Zoey Zane #17 Teen Queen
Highschool Teen Queens
Keeping the theme highschool _and_ bonus, matching the photoset for once, here’s a hs teenqueen
I was sitting in the bleachers in the gym, trying (as usual) to make time with Betty, a lovely blonde freshman like myself. We were relaxing after lunch. About a dozen people were shooting baskets and exercising and four or five other students were lounging in the stands, reading or chatting.
Suddenly Miss Harding, the phys ed instructor stormed in. Her voice echoed angrily. “Where’s Laura and Kathy?!” she demanded from a knot of girls near the entrance door. I couldn’t hear the replies, but the teacher immediately wheeled around and walked out in a huff.
Apparently, the culprits she was seeking were soon located, as I could hear her yelling in the hallway, getting louder as she again approached the gym door.
“…not going to put up with this crap!” she said as she burst in again. Following her, in dribs and drabs, were several young ladies in uniform that I immediately recognized as the freshman cheering squad. They had on their blue tunics with the name of our team emblazoned across the front and their short little gold skirts.
Miss Harding was giving them hell. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times: you clean up that locker room after practice. And I mean every scrap of trash, every piece of equipment. I want everything in its propre place!”
My friend Betty looked at me and smiled. “It looks like the freshman girls are in trouble,” she said, then turned her pretty face back to watch Miss Harding lecture. We couldn’t hear what the girls were mumbling in their defense, but Miss Harding was having none of it.
“Well, if you refuse to accept responsibility as adults, I’ll give you something to think about. Let’s go. Laps, ladies. Start running. I’ll tell you when to stop!” With that, Miss Harding her metal whistle to her mouth and gave a shrill blast.
Reluctantly, one or two of the girls began trotting, then more of them joined in, until the whole freshman cheerleading squad was strung out in a ragged line, running around the perimeter of the large gymnasium.
I smiled and said to Betty, “Yeah, Miss Harding’s doing her thing.” I watched the girls as they ran past the bleachers on the gym floor a few rows below us. I knew a few of them. I idly noted that gorgeous Kathy Eastman was there. She was 5’10”, with long blonde hair and a killer body. I was often literally mesmerized by her perfect ass when I walked behind her in the halls. My male friends and I called her “movie star material.”
I also saw Laura Weston, a very cute brunette. Then there was a tall, pretty redhead that I knew was named Lisa. There were about a dozen of them, one more attractive than the other. After all, only the finest looking young ladies made it onto the squad.
I had asked about a third of them out already and been shot down by every one. They were all going out with football stars or seniors, or at least interested in bigger game than me. After they passed once or twice, Betty and I returned to our conversation, paying no more attention to the jogging women.
I don’t know how many times they ran around that big gym. I do recall that when I heard Miss Harding’s whistle again, they were all breathing heavily, hands on hips, walking around and coughing.
I will never forget what happened next. Somehow, word had gotten to the senior sorority girls that the freshman cheerleaders were running laps for not cleaning the locker room. The gym door popped opened and in walked several of the senior sisters. They were dressed casually, some in jeans, some in skirts, as if they had been on their way to class when they were called away.
I was saying something to Betty and stopped in midsentence when I realized that each senior girl had her sorority paddle with her!
These were real serious implements. They were at least 18 inches long, four inches wide, and a half inch thick. I think they were made of maple wood.
I said to Betty, “Uh-oh. I think those girls are in trouble.”
Betty twisted around, surveyed the scene briefly, then turned back to me and said with a mixture of excitement and surprise in her voice, “You think they’ll paddle them?!”
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “Can they do that?” The cheerleaders were the best looking girls in the school. I was hoping against hope they could.
“Well, my cousin was in a sorority and she told me she got paddled.”
We watched silently. I noticed that the pick-up basketball game had stopped and the kids in the bleachers with Betty and I had looked up from their books. Everyone was watching the sorority sisters. They conferred with Miss Harding for a moment, then advanced on the cheerleaders. Most of the girls holding the paddles had determined, serious looks on their faces, although two or three were grinning in anticipation.
The bevy of armed young women merged with the group of girls in their uniforms. There was earnest discussion and I heard snippets of louder conversation from the older women: “…embarassed us…can’t do anything right…not gonna get away with it…” Miss Harding was off to the side, her arms crossed, watching impassively.
A few of the cheerleaders walked out of the tight circle, looking downcast and shaking their heads.
To this day I do not understand if all the cheerleaders were in the sorority, just some of them or what. But there was no question that the sorority sisters had jurisdiction over them.
Apparently, a decision was made. The group of young women parted and began to separate into two sections again.
The sisters stood together. The freshman looked worried. The head of the cheerleaders started to shout commands in the same loud, booming voice I heard them use at football games.
The cheerleaders responded instantly. They came toward the bleachers and faced us in an unruly line. Other commands were shouted and the line straightened. Each girl, looking very serious, put her shoulders back, legs apart, then extended her right arm out until it touched the shoulder of the girl to the right.
They shuffled a bit until they were perfectly lined up.
I quickly counted the cheerleaders. There were fourteen in all. I looked down the row of girls, a feast for male eyes, my mind racing: there was a brunette, a blonde, then Kathy…next to her is that doll I see in History class…let’s see…next is that girl,
Peggy, God! what legs on her!…oh, look at the one next to her! wow, she’s pretty!…next is a nice blonde, another blonde, there’s Lisa…oh! there’s that girl with the brown hair and green eyes that wouldn’t talk to me after English Lit class!…next to her is that short cute one with the little round ass…
Another loud command was given and they all bent forward, their legs perfectly straight. I squirmed in my seat and really began paying attention. My heart began to race and I wondered if Betty could detect my mounting excitement.
At another signal, the cheerleaders reached back and flipped up their skirts, each revealing her little gold panties. Then they grasped their ankles firmly and waited. My breath was coming in shallow spurts. My mouth felt like cotton.
Betty turned to me, blushing, her mouth slightly open in surprise, but didn’t say a word. I looked back, equally amazed and silent.
One after another I scanned the bending young ladies again. All I can say is, they were a truly mouth watering group. They were all about 18 years old with perfect bodies. And I was sure I was about to see them publicly spanked! What a treat!
The older sorority girls spread out and walked up to the bending girls so that each one was standing to a freshman’s left, paddles at the ready.
I tried to memorize every detail. Some of the girls’ faces were straight out, toward the stands, some looked at the floor and I could only see the tops of their heads. A few were looking sideways, perhaps whispering something to the girl next to them. They were all different heights bending over, but Kathy was definitely the tallest, her beautiful blonde hair cascading over her head and down the left side of her graceful neck.
I saw a brunette whose wavy hair parted neatly at the back of her head, some hanging down on the left, some on the right. I noticed that some of the girls had ponytails. I was high enough to see the tops of their backsides. Some were fuller or slimmer than others, with a couple really sticking out good. The position they were in presented irresistible targets. Their blue skirts, now inside out over their backs, were lined in gold, trimmed with blue at the bottom.
Now one of the senior girls began shouting commands. “Ready,” the older girls set their feet, with the paddles held in both hands and pointed at the floor. “Set.” In unison, the sisters brought the paddles back and high above their shoulders, ready to swing them forward.
I noticed most of them were natural wood color, but a few were painted solid blue, gold or red. You could have heard a pin drop in the gym. Everyone’s attention was riveted on the show, many of the men with stupid, disbelieving grins on their faces. My eyes nervously swept up and down the line, trying to plan what to watch for, what to take in, when the spanking started. Betty said something like “Here goes,” or something, but I hardly heard her.
Simultaneously, fourteen paddles whizzed through the still air and collided forcefully with fourteen firm, trim, young, feminine asses! The gym echoed with a long, loud, rolling SPLLAAAATTTT!!! instantly followed by a tremendous chorus of loud, female voices wailing in protest, “OH!” “OUCH!” “AHH!” “EEK!” “HEY!” all mixed together in a stimulating, intoxicating cacaphony of noise. I have never heard anything like it!
I was frankly stunned at how hard they swung. Mixed in with the sounds, I could hear individual pops as the heavy paddles landed. I thought that perhaps they would just tap them as a token punishment, but that was not the case at all. This was to be a REAL paddling.
The line of girls moved slightly in response to the first swat, yielding in varying degrees to the forces from the paddles of the senior girls. I saw some rise up on their toes. One took a half step forward. A few heads snapped upward in surprise. Some with their faces toward me opened their mouths, adding to the collective shout of dismay.
There were no more commands. The senior girls were apparently on their own now. The second swats came close together, but not nearly with the military precision of the first. The result was a great, echoing, slapping noise that sounded like it went on and on forever.
That was followed by another boisterous collective cry that rose and fell like a wave in the gym.
By the third swat, all hell had broken loose. The paddles were flying, the cheerleaders’ asses were bobbing and the sounds of hard, flat wood pounding upturned, vulnerable ass cheeks melded with yells, cries, and even some laughter from spectators and seniors.
Betty touched my arm and I diverted my attention only long enough to see her pretty face, mouth wide open, her big eyes crinkled into a big uproarious laugh, pointing enthusiastically at the scene below us.
The long double line below us was moving, seething with activity. I couldn’t drink in enough of it. Indidvidual paddles would shoot high up into the air, catching your eye, only to disappear swiftly downward on their burning, painful mission.
I watched one senior girl, in jeans and a white blouse, swinging frantically, swatting the helpless brunette in front of her very rapidly and mercilessly. The front of the bending girl’s skirt was flying, her legs quaking, her whole body rocking unsteadily back and forth with the powerful rhythm of the blows assaulting her squarely in her shapely hind end.
I searched quickly and found Kathy. Her hair was flying around her head, her eyes tightly closed, her mouth a thin, taut line, trying to bear the incredible spanking she was receiving. Her legs were still straight and she seemed to be holding onto her ankles for dear life!
The pretty senior brunette paddling her, her own short skirt swirling out and high up around her thighs, was energetically bringing the big piece of wood backwards and forwards quickly with huge, strong arcs, totally unconcerned for the pain she was surely causing the gorgeous blonde.
My eyes moved down the line to a luscious brunette being lifted onto her toes every time the paddle made solid contact with her rear. Next to her was a perky redhead, jerking her head back at each swat, swinging her ponytail sharply up and down. Each whack gave me a perfect view of her distressed face.
Separate sounds wafted up into the bleachers and I could make out individual high pitched cries of “Please!” “No!” “Stop!” and “Oh God!” There was plenty of very sincere pleading going on.
My eyes swept along, treated to a feast of sexy suffering, pretty faces truned this way and that, shouting, jerking, the paddles rising and falling relentlessly, hard and fast. My heart leaped when I noticed a beautiful brunette, who had rejected my advances, being given swat after explosive swat on the seat of her panties by a big, powerful looking athletic blonde behind her.
The younger female was twisting and wiggling like a rag doll as the blonde, swinging like a home run hitter, carelessly built up a throbbing, hot fire in her seat.
Another of my would-be dates was right next to her, a succulent, petite platinum blonde with slim hips, a tiny waist and big breasts. She was obviously feeling a raging sensation in her rear globes as the mini-skirted dirty blonde behind her solidly whacked away at her buttocks. The victim’s face was all red and twisted into an almost comical grimace as she concentrated on the impressions she was receiving from her hind end.
She was gasping for breath. Her big blue eyes alternately closed tightly and opened very wide. She looked like she was drowning. I felt a shameful urge to wave and stick my tongue out at her, but I doubted she even saw me. My gaze danced between the two former objects of my desire and watched intently as they shook, bounced and twisted, their hair flying. I felt a deep satisfaction that they were, in some way, getting what they deserved.
I found Kathy again and saw her sensuous face had softened. Her head was twisting in little circles and her full red lips were formed into a puckered circle, mouthing something that looked like “oh!…oh!…oh!” but I could not distinctly hear her.
The noise was building to a crescendo. The line of girls was ragged now, many a foot or more out of position, but the paddlers were still working them over. Slapping sounds filled the gym and a loud, general feminine moan was in the air.
Everywhere my eyes fell was a scene of serious corporal punishment. A brunette tumbled forward, but was still being paddled on her hands and knees, her tormentor giggling triumphantly and quickly following her along the floor. The senior brought the paddle up over her shoulder then down below her knees in a tremendous, powerful arc. The girl on all fours jumped smasmodically in reaction to each swat. A blonde on the end of the line fell and received two or three swats while still flat on her stomach.
Finally, there was another shouted command and the swats trailed off. There were three or four more hard, individual paddle spanks followed by a half screamed “OW!!!” or “OH!!!”
The whole thing was over in only a minute, but it was the happiest, most joyous minute of my freshman year.
There was a few moments of silence, then a loud murmering. The seniors were laughing and congratulating each other. The cheerleaders, crestfallen to a girl, stumbled around aimlessly, a few openly crying with tears streaming down their pretty faces.
They were all rubbing their butts. Some of them rubbed the seats of their skirts, others put their hands under the back of their uniforms and consoled their battered panties. Three or four sank to their knees, humiliated, hotly and gingerly massaging their sexy, enflamed asses. None of them sat down.
I saw one girl about 20 feet away twisting around to examine her backside. She momentarily pulled the right edge of her panties up to inspect the damage, clearly revealing an incredibly bright red, splotchy ass cheek.
One girl bent over so her friend could lift her skirt and gently pull her panties away from her backside. The friend looked down at the scene and shook her head. Then they switched and the first girl inspected the other one’s damage.
The examining cheerleader slapped her hand to the side of her face, making the mistake of letting the panties snap back into place. The other girl winced and bent backwards in pain. Her friend laughed. They then conferred confidentially with each other. I wished I could have heard what they said.
I glanced at Betty. Her right hand covered her mouth, her face reflecting a mixture of total enjoyment and incredulous disbelief.
I wanted to jump down from my perch and walk amongst the girls, but I realized I had a tremendous erection and had to be careful not to move.
My eyes roved over the girls again and I easily found lovely Kathy Eastland. She was facing me. Her hair was mussed. She looked weak, her hands pasted firmly on her derriere, her elbows pumping up and down enthusiastically. It looked like she was blinking back tears, trying to be strong. I felt a jolt of sexual excitement shoot through me. Another cheerleader, also massaging her ass intently, walked by her, and they smiled wanly at each other.
Another cheerleader had her back to me, close by, right at the foot of the bleachers. She had one leg straight underneath her, the other extended out to the side, her right hip thrust outward. Her small, pale, feminine hands were gliding earnestly up and down her nicely rounded ass cheeks, pausing here and there to rub her fingers horizontally over a particularly sore spot. A senior girl came over and tried to flip her skirt up to see her butt and the girl jumped away, slapping at the senior’s hands.
The girls began slowly moving toward the door. Betty turned to me, “Did you see that?! I bet they won’t be sitting down in class tomorrow!” she quipped, smiling. I don’t remember what I said, but I know my face felt hot and I was terrified that I was blushing.
Eventually, all the seniors and the cheerleaders left the gym one by one, laughing and talking. Betty had to go to class and soon departed. I tried to read but I was too riled up. I kept looking at the gym floor and saying to myself, I can’t believe what I just saw happen here. I was able to calm down only after sitting alone for 20 minutes and consciously thinking of other things.
I ran into one of the paddled young ladies a few weeks later. Candy was her name. We shared some homework assignments and became friends. As soon as I could, I steered one of our conversations to the incident in the gym.
“Oh,” she squealed girlishly, “you saw that?!” She blushed furiously. I loved it. I asked her what it was like. She leaned forward and put her dainty hand on my arm. “It was bad, Solly,” she said, “real bad! That paddle felt like a hot iron slamming me in the seat of my pants. My ass burned for two days straight! I swear it was like I sat on hot coals. I was even swollen down there. I couldn’t wear tight pants. I couldn’t sit down comfortably for a week!” I felt that familiar charge of excitement.
“Well, that IS bad,” I teased, “You poor thing. Your cute little ass must have been SO sore!”
“Sore isn’t the word. I had bruises on my butt for the longest time.” I tried to feign sympathy, but only managed to stare in awe at her pretty, animated face. “Every time I sat down, I got a little reminder of that incident.”
“But the humiliation was the worst. We were really surprised they did that to us with everybody right there in the gym. I found out later that it wasn’t as spontaneous as it looked. They try to do that to the cheerleaders every year at one time or another. It’s like a tradition.” She laughed delightfully. “I can’t wait ’till next year,” she said, as if we were sharing a secret, “then I’ll get to wield the paddle and some poor freshman girl will have a hot, prickly tush from me!”
“I bet you girls never left the locker dirty again.”
She rolled her pretty big eyes and laughed. Then, nodding, she put her right hand on her backside. “You got that right!” she said with a grin.