TITLE    : The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 06
STORYID  : the-sarah-owens-story-ch-06
SUMMARY  : Sarah faces her irate father.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2009-12-02
CATEGORY : bdsm-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |18-year-old|teenager|cheerleader|schoolgirl|spanking|buttocks|paddle|belt|punishment|discipline|


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



* * *



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."

<hr pg="2" />"I say when you have had enough, not you, child," her father replied, his voice disturbingly mild. Another lash of the cruel leather elicited another undulating cry from Sarah, as she squirmed upon her father's thighs.



As rapidly as he could raise his arm and strike--which was lightning quick, it seemed to the recipient of the blows--Sarah's father rained down half a dozen strikes of the belt upon her rolling, pitching fanny. Shrieking, moaning, sobbing, and whimpering, Sarah could feel only the terrible anguish that seized every nerve within her buttocks, filling them--and her--with unimaginable agony. She bleated and screamed, jerking, thrashing, writhing, and rolling atop her father's thighs. Tears and mucus bathed her red, contorted face.



Another swat, and another, followed by yet a third, slammed hard into her ass, first stinging her flesh, then becoming an inferno inside her bottom, and then exploding deep inside the muscles that flexed and bounced beneath the skin of her smarting, cherry-red ass.



So severe was the pain that filled Sarah's bottom that, at first, the firm, thick, insistent pressure against her lower tummy didn't register upon Sarah's consciousness. However, as it persisted, she realized, with horror, what it was that pressed, so resolutely, against her, between her father's groin and her own--it was his penis, rigid and massive and engorged with his blood. Her father, in spanking her, had become erect!



"Love is discipline," he had told her, suggesting that he punished her only because he cared about her and wanted what was best for her. His stiff, swollen prick suggested to Sarah that, although what he'd said might be true in some way, on some level, it seemed equally likely that he was also spanking her while she was naked across his lap for reasons that had nothing to do with a father's love and concern for his daughter and everything to do with the sexual perversions he'd denounced to her in his self-righteous lecture a few minutes ago.



Thank God! Sarah thought, as, downstairs, she heard her mother call their names. "Max? Sarah?"



Her father, a contemptuous look on his haughty face, gave Sarah a shove, and she half-rolled, half-fell, tumbling down his calves, to the carpeted floor. "Get dressed," he told her. "I hope you learned your lesson, and won't be home late again without permission. I wouldn't want to have to repeat today's instruction." His tone, however, suggested that he very much wished the exact opposite.



"Max? Sarah? Her mother called again.



Sliding his belt through the last loop and buckling it in place, Sarah's father took the paddle, put it in Sarah's closet, where it would be handy, should it be needed again, and called, "I'll be right there, hon."



His voice sounded normal again, and his bearing and deportment were typical of his usual manner. Her father, Sarah decided, was back in character again.

