Game - Set - Match
Ellie loved tennis. She played whenever she got a chance, which usually meant several times a week. When she wasn’t playing, she loved to watch professional tennis, especially during the slams. Wimbledon was her favorite. There was just something about the pomp and circumstance of The All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club. The predominantly-white tennis attire, the preppily dressed lines judges and umpires, the grass getting ever more worn as the fortnight progressed. Where else were you even going to hear the word fortnight?
This year she was rooting for the aptly named ‘runaway train from Spain’, Rafael Nadal. Watching him play was inspiring. He was very physical on the court. He never gave up on a ball. He chased down and got almost everything. He was the only player on the tour to have a winning record against world number one Roger Federer. Everyone said he couldn’t compete on the grass though; clay was his surface. Ellie was hoping this would be the year he would prove them wrong and win the tournament he had said he wanted more than anything.
Nadal made it through the first two rounds of Wimbledon, but just barely. He was down two sets to none in the second round to an unknown American qualifier. But using his mental and physical toughness, he fought back and won in five. As Ellie was fond of saying, you can’t run out the clock in tennis. In the third round Nadal was going to play former grand slam winner Andre Agassi. Ellie was torn. It was going to be hard not to cheer for the American. At age 36, to Nadal’s just turned 20, he was the sentimental favorite. Plus, he had just announced his plans to retire after the US Open in a few weeks, so this would be his last Wimbledon.
Mitch enjoyed playing and watching tennis, too. He was good at it, and he and Ellie played on occasion. He would sometimes incorporate a game within the game, such as the time he told her she was getting 10 swats on her behind for each ace he got off her during their match. He loved the way it made her work a little harder at getting a racquet on his fast, spinning serves. He was, however, getting tired of hearing about the ‘raw animal masculinity’ of the Spaniard. He decided he was going to watch the much anticipated show down his way. Ellie had been wanting to take their d/s games to the next level, and he was ready to oblige her.
The night before the match, Mitch pulled out a white tennis dress from among the dozens in Ellie’s closet. He went to the grocery and bought strawberries and cream. He told her they were going to do “breakfast at Wimbledon” even though it wasn’t the championship yet. She thought that was a great idea and found herself giddy with excitement. Mitch relished her anticipation, almost as much as he relished his own, knowing what he had in store for his little Wimbledon fan.
Early the next morning, Ellie awoke to discover Mitch had already risen. She found him in the shower and decided to join him. He was delighted to see her.
‘Good morning, sweetheart, ready for the big match?’ he inquired.
‘Oh yes, should be a good one,’ she answered sweetly.
He almost felt guilty; but not quite.
’Be sure you wash well, and I want you completely shaven. When you are finished, put on your tennis dress, no panties, pull your hair up into a ponytail, no make-up, prepare breakfast, and meet me in the theatre.’ Mitch exited the shower leaving a puzzled Ellie wondering what he was up to.
Ellie generously soaped her voluptuous body, moving the bath sponge slowly across her breasts and down to her delta, thinking about what it was going to feel like to have on her skimpy tennis dress without panties. Deliciously wicked, she decided. She naughtily borrowed Mitch’s razor for the shaving task, running it absentmindedly under her arms and up her legs, over her bikini. She pulled each of her labia out in turn, gently guiding the razor over the tender flesh. After a final rinse she felt very smooth and very sexy.
Ellie hurriedly pulled the tennis dress over her head, grateful for the built-in shelf bra, and pulled her hair into the requisite ponytail. She looked in the mirror. Her nipples showed through the thin white material of the dress, and it fell to only a couple inches below where bottom curved into thigh. She was glad now that Mitch had made her shave, as she was sure her pubic hair would have been visible through the dress as well. That just would have been vulgar.
Ellie descended the stairs knowing she looked adorable. She quickly threw breakfast together, arranging everything prettily on a big tray. She walked down the hall to the theatre where Mitch was waiting to watch the match on their big screen television with a smile forming on his lips.
Mitch heard Ellie coming and couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she walked in the door. He was suddenly glad she had talked him into the oversized ‘coffee-table slash ottoman,’ as she had repeatedly called it when lobbying the purchase. On the supple, dark leather ottoman the color of coffee grinds he had placed a variety of toys and implements his adventurous girlfriend had collected over the past few weeks. Among them a heavy leather paddle, a rattan cane, a wooden hairbrush, a butt plug, some lube, a ball-gag, two lengths of rope, and her recently acquired English tawse, a gift from a close friend who had what Ellie referred to as a nasty sense of humor. Mitch found him to have exquisite taste.
When Ellie nudged the theatre door open with her hip and saw the spread before her, she nearly dropped the breakfast tray.
‘Come in, darling, perfect timing. The players are warming up. That looks delicious. And I don’t mean just the food.’ Mitch said suggestively from his perch on the opposite sofa.
‘Please set the tray down on the table, and then kneel on the floor facing me, hands behind your head,’ he continued.
Ellie was struck speechless. She didn’t know what else to do, so she just did as she was told. It was rather liberating in a sense, just doing without having to think. She decided to trust her instincts and her beau. This is what she had fantasized about countless times. She would go with it. For a bit, anyway. She got into position and waited for further instructions.
‘Good girl. Now, I’m going to eat some breakfast. Perhaps if you are obedient, and I am pleased with you, I will let you have some later,’ he said evenly.
Mitch watched her pout as he drank his coffee, ate the strawberries, buttered his croissant. Let her want, he thought. Let her realize that right now, in this moment, she is completely at my mercy. He wanted to see if she would give herself completely over to him, or if that was just something she gave lip-service to.
‘Wonderful. Thank you, sweetheart, that really hit the spot. Now, we are going to lay some ground rules for today’s match. First, you are going to enjoy the tennis from the top of this here ottoman,’ Mitch patted the spot, ‘where you will be face down with your beautiful ass propped up within easy reach. Secondly, because you have spoken of your little Spanish hero ad nauseam for the last several weeks, and I am tired of hearing it, you are going to wear your ball-gag for most, if not all, of the match. For that same reason, every time he loses a point, you are going to be whipped with the implement chosen for that particular set. I’m going to use my hand for the first set, to make sure you are nice and warmed up. Then we will proceed to the tawse, the brush, and if need be, the cane and then the paddle. If you cannot be still, I will be required to tie you to the legs of the table, first your wrists, and then, if necessary, your ankles. Do you understand?’ Mitch finished.
‘I think so,’ Ellie answered hesitantly.
‘Wrong answer,’ Mitch grabbed her roughly by her ponytail, jerking her head back.
‘Yes, sir,’ Ellie gasped.
‘That’s better. Now, open your mouth,’ he commanded. He inserted the ball gag and clasped it behind her head. He removed the implements from the ottoman, placing them on the sofa beside him, and put a pillow in the middle of the ottoman.
‘Get into position on top of the pillow. Make sure that ass is nice and high,’ Mitch ordered.
Ellie climbed atop the ottoman, centering herself on the pillow. Mitch raised her dress up so that her bare bottom was exposed, and her naked sex felt the silky smoothness of the pillow beneath her.
‘Spread your legs until the tops of your thighs no longer touch,’ he said.
‘Yes, that’s nice. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a match as much as I’m going to this one,’ he stated with an evil laugh.
Mitch then spread Ellie’s cheeks apart, using all fingers of both hands to separate her buttocks. She was mortified. What is the meaning of this, she wondered.
‘What have we here?’ he inquired with mock solicitousness, as he inspected every inch of her.
‘I believe you have missed something. Didn’t I ask you to shave yourself completely? Tut tut.’ Mitch shook his head with apparent disappointment.
‘I guess you need some reminding to be more careful, more thorough,’ he added.
Ellie’s face burned with humiliation. She felt like an animal at market. Was he going to look inside her mouth, too, make sure she flossed? With the ball gag in her mouth, her response options were severely limited. Probably a good thing.
Mitch spread some lube on his right middle finger and inserted it in her ass. He felt her tense up. He placed his left hand on her lower back while moving his finger slowly in and out of her until she relaxed and started to moan and lean back into his hand. He then inserted the butt plug as far as it would go.
‘Uumm’ she gave a little whimper from behind the gag.
‘That‘s right baby, take it all in. We’re going to leave that there now. I love the way it fills you up yet opens you at the same time. Very nice.’ Mitch murmured.
‘Oh look, they’re getting started.’ Mitch settled into a comfortable position on the edge of the sofa to the left of the ottoman to await the winner of the first point. God, he hoped it was going to be a good day for Agassi. He wanted to have ample opportunity to beat that luscious bottom presented so nicely before him.
Ellie looked up from her tenuous position on the ottoman, placing her hands under her chin. Nadal was to serve first. She thought, not for the first time, he sure was easy on the eyes. After a few baseline exchanges, Nadal hits one into the net. Whack! Mitch’s hand landed squarely on her bottom.
Ellie emitted a little mew. Nadal won the next four points, so Ellie was spared. Agassi then served and won his game at love, including two aces, and Ellie got four smacks very close together. Now we’re talking, thought Mitch.
On Nadal’s next serve, he won his game at love as well. Ellie was smiling broadly, at least on the inside, maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. She put her head down to rest for a moment, she was getting uncomfortable having to look up at the screen in front of her. Agassi won the first point and Mitch struck her very hard with his hand on her right sit spot. After the next Agassi point he did the same on the other side. She began to squirm.
‘Be still,’ Mitch growled, ‘We’ve barely begun.’
That game went to deuce four times, and when it was over Ellie’s bottom was glowing. Agassi had prevailed. Thankfully, Nadal held his next service game at love, and Ellie was given time to catch her breath. She was grateful for the Spaniard’s notoriously slow movement between points. That’s right, mi amor, take your time, she was thinking. Adjust your socks, wipe your sweaty, gorgeous face, bounce the ball a couple dozen times.
The players remained on serve for the first nine games. At 4-5, Agassi served to stay in the first set. Nadal had three break chances but converted none of them. Mitch was striking Ellie’s bottom very hard each time Nadal lost a point now. She couldn’t believe how much a hand spanking could hurt. She was dreading the commencement of the second set when he would switch over to the tawse.
At six-all, the players went to a seven point tie-breaker.
‘Tie break points will be on the thighs, did I mention?’ Mitch said lightly.
Asshole, she thought, but couldn’t say it, of course. She just whimpered from behind her gag, which she was beginning to drool on. The match had already lasted an hour. Her bottom and her mouth were sore. She just hoped it was a quick one, knowing you had to win by two, and having seen tie-breaks that went well into the twenties.
Agassi won the first point of the tie-break. Whack! A rather severe swat on the top of her right thigh. Nadal won the next point. Agassi won the two following. Whack! Whack! Left thigh, then back to the right one. Nadal won the next point, Agassi the two after. Two more smacks on her tender thighs and tears were forming in Ellie’s eyes. Her breath was ragged.
‘Agassi is up 5-2, baby, not much longer, and then we get to move on to the fun stuff!’ Mitch said with enthusiasm.
Could he not see how uncomfortable she was? All she could do was make little ’mm mm’ sounds, trying hard to elicit sympathy. Then she watched gleefully as Nadal took the next five points in a row, the last one a resounding ace, hit with that enormous lefty topspin right down the tee.
Mitch was watching Ellie carefully, though he affected an attitude of nonchalance. He decided the break between the sets was a good time to let her know he wasn’t going to disregard her needs altogether. First he removed the ball gag and told her to get up on all fours. He held a goblet of water to her lips and let her drink her fill. Then he fed her strawberries, but without cream, and a few bites of croissant, no butter. He moved around behind her.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, sliding his right hand between her legs.
‘Why, you’re positively soaked,’ he exclaimed with mock dismay. He dragged her backwards until her knees were on the edge of the ottoman. Mitch pulled out his cock and entered her hard and fast, gripping Ellie tightly by her hips.
‘What a naughty, naughty little pain-slut you are,’ he said teasingly, sliding his hands up her sides and reaching under to roughly pinch her nipples while thrusting ever deeper into her.
‘Oh, God,’ Ellie came hard in a white-hot blinding flash. Spasms overtook her and she collapsed onto the ottoman. She had never come so fast in her life. She wondered if it had something to do with the double penetration.
Even though he was still rock-hard, Mitch kissed Ellie on her right shoulder and then withdrew and sat back onto the sofa.
‘Get back into position,’ he said sternly.
Surely we’re done now, thought Ellie. They had had their fun, she was ready to relax and enjoy the rest of the match in relative comfort. Mitch saw the surprise flicker across her face and sensed that she was waffling, deciding whether to stake a contrary position. He didn’t leave her pondering the pros and cons.
‘You have exactly two seconds to do as you are told, Ellie, or you will stand in the corner for the duration of the second set. In which case, I will keep track of the points you are owed with the tawse, and give them to you all at once when it is over,’ Mitch stated calmly.
Ellie leapt into position, tucking the pillow under her and pushing her rosy bottom way up into the air. She’d never seen him like this before. It was half-thrilling, half-terrifying. Impossibly, she found herself growing wet again.
As a small reward for her obedience he removed the butt plug. He wanted her to feel the tawse and nothing more for the next round anyway.
‘Good girl. You made the right decision,’ he soothed her.
Mitch picked up the remote control and released the pause he had placed after the first set. He was about to step things up a bit. He picked up the tawse from the sofa and began to stroke Ellie’s back and bottom with it. He felt her shiver beneath him as he ran the tawse down the length of her back, around her bottom, and across the tops of her thighs. A good sign, he thought.
Agassi served the first game of the second set. Ellie watched on pins and needles and braced herself when Nadal dumped his first return of serve into the net. Still, she was in no way prepared for the incredible sting that assaulted her from that evil invention of sadistic British minds.
‘Ooowwwwww!’ motherfucker, she thought. Please, God, let Nadal run away with this match; starting now. If not, she feared he may lose his biggest fan.
Mercifully, Agassi made an unforced error on the next point. Ellie was not so lucky on the third point of the game. Nadal sent yet another return of serve into the net.
Mitch brought down the tawse on the middle of Ellie’s left cheek, leaving a mirror image of the one he had just placed on the right. Agassi followed up with his own net error, then Nadal, and Ellie, got lucky when a ball clipped the net cord and dropped delicately over on the American’s side, with no hope of a return. She let out a big sigh, and then another when Nadal hit a clean winner to claim the first game of the second set. Her bottom was still tingling from the mere two swats she had gotten, though, and she wasn’t sure she was going to last the whole set. What choice did she have, though? She was determined not to be tied down.
When Agassi won the first three points of the next game, Ellie thought she was going to pass out from the pain of the tawse as Mitch brought it down repeatedly on the same spot, across the middle of her bottom, landing on both sides.
‘Ow, Ow, Oooowwwwww!’ she screamed and squirmed. She rubbed her sore behind.
‘No rubbing. Do that again and the strokes will be repeated,’ Mitch threatened menacingly.
Ellie started to cry rather loudly.
‘Calm down, you’re okay, shhhh, shhhh,’ Mitch reassured her while rubbing her back and then her bottom.
He was secretly glad when Nadal took the next three points of the game. But he was determined to carry out her sentence. Agassi won the last two points of the game, and he gave her two short but crisp volleys with the split-leather strap.
In the next game Nadal won four points to Agassi’s one, having the courtesy to couch his winners so there were two before and two after Agassi’s point. Ellie was back in control of herself, just sobbing quietly now and trying to stay still and not reach back, though the urge was very strong.
When Agassi picked up his raquet to serve the fifth game of the set, he experienced a surge of greatness, winning four miserable, short points in a row. Mitch landed two on each side of Ellie’s sit spots, and she screamed through gritted teeth, gripping the edge of the ottoman with all her might. If she could have gotten her hands on the Englishman who gave them this implement of torture, she would have gladly and remorselessly killed him. Slowly. Pound after pound of flesh torn from his body, stretched out on a rack, with a hot poker.
‘Back into position, please, you’re getting lazy here. Legs apart. Don’t make me tell you again,’ Mitch reprimanded.
‘Yes, sir,’ Ellie mumbled pathetically, getting herself set again.
In the final two games of the second set, Agassi only got three points to Nadal’s eight. She managed, just barely, to survive. Mitch paused the match again, and gave her more water. This set took less than half the time of the first, but felt like twice as long. She hoped the third set would be brief and decisive. She was also allowed a bathroom break before settling back into position for the next phase with the dreaded hairbrush.
Mitch took a moment to appreciate the welts the tawse had made on Ellie’s backside. He loved the way the flesh was raised in pink ribbons across each side of her round bottom. You could make out little half moons where the end of the strap had landed, about a half-dozen on each side. He thought the aftereffects would show for several days, at least. He was about to make sure.
Once again, Agassi served first. The American won the first three points of the game. The brush was used repeatedly on Ellie’s tender globes, right in the center, down low, dangerously close to her sex. On the third swat she squealed and closed her legs tight.
‘No, young lady, that will not do. Open your legs and keep them that way. If I have to remind you again, I shall flip you over onto your back, spread your legs wide apart, and spank your pussy. Do you understand?’ Mitch glowered at her.
He wouldn’t dare. Would he? She could think of nothing worse. Spank her with what? His hand? Surely not the brush he was holding. That would probably kill her. She spread her legs apart and answered demurely, ‘Yes, Sir.’
Nadal won the next two points and Agassi the final one of the first game. Mitch hit her in the exact same spot again, daring her to close her legs. Ellie whimpered loudly and started to sob, but maintained her position.
Nadal won the next game at love, and Ellie could have wept with joy. Aye, como te quiero , she crooned in her head to the boy from Spain. Then Agassi won the following game at love, and she used every Spanish curse word she knew for the little jerk-off from that third-world island of fascism. Her bottom was on fire now from the hateful brush, and she knew Mitch was deliberately striking very close to her labia to see if she would defy him. The tears were flowing freely.
In his next service game, Nadal won four of five points and was returned to Ellie’s good graces. When Agassi had the ball on his racquet again, Nadal won only three of eight points. More fire reigned down on poor Ellie’s raw flesh. She was in agony now, she didn’t think there was one centimeter of her bottom that didn’t hurt. In the sixth game of the set, Nadal held serve at love again, and Ellie gladly would have sucked his cock right there on Centre Court, in front of the Queen and anyone else who may have been in attendance.
The seventh game put the match decidedly in the Spaniard’s favor, as he broke the American’s serve, winning four of six points. As Ellie felt the brush come down twice more, she prayed the end was near and Agassi wouldn’t make one of his famous comebacks. As Nadal held serve at love once again in the eight game of the third set, Ellie began to think she may just survive this ordeal without permanent injury.
Mitch, too, sensed the end was near and took full advantage. As Agassi served in the ninth game, winning the first two points, Mitch landed his hardest swats yet on the tops of each of Ellie’s thighs, making her scream and flatten herself onto the ottoman.
‘Quiet down, Ellie, you’re about to wake the dead. You’re getting one extra at the end, with the cane, for getting out of position, and being so loud,’ he stated in a voice barely above a whisper.
Ellie was crying very hard now, but pulled herself up and willed herself not to scream so loud. Nadal won the next two points, giving her a bit of a breather, but Agassi took the final two. Mitch turned the brush longways, and smacked her right between the legs. She cried out, but not so loudly as the last time, and she got back into position right away, so he said nothing further.
As Nadal took the balls for what she desperately hoped was the last time, Ellie was so worn out she could barely watch the man who held her fate in his Latin hands. He won the first point. Almost. Three measly little points away, come on. The second went to Agassi. That goddamned brush went to the outer region of her left buttock. Nadal won the next two points and Ellie thought it may be over. One point, come on baby, you can do it, she fervently wished. Agassi won the next point. Fuck, fuck, fuck!! The brush landed on the counterpart of its previous swat. Nadal throws up his toss. Lefty slice down the tee. A perfect ace, the American doesn’t even get his racquet on it. Ellie thinks she’s never seen anything more beautiful in her life. She weeps with relief.
‘What a brave, good girl you have been,’ Mitch caressed her verbally.
He rubbed his hands all over her, quieting her sobs. He was tempted to let the caning pass, but feared he may regret doing so later.
‘Up against the wall now, darling, it’s almost over,’ he cajoled.
Ellie stood up, barely able to support herself and walked over to the wall where after pulling up her dress she placed her hands one on top of the other above her head. She spread her legs slightly and pushed her bottom out in a way she thought may be pleasing to him. It was.
Mitch picked up the cane and brought it down once very sharply on her lower buttocks, evenly across both sides. She gasped. He then turned her around and kissed her softly on the lips, wrapping his arms around her back.
‘I have just one question for you,’ he said.
‘Yes?’ she replied.
‘Will you marry me?’
‘Will I have to go through this at every slam?’ she quipped.
Of course she was going to marry him. Who else could ever meet her needs the way this man did? They eloped the following year, spending their honeymoon in England and attending the Championships at Wimbledon. She cheered loudly for Nadal.
They lived happily ever after.
The story was written by Naughtyinaustin. She is a married, 30 something, soccer mom who has been interesting in spanking forever. She is also a tennis fan so the story combines two of her loves.
She tells me that she is the muse of the Discerning Dom who is an excellent writer and blogger. They have written stories together and I’m hoping that they may want to share some more stories with us in the future. Thanks to Naughtyinaustin for her writing skills and her willingness to share with us. Everyone is welcomed to send any story they have. Send any stories to email@example.com