The cheerleaders changing room was never a place of cheer – not since Dawn Tyler had taken over the role of head cheerleader. Since that
fateful, inevitable day when the club had allowed her father, a Senator, to contribute substantial funds to the club, Dawn Tyler had ruled
the cheerleaders with a cane and slipper.
“That was absolute crap,” Tyler spat out when the girls had returned to the changing room after the Sunday match, “absolute C.R.A.P.”
She spelled out the word. “I counted three dropped pompoms and a baton that ended up god knows where. When are you arseholes going to learn
to do the job right, or am I going to have to find new recruits?”
“We’re doing our best,” pleaded Michelle.
“No, you’re not. You’re taking the piss and letting the side down. Now, are you going to take your punishments or are you walking from
the group?” Tyler was already holding the gym slipper in her right hand, patting the palm of her left with the flexible sole of the
“I’ll take my punishment, again,” Michelle demurred.
“Okay, bend over, touch your toes.”
Michelle obliged. In front of the other four cheerleaders, she bent over. She knew they’d be doing the same in a minute or so and it was
best to get this phase of Tyler’s unique training out of the way.
“Now, Michelle, you dropped your pompom and you know what the punishment is, don’t you?”
“Six on the bare,” Michelle muttered. As she did so, she felt Dawn Tyler lift her cheerleader’s miniskirt until it uncovered her
buttocks. Then she felt her regulation, white knickers being lowered to below her buttocks.
“Count them out and learn your lesson,” Tyler’s tone of voice was humiliating.
The slipper slapped into Michelle’s bare buttocks and as she gasped from the pain she shouted out the word, “one”.
Dawn Tyler was a fairly strong, young woman. She wielded the slipper with expert precision, making sure the strokes all landed within a
small area of the victim’s arse. By the fourth stroke, Michelle’s pale buttock flesh had turned bright pink and she was sobbing from the
“Ow,” she moaned, “five,” as the next stroke added more fire to her rear.
“Yeeoow, six,” she howled a minute later as the final stroke caressed her burning buttocks, ensuring she would not sit down for some
while to come.
“Stand up and go and stand over there,” Dawn Tyler ordered her. “I haven’t finished with you yet, but I have others to attend to first.”
As Michelle stood up painfully, Dawn turned her attention to the next victim. “Cassy, you dropped your pompom too.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. I’ll go and get the video if you want.”
“Okay, so I dropped the stupid thing.”
“This means you either have to accept the punishment or leave our happy tribe.”
“I wouldn’t call your dictatorship a happy one, but I don’t want to be humiliated by being out of the group so I’ll bend over and take
“In your case it will be twelve strokes, six for the pompom and another six for calling me a dictator.”
“Shit hole,” Cassandra muttered.
“Any more talk like that and you won’t be able to walk for a week. Now, bend over.”
Cassandra stepped forward, bent over and waited for her mini skirt to be lifted up from her buttocks. Then she felt her knickers being
lowered, her pale buttocks exposed for the other cheerleaders to see.
“Count the strokes, please.”
The strokes started to land, each one adding fire to a rapidly reddening rear-end.
Next door, the team were changing. They heard the by-now familiar shrieks of the hapless girls as Dawn Tyler administered her special
form of training.
“Seems like Dawn’s upset again today,” said Brad, one of the forwards.
“Always is, isn’t she. I’d say it’s about time someone gave her a dose of her own medicine.” Chuck was a back, a strong man who knew
Dawn Tyler’s reputation well.
“It’s in hand.” Ramaan was another back, of Arab descent and he too had experienced some of Tyler’s charm.
The shrieks of the girls next door, as their bottoms took the full heat of the slipper, continued for some minutes until Dawn Tyler had
punished all the miscreants. Then silence fell on the changing room.
In the cheerleaders changing room, the four girls who had been punished, stood facing their leader. Their knickers were at knee height
but their modesty was preserved as their mini skirts had fallen back into place.
“Turn round and face the wall.” Dawn Tyler had not finished yet.
The four girls, all in their late teens, did as they were told.
“Now, raise your skirts on either side with both hands.”
The skirts were raised.
“Stand still with your feet two feet apart.” Tyler relished the power she had over them. She knew they’d do anything to stay in the team
and enjoy the admiration of their jealous peer group.
The feet shuffled apart to the required distance.
“Excellent, four bright red bottoms. Now, I am going to give each of you a damn good caning, one stroke at a time in sequence. You will
learn to do the routines properly. The first one of you to step out of position or drop your skirt will be out of the team. You can shout,
cry and scream, but no foul words. I’m going to start with you, Carly.”
The junior cane was whistling through the air even as Dawn spoke the final words. It cracked into Carly’s bright red buttocks leaving an
even brighter, red welt mark where it landed. Carly howled loudly but managed to stay in position.
The same happened a few moments later when Michelle felt the sting of the cane as it whipped across her tender buttocks. She too howled
at the pain. Cassandra and then Daphne followed suit, each of them howling from the ferocity of the pain.
Then Dawn started on Carl again, the second round of torture being delivered to buttocks that would now not be able to be sat upon for
On the fourth round of strokes, Daphne, a pretty, long-legged blonde of nineteen years, could take no more. As the cane landed, she
dropped her skirt and, crying loudly, rushed from the changing rooms.
“Okay, Daphne leaves us as of today. Anyone else want to go with her?”
Silence greeted the question.
“Right, that’s enough for today. Don’t forget training on Wednesday, and don’t be late. Now, go and get showered.”
Dawn Tyler was first in the showers while the others tried to rub the heat from their sore buttocks.
“It’s in hand.” Ramaan repeated to Brad, Chuck and Greg as they left their changing room and saw Daphne sobbing in the far corner of the
corridor. Ramaan went to comfort her, all too aware what her problem was.