Training Technique

It was a desperate whisper but she had still not fully descended from the plateau and it was all too easy to tauten the strings once more. This time I alternated between her clitoris and her cleft which was seeping onto the counterpane. From not wanting to continue she had now to decide how she wanted to come for the third time.

My skillful tongue had her writhing and she was desperately pulling at her own erect nipples. I suspected that another clitoral orgasm might be too much for her and this was borne out as she grew more desperate.

"Deeper!"

For a moment I complied, pressing my tongue between her folds but then in a spirit of rebellion I move onto her clitoris once more.

"No!"

Her voice, frantic with need, was hoarse but I ignored her. I clamped my mouth to her and licked frenetically over the whole area at the top of her sex.

She tried to fight me but her own inner craving got the better of her and she had no choice but to surrender to her pleasurable fate. Her body formed a strained arch and she became very still, making me think that she had passed out, but then a tiny whimper betrayed the fact that she was caught up in the throes of an orgasm more powerful than the two that had gone before.

She was so drained she could not ride it out to its conclusion and she collapsed with a frustrated moan, her body twitching for seconds afterwards.

As I looked down on her I slowly became aware of my own desperate need but something about her whole attitude told me that she was likely to refuse and I had already suffered enough humiliation. Without another word I gathered myself together and left the room.

Chapter 7

Anaheim. It seemed unreal. I had planned to enjoy myself, to use the tournament to gain the necessary experience to mount a realistic challenge the following year but now, here I was, with a huge weight of expectation on my shoulders

Agnetha had done a good job of keeping the worlds press at bay whilst we trained but now there was no escaping them. I was being talked of as the great white hope, the first woman in years from outside of the Far East with the potential to win the championship.

I was still convinced that it was too soon. I had won a couple of tournaments, beating the worlds best, but they were geared up for this. I had already played beyond myself but they were bringing themselves to a peak just for these few days.

Agnetha and I had discussed it for hours and she had convinced me that I could do it. After that a group decision was reached. We would train as usual but, with the help of the others, I would groomed for a run to the final.

I thought that they would be resentful but, without me noticing, they had reached the conclusion that I had the best chance and that, as in Eindhoven, a win for me was a win for all of them.

The training itself was more rigorous than ever and totally professional. There were no more pranks, no more talk of forfeits, and, most importantly, the girls left me alone. It was this more than anything that helped me focus. I had made up my mind to explore my sexuality but I was determined to do it in my own time, on my own terms, and in a partnership of equals.

By the time the tournament began I was fitter than ever and Agnetha had me convinced that I was as good as anybody. Nothing had been left to chance. She had prepared the usual dossiers; she had even checked the sports hall temperature in advance. She knew that it would be heavily air conditioned to combat the Californian sunshine and she was concerned that I might cool down too quickly; so for the past two weeks she had made us train in a hall set to the same ambient temperature.

In the event I breezed through the first round brushing aside a mid ranked opponent but in the second round I was drawn against Aruna. We were all clearly agreed that, once the event started, we all played for ourselves; there must be no suspicion of collusion.

There was no dossier on Aruna, I did not need one, but, by the same token, she knew me as well as anybody. So it was that our match was close fought. Technically, she was my equal but what separated us was the instinctive skill that only champions have. I beat her because I could pull off the unexpected.

I was into the quarter finals but, surprisingly, Larina did not make it. In a cruel twist of fate she was drawn against Katya and no one was more astonished than I when the older girl played the match of her life to win through.

If fortune cast scorn on Larina it seemed to favour me. In the quarter final I was drawn against another Brit, a girl I had played, and consistently beaten, through the junior ranks. That gave me a psychological edge and I used it to my advantage.

In the semis I was paired against the surprise package of the tournament. The little South Korean girl had never been beyond the quarter finals of any major tournament but she had beaten Katya convincingly to take her place in the semis.

I knew very little about her but Agnetha had produced a fulsome dossier updated with notes from the earlier rounds. The girl was not as muscular as the other girls from the Far East but she was incredibly quick around the court. Agnetha advised me to keep the rallys going and to let her blow herself out. This led to a longer match than I was comfortable with but I finally managed to grind her down.

That set up the final that everyone had been hoping for, the established number one versus the young pretender.

On the morning of the match I was more nervous than ever before but the oddities in my personal life of late had put me situations where I had had to conquer my nerves with alarming frequency and it was a lesson well learnt.

I squeezed myself into my immodest sports skirt and looked at myself in the mirror. The federation had made no official comment on dress code but, taking their lead from ladies volleyball, they were prepared to turn a blind eye to anything that boosted the television ratings. For my own part I knew that it was not just my sporting ability that attracted the sponsors and I was going to make sure they got their moneys worth on this the biggest day of my life.

If I was puffed up with pride then the balloon was soon pricked. I lost the first game scoring only two points. My opponent was half a second faster and reaching an inch further than the last time we met and she seemed to anticipate every shot.

At the changeover I sat on my seat feeling bewildered but into that void came Agnetha's assured commands. It was almost as though she were at my side telling me what to do. I had to calm down and, contrary to expectation, go on the defensive.

In the next game I lost the first couple of points but then my opponent served long. Her dossier suggested that she needed to be in a groove and that if she made a mistake she tended to make two or three in a row; and so it proved. I went three two up and I could sense that, beneath her ice cool exterior, she was angry at herself.

From then on it was close but, with the crowd behind me, I edged the second game.

At the interval it was obvious to everyone who had expended to most energy. I was breathing deeply, finding it hard to take fluids on board, whilst my opponent sipped at her drink contentedly.

In the third and deciding game I quickly went behind, as she casually stepped up a gear, and at the turn round I was seven three down and struggling. Once again Agnetha's voice, in my subconscious, came to my aid. I cast my eyes across to the small table opposite on which sat the modest trophy that represented the pinnacle of my ambition.

Agnetha had told me to stare at it, to tell myself that the prize was mine and, for I few seconds, I felt my conviction renewed but, as the umpire gave the ten second warning, I began to waver. It was at that moment that something drew my gaze upwards. Seated immediately behind the trophy was Agnetha. She had moved out from the bank of seats reserved for officials and was now right in my eye line.

I wondered, fleetingly, how she had contrived to reserve that particular seat but I was then shocked to immobility. As I looked she slowly opened her legs allowing her elegant skirt to ride up just a little.

I was the one person in the arena who would now know that she was not wearing panties and, as I continued to stare across the hall, the true majesty of her sex was apparent to me.

I knew then what the real prize on offer was and adrenalin flowed through my veins like an illegal stimulant.

The umpire had to tap my shoulder to bring me back to reality but when I took to the court I played like a woman possessed. For the next few rallies she had no answer to me and I

won six points without reply. After that the game was more evenly balanced, as my opponent got back to her very best, but I had a new belief in myself. I wanted to be magnificent, to make myself worthy of my mentor, and I reverted to my natural game. I played audaciously, following my instincts, and the unorthodox nature of my shots gave me a new edge.

At match point I positioned myself to serve high but then dinked a cheeky shot just over the net and the sheer impudence of it caught my opponent flat footed. It was an unworthy shot with which to win the world championship but I did not care.

The crowd roared and I stepped into a world of unreality. The many congratulations, the presentation, even the press interviews seemed to be happening to somebody else but I knew, at that moment, that my life would never be the same.

I gathered myself sufficiently to talk to my ecstatic parents and then I made my way to the showers. I luxuriated under the powerful spray for long minutes whilst I tried to take it all in and then I was chauffeured back to the hotel. It was odd suddenly being left to myself but there were a couple of hours in hand before we were scheduled for dinner and then I was obligated to stay until the following day for the men's final and closing ceremony.

It was as I opened the door to my room that I had the premonition and I was buoyed up and discomforted at the same time.

I smelt her perfume as I crossed the threshold and then I saw her standing at the window. I paused knowing that I should ask how she had got in but no words came.

She made me wait for a space of seconds and then she turned to me. Her eyes fixed on mine and I could see that she knew everything.

"Congratulations, we did it"

Her choice of pronoun seemed calculated and it grated just a little but she continued without pause.

"I was, of course, a little disappointed at your lack of discipline at the finish but I'm sure I count on you to do as you are told from now on."

The old me would have made a smart come back but I was in awe of her. She stood there assuredly radiating a raw, unfettered, sex appeal and all my carefully constructed plans dissipated like dust in the wind.

"Come and undress me."

It was an absurd thing to say but for her it was the most natural thing in the world and she knew was no question of my saying no.

I walked towards her slowly and my fingers trembled as I fumbled with the buttons of her blouse.

She made no move to help me. She simply stood there until the last button was unfastened and then I had to reach up to slip it from her shoulders.

It dropped to the floor with a hushed sigh and I proceeded, unbidden, to unfasten her bra. I had, of course, already seen her breasts but it was as if I were revealing treasures for the first time. The undergarment was expensive, obviously made to measure, and provided an arrogant, but becoming, uplift. As I slowly peeled it away from her body her breasts parted slightly but maintained their desirable resilience and it was all I could do to keep myself from stroking them.

I could have moved closer to her, reached around her to unfasten her skirt, but instead I went to my knees. It somehow seemed the natural thing to do.

She, for her part, slowly turned around providing me with access to the one simple button and the long zip which released her skirt allowing it to slide down slowly like a theatre curtain.

My heart was beating manically, my face just inches from the sculpted perfection of her behind which was framed by a simple black garter belt holding up an equally dark pair of silk stockings. I found myself trying to remember if she had been wearing them at the arena but that one long glimpse between her legs had been totally focused to the exclusion of any extraneous detail.

The mere recollection caused my mouth to open ever so slightly, allowing the tip of my tongue to moisten my top lip, and something in the way she held herself made it seem as though she understood exactly what was happening behind her.

For a few seconds I remained there, unsure what to do next, until she finally condescended to turn around.

"Oh God."

I whispered the words without thinking. Her sex was truly a thing of beauty. Her mons lived up its Latin appellation, forming a high curved prominence, covered in a dense thicket of dark curls with severely defined borders which suggested some expensive, professional, grooming.

Her labia seemed to erupt through the dark covering and I could imagine her sex as a tight skinned fruit which had split to reveal its contents. The lips were thick, more grey than pink, and suggested a maturity that made me nervous.

"Is this what you want...?"

She moved fractionally closer causing me to flinch reflexively.

"From day one I knew two things about you. I knew that I could make you a champion and I knew that, once you were, I would have you right here on your knees."

At that moment I realized. She had groomed me all along. I was in no doubt now that she knew all about the others, starting with Tamiko and, just like my badminton training, she had planned it meticulously - and all to make me worthy of her.

Some small part of me was appalled at the seeming ease with which I had been manipulated but the truth was that I desired her with a hunger beyond words.

I lurched forward and threw my arms around her legs nuzzling her sex with the side of my face. I felt the rasp of the tight curls against my cheek and breathed in deeply through my nose taking in the smell of her. She had used a musky perfume on her inner thighs which complemented her own natural scent as if distilled for the purpose.

She stroked my head for a moment or two, indulging my need, and then she peeled herself away.

"Come over here."

We were staying in the Crusader Hotel which was subtlety themed in keeping with its name. The centerpiece of my suite was a large coffee table resembling the lid of a casket complete with an etching of a knight in his final repose.

As I watched she picked up a plump cushion from the sofa and laid it down over the knight's face. This was not what I wanted but we both knew that, if it was going to happen, it was going to be on her terms. Without further bidding I moved towards her and then laid down on the cold, hard, surface of the table.

With my head supported by the cushion, and with my arms by my side, it was as if the table had been cut out around me and the association with death, albeit vague, brought an involuntary shiver.

Agnetha stood over me, a slight smile on her face, and then she reached down to clear a stray wisp of hair from my forehead. I shivered once more, this time in trepidation, and her smile widened almost imperceptibly.

For good or bad I wanted it to begin but she drifted out of my line of sight only to return with the two larger remaining cushions in hand. Almost ritually she placed them carefully on the floor at either side of my head.

Still she made me wait. She lifted her hair from the back of her neck and then let it fall back into place before raising her arms and stretching herself. She was a looming presence and I was suddenly made aware of the difference in our physiques.

At last the time had come and she lifted her leg over the table in a single graceful movement. Her knees were mere inches from the sides of my face and I found myself staring up into the heart of darkness.

Her sex which had, until then, been the focus of my desire suddenly seemed imbued with menace but I had already come too far. With an almost balletic poise she began to descend and I felt the heat of her thighs as her knees slowly sank into the cushions.

She held herself poised, barely touching my face, and then she moved herself slowly back and forth. The gentle brushing of my skin was almost maddening but her scent was now all enveloping and I was breathing ever deeper.

She was in no hurry. She continued with the same soothing movements and I felt as if my face was a territory that was being marked and laid claim to.

"Don't."

The gentle admonition came because I had felt the first hint of dampness on my face and I had put out my tongue. Now I withdrew it and waited.

She became still and in the closed confines of her thighs I felt my face growing ever warmer and my forehead was pricked by the first tiny beads of perspiration.

I knew what was coming and I held my breath. She allowed her knees to relax and then with almost painful slowness she came down on me.

Her weight pressed my head deeper into the cushion and I felt a wave of panic but she paused, knowingly, to allow the moment to pass. Once my body was relaxed once more she moved forward slightly, using my nose to split her labia, and then she completed her descent.

The wet folds of her sex mated with my lower face, sealing me in, as if it were always meant to be.

The pressure was painful but I had a sense of well being. I wanted to lick, to get her taste, but this was not the moment. She was asserting herself. I might be the world champion but she was letting me know that, in her scheme of things, I was still an ingénue.

In the stillness of the room I was aware of the pounding of blood in my ears and I realized that it had been some seconds since I last drew breath. Instinct made me try to open my mouth but her weight prevented it. My eyes, closed until then, flew open only to find her looking down on me with an air of studied detachment.

As my lungs started to burn I braced myself to push her away but, at the last moment, she lifted herself sufficiently to allow me one single gasping breath before closing the seal once more.

For the next few moments she controlled my breathing in the same way and with every desperate inhalation I was filling my mouth and lungs with the taste and smell of her. She knew, and I was to find out, that those moments of panic would burn sensory impressions into my mind which would remain with me forever.

At the finish she was very wet, as evidenced by the sheen of pungent juices that now coated my skin, and I feared that she would use my face to ride out her climax but, without warning, she slowly lifted herself from me.

She smiled as she looked down at my red, abused, visage and then she crossed to the edge of the bed and sat down.

"Come here."

I struggled upright and walked towards her my eyes drawn to her nipples which stood out in arrogant arousal. Some vestige of good manners made me look up to her face which had never seemed more beautiful and I wanted for nothing more in the world than to be enfolded in her arms and to kiss her lustrous lips.

"Undress yourself."

She said it tenderly and as I quickly removed my clothes I finally dared to hope. I stood naked before her, knowing I was desirable, but now desperately wanting to see it reflected in her eyes.

She kept me standing there for a space of seconds and then, with studied deliberation, she slowly opened her legs.

"Kneel."

With that one word my world caved in. Her smile told me that we would never be equals but, more, she knew I would not refuse her. Even as my heart lurched I felt an unwanted heat between my own legs as she put her sex wantonly on display.