TITLE    : The Sarah Owens Story
STORYID  : the-sarah-owens-story
SUMMARY  : Sarah's new coach knew how to deal with the sarcastic teen.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2009-11-27
CATEGORY : bdsm-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |cheerleader|spanking|buttocks|ass|bottom|derriere|punishment|18-year-old|


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



* * *



Bertha Bigg glared at her charges, South Catholic High School's varsity cheerleading squad, whom she'd inherited upon accepting the job as the replacement for Coach Chambers, or Jane, as the cheerleaders had called their former coach.



Coach Bigg didn't believe in fraternizing with her squad. She wasn't here to be their friend, and she didn't care what the girls thought or felt about her. They could hate her guts, as far as Coach Bigg was concerned, as long as they did what she told them, when she told them, without question or hesitation.



The girls had been on a first-name-basis with their former coach. They'd been more like friends, according to Principal Matthews, than a coach and a squad. That was probably one of the reasons the cheerleaders were in such a sorry state. At her interview for the school's head cheerleading coach position, Bertha had promised Principal Matthews she'd not only lead these girls' sorry asses to the National High School Cheerleading Competition but that she'd also win the damned thing. She intended to keep her word, even if she had to kill her charges to do so. She'd called them together this morning to introduce herself, share her--or, rather, their--goals, and establish a relationship built on respect and professional conduct, not friendship and halfhearted performances. Instead, she found herself rebuking the girls.



"You're not fit to call yourselves cheerleaders," Coach Bigg snarled at the teenage girls. "You have no form, no grace, no style. You're clumsy, careless, and lazy."



"I'd like to see that tub of lard shake her pompoms," Sarah Owens whispered to her friends Karen Lewis and Debbie Penn, who stood to her left and her right, respectively.



The girls giggled.



Coach Bigg scowled at the squad. "Your lackadaisical attitude is going to change," she declared, "starting this second."



"If she tried to shake anything, there'd be an earthquake," Sarah predicted.



Karen and Debbie chuckled.



The new coach walked slowly around the formation of cheerleaders, whom she'd lined up, as if they were soldiers, in three ranks and files, of three girls each. Even the way the new coach had had the girls line up, in a military-style formation, on the gymnasium's basketball court, instead of in a circle, on a heavily padded practice mat, was weird. So was her lecturing them instead of coaching them in the practice of team-building exercises and the school's fight chant ("Go, Lions, go fight win!").



Maybe the formation, like the lecture, was designed to intimidate the girls, Sarah thought. If so, it wasn't working. Sarah wasn't the least bit intimidated by the new coach or the bullying trainer's tactics; in fact, Sarah felt nothing but contempt for Coach Bigg.



As she continued to berate the girls, the coach strutted behind the group.



"From now on, you will conduct yourselves as cheerleaders," Coach Bigg thundered, "or you will be off the squad!"



"Ouch!" Sarah jumped at the smarting blow that struck her bottom through the thin skirt and the thin Spankies panties she wore over her own underwear. From the corners of her eyes, she saw Karen and Debbie straighten up as their grins vanished and they assumed somber expressions, as if they were soldiers standing at attention.



Sarah spun on her heels, glaring at the new coach. "How dare you--?"



Before the eighteen-year-old girl could complete her question, Coach Bigg's left hand shot forth, grabbed Sarah's wrist in its iron grip, and jerked her from the formation. As Sarah fought, trying to break Coach Bigg's grip, the trainer dragged the slight, shapely cheerleader to the front of the formation. Sarah tried to make eye contact with one of her peers, but none of them looked at her. Although she'd known these girls for years--some since they'd been preschoolers together--none of the others' gazes met her own. The other cheerleaders stared straight ahead, their eyes fixed on nothing.



To Susan Davis, who stood in the front rank of the formation, Coach Bigg barked, "Get me a chair!"



"Yes, ma'am!" Susan scurried across the gymnasium, seized a folding chair from the basketball court sideline, where someone had left it, and skidded it next to the coach. Quickly, she leaped back into formation, adopting a posture not unlike that of a marble sentinel.



Without releasing her grip on Sarah, Coach Bigg sat, drawing her captive across her lap. Sarah kicked and screamed, struggling, but her attempts to escape were in vain. To her mortification, Coach Bigg pulled Sarah's skirt up and her Spankies and panties down, exposing the girl's bare buttocks to her fellow cheerleaders, and rained down half a dozen swats of her hand, each slap coming immediately upon the previous.



Sarah gasped and cried, squirming, her bare bottom seemingly on fire, as another half dozen blows collided against her naked flesh. "I will teach you to mock me!" Coach Bigg cried.



Another sharp slap, and another, and a third landed upon Sarah's bottom, the flesh deepening to pink where the raining blows had fallen, and the miserable teen squealed, wriggling and writhing. "You don't think life is such a joke now, do you?" demanded Coach Bigg.



The other girls couldn't help but to sneak peeks at their unfortunate friend. Sarah had always had a smart mouth. She took sarcasm to new heights--and depths--but she'd always gotten away with it because she was gorgeous. Blessed with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a trim figure that boasted small, but firm, breasts and a shapely pair of sleek, round buttocks, she turned the head of every boy she passed and was the envy of every girl she met--her fellow cheerleaders included.



The other girls in the squad genuinely liked Sarah. They were, in fact, good friends, all. Nevertheless, whether they were aware of it themselves or not, they harbored a deep-seated desire to see Little-Miss-Perfect get hers, and, now, at last, she was. Coach Bigg had spanked Sarah nine times, and the coach's hand rose again, now, to deliver an additional blow--or blows.



The chair in which the coach sat faced to the girls' left, at right angles to the formation, affording the cheerleaders a perfect view of Sarah's delightful derriere, and they thrilled to the sight of her smooth, firm butt cheeks flattening before each swat and springing back into fullness, much pinker, after each spank. As Sarah struggled on Coach Bigg's lap, trying both to ward off successive blows and to wrench free of her captor and escape further smacks to her bottom, her thighs would widen, enough, sometimes, to give the other girls a glimpse of her shaved labia or a peek of the bright pink-red flesh within her winking pussy.



"I will not have you making snide, asinine comments while I am addressing this squad, young lady!" Coach Biggs rebuked her charge, smacking Sarah's ass three times more, in quick succession. The poor teen's bottom was now bright pink all over, and, in some places, her cheeks were beginning to redden. Her ass seemed to glow as from an inner fire. Over her coach's knee, Sarah, still squirming, gasped and sobbed and whimpered.



"Paula Abdul, Christina Aguilera, Sandra Bullock, Miley Cyrus--" Coach Bigg's pronunciation of each famous name was punctuated with another resounding slap across Sarah's reddening ass-- "Cameron Diaz, Kirsten Dunst, Lindsay Lohan, Madonna--do any of you have any idea what all these women have in common, besides multimillion-dollar careers as world-renown entertainers?"



All of the girls knew the answer to her question, but none dared to voice it.



"They were all cheerleaders!" Coach Bigg announced, with another fierce swat to Sarah's bottom. The well-spanked cheerleader moaned, sobbing piteously, and pleaded for the spanking to stop. Coach Bigg ignored the girl's desperate pleas as she continued her address: "So were Eva Longoria, Mandy Moore, Kelly Ripa, Jessica Simpson, Reese Witherspoon, and Renee Zellweger."



The girls knew this, too, although none had the nerve to share this knowledge at the moment. They knew, also, that even some famous men, Presidents George W. Bush, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and Franklin D. Roosevelt, included, had been cheerleaders, but they felt no urge to mention this information, either.



Another hard swat from the coach caused another shrill screech and more kicking of her legs from the victim before Coach Bigg, her voice stern, directed Sarah to return to her position in the formation.



The teen managed to stand, but, as she started to tug her Spankies and her panties back up and her skirt back down, Coach Bigg ordered Sarah to leave them where they were, holding her skirt up, around her waist, and leaving her Spankies and panties down, around her knees. In such a state, and with her mascara running, her lipstick smudged, and her blush smeared, Sarah hobbled back to her place among her peers, not a sign of sarcasm on her tear-streaked face.



As she limped past the others, they peeked at their friend's bare buttocks. They were shapely and round, as ever, but, instead of their customary soft-pink color, they now glowed red, and there were a few light bruises in the soft-firm mounds.



"As I was saying," Coach Bigg resumed her lecture, "From now on, you will conduct yourselves as cheerleaders or you will be off the squad!"



The girls looked down, at the toes of their shoes, clearly frightened at the fury their new coach had unleashed upon one of their own.



Glaring at the girls lined up before her, three deep and three abreast, Coach Bigg spat out the last word with which she'd address the squad this afternoon: "Dismissed!"



The cheerleaders dispersed, sprinting toward the entrance to the girls' locker room. Normally, Coach Bigg would follow them, to watch them shower, but, today, she had other business to which to attend.



She smiled. How little the girls knew concerning what was in store for them now that she'd been hired to train their sorry asses. She hadn't told the squad that spanking would not only be a key component in the way she trained them, but that it would also be administered to them, whenever she saw fit, on as efficient, impersonal, and methodical a basis as only modern engineering made possible.



In fact, she'd already ordered the spanking machine by which she'd ruthlessly enforce discipline upon each and every tender young bottom in her squad. She'd planned to acquaint them with it later, but, in light of the insolence Sarah had displayed during the squad's initial session with their new coach, she might as well make the introduction sooner rather than later.



Tomorrow, right after practice, in fact, would be as good a time as any, if she could arrange an appointment on such short notice with the machine's quality control expert.



She took her cell phone from the pocket of her shorts, punched in the digits of a number, and waited. When a familiar voice answered, Coach Biggs said, "Dr. Fanner, this is Evelyn Bigg. I know this is a last-minute request, but could you deliver the machine tomorrow--and arrange a demonstration of it for my cheerleading squad?" She waited, listening. "Thank you, Fanny. We'll see you then."



Coach Bigg returned her phone to her pocket, and made her way to the locker room. Maybe, if she were lucky, there'd be a straggler or two she could watch, naked beneath the steaming, hissing needles of water. Next to a well-spanked, bare bottom, there was nothing lovelier than a naked teenage girl.

