This is a story. It never happened and never will. The General Disclaimer is incorporated herein by reference.

BR&T date: Monday, 26 February 1996

Sitting at her school desk after lunch on Monday, at the beginning of her third week in fourth grade at her new school, Bunnytail Elementary, Sara hoped the worst was over. Indeed, she wondered, how could it get worse than her first two weeks? Bad enough that she had to move to a new town because of her father's new job, and go to a new school at all, but her new school seemed filled with people who delighted in tormenting her. From the principal and teachers spanking her, to the boys in every class watching her get spanked or spanking her themselves. From the boys tying her down in the boys bathroom and raping her then no one believing her (even the principal spanking her for accusing them without proof), to the 'parties' she had been 'invited' to, where she had been the only girl in a basement with dozens of the oldest boys from her school, both times.

Every single day at school so far had been pure misery. She couldn't even get away from school away from school. No, she decided, it couldn't get worse, so the worst must be over. She had to believe it.

A boy entered the classroom, walked up to Sara, and dropped a pink slip on her desk.

"What's this?" she asked the boy. She held it up and tried to hand it back to him. "This isn't mine," she protested. He only smiled and left.

She heard quiet but excited whispers around her, as her nearest classmates informed others who had missed it: "Sara got a pink slip! Sara got a pink slip!"

Sara had never worn a pink slip in her life, let alone the one he'd left on her desk. For one thing, she only wore a slip on special occasions, and for another, all of hers were white. Besides, that one looked like it fit a five-year-old, maybe six in a pinch.

The boys in the classroom grinned at her. "What's going on?" she asked, confused. "What's this for?" She turned it around and noticed the letters BES in blue on the front. That only made her even more confused. Why would anyone put letters on a slip? Were those the girl's initials? That still made no sense.

"Mr. Taylor!" a boy called as their teacher returned to the classroom. "Sara got a pink slip!"

"What's this mean?" she asked him. "What's going on??"

"It means there's a vacancy on the cheerleader squad," he explained. "Yet again," he finished. "It means you've been selected to try out to be a cheerleader. Take it to the principal's office and he'll explain. Get going, Sara Jessica."

At the word 'principal' Sara cringed, but she didn't have a choice. She sure hoped she wouldn't get spanked for it. She took the pink slip, four sizes too small for her anyway, to his office, and exchanged it for a note explaining what she had to do. The cheerleader tryout was for seven o'clock the next morning, in the school gym. The cheerleader team manager would pick her up at her home in time for it, and she better not be late. Finally, she was instructed to give the note to her parents.

BR&T date: Tuesday, 27 February 1996

"Get up, sleepy. You don't want to be late for your tryout." Sara's father shook her awake. Sara grumbled, but arose, showered, and dressed for school in her delicately translucent pale green dress, the same one she'd worn on her first day of school.

Her father wished her good luck with her tryout, then began getting ready for his job as supervisor at the lumber mill. Things were going wonderfully for him there. His only concern was his daughter getting in trouble at school on several occasions. Her mother didn't get up that early, having just returned from a trip to assist her own ailing mother, and needing her rest as a result. She had wished Sara good luck the night before, and told her to do her best and make them proud, subtly reminding Sara of the last two weeks of her 'misbehavior' at school.

At ten minutes to seven, Sara heard a knock at their front door. She opened the door. "Oh no!" she cried out in dismay. "What are you doing here, Bitters?"

"I'm the cheerleader squad manager, Carson," Mary Claire told her. "Who did you expect, some elderly old lady or something? Good thing you're ready, or you'd really be in trouble. Come on." Her classmate led Sara out to the street and got in the back seat of a car with her.

Sara said nothing to her on the way to school. She didn't know Mary Claire had anything to do with the cheerleaders, but after all, she didn't know much about Mary Claire yet, after just two weeks at her new school, only that she was a bully. Sara did know she didn't like her, and vice versa, so she hoped she didn't get chosen as a cheerleader and put under Mary Claire's control. Maybe she would even deliberately do worse than the other tryouts to keep from being chosen, even if it disappointed her parents.

They arrived at the school a few minutes later. Mary Claire took Sara into the empty gym and told her "You have to 'warm up' first, so you're going to work out until you're sore." That didn't sound like fun to Sara, but she was supposed to do as she was told, and she knew Mary Claire could get her in trouble with the principal, so she didn't argue.

"Climb up on the step here and lean over this," Mary Claire demanded, indicating a pommel horse used in gymnastics class.

Sara stepped up on the step and bent over the horse until she was laying across it. Her long brown hair fell around her head and hung down almost to the floor. She felt nervous, as the position reminded her vaguely of some nightmares she'd had. Mary Claire raised thick straps tied to the base of the horse and put them around Sara's wrists, pulling them tight.

"What's that for?" Sara protested, even more strongly reminded of her nightmares. She tried to pull her hands back, and found she couldn't, nor get off the pommel horse, either. Dismayed, she didn't understand what sort of 'workout' she could do like that, but she didn't argue, again out of fear of Mary Claire getting her in trouble. Suddenly she realised that there were no other girls there trying out for cheerleader.

"Here she is," Mary Claire stated. Amused, she added, "I told her she was going to work out until she's sore!" No one replied, and that was the last thing Sara heard Mary Claire say for a long time.

"What kind of a 'workout' do you want from me?" a male voice asked from behind her. She couldn't see around the pommel horse to see who asked.

"What do you mean?" Sara asked.

"You can either get a spanking or a fucking," he said. "Take your pick."

"I don't want either!" Sara protested.

"Tell me which one you want, or I'll pick one to give you first and then give you the other later," he said. "Do you want a spanking or a fucking?"

"What kind of a spanking do you mean?" Sara asked fearfully.

"I'll spank you twelve hard swats," he answered flatly.

She didn't want to get twelve hard swats, that was for sure. "Then what do you mean by a fucking?" she asked, even more fearfully.

"Don't be an idiot," he growled. "I'll fuck you until I come. What did you think it meant!? Now take your pick, or get both. Do you want a spanking or a fucking?"

She didn't want to get raped by some guy she couldn't even see, but twelve swats, she could endure. "A spanking," Sara whined.

"Then stop wasting my time and say that you want that!" he demanded.

"I- I want a spanking," she forced out, though she didn't want it at all. "And what does that have to do with a cheerleader tryout, anyway?"

Whoever was behind her didn't reply. "No!!" she protested as she felt her dress slide up her back until it bunched up around her shoulders. "Heyy!" she screamed as she felt her panties yanked quickly down her legs, all the way to her ankles.

WHACCK! The first swat, brutally hard with a wide leather belt striking her bare flesh, made her wonder if she really could endure eleven more. The sound echoed from the walls of the empty gym, otherwise silent except for the sound of the belt and her immediate response.

"Ahh YAAHHHWWwww!!" she shrieked. Her legs kicked involuntarily, but she wasn't going anywhere, secured by the straps on her wrists. "Aaah Aaww!" she cried, squirming helplessly.

WHACKK! "HYYAAHhh AWWWWHH!" she shrieked again when the belt struck her bare ass a second time. "Huuhh OWWww! Stop stop oh stop I'm sore I'm sore!! Huhn-" she sobbed. "HHAAAAAWWww!! Ohh please stop! I'm sore! She said until I'm sore!"

The belt whistled in a long arc before it struck the fourth time. HHWWAACK!!

"YYAAaaAAHhww!" Sara shrieked incoherently, unable to form any words to plead. She squirmed uselessly, her ass held steady by the handles on the pommel horse as she cried and waited for the next swat.

HHYAAACK!! "Uhh-YAAWW! Uhhn-HAAWW!! UHHww-AAUWW!" she bawled. "Stahhp I'm sorrre! I'm sore!! Huh-Aawwww!"

"You can go," a male voice said, but obviously not to Sara, since the belt struck her an instant later. "I said go," he repeated insistently. "You've done everything you were wanted for. Now get lost, Bitters, until we need you again."

The belt struck Sara's bare ass again as she screamed. She couldn't even try to keep count, but finally the swats stopped, letting her cry uninterrupted.

For awhile.

"What kind of workout do you want from me?" a male voice behind her asked. "You can get spanked or fucked, take your pick and tell me which you want." It wasn't the same voice.

"Wha- what??" Sara wailed.

"It's a simple choice. Do you want me to spank you or fuck you? Make up your mind quick."

Sara still didn't want to get raped by some guy she couldn't see. He sounded younger than the other one, so maybe he wouldn't swat as hard, she hoped. "I- I want you to spank meeee- Oh no, don't don't!" She felt her dress shoved so it hung down past her face. All she could see was the inside of her dress (used to be the outside), the straps on her wrists lashed tightly to the base of the pommel horse, and the floor between. "YYAAAAWWWWHH!!" she screamed, her ass still sore (she was certainly right about that) from the previous dozen swats, as she got a dozen more. Again she couldn't keep count but the spanking eventually ended.

"Who are ya, how old are ya, and what kinda workout do ya want from me?" a male voice asked, interrupting her sobbing.

"Huhh?" Sara wailed. "How many are there??"

"What difference does that make?" the third voice teased. "It's just me. Answer my questions, first, then tell me if ya want me ta fuck ya or spank ya. Hold on a second first."

Sara felt her panties pulled off her ankles. Then her shoes. Then her socks. She struggled as she felt a strap pull tight around her left ankle, then her right ankle. "Nooh!" she cried as the straps forced her legs wide apart and held her securely.

"Now. Who are ya, how old are ya, and do ya want fucked or spanked?"

"I don't want-" Sara whimpered.

"That ain't your name," the voice said. "Name, age, and say ya want fucked or else say ya want spanked, or Ah'll do both." A brutal swat backed up the demand.

"How many- YYaaauuuuwww!" she wailed from a sharp snap striking her bare ass on the side. "Muh- my name is S- Sara Jessica Ca- Carson. Aww I'm ten. I'm ten years old. I ohhh ohhh..." Another dozen swats like the ones she just got would be unendurable. "I wa- I want fuuuucked," she finished.

The straps on her ankles yanked her legs even wider. Sara lay helpless across the top of the pommel horse, in the school gym, her arms and legs stretched out to the four corners of the base, completely naked except her dress hanging loosely around her neck. And she just asked some guy to fuck her, without even knowing who he was.

He eagerly began, stepping up close and plunging his cock deep into her pussy. Sara gasped, whimpered, and cried out from one brutal thrust after another, as he eagerly continued. After several minutes of deep hard thrusts, he finally pulled out of her.

Sara lay there crying unsteadily, ashamed of asking to be raped. The guy didn't even talk to her when he finished.

"Who are you, how old are you, and what kind of a workout do you want from me? Do you want me to spank you, or fuck you?" another guy's voice asked.

"I'm Sara Jessica Carson," she cried. "I'm ten years old. I wan- want you to fuck me. How many more are there??"

"How should I know?" he smirked. "I just make deliveries here."

More than an hour later, the morning bell rang, warning students school was about to start and they had five minutes to get to their classes. Someone pulled the straps off Sara's ankles, then her wrists, so she could squirm back and slide off the pommel horse. She pushed her dress down around her, but she didn't see her shoes, socks, or her panties anywhere.

"You passed your special tryout, by the way," a hated voice teased her. "Congratulations, you're a cheerleader now. You have solo practice here in the gym, seven sharp every tuesday right before school. Don't even think about skipping out. You better be here, or the principal will hear about it. Either get your dad to drive you, or ride your bike, but be on time or I'll tell the principal. Plus I'll get someone else to give you a ride, and he'll expect payment."

Sara cringed as she backed away, then she ran out of the gym, barefoot, in her delicately translucent light green dress and nothing else, afraid of being punished for being late to class.

Mary Claire followed, catching up with her halfway down the long hallway. "By the way," she teased, "what kind of 'workouts' did you ask for after the first one, Sara? Or will I have to wait until I see the video to find out?"

Sara turned and looked at her classmate. "Whaaaaat!?"