Breakpoint Pt. 02

Author's note: This is a multi-chapter story, currently planned at 5 chapters, about a spoiled brat tennis star's training under a controlling new coach. The story will continue to have a lot of non-consent/reluctance, adultery, light bondage/domination, spanking/humiliation, lesbianism, and other kinks as her "training" progresses. Hope you enjoy!

A new day and a fresh start.

I dressed with a sense of purpose and confidence. The face in the mirror as I shaved was my own again, not that of a stranger. I felt in control of myself once more, my mind clear. My perverted behavior from yesterday seemed like a bad dream.

I could coach Sasha and achieve what I hoped without lowering myself into infidelity. Of course, I'd be firm with her, she needed it, but spanking would likely not be required again after my harsh lesson yesterday. And her puerile attempts to seduce me, well of course I'd be able to continue to resist them!

My resolve faltered almost immediately when I saw her that morning.

"Where is my smoothie?" Sasha asked brusquely. She'd startled me and interrupted my conversation with the chef, who scampered to produce the requested beverage post-haste.

I was in the kitchen, grabbing a quick breakfast at the large island table and having a capuccino. I'd been reviewing some coaching notes and discussing menu changes with the chef when Sasha had entered silently from behind.

She was dressed similar to yesterday, in a matching sports bra and shorts, but this kit was black instead of white and somehow even smaller in cut. A halo of white skin surrounded the edges, highlighting just how much more was exposed than in her typical outfits. There was too much tanned flesh on display, with too little fabric to cover it all, and my eyes could only find safe harbor on her face. Even her face proved full of peril, however, when I noticed that a thick braid replaced her ponytail today. The first thought that came to my mind was how much easier it would be to hold her when I spanked her later.

What was wrong with me?

"Ah, Greg," Sasha said, turning at last and giving me a tepid smile. "We start at nine, yes?"

"Yes, although if you want to begin earlier—"

We'd set my on-court coaching to be from nine to one every day this month, except Sundays.

"Unfortunately, I've my trainer in the mornings until 8:30," she said, giving me a small shrug. Her attitude made it clear that starting earlier with me was the least interesting idea she'd ever heard before. She looked at my papers curiously. "What is all this?"

"Meal plans and nutrition guidelines for your diet," I said, shuffling through the first stack which I'd been about to leave with the chef. "I also have a training regime for cardio and weights that I'll go over with your trainer. Finally there are some orders for new shoes and rackets, from your sponsors, so we can evaluate if there might be a better—"

"I've got all of that well in hand!" Sasha exclaimed. Her face had soured at my first words, then twisted into an angry scowl as I'd continued, before she'd finally snapped. She grabbed one of the papers at random. "I've hired you for tennis advice, not... what is this? 'High-protein-low-processed-sugar' menu ideas? Rubbish! Stick to what you know. I can handle my own diet and training."

She tossed the paper and turned to leave.

"Alexandra," I said softly.

She turned stiffly, my use of her full name instead of her diminutive catching her ear.

"Why did you call me that?"

"It's your name, isn't it?"

"I go by Sasha. Try not to be so stuffy, Greg."

"Not anymore. Sasha is a little girl's name. Alexandra is a woman's name," I said and met her angry stare evenly. The chef handed her the smoothie she'd demanded, and then quickly busied herself on the far side of the kitchen. I pulled out another piece of paper. "If you have a press firm, which I'm waiting for Anatoly to wake up to find out, we'll be instructing them to use Alexandra Vinkourov from now on for press inquiries, and as your official name in tournaments that you enter. I'm speaking with your agent about it later as well."

"This has NOTHING to do with my tennis game!" Sasha yelled at me. Her face was flushed and I could tell she was barely restraining another tantrum. "You have no authority to make these decisions and I WON'T allow it!"

"It has everything to do with your tennis game, Alexandra," I said. "We are reinventing you beginning this morning. Sasha was a talented juniors player, but Alexandra is going to be a great woman's champion."

"And what if I want to win as Sasha, under my preferred name?"

"We both know that you can't," I said, enjoying watching her jaw drop in outrage. She squeezed the plastic cup holding her smoothie to the point of overflowing, her jaw visibly setting, and then placed it on the table to free her hands. I continued, mercilessly, "You need a fresh start. Everything you did before, from food, to training, to your image, all of it has to be scrapped. Your old approach didn't work, could never work. Sasha was not a winner, but Alexandra will be."

"I didn't hire you to do anything but coach my TENNIS game!" she said, her anger finally boiling over. With a savage scream, she grabbed two handful of my papers and threw them wildly around the kitchen. "Stick to your knitting, not things you know nothing about! Sasha is my name."

"You are at four, now," I said sternly, adding to her tally from last night. That earned me a baleful glare, but Sasha grabbed her smoothie and left. Her glorious ass swung in an agitated rhythm as she exited the kitchen, walking as fast as she could without appearing like she was fleeing. I watched her go with a smile, enjoying the sight of her pale cheeks hanging out from the bottom of the tiny shorts.

"Prick." Her final barb came after she was out of view, but spoken loud enough to ensure I could hear.

----------

"Are you going to coach tennis, then, or do you want to discuss my choice of headbands for an hour instead?" Sasha asked after she'd entered the courts with Yelena in tow.

"You should think about wearing one, Alexandra, it'll keep the sweat out of your eyes," I said with a chuckle. "If you can't see the ball, you can't hit it."

"Your coaching has to be better than your sense of humor, I'd hope," she replied coldly, and nodded her head impatiently. "Let's get on with it, then. I'm eager to hear your tennis thoughts, since you have already shared your useless opinions on seemingly everything else."

"Fine, but we don't need Yelena this morning."

"I want her here, besides, attending my coaching sessions are one of the benefits she gets for being my training partner," Sasha said testily.

"She can practice her serve in the other court, or hit from the machine. She'll get plenty of time with us later. I want to start alone with you."

Sasha relented, sensing I was obstinate, and Yelena strolled to the other court with no complaints.

"Let's hit and warm up a bit, first," I suggested, grabbing some balls and heading to the opposite court.

Sasha locked into her game face and we began what were supposed to be gentle rallies. Within a couple exchanges, she was smashing the ball hard, clearly trying to outstroke me. I may be forty, but I was a still a former top level pro tennis player, as well as a man, and as unfair as it may be, even a top woman's pro in her prime, like Sasha, couldn't hit with me at full strength.

I let her take her intensity up, her replies getting harder and harder, until she was murdering the ball. Her hits were soon soaring long, well past the baseline, but I played them still and returned a soft reply each time. She wouldn't relent, and finally I ripped a heavy forehand that she couldn't handle to end her pointless escalation.

"Again," she barked at me, annoyed. "You surprised me."

It was the same pattern every rally. She kept stubbornly trying to outstroke me, but failing. She switched courts and began testing my backhand after giving up on the forehand, but met the same results. I made a couple mistakes at times, I'm not perfect, but the power disparity between us was clear, and I was more accurate at her limits. Eventually, growing sick of her attitude, I ran her back and forth a couple times and smashed a winner at my leisure.

"You prick, just because you can still hit against a girl doesn't mean you were any good when you played for real," she shouted, her face red with rage. She was breathing hard and looked about to throw her racket.

I approached the net, but she stayed at her baseline and sulked.

"We were supposed to be rallying, not competing," I said, shaking my head at her. "It's not a match, I'm here to coach you."

"Then coach," she barked back at me.

"Again, this time at practice intensity," I said, returning to my end. "Let's work on your form and footwork... I'm here to help you."

To her credit, she dialed back at first and we had a more normal series of exchanges. I began coaching her, finally, yelling out advice and encouragement, and some criticism when I saw her half-assing a shot or not moving her feet properly. Every negative comment ticked up her power a bit, and inevitably we'd creep back to her maximum power, practice forgotten.

"Out!" I said as she unleashed a powerful backhand that was just over the line.

"What, are you a cheat as well as lazy... or just blind?!" she screamed at me. "That was in, you just didn't want to back up to return it!"

She approached the net, lathered, and her tirade continued. Just like her YouTube videos, she was in a full tantrum. More insults and then questions regarding my manhood filled the air. I walked forward to meet her, my hands held up in a soothing gesture.

"It was out," I said firmly. "I should have called the others before out as well, especially if this is how you react."

"Liar!" she snarled, her hands on the net.

"That's five!" I said quietly.

Her eyes darted to Yelena, who was serving by herself in the other court. The slimmer girl quickly spurred into motion, preparing to hit another shot to hide her eavesdropping.

"Stop with this rubbish. You aren't spanking me," Sasha said, pitching her voice low just for my ears, but somehow keeping her tone acidic. "I won't allow it ever again."

"Alexandra, I don't need your permission," I said and gave her a grin. "I told your father I would only spank you again if necessary, but he approves and trusts my judgment."

Her eyes widened, incredulous at my words.

"Again?! You told him...? You are lying! My papochka would never have let you—"

"Ask him yourself. He said I could discipline you as I see fit, that was the condition of me taking this job."

Sasha was speechless again, her flush of anger fading as she struggled to digest my words.

"I-I don't believe you—"

"Why would I lie when you could ask him yourself?"

She gritted her teeth and stared at me balefully, but her anger was on the inside now and I could see her thinking hard. I reached out and rubbed her shoulder gently.

"You are at five spanks right now, but if you summon a good attitude for the rest of today, I may be willing to let Alexandra off," I said, giving her an affectionate squeeze. She shrugged my hand away with disdain and her eyes were full of venom. Her mouth opened to speak, but I cut her off. "Or I can just give them to you right now, in front of anyone who might be around? That's what a little girl like Sasha would warrant."

Her eyes went to Yelena and she swallowed.

"You are a monster," she hissed. "I hate you."

With that, she turned and walked back to her baseline. I couldn't help but admire her ass again. It waved at me as if reminding me that it was due for a spanking later. She may have caught me staring this time, as she tugged down the hem of her shorts in a vain attempt to cover more of the pale flesh of her cheeks.

----------

The rest of the morning was much the same, although I like to think that Sasha tempered her attitude slightly. She was sulky, but mustered periods of civility after I praised her that were offset by volatile bursts of anger whenever she thought my criticism unwarranted. Her count of spanks still increased, but she suffocated her anger a couple of times to prevent her tally from reaching double digits.

Practice with Yelena had made her lazy, both in her footwork and her habits. I quickly disavowed her of trying to outstroke me and she grew frustrated without the safety net of a big winner to bail her out of her inconsistent effort. She finished drenched in sweat, but this time from having been run around all morning instead of the heat.

Towards the end, Sasha pulled up lame, gripping her hamstring after stretching for a wide shot. I vaulted the net in concern, not wanting my prize client to have injured herself in our first practice. She glared at me as I approached while she hunched over and tried to stretch her leg out.

"I"m fine, it's just a cramp," she said in annoyance. "Go away."

"You haven't been drinking enough water," I chided, examining her leg as she tried in vain to straighten it to prove that she was fine. "You'll need extra electrolytes and potassium for the summer tournaments... cramping can destroy a match. Do you have bananas in your smoothie?"

"What, are you my mother now?" she snarled at me, looking incredulous. "I know how to take care of myself! It's just that I'm just a bit knackered..."

Sasha regretted the admission and clammed up immediately. She hadn't been worked this hard in practice in a while, I suspected, and certainly didn't want to admit weakness to me. Granted I had been running her relentlessly in drills, but clearly she thought a nineteen year shouldn't be more tired than a forty year old.

"Right, well have a seat, I'll stretch it out," I said, pointing at the ground.

She tried to hobble away, but her muscle was still seized and with a curse she lowered herself to the ground with my assistance. I knelt before her and lifted her leg, placing her calf on my shoulder. My hands started on her thigh, but I slid one down to massage her tight hamstring as she grimaced in pain.

I'd stretched out hundreds of cramped muscles, and had my own done dozens of times, but I was aware suddenly, of how close we were and how little she was wearing. She rested on her elbows, her chest propped up, and studied me. Her sweat drenched face winced in discomfort at times as I kneaded her leg.

"Don't get too frisky," Sasha chided as my fingers reached her upper hamstring and began to brush against her butt. I'd been trying to keep my eyes on her face, but glanced down to better mind my touch.

Her outfit was practically a bathing suit in its coverage, or lack thereof, and the thin black fabric was soaked with her sweat. I was skeptical that her low rise stretch shorts were even designed for athletic activity, the fabric so thin and the hems so short that they cut high up her ass cheeks. I found my eyes drifting down, past her taut stomach, and eventually between her thighs as I spread them apart slightly with my shoulder.

Her mound was noticeable, like a fat peach with a furrow running down the middle as the stretched and damp cloth matted against it. I knew the fabric glistened in the sun with sweat, not arousal, but my mind couldn't help but conflate the liquids. I dared not let my eyes linger long, but the hem on the side I was stretching appeared to ride up at her inner thigh, hinting that some of the smooth, pale flesh that peeked out was the beginning of one her puffy outer lips.

"I'm sure you have a professional interest in my groin?" she asked tartly, causing my eyes to snap back to her face. An amused grin was on her lips, but her eyes were wary.

I stretched her a bit further, forcing her to grimace again as I got her leg to near straight.

"You can't even let me tend you without suspicion, can you?" I said, my fingers now kneading the bottom of her ass. I began to work my hand back up her hamstring as I stretched her fully straight at last. I rocked her leg as I worked until finally her wince of pain faded and the tight muscle relaxed at once. "It's not all about your private parts for me, get that through your fat head. I want to see you win."

"Forgive me if I'm skeptical that spanking my ass and peeping at me sunbathing are the limits of your perversion," she said as I released her. She straightened and flexed her leg experimentally, then pointedly slid a finger under the hem by her crotch to pull the fabric down her inner thigh slightly. "It's hard to believe your altruism when your body says otherwise right now."

Her pointed glance at my own groin made me look down to make sure my dick hadn't woken on it's own to betray me. It hadn't, to my visible relief, and she laughed at my sudden concern as if I'd validated her accusation.

"Very well, do you want to wrap up then because you are so knackered, or would you like to finish our first session despite you thinking I'm a pervert?" I said as I helped her back to her feet.

"I'm not knackered," Sasha replied crossly, and tested her leg with a quick jog around the court. Satisfied, she nodded at me to continue."If you keep your perversions in check, I'll finish."

I ended the session by having her play a quick best of three against Yelena, but with the rule that neither girl could hit winners from the baseline, or serve aces. The twist disadvantaged Sasha of course, and was designed to make the games a battle of unforced errors and positioning. While Sasha won two games in a row, they were tightly contested with Yelena forcing deuces both times.

Sasha, of course, pouted when I ruled some of her shots as too hard, and was petulantly upset about how close the outcome was for each game, but managed to contain her anger somewhat. She cursed my rules and belittled the idea that this exercise was useful to her, but I could see her consciously adjusting her play by the end to ensure victory. She cared deeply about winning, even in a practice game, and definitely didn't want to lose to Yelena, and I was happy that she could reign in her bad habits when she was incented.

Practice was over and we headed up to the Villa for lunch, Sasha led the way and gave me a teasing and protracted view of her swinging ass as we climbed the flights of stairs.

"I'm starving, where is my normal food?" Sasha exclaimed upon seeing the Mediterranean spread the Chef had laid out on the patio by the kitchen. Heavy in fresh vegetables, hummus, and some chicken kebabs, it was noticeably missing the dessert and carbohydrates that the chef said Sasha preferred. Hopefully the chef had followed my orders and thrown away the sweets and junk food in the pantry, most of which was bought at Sasha's request.

"You are what you eat," I replied. "Only healthy meals for you from now on."

"I'm going to waste away," complained Sasha again, but hunger drove her to fill her plate.

I stayed long enough to make sure she finished, before excusing myself to meet with Anatoly who had emerged, slightly hungover, at last. My chat with Anatoly took only a few minutes as he enthusiastically agreed with my suggestions on training and diet, and most importantly about the idea of changing her public name, saying, "Yes, she needs to be an adult!"

I broached the subject of Charlotte and Juju visiting and he assured me it wasn't a problem. Anatoly, it turned out, had been Mikhail's first driver, decades ago, and at one point ran all his transportation and security logistics. Managing Sasha had been a sort of retirement perk, and he seemed to think Mikhail would gladly loan a jet for my family's flight down.

Once upstairs, I showered, changed, and decided to do some more video work. It was slightly cooler today, not by much, but I took my laptop out onto the balcony. There was a table and two chairs, and I moved them to the railing to set up a workspace. Obviously I was also wondering whether Sasha was going to repeat her sun bathing performance from yesterday. I settled in, guilty at the vantage I'd chosen, but full of anticipation at what might happen.