TITLE    : The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 12
STORYID  : the-sarah-owens-story-ch-12
SUMMARY  : Sarah and her fellow cheerleaders exercise--in the nude!
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2010-01-20
CATEGORY : bdsm-stories
FLAGS    : h
TAGS     : |sarah owens|cheerleader|high school|schoolgirl|spanking|lesbian|cane|football|basketball|coach|


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



* * *



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.

<hr pg="2" />Reaching over her hip, Marilyn gave Sarah a sharp slap across the buttocks. "Raise your leg as I lower mine! Your incompetence has cost the squad another five minutes on The Carousel!"



Again feeling tears well in her eyes, Sarah muttered an apology.



"I don't want your apologies, fat ass; I want obedience!"



"Yes, ma'am."



"Try it again," Marilyn demanded, "and, this time, get it right!"



Sarah dipped her face into Marilyn's pussy as the assistant coach lifted her leg, withdrew her head, and managed, at the same time, if awkwardly, to lift her own leg. As she did, she felt her lover's moist, soft tongue flick her clitoris.



This time, Marilyn made the girls continue the exercise for twice the amount of time she'd allowed for the modified sit ups atop the polyvinyl chloride balls, telling the girls that the repetitions would improve their dexterity and speed. It would, too, or, at least, it was supposed to do so. Mostly, though, Marilyn just wanted to watch the girls lick each other's pussies, as she and Sarah were taking turns doing. Besides, she wanted to warm them up, so to speak, for the final series of exercises they'd perform this afternoon.



They were still at it when Coach Bigg entered the gymnasium.



"All right, girls," she called. "Listen up!"



The cheerleaders stopped exercising--and licking each other's clits--and sat up, attentive to the coach.



"Lewis, you and Thomas take one end of the mirror and, Rogers and James, you take the other, and wheel it to the side wall, there under the northern basketball backboard."



Karen, Rachelle, Crystal, and Becky took their prescribed places, and, struggling, managed to wheel the long, tall, wheel-mounted mirror to the spot that the coach had indicated. The immense looking-glass offered a view of the cheerleaders' profiles and the opposite end of the indoor court. In its glass, the girls could see the rows of bleachers behind either sideline of the gymnasium's basketball court; the southern backboard; ceiling lights; part of the framework of metal girders; and the twin doors, one on either side of the gymnasium's rear entrance.



After the cheerleaders had returned to their places in line, Coach Bigg addressed the squad. "Marilyn, you and Owens"--Sarah caught, as did the other girls, the coach's use of Marilyn's given name and Sarah's surname, another of the many slights that Sarah suffered daily--"you will demonstrate the next exercise. The rest of you, pay close attention, as you'll be performing the same activity with your own girlfriends."



"Owens, you lie on your back, with your legs spread."



After Sarah was in position, Coach Bigg said, "Marilyn, you lie on your back, with your head opposite Owens'; straddling her thighs, with your right leg behind her left and your left leg over the top of her right."



Marilyn complied, scooting her hips down so that she could slide her upper legs into position.



"Good," Coach Bigg declared. "Now, put your vulva against Owens'."



Marilyn pressed the mound of her sex against that of her girlfriend's.



"Each of you bump and grind your pussies together, masturbating each other by doing so," Coach Bigg further instructed the girls. To the squad in general, the coach said, "This exercise is known as scissoring, for the fairly obvious reason, I'd say, that the girls' straddling of each other's thighs and the flexing movements of their legs resembles a pair of scissors."



As Sarah and Marilyn shoved the lips of their cunts together, rubbing and rolling and grinding their vulvas and clits against one another, Sarah felt her pussy flood itself with its natural lubricants, and, she suspected, her lover's pussy was also sopping wet. Their vulvas, labia, clits, and pussies slid easily back and forth, over and against one another, with no noticeable friction, and Sarah trembled, moaning, as intense bursts of pleasure shot through her groin. She heard Marilyn grunt and groan, too, as she shoved her cunt into Sarah's, answering shove for shove, twist for twist, and turn for turn.



A commotion at the south end of the gymnasium caught the squad's attention--the attention of all of them, that is, but Sarah and Marilyn, who were far too caught up in the waves of pleasure that filled their pulsing clits and pussies to pay attention to anything else--and the girls screamed, eyes wide and mouths agape, as, horrified, they saw the boys' varsity football team thunder into the gymnasium, led by their coach, Mike Ryerson! The football players, wearing their uniforms, climbed into the bleachers, 



Still screaming, the cheerleaders instinctively tried to cover their nakedness, laying a forearm across their breasts while they covered their pubes with their hands.



"Take your hands and arms away!" Coach Bigg ordered the girls.



Some complied; others kept their makeshift shields in place.



"Now!" their coach thundered, and, conditioned by the long weeks and months during which they'd been trained to accept Coach Bigg's orders without question, the rest of the cheerleaders also lowered their defenses, allowing the hooting, whistling football players a full and unimpeded view of their nakedness.



Crimson with embarrassment, the girls hung their heads. Mortified, several of them wept, not bothering to wipe away the tears that flowed copiously down their cheeks. They were used to seeing one another naked, and, after all, they were all girls. None of them had anything that the others didn't have themselves, and they'd seen each other's boobs, butts, and pussies hundreds of times, both in the shower after a day's cheerleading practice or physical education class and during their frequent sessions aboard the spanking machine. Being naked in front of the boys' varsity football team was quite a different matter, though. It was incredibly humiliating to stand unclothed before the sixty or so jocks--and their coach--who made up South Catholic High School's Lions!



The guys had no problem with seeing the girls nude, though; they grinned, cheered, shouted, whistled, hooted, and otherwise generally made asses of themselves--at the cheerleader's expense.



Rachelle glanced into the bleachers, but nowhere among the rowdy players did she see the team's starting quarterback, Rick Williams. She'd heard he'd quit the team, unable to bear the cutting remarks, the daily insults, and the constant gibes about him being a queer that had followed his own ride upon The Carousel. She remembered him, naked, bound in place, on his elbows and knees, aboard the spanking machine, being drilled in the ass by a huge artificial cock while the girls taunted him with such comments as "that's what I call taking it into the end zone," "Rick definitely has his backfield in motion," and "take it like a man."



Rick had lost any semblance of composure, Rachelle recalled: his red face, streaked with tears, saliva, and mucus, had been a mess, and, as she remembered his humiliation, Rachelle now felt ashamed at herself for having participated in the quarterback's mortification. By having been fucked in the ass by a spinning mechanical dildo, Rick had been unmanned and feminized, and his masculinity had become a thing of the past as soon as Coach Ryerson had informed the rest of his team about Rick's humiliating experience. The coach hadn't mentioned The Carousel specifically, of course, but he'd have made plenty of insinuations about the quarterback's being a faggot, a pansy, and a queer. Life as a big man on campus must have been a thing of the past for pantywaist Rick, the football quarterback who liked to take it up the ass. Unable to "take it like a man," Rick had quit the football team and dropped out of school entirely, moving away from town. There were rumors that he may have committed suicide, although no one was sure of that.



To her squad, Coach Bigg said, "On the floor! Every last one of you, pair up, and perform the scissoring exercise."



None of the girls moved.



"Now!" their coach thundered, and a few of them stumbled forward, onto the basketball court.



Caught up in their passion, neither Sarah nor Marilyn seemed to know of the football players' presence or, if they did, they certainly didn't care that threescore of them were gawking at, and drooling over, the hotter-than-hell cheerleaders who were humping each other, lezzy style, before their astonished eyes.



The other girls assembled on the basketball court. They lay down, straddled each other's thighs, as Sarah and Marilyn had done, and began to bump and grind their vulvas together.



The football players leaped to their feet, crying with one deafening roar and pumping their arms, delighted at the spectacle that greeted their eyes wherever they looked. For their amusement, five naked lesbian couples were going at it, thrusting hips against hips, buttocks against buttocks, and thighs against ribcages, hips, or legs as they humped each other's pussies, their breasts flattening, rolling, and swaying as the girls writhed, moaning and groaning, their wet cunts glistening under the bright ceiling lights. Coach Ryerson had promised them a sight to remember, but none of the players would ever have imagined anything like this!



Sarah's tremulous cries had fused into one continuous, keening wail that rose higher and higher. She was a human siren. She felt only the bumps and grinds with which Marilyn answered her own thrusts and rolls; the flood of fluid that poured and streamed and gushed from the fountain of her liquid cunt; and the building climax that filled her to bursting.



Her brow furrowed, her eyes closed, her teeth gritted, and her jaw set, as she concentrated upon the maddening sensations that churned within the depths of her sex, obliterating everything but the intense feelings overwhelming her nerves and igniting her brain.



Her thighs trembled, her tummy heaved, and her breasts jiggled, their nipples so stiff and swollen that they ached. She moaned, whimpered, grunted, writhed, and rolled, seeking, with all her body and soul, the sweet, sweet release of orgasm.



Marilyn made the same animal sounds of passion, squirming and wriggling as, undoubtedly, the same sensations enflamed her as burned within her partner, but Sarah was in such desperate need of a climax that she barely heard her lover's expressions of delight.



Within minutes, the same sounds were heard all around the couple, as the other pairs of lovers ascended orgasmic crests, their own swollen breasts aching for deliverance, their own stiff clits in dire need of relief, their own pussies flooded with passion's wet, wild juices. Karen shoved her pussy into Rachelle's cunt; Rachelle pushed back. Debbie mashed her labia against Cindy's pussy lips, and Cindy crushed the mouth of her cunt back against the mouth of Debbie's sex. Susan rolled her vulva against Jennifer's mons veneris, and Jennifer rotated her clit back and forth upon Susan's organ. Becky wriggled her pussy against the wetness of Crystal's sopping cunt, and Crystal, gasping and moaning, returned the favor.



As the girls humped each other with wild abandon, their nudity, like their audience, forgotten in the throes of ever-escalating sexual arousal, the football team cheered them on, shouting, whistling, and beating the seats of the bleachers upon which, when they were not on their feet, leaping, beat with their fists in thunderous applause. The girls, however, scarcely heard the tumult. They hardly heard even the gasps and moan and cries that they themselves made. Orgasm seized first one, and then another, of the girls, and her body was seized and shaken in the jaws of a Cerberus-like force, as if the hound of hell itself had sunken its fangs into their vulvas and was worrying their pussies in first one, and then the next, of its three mouths, just like a dog shaking a bone, in an effort to rip their pussies from their bodies, except that it was not pain that the cheerleaders felt, but delight, as the fangs of orgasm bit and chewed and shook their vulvas, their labia, their clitorises, and their vaginas. Their breasts seemed to launch themselves like rockets as their drenched pussies flooded again and again, so that puddles formed beneath their scissoring thighs and humping pussies, warm and wet and slick.



The girls began to slip and slide in their own thick lubricants, as they wriggled and squirmed, thrusting cunt to cunt and rolling pussy against pussy. Dimly, they felt the warm film of fluid under their lower backs, buttocks, and thighs when those portions of their bodies touched down, for a moment or two, upon the floor, but, for the most part, hips lifted into the air as they bumped and ground their sexes together, they felt nothing but the orgasms that raged inside them.



Sarah shuddered, and her cunt dribbled another stream of glistening fluid between her perineum and Marilyn's. Her vulva, pressed hard by the redhead's mound, slipped and slid as easily against Marilyn's slick, soft pussy as her lover's liquid sex skimmed hers. Their pussies were so wet that they moved more like water upon water than flesh upon flesh, maximizing the pleasure that each girl felt, and wave after wave of orgasmic delight rolled through both of them, as, judging by the other cheerleaders' wild moans and groans, it also surged through the rest of the squad's clits, cunts, assholes, nipples, and brains.



"Okay, girls," Coach Bigg's voice boomed, "that's enough exercising for today."



None of the coach's cheerleaders seemed to have heard the bovine woman's call. They continued to squirm and writhe and moan, as if she hadn't said a word.



"Enough!" Coach Big thundered, and a couple of the coupling cheerleaders heard her voice this time. Reluctantly, they ceased.



"Stop it!" the coach cried a third time, getting the attention, finally, of the entire squad.



Disappointed, the girls stopped exercising. Each looked longingly into the other's eyes, grinning. No doubt, Sarah thought, they had plans for later, when they were alone together. She certainly hoped she'd be able to get together with Marilyn, even if doing so meant that she'd be subjected to her lover's desire to play the sadist in the sadomasochistic games that Marilyn had, more and more lately, insisted they play. Even a spanking, delivered by the redhead would be preferable to going home alone and masturbating to the memory of this afternoon's cheerleading "practice" before the boys' varsity football team.



Coach Bigg looked at her assistant. "What about The Carousel?" she asked. "Do you have anything on schedule for the spanking machine today?"



Marilyn considered the coach's question. She had vowed to punish the girls on the machine, no matter what they did or didn't do, right or wrong, during this afternoon's practice, and she'd even extended the time she'd intended to cane their butts on the machine by ten minutes because of Sarah's clumsiness and Jennifer's sass. But, she thought, Sarah had performed the scissoring exercise with such fervor and adroitness that her girlfriend earned herself and the rest of the squad a pardon. "No, coach."



Coach Bigg arched an eyebrow, giving Marilyn a measured look, but she didn't challenge her assistant's decision. "Remember, girls, we don't talk about anything that goes on during practice, today or ever. Coach Ryerson will make the same announcement to his players. Any word of this gets out, you're all off the squad, and you and Principal Matthews can kiss the state championship goodbye." She gave her charges a last, hard look, before, satisfied of their compliance with her orders, she nodded. "Hit the showers, ladies."



The naked cheerleaders, most as couples holding hands, jogged across the hardwood floor, toward the locker room.



Coach Bigg followed them, wanting to finish the day by ogling as much last-minute lesbian T &amp; A as she could, leaving the gymnasium to the football team and its coach, who was telling his players the same thing, pretty much, that Coach Bigg had told her girls: if any word got out as to what had taken place here, today, there'd be names on the team's roster in place of each of theirs--and the boys could forget about ever having the chance to watch a similar show in the future.



As they stepped beneath the hot water of a shared shower, Marilyn whispered in Sarah's ear: "You were fantastic out there, trotter."



Sarah smiled, pleased to have pleased her girlfriend. Emboldened by the unexpected compliment, Sarah said, "Do me a favor, sweet cheeks?"



Marilyn's smile became a frown as a guarded look replaced the friendly face she'd worn just a moment ago. It wasn't right to show favoritism or to do favors for one girl on the squad, even if the girl was also one's girlfriend. Marilyn knew she should say no or even slap Sarah's face for daring to ask such a thing, but she only waited, silent.



"Don't call me 'Petunia,' 'fat ass,' or 'lard ass' anymore. Please." Sarah wasn't fat, and she knew it, just as Marilyn did, and it hurt to be called such a name, especially in front of her peers and especially by someone who was supposedly in love with her.



Marilyn surprised Sarah again by smiling instead of taking her head off. "You got it, trotter."



"Thanks. What do you say we get lathered up."



"You got that, too, trotter."



As they joined the other cheerleaders under the hot, steaming needles of the hissing shower, Coach Bigg looking on, Sarah asked, "My place or yours?"



As she rubbed her soapy washcloth over Sarah's labia and clit, causing her girlfriend to tremble and moan, Marilyn said, "You sound hot to trot."



Sarah giggled. "Always."



Marilyn slid her thumb, covered by the warm, soapy washcloth, between Sarah's cunt lips, and into the depths of the blonde's bald pussy. "My place, trotter, just as soon as we get through with our shower."

