This short story was inspired by a recent story posted by Siss, "It's Only A Game", and by some memories of fantasies I had while watching some boring high school football games. Hope people here like it.
GAME DAY
It’s the day of the big game – the annual football game between rival Catholic East and Catholic West High Schools. The pre-game pep rally at the Catholic East gymnasium is packed and I am standing up front alongside three other girls, the school principal and football coach. The four of us are being honored as this year’s “stake”… the annual wager between the two schools, in which each school offers up a “stake” of four of its female students to be turned over to the winning school for post-game humiliation.
The four of us were selected by lottery. We are all pretty, but not necessarily what you might call the “populars” that hang together in our clique-ridden school. Getting this much attention is for us a little thrilling, and also a little scary, but we are re-assured as our coach takes the microphone and boastfully reminds everyone in the auditorium that our Catholic East team has won this game now for ten years in a row. It’s always the “stake” from the other side that suffers at game’s end.
Evening arrives. The crowd at city stadium is huge. The playing field is bright under the lights as the two teams take the field. The “stakes” from the rival schools are seated next to each other in a special reserved seating box at midfield.
During the first half our team scores twice and takes a comfortable lead, which they hold at half time. The girls in the other stake are looking a bit dejected. We can’t resist taunting them a bit with a few choice remarks.
West scores immediately at the start of the second half, but we are not worried. Then disaster strikes. Two of our players, both stars of the team, are injured and taken off the field. Our hearts sink as West scores again, and then again and again. We are losing, and the four girls from West are now gloating as we hang our heads and pray for a miracle. It doesn’t come. West scores twice more, and the game ends.
The crowd stands as the loudspeaker above the stands announces the beginning of the post-game program. We are on our feet and swiftly ushered down the bleacher steps and out onto the track in front the crowd, where we are handed over to the cheer leading squad from the opposing team. Our humiliation is about to begin.
They line us up and turn us so that we face the taunting, cheering crowd. The West fans are delirious with victory; some of the East fans have started to leave, but many are staying behind to see what happens.
We are ordered to strip to the waist. We look at each other doubtfully, but do so because we know the rules of the agreement require that we obey. We pull our sweaters off over our heads and, after a nervous pause, remove our bras … covering up with our arms as quickly as we can … the catcalls and taunts from the crowd ringing in our ears.
Then we are ordered to kneel on the track with our hands on our knees. I am wearing a skirt and the gravel on the track bites into my knees as I hold my arms close together to cover up as best I can. The west cheerleaders produce some leather flogging whips as the announcer informs the crowd that the East “stake” will now take a lash for each point that West scored.
I can’t believe this is happening as the lash cuts across my bare back, and I flinch from the stinging pain. I hear grunts and yelps from the others, as the lashes rain down on us, and the crowd begins to chant the count…2, 3, 4, 5 ….
At last it is over, and I breathe a sigh of release. Two of the others have fallen over and lay on the surface of the track, their backs flaming red.
But it is not over. We are pulled to our feet and a stout timber is bound to our outstretched arms. Oh, no. Visions of all those crucifixes on the walls of my classrooms, and the fantasies I have had about being crucified suddenly flash through my head.
Four notched timber posts appear before us alongside four holes in the track surface I hadn’t noticed before. We are pushed and shoved over to the timbers and ordered to sit straddling them and to lie back so that the timber across our shoulders can be fastened to the notch in the post. The crowd is going wild and my other three terrified friends have begun to scream and cry.
I close my eyes, as mixed feelings rush through my mind. Am I going to hate this or enjoy it? I am not sure. I don’t have long to think, because I can feel the timber shake as I am being raised. As I rise I can feel hands grabbing my ankles, pushing my feet upward along the post and ropes being lashed around them to hold them firmly in place.
My post falls into its hole with a thud, and the impact shudders through the cross and my body. I am hanging half-naked in front of several thousand onlookers. I can feel the tension in my arms and the pressure on my bound wrists. I move myself up and away with my legs in an effort to ease my breathing. Looking left and right I see the others struggling to do the same; all performing the same horribly erotic dance to the delight of the crowd.
Then comes the final humiliation. I feel hands loosening the waistband on my skirt. Down it comes over my hips and knees to rest around my ankles. Moments later my panties are ripped from me, and I am totally naked. I hold my knees together in an effort to hide as much as possible.
The program is over; the crowd begins to leave. I look again to my right and left at my struggling naked sisters. We are being left here as a tableaux, a living memorial with ribbons and bunting in school colors draped over our crosses and bodies to the victory of West over East in this year’s big game…the final humiliation!
The stadium empties, the temperature is dropping; my nipples harden from the cold. The question now, is will they come back to take us down?
GAME DAY
It’s the day of the big game – the annual football game between rival Catholic East and Catholic West High Schools. The pre-game pep rally at the Catholic East gymnasium is packed and I am standing up front alongside three other girls, the school principal and football coach. The four of us are being honored as this year’s “stake”… the annual wager between the two schools, in which each school offers up a “stake” of four of its female students to be turned over to the winning school for post-game humiliation.
The four of us were selected by lottery. We are all pretty, but not necessarily what you might call the “populars” that hang together in our clique-ridden school. Getting this much attention is for us a little thrilling, and also a little scary, but we are re-assured as our coach takes the microphone and boastfully reminds everyone in the auditorium that our Catholic East team has won this game now for ten years in a row. It’s always the “stake” from the other side that suffers at game’s end.
Evening arrives. The crowd at city stadium is huge. The playing field is bright under the lights as the two teams take the field. The “stakes” from the rival schools are seated next to each other in a special reserved seating box at midfield.
During the first half our team scores twice and takes a comfortable lead, which they hold at half time. The girls in the other stake are looking a bit dejected. We can’t resist taunting them a bit with a few choice remarks.
West scores immediately at the start of the second half, but we are not worried. Then disaster strikes. Two of our players, both stars of the team, are injured and taken off the field. Our hearts sink as West scores again, and then again and again. We are losing, and the four girls from West are now gloating as we hang our heads and pray for a miracle. It doesn’t come. West scores twice more, and the game ends.
The crowd stands as the loudspeaker above the stands announces the beginning of the post-game program. We are on our feet and swiftly ushered down the bleacher steps and out onto the track in front the crowd, where we are handed over to the cheer leading squad from the opposing team. Our humiliation is about to begin.
They line us up and turn us so that we face the taunting, cheering crowd. The West fans are delirious with victory; some of the East fans have started to leave, but many are staying behind to see what happens.
We are ordered to strip to the waist. We look at each other doubtfully, but do so because we know the rules of the agreement require that we obey. We pull our sweaters off over our heads and, after a nervous pause, remove our bras … covering up with our arms as quickly as we can … the catcalls and taunts from the crowd ringing in our ears.
Then we are ordered to kneel on the track with our hands on our knees. I am wearing a skirt and the gravel on the track bites into my knees as I hold my arms close together to cover up as best I can. The west cheerleaders produce some leather flogging whips as the announcer informs the crowd that the East “stake” will now take a lash for each point that West scored.
I can’t believe this is happening as the lash cuts across my bare back, and I flinch from the stinging pain. I hear grunts and yelps from the others, as the lashes rain down on us, and the crowd begins to chant the count…2, 3, 4, 5 ….
At last it is over, and I breathe a sigh of release. Two of the others have fallen over and lay on the surface of the track, their backs flaming red.
But it is not over. We are pulled to our feet and a stout timber is bound to our outstretched arms. Oh, no. Visions of all those crucifixes on the walls of my classrooms, and the fantasies I have had about being crucified suddenly flash through my head.
Four notched timber posts appear before us alongside four holes in the track surface I hadn’t noticed before. We are pushed and shoved over to the timbers and ordered to sit straddling them and to lie back so that the timber across our shoulders can be fastened to the notch in the post. The crowd is going wild and my other three terrified friends have begun to scream and cry.
I close my eyes, as mixed feelings rush through my mind. Am I going to hate this or enjoy it? I am not sure. I don’t have long to think, because I can feel the timber shake as I am being raised. As I rise I can feel hands grabbing my ankles, pushing my feet upward along the post and ropes being lashed around them to hold them firmly in place.
My post falls into its hole with a thud, and the impact shudders through the cross and my body. I am hanging half-naked in front of several thousand onlookers. I can feel the tension in my arms and the pressure on my bound wrists. I move myself up and away with my legs in an effort to ease my breathing. Looking left and right I see the others struggling to do the same; all performing the same horribly erotic dance to the delight of the crowd.
Then comes the final humiliation. I feel hands loosening the waistband on my skirt. Down it comes over my hips and knees to rest around my ankles. Moments later my panties are ripped from me, and I am totally naked. I hold my knees together in an effort to hide as much as possible.
The program is over; the crowd begins to leave. I look again to my right and left at my struggling naked sisters. We are being left here as a tableaux, a living memorial with ribbons and bunting in school colors draped over our crosses and bodies to the victory of West over East in this year’s big game…the final humiliation!
The stadium empties, the temperature is dropping; my nipples harden from the cold. The question now, is will they come back to take us down?
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