TITLE    : The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 23
STORYID  : the-sarah-owens-story-ch-23
SUMMARY  : An alternate ending.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2010-02-12
CATEGORY : bdsm-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |cheerleader|high school|schoolgirl|catholic|spanking|lesbian|transsexual|shemale|coach|incest|


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



Note: For several years, directors have featured so-called alternate endings on the DVD releases of some movies. This short-lived practice inspired this alternate ending to "The Sarah Owens Story." My own preference is for the original ending, which comprises Chapter 22 of the novel, but feel free to imagine its conclusion either way you like.



Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. All 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'd 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, she underwent castration, including the surgical removal of her 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.



Even after winning the championship at the National High School Cheerleading Competition; after having been replaced as the school's lioness mascot by her traitorous girlfriend, Marilyn Madison; and after learning that Amanda Meeks' penile fracture would caused the tranny freak lifelong complications unless she underwent the sex-reassignment surgery that she didn't want to undergo, Sarah had been assured by her new employer that there was yet more joy in store for her, the girl who'd once been her squad's detested outcast.



Life seemed to Sarah like a dream come true!



Late in the 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.



* * *



The next morning, in the storeroom, before the ceremony during which Coach Bigg would deliver the National High School Cheerleading Competition trophy to South Catholic High School, Sarah was shocked by the most painful and disappointing revelation of her life.



"Listen up, girls!" Coach Bigg called to the squad assembled whose members stood at their individual stations about the gigantic wheel known as The Carousel. "Our little joke, although delightful, has gone far enough."



The others, except Sarah, snickered.



The new assistant coach frowned. What "little joke" was Coach Bigg talking about, she wondered, and why did it appear that everyone else but her know about it? As Coach Bigg's assistant, she, if anyone, should have been told about whatever it was that the coach was talking about. Sarah swallowed the dread that rose in her throat. Nervously, she licked her lips as she glanced at the smirking, giggling cheerleaders.



"It's time to let Owens in on it," Coach Bigg declared.



Sarah gulped. The coach, who'd just begun to refer to Sarah by her given name, had now reverted to the use of her surname. Sarah had a sinking feeling in the pit of her tummy. Something wasn't right.



"As a reward for having won the championship, you wanted to tease Sarah one more time--in an exceedingly cruel manner, I might add."



The squad laughed.



"By my convincing Owens that she had not only been restored to the team but that she would also become my full-time, paid assistant, thereby giving her a couple of days of joy in her otherwise deservedly joyless life, you've had your fun. Now, however, it's time that Owens learn the truth of the matter." The coach looked at Sarah, who had begun to blubber. "It's appropriate you're bawling, Owens," she said, her tone mean and nasty, "because I'm going to give you something to cry about!"



The other girls stared at Sarah, enjoying her tears and the misery they indicated.



"You will not be my assistant coach, you will not be restored to the cheerleading squad. Instead, you will remain the school's mascot, spending most of your days in the same cage that has been your home away from home for the past month or so," Coach Bigg announced, her usual stoic demeanor giving way, for once, to the sadistic nature that she usually hid behind the mask of the strict disciplinarian and the non-nonsense mentor. "You will continue to be the object of the squad's disdain, and you will serve as its whipping girl." She paused. "Do you know what a whipping girl is, Owens?"



Sarah had heard the term, and she knew that it referred to someone who is unjustly punished, or abused, but she didn't know the history of the term or why it signified such a status. "No, ma'am," she said, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand that ran, ceaselessly, down her flushed face.



Coach Owens presented a brief lecture: "The term derives from the concept of the whipping boy," she informed the mascot. "During the 1600's and the 1700's, such a youth was punished when the prince to whom he was assigned misbehaved or fell behind in his schoolwork. The Divine Right of Kings, which declared that kings are appointed by God, forbade anyone but the his royal highness from punishing his son. However, the king was seldom present to do so, and the prince's tutors, therefore, found it difficult to make the prince study his lessons. Generally of noble birth, the whipping boy was educated alongside the prince, and the youths often bonded emotionally, since the prince usually did not have other playmates. As a result, the prince was likely to behave more often than not, because he didn't enjoy witnessing the whipping of his only friend for something that the prince himself had done wrong."



Sarah looked aghast at the thought that such a role had been assigned to her.



"There will be a couple of differences in the use of you as the squad's whipping girl," Coach Bigg informed Sarah. "As you have surely learned by now, there is no bond of friendship between you and any of the girls on the squad, nor will there ever be such a bond; therefore, they will not have the slightest inclination to spare you from The Carousel. Second, although I have been the nearest thing to a tutor for both you and the other girls, I will not be the one to administer your punishments. That honor shall be assumed by my assistant coach, Amanda Meeks."



At the sound of her name, the transsexual cheerleader, whom Coach Bigg had promoted to her assistant before the National High School Cheerleading Competition, strutted into the storeroom, to the shock not only of Sarah, but to that of the other girls as well.



"But she's still in the hospital!" Sarah cried.



"Obviously, she is not," Coach Bigg observed. "Amanda never suffered a penile fracture. That was just a story that she, Marilyn, and I cooked up. We kept it from everyone else just for the sake of this moment." Coach Bigg spluttered, unable to suppress the laughter that welled within her. "Just so we could enjoy the look of astonishment on your face that we see right now!"



The other girls applauded, laughing and cheering, and Sarah felt the familiar emotions of humiliation and shame swamp her broken spirit. Her tears became even more copious, streaming down her reddened face.



The redhead who had once been her girlfriend next entered the storeroom, at liberty from the cage she'd occupied the last couple of days as Sarah's supposed replacement as the school's mascot. She strode past the sobbing blonde to take her place at Amanda's side, and exchanged a deep, wet kiss with the transsexual assistant coach, much to Sarah's anger and dismay. "I have news for you, too, bitch," she said, "I'm not the fucking mascot, either; that job remains yours."



"Amanda, Marilyn," Coach Bigg ordered, "get Sarah suited up. The ceremony begins in fifteen minutes. As soon as it's over, meet back here."



* * *



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 should have made Sarah proud to be an American, proud to be a cheerleader, and proud to be a champion. She would have felt proud, too, had Coach Bigg's words about her becoming the squad's assistant coach, instead of having been forced to remain the school's mascot while also having been made the squad's whipping girl, been true.



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 wished she could feel 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, Sarah 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 imagined that her former girlfriend, Marilyn, who, if Coach Bigg had been telling the truth, would have been in the cage instead of Sarah herself, took great pleasure in seeing her ex-girlfriend in the cage that she herself had been forced to occupy the last couple of days, in lieu of Sarah.

<hr pg="2" />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.



From her place in the cage and theirs on the platform, Sarah and the others watched the commotion. Unlike the imprisoned mascot, the other girls luxuriated in every moment of the praise and adoration that the school's administrators, faculty, and staff and, of course, their own families showered upon the triumphant girls. It was hard to believe that all this fanfare was just for them. Sarah just wished that Max hadn't come to see his daughter praised for her accomplishments, as she had told him she would be, for, now, instead, he would see that she was being slighted and ignored rather than applauded, and, of course, there would be no signing of the contract she had bragged to him about the night before.



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 the cheerleaders' hearts seemed perilously close to bursting form the thunderous applause that their fellow athletes directed at them as they sprinted onto the gridiron. None of their praise was for Sarah, though, the blonde knew, and she hung her head in shame, her tears dropping onto the blanket that lined the floor of her cage.



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, Amanda Meeks!"



Sarah couldn't believe her ears! Coach Bigg, the bitch, had had the incredible audacity of highlighting Amanda for Sarah's own feat in having won the competition! The transsexual bitch hadn't even participated in the event. Supposedly, she'd been in the hospital with a bent dick!



A drum roll stirred the crowd, and they cheered the star of the cheerleading squad with renewed enthusiasm. Amanda basked in their adulation.



When the applause finally subsided, Coach Bigg announced that South Catholic "has had the wisdom to offer Amanda 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 Amanda signed, the contract which locked her into a three-year, renewable commitment to her school as Coach Bigg's assistant.



After Amanda had signed the contract, Coach Bigg extended her hand, and as Amanda's fingers closed around the coach's grip, the bovine woman said, into the microphone, but to Amanda as well, "Welcome, Coach!"



More thunderous applause filled the air as Amanda, 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 Amanda'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. The members of the school's cheerleading squad were awash in tears of joy, just as Sarah was awash in tears of misery and self-pity. Even the stony Coach Bigg was crying, Sarah noticed, and, the teen realized, she hated this woman whom, just yesterday, she thought she might have come, at last, to love, with all the fiber of her being.



* * *



After the morning's spectacle of praise and adoration, only one thing remained to make Amanda'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 the transsexual to the need for the event.



"Owens has treated you with unpardonable abuse," Coach Bigg reminded the tranny. "She's insulted you, taunted you, snubbed you, and abused you. She's treated you with contempt and disdain. Her tenure as a cheerleader is nearly over, as she will be graduating soon. However, she will remain, under a contract I've signed with her father's company, as South Catholic's mascot until she's thirty years old, and both she and many of the other girls 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 Owens. You must punish her, and her alone, severely."



"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, Amanda said, "I want all of you in the storeroom, naked, and in place beside The Carousel in ten minutes."



Exchanging nervous glances, the girls hurried toward the exit that opened onto the field on which the squad's storeroom stood. Amanda wheeled Sarah into the same building.



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



Amanda 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 wished that, as the squad's assistant coach, she would no longer have been required to take a turn on the infernal contraption, for it was extremely effective in delivering pain. Of course, she would be made to ride it, because Coach Bigg's promise to make her the new assistant coach had all been a huge, sadistic joke.



As she had commanded them to do, the cheerleaders were waiting, naked, when Amanda entered the storeroom, Sarah in tow inside the cage aboard the wagon, followed by Coach Bigg.



"Step up to your stations," Amanda ordered.



Reluctantly, the girls obeyed her directive. As several began to climb aboard the machine, to position 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, Amanda called to them: "I didn't say get on the damned thing; I said step up to your stations."



Relief flooding their faces, the girls climbed back off the ring-shaped platform.



"Owens is your whipping girl," Amanda reminded the squad. "As such, she, and she alone, will ride The Carousel from now on." She turned to Marilyn. "Get the bitch out of her cage, strip her, and fasten her in place aboard her section of the machine's platform."



"Yes, ma'am." Marilyn complied with the assistant coach's directive, and Sarah was on her elbows and knees aboard the dreaded spanking machine in less than three minutes.



"You are naked at your stations merely as a reminder that what happens to Owens, as your whipping girl, would be happening to each of you instead. Let your friendship for Owens spare her future suffering."



The squad members chuckled, knowing that Amanda meant just the opposite of what she'd said. Now that they'd won the nationals competition, returning home as champions, there was no need for them not to fuck up as much as they liked so that they could enjoy the sight of Sarah caned to within an inch of her life.



Without further ado, Amanda pressed the button that started the apparatus in motion, and the great wheel began to revolve.



Amanda addressed her solitary victim: "You are here today because of your own arrogance and insolence toward me, Owens, but, in the future, you will be here to atone for the disrespect or mistakes of any of the cheerleaders. It hurt me when you snubbed me, when you insulted and humiliated me, when you abandoned and ignored me, referring to me as 'a man, duh!,' and calling me a 'freak' and a 'wannabe woman.' Now, unfortunately for you, I'm in charge, and you're my victim, Owens, and, I can promise you this: payback is a bitch!"



The cane suspended over the naked girl's bottom quivered to life, and Sarah saw the grins on the faces of the cheerleaders who stood at their stations around the perimeter of the spanking machine's ring-shaped platform, awaiting the start of the show. Not one face exhibited even the faintest suggestion of sympathy or compassion. They wanted blood, and their lust for violence was plain on their wide-eyed, all-but-drooling faces. They were excited, having seen the trembling of the long, supple bamboo cane poised above Sarah's buttocks, to strike as the gigantic wheel began to turn.



Sarah gasped, her features twisting, as the cane above her struck a savage blow across her sleek, round backside. She cried out again as the cane flicked down, hard, upon her bare bottom. She shrieked, as the cane suspended above her swept down a third time, in a whistling arc, to cut into her smooth, firm-soft buttocks. She yelped, as the cane again smote her backside.



Whoosh! The cane flicked its long, thin tongue across Sarah's posterior, and she screamed, crying out again as the cane mounted above her station struck her unprotected derriere. She groaned as the cane over her descended in a vicious arc, igniting a fire in her buttocks. Yet again, the cane swept down in a rushing curve, cutting the flesh of her backside.



Sarah was struck again, crying out as a thin, red line appeared, as if magic, across her stinging buttocks, and shrieked as the cane slashed her bottom again, filling 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 her flattened, red bottom and her wide-eyed, open-mouthed scream. "I'm their whipping girl," she told Max.



Sarah's father, seated next to his daughter on the living room couch, examined the huge image of his daughter's bruised, lacerated, and bloody bottom. "My God!" he said. "You look even more beautiful with that teary-eyed look of astonishment and pain on your face and the impact of the cane on your ass caught on tape. You're a beautiful young lady, Sarah, but I've never fully appreciated just how beautiful until now, seeing you like that, in such pain." He shook his head, "I guess by pissing Amanda off, you've learned that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."



"That's right," Sarah agreed. "Unfortunately, as the assistant coach, Amanda gets to express her fury in a direct and unmistakable manner."



Max looked at the injured flesh upon Sarah's lacerated, red ass, on the TV screen upon which Sarah was showing him the caning that Coach Bigg had videotaped for Max and his daughter to watch at home. "That she does, honey, that she does--and it would behoove you to remember that!"



Sarah shrugged. "I'm going to get my ass beat no matter what I do."



Max smiled at her. "I'm afraid you're right, sweetie."



"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. As the school's mascot, I have to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."



"In that lioness costume, that shouldn't be too hard," her father quipped.



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 the chorus of her shrieks and screams, and, as the heartfelt screeches assaulted her ears, she understood, more than ever, the masochistic 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 squad's whipping girl, 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, caged alongside her mentor and supervisor, Sarah Owens would watch as the coach and her assistant put their new charges through their paces.



The money that Sarah helped Max make as South Catholic High School's long-term, thoroughly abused, mascot was the sole benefit, besides those of the humiliation and pain, the nudity and spankings, and the masochistic suffering and sex, both with the cheerleaders, the assistant coach, and her own father, that Sarah enjoyed as the school's permanent mascot and pain slut, and Max was going to make sure that his daughter enjoyed every last dime of it.



After all, he'd always been a generous provider to both his wife and his daughter, and he didn't plan to change, simply because Sarah now fulfilled the roles of both. 

