Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
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(****, F/Fx12, Intense, cons paddling, caning)
The secret behind a team's championship season. (Approximately 2,952 words. Originally published 2006-09.)
The twelve young women had been selected from thousands of applicants. The ones chosen were the best dancers, the most attractive, with the biggest smiles. All were voluptuous, not just in the chest, but behind as well. These twelve women all had gorgeous J-Lo butts, full and projecting, and due to their constant aerobic exercise, as firm as hotel mattresses.
Thirty minutes prior to the game these beauties went out and began to shake their tits and asses for the crowd, rallying all behind their team. The girls didn't wear the traditional miniskirts and pompoms of high school cheerleaders, but wore a variety of costumes that showed off their tremendous figures. There were black, silver, gold, and on special occasions, white pants, so tight across those rumps they seemed ready to burst. Other times they wore short shorts, so skimpy the curves of under-rumps were clearly visible. On Hawaiian night they wore thin grass skirts that gave seductive glimpses at the bare legs and butts hidden beneath. And who could forget the night they came out dressed in impossibly sleek black rubber pantsuits? One reported called them "walking condoms" and in addition to stirring up controversy -- and an attendance spike -- the nickname stuck and became one their most requested outfits.
When it was hot the girls wore skimpy sports bras that barely contained their impressive breasts as they danced -- and indeed, a popular past time was side betting on if and when and to whom a "wardrobe malfunction" might occur.
Much of the media had accurately credited the cheerleaders with team's fantastic success. Going from worst to first in a single season was almost unprecedented, but that's what this team had done. They had done it via heart and hard work, not with star names and outrageous salaries. They had done it because the fans, revved into a frenzy by the new cheerleaders, became not just an extra man for the team, but an extra team. When the fans cheered -- and they hardly stopped throughout the game -- the noise was deafening. It gave the team heart and they felt they couldn't lose. The opponent was diminished even before the start.
The media couldn't help but notice, many throwing in a line or two in their stories about how fantastic the young ladies were at stirring up the crowd. When the team was losing a key game against a conference opponent late in the game and all seemed lost, it was the cheerleaders who stepped up. The players had their heads down; they were exhausted, defeated. But Kelly Rosen, cheerleader captain, suddenly mounted a pyramid of female flesh. She'd been yelling and dancing for hours, her outfit soaked with sweat and sticking to her body. Standing atop her teammates she tore off her jacket (it was a chilly night) and wearing a hot pink halter top and skintight shorts she began to contort, dance, wiggle, and cheer. She screamed as though for the first time that night, her cry of courage echoing through the frustrated and depressed crowd, eyes widening. As one person the others ripped of their jackets, to the excited cheers of the crowd. The cheerleaders took the energy of the people and roared it back at them, starting a popular team chant of invincibility.
One reporter wrote that the cheerleaders "shouted with such passion it was as though their lives depended on it." That man did not know how close he was to the truth. As the audience revived, hope swelled through the crowd. The team looked up as the masses of people began to chant and sing. Waves of sound rolled through the stadium and across the players. The opponents, supremely confident seconds earlier, hesitated. The losing side gathered themselves. "We can do this!" they shouted to each other, and suddenly confidence was regained. Filled with determination backed by the raucous crowd screaming them on, the team went forward and with just minutes left, scored. They went forward again and scored, and then scored again. It was a fantastic, improbable comeback. It was a win for the ages, a win that swept the team all the way to the championship.
Most reporters would ask the team's owner, the coach, or the players, the same question: "To what do you attribute the team's success?" Few mentioned the cheerleaders, of course, but new head coach Bob Riley smiled a secret smile. He knew. He'd hired his sister, Jenna Riley, to head the cheerleading program, and it was her unique approach that had energized the cheerleaders, the fans, and eventually the players.
Jenna had her own secret. The girls she'd so carefully selected weren't just beautiful, talented, and sexy. They also each had a particular fondness for having their round, saucy bottoms smacked. Knowing this, it had been easy for Jenna to implement a unique -- and painful -- system of discipline.
The cheerleaders had their own building. There were lockers for the girls, showers, a training gym, and an office for Jenna. It wasn't elaborate, but it was exclusive and private, with an elaborate security system, for naturally the young ladies were prime candidates for peepers and other perverts. Jenna had insisted the building be sound-proofed as well. After all, one did not want their chants and routines being stolen by competing teams. Thus their routines were worked out in secret, and no one knew what happened during their long practices.
In a locked cabinet in her office Jenna kept the secrets to her success. When the twin doors swung open it was a display that would chill the heart of any man or woman. Hanging on the doors were dozens of heavy leather belts and whips. On the back of the cabinet were over a dozen canes of various lengths, thicknesses, and materials. There were numerous paddles, both leather and wood, in all sorts of shapes and sizes. If you were Jenna's office for a spanking, it was indeed enough to make your knees wobble and your bowels release.
Under Jenna's rule, corporal discipline was applied for the slightest infraction. Once this program was implemented, tardiness vanished. Lockers remained spotless. Towels were always left in the towel bin instead of on the floor or forgotten on benches. With the threat of a spanking looming, the girls doubled their efforts at training. Fitness workouts, previously a drudge half-heartedly performed, were now vigorously executed with all the enthusiasm of a sexual encounter. Complicated chants and dance routines were memorized instantly -- minds sharpened by the potential of intensely sore buttocks.
Of course there were frequent failings. The rules were impossibly strict. Jenna jumped at any opportunity to administer bare bottom discipline and she didn't go easy on the girls.
For slight offenses, such as not showing enough enthusiasm or having the "wrong attitude" the punishment was a mere half a dozen swats with a large paddle. For serious mistakes -- arriving late, messing up a routine, incomplete training -- the penalty might be six from the cane. For the worst crimes, such as -- gasp -- failing to show for practice without prior excuse, the girl would face a series of severe spankings, paddlings, beltings, and canings, all done on the gym floor while all the others watched. Those were mistakes no one repeated.
Of course "official" punishments were rare. The most common spankings were the routine ones, the ones administered on the spot, designed to motivate the young ladies. During practice, for instance, Jenna would wander the group with a long slender riding crop in her hand. If she spotted a rump out of position or a girl not working hard enough, the crop would whistle into plump flesh with a resounding thud -- usually followed by a squeal of agony. Almost every girl got a stroke or two during practice; Jenna felt it was good for them, that it kept them on their toes.
If someone was really struggling and needed too many "encouragements," Jenna might make an example of her, either ordering her to come to her office after practice (everyone knew exactly what for), or instructing her to fetch a particular paddle or whip and then using that right then, while the others watched in fascination and muted sympathy.
There were also games made of activities and contests. The last girl out of the shower, for example, always had to take three swats with a paddle. Of course the girls had to be properly clean, too -- not showering properly was a severe offense -- so one couldn't just speed shower. During practices Jenna would organize little contests, races of speed or endurance, flexibility exercises, gymnastic moves, etc., and the losers always paid the price with their bare bottoms.
Oh yes, perhaps I forgot to mention that little detail? Spankings from Jenna were always administered on the bare. This added humiliation and made the punishment more painful. Plus Jenna could see the punished areas of a bottom and apply her whip or cane more accurately, i.e. more painfully.
Sometimes, when the girls as a group were not performing at their peak, Jenna would paddle them all. There was one week were she was so upset with their lack of commitment that she spanked all of them every day before practice for the whole week. It was only three swats each, not enough to really hurt, but it stung and was humiliating, and the cheerleaders were much better for the next game.
Kelly, as the captain, was privileged to have a paddle of her own which she was allowed to use at her discretion. She could give out three swats any time she wanted, no arguments accepted. For more than three swats she had to obtain permission from Jenna, but it was well known that Jenna always agreed, and usually added on a few swats of her own to the punishment. Thus Kelly wielded considerable power among the girls.
Of course such power came with responsibility. As the captain, Kelly's behavior was held to an even higher standard. She was also held accountable for the performance of the others. When her girls failed, Kelly failed. And of course Kelly's punishments had to be much more severe than the discipline of the regular girls. So when one of them might have gotten six or eight, Kelly got a dozen, or even more. It was not easy or fun, but the title gave Kelly an exalted position among the girls. Her buttocks were almost always striped with the welts of someone else's mistakes and the others respected her as a heroine. Often, if a girl's fault had gotten Kelly beaten, she'd come to the captain later and beg to be punished even more (the girl, of course, had been already whipped by Jenna). Sometimes Kelly would oblige, especially if the fault had been egregious. The girls learned to respect Kelly's ability to endure a beating as well as her ability to administer one.
Now you might think this atmosphere of severe discipline would lead to tense practices and dour seriousness. Nothing could be further from the truth. The girls were bubbly and enthusiastic and happy: even harsh spankings couldn't erase their optimistic spirits. No, the girls didn't mind the discipline. They agreed it was severe but felt it was fully deserved. They joked about spankings, teased each other playfully, and were cooperative and reluctantly obedient when it came time to offer their bottoms for the rod.
Practices were joyous occasions, the girls working hard and catching their breath during the occasional interruption for a spanking. These girls loved their jobs and relished the discipline which kept them in peak physical and mental shape. No one ever complained about being whipped too hard (such a thing would have merited another whipping, no doubt), but one could sense that such feelings were genuine. The discipline united the girls, bonded them together.
In the showers, after, the girls would stand for long periods with warm water rushing over their nude bodies, rubbing their sore, beaten bottoms. Some butts were only pink, others crimson. Some were crisscrossed with scarlet or purple or brown weals, fresh or days old. But all the girls were smiling, giggling at their naughty adventure, ruefully rubbing a tender tush, jokingly pinching someone else's sunburned rear. The spankings hurt, they were not fun at the time, but afterward they were deliciously memorable.
There was plenty of sexual tension. The nude spankings and the pain, which demanded distraction, generated an atmosphere of sexual arousal. Some girls openly masturbated in the showers (hence the slowest-shower-gets-a-spanking rule), while a few would please each other. Others would hurry home to boyfriends or to bars where, being a celebrated cheerleader, it was easy to find men to satisfy a girl's cravings.
Jenna herself never hid the fact that spankings turned her on. She enjoyed beating the beautiful bottoms of the cheerleaders. She loved hearing the yelp of pain, seeing the buttocks squirm and dance with agony. She adored the sorry look of despair that graced a girl's face when a sentence was pronounced. After practice was over, Jenna would sit for hours masturbating in her office, reliving the wonderful spankings she'd administered. Then she'd take a long shower and masturbate some more.
The result of all this discipline, of course, was that this group of girls was the best organized, most dedicated, fittest, strongest, and most enthusiastic of all cheerleaders. They excelled in all areas and had few weaknesses.
With the cheerleaders leading the way, the team performed well. The cheerleaders motivated the crowd and the players for the simple reason that their own butts were on the line. You see Jenna had implemented a devious system of mandatory punishments for the failure of the team. If the team lost a game, it was because the cheerleaders had not done their job and spurred the crowd enough.
After a loss, the cheerleaders would troop back to their building, faces ashen, heads slumped in depression. Those watching assumed the girls were such fans that they were merely crestfallen that the team had lost. But of course the truth was that the girls were heading off to endure dreadful punishments.
The scale of punishments escalated throughout the season as the games became more and more important. The amount of punishment was also tied to how badly the team had lost. The penalties of a loss were severe. All the cheerleaders were punished as a group. Individuals who'd made mistakes or were deemed to have not given it their all were additionally punished a few days later. Kelly, as captain, was often in that group.
Typically Jenna began with a paddling. The girls were all completely nude, in the gym, bent over in a row, and she walked up and down that row scorching bare rumps. Depending on her mood she might walk up the line only once or twice, or perhaps five or six times. At three swats for each pass, bottoms became sore rather quickly.
Then it would be time for a strapping. There were several different leather belts Jenna would choose; a light two-tailed model for a mild loss, or heavier three-tailed straps for more serious loses. The number of strokes was tied with the key stats from the game: extra strokes were given for defensive mistakes and offensive chances missed.
After the long strapping, the girls would go on a run around the gym. This was tough, as they were already exhausted from performing during the game. But of course none could afford to slack off, for the consequences for that were unthinkable.
After a few laps, Jenna would call a girl out and cane her, bent across a wooden frame built for the purpose. Sometimes the caning was just symbolic, a few strokes to serve as a reminder. Sometimes it was severe, wealing the full buttocks with a dozen or more purple lines. After the agonizing beating, the girl was returned to the jog. The next girl was called out for her caning. This would continue until all twelve girls had been thrashed. Only then would Jenna release them for the showers.
After games in which the team won, there would be no beatings. Individuals might be whipped the next day, for minor faults on the night, but a win meant everyone could sigh with relief and go home with bottoms intact. Wins were in high demand. Thus when a game was close, and many were, the cheerleaders went berserk, doing anything to stir up the crowd and motivate the players. The desperation of the cheerleaders created an electricity in the stadium that transmitted energy to the players. The team lost only three home games that season. They'd only won one the previous year.
That was the first championship season, the one that started things. Nine years later and the team had won two more championships and been a contender every season.
Bob Riley coached the team for five years, then couldn't turn down a ridiculously lucrative offer from a big city team. His sister, however, wouldn't leave the cheerleading program she'd started. She enjoyed her work immensely. Win or lose, she won. With twelve beauties under her strict control she had everything she could want. Except an assistant.
That changed this year when a recently divorced woman showed up. She was twenty-nine years old. She'd gained a couple pounds and her hips were wider, but she still had the sexy figure and the smile. She didn't mind at all submitting to Jenna's intense "initiation." Every implement in the infamous cabinet was tested out on her glorious wide rump and she didn't protest once. Jenna didn't have a choice but to hire the girl immediately.
Her name was Kelly Rosen.