TITLE    : The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 02
STORYID  : the-sarah-owens-story-ch-02
SUMMARY  : Sarah finds out what her coach has in store for her.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2009-11-28
CATEGORY : bdsm-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |spanking|discipline|18-year-old|anal|cheerleader|machine|buttocks|


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



* * *



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. 

