Having taken dance lessons since childhood, applying to join the Goldfinches, the College cheerleading team, had seemed a great way for Sasha to make new friends. And, as the only English student at South Iowa Tech in Ottumwa, 80 miles and 50 years from Des Moines, friends was what she most needed. Although cheerleading had been new to her, she was physically fit and well co-ordinated and had picked up the basic moves quickly.
Her new friend Marcie had explained that the cheerleading team all lived together in a sorority house fully funded by coach Hudson, who apparently had wealth way beyond his college income, and who lived in a private penthouse apartment with its own elevator at the top of the building. This free and relatively luxurious accommodation was why the team was so popular and hard to get into. The arrangement seemed strange to Sasha but the girls on the team were obviously happy and the Sorority house was a beautiful old building with it’s own swimming pool.
The cheerleading team had voted for Sasha to join them and she had been told the final hurdle was a set of initiation tests from Coach Hudson. This was how she came to be standing nervously outside his apartment, fresh from her Saturday job at the Wapello County Historical Museum.
She had been unable to discover anything about the initiation and Marcie had told her all team members were subject to a vow of silence and would be forced out of the team if they broke it.
“Honey, I really mustn’t tell you anything. Just remember it only lasts an hour and, so long as you behave, it’s only once. Then you’ll get to be part of the team and you can move into the sorority house with the rest of us.”
Coach Hudson opened the door at her third ring of the bell. He was tall, a strangely big man for a cheerleading coach and she felt small and vulnerable next to him.
“So, you’re the English Student?” he said in a kindly voice, “what have the other girls told you of our initiation rituals here at the Goldfinches?”
Sensing a possible trap, she assured him that she had no idea what to expect.
“Good. The bathroom is back there, change into your uniform then knock on the door to my office here.”
She put on her red and white novice cheerleader’s outfit in scratchy polyester, hoping that she would soon replace it with the figure hugging, soft cotton in red and gold, reserved for full Goldfinch team members. Tying her hair back into a pony tail she knocked on the office door.
The large office had a work table, a bookcase and a chesterfield chaise longue. One wall was curtained and she sensed there might be a further, larger space beyond the curtain.
“Now, Sasha. Why are we called the Goldfinches?”
“After the State Bird of Iowa, Coach” she replied quickly.
“Great. I see you’ve been studying. What is the Motto of the Goldfinches?”
“It’s ‘Discipline, Obedience, Honour’, Coach” she relied.
“Yes, it is,” said coach Hudson, “and this initiation is here to makes sure you can live out that motto.”
Her had her follow a video of cheerleading steps and moves while he sat on the chaise. She felt exposed, dancing alone in her tight-fitting outfit in front of this man. Her self-consciousness made her trip clumsily.
“Sorry, coach,” she stammered; “I know the moves but it’s strange dancing them on my own”
“Oh, we can deal with that” he said. “Now we get to the discipline part. I’ll allow that one mistake but if you make another, you will be spanked.”
“Spanked, Coach?” she said in horror; “Surely not. I’m 20. I can’t be spanked.”
“I guess, coming from England and all, this will be new to you but, in accordance of the finest American college tradition, spanking is how we maintain discipline around here. I need to know you will take a spanking before I can let you into the cheerleading programme. Every girl you have met has been though this initiation but, Hey, if English girls are too posh to be spanked that’s just fine. But it means you’ll never be a Goldfinch.”
It felt like a terrible decision to have to make: Either accept that if she made a mistake she would be spanked or refuse and lose the chance to really belong somewhere for the first time since she moved to the USA. She resolved to accept the challenge but to remain error free for the rest of the exercise. She lasted for fully ten minutes before the inevitable happened and she made a small slip, looking up at the coach in horror.
“It’s over the arm of the chair for you, young lady!”
Reluctantly she leant over the leather chair which felt cold against her bare midriff. She felt coach Hudson’s hand on her back, pushing her down until she could smell the leather. She felt him lift the tiny cheerleading skirt away from her bottom, causing her face to redden in shame, her modesty protected only by her white panties.
She heard his hand smack into her bottom a moment before she felt it; a sharp stinging pain on one cheek, immediately matched by the same pain on the other. She tried to wriggle away from the stinging slaps only to feel the pressure holding her down increase. It was relentless: Smack, Smack, Smack, hurting her, taking her breath away each time his hand landed. She reached back, desperate to protect herself only to have her arm grabbed and twisted upwards painfully, making movement impossible. The effect of his downward pressure was to force her clitoris against the hard leather of the chair and, to her shocked amazement she found herself approach and then tip over the crest of a prolonged orgasm as the force of each slap moved her against the leather.
He eventually stopped and let her stand up, breathing hard, fighting to hold her tears in.
“Now do you understand?” he said, “Discipline, Obedience, Honour. This is how we win all the state cheerleading championships. Are you ready to continue your initiation into the Goldfinch way?”
“Continue?” she said in fear, “you mean there’s more?”
He grabbed the curtain that ran along one wall: “Oh, Miss Sasha,” he said as he pulled the curtain back, “we’re just getting started!”
She gasped as the rest of the room was revealed; a fully equipped 50 Shades style BDSM play-space catering to every kind of sado-masochistic kink. In quick succession she took in a cross with cuffs for arms and feet, a ceiling hoist, racks of floggers and whips, a vintage umbrella stand full of canes. She gasped at a line of shelves full of dildos, clamps, weights, chains and handcuffs. It was a fully equipped arsenal of BDSM pain and pleasure.
In a flash of insight she realised how the Goldfinches setup functioned; realised the price the girls paid for their free accommodation.
“Miss S” he said, his voice soft and welcoming, “Do you think you might be ready to become a Goldfinch?”
Right now this is a fantasy. By the end of the week, if all goes according to plan, it will have become a memory. I’ve taken the unusual step of writing about a scene before it happens and am hoping the marvellously game Miss S will agree to play this out pretty much as if it were a script.
Of course what happens once we get into the BDSM dungeon. That’s unscripted. Though I’ve got some great ideas.
We did play the scene out and it was great. Read about it here.
(A note for other clients: never assume it is OK to engage in this type of out-of-session communication. Miss S and I discussed this session in a Skype call while I was on holiday. I paid for her time during that call and I will pay for her to take the trouble to read this before our session)
More wickedness here: