend's round, firm breasts rise and fall. Sarah felt a tingle between her legs which had nothing to do with the sudsy water that blasted her pubes and ran between her thighs and down her legs. "Yeah? So?"

"He winked to suggest that he does know how she's whipped us into shape. Besides, how do you thing the coach paid for The Carousel. I mean, the machine has to have cost a bundle--way more than a cheerleading coach could afford."

"I guess I hadn't thought of that."

Sarah's eyes caught Jennifer Adams' chest. Her friend was standing at right angles, several yards away, and her stance, under the steaming shower, presented the sweeping curve of her back, flowing into the rounded hump of her left buttock, and a profile of her boobs. Sarah watched Jennifer's tits jiggle and sway as her fellow cheerleader washed and rinsed the magnificent fleshly orbs.

Another, larger figure loomed into view in Sarah's peripheral vision. She turned her head to see Coach Bigg standing just outside the communal shower, staring at her and the other girls. The coach, a massive, bovine woman, with big tits, wide hips, a more-than-ample ass, and thick, meaty thighs, stood, hands on hips, staring at them, openly, her face an impassive mask. "After you finish showering, I want to see each and every last one of you in the storeroom," she announced, her tone flat.

Sarah felt sick, as if the coach had hit her hard in the stomach, and, she saw, the other girls looked just as ill, their faces pale and haunted. Meeting in the storeroom meant only one thing: they'd be subjected to another group spanking, courtesy of The Carousel.

"What did we do now?" Susan wondered aloud.

"Nothing that I know of," Sarah said, reflecting on the day's practice. All had gone well, she thought. In fact, the session had been one of their best yet, it seemed to her. Whatever the transgression might be, Sarah hoped fervently that she was not the transgressor. She'd just won back the affection of her friends. She didn't want to become an outcast among them again for bringing down another severe spanking upon everyone.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough," Susan said. She sounded frightened, Sarah thought, the same way that Sarah herself felt.

* * *

"Take off your clothes," Coach Bigg instructed the cheerleaders as soon as they had assembled in the storeroom.

Sarah and the others did as they were told, without protest. They'd learned that complaints or hesitation would earn them more swats, and none of them wanted even a single stoke of the cane more than their mentor might originally intend to administer to them.

Sarah, trying to keep her eyes off the other girls as they disrobed, doffed her own clothing and stood, naked, awaiting further instructions.

"Take your positions," Coach Bigg commanded her charges.

Each of the girls had been assigned her own station aboard the spanking machine's platform, and, like the others, Sarah climbed aboard, kneeling on her wedge-shaped section of the platform that ringed the machine's central hub. Across from her, she saw Cindy, whose asshole she'd been made to lick a few weeks ago, just as Cindy had been forced to lick Sarah's pussy. Since Sarah had been accepted back into the affections of the other members of the squad, she and Cindy had managed to be civil to one another, but their relationship was different now. Unlike Sarah, Cindy hadn't enjoyed the humiliation of having to lick Sarah's private parts in front of the whole squad, and it had been Sarah's fall, while executing a toe-touch jump (thanks to the petroleum jelly that Coach Bigg had secretly spread on the practice mat), that had brought punishment down on the whole squad, leading to Cindy's degrading tasting of Sarah's cunt and Sarah's sampling of Cindy's asshole. Therefore, Cindy blamed Sarah for the humiliation that she had suffered. It had all been Sarah's fault.

As soon as the two girls had climbed into position aboard their respective sections of the platform surrounding the hub of the machine, kneeling and supporting the weight of their upper bodies on their elbows, they both averted their eyes. Cindy had made it quite clear that she didn't want to look at Sarah, and, although hurt by her friend's rejection, Sarah honored Cindy's desire that they not make or maintain eye contact. Sarah couldn't help sneaking peeks at Cindy's breasts, though. The way they hung down, full and soft and sleek, looking as if they were being poured from her chest, was both beautiful and extremely arousing. Sarah felt an erotic tingling in her pussy at the sight of them. She was careful to look away whenever Cindy turned her head, though, not daring to be caught looking.

"You may be wondering why you're here," Coach Bigg said. "It's because of Baxter. She dropped a pompom."

An array of emotions crossed Cindy's face: fear, guilt, shame. She shuddered at the thought that, because of her clumsiness, the whole squad would be punished.

"That may seem a minor, even an insignificant, thing to you," the coach continued, "but, believe me, the judges at the Nationals will not think so. When we compete nationally--and we will--we will be up against the best, and the judges will look for the least opportunity to eliminate a squad from the competition. Dropping a pompom during a cheer, as Baxter did at today's practice, will be just the justification a judge needs to eliminate South Catholic High School's squad, and I am not about to let that happen. Therefore, because of Baxter's incompetence, you will all pay the price."

Sarah darted a glance at Cindy. The girl was close to tears. Sarah knew just how she felt--the same way that Sarah herself had felt, weeks ago, when it had been she who'd caused the squad to be spanked mercilessly during Dr. Fanner's demonstration of the machine. Catching Sarah looking at her, Cindy made an angry face. Even now, it was obvious, she wanted nothing to do with Sarah.

"I am taking this opportunity to introduce you to another feature of The Carousel," Coach Bigg announced. "Perhaps you thought it could do only one thing--administer a sound thrashing of your backsides with a cane. Let me assure you, it can do much, much more."

Sarah saw the other girls' looks of trepidation; she felt the same way herself as she tried to imagine what else The Carousel was capable of doing to them.

A soft whirring sound alerted Sarah to an activity on the part of the machine, and she felt something firm and sleek penetrate her both anally and vaginally. She looked back, between her legs, and saw a probe of sorts: a two-headed dildo, attached to a steel rod. The rod, as best she could discern from her limited perspective, rose from the platform, behind her.

"The Carousel, you see," a familiar male voice declared, "is not only a spanking machine, but it is a fucking machine, also."

Sarah, like the other girls, was shocked to hear Principal Matthews' voice; she was mortified, too, to think that the school's chief administrator was on hand to see her and her friends naked, on their elbows and knees, strapped in place on their respective portions of The Carousel's platform, with dildos stuffed up their cunts and asses.

"The phalli can work in unison with one another," Coach Bigg said, demonstrating this capability by the press of a button. Sarah felt the dildos ease back, out of her impaled orifices; a moment later, they slid back into her depths.

"Alternatively, they can also work independently of one another." The coach pressed another button, and the artificial cock in Sarah's pussy withdrew while the one inside her anus advanced; a moment later, each phallus reversed its action, the one in Sarah's cunt plunging forward while the one inside her asshole retreated.

"The phalli can also alternately work in unison and independently." Again, Coach Bigg demonstrated, allowing both artificial penises to work first in synch with one another and then in succession, one moving forward while the other moved backward.

As the mechanical erections plumbed her depths, Sarah felt her pussy flood, and her cunt juices ran, thick and fast, down her thighs. Although Sarah had had sex on a few occasions, she'd never been penetrated. She'd merely masturbated one boy--Danny Small--and given a blowjob to another--Rodney Brown. Now, she was being doubly penetrated, and by a machine, at that! The sensations were novel and extremely erotic. The big, thick pricks fucked her with the merciless efficiency and tireless, fluid movements possible only to a machine, pounding her, fore and aft, with passionless, but persistent, regular, driving force.

Each thrust of the cocks, in her cunt or her ass, simultaneously or in succession, according to Coach Bigg's whims, rocked Sarah forward on her knees, and she felt the smooth, cylindrical probes shove past her labia to plunge deep into her sopping-wet pussy and through her anal sphincter, far into her rectum. Her breasts, dangling before her, the way that Cindy's and the other girls dangled, swayed and jiggled with each thrust of the artificial penises. She gasped and moaned, joined by the other girls, who likewise voiced their astonishment at being again and again fucked by the hard-driving phalli.

The thought that she and the other cheerleaders were being observed by their coach and their principal was extremely embarrassing, Sarah thought, but, at the same time, very exciting. More of her pussy juice sluiced down her thighs, and she trembled as waves of pleasure washed through her loins. If this was Coach Bigg's idea of punishment, Sarah thought, she herself would be sure to drop a pompom at every practice session!

With a wet, slurping sound, the dildo inside Sarah's pussy slid free, trailing a stream of her cunt's lubricant, and she felt the smaller phallus also slip out of her asshole. Another whirring sound was heard as the apparatus retracted, descending into the platform from whence it had come.

Another wave of orgasmic pleasure shot through Sarah's loins, her pussy flooding itself yet again, and she shuddered, crying out, despite her desire not to call attention to her aroused state. She needn't have been concerned, however, with divulging her passion to the other girls, for most of them, likewise, gave voice to the pleasure that had become almost unendurable to them, and a chorus of gasps, moans, and shrieks echoed within the storeroom's cinderblock walls.

"This has been quite a demonstration, Coach Bigg," Principal Matthews said. His own passion was evident in his hoarse, shaky voice.

"It's not over yet," the coach replied.

Under the fluorescent bulbs high in the ceiling, Sarah and the other girls saw slender shadows waver as Coach Bigg activated the thin, supple bamboo canes that extended overhead--or, rather, over the asses of the cheerleaders--and the girls knew that what was coming was going to be as painful as the dildos' fucking had been pleasurable. Several girls moaned. Others whimpered. Sarah gritted her teeth, willing herself to resist any show of suffering. She didn't want to give Coach Bigg the satisfaction of seeing her cry if she could help it, which, she told herself, she probably couldn't.

The first flick of the cane sent an immense, astonishing pain throughout Sarah's bottom, and she shrieked, tears gathering in her eyes, despite her vow to herself, only a moment ago, to remain stoic in the face of their punishment. She heard several of the girls cry out, and she saw Cindy's face contort with the same agony that flamed inside Sarah's own buttocks.

"Oh, my!" Principal Matthews declared.

"You haven't seen anything yet," Coach Bigg assured him.

The canes whipped down again, lightning quick, across the girls' quivering buttocks, and Sarah screamed, thinking she must go mad from the pain--the anguish--that filled her derriere. Involuntarily, her ass cheeks flexed, and she shuddered. The cane lashed her flesh again, and she shrieked, tears spilling from her eyes. Again, the cane fell, sweeping down with devastating effect, and Sarah howled. Her buttocks were already on fire, and she'd received only four strokes of the narrow bamboo rod.

"One can set the force with which the cane is deployed form mild to extreme," Coach Bigg informed the principal. "Currently, I have it set at approximately three-fourths of maximum impact."

"Very impressive," Principal Matthews said.

"One can increase the speed at which the cane is deployed, as well, so that a stroke is delivered at any interval from one second to ten seconds each. At the moment, I have selected two-second intervals."

"Again, most impressive," the chief administrator declared. "I also like the way the platform rotates, allowing spectators to examine the cane's effects on each and every one of the girls' bottoms, so one can be sure that each is soundly, but safely, thrashed."

"It was a feature I insisted on," Coach Bigg replied. "It wouldn't do to train these girls for months only to have one of them become incapacitated."

"No, no," Principal Matthews concurred. "I quite agree."

As the spectators discussed the merits of The Carousel, the cane continued to deliver its cutting strokes, one each second, and, already, another four red lines had appeared upon the cheerleaders' beleaguered bottoms. In a few instances, drops of blood dribbled from the lacerations, and bruises had appeared in the flesh of several of the girls' buttocks.

Coach Bigg smiled at her handiwork, increasing the severity with which the cane's strokes would be delivered to maximum force and the tempo at which the instruments would descend to the greatest speed. A sustained chorus of screams and shrieks sounded as the canes flashed down upon the girls' naked buttocks with such rapidity and force that the instruments themselves appeared only as blurs. Each second, the canes found their marks with sickening force, fairly flaying the flesh from their targets, but Coach Bigg allowed the whipping to continue only for five seconds before bringing the cruel instruments to a halt. The Carousel slowed to a stop, and the coach, assisted by the principal, released the stunned girls.

The cheerleaders, barely able to stand, staggered to their clothing. Weeping and sobbing, they managed, somehow, to dress. As Sarah hobbled toward the door, Coach Bigg called, "Not so fast, Owens."

Gingerly, her every motion occasioning unbearable pain, Sarah turned, facing the coach. Weak, she awaited further instruction, telling herself not to faint.

Coach Bigg hurled a wet towel at the teen. Sarah was unable to catch it, and the sopping missile hit her in the face, stinging. "We need to work on your reflexes, Owens."

"I'm sorry, Coach," Sarah whispered. Even uttering these three words took what seemed to the cheerleader to be a superhuman effort.

"Normally, I'd have Baxter clean up this mess, since she's the one who screwed up at practice today, dropping the pompom, but, instead, I'm making you do it. How do you feel about that, Owens?"

Sarah could hardly stand, let alone speak. The brutal caning, preceded by the exhausting series of orgasms resulting from the cunt-and-ass-fuck she'd been subjected to, had drained her strength. Her legs felt like noodles, her knees like jelly. "You're the coach," she managed to say. She wanted to ask why Coach Bigg continued to single her out, even when she'd done everything expected of her and had shone, more than any of the other girls on the squad, during their practice sessions, but she didn't have the strength or the energy to string the words of the question together.

"That's right, Owens, I'm the alpha female. Now, get to work. I want this mess cleaned up at once."

"Mess?" the dazed teen repeated.

"You and your friends spilled a lot of pussy juice on The Carousel's platform," Coach Bigg pointed out, "and the virgins among you bled on the machine as well. Scrub it until the damned thing shines."

"Yes, ma'am." Sarah staggered toward the spanking machine, towel in hand.

"Do you know why I treat you differently than I do the others?" Coach Bigg asked as Sarah commenced sopping up her friends' cunt juices and blood.




The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 05



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters in it are 18 years old or older.

* * *

Reluctantly, Sarah had to admit, if only to herself, that, under the tutelage of Coach Bigg, the cheerleading squad had come a long way in the last couple of months. Sarah and her friends might have sore asses more often than not, either as a result of having just received a thorough caning or as because they were recovering from a sound thrashing, but, one thing was certain: their mistakes had become fewer and fewer, their athletic prowess greater and greater, and their finesse, grace, and style more and more impressive. For the first time since Coach Bigg had vowed to make them winners at this year's National High School Cheerleading Competition, Sarah and the others had begun to believe that, under Coach Bigg's direction and guidance, they really could accomplish this grand objective.

The girls had given up a lot: dating, leisure time, autonomy, even--Sarah shuddered as she remembered Principal Matthews and Coach Bigg watching as she and the other cheerleaders were fucked up the ass and cunt by the artificial penises that, at the press of a button, had risen from the spanking machine's platform. The Carousel, as the machine was known, not only revolved, offering Coach Bigg and any other spectators who might be present to watch the girls being put through their paces a view of each girl's private parts, but it also administered mild to extremely severe canings and fucked them vaginally or anally, or both vaginally and anally at the same time. In addition, each section of the platform could be rotated 180 degrees so that one girl's cunt and ass faced another girl, permitting analingus or cunnilingus at Coach Bigg's command. Sarah had had to lick Cindy Baxter's asshole, and Cindy had been made to do the same to Sarah's pussy, while both Coach Bigg and the other members of the cheerleading squad watched. Talk about humiliation! However, this incident, as mortifying as it had been at the time, had also had had a benefit, for Sarah, if not for Cindy: it had shown Sarah that she had strong, erotic feelings for members of her own sex. Since then, she'd found, she was unable to keep her eyes of the other girls, whether they were suiting up, practicing, or showering. But spanking, fucking, and oral sex were only some of the possibilities for degradation and punishment, apparently, that The Carousel provided, for Coach Bigg had intimated that the machine was capable of inflicting still other humiliating punishments upon the girls as they were positioned helplessly upon their elbows and knees, strapped in place at their leader's mercy.

Coach Bigg knew a lot about dominance and submission, as Sarah had found out when the coach had explained to her why she had signaled Sarah out for special abuse. "Because, among your peers, you are the alpha female, Owens," the coach had informed the cheerleader. "To dominate them, I have to dominate you. Moreover, I have to do so in as obvious a manner as possible; I have to rub your nose in your submissiveness, to show your friends that I'm the boss, and I have to keep on rubbing your nose in it to prove I am, and always will be, top dog." By implication, Coach Bigg's explanation seemed to imply that, were the coach to start treating Sarah the same as the other members of the squad, the coach would endanger her status as their superior. That wasn't about to happen, Sarah thought, any more than Coach Bigg was going to let them fail to compete in--and win--the Nationals this year.

Although none of the squad liked Coach Bigg, everyone respected and feared her. They were, in fact, terrified of her. Their trepidation notwithstanding, however, they also believed in her. Not one of the girls on the squad, Sarah included, doubted, even for a moment, that Coach Bigg would, in fact, see them through the Nationals as the competition's winners. All they had to do was to continue to do everything the coach demanded of them, without question or hesitation.

Today, in preparation for ultimately building a pyramid of one another's bodies, they were attempting a scorpion. They'd always been shaky at executing this stunt, and Sarah, like the other cheerleaders, was anxious about trying it again today. They knew that Coach Bigg would be watching their every move and that she wouldn't hesitate to punish even the smallest mistake. If any of them made an error, all of them would pay, and the way that they'd pay would be, as always, to be caned unmercifully by The Carousel. Maybe, in addition, they'd be double-fucked, cunt ands ass, in front of whichever audience Coach Bigg wanted to invite for the occasion, whether it was Principal Matthews again or, maybe, the dyke Dr. Fanner and her Amazonian assistant and girlfriend, Debbie Johnson. Personally, Sarah wouldn't be surprised if Coach Bigg was a butch lesbian herself and invited her femme to watch.

"All right, girls, listen up!" Coach Bigg called the squad to order. "I shouldn't have to tell you that the scorpion can be a dangerous stunt. We've worked too hard and come too far to have one of you break an arm or a leg at this late date, so pay attention, and focus on what you're doing." She paused, directing her baleful gaze at each of the squad members in turn. "I don't need to remind you what will happen if there are any screw-ups."

Sarah and the other girls gulped. Sarah could all but feel the biting sting of the cane on her bare bottom. Although she had received dozens, if not hundreds, of strokes of the supple bamboo rod during the months they'd trained under Coach Bigg's direction, Sarah, like her friends, dreaded the cruel instrument as much, if not more, than ever, and they would do anything to avoid its painful, slashing blows.

"All right, let's do this," Coach Bigg said, "and let's get it right the first time."

Sarah and Crystal Rogers were assigned to be bases; Rachelle Thomas, the lightest and lithest of the group, was delegated to the task of being the flyer. Standing on either side of, and facing, Rachelle, Sarah and Crystal stooped, Sarah presenting her left palm and Crystal her right, for Rachelle to step upon. Rachelle lifted her right leg, placing its foot on the other girls' palms, and Sarah gripped Sarah's ankle, while Crystal placed her left hand across the top of Rachelle's foot, to prevent it from rolling. As Rachelle pushed off from Sarah's and Crystal's shoulders while the bases shoved her upward, Karen Lewis, who was responsible for serving as the back spot, or back base, pushed hard against Rachelle's buttocks, assisting her in attaining upward momentum. As Rachelle rose, the girls extended their arms, and, in an instant, Rachelle was standing upon their hands, high above the other girls' heads. Reluctantly, Cindy Baxter, assigned the position of front spot, added her grip to that of Sarah's, supporting the main base's wrist.

Initially, Rachelle wobbled a bit, but the bases stabilized her, and Rachelle assumed the scorpion position, grasping the toe of her loose foot and bending her free leg upward, behind her body, bringing her toes close to the back of her head, and securing her foot in this position with her other hand, so that her figure resembled that of a scorpion's tale. The girls had succeeded in accomplishing the stunt; now, they must merely hold the position until Coach Bigg gave them the command to dismount. The feat had gone well, Sarah thought. She was glad that she'd been assigned the position of being one of the bases, rather than the flyer, because, this way, she could look up Rachelle's skirt without fear of being detected. Sure, the other girls wore the same Spankies and panties that Sarah wore under her cheerleader's skirt, but, even so, she was treated to the sight of Rachelle's well-turned thighs and to a glimpse of the flyer's firm buttocks.

The next thought Sarah had was simple: What happened?

One moment, Rachelle had been standing aloft, literally in the palms of her friends' hands; the next, she was flat on her back, on the padded practice mat. Sarah remembered Coach Bigg rushing forward, much faster than Sarah would have thought the massive woman would have been able to move, and, aided by Karen and Cindy, breaking Rachelle's fall--and Sarah was aware, also, of the terrible cramp in lower abdomen. With dread, Sarah realized that she'd ruined the stunt, because she'd experienced a painful menstrual spasm. No doubt, Coach Bigg would blame the cramp on Sarah's not having stretched enough during her warm-up exercises, although Sarah knew she had and, even she hadn't, a menstrual cramp had nothing to do with whether she'd stretched sufficiently before practice. Because of her, though, she and her fellow squad members, including even the girls who had not been involved in this particular stunt, would be taking another agonizing ride on The Carousel. The girls would probably shun her again, this time, maybe for good.

Coach Bigg's meaty hands gripped Rachelle's wrists as the bovine woman helped the cheerleader to her feet. "Are you all right?" the coach asked.

Damn! Sarah thought. The bitch actually sounded concerned, as if she cares. Maybe the coach was afraid, Sarah thought, that she'd lose one of her star cheerleaders.

Coach Bigg turned on the others who had been involved in the stunt. Although she glared at each of the bases in turn, it seemed to Sarah that the coach looked only at her. If looks could kill, Sarah thought, Sarah would be dead.

"I'm sorry, Coach," Sarah heard herself confess. "I had a cramp."

"A leg cramp?"

Sarah felt herself blush as she said, "A menstrual cramp. I moved, when the cramp hit me, and I guess I threw everyone else off balance."

"You should have told me you were on your period," Coach Bigg said, scowling.

"I'm sorry." Sarah would have mentioned her condition to the coach, since it did affect their practice, but she was afraid that, if she had, Coach Bigg would have insisted that Debbie Penn, who was the strongest of the girls on the squad, next to Sarah herself, serve as one of the bases, and, Sarah knew, Debbie was too terrified of their coach to want even to try the feat.

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do, Owens!" Coach Bigg snapped. "And, unless you want an extended session on The Carousel, for you and all the rest of the squad, you'll tell me."

"Coach?" Debbie spoke up.

"What is it?"

Debbie explained why Sarah had not told their trainer about her period.

"You're that afraid of me?" Coach Bigg demanded.

Debbie looked away. "Yes, ma'am. Of you, I mean, and The Carousel."

Coach Bigg looked more than angry; she looked like one of the Furies of ancient Greek mythology. All the girls averted their eyes, none wanting to see the wrath on their coach's face.

"Sarah should have trusted you to do the stunt," Coach Bigg said, "and you should have trusted yourself. If you think you're afraid of me and The Carousel, just wait until you're competing at the Nationals, and your every move is being scrutinized."

"I'm sorry," Debbie said.

"Sorry doesn't win national competitions," Coach Bigg said. She paused, looking at her squad. "Teamwork does, and the basis of teamwork isn't fear, it's trust. By rights, every one of you should be caned, and caned severely. But I have to accept some of the blame for this."

The girls hazarded a glance at the coach, not sure they'd heard her correctly. Was Coach Bigg, the Perfect and Flawless Holy One, admitting to a mistake? If so, the girls were perplexed. What had the coach done? It seemed to them that it was they--or, rather, Sarah, again, and maybe Debbie, who was at fault.

"You weren't ready for the scorpion," she said, "because you don't have the level of trust you need to be honest with one another--and with me." She paused again, seeming to deliberate, and then she announced, "This time, there will be no trip to the storeroom and no ride on The Carousel."

The girls looked relieved.

"Instead, we're going to practice a little exercise, one designed to foster trust, trust in ourselves and trust in one another."

The cheerleaders cast apprehensive glances at one another.

"Owens!" Coach Bigg barked. "Get on your hands and knees, flip up your skirt and pull down your Spankies and your panties."

Sarah started to argue, but she knew that her doing so would only ignite the coach's ire and, if she resisted the coach's instructions in any way, or even hesitated to obey, she might earn both herself and the rest of the squad a protracted ride on The Carousel, after all. Then, in addition to a severe caning, and possibly another double fuck, for everyone, she'd be ostracized by her friends for sure, probably for ever. There was no way she wanted that to happen.

She did as she was told, kneeling, flipping up her skirt, lowering her Spankies and panties, and dropping to her hands on the padded mat. She felt humiliated in the extreme, knowing all her friends' eyes were on her hairless vulva, her bald labia, her bare buttocks, and, for all she knew, her anus, if it were visible between the cheeks of her ass.

"Baxter, go to my office, and bring me the box of latex gloves on my desk. Also bring a couple of the jars of petroleum jelly in my top drawer."

Cindy sprinted away on the mission the coach had assigned her. While she was gone, Coach Bigg said, the rest of you, flip up your skirts, too, and lower your underwear. Then, assume the same position as Owens has assumed.

Without questioning the coach's orders, the rest of the cheerleaders did as they'd been instructed. When, a few minutes later, Cindy returned with the gloves, she, also, was made to assume the same position, with her skirt up and her underwear down.

Coach Bigg extracted a pair of the latex gloves from their box, and pulled them onto her forearms, tugging them snugly into place, and shoved the rubber tight between the webs of her thumbs and fingers. She took a generous amount of petroleum jelly from one of the huge jars Cindy had retrieved and daubed it between the lips of Sarah's pussy, being careful to lubricate the cheerleader's cunt with an ample amount of the slick, thick substance.

"Without changing your own positions," she told the squad, "watch and listen carefully as I demonstrate how to perform the trust-building exercise I show you, because, after my demonstration, each of you will partner with another squad member and perform the same exercise on one another."

Behind Sarah, the other girls looked uncomfortable. They shifted their gazes, gulped, and couldn't help but make quizzical faces at one another. Several of them shrugged. The coach's request for latex gloves and petroleum jelly and her insistence that they assume such a weird position, with their skirts up and their underwear down, didn't bode well, it seemed, for them.

Coach Bigg held up her right hand. "Notice how I have positioned my hand," she said, "with the fingers extended and close together, and the thumb, also extended, touching the tip of my forefinger, in a beak-like shape. This is known as the 'silent duck.' Let me see each of you replicate this shape."

The girls made the silent duck to the coach's satisfaction.

"Very good. Now, watch me carefully, and, taking turns, do to one another what I do to Owens."

Slowly, Coach Bigg slid the fingertips of her gloved hand into Sarah's pussy, the bright pink lips parting to show the watermelon-red interior of her sopping-wet cunt, and, as the duck's bill slid farther and farther into the moist, warm, well-lubricated orifice, the cheerleaders were astonished to see the entirety of the bovine coach's thick fingers plunge into Sarah's pussy. Only her hand, between the knuckles of the last knuckles of her vanished fingers and her wrist, remained outside the cheerleader's snatch. Slowly, with deliberation and care, the coach continued to press forward with her hand. Sarah grunted, adjusting her position. She spread her knees farther apart, and her buttocks divided, revealing the tiny dimple of her anus. Coach Bigg eased her hand forward, and more of it slid into the widened portal of Sarah's pussy. The outer lips--the labia majora--stretched wide, and the inner lips--the labia minora--opened, gaping, to admit still more of the coach's fist. The petroleum jelly glistened, as did the Sarah's own natural lubricating fluids.

Sarah groaned, letting her knees slip even farther apart on the mat, as the coach continued to press her fist into the cheerleader's pussy. Finally, the cheerleader's cunt had swallowed the coach's fist all the way to the wrist--and Coach Bigg's hand and wrist were at least twice the size as any of the cheerleaders'. It seemed impossible that she'd managed to insert it so far into Sarah's pussy, but she'd done so, and rather easily, at that, despite the tightness of the cheerleader's vagina. Until a week ago, when The Carousel's double-pronged dildo had fucked her (and the other girls) up both the cunt and the ass at the same time, Sarah had been a virgin. The only sex she'd had, as a God-fearing Catholic schoolgirl and a proper young lady, had been limited to masturbating one boy and giving another guy a blowjob. 

"Once the hand is fully inserted," Coach Bigg instructed her charges, "you can open the fingers, as you will find that, even with young women, such as yourselves, the vagina is very accommodating."

Slowly, but more quickly than she'd inserted her hand, the coach drew her arm back, and the teens watched her wrist, the back of her hand, and her fingers slide free of Sarah's gaping, wet pussy. "This trust-building exercise is known as fisting," the coach informed the squad. "Now, I want each of you to pair off and perform the same exercise on each other. Come on, girls! You needn't worry; there are plenty of gloves and petroleum jelly for all."

"But what about Sarah, Coach?" Cindy asked. "There are nine of us; she won't have a partner."

"Don't worry about Sarah," Coach Bigg said. "I'll make sure she's not left out."

Cindy couldn't conceal the disgust she felt at the thought that Sarah might have to fist Coach Bigg--in front of the rest of them!--as the coach had fisted her. Cindy might not like Sarah all that well, not after she'd had to lick her cunt and Sarah had licked her asshole--but not even Sarah deserved abuse of that sort, she thought.

As it turned out, though, Coach Bigg had something else in store for Sarah, just as she did for all the rest of the girls.

When the last couple had performed the trust-building exercise to Coach Bigg's satisfaction, she said, "You did well, squad, in completing the first exercise. Let's see how well you complete its counterpart."

Cindy looked at her partner, Karen Lewis. "Counterpart?"

Karen looked sick. Neither she nor Cindy had enjoyed fisting each other, and they were pretty sure that none of the other girls had liked doing so, either. None of them, Cindy believed, was interested in a "counterpart" to the so-called trust-building exercise.

"Be just as generous, if not more so, in lubricating your partner's anus as you were in lubricating her vagina," Coach Bigg advised her charges. "Don't worry about supplies; I have plenty more petroleum jelly on hand in my office, should we need it."

Having imparted these instructions to the squad, the coach demonstrated, spreading half a handful of the substance in and around Sarah's asshole as the cheerleader whimpered and moaned, trying not to wriggle or squirm. "You might want to smear some of the jelly on your glove as well," the coach added, as she covered her own with an additional amount. "Once you have thoroughly lubricated her anus, begin with the same silent duck configuration, and, carefully and slowly, giving your partner's anal sphincter time to adjust, to relax, and to open, insert your hand through her anus and into her rectum."




The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 06



Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

After the day's extended cheerleading session, Sarah hurried home, afraid that, having escaped another painful and humiliating ride on The Carousel, she would be subjected to a spanking by her dad. A strict Catholic who believed it to be his God-given responsibility to discipline his daughter to keep her on the straight and narrow path to glory, Sarah's father, ever fearful of spoiling his only child, had never been one to spare the rod.

Despite her fear, Sarah's mind was a turmoil of other emotions as well. She still felt disgust, shame, and horror at having been used by Coach Bigg to demonstrate to the others on the cheerleading squad how to fist a girl, both vaginally and anally. She'd probably never get over her mortification. The act had made her feel dirty and despicable, as the other girls on the squad said they'd felt as well, as a result of having been made to shove their entire fists up each other's pussies and assholes.

Like the other girls, Sarah also resented the coach's having made them give up boys. Although she admired the poise and beauty of the members of her own sex, Sarah also liked the strength and hardness--both figurative and literal--of the males her age. Although, when it came to the opposite sex, she'd had limited experience, having, besides kissing them and letting them cop a few feels, only masturbated one guy and face-fucked a second, she'd like to have retained at least the option for sex, limited or otherwise, with boys, if and when she chose to indulge in it.

She wasn't exactly crazy at having been forced to take a lesbian lover, either. According to Coach Bigg, the girls' rejection of heterosexual partners and their adoption, instead, of same-sex lovers would make the squad more cohesive, causing the members to "build even better rapport with one another and be even more interested in acting as a team."

Sarah had lately discovered her sexual interest in others of her own sex, and, she couldn't deny that she found the newcomer to their squad, Marilyn Madison, whom Coach Bigg had just introduced and had then selected for Sarah as Sarah's girlfriend, beautiful and sexy, but Sarah had resented, and still did resent, at the same time, being compelled to go gay and, even more, being forced to accept a lover of the coach's, rather than her own, selection, even though, if the truth were to be told, Marilyn would definitely have been her choice, anyway. After all, the other girls on the squad had been permitted to pick their own girlfriends from among their fellow cheerleaders. Coach Bigg's selection of Marilyn for Sarah was just another example of the coach's having set her aside for special, usually abusive, treatment, to prove to Sarah and the others that she, Coach Bigg, was top dog, not Sarah, who'd been the squad's alpha female before Coach Bigg had replaced Coach Chambers.

Only the fact that Marilyn was a total knockout and by far the loveliest girl on the squad, next to Sarah herself, had soothed Sarah's irritation at Coach Bigg's having singled her out, yet again, denying her a privilege--that of picking her own lover--that she'd extended to the other squad members. Marilyn's curvaceous figure and her glamour girl looks assuaged Sarah's annoyance and frustration. She was actually lucky, she knew, to have been assigned someone as gorgeous as Marilyn when she could have been matched with someone else on the squad. Although all the girls were good looking, only Sarah herself matched--or, actually, exceeded--Marilyn's beauty.

As she made her way along the tree-lined suburban streets, hurrying to minimize her tardiness as much as possible in the hope of also minimizing the punishment she was all but certain to receive at the hands of her irate father, Sarah consoled herself with the memory of her first encounter, less than half an hour ago, with her girlfriend. As the other girls had sized one another up as potential lovers, Marilyn, smiling broadly, had strolled through the other cheerleaders, stopping mere inches in front of Sarah, and had planted a long, deep, open, wet kiss on her. Sarah's heart--and her pussy--had melted at once, and she'd kissed the redhead back with every bit as much fervor as Marilyn had shown her, darting her own tongue into the redhead's mouth as her hands found, clutched, squeezed, and fondled Marilyn's buttocks, the same way the other girl had seized Sarah's own tight, firm ass in her hands, squeezing and kneading the sleek globes of flesh. Sarah's pussy had overflowed, soaking her panties and her jeans, so that anyone and everyone present knew, full well, the passion she felt for the newcomer to their squad.

In Marilyn's tight embrace, their tongues and arms entwined, their fingers everywhere, Sarah had even managed, for the moment, to forget the spanking that most like awaited her at home, to be delivered by hand, by paddle, or by belt--or, perhaps, by all three instruments, depending on the measure of her father's ire. Unfortunately, her memories of Marilyn's taste, scent, and warmth couldn't prevent her from anticipating the punishment she was almost certain to receive in only a few more minutes. Ahead, she could see her house. She walked faster.

An only child, Sarah lived with her father, Max, and her mother, Marlene, on a shady street in Elm Haven, a community of mostly two- and three-story brick houses near good academic institutions (one of them was South Catholic High School, a thirty-minute walk away), several churches (including Our Lady of Sorrows, among whose laity Max, Marlene, and Sarah numbered themselves), a couple of shopping centers (including Broadway Mall), and such social and commercial amenities as a gold course, a country club, movie theaters, bowling alleys, and well over fifty restaurants (most of the fast-food variety).

The community's standards were high, and the people were generally morally upstanding and God-fearing folk, even the Protestants among them. None of them residents of Elm Haven, especially Sarah's parents, would have understood, let alone countenanced, the vaginal and anal fisting that had occurred at Sarah's school this afternoon or the spanking-and-fucking machine that Coach Bigg, with Principal Matthews' blessing, had installed in the cheerleaders' storeroom. Nor would the residents, including Mr. and Mrs. Owens, understand the cheerleading coach's insistence upon the squad's denouncing boys in favor of their own fellow cheerleaders as dates and, by extension, for many, as their sex partners.

That was all right, though. Sarah had no intention of mentioning any of these extracurricular activities. She wanted to go to the Nationals as badly as anyone else on the squad, and, she'd found, she liked lesbianism. Moreover, she was happy with her girlfriend, Marilyn Madison. Life was good, mostly, as a South Catholic High School cheerleader, despite Coach Bigg's abusive treatment of Sarah and the other girls, and she knew better than to mention things that were best left unmentioned. There was no way that her parents would let her attend South Catholic High School or be a cheerleader on Coach Bigg's squad if they even suspected that such goings-on went on.

Her parents' cars weren't in the driveway, but their absence gave Sarah no hope. Most likely, the cars were parked in the garage. Dreading the confrontation that she knew was coming between her and her mom and dad, Sarah walked briskly up the sidewalk to the steps that led up to the front porch, eager to put the matter behind her, even if doing so meant being subjected to her parent's lecture and her father's spanking. She had to face them sooner or later; it might as well be sooner.

"Where have you been, young lady?" her father demanded loudly, the moment Sarah had entered the house and closed the front door behind her.

"Practice."

He glanced at his watch. "Practice has been over for nearly two hours now."

"I had to stay late, Dad. We had an extended practice."

"Why didn't you call?"

"I couldn't. There wasn't time."

"Then you should have come home--on time."

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"Not as sorry as you're going to be, young lady. Go to your room."

"Where's Mom?"

"She's out. Now, do as I told you to do: go to your room. Now!"

"Yes, sir." Sarah scampered past her glaring father and sped up the stairs. Her room, dear and familiar, didn't seem the safe haven it normally was, because, at the moment, it wasn't. She knew that her father would join her, any moment, a paddle or a belt in hand. The only upside to her predicament was that her mother was out, which meant that her father wouldn't tan her bare bottom. He'd never done so with Sarah's mother absent. It didn't believe that it was proper for a father to spank his daughter's bare buttocks without her mother being also present.

Sarah gulped, hearing footsteps on the staircase, the sounds of a slow, deliberate tread; her father was trudging up the stairs. His footfalls were heavy and, in an odd way, measured, mechanical, as if he were an automaton or a zombie. Sarah sure as hell didn't like the sound of the footsteps--it was eerie--and ominous.

The footsteps stopped. Sarah blanched as she saw him, standing in the doorway, a paddle in one hand, his belt in the other.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered her.

Sarah looked shocked. "What?"

"You heard me," he said. His voice was flat, his eyes cold, hard, distant, and his aspect, like his demeanor, was frightening.

"But Mom's not home," Sarah reminded him. Her father had never spanked even so much as her bare buttocks without her mother's presence. Now, he wanted to spank her while she was completely nude? Something wasn't right.

"Take off your clothes," he repeated. "I'm not going to tell you again."

What if she didn't comply with his command? Sarah wondered. Would her father rip the garments from her body? No way! she told herself. But she didn't want to find out, not when he was acting weird already. Feeling uncomfortable, she unbuttoned her blouse. The front parted, revealing the lavender brassiere she wore beneath the garment. Surely, Sarah thought, her father would come to his senses, but he said nothing. He just stood there, in the doorway, his spanking implements in hand, watching her with the same, dull look on his face, his eyes hard and cold.

She removed the blouse, took off her belt, and unsnapped and unzipped her skirt, lowering it over her sleek thighs and smooth calves. She stepped out of the garment and draped it across the back of the chair at her desk, atop the blouse which she'd placed there a moment before. Now, except for her shoes, socks, bra, and panties, she was naked.

Her father watched, silently, scaring her with his out-of-character behavior, as Sarah kicked off her loafers and bent forward, to peel off and step out of her socks, her breasts dangling before her, inside the cups of her frilly brassiere. She felt weird, as if she were performing a striptease for her own father. She hoped her mother, having returned home, would come upstairs right now, this very second, and intervene, saving her daughter from removing her underwear in front of her father, but, of course, that didn't happen.

Sarah looked across her bedroom, past the teddy bears and dolls piled onto her queen-size bed. "Can't I keep my bra and panties on, Daddy?" Without conscious intent, she'd reverted to her childhood term for her father, "Daddy," instead of "Dad" slipping out, of its own accord, involuntarily. She felt as if she were eight years old again, instead of eighteen.

"Take them off, too," he ordered.

Sarah gulped as she reached behind her back, drawing her breasts apart and causing them to swell as she unhooked the fasteners that secured the foundation garment. The bra slipped down her spine, and she released one side of it, letting the item of clothing fall to her side, and added it to the other clothing she'd draped over the back of her desk chair. Now, except for her pink-trimmed lavender panties, she was completely nude.

"Daddy, please--" she tried one, last, desperate appeal.

"Take them off."

Reluctantly, Sarah did as she'd been told. Hooking a thumb in either side of the panties' waistband, she pushed them down, over her hips, past her pubes, down her thighs, over her knees, and along her calves, stepping out of the panties. They joined the rest of her clothing, and she stood, completely naked, feeling shocked, humiliated, frightened, and ashamed, all at the same time. Her father hadn't seen her completely naked since she'd been a toddler.

He crossed the bedroom, sat on the edge of Sarah's bed, and, taking his daughter by the wrist, drew her down, across his lap. He'd set the thick leather belt aside, clutching the handle of the long, thick paddle in his right hand.

Sarah felt awkward, to say the least, draped across her dad's lap, the way she'd draped her discarded clothing over the back of the chair at her desk. Her lower abdomen, including her pubes, rested against her father's firm, powerful thighs, her bare flesh against his slacks. Her bottom, cool in the air, now that it was naked, was arched, exposed, vulnerable, and nothing--not even a pair of panties--intervened between the soft-pink flesh of her firm-soft derriere and her father's gaze. Tears, of sheer humiliation, welled in her eyes.

She expected a lecture. Instead, she received the first blow of the paddle's blade. The heavy wood fell hard upon her bottom, and she lurched forward, yelping. Her ass cheeks stung, as if a swarm of bees had stung her, and tears spilled down her face.

The second swat was even harder than the first, descending in a swift arc that landed across both buttocks, in the same place as the first whack across her ass had hit, and pain ballooned inside her bottom, spreading through her ass like a wildfire. Again, she heaved forward, her pubes rubbing against her father's thighs.

The paddle struck her another tremendous blow across her backside, and Sarah gasped. Her bottom felt as if it were aglow, and, she imagined, it must be turning a bright pink already, after only three swats, for her father was delivering the blows with a force he'd never employed before. More tears meandered, warm and wet, down her face, and Sarah sniffled.

Intense pain filled her buttocks again as the sharp report of the paddle sounded. The thick wood slammed against her buttocks, flattening the firm round cheeks before its impact, and Sarah, unable to stifle the scream that rose from her very soul, gave vent to the anguish, shrieking. She rolled atop her father's lap, her pubes and thighs rubbing and grinding against his thighs. She wanted desperately to reach behind her back and rub the cheeks of her ass, but she knew that any attempt to do so would simply result in more swats, after her father had pinned her hands under his own free hand.

She sniffled again. Mucus was collecting in her nose the way tears were collecting in her eyes, and she didn't want snot running down her upper lip. It was humiliating enough to be naked across her father's lap, as he paddled her; she didn't need to present the image of a snot-nose kid on top of everything else.

Crack! The next blow of the paddle sounded like a gunshot, and pain launched itself in every direction, filling Sarah's ass again. She shrieked, rolling and thrashing about, upon her father's thighs. The pain, terrible at once, became almost unendurable as wave after wave of additional agony, each more excruciating than the previous, rippled through Sarah's beleaguered bottom. She began to moan and whimper, and mucus flowed freely, as did her tears. "Please stop, Daddy!" she cried, between sobs. "I'll be good! I promise I--"

The next crashing wallop of the heavy blade silenced her--or, rather, converted her plea for mercy and her promise of to be good into a high-pitched, keening wail. Inside, as if they were a series of bombs, the detonation of each setting off the next, a whole sequence of explosions of agony blasted the length and breadth of Sarah's bottom, her anguished buttocks quivering as her legs flexed uncontrollably. Her pubes, grinding against her father's pants, writhed and rolled with such force that he had to constrain her, holding his free hand to her hip, to prevent her from tumbling off his lap, onto the floor.

Sarah next felt something she'd never have believed she'd ever experience--her father's hand, massaging and rubbing her bare buttocks! The heel of his hand pushed against her bottom as his powerful fingers gripped and squeezed the flesh, kneading her ass cheeks as if they were dough.

At first, Sarah was horrified to be touched so intimately by her own dad, but, as he continued to caress and fondle the pain-filled orbs of her backside, she surrendered to the relief that his touch provided her well-fanned fanny. The soft, circular motions, the gentle compressing of her muscles, and the tender stroking of his fingers were relaxing and reassuring. The pain was still there, angry and insistent, but his touch, soft and compassionate, helped to make the hurting more bearable.

As he continued to rub and knead her buttocks, Sarah's father delivered the lecture that she'd expected to hear at the outset of the spanking session, which is when he'd always presented them before. "I won't have my daughter coming and going as she pleases," he told her. "As long as you live in this house, you will abide by your mother's and my rules. You may not believe it, but we have your best interests at heart, and we take our God-given parental responsibilities seriously. I will not have my daughter turning into a slut or a whore, a boozer or a drug addict. 'Train your child up in the way that he should go, and, when he is grown, he will not depart from it,' the Bible says. It also says, 'Spare the rod, and spoil the child.'"

"I know, Daddy, but--"

A sharp slap, not of the paddle this time, but of his hand--which hurt almost as much--silenced her. "Do not interrupt me, child. I am your father, and, as such, I am entitled to your respect."

"Yes, sir."

"Honor your mother and your father," he said, quoting the Bible again, "that your days may be long upon the earth."

Sarah said nothing. She was hoping to hear her mother's car drive up, or to hear the garage door opening, or to hear her mother enter the house, downstairs, or to hear her foot on the stairs, but the house was still and silent. Her father had her all to himself.

"There is much sin and wickedness in the earth," he said, "and as much of it here, in Elm Haven, as anywhere else." He quoted the scriptures again: "The devil walks the earth, seeking whom he shall devour."

Come on, Mom! Sarah pleaded silently. Come home!

"There is abortion, adultery, fornication, homosexuality, even among women, and all manner of other sexual perversions; there is drunkenness and drug addiction, prostitution and robbery, beatings and murder. A young woman such as yourself, alone, coming and going at will, is a plaything, or worse, for the depraved, the desperate, and the debauched. Your mother and I won't give you over to such filth and vermin."

Where was her mother? Sarah wondered. Usually, she was home by now.

"That's why we have rules for you to live by, Sarah, and that's why I must, and will, punish you when you break them, as I am punishing you now. Love is discipline, not permissiveness."

His rubbing of her ass stopped. A moment later, his belt, doubled over to increase its effect, struck her bottom, reigniting the agony that her father's caresses had diffused and diminished. A searing pain leaped across her spanked buttocks, along the furrow that the belt's impact had created in the firm, sleek globes, and Sarah, again, howled, tears springing to her eyes. "Please, Daddy, don't!" Sarah protested, blubbering. "I've had enough."




The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 07



Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

The day after her father had spanked her bare bottom, Sarah reluctantly requested to speak to Coach Bigg after practice.

"What is it, Owens?" the coach demanded when the cheerleader appeared in the doorway of her office, knocking softly on the open door.

"Something's happened," Sarah said, "something you should know about, something that could affect the squad."

"Come in. Close the door."

Sarah entered the small office. She'd never been here before, although several of the cheerleaders, including Sarah's girlfriend, Marilyn Madison, had visited the coach's inner sanctum. Much to Sarah's secret annoyance, Marilyn was a frequent guest behind the coach's closed door. What the hell did the coach do in this cramped space with her girlfriend? Sarah wondered.

The cheerleader noticed that the coach hadn't bothered to invite her to have a seat in the chair opposite her own high-backed, deeply cushioned executive's chair. Coach Bigg probably asked Marilyn and the other girls who visited her to be seated, though, Sarah suspected.

"I'm busy, Owens," the coach said brusquely. "I hope you're not here to waste my time."

Sarah had been glancing around Coach Bigg's office. Besides the desk behind which the coach sat, there wasn't a lot of room for much else: a couple of file cabinets, a coffee pot, and a few potted plants, but the walls were filled with photographs of various cheerleading squads, representing different high schools, and a number of competitive events. Several of the larger photographs showed Coach Bigg in the center, her cheerleaders on either side of her, clutching an impressive trophy. The shelf on the wall behind the coach's desk held the actual counterparts, all gleaming, the largest in the center, one from the National High School Cheerleading Competition that had been held only three years ago. Sarah's eyes widened at the sight of the trophy. "You won a National?"

Coach Bigg looked annoyed. "As I said, I'm busy, Owens. I hope you're not here to waste my time."

"No, ma'am."

"Come to the point, then."

Sarah told the coach about yesterday evening, about how her father, irate at her for coming home late from cheerleading practice without having obtained permission beforehand, had spanked her bare bottom, first with a paddle and then with a belt. "It didn't occur to me," Sarah finished her narrative, "until I was on my way to school this morning, my ass--I mean, my buttocks--sore, that, if I had I ridden The Carousel before I'd gone home, he'd have seen the marks of the cane--the bruises, welts, and lacerations--and he'd have demanded to know where, how, and why I'd been spanked. He'd have found out about--well, everything--and he'd have blown the whistle on you. Our chances of going to the Nationals would have been ruined."

"Your father spanks your bare ass? What is he, some kind of pervert?" the coach demanded.

The cheerleader thought of her father's stiff, thick prick, pressing against her pubes as she had lain, naked, across his lap, but she also thought of Coach Bigg fisting her vaginally and anally, of Coach Bigg observing her and the other squad members being spanked and fucked, fore and aft, on The Carousel, and of Coach Bigg watching the girls as they showered after practice. "No," she hastened to deny the coach's suggestion, "he's not."

"But he spanks your bare ass?"

"Only once, ever," she said, "yesterday, but if he ever does again--which is unlikely, but could happen, obviously, since he's done it once--and he saw the marks of the cane, he'd find out about The Carousel, and he'd blow the whistle, and none of us would be competing in the Nationals."

"Not if you didn't tell him about the spanking machine," the coach countered.

"Oh, he'd find out," Sarah assured the coach, "whether I told him anything or not. He wouldn't rest until he did."

There was something about Sarah's tone, honest and sincere, and about her demeanor, matter-of-fact and certain, that made the coach believe the cheerleader. Nevertheless, she'd insist on verification. "Show me your ass."

The demand caught Sarah off guard. She hadn't been expecting the coach to tell her to bare her bottom, although, she guessed that she should have expected her to do so, for two reasons: Coach Bigg was a natural skeptic, especially when it came to cheerleaders' sometimes-dubious claims, and she seemed to welcome the opportunities to both humiliate her charges and to ogle their physical assets. 

Without protest, Sarah complied with the coach's directive, turning so that she faced the closed door to the office, bending forward at the waist, flipping up her cheerleading uniform's skirt, and lowering her Spankies and panties.

"Nice," Coach Bigg said, meaning the contusions, welts, and general red-to-purple discoloration that Sarah sported in and upon her backside. She let her gaze linger a moment on the full, firm-soft mounds of Sarah's well-spanked ass before permitting the cheerleader to pull up her underwear and lower her skirt.

Having done so, Sarah faced the coach again, blushing slightly and feeling humiliated, yet again, at having had to expose her buttocks to the squad's leader.

"So, what solution do you propose for the problem you've posed?" Coach Bigg asked.

Sarah blinked. "Solution?"

"No one on the squad should identify a problem without also recommending its solution, Owens."

Sarah gulped. "Sorry, Coach, I didn't think about--"

"No," Coach Bigg cut her off. "Your kind never does think about anything beyond the immediate and the superficial."

Sarah blanched at the unfair criticism. The very fact that she was standing before the coach, right this second, having brought to her attention something that could have ruined all their hard work and eliminated them from the completion before they'd even had a chance at the Nationals, proved Sarah's commitment to the squad, she thought. Besides, the coach herself should have thought of the potential dangers that were represented by subjecting nine girls to routine spankings and to being fucked in the cunt and up the ass by mechanical penises.

Instead, it had been Sarah who'd had to point out the rather obvious risk of one of the cheerleaders' parents discovering the bruised and battered condition of their daughter's buttocks. Sarah guessed that she wasn't the only girl, especially on a squad of cheerleaders for a parochial school, whose parents spanked. At least one of the other girls' moms or dads might also administer bare-butt spankings. Sarah's advisory could have saved the whole squad and even have kept Coach Bigg out of prison. Besides, on a personal level, confessing such matters to an older adult who seemingly wasn't all that fond of her to begin with had been difficult. Sarah thought the coach could have--and should have--shown a little appreciation instead of reprimanding her for not having a solution to the potential problem she'd identified.

"You're negligence in failing to think this situation through and in leaving it to me to devise a solution to your problem deserves punishment," Coach Bigg informed Sarah.

Sarah wanted to protest, to point out the service she'd rendered for the squad, Coach Bigg included, but she knew that her words would be lost on the coach and that any objection might, in addition, incur the coach's further wrath, so the cheerleader held her peace.

"After practice tomorrow, you and another miscreant will be punished, on The Carousel, in front of the rest of the squad and, perhaps, a guest or two."

Sarah couldn't believe her ears. She'd just laid out the case against the coach's subjecting her to a caning, courtesy of the spanking machine, and Coach Bigg, knowing the risk, still intended to spank her? It was incredible, Sarah thought. If the coach hoped that, should her father see the marks of the cane, he'd assume that he'd imparted them himself, during the paddling and whipping he'd administered to his daughter's bare buttocks, the coach was sorely mistaken, Sarah thought. As bruised and battered as her bottom was, thanks to her father's spankings, her buttocks looked nothing like they did after a ride on The Carousel. He'd know at once that Sarah had been beaten by someone else.

"See that you get permission, this time, in advance, from your parents to stay an hour beyond normal practice time tomorrow."

"But, Coach Bigg--"

"Dismissed!"

Sarah sighed, pirouetted on her heel, and strode from the coach's office, leaving the door open, as she'd found it. It wasn't her fault, the teen thought, if the coach refused to heed her warning and, as a result, destroyed the squad's chance to compete at the Nationals and risked her own imprisonment on any number of criminal charges related to her abusive treatment of her charges. After all, Sarah had tried her best to warn the bitch.

As soon as Sarah had left her office, Coach Bigg made a telephone call to Dr. Fanner, asking the scientist to send her assistant--and, the coach was pretty much convinced, her lover, Debbie Johnson--over to the school immediately, to install the new features that the coach had ordered for The Carousel, explaining, "My need for them has occurred a little earlier than I'd anticipated."

Dr. Fanner's voice spoke in the coach's ear. "I'm happy to have Debbie attend to the matter, Evelyn."

"Thank you, Fanny. I appreciate your help, especially on such short notice."

The coach discontinued the call, sat back in her chair, her fingers laced behind her head, and grinned, thinking of the surprise, or, more likely, the shock, she had in store for Sarah Owens after practice tomorrow.

* * *

The next morning, at breakfast, Sarah made sure to ask her mom, rather than her dad, for permission to stay late for today's extended cheerleading session. She also made sure to do so when her father wasn't present to object. Even then, it was difficult to wring consent from her mother, but, in the end, citing the squad's real chance to compete at the national level during this, her final year as a cheerleader, her mother gave in. "But don't be any later than I've agreed," her mom warned her daughter. "Your father was very upset about your being late the other day."

Tell me about it, Sarah wanted to reply. Her buttocks still smarted from the severe spankings--one with a paddle, the other with a belt--that her father had given her bare buttocks the night that her mom had been later returning home than usual, because of a traffic accident that had stalled the homeward migration of thousands of employees, her mother among them. "Don't worry," she said, "I won't be."

"I mean it, Sarah."

The cheerleader winced as, reaching across the breakfast table for the carafe of orange juice, she caused pain to flare in her bottom. "I mean it, too, Mom," she reassured her mother. The spanking she'd received at her father's hands, like his erection, pressed against her tummy, wasn't anything she wanted to experience again, ever.



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 08



Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

Practice went well--better than it had ever gone before, in fact. With Marilyn assisting Coach Bigg, the girls' movements, stunts, and jumps had become nearly perfect. Their rapport had improved tremendously, too, as a result, Sarah suspected, of both the continued spankings to which they were subjected and their having been forced to pair off as lesbian couples. Not all of the squad members were open about their passion for their girlfriends, but enough of them, Sarah and Marilyn included, were so that Sarah was certain that the couples' coupling was, in many, if not all, cases, sexual as well as social. Hers and Marilyn's certainly was, as often as they could squeeze in a little snuggling or lovemaking.

Only one thing marred the day for Sarah, and that was her dread, growing as later afternoon approached, of being forced to mount The Carousel after practice and be publicly punished and humiliated along with some other unfortunate, as-yet-unidentified soul. Who else on the squad, Sarah wondered, had incurred the wrath of Coach Bigg, and why, for that matter, were only Sarah and the other miscreant to be disciplined when the coach's policy had always been to make all the squad members suffer for the shortcomings or mistakes of any one of them?

After the successful completion of the final stunt of the day, Coach Bigg ordered the squad to the storeroom, and the girls, thinking they'd all be punished, as usual, for the blunder of whoever among them had screwed up, looked glum. Sarah would have liked to have put their fears to rest by telling them that, today, only she and one other person were to be disciplined, but, of course, Coach Bigg would repay such forbidden kindness with a much harsher punishment than the one that Sarah was already destined to receive, and the teen didn't want to incur even one more swat of the cane than the coach already intended her to receive.

Like the other girls, Sarah had ridden The Carousel numerous times. They'd all been caned, severely, and they'd all been double-fucked, cunt and ass, by the double-pronged machine's relentless, inexhaustible mechanical dildos, while Coach Bigg and, on one occasion, Principal Matthews, looked on. The first time, while Dr. Fanner had demonstrated the machine, the scientist and her assistant (and, some of the cheerleaders suspected, her lover), Debbie Johnson, observed as well. An audience, the teens had agreed unanimously, increased their humiliation and shame a hundredfold. No doubt, that was why Coach Bigg insisted, on occasion, that there be onlookers.

"Stand by your stations," the coach directed the squad, once everyone had assembled in the storeroom. The girls hastened to the triangular sections of the platform that ringed the central hub, each taking her place before her respective location. "Step back from the machine," they were told. "Only Sarah and one other will ride The Carousel today."

The girls looked puzzled at this turn of affairs. Always before, they'd all paid the price for any error that any one of them had made. However, none of the squad members voiced her bewilderment. To do so, the girls knew, would be to earn the enmity of the coach--and, therefore, a place on The Carousel, along with Sarah and whoever else had been unfortunate enough to merit the machine's punishment.

"Take off your clothes, Owens," Coach Bigg ordered.

Sarah removed her cheerleader's uniform and doffed her underwear, standing naked before her peers and their coach, feeling, as always, self-conscious and embarrassed, despite the fact that the others had seen her nude on many occasions, once while Coach Bigg had fisted her pussy and her asshole to demonstrate the "trust-building exercise" that she'd made the girls perform on each other. It was chilly inside the storeroom, and Sarah's nipples, reacting to the nippiness, stiffened and swelled, standing erect. Great, she thought. Erect nipples were just what she needed, especially at a time like this!

The last girl to enter the storeroom had closed the heavy steel door, but, this time, on orders from Coach Bigg, the door had not been locked. Now, a brilliant shaft of afternoon sunlight flooded the room as the heavy door squeaked on its hinges, opening, and the boys' varsity football coach, Mike Ryerson, entered, the team's quarterback, Rick Williams, head down, following. He looked awful, Sarah thought, the athlete's hangdog expression reinforced by his sagging shoulders, his stooped posture, and his shuffling gait. Seeing two males among the girls caused Sarah's mortification at being naked to escalate. She wished the concrete floor would open up and swallow her.

Coach Ryerson crossed the storeroom, shaking hands with Coach Bigg. They grimaced at one another, offering what, for them, passed as a smile. "Thanks for allowing me to observe today--and to bring Williams along as one of this afternoon's participants." 

"I'm happy to have you, Coach."

"I'm amazed at the progress you've made with these girls," Coach Ryerson told Coach Bigg, his eyes sweeping in the cheerleaders--and lingering on Sarah, who had hung her head in the same manner as Rich had hung his. "It's incredible. Under Jane--Coach Chambers--the cheerleading squad was, quite frankly, a laughingstock; you've transformed them into real competitors."

"Thank you, Coach."

"When I saw what you've done, I had to ask your secret, and you were generous enough not only to let me in on it, but to allow me use your training techniques on the boys' football team, starting with Williams as a sort of test to see what effect The Carousel has on male athletes."

"I think you'll find it more effective than anything you've tried," Coach Bigg predicted, "or ever could try."

"Considering your success with your cheerleaders," Coach Ryerson replied, his eyes flashing over the girls and lingering, again, on Sarah's nudity--"I'd say you're right."

"Shall we begin?"

"I can't wait," Coach Ryerson said. Turning to Rick, he growled, "Strip!"

As browbeaten by Coach Ryerson as Sarah and the other girls had become under Coach Bigg's tutelage, the quarterback, without a word of protest, even in the presence of ten high school girls, took off his clothes and stood naked before them. He was slender for his height, which was six feet, but he was also wiry, with wide shoulders, a powerful chest, six-pack abs, sinewy thighs, muscular arms, a strong back, and a pair of tight, compact buttocks. His penis, although flaccid, was a good six inches long. It was probably smaller than usual, owing to the youth's humiliation and fear as much as to the chilly storeroom; his scrotum, Sarah noticed, was very small and hugged his crotch, rather than hanging loose. 

Rick Williams was the first boy she'd seen naked in a long, long time, and his powerful body, his circumcised cock, and his tight, firm ass made her recall the aesthetic aspects of the male physique and why she and the other girls, although they had all learned to love the feminine form and the joys of lesbianism, had been put off at having been made to give up boys. Rick was handsome, indeed. Sarah wouldn't mind masturbating him, sucking his cock, or maybe even fucking him, she decided, although she'd never give up Marilyn as her girlfriend.

"Take your place on The Carousel," Coach Big ordered Sarah, and the teen did as she was instructed. Marilyn, assisting the cheerleaders' coach this afternoon, strapped her girlfriend in place while Coach Bigg performed the same chore on Rick, while Coach Ryerson observed.

Dr. Fanner's assistant, Debbie Johnson, had installed the machine's latest features yesterday evening, and Coach Bigg was eager to see them in action. "Ready, Coach?" she asked her male counterpart.

"Ready, Coach," he replied.

"Here goes, then."

A touch of the button set The Carousel in motion, with Sarah on her hands and knees opposite Rick, who had been strapped into the same position. Both their asses were arched, offering the spectators a view not only of the victims' anuses but also, in Sarah's case, her bald pussy and, in Rick's case, his shaved cock and balls, dangling between his thighs.

Sarah heard the same faint whirring sound she'd heard the time that the double-headed phallus had risen from the platform behind her, impaling both her cunt and her ass, as eight identical ones had also impaled the pussies and assholes of the other cheerleaders. Marilyn hadn't joined the squad at that time, so she'd been spared being fucked fore and aft by the two-pronged dildo. Anticipating the press of the forked phallus into her vagina and rectum again, Sarah gritted her teeth, determined not to gasp, moan, or otherwise acknowledge their penetration of her.

However, the artificial penis that poked through her anus and past her sphincter was much thinner than the larger cock that had earlier fucked her in the ass, and so was the second one that now penetrated her pussy. Their circumference was so small, in fact, that, at first, she hadn't been sure that anything had skewered her nether orifices. However, as the phalli began to work their way back and forth inside her pussy and her asshole, the cheerleader understood that, indeed, she had been penetrated fore and aft, although, this time, by two separate dildos, rather than one that forked into two heads.

Rick, opposite her, also seemed to have figured out that his asshole had been skewered. Of course, as a guy, he had no cunt to also penetrate, but he did have a cock, and, over it, a clear sleeve, similar to a transparent condom, had unrolled. Behind him, the cheerleaders, watching, giggled. Coach Bigg had given them leave, for the first time ever, to speak freely, and they were taking full advantage of it, jeering and mocking both Sarah and Rick, but mostly the quarterback.

The poor jock, close to tears, looked more humiliated than any of the cheerleaders ever had, Sarah thought. Being penetrated anally while he was on his elbows and knees, cock and balls dangling between his legs like a whipped dog's tail and a transparent sheath over his penis, in front of his coach, the cheerleaders' coach, and the entire cheerleading squad, including Sarah, who was strapped in place opposite him on The Carousel, Rick must have felt like a totally pansy, Sarah thought.

"Hey, Rick," Karen Lewis cried, "that's what I call taking it into the end zone!"

The other girls laughed.

A tear coursed down the quarterback's cheek.

Poor bastard, Sarah thought, knowing how cruel and catty her friends--and she herself--could be. Words, more often than fists, were girls' weapons, and the cheerleaders were well versed in the use of taunts and insults.

"Yeah," Debbie Penn quipped, "I'd say Rick definitely has his backfield in motion!"

The girls hooted and hollered, laughing and giggling.

The tears flowed steadily down Rick's face now. Girls could be so cruel, Sarah thought.

"Am I seeing things?" Coach Ryerson asked Coach Bigg, "or are those fake dicks actually getting bigger?"

Now as thick as carrots, the dildos inside Sarah's and Rick's bottoms were twice the size they'd been originally.

"You aren't imagining anything, Coach; the 'fake dicks,' as you call them, are, in fact, getting bigger. They're designed to increase in girth over time, while microscopic openings up and down the length of their perimeter secrete a clear liquid lubricant at a steady rate."

"How big around do they get?" Coach Ryerson asked.

"Baseball size," Coach Bigg said.

"My God! Isn't that kind of--dangerous?"

"The phalli enlarge at a very slow rate, as they continuously supply their own lubricant, giving the anal sphincter sufficient time to relax and enlarge." She thought of how she'd fisted Sarah, placing her own meaty hand completely inside not only the cheerleader's pussy, but her rectum as well. "You'd be surprised how accommodating an anus can be." She nodded toward the dildo impaling Sarah's cunt, which was already the size of a softball. "A vagina is even more accommodating, of course; the phallus inside her vagina will become the size of a cantaloupe much sooner than the one in her--and Williams'--rectum attain the dimensions of a baseball."

"Come on, Rick," Susan Davis called, heckling the quarterback, "take it like a man!"

The others laughed.

Fifteen minutes later, the artificial penises had swelled the their maximum sizes, expanding inside the teens' assholes and Sarah's cunt to unbelievable dimensions. The cheerleaders still taunted the quarterback. A few hurled insults Sarah's way, too, but, it was clear, the squad preferred to verbally abuse the football player. During games, the athletes always got way more attention than the cheerleaders on the sidelines. Rick's current dilemma gave the girls a chance for a little payback, and they were taking full advantage of the opportunity, even though Rick was, as boys go, a fairly decent person.

"I have a new name for Rick," Cindy Baxter announced. "Rick the Pricked!"

The others guffawed.

Poor Rick! Sarah thought. He was weeping uncontrollably, his frame shaking. His face was beet red and drenched in spittle, mucus, and tears.

While the dildo fucked Rick's ass, sliding back and forth through his gaping anus with the frictionless, fluid motion of the machine of which its mechanism was a part, the sheath enveloping his penis began to ascend and descend over the dangling shaft. Within seconds, his flaccid prick had become stiff and swollen.

"Look at his dick," Jennifer Adams jeered. "His hard-on proves the little faggot loves having that big fake cock up his pansy ass!"

The other girls howled with laughter.

As the sleeve-like membrane continued to slide back and forth, up and down, on Rick's member, Sarah saw his expression go from tormented to rapturous as orgasmic pleasure overwhelmed the humiliation that he was feeling at being butt-fucked--by a machine, no less--in front of the entire cheerleading squad, their leader, and his own coach.

As Sarah watched, the sheath over Rick's penis filled with the thick white semen spurting from his ejaculating cock. The jock looked ecstatic, his humiliation and fear forgotten in the moment of orgasmic bliss as he shot his load.

A second later, however, Rick's joy and Sarah's mortification turned first to fear and then to terror as they heard a high-pitched, whining sound that sounded exactly like an electric drill--and the phalli lodged up their respective assholes spun clockwise, at an incredible speed, inside their assholes.

"The machine's gone haywire!" Coach Ryerson yelled. "Stop it, before it kills those kids!"

Coach Bigg couldn't help but chuckle at her colleague's concern. "There's no need to get hysterical, Coach," she said. "The dildos are completely smooth. There are no rough, chipped, or scarred surfaces, and the continuous supply of lubricant keeps their anuses safe from friction burn."

"Are you certain?"

She chuckled again. "They're both quite safe, I assure you, although, I admit, the look of terror on their faces might have given the girls--and you--a heart attack." To demonstrate the veracity of her claim, she set the dildo that impaled Sarah's pussy spinning in the opposite direction to the one rotating in the cheerleader's anus, so that the one in her cunt, rotating at 1,000 revolutions per second in a counterclockwise direction was countered by the one in her asshole, rotating at the same rate of speed in a clockwise direction.

Coach Bigg laughed, along with her squad, to see the look, first of abject terror, and then of surprised delight, on Sarah's face. The spinning dildos tickled the nerves in her clitoris and vagina as well as those in her anus, together sending a tsunami of overwhelming bliss through the cheerleader's body that was unlike any pleasure imaginable--at least, according to Dr. Fanner, the quality control expert for Spank-o-Matic, the company that had designed and built the machine, to Coach Bigg's specifications. Sarah's out-of-her-mind expression certainly appeared to verify the physicist's claims, Coach Bigg thought.

"Wow!" Rachelle Thomas observed, chuckling, "The coach must think Sarah and Rick shit gold to be drilling up their asses like that!"

The girls roared with laughter.

The spinning phalli rotated so fast that, at first, they seemed to be motionless, but, on closer examination, the observers could see that the dildos were, in fact, twirling around inside the jock's asshole and Sarah's anus and pussy, because the orifices themselves rippled and fluttered as the artificial penises turned inside them, and Sarah's pussy had drenched not only itself, but also her thighs and the platform upon which she knelt.

"Boy, they make my head spin!" Crystal Rogers declared.

The girls chuckled.

"Better your head than your cunt or asshole," Becky James observed.

Again, the cheerleaders snickered and chortled.

Rick had lost any semblance of composure. His red face, streaked with tears, saliva, and mucus, was a mess, Sarah observed, and she could only imagine the indignity, the disgrace, the shame, and the mortification that he must feel. She herself felt ashamed and humiliated, gawked at by her peers, her girlfriend, her coach, and the boys' football coach, but the degradation must be ten, or even a hundred, times worse, she thought, for a guy. After all, Sarah didn't have to maintain the image of being macho that a football player was expected to project, and being fucked in the ass by a spinning mechanical dildo was something a girl could get away with, more or less, but a guy who'd been fucked in the ass, even if only by a motorized dildo, instead of another guy's cock, had been unmanned and feminized.

If anyone ever found out about his ride on The Carousel, his masculinity was a thing of the past, Sarah thought, and she was pretty sure that Coach Ryerson or one of the cheerleaders would make sure that everyone in South Catholic High School learned about his humiliating experience. No one would mention The Carousel specifically, of course, least of all Rick, but there'd be plenty of insinuations about his being a faggot, a pansy, and a queer. Life as a big man on campus was pretty much a thing of the past for pantywaist Rick, the football quarterback who liked to take it up the ass.

Finally, the dildos came to a halt, but Coach Bigg left them in place, deep inside the teens' stuffed orifices.

The cheerleaders' coach spoke to the assembled. "Most powerful emotions can and do motivate people to do what, otherwise, they might never even think of doing. Anger, envy, hatred, jealousy, love, passion, the desire for revenge--all of these emotions are powerful motivators, but love, hatred, and fear, I believe, are the strongest of all. Many of you girls hate me; all of you fear me. As a result, using your hatred and fear to manipulate, control, guide, and train you, I have been able to make of an undisciplined, indifferent, lazy, and unmotivated collection of graceless, clumsy, and inept girls a squad that functions with single-minded determination in an increasingly excellent manner. I have turned my charges into a true squad, a team, dedicated to competition and, more importantly, to winning."

The girls found that they must admit, if only to themselves, that Coach Bigg was right.

"For this reason, I want each and every one of you to understand that The Carousel will remain an integral part of your training, right up to the day of the Nationals. Today, you have been spared a caning so that you were able to witness, and thereby increase, the humiliation of Owens and Williams, but don't make the mistake of thinking that what you saw happen to them today can't or won't happen to each and every one of you, should you screw up. Before we adjourn for the day, Coach Ryerson would like to see a demonstration of The Carousel's more traditional disciplinary capability."




The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 09



Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

The next time that the cheerleaders met for practice, Coach Bigg had an announcement to make. "In recognition of our progress, Principal Matthews has agreed to purchase new, custom-made cheerleading uniforms for you to wear in the state competition to which we've been invited next month, and he wants you to design them--shells, skirts, Spankies, socks, and all."

Sarah looked around the circle, at the faces of the other cheerleaders. Like her, they seemed pleasantly surprised by the coach's news.

"I've decided that each couple among you should offer a design in competition with every other couple. The winners will be awarded an all-expenses-paid weekend at Disneyworld for two, courtesy of yours truly."

Sarah could hardly believe her ears. Coach Bigg, of all people, was expressing an altruistic impulse! Sarah wouldn't have suspected the beefy behemoth to have a generous bone in her bovine body, but, here she was, offering to finance a weekend trip for two--the same bitch who insisted upon all the girls being spanked for the offenses of any one of them--all of them., that is, but Sarah, whom the coach had exempted recently, since her father, having spanked her bare ass once, might discover, should he do so again, the marks of the cane that The Carousel inflicted upon the cheerleaders during group spankings aboard the machine. Instead of a caning, Sarah received a pair of mechanical cocks, one in her cunt and one in her ass, that swelled to huge thicknesses while spinning in the same direction or opposite directions at 1,000 revolutions per minute. The idea of being double-stuffed with wildly rotating dildos might seem enjoyable, Sarah guessed, to one who hadn't been on the receiving end of such action.

She shook her head at the stream of consciousness and free associations that had taken her from Coach Bigg's willingness to pay for a weekend at Disneyworld to artificial penises fucking her own teenage cunt and ass. The human mind, she decided, was a wonderful thing.

"The only requirements for the uniform," Coach Bigg told the girls, is that it be the school colors, crimson and gold, and that the hem of the skirt come to just above the knee. The length requirement is unfortunate, as many of the squads at the state, regional, and national competitions will wear much shorter skirts, but it's an unavoidable consequence, I suppose, of being enrolled in or working at a parochial school."

Sarah smiled to herself. The coach's lamentation had given the teen an idea to discuss with Marilyn, concerning their uniform design.

The girls had come a long way under Coach Bigg's tutelage. The threat of group punishment on The Carousel was the main reason for their progress--or, at least, it had been in the beginning. Certainly, none of the girls had been inspired by the coach's personality. They all pretty much detested the bitch, even now. Her methods were not merely crude--Sarah shuddered as she remembered how the beefy woman had inserted her fist, first inside the cheerleader's pussy, and then up her asshole, all the way to the wrist--but they were also criminal. Had any of the girls complained to the authorities, Coach Bigg would be in prison now, for years, for doing what she'd done to them. Instead, fear had motivated the teens to do nothing less than the best of which each was capable. None of them wanted to spend even another second upon The Carousel, stripped naked and strapped in place upon the machine's circular platform, while being severely caned or, in Sarah's case, literally drilled up the ass and in the cunt by high-speed, expanding dildos, while Coach Bigg and, sometimes, a male guest, such as Principal Matthews or the boys' varsity football coach, Mike Ryerson, watched. As Coach Bigg had observed, fear was a powerful motivator.

So was love, as the coach had also indicated, and as the girls themselves had discovered after Coach Bigg had had them pair off as lesbian lovers. The girls' romances with one another had magnified their rapport a thousand times over, making them a team that was interested in working together in mutual support to reach a common goal, rather than just a group of individuals motivated by one-upmanship.

Sarah glanced at Marilyn, the fabulous redhead who had become her girlfriend. How many times had one of them been between the other's legs, hands under buttocks or atop thighs, as, face half-buried between wet, flowing pussy lips or between sleek, round ass cheeks, she's brought pleasure to her lover--and, in the process, to herself? Despite the frequency of their lovemaking, Sarah never tired of eating Marilyn's pussy or ass or of her girlfriend's performing the same loving acts of passion upon her own cunt or anus. Likewise, the girls never tired of kissing, caressing, embracing, cuddling, or squeezing and licking one another's firm, high, round breasts. Each of the other couples felt the same way, Sarah knew, and their love cemented them together, both as lovers and as a squad, even more, now, than punishment or fear had, in the beginning.

For all the girls, cheerleading was important, but, for Sarah, next to Marilyn, the sport was everything. Before she'd become a cheerleader, Sarah had been just another girl, one among the hundreds at South Catholic High School, lost in the crowd, despite her surpassing beauty. People thought that if a girl were gorgeous, everything was easy for her, but Sarah knew that such was not the case. In some ways, everything was harder. Boys were attracted to her, sure, but they also feared her--or, rather, they were intimidated by her beauty, afraid that she would reject them, should they ask her for a date or told her about their feelings for her. Girls, on the other hand, tended to envy her; some even hated her just because she was better looking than they. To survive, Sarah had developed a sharp wit and a sharper tongue; she could cut someone with her words the way that street gangs cut their rivals with knives. A natural leader, despite her secret shyness, Sarah was recognized, in short order, as an alpha female whose will it was best not to cross. Thereafter, things had become easier, but she'd never enjoyed the carefree and casual life that everyone seemed to assume was hers.

The first thing Coach Bigg had done was to strip Sarah of her alpha female status, making her, once again, just another girl among girls. The result? For a time, after bringing punishment upon the whole squad for a mistake she'd made during practice and thereby subjecting the girls to their first ride upon The Carousel, Sarah had been ostracized by her friends, some of whom she'd known since preschool. Sarah had felt as if all her hard work in gaining the upper hand against those who, intimidated, envious, or antagonistic toward her simply because she'd had the misfortune of having been born beautiful, a product of not merely good, but superior, genes, had been for nothing. She was right back where she'd been before she'd joined the cheerleading squad.

To make matters worse, her parents, as God-gearing Catholics, were strict, tolerating no rebellion and little independence on their daughter's part. Her father was terrified, apparently, that Sarah would grow up to be a slut or a whore, and her mother was too traditional in her beliefs and values to resist her husband's views. Consequently, except during school and cheerleading practice, Sarah's social life was severely hampered. Her parents--her father, especially--brooked no insolence or disobedience, and they lived by the scripture that to "spare the rod" was to "spoil the child." Over the years, Sarah had received spankings for many natural, normal actions that would go not only unpunished, but also unnoticed, in other households. 

The effects of her strict upbringing had been to make her outwardly a respectful and obedient daughter--at home and during school, anyway--while, on a deeper, truer level, encouraging the development of a fierce independence and rebelliousness. Her lesbian lovemaking with Marilyn and her refusal to inform on Coach Bigg were two manifestations of that defiance. She was counting the days, meanwhile, before she graduated from high school and could move out of the house, going far away, and leave New Jersey behind forever. Maybe, she thought, she'd go to California or Florida, with Marilyn, of course, where Disneyland or Disneyworld would be but a few hours' drive away and she could enter the Magic Kingdom anytime she wanted, leaving her cares behind her.

If she and her girlfriend won the new cheerleader uniform design contest, they could go to Disneyworld sooner, rather than later, and she and Marilyn could sample their future together as tourists rather than as residents of the Sunshine State.

"All right, girls," Coach Bigg said, after the squad had completed the last jumps and stunts the coach had scheduled for today's practice, "listen up! I want you in the storeroom in five minutes; I've installed a new feature I want to test."

The other teens looked as shocked as Sarah felt. They hadn't done anything during practice, as far as Sarah, or, from the looks on her fellow cheerleaders' faces, any of the others, could recall, that would merit their being punished. "Excuse me, Coach," Sarah heard herself ask, "but what did we do?"

"Do?" Coach Bigg repeated, seemingly puzzled by Sarah's question.

"To merit a ride on The Carousel," Sarah explained.

The coach laughed, a sound that was more frightening than pleasant, and Sarah instantly regretted her audacity in having asked their leader to explain herself. "You've done nothing. Didn't I just say I want to test a new feature I've installed on the machine?"

"Well, yes, ma'am, but--"

She turned slowly, glaring at each of the girls in the circle around her. "Why, then, are you still standing here?" she shouted, and the cheerleaders, Sarah among them, fled.

"Not so fast, Owens!" the coach called after the retreating teens.

Sarah stopped. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned, facing the coach, who was striding toward the girl, rage on her bovine face.

She stopped, her big breasts pressing firmly into Sarah's own boobs, as the coach stood nose to nose with the terrified teen. "How dare you question one of my orders," she said, her tone menacing despite the low volume of her voice.

Sarah, resisting a strong urge to step backward and increase the distance between the coach and herself, gulped. "I'm sorry, Coach; I--"

Coach Bigg's palm flashed across Sarah's face so quickly, and with such force, that the staggering girl hadn't known what had hit her. All she felt was the searing pain, her scrambling legs, and the padded mat against which she sprawled.

"Get on your feet!" Coach Bigg snarled.

Terrified, Sarah rose on wobbling knees, feeling faint. "Please don't hit me again," she managed to whisper between her split lips. She tasted salt as she spoke, and wiped a finger across her mouth; the digit came away red with her blood.

"Shut up!" Coach Bigg screamed, quickly closing the distance between them so that, once again, having invaded Sarah's private space, she stood nose to nose with the teen, her balloon-size breasts shoved firmly against the teen's tight, firm, high, round tits. "I ought to stomp your ass right here and now. Instead, you'll pay for your insolence with an extended ride on The Carousel. Now, get inside the storeroom, with the rest of your sorry-ass squad."

Sarah, given leave to depart, spun on her heels, and, although she still felt faint and nauseous, loped toward the facility wherein waited the diabolical machine that her coach had had the temerity to name The Carousel, as if it were merely an amusement park ride, rather than an engine of pain.

The girls were naked when Sarah entered the windowless building. Weeks ago, the coach had instituted the requirement that, upon entering the storeroom, the squad was to doff their uniforms, without awaiting her command for them to do so, and Sarah hastened to remove hers as well. By the time that Coach Bigg entered the building, a few minutes later, Sarah stood naked with the rest of the squad.

"Take your stations," Coach big ordered, and all the girls, except Marilyn, who was never punished for the infractions or mistakes of the other girls, but who served, instead, as the coach's unofficial assistant, climbed onto the pie-shaped section of the circular platform that was reserved for her. Marilyn and Coach Bigg walked the circumferential perimeter of the machine, strapping the girls in place, each on her elbows and knees, and, Sarah felt certain, at least of Coach Bigg (and probably of Marilyn as well), taking the opportunity to ogle the teens' bare buttocks and uncovered cunts as they did so.

At the press of a button, a pair of long, cylindrical tubes of transparent plastic rose from a panel in the platform upon which the girls knelt, each of the two sliding over the dangling breasts of the girl on the station with which the tubes were associated. The plastic was cold as it moved past the sleek, warm flesh of Sarah's tits, the engine which drove the hollow cylinders emitting a soft, mechanical hum that was less terrifying than the high-pitched whine of the rotating dildos with which The Carousel usually fucked Sarah's cunt and ass, but still loud enough to be disconcerting.

"I was inspired when we saw the football player--what was his name?" Coach Bigg directed the question at Marilyn, who stood beside her, the only cheerleader on the squad to have been exempted from the requirements both to strip and to mount The Carousel. Marilyn and Coach Bigg went way back together, the latter having been the former's coach at another high school whose cheerleading squad, captained by Marilyn, had nearly won the Nationals, and Marilyn didn't need any additional "guidance" from the coach who'd mentored her there.

"Rich Williams, Coach," Marilyn answered promptly.

Rick was the football team's starting quarterback. He'd been butt-fucked by the machine and caned, naked, while the cheerleaders and the coaches looked on, the girls taunting and insulting South Catholic High School's all-state athlete. Part of Rick's humiliating punishment had included his penis' being enveloped in a transparent, condom-like sheath that had slid up and down, upon his member, bringing the flaccid organ erect and masturbating him to orgasm and ejaculation--in front of the cheerleaders and the coaches.

"You don't have penises, of course," Coach Bigg observed, as if not having male genitals were in itself a lamentable shortcoming that was somehow the girls' fault, "but you do have breasts--at least, some of you do." She scoffed at the tiny tits with which a couple of her charges had been cursed. "Still, even the smallest of your breasts are large enough for The Titillator."

Sarah forced herself not to roll her eyes or otherwise signal her scorn for the absurd name. It was as stupid, she thought, in its own way, as "The Carousel" was in its.

Around the rims at the ends of the foot-long cylinders, a ring of rubber padding both prevented possible damage to the girls' breasts and provided, as Sarah and the other girls experienced firsthand, when Coach Bigg flipped a switch on The Carousel's extensive instrument panel, a firm seal between the tubes and their flesh. Moreover, the seal allowed all the air to be sucked from the tubes, so that the girls' breasts were drawn into the hollow cylinders, filling the tubes with their elongated breasts' own newly-acquired, cylindrical shapes. The cheerleaders, shocked, to feel and see their boobs drawn down, under them, inside the tight-fitting tubes, gasped or cried out.

Coach Bigg laughed. "Don't worry, girls, The Titillator is designed to titillate, not to damage, your tits."

Slowly, the cylinders contracted, compressing the breasts that filled them, and the girls cried out again, alarmed, their screams rewarded by another of the coach's cacophonous cackles. The cylinders' circumference continued, slowly, to decrease, as the tubes tightened their cylindrical grip upon the girls' elongated breasts still more, forcing the cheerleader's boobs to stretch and lengthen still more inside their clear, Plexiglas prisons.

Sarah glanced down at her bosom, and was astonished--and frightened--to see that her breasts were three times longer than they normally were deep. The damned Titillator wasn't titillating at all, she thought; if anything, it was terrifying. As she watched, her breasts were stretched even further, to the point that the initial discomfort had now become pain and, for the first time, the question asserted itself in the frightened teen's mind as to whether the diabolical device would rip her tits right off her chest. Apparently, some of the other cheerleaders had wondered the same thing, for a chorus of screams and shrieks of pure terror--and of pain--echoed off the storeroom's cinderblock walls, corrugated tin roof, and concrete floor.

Sarah saw the coach look at Marilyn. "They're such pussies!"

Sarah's girlfriend chuckled at the coach's observation. Bitch! Sarah thought, despite her love and affection for the gorgeous, if traitorous, redhead who was the love of her life.

The pressure of the closing cylinders finally stopped--or, rather, no longer continued to increase--holding the girls' captive breasts in their close, tight embrace, and Sarah and the other girls felt the plastic heat up, becoming first comfortably warm and then frighteningly hot. It felt to Sarah as if her tits were being baked by the cylinders, and she; like the other girls, cried out in alarm.

The tubular containers next began to pulsate, and Sarah's breasts, like those of her fellow squad members', jiggled and shook, as if they were gelatin instead of flesh, inside the transparent tubes. Although the action was, at first, frightening, as had been the ascent of the cylinders over the girls' breasts and the tubes' subsequent squeezing as they elongated their victims' boobs, drawing them down, farther and farther into the space within the sleek channels, the throbbing quickly became not only pleasant, but also soothing. However, it was also embarrassing, even humiliating, for it made it seem to Sarah and the others as if they were cows and their breasts were udders that were being milked by an impersonal and soulless machine.

As the cylinders continued to pulsate, Sarah and her friends were shocked, once again, to see and feel the tubes fill with a clear liquid; within seconds, the fluid filled the tubes, gushing past the wet, shining cylinders that the teens' breasts, having taken the shape of their containers, made within the plastic cylinders in which the mammary glands were imprisoned. As the cylinders continued to pulsate, the liquid inside the tubes splashed and dashed, over and against the stretched skin inside which fat and the deeper, inner tissues of milk glands and ducts, blood vessels, and nerves were squeezed and shaken. The fluid washed and rolled inside the vibrating tubes, as if the breasts that were being milked were, at the same time, being washed, sensations that both heightened Sarah's and the other girls' pleasure and, at the same time, intensified their humiliation.

The tempo of the pulsation increased, until the tightly sealed cylinders were vibrating the girls' breasts violently--and painfully--and the sloshing fluid inside the shuddering, throbbing tubes was shaken to a froth of tiny, colliding bubbles. Again frightened, the girls screamed.

Coach Bigg guffawed, and Sarah heard her say again, to Marilyn, "They're such pussies!" Then, to the girls on The Carousel, the coach repeated her reassurance that The Titillator had been designed to titillate, not to damage, their tits.




The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 10



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

"This sleepover was a great idea," Karen Lewis said, smiling at the other members of South Catholic High School's cheerleading squad, who were sitting, lying, or otherwise lounging in Marilyn Madison's spacious bedroom.

Sarah, who lay next to the redhead, gave Marilyn a flirtatious look. "My girlfriend's full of great ideas." She paused. "We just put one of her better ideas into practice, before the rest of you guys got here."

Debbie Penn made a face. "Eww! I hope you changed the sheets!"

Sarah chuckled. "Unfortunately, Marilyn insisted we do just that, although I'd have preferred the scent of my woman to the fragrance of fabric softener."

Susan Davis rolled her eyes. "We're not all in love with Marilyn the way you are," she told Sarah. As if to prove her point, she kissed her own girlfriend, Jennifer Adams. "Right, Jen?"

Jenny smiled. "Right, sex kitten."

Rachelle frowned. "Sex kitten? You don't really call each other 'sex kitten,' do you?"

Susan shook her head. "Of course not." She smiled. "I call Jen 'sex goddess.'"

"That's so too much!" Rachelle declared.

"No, it's not, cuddle baby," Karen disagreed.

"Don't call me that," Karen protested. "Not here."

"Why not, cuddle baby? You call me 'honey pot.'"

Karen blushed. "Not here, I don't."

"We've never been here before, cuddle baby."

"You know what I mean. Those are our private names."

"Terms of endearment, you mean?" Debbie asked. 

"Right, Debbie," Cindy chimed in, "like when I call you W. W."

"W. W.?" Sarah asked, a bemused look on her face.

"Short for 'wet and wild,'" Cindy explained.

"Ooh! I get that," Crystal said. She turned to her own girlfriend, Becky Rogers. "Like my calling you S. W."

Seeing Becky blush, Marilyn couldn't resist asking for clarification. "'S. W.' as in?"

"Don't say it!" Becky warned.

Crystal said it: "'Slippery when Wet."

The other girls laughed, but in fun. There was no mean-spiritedness in their mirth. If Coach Bigg had done nothing else--and she had--quite a lot more, in fact--she'd taught them to function as a team, had developed real rapport among them, and had enabled each girl not only to overcome, but to transcend, the petty jealousies, envy, bickering, and jockeying for power and status that had afflicted them when her predecessor, Jane Chambers, had been the girls' coach.

Seeing each other naked, being spanked--or, rather, caned--simultaneously, and being humiliated en masse had made backbiting and the currying of favor unnecessary and, indeed, counterproductive, for, since Coach Bigg punished all the girls for the mistakes or shortcomings of any one of them, it was best, they'd soon learned, to ignore their differences and function as a team. Moreover, Coach Bigg immediately had seen that Sarah had been the squad's top dog, and the coach had taken quick and effective action to demonstrate that it was she, the coach, and no one else, who was the squad's alpha female. As a result of their having come to regard the group as more important than themselves as individuals, the girls' talents as cheerleaders had blossomed, and they were now doing jumps and stunts with ease that, a few months ago, would have been impossible for them to execute at all.

"Ouch!" Crystal cried, her cry more playful than genuine. A sharp slap had preceded the cry--the sound of Becky's hand swatting her girlfriend's ass through Becky's tight-fitting jeans.

"I warned you not to tell them what 'S. W,' meant," Becky reminded her.

"Slippery when Wet, Slippery when Wet, Slippery when Wet," Crystal shouted defiantly, her tone still playful, as, less playfully, Becky spanked her girlfriend's bottom after each time Crystal spoke the phrase: Slap! Slap! Slap!

One of the girls in each of the other couples also grabbed her respective girlfriend, some pulling her down over her knee, others holding her around the waist while she stood close, and still others pushing her onto her knees and over the bed. A loud chorus of hands, spanking buttocks, sounded as half the girls swatted the bottoms of the other half, and gasps, grunts, cries, and screams, half in earnest and half in fun, made quite a ruckus in the room for several minutes. Bodies rolled and squirmed on the bed; girls danced in place, held about their waists by their spanking girlfriends; or other teens wriggled and writhed against the edge of the mattress, as, in each case, the captives sought to escape their captors' blows.

It had all started as fun, as a sort of game, but, before long, some spanks landed harder than others, and a few of the girls got angry. Wrestling matches ensued among them, with some hair-pulling, and, in a few cases, the spankers became the spanked.

Finally, Sarah, whose bottom Marilyn had slapped with a dozen sharp swats, suggested a different game. "Let's get naked," she cried above the din, "and have sex."

"Yes, Cindy seconded Sarah's motion. "Let's make love, not war!"

In mere minutes, the cheerleaders had doffed their clothes and, instead of donning nightgowns, pajamas, or other sleepwear, the squad was nude. Sarah had seen all the others naked before, of course, in the showers after practice, but, here, in Marilyn's bedroom, it was somehow different. It was as if each of the girls was seeing the others undressed for the first time ever. The change of the setting, from the girls' showers in the high school locker room to Marilyn's spacious and elegant bedroom, from public space to private place, renewed the charm and the eroticism of their bare, sleek, slender bodies. Smooth, firm, round breasts; tight abs; clefts in pubic mounds, some hairy, and others hairless; narrow, but girlish, hips; and full, firm-soft buttocks became, so to speak, visible again, stripped of the deadening effects of an everydayness that had made these magnificent glands, muscles, sex organs, and private parts seem nothing special or unusual, restoring their wonder and mystique.

"You're beautiful," Sarah told Marilyn, as if the redhead's loveliness were a revelation to her rather than the familiar sight which, more and more, of late, Sarah had taken for granted.

"Look who's talking, gorgeous," Marilyn replied, and the lovers made love.

Everywhere else--on the bed, in chairs, on the carpeted floor, in the walk-in closet, in the bathroom attached to the boudoir--other couples likewise coupled.

Sarah, her bottom warm and glowing as a result of the hard swats her girlfriend had delivered to her buttocks, positioned herself so that her hands lay, palms up, beneath Marilyn's sleek ass cheeks and her dangling breasts rubbed against her lover's smooth, firm inner thighs as she brought her lips down, between Marilyn's thighs, to kiss the labia that guarded the tender cleft in the soft mound of the redhead's vulva that led into the warm, moist depths of her girlfriend's sex.

Sarah's lips gently brushed the lips of Marilyn's cunt. The redhead's labia were smooth and soft, almost as velvety and supple as those of Sarah's face. The blonde kissed the tender lips of her lover's pussy as gently and as tenderly as she had the first time she'd ever performed oral sex upon her girlfriend, and Marilyn's head lolled upon the pillow, upon her fiery locks, as she uttered a throaty moan that quickened the blood in Sarah's veins and made the blonde's own swelling clitoris stiffen further. Sarah's cunt, like Marilyn's pussy, drenched itself.

All around them, the other girls were involved in passionate embraces and sexual acts of their own. Susan was devouring Jennifer's pussy. Crystal was licking and sucking the stiff, swollen nipples of Becky's firm, round breasts. Becky's face was thrust between Crystal's buttocks, her tongue well up the latter's asshole. Rachelle worked a bright green dildo back and forth inside Karen's vagina. Cindy had donned a realistic, "circumcised" strap-on "cock" and was fucking Debbie in the ass with it, driving the smooth Caucasian-colored rod in and out of the stretched orifice with smooth, quick strokes. As the girls fucked and sucked and slurped, kissing and fondling and caressing, they moaned and groaned, gasped and grunted, whimpered and whined. The sounds, more than the sights, excited Sarah, for she saw the other girls' actions only out of the corner of her eye and was too focused on the task at hand to process most of the glimpses of breasts, mouths, cunts, fingers, buttocks, hands, and other body parts she saw. The sounds registered upon her consciousness more easily, as if they were audio effects played as an accompaniment to her own actions.

As Sarah licked Marilyn's labia, flicking the redhead's stiff and swollen clitoris with her own soft, wet tongue, pausing only to drink of the juices that flooded the sodden slit that was her girlfriend's vagina, the blonde was too caught up in the sexual passion that flooded her mind the way that her own pussy's lubricant inundated the depths of her sex. Sarah lowered her head into her girlfriend's soaking pussy and drew the tip of her nose along its gash, as if she were plowing the fertile furrow, and Marilyn moaned, her thighs flexing like scissors. The sleek flesh of the redhead's firm thighs squeezed the sides of Sarah's face and skull, and Marilyn moaned again, louder and longer, her fingers gripping the bedspread and balling it in her closing fists.

Sarah replaced the tip of her nose with the tip of her tongue, licking the long, deep furrow and feeling its tender, wet depths slide, liquid, past her oral appendage. Marilyn groaned, spreading her legs farther apart, and her hands pushed the top and back of Sarah's head gently, but firmly, down, so that the blonde's lips, chin, nose, and cheeks were in or upon the redhead's vulva, labia, clitoris, or vagina. Sarah rolled her head from side to side, pushing firmly, but gently, upon the marinating mound surrounding Marilyn's cunt, tasting the redhead's sex anew. Marilyn writhed, the cradle of her hips rocking beneath Sarah's shining-wet face.

Marilyn's hands fell away from Sarah's head, her fingertips trailing through her girlfriend's tangled locks, and Sarah pointed her chin into the trough of her girlfriend's twat, dragging it up, along the soaked crevice, the sides of which parted before her advance as the Red Sea had divided before Moses. At the top of the elliptical opening, Sarah drew her head back and down, sliding the point of her chin back through the flooded furrow, and Marilyn gasped, her thighs scissoring again and pressing repeatedly against the sides of Sarah's head. The pressure of her upper legs, as the closed against Sarah's skull was intense, but intermittent, the firmness of the long, strong muscles softened by the spongy tissues beneath Marilyn's smooth skin.

Pulling her hands from beneath Marilyn's buttocks, which required more effort than Sarah would have thought, the blonde cheerleader placed her palms astride the lower portions of the redhead's vulva, thumbs below the lower "V" of Marilyn's cunt and her fingers splayed over and around the upper parts of her satiny inner thighs. Drawing Marilyn's pussy lips apart by tugging her thumbs downward and outward, Sarah resumed licking her girlfriend's pussy. Wetting her tongue in Marilyn's cunt juices, Sarah flicked the tip of her oral appendage over Marilyn's rigid, swollen clitoris, and the redhead moaned, her head thrashing left and right, as her thighs, once again, flexed forcefully, scissoring the sides of Sarah's cranium.

The blonde cheerleader redoubled her efforts, licking and flicking the hard nub of flesh inside the wrinkled folds of its hood; pausing to kiss Marilyn's hot button; to nuzzle it softly, but insistently, with her lips; to tug lightly with her teeth at the slick, wet lips of her cunt. Marilyn groaned again and again, her hips bucking and rolling, her lubricating fluid filling and refilling Sarah's mouth as the blonde swallowed the warm nectar, wanting more and more of her girlfriend's most intimate body fluid to fill her mouth.

Marilyn cried out as a series of orgasms, one following immediately upon the next, rocked her. She shuddered, breasts jiggling, tummy trembling., hips wriggling, thighs flexing and squeezing, calves shaking, buttocks contracting, asshole fluttering, pussy releasing streams of thick, warm fluid, the vital essence of the redhead's femininity.

Sarah jammed her tongue between Marilyn's cunt lips, as deeply into the other girl's liquid cunt as she could, and kept her face pressed fast to Marilyn's vulva, riding the bucking pussy as a cowboy rides a bronco at a rodeo. The soft, wet jolts of Marilyn's pubic mound, of the flooded gash, and the flexing thighs were intensely exciting, if a bit humiliating, and her girlfriend's abandoned dignity in the onslaught of the ecstasy that had seized the redhead brought forth a flood of wet and tangible fervor from the depth of the blonde's loins as well, and Sarah flooded the bed beneath their twisting, writhing bodies, as her own cunt flushed itself of her pent-up passion.

Gradually, as Sarah lay facedown upon Marilyn's sodden cunt, the lovers recovering from the firestorm of ecstasy that had swept through their brains, their hearts, and their pussies, wet with their own, and one another's cunt juices, the sounds--moans and groans, gasps and grunts, whines and whimpers--became audible again, and they began to notice the other girls who were making love to one another, face to cunt or face to ass, mouth upon breast, tongues lashing clits or anuses, fingers or hands inside pussies or rectums, and, in the case of Cindy and Debbie, a strap-on dildo in play. Turning her head to one side, Sarah used Marilyn's soaked pussy as a saturated pillow, watching the other girls' actions. The sight of so many bouncing breasts, tightening tummies, rolling hips, scissoring thighs, and clenching buttocks was enough to bring Sarah to orgasm again, and she gasped as waves of pleasure washed through her body and soul, feeling Marilyn's slender fingers brushing her hair as the flood of ecstasy washed through her own loins.

Afterward, lying as they were, with Sarah's wet face and hair cradled in the drenched lap of her lesbian lover, Sarah said, "If we had a strap-on like Cindy and Debbie, you could fuck me with it, the way Cindy's fucking Debbie."

Marilyn smiled down at the top of her girlfriend's tousled hair. "We'll get one, but I'd rather fuck you in the ass than the cunt--most of the time, anyway--if you don't mind."

"Mind?" Sarah turned her head, looking up, past Marilyn's tummy and breasts, to her wide, lovely blue eyes. "How could I mind when it's you who's fucking me, sweet cheeks?"

"I love you, trotter."

Marilyn had given Sarah this nickname because the blonde was, the redhead said, always "a hottie who's always hot to trot." The nickname had become Marilyn's pet name for Sarah, just as "sweet cheeks," a reference to Marilyn's perfect buttocks, had become her pet name for the redhead.

"I love you, too, sweet cheeks," Sarah replied, and she meant it, every word.



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 11



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

Sarah hadn't had as much fun as she'd had at Marilyn Madison's sleepover in a long, long time. Her girlfriend wasn't only gorgeous, a great lover, and the best cheerleader on the squad (and maybe in the whole country), but she was also someone who knew how to have a good time.

Marilyn had assured Sarah and the other girls that her parents would honor their privacy, and they had. Mr. and Mrs. Madison had both been home and available, should Marilyn or one of her guests need or want anything, but not once, even when the girls had become pretty rowdy, had either parent as much as knocked on Marilyn's bedroom door--which was a good thing for all concerned, Sarah thought, as, walking home from Marilyn's house, she recalled the erotic spankings and the hot sex that had taken place, off and on, pretty much all night, among the girls.

Ahead, she saw her house, and she sighed. Home sweet home was but a block away. At least her father was away on a business trip. He wouldn't be back until tomorrow at the earliest.

Marilyn's mom and dad were as different from Sarah's own parents as the cheerleading squad had been under Coach Chambers' direction and was, now, under Coach Bigg's guidance. Sarah loved her parents, even her dad, just the way they were, but she wished, sometimes, she could trade them in, just for a day or two, for parents like those of her girlfriend. Sarah's mom and dad--especially her dad--were stricter than strict, and, once in a while, Sarah, like any healthy teenage girl, wanted the freedom to discover who she was, to find herself, and to experiment with social roles and her sexuality.

Well, she had experimented with sex, she guessed, a little, having masturbated one boy and sucked another guy's cock, but most of her sexual experience had been with her girlfriend. Sarah never wanted to give up Marilyn for anyone else, male or female, but it might be nice, she told herself, to try sex with boys that involved more than a hand job or a blowjob.

Still, she told herself, with a girl as gorgeous and highly sexed as Marilyn, she was pretty lucky and should be content to count her blessings.

Marilyn had asked Coach Bigg's permission to host the slumber party. Having been a cheerleader on the coach's squad at another high school, Marilyn knew--and respected--Coach Bigg better than anyone else on South Catholic High School's cheerleading squad, and there was nothing she'd do with the girls, during school or after, unless she had the coach's approval and consent. As it turned out, the coach was going to be out of town for the weekend, attending a sports equipment convention with Mike Ryerson, the boys' varsity football coach, in San Diego, California--the same one, in fact, that Sarah's father was attending.

He'd taken a new job as a regional sales manager for an athletics equipment company, and he'd been at the sales convention all weekend and wasn't due back until tomorrow night. Sarah and her mom would have the house to themselves. Maybe they could do some mother-daughter bonding, watch a romantic comedy or a tearjerker over a bowl of popcorn and a couple of diet sodas as Sarah's way of thanking her mother for having allowed her to sleep over at Marilyn's house. Had her dad been home, there'd been no way he'd have allowed Sarah to attend a pajama party. He didn't believe in a bunch of scantily dressed teens staying up half the night, even if there was a guarantee--and there never was--that no boys would be involved. It was unnecessary, and it was unseemly, he'd said, more than once.

Sarah laughed. Being facedown in Marilyn's sopping-wet cunt had been unseemly, perhaps, but it sure as hell hadn't been unnecessary. Both girls had needed the release that Sarah's eating of Marilyn's twat had provided them. Even now, Sarah's pussy purred with pleasure and her clit stiffened at the memory of the ecstasy she'd experienced as Marilyn's lover. After the other girls had returned to their homes, Sarah had tarried, and she and Marilyn planned another sleepover to coincide with the next weekend that Sarah's father was away from home. Sarah hoped it would be soon. The sooner, the better, she thought.

As she entered her driveway from the sidewalk that paralleled the street in front of her house, Sarah considered the movies she had in her library. No doubt, her mom would prefer Gone With the Wind, while Sarah herself might be more inclined to watch a contemporary teen comedy, but, she decided, if her mom wanted antebellum romance, Sarah would defer to her tastes. Clark Gable wasn't really Sarah's type, but the teen sure could have gone for Scarlett O'Hara!

She inserted her key into the front door's lock, turned her wrist, and shoved the heavy paneled door open on its hinges. "Mom," she called. "I'm home. Want to watch a movie? Gone With the Wind, maybe? I'd bet you're just hankering for a little of that Gable-Leigh action."

There was no answer.

"Mom?"

Sarah gasped, her eyes widening as, rounding the corner at the end of the entrance hall and entering the living room, where she expected to see her mother curled up in an easy chair with a good book (meaning a trashy romance novel), she came face to face with her father instead. "Dad!"

He glared at her.

"What are you doing home?" she asked. "I mean, Mom said you wouldn't be home until tomorrow."

Max Owens scowled at his daughter. "That's what I wanted you to think," he said. "That's what I wanted both of you to think."

Sarah frowned. "Huh?"

"Get downstairs, to the basement."

Sarah remembered the bare-ass spanking she'd received a while back as she'd lain naked across her father's lap. She also remembered the erection she'd felt pressing her lower tummy through her father's slacks. "Where's Mom?" she asked.

"Downstairs," he said, his tone of voice flat, cold, and eerie.

Sarah shouted her mother's name as loudly as she could: "MOM?"

There was no answer.

She tried again: "MOM!"

Her only reply was the silence of the house.

"If Mom's down there, why doesn't she answer?" Sarah demanded, frightened.

Her father grabbed her wrist, his grip like iron. "Because," he said, in the same flat, dead voice, "she's gagged."

Sarah tried to jerk away from him. "Let me go!" she screamed.

He backhanded her across the face. The stinging blow brought tears to the teen's eyes and drained her, at once, of all resistance. Although terrified, she followed meekly as he led her through the house to the door in the kitchen wall that opened upon the flight of narrow wooden stairs that led to the basement below. He shut the door, drew his daughter behind him, and they descended the steps.

At the foot of the stairs, Sarah's father turned to the right, pulling his daughter behind him, and they turned yet again, following the constricted hallway to a room on their left. Although unfinished, with only cinderblock walls and a few naked bulbs hanging from simple ceiling fixtures to which were attached pull-chains, the chamber was large.

In its center stood a contraption as bizarre as Coach Bigg's Carousel, except that it was of much smaller dimensions and a totally different configuration. However, the function of the diabolical apparatus was clear enough to one who'd ridden The Carousel as many times as Sarah had: the damned thing was a spanking machine.

Mounted upon it was Sarah's mother, Marlene, wide-eyed and frightened-looking, with a gag in her mouth. She was also naked.

"Mom!" Sarah cried.

"Take your clothes off," Sarah's father told his daughter.

Sarah threw her mother a terrified look.

Her mom nodded, signaling that Sarah should do as she'd been told, and, reluctantly, the teen doffed her clothes.

"Mount the machine," the girl's father commanded.

The apparatus was equipped with dual bicycle-style seats. However, each of these seats was equipped with a feature such as no bicycle, even one built for girls rather than for boys, possessed. At the back end, twin, shiny, black phalli rose--a longer, thicker one that would fit into the rider's vagina and a shorter, thinner one that would fit into her anus. Simply by seating herself upon the contraption, the subject would doubly impale herself. The seat was also angled forward, at a 45-degree angle, which would ensure that the rider leaned well forward and down, sharpening the arc of her buttocks and increasing the severity of the pain with which the spanking instrument landed its blows.

Instead of pedals, there were fetters, somewhat like handcuffs, but for the feet; the manacles would lock around the subject's ankles, and a chain between them would prevent her feet from moving too far opposite one another, whether forward, to the rear, or sideways. A set of actual handcuffs were also present, low down on the machine, which, locking about the subject's wrists, would keep her bent well forward in a painfully uncomfortable position. A seatbelt-like harness would prevent her from falling forward or sideways, from the machine.

The seats were mounted upon a plank, beneath the center of which was a fulcrum, and they faced one another, seesaw fashion, so that the subjects might be forced to watch one another, their own misery increased by the sight of the other's suffering. Dangling from the unoccupied side of the machine were a pair of transparent hemispherical cups; Sarah saw that another pair of these domes had been placed over her mother's breasts. Sarah could only imagine their purpose. Would they send jolts of electricity through their subjects, the way that the tubes inside which the teen's own breasts had, like those of the other cheerleaders', been inserted during one of their many rides on The Carousel? Would the cups squeeze and pulsate? Would they fill with some sort of liquid? Would they offer some other sort of fiendish "treat"? Sarah had no wish to know, but she suspected that she would find out soon enough.

Trembling, shocked and terrified, Sarah did as she'd been told, climbing aboard the contraption.

As soon as she settled, as gingerly as possible, into place, the twin dildos penetrated her fore and aft, and she felt the thick, smooth plastic columns push past her labia and her anal sphincter, invading her front and back, cunt and ass. It was humiliating, to say the least, especially in front of her parents, and, already, tears sprang to the mortified teen's eyes. She blinked them back, determined not to add to her mother's--or her own--embarrassment by shedding tears as this damned machine did whatever it was going to do to her.

Just by climbing aboard the infernal apparatus, Sarah's upper body was pitched well forward, and, no doubt, she'd have fallen, had the seatbelt-like harness not have snapped into place as soon as the sensor in the seat registered her weight and signaled the harness to deploy. The belt broke her fall and secured her in place, doubly impaled upon the inclined seat. Likewise, the fetters and the handcuffs automatically locked in place around her ankles and wrists, and Sarah, with renewed terror, realized just how vulnerable and helpless--and uncomfortable--she was. The breast-domes also deployed on their own, cupping the terrified teen's tits as if they were the cups of an especially well-made, if unyielding, brassiere. A pair of wires extended from the back of each cup, connecting within the sturdy fulcrum that connected the two ends of the teeter totter-like contraption.

Sarah saw her mother, naked on the other end of the same plank that she occupied, bent torturously forward on the machine, and the teen was thankful that all she could see of her mom was her mother's back, the spill of her breasts, and the tops of her thighs. Sarah could see her mother's face only if her mom raised her head, just as her mom could see Sarah's face only if, as now, the teen raised hers. It required an effort, after a few minutes, to continue to do so, and, Sarah guessed, her mother sagged forward against her harness to take the stress off her muscles as much as possible and, for the same reason, looked down, rather than up, more often than not.

Besides, the sight of her daughter, strapped onto the machine, was probably at least as horrible to her as the sight of Sarah's mom, secured to the machine in the same sadistic posture as her own, was to the cheerleader. Sarah relaxed her own muscles, dropping forward, into the harness' rough embrace, and, she realized, her surrender to her predicament did, in fact, alleviate some of the stress on her muscles and bones and, consequently, the physical discomfort she felt. The tradeoff was that her view of the world was pretty much restricted to the carpeted floor of the recreation room.

"Now that I have your undivided attention," her father said, in the same eerily dispassionate voice in which he'd spoken upstairs and before, the day he'd administered the first nude spanking Sarah had ever received at his hands--the one that had given him an erection--"let me explain both why you are here and what you may expect.

"You are here because, according to 1 Corinthians, chapter 11, verse three, 'the head of the woman is the man,' which means that I, by the will of God Himself, rule this house. I am appointed as the head of this household, and, yet, the moment I am away--earning the money to feed and clothe and shelter my family--my so-called helpmate allows my daughter to do something that she knows I am dead-set against

--spending the night among scantily clad girls at the house of a man and woman we do not know and have never met.

"That is why your mother is where she is, Sarah. You are here because you have transgressed the command to 'honor thy father and thy mother,' by dishonoring us both. Like your mother, you must learn that, when you disobey me, you disobey God, for it is He, in His infinite wisdom, who has set me over both of you, as the head of this household.

"That is why you are here; as to what you may expect, well, it is best, I think, to let the machine speak for itself, as it were."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Sarah whispered. "I brought this on you."

"No, child," her father contradicted his daughter. "She brought this on both herself and you, for, in my absence, she was in charge, and it was her weakness in permitting the impermissible that has brought both of you here today, to learn the lesson that I, with the aid of this machine, shall impart.

"By the way, I met your new cheerleading coach at the convention. It was she who told me about Spank-o-Matic. She also told me about The Carousel and how she uses it to enforce discipline during practices. She mentioned how effective it has been, and she suggested that I purchase one of my own.

"As you can see, I took her excellent advice. I also told her to feel free to subject you to The Carousel's punishment whenever she is of a mind to do so and that, from now on, when you come home from school, you will bare your buttocks for inspection. If you were caned at school, you will also be spanked at home. Your coach seemed delighted to know that her discipline is respected and will be reinforced at home."

Coach Bigg! Sarah thought. Because of her big mouth, Sarah's punishments had increased; now she'd not only be caned with the other girls on the cheerleading squad, but she would also be spanked, with or without her mother, at home.

"And, now that you know why you are here and what you are to learn, I think it is time for the machine, which I call The Teeter Totter, to speak to your heart and mind and soul as only it can speak." Behind her, Sarah's father said, "Open wide."

Sarah wanted to refuse, but she was too afraid. Reluctantly, she opened her mouth, as directed, and her father inserted a gag, securing the strap to which it was fastened around his daughter's head. Now, Sarah would be unable to make her screams heard. This precaution seemed unnecessary, the teen thought, because the recreation room not only well insulated, but it was also soundproof. Perhaps her father was more interested in the gag's terrorizing his victims further than he was in securing their silence. Sarah had to admit that she felt completely helpless, completely vulnerable, just as a true victim felt, just as she always felt when Coach Bigg compelled her to ride The Carousel.

Seating himself on the comfortable couch nearby, Sarah's father pressed one of the many buttons on the oversize remote control device he held, and The Teeter Totter set itself in motion.

One end of The Teeter Totter--the one upon which Sarah was seated--rose into the air, lifting the startled teen over three feet, and, as the plank ascended, the dildos lodged in the cheerleader's cunt and ass withdrew, until only their tips remained within their respective orifices. The plastic domes cupping the girl's tits pumped up and down, each alternating with the other, like the cylinders of a two-cylinder combustible engine, "juggling" Sarah's jiggling boobs and further astounding the teen. As her end of the plank descended again, the one on which her mom was seated rising, the artificial penises filling Sarah's rectum and vagina thrust inside these orifices again, and she felt her bowels and sex crammed anew with the thick, rigid, smooth columns.

The domes, cupping her breasts, continued to juggle their captives, although a new twist had been added to their action; as they juggled the twin orbs, they also alternately squeezed and relaxed them so that, as the left breast was gripped, the clutching hold upon the right was relaxed. Sarah's breasts danced, as it were, throbbing from the constant motion and the forceful squeezes. On the end of the plank they shared, Sarah knew that her mother was undergoing the same treatment, only in reverse. So far, unlike her daughter, Sarah's mother had spared the girl the sight of her face, which, streaked with mascara and tears and contorted with humiliation, fear, anger, and pain--the clamping domes were more than merely uncomfortable at times--was as much a mess as, or more than, the cheerleader's own distraught countenance.

As he was putting his wife and daughter through their paces, Mr. Owens shared additional information about The Teeter Totter: "I must say I'm surprised at the number and variety of the bells and whistles that come as standard features of this machine, and even more are available as options or as features that can be custom-made to the buyer's own specifications. Needless to say, I'll be adding more in the weeks and months to come."

As if to demonstrate his spiel, Sarah's father activated another of The Teeter Totter's features. The cups surrounding his subjects' breasts heated up slowly until, a few minutes later, the plastic was alarmingly hot. Both Sarah's and her mother's pleading eyes expressed their terror. He laughed at them. With the press of another button, he heated the dildos in his wife's and daughter's assholes to the same disturbing temperatures, making them think that he might fry them. Impaled upon the fiery phalli, their tits ensconced in equally searing cups, they squirmed, screaming into their gags.

"Don't worry," Sarah's father reassured his victims. "The cups and cocks may seem dangerously hot, but they aren't; their temperature's just sufficiently high to be disturbingly uncomfortable. You have to admit, though, that the burning sensations, especially in such sensitive parts of your anatomies, focuses the attention." He laughed again, activating yet another of the domes' many features, and a tingling occurred, both in his victim's nipples and throughout their breasts.

Sarah welcomed the sensation, which, as a soft of soft, diffused, tickling, was not only pleasant in itself, but it also distracted her, somewhat, from the heat that had suffused her breasts and bowels. Her mother's soft moans suggested that she was of much the same mind as Sarah concerning the tingling-tickling sensation.




The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 12



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

Standing before the mirror, Sarah and the other cheerleaders giggled. Karen Lewis puckered up, as if to kiss her reflection, but her girlfriend, Rachelle Thomas, intercepted her lips with her own. Their friends laughed.

Debbie Penn stuck her tongue out at her reflection, and her lover, Cindy Baxter, pretending that the gesture had been directed at her, gave Debbie a sharp slap across the buttocks, the sound making a loud report, even in the cavernous gymnasium where, today, Coach Bigg had directed them to report for practice. The slap of Cindy's hand against Debbie's bottom sounded louder than it might have, had it been delivered through the cheerleading skirt, Spankies, and panties that Debbie normally would have been wearing. Today, Coach Bigg had instructed them to report to practice naked.

Once, their nudity would have seemed unseemly to the teenage girls, but they'd been naked in front of one another so many times now, not only in the showers after practice or physical education class, but also during practice sessions and the many, many sessions they'd spent having their bare bottoms caned on the spanking machine that their coach called The Carousel, that none of them had the least compunction or qualm, any longer, about being nude before her peers. In fact, now that they'd become lesbians, again at their coach's insistence, the girls much preferred to be naked in front of one another.

Marilyn Madison stepped behind Sarah and, cupping the blonde's "C" cup-size breasts in her palms, closed her hands tightly, squeezing the firm mounds in her tightening fists. Involuntarily, Sarah frowned, but she maintained the presence of mind not to cry out, as instinct would have had her do. Her redheaded girlfriend, who'd lately also become her dominatrix during their private lovemaking sessions at one another's homes, forbade Sarah to voice her emotions, upon penalty of her being subjected to an intense spanking. Coach Bigg had even given Marilyn, whom the coach had recently promoted to her personal assistant, a key to the storeroom that housed The Carousel, so that Marilyn could "keep Owens," as the coach insisted upon calling Sarah, "in line." Intensifying her grip until her knuckles had gone white and Sarah thought, forbidden from doing so or not and the inevitability of a sound thrashing for doing so notwithstanding, she simply must cry out in pain or go insane, Marilyn said, "Love you, trotter."

Sarah fought down the insistent urge to scream as the tears that had been trembling in her eyes spilled down her cheeks.

Marilyn squeezed her girlfriend's tits even more cruelly. "Don't you have something to say to me?"

Sarah gasped, "Love you, too, sweet cheeks."

Marilyn had given Sarah the nickname "trotter" because Sarah was, the redhead said, "a hottie who's always hot to trot." The nickname had become Marilyn's pet name for Sarah, just as "sweet cheeks," a reference to Marilyn's perfect buttocks, had become Sarah's on pet name for the redhead.

Marilyn released Sarah's boobs. Relief flooded the blonde. Her breasts were dark pink where her girlfriend's fingers had been. They smarted. Badly.

The redhead grinned, kissing Sarah's cheek through the tears trickling down the blonde's face. "You do, don't you, trotter? Cause you're a pain slut, aren't you?" Marilyn demanded.

"Yes," Sarah admitted, humiliation burning inside her.

"A pain pig," Marilyn insisted. "Aren't you?"

The tears flowed. "Yes."

"Oink for me, pig."

Here? Now? Sarah wondered, shocked, then mortified, at the thought that she was being commanded to make the sound of a swine, of a sow, here, in front of the rest of the cheerleading squad. Marilyn had never made such a demand before. In fact, when they were together, "playing" their "dominance and submission games," as Marilyn had called their private pastimes, alone, behind closed doors, Marilyn had assured her that no one, especially her fellow cheerleaders, would ever know that Sarah oinked and mewed and whimpered on command, as if she were a pig, a cat, or a dog.

"Oink," Marilyn repeated, just loudly enough for the blonde to hear, "or would you prefer an hour or so on The Carousel after practice today?"

Although, like all the other girls--except Marilyn, of course, who was Coach Bigg's pet and, now, her assistant--Sarah had ridden The Carousel scores of times, she still feared the diabolical spanking machine that caned their bare asses with the ruthless efficiency that only a heartless, mindless machine could possess. "Oink," she said.

"Louder," Marilyn hissed.

"Oink!"

"Louder!"

"OINK!"

The other girls looked at Sarah, surprised. Some began to giggle.

"Again," Marilyn instructed her.

"OINK! OINK! OINK!"

The other girls laughed at the blonde. A couple pointed. Sarah heard whisperings. Her face flushed, and she couldn't keep back the tears.

"What's up with that, Sarah?" Jennifer Adams asked.

"Yeah, why the piggy noises, piglet?" Becky James enquired.

The cheerleaders giggled, chuckled, and laughed.

While the others were interrogating and laughing at her girlfriend, Marilyn had walked out, in front of them, to a distance of ten feet. Around her neck, on a cord, she wore two items, a whistle and a key. Otherwise, she was, like the rest of the squad, completely nude.

"As you know," she reminded the others, "Coach Bigg has made me her assistant, and, today, she asked me to introduce you to some exercises. She thinks--and I agree--that you're getting a little out of shape. An ounce or two of extra weight has a way of becoming a pound or two or flab, and, with the state cheerleading championship at stake, we can't afford any sows on the squad." She looked at her girlfriend. "Right, Sarah?"

"Yes," Sarah said.

Marilyn looked relieved. To the girls, she said, "For as moment, I thought she was going to oink at me!"

The cheerleaders tittered--all except Sarah, who felt humiliated by her lover's hurtful quip.

"So that's why I'm wearing the whistle," Marilyn said, "and the key to the storeroom. No matter how well or terribly you do during practice today, each and every one of you is riding The Carousel. It's just a matter of how long, not whether, you ride it. The length of the session will be determined by how well you perform for me this afternoon. Any questions?"

There were none.

"You may have wondered why Coach Bigg has installed the mirror," Marilyn addressed them.

The looking-glass, mounted upon a wheeled frame, was twelve-feet tall and twenty five feet long. Mobile, it could be pushed onto or off the gymnasium floor, or across any other surface, including the concrete floor of the squad's storeroom, whenever Coach Bigg wanted to use it. The damned thing must have cost a small fortune, Sarah thought, wondering where the coach had obtained the funds to buy it.

When the nine members of the squad lined up, abreast, on the practice mat before the looking-glass, its reflective surface provided a view of their naked bodies, from head to toe, and, as Marilyn spoke to her charges, she couldn't help but to check out their shapely legs and firm, tight asses in the mirror. "It's important for Coach Bigg and me to see you from the rear as well as from the front," Marilyn explained, "so we can see whether you're moving with maximum efficiency. The mirror also allows us to monitor any weight gain any of you acquires, fore or aft."

She raised the whistle to her lips, giving the instrument a sharp blast. Inwardly, she smiled as she saw the girls' shoulders square, their tummies tuck, and their postures straighten. The other girls respected her authority. They'd respect it even more by the end of the day, she thought. "Today, you're going to work your asses off, losing the few ounces you've gained from eating more than just no-cal pussy. I'll demonstrate each exercise, and then you'll perform it, under my direction. Pay close attention, because, although the exercises are nothing new, I'm adding a twist, to make things a little more challenging--and fun--so you won't have performed any of these exercises they way you will be doing them today. Anyone who screws up or doesn't put her full effort into the exercises makes everyone else pay with a longer ride on The Carousel. Any questions?"

Susan Davis raised a hesitant hand.

"Davis?"

Sarah noticed that Marilyn had called Susan by her surname, the same way that Coach Bigg did when she addressed Sarah. It was just Sarah's luck, she thought, that her girlfriend was also the squad's assistant coach. Or was it just luck? she wondered. The other girls had been allowed to choose, from among themselves, the girl with whom they'd pair up as lovers, but Sarah had been denied the same privilege. Coach Bigg has assigned Marilyn to be her lesbian lover, and, now, Sarah suspected that the coach had done so because she'd intended, all along, to make Marilyn her assistant and wanted Sarah to be more subject to Marilyn's will, both as her girlfriend and her protégé, than any of the other girls would be. Probably, Coach Bigg had also known that Marilyn was a dominatrix. After all, Marilyn, a transfer student, had been the coach's star cheerleader at another school, a few years before. Maybe, Sarah thought, disgusted, Marilyn and Coach Bigg had even once been lovers. Hell, maybe they still were!

Making only intermittent eye contact with Marilyn, Susan, her voice tremulous, asked, almost whispering, "You said we'd have to ride The Carousel even if we do everything right."

Marilyn gave her a withering look. "That's not a question!" she snapped.

Susan looked down, at her toes. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that, I mean--"

"Spit it out, Davis!" Marilyn bellowed. "Stop wasting my time!"

Jennifer Adams, Susan's girlfriend, said, her voice even, "She wants to know why we should ride The Carousel if we don't fuck up."

Marilyn turned a Gorgon's gaze upon Jennifer. "She can speak for herself, Adams."

Jennifer returned Marilyn's gaze, her look as stony as Marilyn's was flinty. Sarah wondered whether Marilyn's treatment of Susan had brought out Susan's protective lesbian lioness.

"You don't need to yell at her," Jennifer said.

Marilyn smiled, but there was no humor or warmth in her smirk. "You just earned everyone another five minutes on The Carousel, Adams!" To Susan, she said, "You ride The Carousel because I say you do. Got it?"

"Yes," Susan muttered.

"Yes, WHAT?" Marilyn demanded.

"Yes, ma'am."

Marilyn glared at Jennifer, who glared back at her. "Any more questions?"

No one said a word.

"All right, then, pussies, listen, watch, and learn," the assistant coach ordered. "Maybe you can save yourself any more additional time on the machine--but I doubt it."

Rolling an exercise ball into place from the group against one of the walls of the gymnasium, Marilyn demonstrated the first exercise. Her back to the thirty-four-inch, air-inflated, elastic, soft polyvinyl chloride sphere, Marilyn squatted, laying her back over the front part of the globe, so that her shoulders rested upon its top. Her legs were spread wide, offering an unimpeded view of her shaved pussy. Her hands behind her head and her fingers interlaced, she brought her upper body forward, as if she were sitting up, returned to her starting position, and repeated the sequence of motions, performing what was, in effect, a modified sit up. "This exercise strengthens the hip flexors and the abdominals," she told the squad. "God knows you need more strength in those areas!"

Sarah watched as her girlfriend continued to demonstrated the exercise with a few more repetitions, Marilyn's breasts relaxing and flattening slightly as she lay back and tightening and becoming more defined as she brought her shoulders forward. Sarah felt a tingle in her own pussy as she watched Marilyn exercise. Her lover may have turned into a super bitch under Coach Bigg's tutelage, but, since they'd become girlfriends, Sarah had fallen in love with the redhead, and she had feelings for her--strong feelings--even now, despite Marilyn's increasing domination of, and abuse toward, her. Sarah supposed she'd always love Marilyn, no matter what she did to her. There was more than a little of the masochist in her makeup, she'd decided, just as there was obviously something sadistic about Marilyn. Maybe Coach Biggs had known or suspected as much; she was a shrewd observer of human behavior. Maybe that's why the coach had insisted that Sarah and Marilyn become lesbian lovers while letting the other cheerleaders select their own girlfriends from among the squad.

"Where's our oinker?" Marilyn demanded, although she could see Sarah plainly enough.

"Here," Sarah said.

"Here, WHAT?" Marilyn demanded.

Blushing, Sarah said, "Here, ma'am."

"Well, bring your fat ass over here!"

The words "fat ass" stung, and they were unfair, too, Sarah thought. She might have gained an ounce or two, like the other girls on the squad, in the last couple of months, but she was by no means fat. She was not anywhere close to being overweight. Still, the other girls giggled to hear Marilyn call her "fat," and Marilyn repeated her claim: "Hurry up, lard ass! I don't have all day!"

Sarah sprinted to her lover's side. She moved as lithely and quickly as ever, but, because of Marilyn's cruel characterization of her as "fat," she felt ponderous and slow. Her lower lip trembled, and she fought back tears. Lately, she seemed to be crying all the time, over everything and nothing. It seemed, before Coach Bigg's constant harassment of her in front of the other girls and Marilyn's dominance of her in private, she'd lost much of the natural self-esteem she'd enjoyed for years. Her confidence was slipping, too.

"Kneel beside me, Petunia!"

That was the name of Porky Pig's girlfriend, Sarah realized, as she knelt on the hardwood floor of the gymnasium's basketball court, beside the assistant coach, the other girls snickering at her.

"You will each match up with your respective girlfriends," Marilyn announced, "and, while one of you exercises, the other will rub her clit. Show them how it's done, Petunia."

Sarah laid the palm of her hand upon Marilyn's bald pubes--the assistant coach, like Sarah and the rest of the squad, had, at Coach Bigg's directive, shaved her pussy--and with her forefinger and third finger lying upon either side of Marilyn's clitoris, along the labia, she moved her fingertips back and forth, jiggling the hard bud inside its silken hood. As Marilyn continued to exercise, Sarah massaged her, occasionally letting all four of her fingers drape over Marilyn's pussy lips as she rubbed her girlfriend's labia as well as her clit, up and down; other times, rotating her fingers in tight, quick circles atop the nub of flesh; and, still other times, returning to the back and forth, sideways motion with which she'd started the masturbation of her girlfriend's clit. Although Marilyn made no sound, continuing the repetitions of the exercise, the muscles in her thighs gave an involuntary twitch as she sat forward upon the ball.

After half a dozen more repetitions, Marilyn, removing her hands from behind her head, plucked Sarah's hand from her cunt and flicked it aside, as if it were nothing more than a petty annoyance. Sarah knew that her girlfriend wasn't as cool and collected as she appeared to be, though, because Sarah had felt Marilyn's wetness upon her fingertips. Marilyn was plenty hot and bothered. She just wasn't showing it to the other girls.

Standing, Marilyn told the squad, "Each of you, get a ball." When Sarah started across the floor with the others, to fetch an exercise ball from the group of bright-colored spheres clustered along the wall, Marilyn said, "Not you, stupid! We already have a ball."

Feeling foolish, Sarah blushed.

When the other girls returned, and each couple had a ball, Marilyn blew her whistle, and one of the girls in each pair of cheerleaders draped herself backward over the couple's ball, just as they'd seen Marilyn do.

The assistant coach glared at Sarah. "What are you waiting for, Petunia? An engraved invitation?"

Sarah promptly lay back upon their ball.

Marilyn knelt at her girlfriend's side. "Exercise!" she commanded the squad. "When I blow the whistle, trade places."

As the girls exercised, they watched their reflections in the huge mirror, seeing their upper bodies come forward as they sat up, their tummies tightening, their breasts becoming more distinct, and their thighs flexing. They also watched their girlfriends masturbating them, twirling their fingertips around and around atop their clitorises, the same way that Sarah had massaged Marilyn's hard nub. Several of them gasped, as the tickling sensations became more and more intense. Their thighs jerked and twitched. Their naked flesh glowed, and the shine of sweat upon their wet bodies had as much to do with their ardor as it did with their exertion.

Coach Bigg had purchased the mirror with funds that Principal Matthews had redirected from money that had been earmarked for other purposes. He'd promised complete cooperation to Coach Bigg in exchange for her delivering the state cheerleading championship trophy this year, confident that she'd be able to repeat her feat for South Catholic High. She'd already won the trophy twice, for other schools, after all, and there was no reason that she couldn't win it this time for him. She'd already brought the girls light years from where they'd been under the direction of their former coach, the incompetent Jane Chambers.

Coach Bigg wanted the mirror for the reasons she'd told Marilyn, so that she and her assistant coach could see whether the squad members were moving with maximum efficiency and to monitor them for any weight they might acquire, but the coach had also wanted the girls to see themselves with one another, naked and intimate, as they were now, because she wanted them to want to look good, for each other as much as for themselves. That would help them to stay trim and slim, and a slender girl was more likely to be a supple and nimble cheerleader. To win at the nationals, Coach Bigg and her squad needed every advantage they could gain.

After the girls had each had a turn on the exercise ball, and the opportunity both to masturbate her lover and to be masturbated in return, Marilyn ordered them back in line, and they stood abreast again, their backs before the mirror, sweaty and aroused from the massaging of their clits. Their buttocks were lovely, lined up in the mirror, the assistant coach thought, and she gazed from one beautiful pair of the firm, sleek mounds to the next as she addressed her charges.

"For the next exercise, we will lie on our sides, facing one another, head to pussy and pussy to head. As one girl lifts her top leg, bringing it as close as possible to perpendicular, her girlfriend will lick her pussy. Then, as the leg is lowered, the cunt-licker will lift her own leg, and her partner will lick her cunt."

Marilyn got into position, lying so that she faced the squad. She lay on her side, her head upon an outstretched arm, her legs together, one atop the other. "Petunia!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Sarah cried.

"Front and center! We will demonstrate the exercise for the others."

Sarah hurried forward, lying on her side, with her face near Marilyn's pussy and her ass toward the other cheerleaders.

As Marilyn lifted her top leg, her pubic mound tightening and flattening slightly as it rose and rotated upward, Sarah poked her head forward, tasting the slit between her lover's legs. She had to withdraw quickly, to avoid having her head get caught between Marilyn's thighs as the assistant coach lowered her leg again, and, in the process, Sarah forgot to raise her own leg.




The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 13



Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. All the characters in the story are 18 years old or older.

* * *

After Sarah and Marilyn finished their shower, Sarah called home, asking permission to go to Marilyn's house, but, her father, answering the telephone, denied her request.

Reluctantly, Sarah delivered the bad news. Both girls would rather go to Marilyn's house, because the redhead's parents never supervised their daughter or her friends when Marilyn had guests. During the pajama party the girls had had a few weeks ago, at Marilyn's house, the cheerleading squad had munched each other's pussies and a couple had even fucked, the dominant partner employing a strap-on dildo, without Marilyn's mom or dad once checking on their daughter.

Such freedom was incredible to Sarah, whose parents, especially her dad, monitored her every move. Since he'd learned that Sarah sometimes received spankings at school, Max Owens, Sarah's father, had installed his own spanking machine, and, ever since, upon her return home from school each day, Sarah had had to bare her bottom for his inspection. If she'd received a spanking at school, she'd also receive one at home. He claimed that the additional spanking was intended to demonstrate his support of the discipline his daughter received at school, that it was meant to show his backing of the school's teachers. However, the facts that he insisted upon spanking his daughter while she was completely naked; that, not once, but twice, he'd had an erection while doing so; and that he'd spanked both Sarah and her mom (who'd also been naked) at the same time on one occasion suggested that her dad had other, more personal motives for subjecting Sarah to corporal punishment.

"Dad won't let me come to your house," Sarah reported.

"Will he let me come to your place?" Marilyn asked.

She shook her head. "Not on a school night."

"I guess we're fucked, then, trotter."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too. I was looking forward to subjecting you to a little tit torture. I love it when your boobs turn purple."

Sarah gave her girlfriend an uneasy look, remembering the pain that resulted when Marilyn tied cords tightly around her chest to constrict her breasts and fastened clothespins around the perimeters of her sleek orbs. "Maybe next time," she said.

Marilyn smiled. "There's no 'maybe' about it, trotter."

The girls kissed each other goodbye, inserting their tongues inside one another's mouths for a deep, wet parting of the ways.

"See you tomorrow, sweet cheeks," Sarah said.

"Always, trotter."

Disappointed, Sarah walked home. She'd always loved her dad, and she still did, despite his strict ways, his lectures and verbal abuse, his insistence that she bare her buttocks for his inspection after school every day, his demand that she ride the spanking machine he called The Teeter Totter whenever she'd ridden The Carousel at school, and the way he always seemed to get an erection when he'd spanked her naked bottom. She loved him, but it was getting harder and harder to do so.

As soon as she'd let herself in, her dad was waiting for her. He'd come home early today, from his job as an athletic equipment company's regional sales manager, and he was sitting on the couch, in the living room, when Sarah opened the front door. Hearing her enter the foyer, he called to her.

As she entered the room, her dad used the remote control to click off the big-screen television set--but not before Sarah caught a glimpse of what he'd been watching: a porn movie. On the giant screen, she'd seen a middle-age man, naked, spanking a young woman, who, also nude, lay across his lap. The young woman's bottom was bright pink. Just as Sarah had entered the living room, answering her father's summons, she'd seen the hand of the man on the screen slam down, hard, upon the young woman's buttocks, and she'd lurched forward upon the naked man's lap, screaming in pain.

Sarah pretended not to notice the erection inside her father's tented trousers. She looked away from his crotch, where her gaze had instinctively traveled after she'd glimpsed his choice of television fare. "Yes, Dad?"

"Did you behave yourself in school today, young lady?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let me see."

Sarah squirmed. "Dad--"

"Now, young lady!"

"Nothing happened at school, Dad. I wasn't spanked."

"Bare your bottom."

Sarah felt tears gather in her eyes. Her lower lip trembled. "Can't you take my word for it?"

"I won't tell you again."

Reluctantly, Sarah turned her back upon her father, unbuckled her belt, unsnapped her jeans, unzipped their fly, and lowered the denim slacks, followed by her pink panties, sliding them down her sleek, firm thighs to her knees, and let her father feast his eyes upon her bare buttocks. Normally, his inspection took only a few seconds, but, this time, she waited longer for his permission to pull her panties and her jeans back up. Sarah became even embarrassed than she'd been when he'd demanded she bare her butt to him when, after several more seconds--they seemed like years to her--her father still had not given her permission to cover her bottom. "Daddy?" she called.

He ignored her.

"I wasn't spanked," she announced, stating the obvious.

Sarah stumbled forward as she felt her father's hands cup her ass cheeks, his thumbs at the lower, inside corners of the full mounds, his palms resting against their satin softness, and the tips of his extended, spread fingers indenting into the sides of her bottom. His hands squeezed lightly.

"Dad!" Sarah cried. "What are you doing?"

"You have such a nice, tight, smooth ass, Sarah," he said. "No wonder your coach spanks you so often."

"Daddy, please--"

His fingers flexed, kneading the firm-soft globes of his daughter's buttocks. "Does she spank the other girls on your squad, too, Sarah, or just you?"

"Dad, stop!"

She reached for the waistbands of her panties and jeans, but her father knocked her hands away, giving her a sharp slap across the buttocks. "Answer my question!" he commanded. "Does Coach Bigg spank only you, or does she spank the other girls on your squad, too?"

"All of us," Sarah said. "Now, please, Dad--"

"I'd like to see that," he said, sounding as though he was speaking to himself rather than to his daughter.

Mindful of her father's stiff, swollen erection, Sarah tried another tactic to get her father to stop massaging and caressing her bare bottom. "Mom could be home any minute," she reminded him. It would be one thing for Sarah's mother, Marlene, to see her husband spanking their daughter's bare buttocks--Marlene could accept that, albeit reluctantly--but it would be quite another matter, Sarah thought, if her mother were to see her husband fondling and caressing their daughter's naked bottom. Marlene, cowed by her domineering husband, would accept a lot from him--too much, Sarah thought--but Sarah doubted that her mom would tolerate such behavior as her dad was now demonstrating.

Pulled back, hard, Sarah was flung across her father's lap. Through his slacks, she felt his rigid penis against her bare, shaved pubes as he forced her down, across his knee, so that her bare bottom was arched across his thighs. She struggled, crying out. "Daddy, stop! I didn't do anything! I wasn't spanked!"

She squirmed, her groin pressed firmly against the firmness of her father's erection, and felt the stiff column of flesh between her naked pussy and her bare tummy. Sobbing, she begged him to stop, to let her up, again reminding him that her mom--and his wife!--could be home any moment. It was all to no avail. Instead of releasing her, he began to rain hard blows down upon her firm, sleek buttocks, and Sarah grimaced, sobbed, and shrieked. "Stop, Daddy! Ow! Quit! Ouch! Please, stop! Uh!"

After he'd swatted her a couple of dozen times, alternating the blows between her buttocks, he shoved her roughly from his lap, and she saw the impression of his upright cock tenting the fabric of his slacks. He was harder now than he'd been when she'd first seen him, watching the spanking scene in the cheap porn flick, as she'd entered the living room, and it was she--or the sight of her bare buttocks over his lap--and the sensations, no doubt, of his erection pressed and sliding against her bare crotch and tummy--that had caused this change in his condition. The porn star had gotten him hard, but it had been she, his daughter, who'd made her father's hard-on harder!

"What was that for?" Sarah demanded, angrily yanking her panties and jeans back up her thighs and wincing as the coarse denim rubbed her hot, reddened ass through the thin silk of her underwear.

His face was impassive, his eyes cold. "A reminder," he said.

"Of what?"

"Of who's in charge. Now, go to your room, young lady."

Sarah fled, tears springing to her eyes as she sprinted up the stairs to her bedroom. As she lay in her bed, clutching her teddy bear to her bosom, her fiery ass tingling and smarting, she wondered whether she should mention what had just transpired to her mother, but she decided against it. Even if Sarah mentioned the porn film she'd caught her father watching before he'd decided, for no reason, to spank her butt, her mother would be likely to take his side. Her mom wasn't an assertive woman. In fact, she was easily cowed and dominated. She was also old-fashioned when it came to the relationships between men and women. Men ruled, and women were ruled, her mom believed. The Bible itself said as much, Max insisted, and, good Catholic that Marlene was, she wasn't about to challenge her husband's interpretation of the verses he claimed backed his assertion, any more than she was likely to challenge his right--indeed, his responsibility, as Sarah's father and the head of their household--to discipline their daughter however he saw fit. To spare the rod, after all, was to spoil the child. The Bible was quite clear concerning the matter. And her husband's choice of TV fare had nothing to with his disciplining their daughter.

That's what her mom would say, Sarah thought. There was no use in mentioning what had happened, because, as far as her mom would be concerned, nothing untoward would have taken place.

Wondering whether her father had purposely allowed her a glimpse of the porn video before he'd switched the TV set off, Sarah clutched her teddy bear and cried herself to sleep. In her dreams, her father's penis was erect. It stood up straight, thick and rigid and swollen. However, the stiff prick didn't make a tent of the front of his trousers, because he wasn't wearing any clothes. Max Owens was naked, and a drop of Cowper's fluid, or pre-cum, glistened at the tip of his purple glans. He took his daughter's dainty hand in his own iron grip, his fingers a tight vise, and placed her palm upon his distended dick.

The touch of the smooth, tight flesh against her hand repulsed her, and she tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it in place. His hand around her own, he closed his fist, making her fingers curl around the shaft of his prick. Then, he masturbated himself, using her hand, closed inside his own fist, as a sort of glove, and she felt his blood pulse and his nerves spasm beneath the taut skin that she pumped back and forth, up and down, upon his rigid column of flesh. On the down stroke, the flat of her hand bumped against his balls, and his testicles jiggled inside the risen pouch of his taut, gathered scrotum.

In her nightmare, her father leered at her, the way he'd leered at the porn star in the spanking scene, and he said, "You have such a nice, tight, smooth ass, Sarah. No wonder your coach spanks you so often."

Sarah's eyes flew open; her mouth gaped, ready to scream--and she saw the ceiling fan above her bed spinning, the big blades fanning her. Immense shadows whirled across the ceiling, as if they were the wings of some strange, invisible, insect-like demon. 

She'd wet her bed, not with urine, but with her overflowing cunt, and her nipples were stiff and swollen. Her ass cheeks still tingled and smarted from the spanking she'd received at the hands of her father, and, Sarah realized that, on some deep level, her father's sexual attraction for her, evident in his erections, in his demand for her to bare her buttocks to him daily, and in his insistence upon delivering spankings to her while she was nude, aroused, even as it repulsed, her. She closed her eyes upon her tears, and recalled the images of her dream: her hand, small and tender, closed around the warm, hard flesh of her father's swollen cock, pumping him hard and fast, and she hoped that, when sleep claimed her, she might dream of masturbating him again.

If she dreamed of their doing other things together, well, that would be all right, too, she thought.



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 14



Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are all 18 years old or older.

* * *

When the new addition to the squad entered the showers, all eyes stared at her, and the other girls, mouths agape, clearly were astounded by the sight of the new girl's nudity.

Coach Bigg had described Amanda as "the girl with the something extra that we need to succeed at the nationals," but she'd suggested that the "something extra" was the girl's unusual strength and stamina, not the circumcised cock that stood, half-erect, above the tightly drawn, risen scrotum that bulged with her balls. The brunette's arousal suggested that Amanda was interested in the cheerleaders' nudity in a more than merely curious way.

As they gaped in astonishment at the new addition to their squad, Coach Bigg called, "For reasons that should be clear enough, even to you dunderheads, Amanda's little--or, should I say, not-so-little?--secret remains our secret. If it were to become known that we have a male-to-female transsexual on our squad, we'd be disqualified before we have a chance to clinch the National High School Cheerleading Competition's championship title, and none of you, I'm certain, wants that to happen."

All eyes still on her, Amanda entered the common shower area. The girls, who'd never seen an actual transsexual, although they'd heard of them--or, at least, some of them had heard of them, scarcely believing such creatures to be possible--stared openly, amazed at the combination of masculine and feminine, male and female exhibited in her exotic mixture of round, if man-made, breasts; flaring hips; firm, but sleek, compact buttocks; and long, tapering legs--and, of course, the penis and testicles between her legs, in place of the slit mounds that occupied the same locations upon the genetic girls' anatomies.

Sarah, staring at Amanda's strange assortment of charms, couldn't decide whether she thought the brunette's shemale body was sexy, beautiful, bizarre, of a combination of these qualities. One thing it was, though, for sure, was different.

Amanda had selected the showerhead next to the one that Sarah and Marilyn were sharing, and Sarah tried not to gawk at the transsexual squad member, but the blonde couldn't help herself. Never had Sarah seen a creature as fantastic as Amanda. Sarah noticed that the assistant coach's manhood was stiffer and more swollen now than it had been when Amanda had first entered the girls' locker room. Amanda's prick stood straight up, rigid and engorged with blood, and red throughout its thick length, its glans, or tip, purple, and her balls high and tight inside the gathered flesh of her scrotum.

Sarah shook her head, as if to awaken from a dream, but the vision named Amanda remained before her amazed eyes, as real as any of the other girls, despite her androgynous equipment.

"Madison," the newest squad member called, above the hissing water that showered down upon the redhead, making Marilyn's firm, round breasts shine and glisten; sluiced down her tight tummy, over her gleaming, bald pubes; and dribbled from the column of her stiff-standing cock and the tight clump of her balls, "you look wet, and I'm horny as hell. Get on your hands and knees--no, even better, get on your elbows and knees."

Sarah thought, The bitch has finally gone too far. There was no way Marilyn was going to let some shemale freak fuck her in front of the rest of the squad. No way! Besides, Marilyn was Sarah's girlfriend, not Marilyn's. Coach Bigg herself had matched the blonde and the redhead up as lovers. Even Amanda wouldn't dare to separate lovers whom the squad's coach had joined together.

Marilyn looked at Sarah. The blonde frowned and shook her head. Looking confused and frightened, the redhead looked past her girlfriend, at their coach, but Coach Bigg said nothing, did nothing, leaving the situation to the girls to resolve among themselves.

"Now, Madison!" Amanda yelled.

Glancing uncertainly at Sarah, Marilyn knelt under the pelting shower. She leaned forward at the waist, dropping onto her palms. As the water continued to cascade down upon her naked head, back, buttocks, and legs, washing over her perineum and labia, Marilyn lowered herself from her hands onto her elbows, adopting a posture that proclaimed, louder than any words might declare, her vulnerability and submission to the more dominant cheerleader.

If Sarah hadn't seen her girlfriend do so before her very eyes--and those of the entire squad, Coach Bigg included--she never would have believed that Marilyn would do such a thing. Where was the dominant, arrogant, aggressive, even sadistic, bitch Sarah had been subjected to during the past few weeks as, in the privacy of their bedrooms, the blonde was compelled to submit to the insults, degradation, humiliation, spankings, and other "discipline" that were designed to show Sarah's insignificance and Marilyn's superiority? The dominant bitch had become the submissive victim, the sadist the masochist, the butch the femme. Marilyn, Sarah thought, with some satisfaction, was about to learn what it was like to be on the receiving end of BDSM play.

Marilyn's weight resting upon her elbows and knees, her ass high in the air, and her legs parted wide, was quite a sight to the rest of the cheerleaders. Between her thighs, below the tiny, puckered dimple of her asshole, they could see the slit mound of her cunt. The sight of her soft, full labia and the glimpse of bright pink flesh between the slightly parted lips made Sarah drool.

Kneeling on the wet, slick floor behind the redhead, Amanda slid her thick, hard cock through the lips of the redhead's pussy, entering her all the way to her balls. However, after a few strokes inside her lovely cunt, Amanda withdrew. Holding her erection in her fist, the assistant coach guided it between the silken cheeks of Marilyn's full, round buttocks. The transsexual's glans pressed against the ring of her target, the redhead's anus. Overcoming the resistance of the tight, round muscle, Amanda continued to drive her prick forward, through Marilyn's firm sphincter and deep into the redhead's ass. The shemale stopped only when her lower belly was hunched over the redhead's bottom and her balls were shoved against her reluctant partner's lower ass cheeks and perineum.

Marilyn gasped. "Your cock is so big!" she cried. "You'll split me in half! I've never been so crammed full of cock, so stuffed with prick!"

Ignoring Marilyn's fearful protests, Amanda slammed her cock through her asshole, and plunged as far as possible into the redhead's bowels. Back and forth through her gaping anus, the tranny pumped her prick, with greater speed and force, until Amanda was fucking Marilyn with a passion that bordered upon violence. The redhead, rocked beneath Amanda's every advance, gasped and moaned, squirming beneath the assistant coach as her own tits bounced and swayed, her belly heaved, and her legs flexed and straightened, her buttocks flattening and rebounding.

Amanda fucked Sarah's girlfriend as if Marilyn were nothing but a slut or a whore, and the redhead seemed to love it. However, the intensity with which Amanda drove her prick back and forth through Marilyn's anus, plunging it repeatedly into her impaled bottom, precluded the longevity of their intercourse. Within mere minutes of the tranny's having introduced her cock into the redhead's ass, Amanda was spurting her seed. As the semen erupted from Amanda's balls, the newest member of the cheerleading squad jerked her cock free, firing the warm, thick, white rounds of her ejaculate over the redhead's creamy, smooth buttocks and along her sculpted back.

Spent and exhausted, Amanda collapsed atop her lover, her cock riding the semen-slick furrow between Marilyn's cum-splattered buttocks, and lay still, the brunette's heart beating wildly between the redhead's shoulder blades, her breath coming and going in quick, short gasps. Water spread out beneath them, rippling around Marilyn's outline upon the drenched, shower-pounded floor.

Sarah and the other girls looked over their shoulders at the source of applause behind them. Coach Bigg, grinning, was bringing the palms of her hands together, in slow, sharp slaps to demonstrate her approval of the near-rape the girls had just witnessed. "Excellent!" she called, over the hot, hissing water of the showers that still rained down upon most of the cheerleaders who stood in the common shower, staring at their coach as, a moment before, they'd been ogling the girls fucking before their eyes, on the wet, water-slick tile floor. "As you can see, ladies, Amanda brings many assets to her position as my assistant, both in and off the practice mats. Any girl she wants is hers for the taking, as far as I'm concerned. After all, there's no steady girlfriend for Amanda, so you must all be available to her, on demand."

The cheerleaders looked at one another, frowning, arching eyebrows, crinkling noses, uncertain as to how they should feel about being fucked in the ass or the cunt by a girl who was also a boy--or a boy who was also a girl--or a creature that was both, but neither, sex.

"Any questions?" Coach Bigg asked, looking from one of her charges to the next. When there were none, she said, "Dismissed!" and, turning her back upon the naked girls, she left the locker room and went outside, to the storeroom, to check the latest features she'd ordered installed on The Carousel.



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 15



Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are all 18 years old or older.

* * *

Sarah had always imagined that her first time with a guy would be the way that sex was described in romance novels. He would be tall. He would be dark. He would be handsome. He'd seem arrogant, but, really, he'd be only self-confident. He'd be wounded by a past relationship and distrustful of women. He'd need someone just like Sarah to show him the love that would save him from his own self-destructive behavior. When he and Sarah finally made love, in a huge canopy bed, below a high, vaulted ceiling, in his mansion overlooking the sea, the room would smell of roses, birds would sing outside their window, and they would both know not only the thrill of passion but also the deep and abiding joy of True Love.

That's the way she'd pictured it in her mind. Maybe, one day, her dream would come true. So far, though, it hadn't happened.

To date, in fact, Sarah's experience with guys had been limited to just two incidents. In one, to celebrate his eighteenth birthday, she'd masturbated a boy she'd known since the first day of their first-grade class. She herself had turned eighteen only a week before the incident, but all she'd known of boys was what she'd earned in sex ed classes and from her more promiscuous girlfriends.

A good Catholic, Sarah was saving herself--or her virginity, at least--for her wedding night. "Virginity" meant--for her, anyway--penile-vaginal intercourse, which meant that masturbation, fellatio, cunnilingus, and even anal intercourse were permissible. But, during her first time with a boy, she'd done no more than masturbate him, and, during her second experience with a boy, who'd also been eighteen, she'd sucked his dick.

Sarah often remembered these incidents, usually while masturbating. The first boy had had a long, but relatively slender, uncircumcised penis. It had been fun masturbating him. She'd been surprised at how soft his cock had been, while flaccid. It had seemed so vulnerable! His scrotum, although wrinkly when saggy, became smooth when it tightened and rose, gathering like the pouch of a drawstring purse as he became excited.

She'd loved the seemingly magical transformation of his penis from a small, limp, wormlike thing, the tip, or glans, of which was all but hidden inside his foreskin, into a long, thick, rigid column, turned red, with an exposed, purple glans. She'd loved, even more, the knowledge that it had been she who had effected this transformation. Her ability to lengthen, swell, and stiffen a guy's cock had made her feel as powerful as a sorceress. Her ability to bring about such a magical transformation showed her the power she had over men. A girl's beauty was more potent, she'd learned, than the strongest, most virile man. Masculinity was no match for femininity. Tits and ass ruled!

Sarah had taken her time with him. She'd used a dozen techniques to coax him to erection, to maintain the upright thickness of his cock, and to edge him toward orgasm.

Closing her hand in a fist, she'd pumped it up and down, slowly and then more quickly, with softer and then firmer pressure, until he'd begun to moan and squirm, and then she'd caressed his balls through the tight skin of his contracted scrotum, letting his prick soften and shrink a bit, but continuing to make him writhe and groan. Next, she'd made a tent of her palm, with her thumb and fingers laid alongside the circumference of his shaft, and jerked her hand up and down, letting the tip of his distended penis collide softly against the palm of her hand on each down stroke. She'd pulled the loose skin of his scrotum over the shaft of his cock, wrapping his prick in the organ's own flesh, and masturbated him this way for a while. She'd pushed the fingers of one hand hard against the root of his prick that bulged behind his balls, between his thighs, beneath his perineum, while, with the other hand, she'd jerked his cock, sliding the taut skin up and down upon its trembling shaft.

Using many additional techniques, letting him relax and soften, and then bringing him erect again, she'd teased him in this fashion for an hour before she'd finally brought him to a climax, letting him release the pent-up passion she'd ignited and fanned to an inferno, and she'd watched in amazement, as jet after jet of his thick, warm, white semen spurted from his erupting balls, launching in thick streamers from his convulsing cock, ribbons and droplets of the thick fluid showering his chest, belly, pubes, cock, and balls. Some of the sticky stuff had even splattered upon her fingers and the back of her hand, and she'd brought his seed to her lips, tasting it, and had learned, thereby, that ejaculate is salty and wonderfully thick.

The blowjob she'd performed on the other guy had been even more exciting, Sarah thought. It had happened after school one day, early in this, her senior year, on a fire escape landing, five stories up, outside his apartment. She'd taken a city bus home with him, downtown, where he lived in an apartment house with his parents, both of whom worked and wouldn't be home until late, to see (or so she'd thought), a movie called The Crying Game, which, he'd said, featured a transvestite named Dil.

She'd heard of cross dressers, but she'd never seen one, not that she'd known of, anyway, and she'd been curious as to what a man dressed up as a woman, with his hair styled, wearing makeup and long, painted nails, would look like. Surely, she'd thought, the other characters in the movie would have been able to tell that "she" was really a he, just a guy in drag.

Only they hadn't watched the movie. Instead, the guy had invited Sarah out, onto the fire escape landing--his own personal balcony, he'd called it--to watch the sun set. They'd looked out upon the streets below, at the people scurrying here and there, and he'd kissed her.

She'd kissed him back, and one thing had led to another, with him fumbling at the buttons of her blouse and her letting him do so. When he'd placed her hand atop the bulge in the crotch of his jeans, she'd left it there, even giving the firm mound a few soft squeezes through the coarse fabric. He'd unzipped himself and let his cock spring to fullness, and it had stood upright, through the slit of his open fly.

"Put it back in your pants!" she'd hissed. Somebody will see!"

"We're five stories up," he'd reminded her. "No one can see anything."

"What about your neighbors?"

"They don't hang out on the fire escape."

"They might be looking out their windows."

"They aren't."

"How do you know?"

"They're old shits. They're afraid to open their curtains, unlock their windows, or answer their doors."

Skeptical, but somewhat mollified--and horny--Sarah had let herself be reassured by his claims. When he'd said, "Suck it, Sarah," she'd complied.

At first, she'd found it awkward, even difficult, to suck his dick in the close space of the fire escape landing, but she soon resolved this problem by climbing a few steps down, sitting on a lower level, and leaning forward as she propped her upper body's weight on an elbow. She'd never been as up close and personal with a penis as she was now, with her date's stiff, swollen cock only inches from her lips. It was exciting as hell, she'd thought.

Her lips had parted, brushed past the rubbery glans of his member, and closed about the wide circle of its rigid shaft. She'd slid her rounded lips down its sleek surface, over the tight skin, all the way to his balls, feeling them nudge the tip of her nose. She'd worried his prick like a dog with a bone for a moment, and he'd squirmed, groaning. She'd smiled to herself, feeling powerful, like a sorceress or a witch who was able to bind men with the power of her sex and beauty, with the potency of her feminine charms.

She'd brought her head up again, letting his rigid prick slide back through the ring of her full, soft lips. A strand of her saliva had connected her mouth to the tip of his cock as she'd let his glistening shaft slide free of her lips. Shifting her weight, she'd gotten more comfortable, so she could better concentrate upon the task at hand, so to speak, and, for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, she'd put all her energy and imagination into servicing her date, bringing him nearer and nearer to orgasm, until, at last, unable to control the intense and insistent need for relief that had built and built inside him, he'd come, launching volleys of semen into her warm, wet mouth, and she'd blinked, surprised by the sudden violence with which his balls and cock delivered the fluid into her oral cavity, splattering the roof of her mouth, her tongue, and the inner walls of her cheeks with its thick, warm, salty goodness. Instinctively, she'd swallowed, as more and more of his seed spurted into her mouth. This was what the nectar of the gods must taste like, she'd thought, greedily consuming the fruit of her lover's loins as more and more of his seemingly endless semen assaulted her teeth and tongue and palate.

Sarah had enjoyed these incidents immensely, and, no doubt, she'd have sought additional opportunities to indulge in other forms of sex with boys, except for the penile-vaginal variety, if she hadn't been forced, by Coach Bigg, to discover the joys of lesbian love with Marilyn Madison.

Someday, Sarah might return to heterosexual lovemaking. She might even find her Prince Charming. But that day, if it happened at all, seemed far away, indeed. Meanwhile, she was more than satisfied with eating pussy, being fucked with a dildo, strap-on and otherwise, and being spanked and humiliated.

Marilyn was all the lover any girl could ever want, Sarah knew, and she was content with her, even if, at times, Marilyn could be a little pushy, a little demanding, even a little cruel. Sarah had only herself to blame for Marilyn's sadistic streak; after all, Sarah had learned, there was more than a little of the masochist in her own makeup. If the truth were to be told, even an alpha female--or the alpha female she'd once been--or had believed herself to be--could appreciate--or learn to appreciate--a little humiliation and pain on occasion.

It was fun, sometimes, to be called a bitch and to be treated as such. Marilyn had even mentioned something about Sarah's wearing a "bitch outfit" and being her "puppy slave," although Sarah wasn't really sure what the hell Marilyn had meant by that. One day, though, Sarah was hoping to find out.

Meanwhile, she'd become a member of a threesome involving herself, Marilyn, and the new girl on the cheerleading squad, the "girl with something extra," as Coach Bigg had introduced Amanda Meeks. ("A-man-duh," the other girls had called her.)

The "something extra" about Amanda was the cock and pair of balls that the preoperative male-to-female transsexual, or shemale, cheerleader carried between her silken thighs!

Amanda was a guy! Or a dude with boobs.

Or maybe she was a chick with a dick?

It was all very confusing, Sarah thought, and a little gross. It was kind of disturbing, seeing a guy with tits, or a girl with a dick, or however one was supposed to think about a male-female hybrid, or a masculine-feminine freak. At the same time, though, Sarah had admitted, both to herself and to Marilyn, it was also sort of sexy. In fact, it was way sexy, as almost anything perverse tended to be, once one got past the whole perversity issue.

Coach Bigg had made it clear to the cheerleaders that, as the only girl on the squad who was "unattached," Amanda, who'd replaced Marilyn as the assistant coach, was to be accommodated sexually by anyone she chose, and Amanda had straightaway selected not just Sarah or Marilyn, but both of them. "We're having a threesome," the transsexual cheerleader had informed them.

That had been a week ago, and--Sarah glanced at her wristwatch--in about five minutes, the amount of time that it would take her to walk the additional two blocks between her house and Marilyn's, where she was meeting the other two girls, the threesome would be having their first sexual tryst with one another. Sarah, excited at the prospect, quickened her pace. She could hardly wait!

* * *

When Sarah arrived, Amanda was already there, and she and Marilyn, naked, were waiting for her, in Marilyn's bedroom.

In fact, Marilyn had Amanda's cock in her mouth, sucking it with gusto.

"Hel-lo!" Sarah called, announcing her arrival. Neither girl had looked up as she'd entered the room, which had annoyed Sarah almost as much as her seeing her girlfriend sucking a tranny's dick had done. "Couldn't you have waited for me?"

"Hi, honey," Amanda said, smiling lasciviously at the blonde.

"Mfph," Marilyn managed to grunt, around the thick cock that filled her face.

"Get naked, and join us," Amanda invited Sarah.

Sarah tried to remain angry at having walked in on her girlfriend face-fucking a shemale, but, she found, she couldn't really blame the redhead. If they'd met at Sarah's house, instead of Marilyn's--not that they ever would, because Sarah's dad, unlike Marilyn's permissive (some might even say negligent) parents, was way too strict and meddlesome--it might well have been Sarah herself who was on her knees, naked, sucking Amanda's dick. Quickly, the blonde shed her clothes and joined the couple.

"Kneel behind me," Amanda ordered. "Eat my asshole."

"Eww!" Sarah protested. "No thanks!"

"I'm not asking," Amanda clarified. "I'm ordering."

Sarah snorted her derision. "I don't care," she replied. "I am not eating your asshole. That's totally disgusting."

"It's a muscle, much like your lips or your labia," Amanda declared.

The slurping sounds Marilyn made while sucking Amanda's dick punctuated the assistant coach's and the blonde cheerleader's conversation, sounding ludicrous, but also, sexy.

"My lips and my labia aren't full of shit," Sarah countered.

"That's debatable," Amanda quipped, "but my order isn't. Do it!"

"No."

"Do it, or you're off the squad," Amanda proclaimed, her light bantering tone suddenly no-nonsense and adamant.

Sarah felt panic flood her. There was no way she wanted to eat Amanda's asshole, but, on the other hand, she didn't want to be booted from the squad, either, not after all the time and energy she'd put into cheerleading under the often humiliating and always onerous, ironfisted tutelage of Coach Bigg.

"Now, Owens!" Amanda insisted.

Reluctantly, sighing deeply, with tears gathering in her blinking eyes, Sarah, feeling more mortified than she'd ever felt before, sank to her knees, naked, behind Amanda.

She looked at the brunette's ass cheeks. They were sleek and round, if a little more compact than most girls', and definitely sexy.

Bringing her face closer to the sleek, tight cheeks, she wrinkled her nose, giving their cleavage a tentative sniff. There was no odor--at least, not of shit--as Sarah had feared there might be. Instead, Amanda smelled sweet. She'd most likely bathed in scented bath oil or sprayed herself with perfume.

In front of Amanda, Marilyn gurgled, slurping the shemale's cock, and the sound of her girlfriend guzzling and gulping Amanda's prick somehow heartened Sarah concerning the task that she herself had been assigned. If a girl could suck a cock, why shouldn't she eat an asshole? Sarah reasoned. After all, Amanda was obviously as clean between her buttocks as she was anywhere else and, as the assistant coach had assured her, an anus was much like a pair of lips or labia.

"Well?" Amanda demanded.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah brought her face forward, into contact with Amanda's buttocks. The transsexual's derriere flattened before her, as Sarah, having laid her forehead against the sleek cushions, pressed her face farther into their soft fullness. 

Her nose poked into the deep divide of Amanda's cleavage, and the cheeks of her face pushed into the cheeks of the other girl's bottom.

The sensation of her face, flattening the silk-smooth, soft, but firm, cushions of Amanda's buttocks before it, as she moved her head forward, was very pleasant, much like nudging into a warm, living pillow, and, Sarah's inhibitions suddenly flown, the blonde shoved her face more forcefully into the crushed padding. Her nose, like her mouth and chin, were lost within the deep divide of Amanda's bottom.

"That's better," Amanda decreed, her buttocks flexing on either side of Sarah's nose and chin as the brunette, sparked with renewed passion, trembled.

Marilyn seemed to agree, offering a round of slurping sounds as she continued to nuzzle, gobble, and suck Amanda's manhood.

Amanda stroked the redhead's silken hair as Marilyn nursed at her prick. At the same time, thrusting her rear slightly back, she said to Sarah, "That's fine."

It was fine, too, the blonde thought, her reservations about performing analingus gone. Eating a girl's asshole, she thought, was as good--no, better!--than eating her pussy. Analingus was a way more forbidden act than cunnilingus, and performing such a taboo practice was titillating in the extreme. It was perverted as hell, and Sarah loved to do anything perverted. She had no illusions about herself in that regard; she was a total and absolute pervert, and she loved everything about being one.

But the act was exciting not only because it was prohibited and "nasty," but also because of the strange, but delightful, sensations it involved. The feel of the soft, full, cushiony ass cheeks against and around one's face; the warmth of the muscles and the sleekness of the flesh against one's nose, cheeks, lips, and chin; the firmness of the rubbery anus against the tip of one's moist, darting tongue; the wetness of one's saliva, lubricating the licking strokes to the anal ring and the dipping probes through the asshole, into the rectum within--all were thrilling and delightful in the extreme, and way, way more titillating than eating pussy or sucking cock could ever be.

Eating out a girl's asshole was intensely humiliating, too, which, more than anything else, made the act enjoyable and desirable to the masochistic slut whom Sarah had become and loved to be.

Assaulted before and behind, the assistant coach moaned and groaned, gasped and sighed, her cock jerking and twitching, her buttocks flexing and shuddering, her asshole fluttering and flickering. She cried and whimpered, whined and grunted, wheezed and wailed.

Marilyn's tongue licked Amanda's prick and lapped her balls; Sarah's oral appendage flicked and slapped the assistant coach's asshole, and, together, the redhead and the blonde brought the brunette to one of the most powerful orgasms the shemale beauty had ever experienced.

Wave after wave of intense, overpowering ecstasy swept through Amanda's loins, and, her heart pounding, her blood surging, her lungs heaving, she cried out, her semen exploding from her jerking, thrashing cock to fill and overflow Marilyn's mouth and dribble down her lips and chin, dropping, like liquid pearls, onto the redhead's pale breasts and rose-pink nipples.

At the same time, Amanda's buttocks trembled and flexed, pressing firmly and repeatedly against Sarah's nose, lips, and chin as the blonde continued, as best she could, to kiss and lick and probe the brunette's fluttering asshole.

Having a lesbian lover was wonderful, Sarah thought, her face buried as far between the brunette's ass cheeks as possible, but being the member of a threesome was fucking incredible, especially when one of the three was a beautiful ladyboy with firm, high, round breasts; sleek, compact buttocks; shapely legs; and a cock and a pair of balls as "something extra" to play with when a girl wasn't otherwise occupied--sucking her prick or eating out her asshole, for example.



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 16



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

Sarah lay naked in her bed. Her hand was spread slightly, over her pubic mound, the third finger inside her pussy, gently poking in and out of the warm, wet center of her sex. As she masturbated, occasionally rubbing her clitoris with her cunt-slick finger or humping her labia with the heel of her hand, she mused upon the sexual activities--or adventures--she'd had--and mostly enjoyed--since Bertha Bigg's tenure as South Catholic High School's cheerleading coach. Under the tutelage of the squad's previous coach, Jane Chambers, there had been no sex of any kind among the cheerleaders, and the girls had felt embarrassed even to undress and suit up in their uniforms or to take showers after the day's practice. Now, they loved being naked as often as possible, for any or no reason, and they'd paired off, at Coach Bigg's insistence, into lesbian couples.

Sarah's finger continued to probe her pussy, glistening as it emerged for a moment, before poking back inside the red, ravenous maw. She felt a twitch of her thigh muscles, and quickened the pace with which she finger-fucked herself, jiggling her clit inside its hood of flesh as she humped herself with her hand. She gasped as a wave of orgasmic delight rolled through her, although, she knew, she was minutes away from full-fledged ecstasy. Over the past few months, she'd become an expert at providing self-pleasure, and she knew her body and its responses better than she knew anything else. Her pussy was wet, though, no doubt about that, and she moaned softly as another insistent spasm of pleasure throbbed inside her tingling clit. Her nipples were stiff and swollen, and a flush had crept over her breasts--other sure signs of approaching orgasm.

The other girls had been permitted to select their own lovers, but Coach Bigg had assigned Marilyn Madison, the redheaded newcomer to the squad at the time, to Sarah. The coach had made it clear to Sarah that she'd wanted to break the blonde's spirit. Sarah was an alpha female, Coach Bigg had said, and the other girls tended to follow her lead. The coach was having none of that. There wasn't room on the squad for any leader but the coach herself. Consequently, Coach Bigg had initiated a full-scale assault upon Sarah's dignity, referring to Sarah as "Owens"; fisting her fore and aft, in the cunt and asshole, in front of the rest of the squad; making her the cause of the rest of the squad's rides on the spanking machine known as The Carousel; verbally abusing her; assigning her to a dominant lover who was into bondage, discipline, and sadism; making her assist Marilyn in modeling the so-called exercise known as scissoring, in which two girl rubbed their vulvas, labia, clits, and pussies against one another, in front of the other girls; and making her--and everyone else on the squad--scissor her lover in front of not only an immense mirror, but also before the entire boys' varsity football team! Finally, after accepting a male-to-female transsexual, Amanda Meeks, onto the squad, the coach had insisted that any girl become Amanda's lover, and the shemale cheerleader had insisted upon engaging in a threesome with both Marilyn (who'd sucked her cock) and Sarah (who'd been compelled to lick and probe her asshole with her tongue).

Sarah gasped again, as another telltale sign of imminent orgasm flashed through her loins. Her pussy was so wet that its juices had begun to trickle down her perineum, and she felt the slight tickle of the fluid as it meandered over her bare flesh, down the bottoms of her buttocks. She took her finger from her sopping cunt and began to stroke her clitoris with the dripping digit. Her head thrashed back and forth on her pillow, as she grunted and groaned, feeling the surge of orgasmic pleasure building inside her. Moaning, she licked her lips and quickened her assault upon the hard nub at the top of the vertical slit between her silken thighs.

"Uh! Uh! Uh!" she cried, between gasps, remembering the slender, supple cane of The Carousel slashing her bare, defenseless ass; the machine's spinning dildos drilling her asshole and cunt; the boys watching her as she was caned and as she bumped and ground her clit against Marilyn's; Coach Bigg's whole hand inside first her rectum and then her vagina as the bovine woman fisted her in front of the rest of the cheerleaders; the mortified high school quarterback opposite her on the spanking machine, being drilled in his asshole while a transparent sleeve masturbated his cock; her face buried between Amanda's ass cheeks while she licked at the shemale's anus as if it were a flower and she were a hummingbird who couldn't get enough of the blossom's sweet nectar; her mother, naked across from her on the spanking machine her father had bought, christening it The Teeter Totter; her dad spanking her bare bottom, his cock erect all the while; her walking in on him while he was watching a porn flick about an older man spanking a nubile young chick.

The images kept coming and coming, and Sarah's fingers stroked and pinched and pulled and jiggled and shook and kneaded and twirled and flicked the hard button of her clitoris until, at last, the building orgasm broke, as if it were the water behind a burst dam, flooding her thighs, perineum, and buttocks. The sheet beneath her gyrating pelvis was drenched with her fluid, too. She was scarcely aware of anything, though, but the orgasmic waves that crashed through her body and soul. Her hips rolled and thrashed, her heart pounded, her lungs panted, her pulse raced, and her hard, throbbing clit shuddered as her thighs flexed and shook, making scissoring movements.

"Sarah!"

Even in the throes of orgasm, the ecstatic blonde recognized the male voice, shocked and angered, that had shouted her name, but, beside herself with bliss, Sarah couldn't answer; all she could do was ride the crests of pleasure that assaulted her nerves and muscles, her blood and brain. Her hand, soaked with the fluids of her pussy, pressed and stamped her soaked, slick mound, while her finger flicked at and twirled about her pulsing clitoris. She heard a loud, undulating, almost frantic cry of irrepressible ecstasy, as if she were listening to someone else caught in the throes of orgasmic delight, realizing that the keening wail was her own. She bit her lower lip--hard--and the wavering cry became a series of loud, frantic whimpers. Her legs continued to flex and twitch, spasm and scissor, as her flooding cunt gushed more fluids over her inner thighs, perineum, lower buttocks, and bed sheet.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" her father demanded.

She hadn't heard her bedroom door open, any more than she'd heard her father knock--if he had knocked--but she heard it slam. Her father was more than annoyed; he was totally pissed off. In a moment, Sarah knew, he'd be taking his rage out--literally--on her ass. Still, she couldn't help but to gasp and moan, to groan and whimper, and to grunt and sigh, as wave after wave of orgasmic delight flashed through her.

Violently, her father seized her wrists in his fists, jerking Sarah into a seated position, and then pulled her from her soaked bed and onto her feet. She moaned, swaying, so caught up in the grip of orgasm that she couldn't stand, but her dad kept her from falling. He sat on the edge of her bed, drawing her down with him and across his lap. Through his slacks, she felt something hard and cylindrical press against her wet, naked pubes--his cock, rigid and thick! Then, even as her pussy continued to pour forth its liquid contents, and she moaned with pleasure, she felt his hand smack her bottom. Pain flared in her buttocks, but it she'd hardly recognized the sensation before it was swamped in the pleasure that still gripped and flooded her sex.

"Ugh!" her father cried, pushing his daughter away. Sarah rolled off his lap, over his thighs, and onto the floor. She saw a dark stain at the crotch of her father's slacks, and, for a moment, she thought he'd ejaculated in his pants before she realized that the wet mark on the front of his trousers was from her pussy. She'd wet his pants with her cunt juices, the same way she'd wet the bed--and he didn't look a bit happy about her having done so.

He stood, unbuckling his belt, and Sarah, looking up at him, through the mental haze of her orgasm's afterglow, winced, suspecting that he intended to use his belt upon her bottom. Instead, though, he unfastened his slacks, unzipped the fly, and slid the trousers down his pasty, hairy legs. He'd been wearing slippers instead of shoes and socks, probably as he was watching television--another porn movie?--or reading a book, so he was able simply to step out of his slacks after kicking off his slippers. 

He stood over his daughter wearing nothing below the waist but his white cotton briefs, the front of which bulged with his erection.

Sarah couldn't believe her eyes. Never had she seen her father in his underpants, nor would she have believed that she'd ever witness such a sight, yet, here he was, standing before her in such a state of undress, the length of his thick, hard cock clearly outlined beneath his tented underpants.

"Daddy!" Sarah cried, shocked by the sight of her father's erect penis bulging against his underwear and by the ghastly vision of his bare legs. She didn't give a thought to her own nakedness, having become so used to being in such a state that it seemed entirely natural to her, even now.

He didn't look at, or otherwise acknowledge, his daughter. Instead, he uttered another sound of disgust as he noticed that his daughter's cunt juices had seeped through his slacks and into his underpants; the briefs were also wet with his daughter's pussy lubricant.

Before Sarah's astonished eyes, he quickly slid them down his thighs, over his knees, and along his claves, stepping out of them and casting them aside as well. Now, he wore nothing but a tee shirt.

The bottom of the shirt was also wet, so he tugged it off, shrugging out of the last item of apparel he was wearing when he'd rushed into his daughter's room, and now stood utterly naked in front of her.

"Daddy!" Sarah cried again, the syllables an ejaculation of shock coupled with disbelief. She couldn't help but look, and she was amazed--and terrified--at the sight of her father's rigid, thick standing upright against his belly. As thick as her own wrist, the mighty member was the girth of two teenage boy's erections and longer than any she'd ever before laid eyes upon, either in the flesh or in a photograph. Her father was one magnificently endowed man, she thought. If he were a porn actor, he might credibly adopt the stage name of either "Long Dong Silver" or "The Italian Stallion" (except that he was of English, rather than Italian, descent).

The man had meat, for sure. Huge, his cock was red, and its tip, or glans, was purple. His balls were high and tight inside the bunched pouch of his risen scrotum. The appearance of his genitals made it clear to Sarah, even as limited as she was with regard to guys, that her father was, as it were, ready for action.

She swallowed hard, several times, at the sight of his rock-hard cock. She wanted to look away, but, fascinated by her father's display, she found she was unable to do so. It was as if the sight of her father's naked cock and balls had hypnotized her. She swallowed again.

Finally, finding her voice, she shrieked, "You're naked!"

"And what do you call your own state of undress?" he demanded.

"I'm in my own room," Sarah pointed out.

"Yes, masturbating!"

"Daddy, I--"

"Hold your tongue, missy!"

Sarah looked down. Her face was red, she knew; she could feel the heat of her blood in her cheeks, so she knew she was blushing--as much from anger as from the extreme embarrassment she felt in the presence of her naked father. Secretly, though, deep, deep down, in her soul, Sarah was also excited. Her father was a good-looking guy and sexy for his age, which was only thirty nine, after all, and he'd kept himself trim and fit. His muscles were well toned and distinct. He had broad shoulders, a deep chest, six-pack abs, powerful thighs, muscular calves, compact buttocks, and a strong back. He had nice size balls, neither too big or too small, and an unbelievably long, thick penis. Even flaccid, she reckoned his manhood would dangle to a length of nine inches. Erect, it was more like eleven, she judged, and circumcised, just the way she liked them. Maybe her sexual attraction to her own father had also brought the blood to her face. She looked up again, and her father's genitals immediately caught--and held--her gaze.

"Get up!" he ordered.

Sarah stood.

"Bring your ass over here," he commanded.

She walked toward him, aware of the stiffness of her swollen nipples, the swinging and bouncing of her breasts, the glide of her legs, the shifting and swaying of her buttocks, and the wetness of her drenched and still-dripping cunt. She was quite a sight herself, she thought, and, on some level, her father must be enjoying the charm of her charms, she thought, just as she herself appreciated the beauty of his masculine physique.

"Masturbation is wrong," he told her.

She didn't say anything, nor did she avert her gaze from his. She held his eyes with her own, looking deeply into them. She willed him to feel, instead of think; to lust as well as to love; to want her sexually, as a woman and not to think of her as just his daughter.

If he could fathom her thoughts, though, he'd be more likely to be outraged than to be flattered, she mused. Her thoughts were dangerous, she thought, but she couldn't stop thinking them or stop feeling the emotions that gave rise to them. Look at me, Dad, she said, but to herself, silently, I'm a woman, not your little girl. I'm sexually active, in a lesbian relationship; I've masturbated a boy--and a girl--not just myself; I've sucked another guy's cock; I've eaten a transsexual's asshole as if it were a pussy. I'm all grown up now, Dad.

"It's self-abuse, self-pollution."

She made no reply but to stare deep into his soul.

"It has to stop," he decreed.

"I had a dream the other night," she heard herself say. She hadn't known she was going to say it; the words had just spilled out, of their own accord, as she stared into her father's eyes, into his soul. "About you. About us."

He looked shocked. "What?"

"The last time you spanked me," she said, "I fell asleep, crying, my bottom on fire. I didn't know, until the dream, that my heart is on fire, too, Daddy--on fire for you."

"You talk like a Jezebel!"

"I talk like a woman, Dad. Like the woman I am."

"You're a child."

"Is this the body of a child?"

He tried not to look, she could tell, but he did, quickly, dipping his head to glance at her firm, high, round breasts, the nipples of which were still stiff and swollen with desire; her bald beaver, the pink lips of which were soft and delicate like the petals of a blossom in full bloom; and her long, smooth, shapely legs. He couldn't see her buttocks, but he'd seen them plenty of times already, when he'd spanked them. He'd seen her completely nude before, too, on more than one occasion. Hastily, he tore his gaze away, looking her in the eye again.

But her gaze, he noticed for the first time, was sultry, not innocent. It was inviting, enticing, demanding even, bold and brassy--and womanly. It was a look such as he had not seen upon his wife's face in what seemed ages. Marlene still loved him; Max was sure of that, but she'd never been a keen lover. Her interest in sex had always been little to non-existent and, after Sarah was born, Marlene figured that she'd done her duty as a wife, by becoming a mother, and she'd fended off her husband's sexual advances, other than once a week (or a month, sometimes), leaving him to his porn movies and his secret vice, the very self-pollution he'd accused his daughter of practicing just a few moments ago.

Now, here was his beloved daughter, Sarah, looking lovelier than hell, offering herself to him, a gift of the devil himself.

"In my dream," Sarah said, still holding his gaze with her own, "I masturbated you, Dad--or, rather, you masturbated yourself, using my hand."

The blow came so swiftly that Sarah didn't know she'd been struck until the flame of pain flashed through her face and she stumbled backward several steps. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them back, staring through them at the wavering image of her father. "You wrapped your hand around mine, and jerked off as if my hand were a glove," she continued.

He astonished her. She'd expected him to lunge at her and deliver another slap across her face. Instead, he pressed the heels of his balled-up hands against his ears. His face contorted, not in rage, but in anguish. "Stop!" he screamed, but it was a plea, not a command.

The sight and sound of her tormented father melted Sarah's heart, and she went to him, held him close, his naked chest pressed to her bare breasts, his erection squashed between their bare bellies. She pulled his arms down, held him, and whispered, almost cooing the words, "Daddy, it's all right." She repeated them over and over, stoking his hair. "It's all right."

"Stand back!" he cried.

She held him in her naked embrace.

"Get away from me, you harlot!"

She hugged him close.

"I liked doing it, Dad," she confided.

He glanced at her. The horror, the anger, and the hurt seemed to have vanished. Instead, there was the trusting, needy look of a young, uncertain man on his face. His gaze flickered, as did his smile. His body relaxed, though--except for his dick, which remained stiff and swollen, with needs of its own.

"I'd like to do it again," she said, "but for real." She waited a moment, then added, "Wouldn't you?"

When he didn't reply, she took his silence as consent, and seating him, she sat beside him, thigh to thigh, on the edge of her bed.

"Sarah," he said, his voice soft and uncertain, scared a little.

She shushed him. Laying her palm alongside his jutting erection, she said, "Put your hand around mine, and make a fist," she told him.

Hesitantly, his hand shaking, he did as she'd instructed. "Now what?"

"You know."

Tentatively, he began to stroke himself, pumping his daughter's hand, inside his own, up and down upon his stiff, swollen cock. Her hand, much smaller than his own, was dainty and soft, and it felt wonderful, wrapped around his rigid prick. Within a few tugs and shoves of her hand in his, up and down, upon his trembling shaft, instinct kicked in, and he forgot himself, forgot that it was his daughter who was seated naked next to him, with his cock in her hand, and he pumped her hand with greater force and vigor.

A shudder went through him, and his erection lurched and strained, twitching and trembling. Something deep inside him convulsed. His thighs quaked, and his belly heaved. His lungs were bellows, his heart a drum. Abruptly, though not unexpectedly, jet after thick, warm, white jet of semen launched from his trembling prick, and his cum was like a geyser erupting from the ground of his soul, from the depths of his being.

The sight of his daughter's bare buttocks as he'd spanked her naked during the past several weeks; the sight of her, nude and masturbating; and the sight of her now, still naked, on the bed beside him, her hand inside his, around his cock, masturbating him had all, finally, been too much, even for his staunch Catholic faith to repress and condemn, and he had succumbed completely to the sinful demands of the flesh.

The fountain of his seed was proof of his fall as a devout man of faith and of the triumph of the sinful man's irrepressible urges. The semen continued to gush from his prick, erupting as if from the pit of hell itself, in fluid streamers that splattered against not only his own chest but his daughter's magnificent breasts as well; not only against his own rippled abdomen, but against his daughter's firm, tight tummy, too; not only against his own hairy pubes and manly genitals, but likewise against Sarah's bald pussy and womanly sex organs. His semen rained down upon them both, anointing father and daughter alike with the thick, rich fecundating fluid of his loins.




The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 17



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

The nationals championship competition was only a month away, and, were the squad to win, the cheerleaders had to be prepared, Coach Bigg decreed, to put even more time and effort into their practice than they already were doing.

"Count upon being here as late as nine o'clock each night and all day on Saturday and Sunday," she announced. "If any of you is unable or--" she glared at Sarah, as if she were reading the blonde's mind--"unwilling to give me your all--and I do mean your all--let me know, here and now."

Sarah was grateful that she'd told her father about her dreams of her being sexual with him and that, after his initial disgust and reluctance to participate in her fantasies, he'd done so, as much to alleviate the loneliness and lack of intimacy in his own life--Marlene, his wife (and now Sarah's rival) agreed to have sex with him only once a week, at most--and he and Sarah were now secret lovers.

Since becoming her father's girlfriend, Sarah had told him everything, keeping no secrets. She'd told him of Coach Bigg's verbal, physical, and sexual assaults upon her and the other girls; of the coach's use of the spanking machine known as The Carousel; of the coach's constant and continuous humiliation of her in an attempt to break her spirit; of the coach's demand that the girls pair off as lesbian lovers; of her lovemaking sessions with Marilyn--if BDSM games between her, as the submissive partner, and Marilyn, as the dominatrix, could be counted as lovemaking; of the lesbian orgy in which the cheerleaders had indulged at Marilyn's sleepover; of her threesome with Marilyn and their transsexual squad member, Amanda Meeks; and even of how, a year or so ago, she'd masturbated one boy and had sucked another guy's cock.

Her father had listened attentively, but without the frowning, judgmental attitude he'd have displayed--before beating her bottom bloody--before he'd committed incest with his own daughter, becoming Sarah's lover as well as her father. Now that Max, as she'd come to call her dad, had committed a dire sexual sin himself, with her as his accomplice, he couldn't maintain his hypocritical censure of activities similar to--and maybe not as bad--as his own sexual conduct. He'd merely listened, nodded, and said, at the conclusion of his daughter's confession, "You've certainly lived an active sex life, sweetie," and they'd kissed.

Before becoming her father's mistress, Sarah would have had to beg and plead and cry in an effort--and a probably futile effort, at that--to get him to extend cheerleading practice even for one night, let alone every night and all weekend for an entire month. Now, she'd merely had to ask--or mention--that she needed the extra time, and he'd immediately consented, without question or complaint.

Having her dad by the balls, both literally and figuratively, was as convenient, Sarah thought, as it was pleasant. It also had the effect of bringing them much closer together emotionally. Max had been stern, critical, and punitive before she'd become his mistress, but, now that they were lovers, her dad treated her with tenderness, compassion, consideration, respect, love, and passion. Incest was not at all the evil thing it was made out to be, she and her father had come to agree; it was pleasant and wonderful and sweet. In fact, it was hard for Sarah to tell which of her lovers--her girlfriend Marilyn or her boyfriend Max--she loved the best. It wasn't really a matter of "best," she'd decided. It was different, that's all, just different.

"Owens!"

"Yes, Coach?"

"Strip!"

Without hesitation, question, or complaint, the blonde doffed her uniform. Like the other girls on the squad, she'd been ordered to remove her clothing so many times now that it was nothing to do so, even in front of total strangers, like some of the guys on the boys' varsity football second-string team had been. Like the other cheerleaders, Sarah knew all the starting team members, and a couple had even asked her out on dates, both before and after Sarah had become a lesbian (after all, no one knew of her Sapphic streak but her fellow squad members, her coach, and, now, Max), but a few of the benchwarmers were just that--benchwarmers--to her. 

Even so, when the girls were ordered to strip in front of the entire team and to perform their so-called scissoring exercise, lying with their pubic mounds pressed against one another and bumping and grinding their labia, clits, and pussies against each another, Sarah hadn't felt the least bit embarrassed, although some of the other girls definitely had been mortified, if not traumatized, by the experience. By becoming Marilyn's pain slut and Coach Bigg's whipping girl, Sarah had moved way past being embarrassed by being naked--or even performing sexually--in front of others. Her lack of shame, she supposed, was one of the benefits of her having been singled out for Coach Bigg's "special" treatment. Her girlfriend, Marilyn, was the other. As far as Sarah could tell, there weren't any others.

"Get your sorry ass over here, Owens!" Coach Bigg bellowed.

The blonde cheerleader sprinted to the bovine coach's side.

There was a large cardboard box at the coach's feet. Taking a utility knife from a pocket in her shorts, the coach opened the blade, slid it along the heavy tape that sealed the top of the box, and opened the container. To the squad, she said, "Our school's mascot was struck by an automobile last night."

The girls looked at each other, shocked. Everyone knew Brad Barrows. A quiet guy, he was super nice, with clean-cut good looks, and a slender but athletic build. He wasn't quite fast or strong enough to make the football team's starting lineup, and unable to resign himself to warming the bench, he'd volunteered, two years ago, to be the school's mascot. As such, he attended all the sports events--not just the football, but the baseball, softball, tennis, swim, and basketball games and contests, too--as well as the band's functions. As such, he was one of the most popular guys in school.

"He's going to be all right," Coach Bigg reassured her squad, "but his healing will take time, and, with the nationals only a month away, time is something we don't have. Unfortunately, injuries and illnesses have sidelined players on the football and other teams. As a result, I have reluctantly decided that I must sacrifice one of you." She turned, looking at Sarah. "Owens, since you're the weak link on the squad, I've decided to sacrifice you." The coach's tone made it sound as if she meant what she said literally, and Sarah couldn't help but to sneak a peek at the razor-edged utility knife that the coach still held in her hand. "Take your costume out of the box."

As Sarah complied with the coach's direction, Amanda, alerted by a nod from their leader, left the squad and took her place, as assistant coach, alongside the hefty woman. "You've all seen the costume that Brad wore," Coach Bigg said. "It looked more suitable to Disneyland, in my opinion, than to a high school, so, with Principal Matthews' permission, I've had a few alterations to the design--in fact, I've tossed out the previous costume and replaced it with the one that Owens will be sporting as the school's new mascot. Owens, show the squad what you'll be wearing."

Frowning, Sarah removed the costume. Expecting something not too different from the cartoon-style lion's costume that Brad had worn, ridiculous but loveable, if a bit goofy, with a big head, a bulbous nose, wiry whiskers, triangular ears, huge paws, a thick mane, and a long tail ending in a preposterous puffball, she was surprised at the much more realistic suit inside the container.

"Amanda," Coach Bigg said, "assist Owens in suiting up."

"Yes, Coach." The transsexual assistant coach took the costume from the nude cheerleader. "Step into the legs, bitch," Amanda told Sarah.

Sarah obeyed, albeit she secretly resented the assistant coach's referring to her as a "bitch." After all, as a genetic girl, Sarah was more female than the shemale would ever be, no matter how many hormones Amanda took or how many surgical operations the transsexual underwent. As far as Sarah was concerned, Amanda would always be "a man, duh!"

The costume was all of a piece, with legs, sleeves, and a cowl-like mask. The legs and sleeves ended in padded paws, complete with claws, and a zipper, running the length of the back, was hidden in the lion's shaggy fur. There was no mane, so it was obviously a lioness, not a lion, costume. It was odd, though, Sarah thought, that no tail was attached to the costume. A female might not have as big a tassel at the end of her tail as her male counterpart possessed, but a lioness had a tasseled tail, nevertheless, and a costume as realistic as this one should include a tail, she thought. Not having one seemed to ruin the whole effect.

"Step into the hind legs, bitch," Amanda ordered.

After the cheerleader had complied with the assistant coach's directive, Amanda held the arms--or forelegs--up. "Slip your arms into the sleeves, bitch," she told Sarah.

The cheerleader did so.

"Get on your hands and knees, bitch."

Sarah obeyed Amanda's order. Looking down at the big paws that covered her hands gave Sarah an odd feeling. It seemed almost as if, by donning the costume, she was actually becoming a lioness. She found the idea somehow sexy, and a tremor shook her clit as her pussy moistened.

Drawing the sides of the costume tight, Amanda zipped the zipper in the back. Then, she reached under the cheerleader's upper body, through the circular cutouts in the chest of the costume, the presence of which Sarah had overlooked when she'd briefly inspected the suit, and, seizing Sarah's breasts, tugged and squeezed, until she'd managed to pull the blonde's boobs through the cutouts and the twin orbs hung free and clear of the tawny fabric that covered the rest of her--the rest of her, that is, except her buttocks, perineum, and pussy. Like her tits, these parts of Sarah's anatomy were left bare, thanks to an additional strategically placed cutout.

"Open your mouth, bitch," Amanda commanded.

Sarah did so.

"Wider, bitch!"

Sarah opened her mouth as wide as she could, and Amanda pushed a lioness muzzle gag, complete with whiskers, into place. The device was secured by a strap that Amanda fastened behind the blonde's head and by a ball at the end of a silicone prong that slid between Sarah's lips and into her mouth.

Lifting the hooded mask over Sarah's neck and head, Amanda drew it snug and fastened the Velcro strap beneath the cheerleader's chin, connecting either side of the tight hood to one another.

From the squad, Sarah heard one of her fellow cheerleaders sing, "I am woman; hear me roar!" It sounded like Marilyn's voice. The other squad members laughed. Sarah felt tears well up in her eyes. She hated being the butt of the other girls' jokes and jibes.

Sarah imagined that she must look very much like a lioness in her getup. She had the paws, the ears (attached to the hood), the whiskers and the snout--everything but the tail. Not including so essential a part of the animal was as odd, she thought, as including the cutouts for her breasts, buttocks, and vagina. To be as realistic as possible, her private parts should be covered and the costume should feature a tasseled tail. Maybe, she thought, the designer had omitted the tail to increase the mascot's mobility. Trailing a tail in one's wake as she attempted acrobatic stunts and cheers could hamper a girl's style, Sarah thought (although Brad's costume, as ludicrous and cartoon-like as it had been, had included a preposterous tail which ended in an oversize puffball, and it hadn't seemed to slow him down any.)

Amanda reached back inside the box, which Sarah had thought was empty, and removed something else, an item that the cheerleader, in retrieving the costume, had missed. The item was in a space at the bottom of the box, partitioned off by a flap that was nearly the same size as the bottom of the container itself. Amanda flipped the flap back, and took the item out of the concealed space.

It was the lioness' missing tail.

Beside it was a large tube of lubricant. Amanda removed it, too.

Squeezing the lotion from the tube, Amanda smeared the slick fluid between Sarah's buttocks, making sure that she applied a liberal amount of the lubricant to the blonde's asshole as well. Next, the assistant coach coated the bulbous, but tapering, butt plug to which the long, supple tail was attached. Sarah panicked as she realized what was in store for her, and she lunged forward, intent upon escaping the ordeal.

Amanda was upon her at once. Facing toward the cheerleader's ass, the assistant coach straddled the lioness, holding Sarah in place by firmly squeezing her waist with the sides of her knees.

"No!" Sarah protested, tears spilling from her eyes.

"Stay still, bitch!" Amanda commanded.

Sarah struggled to free herself, and Amanda slapped her bottom, hard. "Stop it, bitch!"

Sarah sobbed. "Leave me alone!"

Coach Bigg called, "Madison, assist the assistant coach!"

"Yes, ma'am," Sarah's traitorous girlfriend replied, hastening to Amanda's side. 

"Hold the bitch," Amanda said.

Marilyn helped to prevent Sarah from escaping.

Something hard, but sleek and slippery, slid between Sarah's buttocks, and the blonde sobbed again. "Please, don't!" she pleaded, as she realized that the butt plug was about to be inserted into her bottom.

"The plug anchors the tail inside your rectum, Owens," Coach Bigg explained--as if Sarah needed such elucidation.

"I don't want--" Sarah started to protest, but the coach cut her off.

"It's not about what you want, Owens!" Coach Bigg yelled. "It's about what's good for the squad. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

Although the mascot continued to struggle, Amanda, aided by Marilyn, inserted the plug. The tapered bulb forced Sarah's anus wider and wider until, suddenly, the sphincter overwhelmed, the plug shoved deep into Sarah's rectum, stretching the circle of her asshole to its own thick diameter. A handsome tail, three feet long and as thick as a heavy rope, but satiny and tawny, like the rest of the costume, trailed behind the human lioness.

"I am women; hear me roar!" the voice that had sung this line of the old Helen Reddy song sang again, and, coming as it did from the redhead beside her, there was no question whatsoever, this time, that the singer was Sarah's own girlfriend, Marilyn, who'd just helped the shemale bitch ram a huge plug up her butt!

Sarah felt her tears, heavy and warm, wash down her cheeks as the other girls on the squad chuckled and laughed--at her expense.

Her humiliation, she thought, was, at last, complete.

Of course, in reality, it was just beginning.



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 18



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

"Bring out the cage," Coach Bigg ordered Amanda.

Cage? Sarah thought, her stomach queasy at the implication of the coach's words.

The other cheerleaders, looking on from the line in which they stood at the edge of the practice mat, exchanged whispers and giggles. Although Sarah suspected that their comments were not only directed at her, but were also likely to be of an unpleasant and even mean-spirited temper, she knew that, if she were among the other squad members, she'd also be whispering cruel remarks and laughing at whoever was in her place. Cheerleaders were often among the best-looking and most privileged girls in school, but, Sarah was honest enough to admit, they were also like piranhas, both with regard to outsiders and among themselves.

At Coach Bigg's command to retrieve the cage, Amanda had sprinted into the locker room; now, she returned to the gymnasium, pulling a cage upon a wagon. The conveyance was larger than a child's little red wagon, and it had a flat bed, rather than one that was ringed with sides. Upon the bed, a cage stood, composed of heavy wire mesh riveted to a steel frame. The front panel was a door, also of heavy wire mesh, which bore a hasp through which a combination padlock had been inserted. 

As the wagon rolled closer, Sarah saw that the floor of the cage was covered with a blanket. There were two bowls, one of which was filled with raw meat, the other with water. A big bone lay at the rear of the cage. Sarah hoped that it was plastic or rubber, but she feared that it might be the real deal.

When the wagon came to a halt, Coach Bigg told her assistant, "Put the lioness in her cage."

Amanda seized Sarah's left arm--or foreleg--in a tight grip. "Come on, bitch." She led the mascot to her new home away from home.

Sarah wanted to resist, but she knew that doing so was futile, and she let herself be led along, to the wagon.

"Get inside, bitch," Amanda demanded.

Dutifully, the blonde climbed into the enclosure. The cage was not high enough to allow her to do anything but squat, crouch, or kneel--and she could kneel only if she hunched over at the same time. The blanket provided a thin padding between her hands, knees, and toes and the wire floor, but not enough of a cushion to be comfortable. She could still feel the hard surface of the meshwork of metal that formed the floor, as it did the walls and ceiling, of her shelter. The cage was big enough for her to turn around in or to lie down in, as long as she assumed a fetal position in doing so. Its dimensions would prevent her from stretching out at length.

Sarah heard the slam of metal upon metal--a disheartening sound, if ever she'd heard one!--and then Amanda locked the door, imprisoning Sarah inside its close confines.

At once, the cheerleader felt panic flood her mind, and she felt, with good reason, as if she were an animal trapped inside a cage. She had nowhere to go. She couldn't as much as stand or even stretch out inside her prison. Moreover, she could be taken anywhere the wagon upon which her cage was stationed was rolled, and be made a spectacle of, with her buttocks, vagina, and breasts on display.

"I would eat soon, if I were you," Coach Bigg told the squad's captive. "The meat is sushi, which is nourishing and, some find, tasty, if eaten fresh, but it can be dangerous if it's eaten too late."

The coach's voice comforted the panicked girl, if only for the time being, and Sarah forced herself to relax, exhaling in long, deep breaths, as she thought of the food the coach had mentioned, welcoming the thought as a distraction from the suffocating sense of panic that had gripped her as soon as the door to her cage had been locked shut.

Sarah did feel hungry, especially now that the coach had mentioned food. She crept toward the bowl of raw meat, conscious of the hardness of the wire mesh beneath the blanket. In vain efforts to minimize the discomfort of crawling across the mesh, she made awkward movements, thereby earning another chorus of snickers and insulting jibes from her peers. At the bowl, she sniffed the raw fish. Her tummy rumbled. Sarah poked her nose into the bowl, but realized, in doing so, that there was no way that she could eat with her lower face, including her mouth, covered by the lioness muzzle.

Coach Bigg appeared at the front of the cage, alongside Amanda. "You want to eat, Owens, you do exactly what you're told, when you're told to do it, without question or complaint. Otherwise, as long as you're in costume, which will be most of the afternoon and evening and every weekend until the nationals, you starve. Got that?"

Sarah, unable to speak, with the ball gag in her mouth, nodded.

"Amanda will be kind enough to remove your muzzle long enough for you to eat and drink," Coach Bigg informed the captive.

The lock was removed from the hasp, and the door was swung open. Amanda blocked the entrance, though, as if she were concerned that Sarah might try to escape. "Put your head out, bitch," she told the lioness.

Sarah complied.

Amanda unfastened the Velcro strap under Sarah's chin, which held the hood together, tossed it back, over the mascot's blonde locks, and, reaching behind Sarah's head, unsnapped the leather band that kept the muzzle in place, letting the appliance drop into her hand. She set the muzzle aside.

With her face and head exposed, but wearing the realistic-looking lioness costume, Sarah seemed ludicrous, rather than captivating, and, again, her fellow squad members tittered and whispered about her. Ignoring them, Sarah poked her nose into the dish, sniffed the fish, and, her tummy rumbling, began to devour the sushi. It was good, and she found herself snatching it up by the mouthful, dribbling saliva into the bowl as she ate, swallowing almost without chewing. In a few moments, the sizeable amount of raw fish was gone, and, thirsty, Sarah lapped the water in the smaller bowl alongside her dinner dish. As she ate and drank, the other girls laughed and called out to her.

"For a lioness, she sure eats like a pig!" Karen Lewis shouted.

The others guffawed.

"Cats don't usually like water," Cindy Baxter observed, "but look at the way our pet laps it up!"

The other girls laughed.

"I always knew Sarah was the biggest pussy on the squad," Becky James yelled. "Now, she's proven it!"

More giggling and catcalls followed Becky's jibe.

Despite herself, Sarah felt tears rise in her eyes. Fiercely, she blinked them back. She didn't want to give the others the satisfaction of knowing they'd made her cry.

As Amanda stepped forward to replace the muzzle and hood, Sarah said, "Wait!"

Amanda slapped her hard across the face. "Don't tell me what to do, bitch! In fact, don't talk at all. You're a lioness, not a girl, and lionesses can't talk."

Sarah knew that her face must be red, because the wallop she'd just received smarted terribly, and the blonde wept freely. The emotional abuse of her supposed friends had brought her to the verge of tears; Amanda's words--and her slap--had sent the mascot over the edge. Her tears were met with the derision she'd feared. The other girls shouted "crybaby" and "pussy" at her, laughing and hooting.

"Let her have her say," Coach Bigg overruled her assistant. "It will be the last time we hear from Owens in some time, after all."

Sarah felt grateful, although, she realized, she should feel outraged to have been put in the predicament of being dressed, caged, and treated like an animal. "Thanks, Coach," she blubbered.

"If you've anything to say, you'd better say it, Owens," Coach Bigg replied, "because your muzzle goes back on in fifteen seconds."

Sarah saw Amanda glance at her wristwatch.

"I was wondering--if I have to--uh--you know--"

"Ten seconds left," Amanda announced, sounding pleased.

Realizing she might run out of time before she was able to ask her question in a delicate manner, the mascot blurted out, "How do I poop or pee?"

The other girls laughed, repeating Sarah's question in a mocking fashion: "How do I poop or pee?" Their mimicry was hilarious to them, and several of the cheerleaders, their faces red and contorted, doubled over with laughter, holding their sides.

"How do I poop pee?" Crystal Rogers repeated Sarah's question again, and the rest of the squad guffawed as if they were hearing the query for the first, instead of the umpteenth, time.

"How do I poop or pee?" Debbie Penn cried.

Again, the others laughed.

Sarah felt her face burn with embarrassment. To have her most intimate bodily functions be made the topic of her peers' amusement and scorn was mortifying.

"You simply fold back a corner of the blanket," the Coach informed her, "and relieve yourself in the wagon. Later, one of your keepers will hose down the wagon."

"But what will I use to wipe--" Sarah started to ask, but Amanda, announcing, "Time's up, bitch!" jammed the prong with the ball attached to its end back into Sarah's mouth, shoved her head down, fastened the strap in place behind her head, lifted the hood back into place, and sealed the Velcro strip on the band that, passing under her chin, held the hood together. The transformation was amazing. With all of her human features except her eyes, ass, and cunt concealed by the lioness costume, Sarah looked much like the actual beast that she, as South Catholic High School's mascot, represented.

The coach had heard enough of Sarah's second query to answer her, though, and she said, "To wipe your anus or vagina, use the blanket, of course. Your bedding will be changed daily, when you are bathed."

Bathed? Sarah thought. Inside the muzzle, she tried, as best she could, to smile. The thought of the cheerleaders running their soapy hands through her hair and over her bare flesh, including her ass, her asshole, and her pussy, was about the only thing pleasant she could think of concerning her new role as the school mascot.

Through the heavy wire mesh, Coach Bigg told Sarah, "You will be released for cheerleading events and for the nationals competition, of course, but, otherwise, your role will be greatly diminished, with you spending most of your time in your cage, so, if I were you, I'd get comfortable with my new home."

The coach pressed a button on the side of the cage, and a recorded cacophony of lioness' snarls and roars echoed off the gymnasium's roof and walls. The cheerleaders applauded, whistled, and hooted their approval of the sound effects that the recording provided for their school mascot. To Amanda, Coach Bigg said, "Wheel her to the sideline."

Taking the handle of the wagon, Amanda rolled the conveyance to the basketball court's sideline, near the cheerleaders who stood at the edge of the series of practice mats that were laid side by side and end to end, to cover half the court.

From her clamped enclosure, uncomfortable upon the blanket that covered the mesh floor of her cage, her vision broken into tiny squares, Sarah wept and sobbed, watching her friends--if any of them still were her friends--put themselves through the exercises, stunts, and routines they'd perform at the nationals.

Sarah had longed, all her life, to participate in such a competition--as a cheerleader, not as a costumed mascot. Now, she'd be hidden, except for her eyes, ass, and pussy, inside a fucking costume, looking more like a big cat than a beautiful young woman. Worse yet, her role in the competition would be comparatively small and unimportant next to the parts the other girls on the squad would play. Sarah wouldn't be in the spotlight, but in the shadows. Her worst fears, it seemed, had come true: she'd been relegated to a position of little or no real importance while her friends, many of whom were both less beautiful and less talented than she, would steal the show.

The part that Sarah herself would have played had been taken over by Amanda Meeks, who wasn't even really a girl at all, but a chick with a dick! Sarah felt humiliated. Not only had she been denied the opportunity to shine as her squad's best cheerleader, but she'd also been replaced in the national competition's cheerleading routines by a dude with boobs! It was all just too much, and she cried inconsolably inside the hot, stifling costume and the close-fitting muzzle which denied her very humanity.

As Sarah watched the other girls execute cartwheels, somersaults, leaps, and scorpions, perform pyramids, dance, and shake their pompoms, Coach Bigg sidled up to the side of her cage. To the sniffling mascot inside, the coach delivered the most devastating news of all. From now on, Amanda, not Sarah, would be Marilyn's girlfriend. Sarah would henceforth be the only girl on the squad--if a mascot could even be said to be a member of the squad--to be without a lesbian lover.

* * *

At the end of the evening, Sarah was told that she must wear the costume home, as she must wear it to school. To prevent her arrest for public indecency, and to prevent her parents from going ballistic over the thought that, during cheerleading practice, their daughter's breasts, buttocks, and vagina were on constant display, Amanda fastened three additional parts of the costume into place. Two circular patches, of a color lighter than the rest of the tawny costume, their rims backed with Velcro, covered her breasts. The third piece, of an irregular shape, but of the same lighter color as those which concealed Sarah's boobs, and also backed with Velcro, covered her buttocks, perineum, and vagina. The patches gave Sarah an exciting, sexy two-toned look that also made her appearance acceptable, if only marginally, to the more Puritan-minded members of the public. However, she was allowed to wear these accessories only when she went back and forth, between her house and school, or participated, as the school mascot, at sports competitions or other school-sponsored events.

As always, it seemed that Coach Bigg had thought of everything.



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 19



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

Max Owens was beginning to worry. He'd agreed to the extended cheerleading practice sessions, but they were supposed to end at nine o'clock. Sarah shouldn't need more than a half an hour to get home from school, but it was a quarter till ten, and she still wasn't home. It wasn't like her to be late. At one time, her tardiness would have earned her a sound spanking, while naked, to be administered either by his hand or a ride on the spanking machine he'd christened The Teeter Totter--and, he thought, this time, it might again.

Before, the mere threat of a spanking had been enough to enforce her curfew. Then, after they'd become lovers as well as merely father and daughter, Sarah had hurried home, of her own accord, to be with him. Even with his wife, Marlene, present in the house, Max and Sarah had found a time and place to be alone together. Marlene seemed to suspect nothing untoward between her husband and her daughter, and, if she did, she had the good sense to keep her suspicions to herself. As long as Max wasn't making his weekly demands for sex, it seemed that Marlene was only too happy to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to the incestuous relationship taking place under her nose.

Marlene had taken a two-week vacation to Paris, going with a girlfriend, Cynthia Somebody, from the accounting department of the company for which Marlene worked. Marlene had been hesitant to ask Max's permission to go gallivanting off without him in tow, but once she'd worked up the courage to ask, which had probably taken her weeks, if not months, Max mused, he'd been only too happy to agree. With her out of the house, he and Sarah had the place to themselves, and they could make love as often as they liked, whenever they felt the urge to merge. Then, the late-night and weekend cheerleading practices had come up, and Max had been tempted to say no to his daughter. But he didn't dare. He wanted her at his side and, more importantly, at his beck and call, but it would have been too costly to deny her, so, reluctantly, he'd said yes.

Now, however, his blonde bombshell of a daughter was late, and her tardiness was more than annoying to him. He didn't like to waste one precious moment of his opportunity, especially with Marlene away for two weeks, to be with his nubile young mistress. He decided that, whether she was his girlfriend or not, Sarah was going to have her ass warmed if she weren't home by ten o'clock, which gave her less than ten minutes from now.

Making love to his daughter, having her dainty hand curled around the shaft of his mighty cock or her fingers jigging his balls; feeling her full, soft lips around his stiff, thick prick; watching his manhood vanish and reappear between her buttocks as he fucked her hard and fast up the ass; making her pussy flood itself as he gave her a tongue-lashing she couldn't endure without moaning and groaning--all these activities (and the many others in which they'd indulged) made Max feel half his age again. He felt like a kid, rather than someone who, married to a frigid wife who perhaps had lesbian tendencies--she'd gone to Paris with another woman, after all, for two weeks--was denied the opportunity to prove his virility more than once a week--a paltry fifty two times a year. He felt like a stud, robust, vigorous, potent, and masculine. His daughter had brought out the man in him.

At two minutes to ten, the doorbell rang. Max hastened to the door. When he opened it, he saw a lioness--or someone in a lioness costume--inside a wire-mesh cage atop a flatbed wagon. On a sheet of paper, taped to the front of the wagon, was a note: "Your daughter."

Max grabbed the wagon's handle and pulled the conveyance to the doorsill. Rearing back upon his heels, he pulled hard, and the front wheels climbed over the obstacle, followed by their rear counterparts. The wagon inside the foyer, Max hastily closed the front door.

Inside the cage, the lioness was making frantic mewling and whimpering sounds.

A combination lock secured the door to the cage. Poor Sarah probably thought herself doomed to spend the night in the enclosure's cramped confines, unable to stretch out or stand. Max shuddered, thinking that even an hour, to say nothing of an entire night, inside such a restricted space would be truly maddening. But he wasn't about to let that happen, not to his daughter--and his lover.

Kneeling before the cage, and looking into Sarah's frantic, beseeching eyes, Max turned the knob on the lock, left to 7, right, right to 32, and back to the left, stopping at 18. The "U"-shaped shackle parted from the body of the lock as he yanked the it downward, and he removed the lock from the hasp, opening the door to the cage.

Sarah's eyes were wide with amazement, and, inside the lioness muzzle, apparently unable to speak, she grunted and whimpered.

Max thought he could guess what she was trying to say: How had he known the lock's combination? He had some explaining to do, he knew, and he hoped that Sarah would have the good sense to understand, that she wouldn't be angry--or enraged--and that she wouldn't cut him off from her supply of pussy, as his wife had done, except for once a week.

* * *

Placing his hands upon either side of Sarah's skull, Max drew her head out of the cage. He unfastened her hood's chin strap, tossed back the cowl, and unsnapped the leather band that held the lioness muzzle in place. He pulled the ball gag free of his daughter's mouth, and Sarah gasped, sucking in a deep lungful of air. The muzzle had been stifling. All the time that she'd worn it, breathing through her nose, she'd felt as if, any moment, she might suffocate. Although she received more than enough oxygen, it felt to her as if she were barely able to breathe. She was also sweating. The costume was hot. Perspiration rolling down her brow had gotten into her eyes. With her hands inside clumsy paws, a hood pulled up, over her head, and a muzzle covering her nose and gagged mouth, she'd been unable to rub them, and her eyes stung. They were red, Max noticed.

The butt plug that anchored the lioness' thick, long tail in place was larger than most, both in length and in diameter, and it had been lodged inside Sarah's anus for hours. Her asshole, which had tightened firmly around the invader, felt hard, like steel, rather than muscle. Initially, her bowels had attempted to expel the foreign body, but, unable to pass the long, thick, hard object because of the narrow two-inch neck between much bigger bulges in its length, her rectum and anus had accepted the presence of the occupying object, and the fluttering of her anus and the spasms of her bowels had subsided hours ago.

She hadn't dared to yank the damned thing from her ass in the presence of Coach Bigg, and she'd forgotten about it while Amanda Meeks had pulled her home aboard the wagon, concerned only that she would be seen by others or maybe even stopped by the police. Besides, it would be difficult to remove the plug with her hands covered by the clumsy paws in which the sleeves of her costume ended. She would have to remove it, despite the effort it took her to do so, should she have to shit, but, otherwise, she was just too tired to attempt such a feat. Nevertheless, now that she was again aware of the presence of the object, she wanted it to be removed. It was not part of her. It felt foreign to her. At the same time, strangely enough, it seemed as if the damned thing had a mind of its own and meant to force itself upon her, to become part of her.

Worst of all, being penned up in the close quarters of the cage had been not only uncomfortable--her knees were abraded and bruised--but it had also been taxing, both emotionally and physically. Unable for the several hours during which she'd been caged to stand or to recline in anything but a fetal position, she was exhausted. She was also in a fair amount of pain. Her muscles ached, her joints were sore, and her nerves were frazzled. Her legs had lost some of their strength and flexibility, and Max had to help her, pulling her bodily from the enclosure. When Sarah tried to stand, she fell, and, had Max not been at her side to catch her, she would have fallen and possibly injured herself.

Max snatched the circular coverings from his daughter's breasts, exposing them. Her boobs hung beneath her, resembling udders more than they did a nubile young woman's firm, round tits. He also removed the irregular piece that covered Sarah's buttocks, perineum, and vagina, so that she was naked in all the right places.

Sarah's voice was hoarse. She hadn't spoken for hours, and she'd had nothing to drink but her own saliva since Coach Bigg had allowed her to lap water from the bowl in her cage after she'd wolfed down the sushi in her dinner dish. "How did you know about the coverings?" she croaked.

Max lifted his daughter in his strong arms, and she rested the side of her body against his abdomen and chest. As he carried her upstairs, to the bed in the master bedroom they shared whenever Marlene was not home, he said, "Let me get you into bed first, honey; then, we'll talk."

Instead, as soon as Sarah stretched out upon the firm mattress of the king-size bed and her head hit the soft pillows, she was out like the proverbial light.

* * *

She slept for five hours. She'd probably have slumbered through the night if Max had awakened her.

Drowsily, she asked, "What time is it?"

"Just before three."

"Three!" she cried, sitting up quickly, despite the stiffness in her limbs and the throbbing between her temples. "I have to get to school, Max!! Cheerleading practice starts in an hour, and--"

"Relax, sweetie," he told her. "It's just before three in the morning, not three in the afternoon."

Sarah looked relieved. "Oh." Then she looked peeved. "Why'd you wake me, then, Max?"

"We need to talk," he told her. He smiled. "Then, we need to make love."

"Talk about what?"

"The lioness costume, of course," he reminded her, "and how I knew the combination to the padlock and that your tits, ass, and pussy were concealed by detachable covers."

Sarah squinted at her father. "Yes, you do have some explaining to do, at that, don't you, Max?"

He admitted that he did. "You might be angry, but hear me out, okay?"

Sarah crossed her arms under her boobs. "I'm waiting," she said, her tone frosty. "Whatever you say," she warned, "had better be good."

Max took a deep breath. Here goes, he thought. "A few months ago, I received a telephone call from Bertha Bigg--"

"My coach?" Sarah cried, flabbergasted.

Max nodded.

"My coach called you at home?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"At work. She offered me a multi-million-dollar contract as the supplier of South Catholic High School's athletic and cheerleading equipment, everything from jockstraps to practice mats, from helmets and shin guards to pompoms and megaphones, from goal posts and footballs to--"

"Okay, okay," Sarah interrupted. "I get the picture, but what the hell does that have to do with me being caged like a wild animal?"

"Everything," Max said. "The contract includes a clause that requires my company to support the school's athletic and cheerleading programs, and it leaves the interpretation of 'support' completely up to Coach Bigg and Coach Ryerson. The clause means whatever they say it means. It's because of this clause that I installed the Teeter Totter to supplement your spankings at school on The Carousel. It's why I have to go along with your being the school's mascot. I was given the combination to the lock so that I can let you out of the cage during the night and I was told of the costume's coverings for your tits, ass, and pussy because part of the deal is that, at home and during practice at school, these parts of your body must be exposed to reinforce the illusion that you are a lioness."

Sarah stared at her father in stunned disbelief. "And you agreed to such terms?"

"I want to be a good provider for you and your mother, Sarah. As a regional sales manager, I get a percentage of the sales I bring in, including this one, and the cut is for the duration of the contract, not just a one-time, lump-sum incentive. The contract with your school lasts for twelve years--unless I--or you--give Coach Bigg reason to terminate it--and it will easily make me--or our family--wealthy beyond our dreams."

After Sarah had fallen asleep (or, more accurately, had passed out from exhaustion), he'd removed her costume, and the only clothing that the school's mascot wore at the moment was the flesh of her birthday suit. Max reached his arm around his daughter's bare shoulder. "Am I forgiven?"

She jerked away from him. "Hell, no, you aren't forgiven!"

"Sarah, baby--"

"You've been a part of this for months, making me bare my ass every day after school for inspection, to see whether I'd been caned after practice, spanking me if I had--and a few times even if I hadn't--knowing I was being humiliated verbally, physically, and even sexually by my coach, and letting that bitch put me in a fucking cage, as if I were a wild animal, and you expect me to forgive and forget? Asshole!" She threw herself out of bed, sprinted from the room, and slammed the door behind her, leaving her father alone in the king-size bed that they had, as a couple, shared more and more of late as Marlene seemed to find more and more occasions to be away from home, often with Cynthia, the woman with whom, Max was more and more certain, his wife was having a lesbian affair.

Getting out of bed, Max went to his daughter's room, where he found her weeping in her own bed. "If you're going to pout, you're going to do it in your cage, young lady," he said.

"Fuck you!"

Max grabbed his daughter by her wrists, pulled her out of her bed, and hauled her ass downstairs, forcing her into the cage. As she beat her fists against the heavy wire-mesh of the door, he slid the shackle through the hasp, locking it, and gave the combination dial a spin.

"Bastard!" Sarah, trapped inside the enclosure and looking very feral indeed, cried. "I hate you!"

It hurt Max to hear such words from her. After all, Sarah was his only daughter--and a honey of a mistress.

* * *

Nothing facilitates personal reflection as much, perhaps, as being confined by oneself inside the short, narrow quarters of a cage. For the first thirty minutes, Sarah remained hurt, enraged, defiant, and full of self-pity, cursing her father, Coach Bigg, Amanda Meeks, and even her former girlfriend, Marilyn Madison. She also cursed her mother, Marlene, who had become more and more an absent parent, leaving her daughter home alone with a father who loved her not only as his daughter but as his mistress.

According to Max--or her father, as Sarah again thought of her sometime-boyfriend --there was something wrong with Marlene. She seemed to prefer the company of other women--or of one woman in particular--to his own. Perhaps she wanted to experiment a little. Marlene might have come to desire same-sex intimacy which was emotional, if not physical, although, Max had confided to Sarah, he wouldn't rule out the possibility of there being a sexual attraction between the two women, either. After all, lesbianism was all the rage nowadays. Even Sarah had had a lesbian lover.

It was fine with Sarah if her mom turned out to be a dyke, but the teen resented Marlene's leaving her home alone all the time. Although Sarah enjoyed the sexual intimacy she had with her father, she'd also like to have had some time alone with her mom, to talk and shop and watch moronic chick flicks and have a good cry once in a while about whatever. Her mother was a bitch, she thought, for neglecting her.

After the first thirty minutes in her cage, though, Sarah had started to think about the wealth that her father was accumulating by supplying her school's athletic and cheerleading departments with their gear for a dozen years.

South Catholic High School went through a lot of equipment. One or the other of the coaches was always ordering something new--and, often, expensive. Sarah had no doubt that, over a twelve-year period, Max--or her father, she corrected herself--would make quite a fortune as his share of his company's gargantuan profits. He was a good provider, she had to admit. Even in the days when he'd been a strict and humorless disciplinarian, before he'd discovered the joys of incest, her father had also been a very generous man. There wasn't a miserly bone in his body. With considerable wealth at his command, Sarah (and Marlene), she was sure, could have anything they wanted, any time they wanted it--especially if Sarah were both Max's daughter and his mistress. 

* * *

An hour later, when Max came downstairs to check on her, Sarah apologized. "I'm sorry I acted like a spoiled brat, Max. I've thought about my selfish behavior, and I realize that you are only doing what is best for all of us. Let me out of this cage, and I'll make it up to you."

Max had her out of the cage and back upstairs, in their bed, in less than three minutes. It took him only a few seconds to step out of his boxers--the only item of clothing he wore in Sarah's presence when he wasn't altogether naked. He lay next to his nude daughter, thinking her the most beautiful young woman he'd ever seen.

Sarah's small, soft hand curled around his fledgling erection, pumping the tightening flesh of his stiffening, swelling cock up and down.

"Wait, hon," he said.

She gave him a surprised look. Then, she thought she knew why he'd stopped her. She smiled at him. "You want to fuck me in the ass, is that it?"

Max looked at his daughter and shook his head, laughing. She looked so innocent and naïve, with her blonde curls, sun-bronzed tan, sparkling eyes and white smile, that it was hard, even after months of sharing his bed with her, to believe that such a sweet and wholesome-looking girl could utter such words--especially to her father. "As a matter of fact, love, I do," he admitted, "but, if you don't mind, I'd like to do it with you dressed in your lioness costume."

Sarah frowned. She wanted to say no. She'd like to say that yes, she did mind, very much, in fact. But, thinking of the fortune that would be her father's--and, therefore, hers as well--she smiled. "Wait right here, and I'll fetch it, Max."

* * *

When it was over, and her father's semen trickled from her bottom, down her perineum and alongside her labia, wet and warm and thick and sticky, Sarah, lying with her hooded head and muzzled face atop her father's rising and falling chest, her paw upon his flaccid, sperm-smeared prick and balls, sighed contentedly, thinking that it hadn't been bad at all to have made love dressed as a lioness. It had been sexy and fun, in fact, and it was something, therefore, that she would insist they do again sometime. 

"Happy, darling?" her father asked, petting her behind the ears.

"Mmmpfh," she replied around the ball gag inserted in her mouth.

Sarah fell asleep beside her father, naked inside her lioness costume, and purring with contentment.



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 20



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

A month had passed, and, now, at last, the National High School Cheerleading Competition was upon them, and the cheerleaders, under the tutelage of Coach Bigg and her assistant, Amanda Meeks, had boarded a school bus to travel to the site of the contest. Their coach assured them that first place was theirs for the taking "now that I've sidelined Owens as the mascot."

It was as cruel a remark as it was unnecessary, Sarah thought, curled up on her side, in the fetal position, inside her cage--and it was untrue, too. Sarah knew that she was by no means the squad's weakest link, and she knew that Coach Bigg knew it, too. Sarah was also pretty sure that the other girls knew it as well. Sarah might not have been the best cheerleader on the squad, but she sure as hell hadn't been the worst, either, and she didn't deserve to be the one whom Coach Bigg had "sacrificed" so that they'd have a mascot at the competition.

Sarah resented having, for all intents and purposes, been booted off the squad. She'd worked her ass off to land a position on the team, and she'd put as much effort as any of the other girls--and more than some of them--had into perfecting their drills, stunts, and routines. To have her spot on the squad yanked out from under her feet, only a few weeks before the big event of which she and the other cheerleaders had long dreamed, was more than unfair; it was monstrous.

It would serve the squad--and their coach--right if South Catholic High School wasn't awarded first place. Sarah almost hoped the squad would lose--almost, but not quite. The girls had worked too long and too hard to wish that on them. Besides, if South Catholic won, as it seemed they would, Sarah would also bask in the squad's glory, even if she'd been demoted from a cheerleader to the school mascot.

The trip was rough inside the wire-mesh cage, with only a thin blanket and the fabric of her lioness costume between her and the enclosure's floor, and with the other girls ignoring her, as if she didn't exist. On second though, though, Sarah supposed, being ignored by them was just as well. With the ball gag inside her mouth, and a muzzle over her lower face, she couldn't carry on a conversation with her friends, anyway (if the other girls were still her friends). Besides, most likely, they'd limit any verbal interaction with her to insults and jibes at her expense.

"Do you really think we have a chance?" Karen Lewis asked her girlfriend, Rachelle Thomas.

"Coach Bigg says we do," Rachelle answered. "That's good enough for me."

"We wouldn't have had a chance without her to show us the way," Debbie Penn declared.

"You know it," her lover, Cindy Baxter, agreed.

"Amanda was quite a help, too," Susan Davis observed.

"No doubt about it," Jennifer Adams seconded her significant other's opinion.

Becky James said, "We wouldn't have had any chance at all if Coach Chambers was still in charge."

"Thank God Principal Matthews canned her ass!" Crystal Rogers said.

"Instead of canning her ass, though," Marilyn Madison suggested, "Coach Bigg should have caned her ass."

The other girls laughed. Even Sarah had to snicker inside her lioness muzzle at her former girlfriend's joke. It was funny, after all.

"Yeah, maybe a ride aboard The Carousel would have shaped her up," Amanda proposed.

"You didn't even know her," Marilyn reminded the transsexual assistant coach.

"Maybe not, sweet cheeks, but I know your sorry asses, and, if this Chambers chick was your coach, even for a second, she sure as hell deserves any number of rides on The Carousel."

"Hey!" Marilyn protested.

Inwardly, Sarah winced. She didn't like hearing the shemale bitch refer to her ex- as "sweet cheeks," the pet name that Sarah had devised for Marilyn, when the two of them had been a couple, in honor of the redhead's perfect, callipygian buttocks. Marilyn had had a nickname for Sarah, too. She'd called her "trotter," because, Marilyn had explained, Sarah was "a hottie who was always hot to trot." To hear Sarah's term of endearment for the redhead for whom she still had feelings in the mouth of the vile and loathsome Amanda ("a man, duh!") Meeks brought tears to Sarah's eyes. She blinked them back. If she started to cry, she'd only draw unwanted attention to herself. In her cage at the back of the bus, she was out of sight, pretty much, and, therefore, out of mind. Ignored, she might be, but she was also spared the other girls' nasty jibes, taunts, and digs.

"Hey what?" Amanda asked, a mindless rejoinder, Sarah thought, to Amanda's protest about how "sorry" the cheerleaders had been under Coach Chambers' leadership.

"I'm glad you're my new girlfriend, trotter."

Trotter! Marilyn, her ex-, the traitorous bitch, had given Sarah's nickname to Amanda, a mere wannabe woman! Sarah couldn't believe her fucking ears!

"Shhh!" Amanda mockingly censured her girlfriend. "What if Sarah had heard you say that?"

"Who cares what that bitch hears," Marilyn said, and the couple kissed.

Sarah told herself that she would not cry, that she refused to cry, that she would not give Marilyn and Amanda the satisfaction of knowing how badly they'd hurt her--and, then, of course, she was crying, discreetly, of course, and quietly, but she was crying, nevertheless, bitter tears flowing down her face. Her heart was broken, and she felt miserable.

"I never loved her, anyway," Marilyn confided to Amanda, "not really."

"All right, listen up," Coach Bigg, standing in the aisle between the front seats stationed behind the driver, Mike Ryerson, who was also the boys' varsity football coach, and facing the rear of the bus, addressed the squad. "I want to remind you of the skills related to the elite level. Those for the advanced, intermediate, and beginner levels are of no interest to me or you, as we won't be performing any of them. You will perform exclusively at the highest level. The elite level includes liberty or liberty variations with above average--for us, that's superior--flexibility, all- girls single-based extended stunts, and basket tosses with twists or two positions." She paused, staring from one cheerleader to the next. After a moment, she called, "James! What dismounts will the judges be looking for?"

Without hesitation, Becky answered, "Single twisting dismounts from extended liberty variations without front spots and with maximum participation, double twisting dismounts from extended liberty variations with or without front spots, and single twisting dismounts from extended stunts with all girl-based stunting."

Coach Bigg nodded. "Good, James. Very good!"

Becky beamed. "Thanks, Coach."

The coach called upon Jennifer: "Adams, what will the judges be looking for in regard to elite level gymnastics?"

"Standing tucks, front tumbling, 'X'-outs, series passes with multiple elite skills, whips, layouts, and full twisting layouts. They'll also want to see jumps into back tucks and a hundred percent participation of the squad with intermediate skills or above and the majority with advanced skills or above. Numerous elite skills must be performed at a high level of execution and perfection."

"And what are we going to deliver?" Coach Bigg demanded.

"Perfection across the board, Coach!"

"Excellent, Adams!"

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Rogers, tell me what the squad's going to do in the dance category?"

"The squad will perform at the elite level, executing at a fast pace with several 'and' counts, showing a strong level of technique and difficult foot and body movements during transitions. We will demonstrate a strong use of moves, motions, and level changes to enhance the dance's visual effects and execute floor work that shows several level and formation changes."

"Outstanding!"

"Thank you, Coach."

"Thomas! What do the judges want from us in regard to jumps?"

"Toe touches, hurdlers, and herkies above waist level, pikes, around the worlds, and double nines at waist level or above. They'll expect combination jumps without preparation between them. We'll need to perform jumps with a back handspring or a back tuck attached to a jump sequence. All jumps must exhibit both strong execution and variety by the majority of the squad."

"Precisely! Good job."

"Thanks, Coach."

"If I have to remind you what the judges will be looking for with regard to pyramids or motions, we aren't ready, and we won't win. But we are ready, and we will win, ladies. Your routines' choreography will be smooth; transitions will be smooth and clean, without unnecessary crossing; you will show expression and enthusiasm, smiling and exhibiting confidence and poise throughout the entire routine; your voice projection will be strong, clear, and well enunciated; formations will show good use of the floor, alignment, and symmetry; each and every one of you will demonstrate a creative use of words, music, props, and choreography--and, at the end of the day, you will come home to South Catholic High School as this year's National High School Cheerleading Competition champions!"

The squad cheered, applauded, and whistled.

Sarah had ignored the pressure building on both her bladder and her intestines for the past half hour, dreading having to relieve herself in her cage, in front of all the other girls, Coach Bigg, and the bus driver, Coach Ryerson, but she could no longer hold either her urine or her feces. She pushed herself onto her knees. After a brief, but intense struggle, she managed to pull the oversize butt plug from her rectum, and she set the tail attached to it aside. She pulled a corner of her blanket back, and, squatting over the bare wire-mesh floor, urinated and defecated, repressing urges to grunt and groan.

As the turds squeezed out of her asshole and her piss trickled from her urethra, she hoped that her bowel movement and the voiding of her bladder might somehow go unnoticed. The others were pumped. Coach Bigg had done a great job in bolstering the squad's confidence, energy, and drive, so it was just possible, Sarah hoped, that the cheerleaders might be so caught up in their visions of glory that they'd not only forgotten the school mascot but might also not notice the sound of her trickling urine or her loud farts.

"Phew!" Jennifer cried. "What's that stench?"

Sarah felt her face warm as it flushed with blood.

"It smells like shit," Crystal declared.

"It is shit," Karen proclaimed. "Look! Sarah's taking a dump!"

Marilyn laughed. "Big dumb pussy!"

"'Big' is right," Becky agreed. "She's the size of a fucking lioness!"

The others chuckled.

"God, but that bitch stinks!" Amanda gasped.

Sarah was mortified. It was dreadful to have to relieve herself in such a revolting manner, squatting in the corner of her cage, in full view of her fellow squad members, like an animal. It was even worse to hear the girls' catcalls.

Coach Bigg called to their driver, "How much longer before we reach someplace where we can hose down Owens and her cage, Coach?"

Coach Ryerson glanced at his wristwatch. "Half an hour, Coach."

"Open the windows, girls," Coach Biggs told her charges. "Let's air out the bus before Owens chokes us to death on her shit."

They hadn't even reached the site of the nationals yet, and, already, Sarah had experienced what must surely be the worst day of her life, she thought. Nothing else could ever be as bad as the humiliation she'd experienced today.

"What are the nationals judges looking for with regard to mascots?" Marilyn asked their coach.

"Nothing," Coach Bigg replied. "Mascots are not allowed on the floor during competition at this level."

Sarah paused in wiping her ass with a corner of the blanket when she heard this exchange between her previous lover and the cheerleading coach. Her humiliation at pissing and shitting in front of the other girls, her coach, and the boys' varsity football coach-become-their-bus driver vanished in an instant. Instead of mortification, she felt nothing. At first, the shock of what she'd heard was so intense that it numbed her brain: "Mascots are not allowed on the floor during competition at this level," Coach Bigg had declared.

In that one statement, the coach had destroyed the last seven years of Sarah's hopes and dreams, if not her whole life! Sarah had become a cheerleader in fifth grade, and she'd been one every year thereafter, including this, her senior, year, always with the idea that, one day, she'd compete in the National High School Cheerleading Competition and win the first-place trophy. With Coach Bigg as the squad's leader, victory was in the squad's grasp. Unfortunately, if what Coach Bigg had said was true, Sarah wouldn't be part of what should have been the greatest, most joyful, moment of her life. As the school's mascot, she wouldn't even be allowed on the floor!

Unable to control her emotions any longer in face of such devastating news, Sarah sobbed. Her shoulders--her whole frame--shook inside the lioness costume, as she gave vent to the welter of confused emotions--shock, rage, grief, disbelief, hatred--that erupted inside her.

Hearing her blubber, Amanda said, "What the hell is the matter with the bitch now?"

"Maybe she can't get the plug back up her ass," Marilyn quipped, and the others laughed.



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 21



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

Coach Ryerson stopped the bus at a self-operated car wash. The vehicle's back door opened, and, without further warning, Sarah heard a gushing, hissing sound as a high-pressure stream of water burst over her. The jet was broken only by the wire mesh of the cage in which she lay upon her side, her knees drawn up against her bare breasts. Her buttocks, like her perineum and pussy, were also naked, thanks to the strategically placed cutouts in her lioness costume.

The skin between her silk-smooth ass cheeks felt wet and a little sticky. After shitting, she hadn't been able to wipe her ass very well with the corner of the blanket that covered the bottom of her cage, and she was denied toilet tissue or anything else besides the pair of bowls, one for raw fish, the other for water, that was her daily diet. The stickiness, she knew, was the residue of her feces, which she'd missed in wiping herself after defecating inside her cage a little more than half an hour ago. The bus had stopped so that the cheerleaders could relieve themselves and grab a bite to eat; it had also stopped so that the driver, Coach Ryerson, could hose down Sarah and her cage.

"Remove the butt plug anchoring your tail in your rectum," Coach Ryerson told the mascot.

Sarah struggled to obey. It wasn't easy to pull the long, thick plug from her bottom, especially in the claustrophobic space of the cage that had become her home away from home, but, grunting and groaning, she managed, at last, to extract the appliance.

As it happened, her bottom was facing the rear of the bus, and the boys' varsity football coach directed a stream of the high-pressure water into the cleavage between the mascot's bare buttocks. The water, which was astonishingly cold, struck her hard, and Sarah lunged forward, but, inside the close confines of the small cage, she had nowhere to go, and Coach Ryerson laughed at her shock and distress.

"Move aside, Owens," Coach Bigg commanded. The cheerleaders' coach was standing beside the driver. "Coach Ryerson needs to wash your filth out of the cage, too."

Unable to void her bladder or her bowels anywhere else, Sarah had had to do so in a corner of her cage. She lifted the blanket where she had done so, exposing the pile of excrement and the stain of her urine. Mortified, she moved as much aside as she could in the short, narrow pen in which she'd spent most of the trip, so far, from South Catholic High School, en route to the site of this year's National High School Cheerleading Competition--an event in which, according to Coach Bigg, Sarah, as her school's mascot rather than a cheerleader per se, would not be permitted to participate.

"Phew! You stink!" Coach Ryerson said, as he directed the jet of water from the handheld nozzle toward Sarah's shit. The turds were blasted from the corner of the cage, as was the ugly yellow-orange stain of her piss.

"Blast her ass again," Coach Bigg told her driver, and Coach Ryerson directed the jet of water into the cleavage between Sarah's ass a second time, letting the water gush and spurt against the mascot's perineum, the inner curves of her buttocks, and the gaping anus within. Her asshole was the same diameter as the narrowest part of the butt plug that had penetrated her for hours now, and the driver could see a couple of inches into the teen's rectum. The water filled her wide-open anus, gurgling within the mouth of Sarah's ass.

"That's good," Coach Bigg announced, and the spray of water was withdrawn, leaving Sarah's ass wet, part of her costume soaked, and most of the blanket on the floor of the cage drenched. "Maybe Owens will cooperate, holding her water and retaining her feces until we reach our destination," she told her counterpart, "but I doubt it."

"Maybe we should stop feeding and watering her until we get there," Coach Ryerson suggested.

"Maybe we should stop feeding and watering her entirely," Coach Bigg replied.

Coach Ryerson chuckled. "At least we don't have to smell her piss and shit anymore," he observed, "at least, not until she pisses or shits herself again during the rest of the trip."

"Put your tail back on," Coach Bigg told the caged mascot.

The two coaches watched as Sarah struggled to obey her coach's orders. They laughed as Sarah grunted and groaned, twisting and turning. Finally, she managed to insert the huge plug through her expanded asshole and into her rectum again, and Coach Ryerson slammed the doors to the bus shut.

As soon as the cheerleaders had returned from the public restroom and had boarded the bus, the squad was underway again, headed to fame and glory, they hoped, as this year's National High School Cheerleading Competition champions--an honor that Sarah would share only indirectly, if at all.

The girls ignored Sarah, other than to taunt her about her not having been "housebroken" and the "pain in the ass" she was to everyone, needing to be fed, watered, and cleaned up after all the time. "She's hardly worth her keep," Marilyn had concluded, to the laughter of the rest of the squad.

It was humiliating to have to depend upon others for one's sustenance, meager and unvaried as it was, and to be hosed down by Coach Ryerson after she'd pissed or shit herself, which was an inevitability, no matter how careful she was when squatting in a corner of her cage. She wept, silently, all the way to the motel at which Coach Ryerson had rented rooms for the cheerleaders.

The other girls grabbed their bags and hastened inside, to get naked, take hot showers, make love to their girlfriends, watch a little television, and retire early so they'd be rested and fresh in the morning, leaving Sarah inside the cramped cage, to spend the night alone, curled up in a fetal position, in the cold, her breasts, buttocks, perineum, and pussy exposed. No matter how she twisted or turned, unable to fully extend her legs, the night would be long and restless, and, in the morning, she would feel like shit, thanks to Coach Bigg, the super bitch.

* * *

The next day, South Catholic High School's cheerleading squad would be nothing less than superb during the performance of their routine, Coach Bigg assured them, and they would be all but certain to take home the title of champions--and the huge, ostentatious trophy that signified first place. The cup would be prominently displayed, in the trophy case just inside the school's front entrance, with full-color, framed photographs of the squad members in a circle, the center of which would be occupied by the portraits of Coach Bigg and her assistant, Coach Meeks. Sarah's picture wouldn't be included, of course, because she was no longer a member of the squad. Mascots didn't count.

Even before the competition itself began, Sarah had made a fine impression upon the audience in attendance, dressed in her realistic costume, with the panels to cover her breasts, buttocks, perineum, and pussy in place, of course. Coach Bigg had a remote control that she could operate surreptitiously, causing a recorded series of snarls and growls to sound, seemingly, from the wire-mesh enclosure in which Sarah was caged. The presence of such a mascot, even if Sarah was not permitted, by this year's rules, to participate in the competition itself, added to South Catholic High School's cheerleading squad's grandeur, the blonde, former cheerleader thought. She was proud of her role, even if it was a diminished and unofficial one.

After she'd been wheeled out, on the hand-drawn wagon, for all to see, Sarah even enjoyed a bit of freedom from the close confines of her cage, Coach Bigg allowing her to stroll about and stretch her limbs. At first, Sarah found it difficult even to stand, to say nothing of walk, for she'd been locked inside the cage almost continuously for two days and for the greater part of most other days for the last month. It was a wonder, she thought, that she could walk at all. She doubted that she could do a cheerleading jump, stunt, or routine of any kind were she called upon to do so. Her muscles had all but atrophied, and her reflexes and instincts as a cheerleader, once as finely honed as anyone's, were dull by comparison to most of the other girls', thanks, again, to her long-term imprisonment in the lioness' cage.

While she had a chance to do so, though, she thought she'd put her free time to good use, doing some exercises. Maybe she'd even try a few jumps and stunts. She could practice an arabesque, the scales, a chin-chin stunt, a bow and arrow, and maybe a heel stretch. Most likely, she'd fail abysmally, betrayed by her stiff muscles and frayed nerves, but she could at least try, she thought.

As Sarah was practicing these moves, the butt plug making its presence known to her, as her buttocks flexed and her asshole tightened, or her ass cheeks relaxed and her anus loosened, about the neck of the plug, she saw Coach Bigg, moving like a bat--or, given her size, a she-bear--out of hell, toward her, an expression upon her bovine face that Sarah had never seen before. Coach Bigg looked both horrified and frightened. "Owens," she hissed, as loudly as she dared, "get out of that costume, and suit up." She thrust a cheerleading uniform at the startled blonde. "Amanda hurt herself last night, and we need a replacement for her."

Sarah wanted to ask what had happened to the transsexual assistant coach, but, with the ball gag filling her mouth, she was unable to do anything more than mumble incoherently. She snatched the cheerleader's uniform from the coach, and hurried, as fast as she could on her stiff legs to the squad's dressing room. The other girls stared at her as if she were a pariah. Most likely, Sarah thought, she had become one. Maybe, if she saved the day for the squad by replacing Amanda at the last minute, and they won the championship title, the other girls would accept her as one of their own again, and she'd recover her lost status--at last.

"What are you doing in here?" Marilyn demanded.

"I told her to suit up," Coach Bigg declared. She'd followed Sarah into the dressing room. "Madison, help your girlfriend out of that lioness costume and into her cheerleader's uniform."

"But, Coach, I--"

"I don't have time to explain or argue," Coach Bigg snapped. "Just do it!" The coach spun on her heel and rushed from the dressing room, apparently having other administrative fires to put out.

"I may help you dress," Marilyn told Sarah as she yanked apart the Velcro strap under Sarah's chin, jerked the hood of her lioness costume free of the mascot's head, and unfastened the leather strap that kept the muzzle in place over the blonde's nose and mouth, "but I am not going to be your girlfriend, ever again."

Able to speak again, now that the muzzle had been removed, Sarah said, "We'll just see what Coach Bigg has to say about that."

As Sarah got out of the costume and into her uniform, the other girls rallied around her. In snatches of conversation with her newfound supporters, Sarah learned that Amanda had disabled herself by fracturing her penis. Marilyn had been riding atop Amanda. The tranny's prick had slid from her girlfriend's well-lubricated asshole--Amanda preferred anal to vaginal intercourse--just as the redhead had plunged her buttocks down, hard and fast, to take her girlfriend's cock back up her poop chute, and the shemale's erection had collided, forcefully and painfully, against Marilyn's perineum. A loud snap was heard as Amanda's prick bent to the side, and she howled in agony as her penis showed an immediate bruise at the site of the damage. 

Paramedics were called, and Amanda was rushed to the nearest hospital, where she was diagnosed by the emergency room physician as having suffered a rupture of the tunica albuginea, which envelops the corpus cavernosum penis.

"Will she be all right?" Sarah asked, hoping that Amanda would suffer dearly.

"It's too early to say," Debbie Penn answered. "Long-term, or even permanent, complications could result, including erectile dysfunction, penile curvature, and damage to the urethra which could cause pain during intercourse."

Sarah grinned at Marilyn. "Wow, sweet cheeks, you really fucked up your boyfriend, didn't you, klutz?"

Coach Bigg poked her head in the doorway. "We're up in ten minutes." She glanced at Sarah. The coach looked worried. No doubt, she was concerned with how much harm she'd done to the blonde's strength and flexibility by keeping her penned up inside the tiny lioness cage all these weeks. "You going to be up to it, Owens?"

"You can count on me," Sarah said. "I'm a winner."

* * *

The South Catholic High School cheerleading squad was everything Coach Bigg had promised it would be, and more, Sarah thought. Like the other girls, Sarah was astonished at the skill, speed, strength, poise, grace, and sheer beauty of their performance, whether of jumps, of stunts, of dances, or of tumbling runs; from start to finish, from mount to dismount, their executions were flawless. Their choreography was fantastic, and the music they'd chosen was ideal for their routines.

"You are the best I've ever seen," Coach Bigg told the girls, "including you, Sarah."

Sarah frowned. Had she heard correctly? she asked herself. Had the coach actually called her by her first name?

"I've never seen a better arabesque, liberty, or scorpion," the coach continued, "and the pyramids were perfect. I didn't think you could pull it off without Amanda, but Owens--I mean, Sarah--was more than up to the challenge." She turned to the blonde, and, in front of the rest of the squad, declared, "It is largely thanks to your ability to step in, at the last possible moment, despite having been cooped up inside that cage for hours and, indeed, days on end, that the squad has won first place--and, make no mistake about that--we've won, all right. Thanks to you, Sarah, we're going home victorious. You are, without a doubt, the best cheerleader I have ever had the honor and privilege of mentoring."

There was a whisper among the other girls as they waited for the conclusion of the day's competition, when the winners would be named, hardly bothering to watch their rivals perform. They all spoke, in hushed tones, of Coach Bigg's praise of Sarah, whom, they'd all thought, the coach detested. To say that they were confused would be to put the matter mildly, to be sure. The girls were way past being merely confused. They were in a state of disbelief. "The coach does know she's talking to the bitch who shit and pissed herself just yesterday, right?" Marilyn Madison asked her friends.

"I know it, all right, Madison!" Coach Bigg, overhearing the redhead, snapped.

Marilyn's haughty look disappeared from her face, along with her leering grin. "I'm sorry, Coach. I didn't mean--"

"Oh, yes, you did, Madison," Coach Bigg cut her off. "You meant everything you said. Your kind always does."

Coach Ryerson, making his way through the crowded arena in which the competition was being held, caught his counterpart's eye. "They're announcing the winners of the competition in fifteen minutes, I hear."

"Thanks, Coach."

"You're welcome."

Coach Bigg addressed her squad. "Fifteen minutes is just about the amount of time I need to make a couple of matters clear. First, let me explain why I singled Sarah out for special treatment--and for abusive treatment, at that. I had two reasons. First, when I arrived at South Catholic high School, it was obvious to me, in an instant, who the alpha female on the squad was, and that was Sarah. She had confidence. She was decisive. She was inspirational. She was a natural leader. In addition, she was the best, most talented cheerleader on the squad. Most of the time, her performance carried everyone else's performance."

Sarah stared at the coach as if she were listening to a madwoman. If what Coach Bigg was saying was true, why the hell had she treated the best as if she were the worst? Sarah wondered.

"There can be only one alpha female in a group, though, and, to win here today, that alpha female had to be me, so I set about breaking Sarah's will, chipping away at her self-confidence, her decisiveness, and her influence on the rest of you and abusing her physically, psychologically, and sexually. For the rest of you to blossom, you had to be removed from Sarah's shadow, and for you to develop self-confidence, decisiveness, and inspiration, I had to dismantle Sarah's own identical qualities. That's one reason I separated Sarah from the rest of you, first socially and then physically."

He cheerleaders looked back and forth at one another. They stole quick, furtive glances at Sarah, too.

"I also needed to see which of you are sharks and piranhas and which of you were decent enough to remain loyal and supportive friends to Sarah. I had to know with whom--and with what--I was dealing, and by isolating Sarah as a social pariah and as a mascot to be kept apart from the rest of you, exiled socially and locked up physically, I saw that all of you, except Sarah herself, is a shark and a piranha. She stood by you, time and time again, but each and every one of you insulted and bullied her, stabbed her in the back and betrayed her."

The cheerleaders shuffled their feet, looking down, none daring to gaze directly at the girl they'd scorned and mocked, berated and betrayed, used and abused.

"I discovered that you are cutthroat and aggressive, not merely competitive, and I knew I could tap into those qualities--if I could control your cannibalistic attacks upon each other--and transform you into the country's, and quite possibly, the world's best cheerleaders, and, thanks to Sarah and her sacrifices, I've done so."

A few minutes later, Coach Bigg accepted the biggest, shiniest, most beautiful trophy that Sarah and the other squad members had ever seen in their lives, and, having won first place, as their coach had all but guaranteed them they would do, they took the trophy home with them.

Sarah knew bliss beyond measure.

But there was more joy yet to come for the girl who'd been her squad's detested outcast.

* * *

Note: the next installment is the last. Sarah and I hope you've enjoyed our story, and we hope you'll check back to see how it all ends and what becomes of Sarah, Coach Bigg, Marilyn, Amanda, the other cheerleaders, and Sarah's parents, Max and Marlene. We invite you to check out the other stories we've written for Literotica, too, under our respective names, Cal Y. Pygia and Sarah Owens.



The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 22



Note: This series is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

The bus ride home was far more comfortable for Sarah than the trip to the arena in which the National High School Cheerleading Competition had taken place had been. The blonde was not confined to a cage that was too small to let her sit, stand upright, or to stretch out completely. She had the luxury of sitting in an upholstered seat which had springs behind the back and beneath the seat to absorb the shocks to the bus' chassis caused by the vehicle's frequent encounters with bumps and potholes. 

Before this trip, Sarah would have laughed at anyone who suggested that spending two days as a passenger aboard a bus could be called a "comfortable" or "luxurious" experience. She'd learned, however, that everything was relative, and she appreciated everything that had been denied her for most of the last four weeks, during which she'd been a prisoner in the wire-mesh cage, eating raw fish from a bowl with her mouth, lapping up water from another bowl, and eliminating the waste products of her body openly, before others, as if she truly were an animal.

Her captivity had also taught her a lot about people. Even those--indeed, especially those--who called themselves one's friends might have little or no true regard for anyone but themselves. Sarah had always been a loyal and dedicated friend to all whom she regarded as a companion, but, as Coach Bigg had pointed out, not one other girl, including Marilyn Madison, Sarah's former girlfriend, had truly cared about her. They'd all been, in the coach's words, "sharks" and "piranhas." As soon as Sarah had been assumed to be on the outs with their coach, the girls had shunned their supposed friend, taunting and insulting her.

Their treachery and betrayal hurt Sarah, even now that she knew what they were like, behind their artificial smiles and pretenses at friendship. Their hypocrisy was as laughable and transparent as it was disappointing and painful. Now that they understood that Sarah was not only not an outcast to the coach but her favorite, the other members of the squad had drawn around her as if Sarah were (and had always had been) their best friend, just as, now that Coach Bigg had replaced Sarah with Marilyn as the school mascot and Sarah's dislike and contempt for the redhead was clear to them, they likewise assumed an attitude of disdain and hatred for new mascot.

On their way home, they received word concerning Amanda (or "a man, duh!," as Sarah still thought of the male-to-female transsexual cheerleader). The bitch had suffered a penile fracture while butt-fucking Marilyn, and, now, according to the emergency room physician who'd attended her, Amanda would, indeed, suffer from lifelong complications, including erectile dysfunction, penile curvature, and damage to the urethra, which could cause pain during intercourse--unless, of course, he underwent castration, including the surgical removal of his penis, and became a total transsexual instead of the half-and-half that she herself had, many times, told Sarah and the others she intended to remain.

For Amanda, the joy of being a tranny, she'd divulged, was having both tits and a cock and balls. Now, she'd either be dysfunctional and in pain when she fucked and have a bent cock whether flaccid or erect or she'd have to undergo the sex-change operation that she preferred to avoid and, in fact, dreaded. Sarah smiled to hear the news. She had nothing against transsexuals in general. However, Amanda had been arrogant, insolent, and abusive toward the blonde for no other reason than that Sarah had seemed to be on Coach Bigg's shit list.

Now, it seemed, what had gone around had come around--with a vengeance! Likewise, poetic justice had occurred in Coach Bigg's making Marilyn replace Sarah as the school's mascot, so that the redhead received the same abuse that the blonde had suffered in the same role. If Sarah got the chance to even the score with the other bitches on the squad, she promised herself that she would do so, and with as much glee and satisfaction as she'd experienced in seeing Marilyn replace her as their school's mascot and upon hearing of Amanda's dire fate.

The return trip seemed shorter, somehow, than their outward-bound journey had been, and, after a night spent in a comfy bed inside a cozy motel room, with her pick of girls for a lover--Sarah had spurned them all--and Marilyn curled up in the fetal position, unable to rest or sleep much inside her cage aboard the cold, dark bus, the remainder of the trip seemed to fly by.

In late afternoon, the canary yellow bus pulled to a halt behind the gymnasium, and Coach Bigg stood in the aisle between the rows of seats, at the front of the vehicle. "Listen up!" she called, and the cheerleaders straightened their postures. "Once again, I commend you for your win. You've come home as this year's National High School Cheerleading Competition champions!"

The girls, roused by this reminder and by the sight of the huge trophy that their coach lifted before them, cheered and hooted--all except Marilyn, that is, who, with the ball gag jammed between her lips, was unable to do anything much but sob, as she'd done almost continuously ever since being placed inside the cold steel cage.

"For the rest of your lives, you will have this moment to remember. Whatever comes your way, nothing can take away this accomplishment. It will be a reminder, all your days, that you are, each and every one of you, a winner." She paused, gazing at Sarah. "And one of you, Sarah Owens, can, and should, remember, always, that she is nothing less than a heroine whose name shall become legend among the students, present and future alike, of her alma mater."

The coach paused again, and the cheerleaders cheered their peerless peer, as if they really meant the congratulations and good wishes they heaped upon her in the presence of their coach. For her part, Sarah smiled back at them, thanking them, as if she believed their hollow compliments and empty praise. Deep down, though, their insincere tributes hurt her. She'd always been a good, true friend of these same girls who had gleefully savaged her whenever they could for months and now acted as if their cruel abuse hadn't happened at all.

"I take delight in offering Sarah the opportunity, already approved by Principal Matthews, of becoming my paid assistant coach." She looked directly at the blonde cheerleader. "As you know, better than anyone, the hours are long and sometimes grueling, and, to start, the pay is not great, but the benefits are good, and I can guarantee regular and substantial salary increases after the standard--but, in your case, entirely nominal--six months' probationary period is over. If you consent to becoming my assistant, I'd be honored, and South Catholic High School would be fortunate, indeed. What do you say, Sarah? Can I call you 'coach'?"

Tears sprang to the blonde's eyes, but, this time, unlike so many times in the past, they were tears of joy, rather than tears of pain, and she nodded vigorously. "Yes, Coach!"

"We'll sign the paperwork tomorrow, after the presentation of the trophy," Coach Bigg said, smiling, "but as far as I'm concerned--" she surveyed the other squad members--"and as far as any of the rest of you is concerned, you're my assistant, Sarah, as of this moment."

* * *

At home, Sarah told Max about her ordeal as a caged animal on the way to the nationals competition and about how Coach Bigg had turned the tables on Marilyn and Sarah's other tormenters by making Marilyn the school's mascot and offering Sarah the paid position of the cheerleading squad's assistant coach.

Max said, "That's great, honey, absolutely fantastic!"

"But?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seem--I don't know--deflated. Depressed. What's wrong?"

Max hesitated. Then, he shrugged, saying, "I have some news, too, honey."

Sarah looked as somber as her father had sounded in making his announcement. "What is it, Max?" she asked, taking his big, strong hand in her own. "What's wrong?"

They were naked, of course, both of them, as they normally were whenever they were alone, and as usual, his daughter's touch--and the sight of her nude body, in proximity to his own--had made him partially erect, or "half-cocked," as Sarah preferred to say.

"Your mother," he said.

"Yes, where is Mom?" Sarah asked. She'd made this enquiry earlier, right after returning home from school, but Max had said, "Tell me about your trip first; then, we'll talk about your mother."

"She's left me--or us," Max said, squeezing his daughter's hand.

"Left us?" Sarah repeated. "What do you mean, Max?" The last Sarah had been told, her mother had called her dad from Paris to inform him--not to ask, but to tell, him--that she was extending her trip to France for another two weeks. She and her "friend," Cynthia, had already arranged with their mutual employer to do so. Now, all of a sudden, she'd left her husband and daughter? It didn't make sense.

"I've shared with you my suspicions that your mother might be having an affair with another woman."

"Cynthia?"

"Yes, Cynthia Arnold, a coworker." He squeezed Sarah's hand again. "My suspicions, as it turns out, were right."

"Mom's a lesbian?"

Max squeezed his daughter's hand yet again. "Yes, sweetie, and she's leaving us--she's already left us--for her female lover."

"The bitch!" Sarah cried, tears flooding her eyes. "How could she?"

"It's not about you, honey," Max assured his daughter. "It's about Marlene."

"She puts her love for this woman--this bitch--ahead of her love for us?"

Slipping his arm around his daughter's bare back, Max hugged her slight, delicate frame to him, and nodded. "I love you, Sarah. I'm here for you, now and always."

Through her tears, she gazed into his eyes, seeing both her strong, supportive, loving father and the man who loved her as a woman who was sexy and desirable. "Thanks, Daddy," she murmured. "Thanks, Max."

He wiped her tears away. "Don't cry, baby. Marlene has left us; let her go, in your heart and mind. She's not coming back, but you have me."

Her arm across her father's chest, feeling the warmth and the strength of him, Sarah leaned into his embrace. "Hold me," she pleaded, and he did, until she'd fallen asleep beside him on the living room couch on which she'd shared the happiest moment of her life with him--right before he'd shared the saddest moment in both their lives.

* * *

In the morning, Sarah was her normal, ebullient, effervescent self. Her mother, she said, was dead to her, but that was all right. As Max had observed, she had her dad, and he was all the parent--or lover--she'd ever need, especially since he didn't mind if she enjoyed a little pussy on the side from time to time.

* * *

Playing The Stars and Stripes by John Philip Sousa, South Catholic High School's marching band strutted across the football field in their spanking-new uniforms. The scarlet and gold looked wonderful, Sarah thought, especially with all the braid and brass buttons adorning the bright fabric. The musical instruments--trumpets and trombones, tubas and clarinets, flutes and drums--sparkled and glinted in the bright morning sun, and the banners and streamers decorating the bandstand at the end of the field, toward which the band marched, flowed and wavered, snapping in the warm, sprightly breeze.

The look of the band, the festive bunting, the rousing song--all of these elements made Sarah proud to be an American, proud to be a cheerleader, and proud of being a champion. It had been the administration's belief that the cheerleading squad had a real chance to win this year's highest honors that had convinced the school board to part with the funds for the new uniforms. Now that the squad had actually won, their win would also assist the sports teams. Indeed, their triumph at the National High School Cheerleading Competition would have a beneficial effect across the board, for all sports teams, clubs, and other student organizations. Sarah felt good about that, too.

Behind the band, as snarls and growls and roars burst from the loudspeakers built into the wagon upon which her cage rode, Marilyn was wheeled onto the gridiron, posturing inside the wire-mesh enclosure, her breasts, buttocks, perineum, and vagina covered in the lighter material that made them stand out against the darker tawny color of the rest of her outfit. Sarah took great pleasure in seeing her ex-girlfriend and one of her chief tormentors in the cage that she herself had been forced, for weeks, to occupy.

The band had been reinforced with trained volunteers to swell the ranks of its true membership, and a couple hundred teens, wearing South Catholic's colors, formed the outline of the United States around the platform that had been erected at the center of the field. The cheerleaders sat on this raised dais, on either side of the huge trophy they had brought back with them from the nationals competition and behind the podium at which Coach Bigg would speak.

Sarah and the others watched the commotion, luxuriating in every moment of the praise and adoration that the school's administrators, faculty, and staff and, of course, their own families, Max included--he was somewhere in the bleachers, Sarah knew--showered upon the triumphant girls. It was hard to believe that all this fanfare was just for them. It didn't even matter, Sarah decided, that her mother wasn't among the hundreds of celebrants in the stands. Max was here, and that was all that mattered.

After the band and the mascot had entered the playing field, the entire boys' varsity football team, first and second string alike, sprinted onto the gridiron, lining up on the sidelines. Next, the basketball team took up positions along one of the end zones, and the swim team, wearing their sweats over their swimsuits, lined up in front of the opposite goal post. The baseball team and other athletic players also entered the field, and Sarah's heart seemed perilously close to bursting form the thunderous applause that her fellow athletes directed at her and the other members of the cheerleading squad.

As the band struck up Sir Edgar Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance, March Number 1 in "D" Minor, and, the rousing music stirred the crowd, Coach Bigg rose from her chair behind the podium, stood up, behind the lectern, and waited to address the clamoring multitudes. After an introductory Allegro, con molto fuoco, pairs of pulsating beats alternated with short notes punctuated by the sounds of a bass that clashed with the main body of the tune.

As the section began to repeat itself, the voice of the tuba was heard before a rhythmic sequence of melodious strings played, stitching the beginning of the song together with an escalating scale of woodwind instruments.

There was much more to the trio of songs that made up the instrumental, but the bandleader brought the song to an early close, and, as the last of the instruments played, the cheerleading coach spoke into the microphone, her voice filling the air above and around the arena of the high school's athletic field, as if a veritable goddess were addressing them from on high.

"Mayor Wilkins--"

The mayor was here! Sarah thought, astounded at this revelation. The freaking mayor! It was unbelievable!

"Principal Matthews, ladies and gentlemen of the national and local press, parents, and other honored guests, it is my distinct privilege to introduce to you each of the members of South Catholic High School's cheerleading squad."

As the coach called out their names, each of the girls stood to a round of ecstatic applause: "Karen Lewis. Rachelle Thomas. Debbie Penn. Cindy Baxter. Susan Davis. Jennifer Adams. Becky James. Crystal Rogers. And last, but certainly, by no means, least, the star of the squad, Sarah Owens!"

Sarah stood, feeling weak in the knees. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and willed herself not to wobble and, most of all, not to faint. The applause was thunderous and sustained, lasting, it seemed, an eternity. Helium balloons were released from behind the stand, and they rose, red and gold, into the air.

A drum roll stirred the crowd, and they cheered the star of the cheerleading squad with renewed enthusiasm. Sarah basked in their adulation. There was, she realized, a sexual component to her enjoyment of the crowd's approval. Her pussy was wet inside the tight Spankies and frilly thong panties she wore under her cheerleading uniform's skirt, and her nipples were stiff and swollen beneath her top.

When the applause finally subsided, Coach Bigg announced that South Catholic "has had the wisdom to offer Sarah a paid full-time position, with benefits, as my assistant coach, and I ask your indulgence, please, while I take this opportunity to have her sign the document that will secure her talents for the next and subsequent generations of our school's aspiring cheerleaders."

More cheers and applause sounded as Coach Bigg produced, and Sarah signed, the contract which locked her into a three-year, renewable commitment to her school as Coach Bigg's assistant.

After Sarah had signed the contract, Coach Bigg extended her hand, and as Sarah's fingers closed around the coach's grip, the bovine woman said, into the microphone, but to Sarah as well, "Welcome, Coach!"

More thunderous applause filled the air as Sarah, teary eyed with joy, said, "Thanks, Coach!"

Coach Bigg signaled to the girls behind her, and four of them, two on each side, lifted the handles attached to the pedestal upon which the huge trophy rested, carrying it to the front of the platform, to the deafening applause of the whistling, hooting crowd. The trophy shone in the sun, sparkling like gold.

The coach, frequently interrupted by applause and shouted praise, delivered an inspiring speech, talking to the crowd of how she'd had the pleasure of witnessing the development of the cheerleaders' confidence and natural talents even as she, with Sarah's assistance, had facilitated this progress. She said she'd known, from the outset, that the girls had what it takes to become national cheerleading champions.

The practice and conditioning had been long. It had required enormous effort and sacrifice. At times, although cheerleading was the passion of all the squad, the practice had been grueling. But the prize to which they were devoted was a prize well worth winning, she and the girls had agreed, and they had given their all. In the end, they had proven that they were every bit the winners that the coach had predicted they would be, and the trophy was proof of the soundness of her faith in them and in the girls' own indomitable spirit and unflagging devotion.

At the conclusion of her speech, the band struck up the rest of Pomp and Circumstance, the rest of the red and gold balloons were released, and the sky filled with the colors of South Catholic High School. Sarah and the other members of the school's cheerleading squad were awash in tears. Even the stony Coach Bigg was crying, Sarah noticed, and, the teen realized, she loved this woman whom, only a few days ago, she'd believed she hated with all the fiber of her being.

* * *

After the morning's spectacle of praise and adoration, only one thing remained to make Sarah's celebration of the squad's triumph at the National High School Cheerleading Competition complete, and it was her new employer, Coach Bigg, who'd alerted Sarah to the need for the event.

"The girls have treated you with unpardonable abuse," Coach Bigg reminded the blonde. "They have insulted you, taunted you, snubbed you, and abused you. They have treated you with contempt and disdain. Their tenure as cheerleaders is nearly over, as they'll be graduating soon. However, many of them have younger sisters of younger friends, and, as you know, girls talk. If they and those who follow them are to accept your authority and see you as a superior whom they must obey, you must punish these insolent girls. You must punish them severely."




The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 23



Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. All characters are 18 years old or older.

Note: For several years, directors have featured so-called alternate endings on the DVD releases of some movies. This short-lived practice inspired this alternate ending to "The Sarah Owens Story." My own preference is for the original ending, which comprises Chapter 22 of the novel, but feel free to imagine its conclusion either way you like.

Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. All characters are 18 years old or older.

* * *

The bus ride home was far more comfortable for Sarah than the trip to the arena in which the National High School Cheerleading Competition had taken place had been. The blonde was not confined to a cage that was too small to let her sit, stand upright, or to stretch out completely. She had the luxury of sitting in an upholstered seat which had springs behind the back and beneath the seat to absorb the shocks to the bus' chassis caused by the vehicle's frequent encounters with bumps and potholes. 

Before this trip, Sarah would have laughed at anyone who suggested that spending two days as a passenger aboard a bus could be called a "comfortable" or "luxurious" experience. She'd learned, however, that everything was relative, and she appreciated everything that had been denied her for most of the last four weeks, during which she'd been a prisoner in the wire-mesh cage, eating raw fish from a bowl with her mouth, lapping up water from another bowl, and eliminating the waste products of her body openly, before others, as if she truly were an animal.

Her captivity had also taught her a lot about people. Even those--indeed, especially those--who called themselves one's friends might have little or no true regard for anyone but themselves. Sarah had always been a loyal and dedicated friend to all whom she regarded as a companion, but, as Coach Bigg had pointed out, not one other girl, including Marilyn Madison, Sarah's former girlfriend, had truly cared about her. They'd all been, in the coach's words, "sharks" and "piranhas." As soon as Sarah had been assumed to be on the outs with their coach, the girls had shunned their supposed friend, taunting and insulting her.

Their treachery and betrayal hurt Sarah, even now that she knew what they were like, behind their artificial smiles and pretenses at friendship. Their hypocrisy was as laughable and transparent as it was disappointing and painful. Now that they understood that Sarah was not only not an outcast to the coach but her favorite, the other members of the squad had drawn around her as if Sarah were (and had always had been) their best friend, just as, now that Coach Bigg had replaced Sarah with Marilyn as the school mascot and Sarah's dislike and contempt for the redhead was clear to them, they'd assumed an attitude of disdain and hatred for new mascot.

On their way home, they received word concerning Amanda (or "a man, duh!," as Sarah still thought of the male-to-female transsexual cheerleader). The bitch had suffered a penile fracture while butt-fucking Marilyn, and, now, according to the emergency room physician who'd attended her, Amanda would, indeed, suffer from lifelong complications, including erectile dysfunction, penile curvature, and damage to the urethra, which could cause pain during intercourse--unless, of course, she underwent castration, including the surgical removal of her penis, and became a total transsexual instead of the half-and-half that she herself had, many times, told Sarah and the others she intended to remain.

For Amanda, the joy of being a tranny, she'd divulged, was having both tits and a cock and balls. Now, she'd either be dysfunctional and in pain when she fucked and have a bent cock whether flaccid or erect or she'd have to undergo the sex-change operation that she preferred to avoid and, in fact, dreaded. Sarah smiled to hear the news. She had nothing against transsexuals in general. However, Amanda had been arrogant, insolent, and abusive toward the blonde for no other reason than that Sarah had seemed to be on Coach Bigg's shit list.

Now, it seemed, what had gone around had come around--with a vengeance! Likewise, poetic justice had occurred in Coach Bigg's making Marilyn replace Sarah as the school's mascot, so that the redhead received the same abuse that the blonde had suffered in the same role. If Sarah got the chance to even the score with the other bitches on the squad, she promised herself that she would do so, and with as much glee and satisfaction as she'd experienced in seeing Marilyn replace her as their school's mascot and upon hearing of Amanda's dire fate.

The return trip seemed shorter, somehow, than their outward-bound journey had been, and, after a night spent in a comfy bed inside a cozy motel room, with her pick of girls for a lover--Sarah had spurned them all--and Marilyn curled up in the fetal position, unable to rest or sleep much inside her cage aboard the cold, dark bus, the remainder of the trip seemed to fly by.

Even after winning the championship at the National High School Cheerleading Competition; after having been replaced as the school's lioness mascot by her traitorous girlfriend, Marilyn Madison; and after learning that Amanda Meeks' penile fracture would caused the tranny freak lifelong complications unless she underwent the sex-reassignment surgery that she didn't want to undergo, Sarah had been assured by her new employer that there was yet more joy in store for her, the girl who'd once been her squad's detested outcast.

Life seemed to Sarah like a dream come true!

Late in the afternoon, the canary yellow bus pulled to a halt behind the gymnasium, and Coach Bigg stood in the aisle between the rows of seats, at the front of the vehicle. "Listen up!" she called, and the cheerleaders straightened their postures. "Once again, I commend you for your win. You've come home as this year's National High School Cheerleading Competition champions!"

The girls, roused by this reminder and by the sight of the huge trophy that their coach lifted before them, cheered and hooted--all except Marilyn, that is, who, with the ball gag jammed between her lips, was unable to do anything much but sob, as she'd done almost continuously ever since being placed inside the cold steel cage.

"For the rest of your lives, you will have this moment to remember. Whatever comes your way, nothing can take away this accomplishment. It will be a reminder, all your days, that you are, each and every one of you, a winner." She paused, gazing at Sarah. "And one of you, Sarah Owens, can, and should, remember, always, that she is nothing less than a heroine whose name shall become legend among the students, present and future alike, of her alma mater."

The coach paused again, and the cheerleaders cheered their peerless peer, as if they really meant the congratulations and good wishes they heaped upon her in the presence of their coach. For her part, Sarah smiled back at them, thanking them, as if she believed their hollow compliments and empty praise. Deep down, though, their insincere tributes hurt her. She'd always been a good, true friend of these same girls who had gleefully savaged her whenever they could for months and now acted as if their cruel abuse hadn't happened at all.

"I take delight in offering Sarah the opportunity, already approved by Principal Matthews, of becoming my paid assistant coach." She looked directly at the blonde cheerleader. "As you know, better than anyone, the hours are long and sometimes grueling, and, to start, the pay is not great, but the benefits are good, and I can guarantee regular and substantial salary increases after the standard--but, in your case, entirely nominal--six months' probationary period is over. If you consent to becoming my assistant, I'd be honored, and South Catholic High School would be fortunate, indeed. What do you say, Sarah? Can I call you 'coach'?"

Tears sprang to the blonde's eyes, but, this time, unlike so many times in the past, they were tears of joy, rather than tears of pain, and she nodded vigorously. "Yes, Coach!"

"We'll sign the paperwork tomorrow, after the presentation of the trophy," Coach Bigg said, smiling, "but as far as I'm concerned--" she surveyed the other squad members--"and as far as any of the rest of you is concerned, you're my assistant, Sarah, as of this moment."

* * *

At home, Sarah told Max about her ordeal as a caged animal on the way to the nationals competition and about how Coach Bigg had turned the tables on Marilyn and Sarah's other tormenters by making Marilyn the school's mascot and offering Sarah the paid position of the cheerleading squad's assistant coach.

Max said, "That's great, honey, absolutely fantastic!"

"But?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seem--I don't know--deflated. Depressed. What's wrong?"

Max hesitated. Then, he shrugged, saying, "I have some news, too, honey."

Sarah looked as somber as her father had sounded in making his announcement. "What is it, Max?" she asked, taking his big, strong hand in her own. "What's wrong?"

They were naked, of course, both of them, as they normally were whenever they were alone, and as usual, his daughter's touch--and the sight of her nude body, in proximity to his own--had made him partially erect, or "half-cocked," as Sarah preferred to say.

"Your mother," he said.

"Yes, where is Mom?" Sarah asked. She'd made this enquiry earlier, right after returning home from school, but Max had said, "Tell me about your trip first; then, we'll talk about your mother."

"She's left me--or us," Max said, squeezing his daughter's hand.

"Left us?" Sarah repeated. "What do you mean, Max?" The last Sarah had been told, her mother had called her dad from Paris to inform him--not to ask, but to tell, him--that she was extending her trip to France for another two weeks. She and her "friend," Cynthia, had already arranged with their mutual employer to do so. Now, all of a sudden, she'd left her husband and daughter? It didn't make sense.

"I've shared with you my suspicions that your mother might be having an affair with another woman."

"Cynthia?"

"Yes, Cynthia Arnold, a coworker." He squeezed Sarah's hand again. "My suspicions, as it turns out, were right."

"Mom's a lesbian?"

Max squeezed his daughter's hand yet again. "Yes, sweetie, and she's leaving us--she's already left us--for her female lover."

"The bitch!" Sarah cried, tears flooding her eyes. "How could she?"

"It's not about you, honey," Max assured his daughter. "It's about Marlene."

"She puts her love for this woman--this bitch--ahead of her love for us?"

Slipping his arm around his daughter's bare back, Max hugged her slight, delicate frame to him, and nodded. "I love you, Sarah. I'm here for you, now and always."

Through her tears, she gazed into his eyes, seeing both her strong, supportive, loving father and the man who loved her as a woman who was sexy and desirable. "Thanks, Daddy," she murmured. "Thanks, Max."

He wiped her tears away. "Don't cry, baby. Marlene has left us; let her go, in your heart and mind. She's not coming back, but you have me."

Her arm across her father's chest, feeling the warmth and the strength of him, Sarah leaned into his embrace. "Hold me," she pleaded, and he did, until she'd fallen asleep beside him on the living room couch on which she'd shared the happiest moment of her life with him--right before he'd shared the saddest moment in both their lives.

* * *

In the morning, Sarah was her normal, ebullient, effervescent self. Her mother, she said, was dead to her, but that was all right. As Max had observed, she had her dad, and he was all the parent--or lover--she'd ever need, especially since he didn't mind if she enjoyed a little pussy on the side from time to time.

* * *

The next morning, in the storeroom, before the ceremony during which Coach Bigg would deliver the National High School Cheerleading Competition trophy to South Catholic High School, Sarah was shocked by the most painful and disappointing revelation of her life.

"Listen up, girls!" Coach Bigg called to the squad assembled whose members stood at their individual stations about the gigantic wheel known as The Carousel. "Our little joke, although delightful, has gone far enough."

The others, except Sarah, snickered.

The new assistant coach frowned. What "little joke" was Coach Bigg talking about, she wondered, and why did it appear that everyone else but her know about it? As Coach Bigg's assistant, she, if anyone, should have been told about whatever it was that the coach was talking about. Sarah swallowed the dread that rose in her throat. Nervously, she licked her lips as she glanced at the smirking, giggling cheerleaders.

"It's time to let Owens in on it," Coach Bigg declared.

Sarah gulped. The coach, who'd just begun to refer to Sarah by her given name, had now reverted to the use of her surname. Sarah had a sinking feeling in the pit of her tummy. Something wasn't right.

"As a reward for having won the championship, you wanted to tease Sarah one more time--in an exceedingly cruel manner, I might add."

The squad laughed.

"By my convincing Owens that she had not only been restored to the team but that she would also become my full-time, paid assistant, thereby giving her a couple of days of joy in her otherwise deservedly joyless life, you've had your fun. Now, however, it's time that Owens learn the truth of the matter." The coach looked at Sarah, who had begun to blubber. "It's appropriate you're bawling, Owens," she said, her tone mean and nasty, "because I'm going to give you something to cry about!"

The other girls stared at Sarah, enjoying her tears and the misery they indicated.

"You will not be my assistant coach, you will not be restored to the cheerleading squad. Instead, you will remain the school's mascot, spending most of your days in the same cage that has been your home away from home for the past month or so," Coach Bigg announced, her usual stoic demeanor giving way, for once, to the sadistic nature that she usually hid behind the mask of the strict disciplinarian and the non-nonsense mentor. "You will continue to be the object of the squad's disdain, and you will serve as its whipping girl." She paused. "Do you know what a whipping girl is, Owens?"

Sarah had heard the term, and she knew that it referred to someone who is unjustly punished, or abused, but she didn't know the history of the term or why it signified such a status. "No, ma'am," she said, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand that ran, ceaselessly, down her flushed face.

Coach Owens presented a brief lecture: "The term derives from the concept of the whipping boy," she informed the mascot. "During the 1600's and the 1700's, such a youth was punished when the prince to whom he was assigned misbehaved or fell behind in his schoolwork. The Divine Right of Kings, which declared that kings are appointed by God, forbade anyone but the his royal highness from punishing his son. However, the king was seldom present to do so, and the prince's tutors, therefore, found it difficult to make the prince study his lessons. Generally of noble birth, the whipping boy was educated alongside the prince, and the youths often bonded emotionally, since the prince usually did not have other playmates. As a result, the prince was likely to behave more often than not, because he didn't enjoy witnessing the whipping of his only friend for something that the prince himself had done wrong."

Sarah looked aghast at the thought that such a role had been assigned to her.

"There will be a couple of differences in the use of you as the squad's whipping girl," Coach Bigg informed Sarah. "As you have surely learned by now, there is no bond of friendship between you and any of the girls on the squad, nor will there ever be such a bond; therefore, they will not have the slightest inclination to spare you from The Carousel. Second, although I have been the nearest thing to a tutor for both you and the other girls, I will not be the one to administer your punishments. That honor shall be assumed by my assistant coach, Amanda Meeks."

At the sound of her name, the transsexual cheerleader, whom Coach Bigg had promoted to her assistant before the National High School Cheerleading Competition, strutted into the storeroom, to the shock not only of Sarah, but to that of the other girls as well.

"But she's still in the hospital!" Sarah cried.

"Obviously, she is not," Coach Bigg observed. "Amanda never suffered a penile fracture. That was just a story that she, Marilyn, and I cooked up. We kept it from everyone else just for the sake of this moment." Coach Bigg spluttered, unable to suppress the laughter that welled within her. "Just so we could enjoy the look of astonishment on your face that we see right now!"

The other girls applauded, laughing and cheering, and Sarah felt the familiar emotions of humiliation and shame swamp her broken spirit. Her tears became even more copious, streaming down her reddened face.

The redhead who had once been her girlfriend next entered the storeroom, at liberty from the cage she'd occupied the last couple of days as Sarah's supposed replacement as the school's mascot. She strode past the sobbing blonde to take her place at Amanda's side, and exchanged a deep, wet kiss with the transsexual assistant coach, much to Sarah's anger and dismay. "I have news for you, too, bitch," she said, "I'm not the fucking mascot, either; that job remains yours."

"Amanda, Marilyn," Coach Bigg ordered, "get Sarah suited up. The ceremony begins in fifteen minutes. As soon as it's over, meet back here."

* * *

Playing The Stars and Stripes by John Philip Sousa, South Catholic High School's marching band strutted across the football field in their spanking-new uniforms. The scarlet and gold looked wonderful, Sarah thought, especially with all the braid and brass buttons adorning the bright fabric. The musical instruments--trumpets and trombones, tubas and clarinets, flutes and drums--sparkled and glinted in the bright morning sun, and the banners and streamers decorating the bandstand at the end of the field, toward which the band marched, flowed and wavered, snapping in the warm, sprightly breeze.

The look of the band, the festive bunting, the rousing song--all of these elements made should have made Sarah proud to be an American, proud to be a cheerleader, and proud to be a champion. She would have felt proud, too, had Coach Bigg's words about her becoming the squad's assistant coach, instead of having been forced to remain the school's mascot while also having been made the squad's whipping girl, been true.

It had been the administration's belief that the cheerleading squad had a real chance to win this year's highest honors that had convinced the school board to part with the funds for the new uniforms. Now that the squad had actually won, their win would also assist the sports teams. Indeed, their triumph at the National High School Cheerleading Competition would have a beneficial effect across the board, for all sports teams, clubs, and other student organizations. Sarah wished she could feel good about that, too.

Behind the band, as snarls and growls and roars burst from the loudspeakers built into the wagon upon which her cage rode, Sarah was wheeled onto the gridiron, posturing inside the wire-mesh enclosure, her breasts, buttocks, perineum, and vagina covered in the lighter material that made them stand out against the darker tawny color of the rest of her outfit. Sarah imagined that her former girlfriend, Marilyn, who, if Coach Bigg had been telling the truth, would have been in the cage instead of Sarah herself, took great pleasure in seeing her ex-girlfriend in the cage that she herself had been forced to occupy the last couple of days, in lieu of Sarah.