The cheerleader and the paddle

I’ve been spending a bit more time than usual in the gym over the last couple of weeks. I tried to spy out promising fit people to cast in my fantasies about a stern personal trainer, but my gym is pretty disappointing in this regard. Most of the fit people there are too young to be considered for the role, mere girls and boys who should be bending over for a spanking themselves, instead of providing the strict incentives I have in mind.

So instead I imagined one of the young ladies working at the gym as a rather naughty college cheerleader. I mentally dressed her up in a suitable outfit, black and green, with the name of the team written across her chest in a contrasting white.

She has recently discovered a new hobby, and joined the college’s drama club. The schedule of the rehearsals doesn’t clash with cheerleading practice, so theoretically she should be able to participate in both things. Unfortunately, this girl has also discovered that people in the drama club like to go out drinking together, which has added rather a few evenings out to her week. One thing leading to another, she’s had to miss a few cheerleading sessions just to have some hope of catching up on her homework.

Finally, the coach invited her to her office for what she called “a little chat”. The girl’s heart fell: she’d heard of these from the other girls. The college doesn’t approve of corporal punishment, naturally, but unofficially the coach is the queen of her little realm, and can do pretty much what she likes to maintain discipline and necessary standards on the squad.

“You can show respect to your team, or you can leave,” the coach announced to the shocked girl. “If you want to stay, you’re going to confirm your commitment.” She opened a drawer and extracted an enormous paddle, leaving no doubt as to what form re-committing to the team would take. “Which is it to be?”

Thus it came to be that the hapless cheerleader had to push down her uniform panties, bend over and grab a firm hold of her ankles. The coach swung the monster paddle five time, each time connecting it with a mighty crack. The girl tried her best to stay brave, but the pain was overwhelming; she broke down sobbing on the second stroke. In the end, with her backside crimson and sore, she shook the hand the coach had offered her, and promised to not disappoint her again.

This fantasy sustained me for a treadmill session that might have otherwise been quite dull. The following time, I spotted not one, but three young women I wouldn’t mind casting in a cheerleading fantasy. Will the entire team misbehave next time, I wonder?