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Tuesday, 5 May 2020

Cheerleaders Chastised

From Blushes Supplement 26
When Cheryl was offered the opportunity of going to university in America, she leapt at the chance. The alternative of Durham, although a prestigious university compared to the second-rate places some of her peers had earned at other colleges, seemed unexciting to the ambitious Cheryl.
And so it was that she found herself on a flight to the University of Atlanta, Georgia, in the deep south of the USA — and thousands of miles from home in leafy Norfolk.
Her first day at UA, as the University of Atlanta was called, passed in a high-speed blur. Accompanied by her ‘mentor’ Susie, Cheryl was put through the formalities of entry, enrolled, encouraged to join various clubs and societies, and finally was told which sorority club she had been accepted by. Susie was in her second year at Atlanta, a popular girl whose prowess at sports matched Cheryl’s own abilities, particularly in swimming and netball. In Cheryl’s case, she was also an outstanding gymnast of competitive standard, which was one reason why there had been behind-the-scenes bickering about which sorority would have the athletic English girl among its number.
Cheryl was only eighteen, still an innocent in many ways and totally disoriented by the pressures of this new environment. She was statuesque in build, with powerful but not over-muscled legs leading up to her prize possession (as stated by enthusiastic admirers in England) — a proudly rounded bottom: the result, she claimed, of riding and gymnastics, which kept it firm but didn’t diminish its ideal proportions.
The swell of her hips was emphasised by the slimness of her waist, her shoulders hiding the power required for swimming, her breasts petite and discreetly pear-shaped topped with pale nipples like small glace cherries on a creme caramel. Her facial features were guaranteed to attract attention: a generous mouth with even white teeth topped with luminous blue eyes and a small slightly snubbed nose, surrounded by well-defined cheek-bones and a fashionable bob hairstyle to set off her glossy auburn hair.
Susie was nearly 20, and had been allocated to guide Cheryl through the first weeks of life at UA. An enthusiastic member of the college cheerleader squad, she soon persuaded Cheryl to audition for one of the spare places in the squad. With her good looks and temperament, she should have little trouble getting in.
The call for the audition came on the third day of term, and Cheryl was told to come to the gymnasium on campus and to bring a leotard with her as she would be required to demonstrate her physical fitness. At four o’clock prompt, Cheryl arrived at the gym with Susie and slipped out of her tracksuit. Sitting on the hard bench outside the gym, in only her striped leotard Cheryl’s palms were damp with nervousness. The cheerleader squad was a prestigious group, highly regarded on campus and a guarantee to a good social life and Cheryl wanted in.
‘Cheryl Lucas’ came the call from inside.
‘Off you go: good luck,’ said Susie, affectionately patting the girl’s rump as she walked into the gym.
Cheryl was greeted by a formal line of four girls sitting behind a trestle table, and the leader of the group got up to meet her:
‘Hello, Cheryl, I’m glad you’ve come along to try for entry: we’ve heard a bit about you, and we’ve seen your record so we’d like to put you through your paces for a few minutes to see if you’re the sort of girl who’d fit into the squad. OK?’
‘Fine,’ Cheryl replied.
‘Right, would you go over to the wall bars, climb four rungs up and hang there by your hands, facing us please?’ she smiled.
Cheryl did as she was bid, climbed the bars, swung round, and suspended herself with her fingers gripping the wooden bar tightly.
‘Lift your legs from the hips, keeping them straight, and bring them up parallel with your waist. Hold them there for three seconds on the right side, then down again, and repeat the exercise on the left side. I want you to do ten lifts each side. Go.’
While she was used to strenuous training sessions, Cheryl found the manoeuvre difficult to perform, but kept at it, the sweat standing out on her brow and glistening on her chest as she held each position for the requisite three seconds. The power of her shoulders and legs stood her in good stead, however, and she successfully completed the twenty lifts.
As she turned to lower herself from the bars, there came a shout:
‘Hold it Lucas: not finished yet. Turn round and face the bars, and hold on, please.’
The leader of the audition panel waited until Cheryl had turned before reaching into a sports bag by her feet and pulling out a thick leather paddle emblazoned with the title ‘UA Cheerleaders’ and a crest in gold blocked letters. The paddle was about the size of a very large plimsoll, stitched round the edge, with a wooden handle and a series of small holes drilled in concentric rings towards the centre of the instrument.
The whole panel got to their feet and strode towards Cheryl, their leader carrying the paddle.
‘Feet off that lower rung, please Cheryl, so you’re hanging,’ came a voice.
She obediently turned her head to one side so her face wasn’t pushed against the bars, and slipped her feet carefully off the rung to allow her full weight to hang on her now-aching hands.
Suddenly, she felt fingers at her crotch, pulling at the taut fabric of her leotard. She remembered what Susie had said:
‘Whatever they do, don’t show you’re afraid or that you think it’s odd. Just do it, if you want to get in. It’ll be worth it.’
As the fingers worked the thin cloth further up her buttocks, Cheryl said nothing, until her leotard had been pulled firmly clear of both fleshy cheeks, the material gathered into her crotch and the dark division between her buttocks. Involuntarily, she tensed her bottom, to be rewarded with a rapid command:
‘Relax, Cheryl: it’s just that your exercise contained two technical faults, and we’ve decided to deal with those slips now.’
Cheryl tried to peer round behind her to see what was going on, but could only see two of the girls, not much older than her, standing by the bars smiling at the squad leader as she finished adjusting Cheryl’s leotard to her satisfaction.
The fullness of the English teenager’s bare backside, now suspended just below the audition panel’s head-height, was an impressive display. The rounded firmness of Cheryl’s prized possession was about to experience a bit of traditional American hospitality.
‘As you’re a newcomer here, young Lucas, we’ll let you off with four juicy ones. If you can take those, you’re in — providing you can do the other exercises we set you. And with a butt like yours it’s a pleasure…’
There was a brief pause, and a momentary movement behind her before Cheryl experienced the explosive impact of the paddle against her naked right cheek, the initial stinging impact building to a burning, smarting climax which caused her legs to writhe and her bottom to clench tightly. This was a great deal worse than she’d imagined, more especially because the only experience she’d had of corporal punishment was when her boyfriend in England had persuaded her — under the influence of a few Martinis, it must be said — to take her knickers down and lie across his lap for what he called ‘a dose of what you need’ administered with the palm of his hand. That spanking, though it had made her smart, was as nothing compared with the blistering attack on her defenceless rear now being carried out in Atlanta.
The paddle, unknown to Cheryl, had now been passed to the second member of the audition panel who after measuring her swing to the high-level glowing target before her, applied the implement with vigour to the untouched left buttock with a meaty Spllaattt which momentarily displaced the fullness of Cheryl’s cheeks as they struggled to contain the impact in their pale softness, quivering back into shape as if daring the paddle for more.
Cheryl squirmed again, but only a suppressed hiss was driven from between her lips.
The third arrival of the paddle, this time back on her right buttock, nearly drove the breath out of her, the second stroke on that side building the stinging sensation even higher until it felt as if her bottom was on fire, the smarting pain coming in waves and forcing a small ‘Ahhhooowwww’ out of her.
‘Good girl, you’re doing well,’ came the leader’s exhortation as Cheryl’s bottom relaxed in anticipation of the next blow.
It was a long time coming, after a whispered discussion amongst the group on the floor during which time Cheryl’s fingers were screaming to relax their grip on the bar.
‘OK, this is the last,’ came the announcement.
And with a whisper in the air the paddle was whacked home on the bare left cheek to provide Susie’s impatient ears outside in the ante-room with the assurance that Cheryl had lived up to her expectations as ‘a live one.’
The rosy glow emanating from the teenage backside seemed almost to warm the gym, as Cheryl was given permission to lower herself from the bars, providing she did not attempt to diminish the pain by rubbing her bottom.
Cheryl’s self-control had obviously impressed the audition panel, as they had all been through the same, or a similar, process. But this didn’t stop them putting the English girl through a series of other moves and exercises to convince themselves that she had the fluidity of movement and dedication to take on a role as cheerleader. The final test was a sixty second ‘disco’ exercise, which had Cheryl bumping and grinding in rhythm with the music, finally doing two impressive back flips, her red bottom still uncovered with the leotard remaining where it had been tucked up.
The sweat on Cheryl’s top lip, her chest and back, her thighs, and most noticeably her forehead where the hair was plastered to her brow with the dampness, showed the effort the girl had expended. It was not in vain.
‘You’re on the squad, Cheryl: very well done. Welcome, I’m Mitzy, and this is Alison, Betty and Jody,’ concluded the leader introducing her fellow tormentors.
Cheryl couldn’t believe her luck as she finally hitched her leotard down over the reddened rump which bore the evidence of her suffering:
‘Well, thanks, I hope I live up to your expectations.’
‘Oh, you will, Cheryl, you will’ replied Mitzy with a grin.
‘See you for practice Thursday, 4pm right here.’
‘Bye,’ said Cheryl, turning to go, almost trotting out of the gym into the waiting arms of Susie, who had been listening anxiously at the keyhole to see if her charge was to be admitted to that most exclusive of girls’ clubs:
‘Well done,’ Susie shouted, ‘but how’s your poor butt?’
‘Sore,’ said Cheryl with a grin, ‘but I’ll survive!’
Cheryl rapidly settled down at UA, with the expert guidance of Susie, and the story of her exceptional performance at the cheerleader’s audition filtered slowly through the campus until it reached the boys’ ears. Particularly impressive to them was not just Cheryl’s athletic prowess and gorgeous figure, but her resistance ‘under fire’ as they chose to call it.
It wasn’t long, therefore, before the football team captain — who had been quick to notice Cheryl’s arrival on the touchline as part of the new cheerleader squad — was paying her a great deal more attention than she cared for. Cheryl just wasn’t interested in this great hulking, egotistical sportsman, who talked more about his own achievements than he showed any interest in what Cheryl had to say. Big Buck soon got his marching orders, and the humiliation showed.
Mitzy and Buck — always close, but not that close — got together to see what could be done to bring the English madam down a peg or two. If she spurned the football captain, and in public too, she needed a little lesson, and Buck was determined to find a way for Mitzy to administer a great deal more than four with the paddle to the sporty Cheryl’s rounded rear-end.
And with a video-recording of the punishment, Buck’s ambitious plan to recapture the peach of the cheerleader squad for his own would soon be complete. But Buck hadn’t reckoned on Cheryl’s British grit, or on her friendship with a medical student…
An intriguing finish to the story implying a sequel, although I haven’t come across it yet…


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