TITLE    : The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 07
STORYID  : the-sarah-owens-story-ch-07
SUMMARY  : Sarah has a problem.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2009-12-03
CATEGORY : bdsm-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |cheerleader|schoolgirl|spanking|erection|buttocks|bottom|father|daughter|coach|discipline|


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



* * *



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.

