The Sarah Owens Story Ch. 09byCal Y. Pygia©
Note: This story is based upon an idea by Sarah Owens. The characters are 18 years old or older.
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The next time that the cheerleaders met for practice, Coach Bigg had an announcement to make. "In recognition of our progress, Principal Matthews has agreed to purchase new, custom-made cheerleading uniforms for you to wear in the state competition to which we've been invited next month, and he wants you to design them--shells, skirts, Spankies, socks, and all."
Sarah looked around the circle, at the faces of the other cheerleaders. Like her, they seemed pleasantly surprised by the coach's news.
"I've decided that each couple among you should offer a design in competition with every other couple. The winners will be awarded an all-expenses-paid weekend at Disneyworld for two, courtesy of yours truly."
Sarah could hardly believe her ears. Coach Bigg, of all people, was expressing an altruistic impulse! Sarah wouldn't have suspected the beefy behemoth to have a generous bone in her bovine body, but, here she was, offering to finance a weekend trip for two--the same bitch who insisted upon all the girls being spanked for the offenses of any one of them--all of them., that is, but Sarah, whom the coach had exempted recently, since her father, having spanked her bare ass once, might discover, should he do so again, the marks of the cane that The Carousel inflicted upon the cheerleaders during group spankings aboard the machine. Instead of a caning, Sarah received a pair of mechanical cocks, one in her cunt and one in her ass, that swelled to huge thicknesses while spinning in the same direction or opposite directions at 1,000 revolutions per minute. The idea of being double-stuffed with wildly rotating dildos might seem enjoyable, Sarah guessed, to one who hadn't been on the receiving end of such action.
She shook her head at the stream of consciousness and free associations that had taken her from Coach Bigg's willingness to pay for a weekend at Disneyworld to artificial penises fucking her own teenage cunt and ass. The human mind, she decided, was a wonderful thing.
"The only requirements for the uniform," Coach Bigg told the girls, is that it be the school colors, crimson and gold, and that the hem of the skirt come to just above the knee. The length requirement is unfortunate, as many of the squads at the state, regional, and national competitions will wear much shorter skirts, but it's an unavoidable consequence, I suppose, of being enrolled in or working at a parochial school."
Sarah smiled to herself. The coach's lamentation had given the teen an idea to discuss with Marilyn, concerning their uniform design.
The girls had come a long way under Coach Bigg's tutelage. The threat of group punishment on The Carousel was the main reason for their progress--or, at least, it had been in the beginning. Certainly, none of the girls had been inspired by the coach's personality. They all pretty much detested the bitch, even now. Her methods were not merely crude--Sarah shuddered as she remembered how the beefy woman had inserted her fist, first inside the cheerleader's pussy, and then up her asshole, all the way to the wrist--but they were also criminal. Had any of the girls complained to the authorities, Coach Bigg would be in prison now, for years, for doing what she'd done to them. Instead, fear had motivated the teens to do nothing less than the best of which each was capable. None of them wanted to spend even another second upon The Carousel, stripped naked and strapped in place upon the machine's circular platform, while being severely caned or, in Sarah's case, literally drilled up the ass and in the cunt by high-speed, expanding dildos, while Coach Bigg and, sometimes, a male guest, such as Principal Matthews or the boys' varsity football coach, Mike Ryerson, watched. As Coach Bigg had observed, fear was a powerful motivator.
So was love, as the coach had also indicated, and as the girls themselves had discovered after Coach Bigg had had them pair off as lesbian lovers. The girls' romances with one another had magnified their rapport a thousand times over, making them a team that was interested in working together in mutual support to reach a common goal, rather than just a group of individuals motivated by one-upmanship.
Sarah glanced at Marilyn, the fabulous redhead who had become her girlfriend. How many times had one of them been between the other's legs, hands under buttocks or atop thighs, as, face half-buried between wet, flowing pussy lips or between sleek, round ass cheeks, she's brought pleasure to her lover--and, in the process, to herself? Despite the frequency of their lovemaking, Sarah never tired of eating Marilyn's pussy or ass or of her girlfriend's performing the same loving acts of passion upon her own cunt or anus. Likewise, the girls never tired of kissing, caressing, embracing, cuddling, or squeezing and licking one another's firm, high, round breasts. Each of the other couples felt the same way, Sarah knew, and their love cemented them together, both as lovers and as a squad, even more, now, than punishment or fear had, in the beginning.
For all the girls, cheerleading was important, but, for Sarah, next to Marilyn, the sport was everything. Before she'd become a cheerleader, Sarah had been just another girl, one among the hundreds at South Catholic High School, lost in the crowd, despite her surpassing beauty. People thought that if a girl were gorgeous, everything was easy for her, but Sarah knew that such was not the case. In some ways, everything was harder. Boys were attracted to her, sure, but they also feared her--or, rather, they were intimidated by her beauty, afraid that she would reject them, should they ask her for a date or told her about their feelings for her. Girls, on the other hand, tended to envy her; some even hated her just because she was better looking than they. To survive, Sarah had developed a sharp wit and a sharper tongue; she could cut someone with her words the way that street gangs cut their rivals with knives. A natural leader, despite her secret shyness, Sarah was recognized, in short order, as an alpha female whose will it was best not to cross. Thereafter, things had become easier, but she'd never enjoyed the carefree and casual life that everyone seemed to assume was hers.
The first thing Coach Bigg had done was to strip Sarah of her alpha female status, making her, once again, just another girl among girls. The result? For a time, after bringing punishment upon the whole squad for a mistake she'd made during practice and thereby subjecting the girls to their first ride upon The Carousel, Sarah had been ostracized by her friends, some of whom she'd known since preschool. Sarah had felt as if all her hard work in gaining the upper hand against those who, intimidated, envious, or antagonistic toward her simply because she'd had the misfortune of having been born beautiful, a product of not merely good, but superior, genes, had been for nothing. She was right back where she'd been before she'd joined the cheerleading squad.
To make matters worse, her parents, as God-gearing Catholics, were strict, tolerating no rebellion and little independence on their daughter's part. Her father was terrified, apparently, that Sarah would grow up to be a slut or a whore, and her mother was too traditional in her beliefs and values to resist her husband's views. Consequently, except during school and cheerleading practice, Sarah's social life was severely hampered. Her parents--her father, especially--brooked no insolence or disobedience, and they lived by the scripture that to "spare the rod" was to "spoil the child." Over the years, Sarah had received spankings for many natural, normal actions that would go not only unpunished, but also unnoticed, in other households.
The effects of her strict upbringing had been to make her outwardly a respectful and obedient daughter--at home and during school, anyway--while, on a deeper, truer level, encouraging the development of a fierce independence and rebelliousness. Her lesbian lovemaking with Marilyn and her refusal to inform on Coach Bigg were two manifestations of that defiance. She was counting the days, meanwhile, before she graduated from high school and could move out of the house, going far away, and leave New Jersey behind forever. Maybe, she thought, she'd go to California or Florida, with Marilyn, of course, where Disneyland or Disneyworld would be but a few hours' drive away and she could enter the Magic Kingdom anytime she wanted, leaving her cares behind her.
If she and her girlfriend won the new cheerleader uniform design contest, they could go to Disneyworld sooner, rather than later, and she and Marilyn could sample their future together as tourists rather than as residents of the Sunshine State.
"All right, girls," Coach Bigg said, after the squad had completed the last jumps and stunts the coach had scheduled for today's practice, "listen up! I want you in the storeroom in five minutes; I've installed a new feature I want to test."
The other teens looked as shocked as Sarah felt. They hadn't done anything during practice, as far as Sarah, or, from the looks on her fellow cheerleaders' faces, any of the others, could recall, that would merit their being punished. "Excuse me, Coach," Sarah heard herself ask, "but what did we do?"
"Do?" Coach Bigg repeated, seemingly puzzled by Sarah's question.
"To merit a ride on The Carousel," Sarah explained.
The coach laughed, a sound that was more frightening than pleasant, and Sarah instantly regretted her audacity in having asked their leader to explain herself. "You've done nothing. Didn't I just say I want to test a new feature I've installed on the machine?"
"Well, yes, ma'am, but--"
She turned slowly, glaring at each of the girls in the circle around her. "Why, then, are you still standing here?" she shouted, and the cheerleaders, Sarah among them, fled.
"Not so fast, Owens!" the coach called after the retreating teens.
Sarah stopped. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned, facing the coach, who was striding toward the girl, rage on her bovine face.
She stopped, her big breasts pressing firmly into Sarah's own boobs, as the coach stood nose to nose with the terrified teen. "How dare you question one of my orders," she said, her tone menacing despite the low volume of her voice.
Sarah, resisting a strong urge to step backward and increase the distance between the coach and herself, gulped. "I'm sorry, Coach; I--"
Coach Bigg's palm flashed across Sarah's face so quickly, and with such force, that the staggering girl hadn't known what had hit her. All she felt was the searing pain, her scrambling legs, and the padded mat against which she sprawled.
"Get on your feet!" Coach Bigg snarled.
Terrified, Sarah rose on wobbling knees, feeling faint. "Please don't hit me again," she managed to whisper between her split lips. She tasted salt as she spoke, and wiped a finger across her mouth; the digit came away red with her blood.
"Shut up!" Coach Bigg screamed, quickly closing the distance between them so that, once again, having invaded Sarah's private space, she stood nose to nose with the teen, her balloon-size breasts shoved firmly against the teen's tight, firm, high, round tits. "I ought to stomp your ass right here and now. Instead, you'll pay for your insolence with an extended ride on The Carousel. Now, get inside the storeroom, with the rest of your sorry-ass squad."
Sarah, given leave to depart, spun on her heels, and, although she still felt faint and nauseous, loped toward the facility wherein waited the diabolical machine that her coach had had the temerity to name The Carousel, as if it were merely an amusement park ride, rather than an engine of pain.
The girls were naked when Sarah entered the windowless building. Weeks ago, the coach had instituted the requirement that, upon entering the storeroom, the squad was to doff their uniforms, without awaiting her command for them to do so, and Sarah hastened to remove hers as well. By the time that Coach Bigg entered the building, a few minutes later, Sarah stood naked with the rest of the squad.
"Take your stations," Coach big ordered, and all the girls, except Marilyn, who was never punished for the infractions or mistakes of the other girls, but who served, instead, as the coach's unofficial assistant, climbed onto the pie-shaped section of the circular platform that was reserved for her. Marilyn and Coach Bigg walked the circumferential perimeter of the machine, strapping the girls in place, each on her elbows and knees, and, Sarah felt certain, at least of Coach Bigg (and probably of Marilyn as well), taking the opportunity to ogle the teens' bare buttocks and uncovered cunts as they did so.
At the press of a button, a pair of long, cylindrical tubes of transparent plastic rose from a panel in the platform upon which the girls knelt, each of the two sliding over the dangling breasts of the girl on the station with which the tubes were associated. The plastic was cold as it moved past the sleek, warm flesh of Sarah's tits, the engine which drove the hollow cylinders emitting a soft, mechanical hum that was less terrifying than the high-pitched whine of the rotating dildos with which The Carousel usually fucked Sarah's cunt and ass, but still loud enough to be disconcerting.
"I was inspired when we saw the football player--what was his name?" Coach Bigg directed the question at Marilyn, who stood beside her, the only cheerleader on the squad to have been exempted from the requirements both to strip and to mount The Carousel. Marilyn and Coach Bigg went way back together, the latter having been the former's coach at another high school whose cheerleading squad, captained by Marilyn, had nearly won the Nationals, and Marilyn didn't need any additional "guidance" from the coach who'd mentored her there.
"Rich Williams, Coach," Marilyn answered promptly.
Rick was the football team's starting quarterback. He'd been butt-fucked by the machine and caned, naked, while the cheerleaders and the coaches looked on, the girls taunting and insulting South Catholic High School's all-state athlete. Part of Rick's humiliating punishment had included his penis' being enveloped in a transparent, condom-like sheath that had slid up and down, upon his member, bringing the flaccid organ erect and masturbating him to orgasm and ejaculation--in front of the cheerleaders and the coaches.
"You don't have penises, of course," Coach Bigg observed, as if not having male genitals were in itself a lamentable shortcoming that was somehow the girls' fault, "but you do have breasts--at least, some of you do." She scoffed at the tiny tits with which a couple of her charges had been cursed. "Still, even the smallest of your breasts are large enough for The Titillator."
Sarah forced herself not to roll her eyes or otherwise signal her scorn for the absurd name. It was as stupid, she thought, in its own way, as "The Carousel" was in its.
Around the rims at the ends of the foot-long cylinders, a ring of rubber padding both prevented possible damage to the girls' breasts and provided, as Sarah and the other girls experienced firsthand, when Coach Bigg flipped a switch on The Carousel's extensive instrument panel, a firm seal between the tubes and their flesh. Moreover, the seal allowed all the air to be sucked from the tubes, so that the girls' breasts were drawn into the hollow cylinders, filling the tubes with their elongated breasts' own newly-acquired, cylindrical shapes. The cheerleaders, shocked, to feel and see their boobs drawn down, under them, inside the tight-fitting tubes, gasped or cried out.
Coach Bigg laughed. "Don't worry, girls, The Titillator is designed to titillate, not to damage, your tits."
Slowly, the cylinders contracted, compressing the breasts that filled them, and the girls cried out again, alarmed, their screams rewarded by another of the coach's cacophonous cackles. The cylinders' circumference continued, slowly, to decrease, as the tubes tightened their cylindrical grip upon the girls' elongated breasts still more, forcing the cheerleader's boobs to stretch and lengthen still more inside their clear, Plexiglas prisons.
Sarah glanced down at her bosom, and was astonished--and frightened--to see that her breasts were three times longer than they normally were deep. The damned Titillator wasn't titillating at all, she thought; if anything, it was terrifying. As she watched, her breasts were stretched even further, to the point that the initial discomfort had now become pain and, for the first time, the question asserted itself in the frightened teen's mind as to whether the diabolical device would rip her tits right off her chest. Apparently, some of the other cheerleaders had wondered the same thing, for a chorus of screams and shrieks of pure terror--and of pain--echoed off the storeroom's cinderblock walls, corrugated tin roof, and concrete floor.
Sarah saw the coach look at Marilyn. "They're such pussies!"
Sarah's girlfriend chuckled at the coach's observation. Bitch! Sarah thought, despite her love and affection for the gorgeous, if traitorous, redhead who was the love of her life.
The pressure of the closing cylinders finally stopped--or, rather, no longer continued to increase--holding the girls' captive breasts in their close, tight embrace, and Sarah and the other girls felt the plastic heat up, becoming first comfortably warm and then frighteningly hot. It felt to Sarah as if her tits were being baked by the cylinders, and she; like the other girls, cried out in alarm.
The tubular containers next began to pulsate, and Sarah's breasts, like those of her fellow squad members', jiggled and shook, as if they were gelatin instead of flesh, inside the transparent tubes. Although the action was, at first, frightening, as had been the ascent of the cylinders over the girls' breasts and the tubes' subsequent squeezing as they elongated their victims' boobs, drawing them down, farther and farther into the space within the sleek channels, the throbbing quickly became not only pleasant, but also soothing. However, it was also embarrassing, even humiliating, for it made it seem to Sarah and the others as if they were cows and their breasts were udders that were being milked by an impersonal and soulless machine.
As the cylinders continued to pulsate, Sarah and her friends were shocked, once again, to see and feel the tubes fill with a clear liquid; within seconds, the fluid filled the tubes, gushing past the wet, shining cylinders that the teens' breasts, having taken the shape of their containers, made within the plastic cylinders in which the mammary glands were imprisoned. As the cylinders continued to pulsate, the liquid inside the tubes splashed and dashed, over and against the stretched skin inside which fat and the deeper, inner tissues of milk glands and ducts, blood vessels, and nerves were squeezed and shaken. The fluid washed and rolled inside the vibrating tubes, as if the breasts that were being milked were, at the same time, being washed, sensations that both heightened Sarah's and the other girls' pleasure and, at the same time, intensified their humiliation.
The tempo of the pulsation increased, until the tightly sealed cylinders were vibrating the girls' breasts violently--and painfully--and the sloshing fluid inside the shuddering, throbbing tubes was shaken to a froth of tiny, colliding bubbles. Again frightened, the girls screamed.
Coach Bigg guffawed, and Sarah heard her say again, to Marilyn, "They're such pussies!" Then, to the girls on The Carousel, the coach repeated her reassurance that The Titillator had been designed to titillate, not to damage, their tits.