TITLE    : The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 22
STORYID  : the-sarah-owens-story-ch-22
SUMMARY  : Home, Sweet Home!
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2010-02-09
CATEGORY : bdsm-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |catholic|schoolgirl|cheerleader|coach|spanking|transsexual|lesbian|incest|


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



* * *



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."

<hr pg="2" />"You mean--?"



"Yes. A final ride on The Carousel, initiated and supervised by you, is definitely in order."



* * *



The next day, after the squad had finished a series of exercises instead of practicing cheerleading jumps, stunts, and routines per se, Sarah said, "I want all of you in the storeroom, naked, and in place on The Carousel in ten minutes."



Becky James chuckled. "Yeah? You and whose army?"



The other girls tittered.



Looking on, Coach Bigg said nothing. It was up to Sarah to establish her authority; no one else could do it for her.



Sarah backhanded Becky across the face so hard that she left the red print of her hand in the cheerleader's face. As Becky's head jerked to the right as a result of the blow, Sarah delivered a stunning slap to the left side of Becky's face with the back of her other hand, and the cheerleader sobbed.



"You want more, bitch?" Sarah snapped.



"No!" Becky shrieked, covering her head with her hands. "Please, no!"



"Take your hands away from your face, bitch!" Sarah demanded.



Reluctantly, the cheerleader complied. Tears streamed down her face. A nasty bruise was already forming in Becky's right cheek, where Sarah had struck her. The insolent bitch wouldn't meet Sarah's gaze.



"Is that enough of an 'army' for you?" Sarah demanded.



"Yes," Becky said, her voice tremulous.



"Yes, WHAT?" Sarah screamed.



"Yes, ma'am!"



Sarah glared at the rest of the squad. "Anyone else want to challenge my authority?" she asked.



None of them dared to return her icy stare, and no one made a reply.



"Move your sorry asses, then!"



The girls hurried toward the exit that opened onto the field on which the squad's storeroom stood.



"And you can thank James for the extra ten minutes you'll be spending on The Carousel!" Sarah called after them.



Coach Bigg said, "I knew I'd made the right decision in hiring you, Sarah; you're everything I could ever want in an assistant." The big-boned, bovine woman was smiling, her approval obvious on her broad face.



Sarah smiled back at her. "Thanks Coach."



"You're welcome, Coach."



* * *



It had been a while since Sarah and the cheerleaders had been inside the squad's storeroom or, for that matter, had taken a ride on the spanking machine that Coach Bigg had christened The Carousel. Sarah was thankful that, as the squad's assistant coach, she would no longer be required to take a turn on the infernal contraption, for it was extremely effective in delivering pain.



As she had commanded them to do, the cheerleaders were waiting, naked, when Sarah entered the storeroom, followed by Coach Bigg.



"Step onto your stations," Sarah ordered, and, reluctantly, the girls obeyed her directive, positioning themselves upon their elbows and knees, each upon her own pie-shaped section of the platform that ringed the gigantic spanking machine's central hub. Sarah had started forward, to lock her victims in place, when mechanical manacles did the work for her, snapping into place around the frightened girls' wrists, upper calves, and ankles.



"The automated manacles are a new feature," Coach Bigg explained when Sarah turned her surprised countenance upon her employer. "I forgot to mention it to you."



"Nice," Sarah said.



"And a time-saver."



"I'll say," Sarah agreed. Making the rounds to manually secure the individual cheerleaders in place had always taken Coach Bigg and her assistant ten or fifteen minutes. Now, the same task was accomplished simultaneously in even fewer seconds.



Sarah pressed the button that started the apparatus in motion, and the great wheel began to revolve. At the same time, the individual section upon which each girl was mounted also turned, in the opposite direction to the one in which the circular platform as a whole revolved. The contrast in spin made the girls queasy, increasing their sense of helplessness and their anxiety, which, Sarah knew from personal experience, would already be quite high.



Sarah addressed her charges: "You are here today because of your arrogance and insolence. I was a true friend to all of you. I may have teased you from time to time, and even made a joke or two at your expense. Occasionally, I treated you with less respect and courtesy than might have been your due. One thing I never did, though, was to betray you. I remained a faithful and dependable friend to each and every one of you. It hurt me when you ostracized and snubbed me, when you insulted and humiliated me, when you abandoned and ignored me, proving yourselves to be the sharks and piranhas that Coach Bigg has called you, rather than friends and confidantes. Now, unfortunately for you, I'm in charge, and you are my victims, and, I can promise you this, ladies: payback is a bitch!"



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. No doubt, they, too, had seen the trembling of the long, supple bamboo canes as the gigantic wheel began to turn.



Karen Lewis gasped, her features twisting, as the cane above her struck a savage blow across her sleek, round backside. Next to her, Debbie Penn cried out, 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 her smooth, firm-soft 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 cane 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.



Were Sarah still a member of the squad, it would have been she who was next struck and cried out as a thin, red line appeared, as if magic, across her stinging buttocks. As it was, it was Marilyn who shrieked as the cane above her slashed her bottom and filled her ass with fiery agony.



Sarah poked a button on the remote-control device, and the CD player stopped, the image on the big screen TV showing the impact of the cane upon Marilyn's flattened, red bottom and her wide-eyed, open-mouthed scream. "That's my ex-girlfriend," she told Max.



Sarah's father, seated next to his daughter on the living room couch, examined the huge image of his lover's former lesbian lover. "She's a looker," he said.



"Yes, she looks even more beautiful with that teary-eyed look of astonishment and pain on her face and the impact of the cane on her ass caught on tape. She was a bitch all along, but I never appreciated just how much of a bitch she is until recently."



"Life hath no fury like a woman scorned," Max quipped.



"That's right," Sarah agreed, "and, fortunately, as the assistant coach, I get to express my fury in a direct and unmistakable manner."



Max looked at the injured flesh upon Marilyn's lacerated, red ass. "That you do, honey, that you do!"



"You want to watch any more?" Sarah asked, knowing of her father's fondness for viewing videos of spankings.



"Later," her said. "Right now, I'd like to do other things." His hand, around Sarah's shoulder, caught his daughter's right breast and squeezed the firm, round mound. Its nipple, he noticed, came almost instantly erect.



"Like what?"



"You know what."



Sarah smiled, switching off the television set. "I like to hear you say it."



"Okay, then, I'll say it: I want to fuck you every which way I can, and then I want to do it all over again."



They kissed. Sarah gripped her father's rock-hard cock in her diminutive hand, squeezing its thick, swollen shaft. "Okay, but then you'll take me shopping, right?"



He smiled. "Or, alternatively, you can go by yourself and shop till you drop, without me pestering you about when we're coming home. You have your own credit cards now, after all."



Sarah pretended to sulk. "You don't want to come, Max?"



He smiled. "I always want to come!"



She laughed at his double-entendre, but she said, "Shopping is more fun with someone else, especially when that 'someone else' happens to be the man I love. Please, Max?"



Max thumbed his daughter's erect nipple, and she moaned. "You talked me into it, sweetie. Right after we make love."



"I won't keep you out late, I promise."



Max continued to flick and stroke her nipple. It was the size of a gumdrop now, and, he noticed, her pussy was wet. "Right," he said, distractedly.



"Really. Next year's cheerleading tryouts are tomorrow. I have to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Coach Bigg is counting on me."



"I am, too," her father said.



Sarah, half-standing, turned, tossing her far leg over her father's thighs, and sat, facing him. With her hand, she found his erection and guided the long, thick, hard organ between the moist lips of her vagina. With his cock inside her pussy, she rose and thrust, fucking her father from above. "You can count on me, Max," she told him, "always."



He grunted. "Until you move into a place of your own," he replied.



"This is my home, Max, and my 'place' is at your side--or, at the moment, on top of you."



He gasped, then laughed.



As Sarah humped her father, she inadvertently nudged the remote control device with her knee, and the television screen illuminated, showing The Carousel going round and round under canes that flashed up and down. Approaching orgasm, Sarah heard a chorus of shrieks and screams, and, as the heartfelt screeches assaulted her ears, she, who had always, before this moment, been more the masochist than the sadist, understood, at last, the sexual and emotional thrills of cruelty, and her cunt poured out its juices, all over her father's lap.



The sadistic Coach Bigg, in selecting Sarah as her assistant, had, as always, chosen well, the teen thought.



Father and daughter came together, and, afterward, Max took her shopping so she'd look her best tomorrow, when, alongside her mentor and supervisor, Sarah Owens put her new charges through their paces.

