Breakpoint Pt. 03

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, light bondage/domination, adultery, spanking/humiliation, lesbianism, and other kinks as her "training" progresses. Hope you enjoy!

***

"Mariana."

"Excuse me?" Sasha looked at me, both annoyed and slightly confused.

"Her name is Mariana," I said, nodding at the chef, who was hurriedly making Sasha's smoothie. Sasha had strolled into the kitchen and demanded her morning beverage brusquely yet again.

Today's outfit was more modest at first glance. A pink sports bra was on top, but her matching short, flouncy tennis skirt had a low waist and hung on her hip bones. While it covered more than her stretch shorts, it only made me twice as interested in seeing what was hidden beneath. Her hair was in a thick braid again, swinging gently as she moved.

"I-I know that," she replied unconvincingly, her eyes narrowing. "She's worked for us for years, of course."

"Good, well it's polite to address a person by their name, Alexandra. And say please and thank you," I countered as Sasha glowered at me.

"I do that!" she snapped back at me. Her face reddened when I looked at her doubtfully.

She snatched the smoothie and spun quickly to leave, causing her skirt to twirl, but caught herself at the door.

"Thank you, Mariana," she said with cloying sweetness, then stuck her tongue out at me and stormed off.

-----

"Serves," I said as Sasha wiped sweat from her brow after our warm-up. She'd been better behaved, but had tried again to outhit me at the end of every rally.

"I know, I know," she said, annoyance plain on her face. "Practice for consistency, increase my first serve percentage, yada yada. Anything original or helpful for me, Greg? I'm not paying you just to indulge your sick perversions and humiliate me, remember?"

It was the first reference to last night and she looked at me coldly afterwards.

"No, Alexandra, I'm not saying any of that," I answered, which earned a look of skepticism from her. "Look at these analytics charts. Your first serve effectiveness is top quartile."

I'd hired a firm to crunch all her matches and index her against the rest of the tour. Such advanced statistics work was now almost standard, having percolated from other big sports in the last five years, and guided most players in their strategy and practice. It was new to Sasha, however, and she took the packet from my hand and started flipping through the various charts with interest.

"Your first serve rate is terrible, bottom quartile, but your rate of acing opponents is top ten on the tour. It balances out to be a terrific first serve, and I don't want you to change a thing as its a strength. Sure, you can land a few more, but aces are the best shot in the game and you do fine overall."

"So what then? Second serve?" she asked, flipping to another page. "All the other coaches lectured me endlessly on that and my double fault rate is average now, see! I've improved it a lot these past two years."

When she first entered the tour, she'd had a booming first serve and terrible second. She led the tour in double fault rate her first year by a margin.

"Oh, you fixed your double fault rate, but you ruined your serve," I said, pointing at another diagram. "Now it's weak, predictable, and your opponents tee off. You have one of the worst second serves on tour in terms of points won. You might as well give two first serves at your effectiveness rate."

She set her jaw and I saw her fingers threaten to crinkle the paper as she fought back anger. Criticism was still difficult for her to accept.

"First they tell me to make it safe, get it in, force my OPPONENT to make a mistake," she said, scowling. She tossed the packet to the bench with disdain. "Now you say to hit it harder and make my serve riskier! Who should I believe? You all are full of RUBBISH!"

"I'm having you play to your strengths," I said, reaching out to rub her shoulder. She pulled away and looked unhappy. "Serving is your advantage. Every serve you make should be feared, even if it means you double fault at a higher rate than average. I'm serious about serving two firsts at times, especially if you are serving well during a match."

She looked at Yelena, who'd be listening silently.

"Sashka, he is right," she said firmly. "You shouldn't back off on your serves, it's not you."

We spent the next couple hours working on her second serve, not for consistency and safety, but to make it more aggressive. I'd had one of the better second serves on tour when I played, even more important for me because my first serve was pedestrian at best, and had a wealth of knowledge on how to disguise spin, pace, and location in ways that kept an opponent on their heels.

She struggled at first, as she'd been practicing a soft and consistent second that had little variety, but towards the end she was having fun trying to make it kick or snap with no regard for whether it was in the box or not. I planned on working on her second serve the most these next couple of weeks as it would yield immediate points. Her other play faults, including her attitude, were a longer-term project.

Standing behind her afforded me a wonderful view with every serve attempt. Her skirt flew up as her body snapped forward, flashing her bottom at me for a delightful second. Instead of stretch shorts, she wore a pair of what looked like normal pink knickers underneath, although maybe made from a synthetic fabric as a concession to performance. They were cut small, and exposed a nice slice of her pale ass cheeks. As if to further tease me, she tucked her spare ball under her knickers, pulling up her skirt and sliding a ball under the hem to be trapped against her bare ass cheek.

"Do you like my knickers?" Sasha asked as we wound down the practice. She had caught my gaze lingering one too many times. She lifted her skirt and did a little spin so I could see the pink underwear better. "Aren't you sick of the compression shorts that have taken over? You seem like the sort that misses the days when the women wore proper knickers on the court."

"I've no complaints, and remember Gabriela Sabatini fondly," I answered. Sabatini was infamous for her colorful choice of underskirt attire.

"I'm thinking of bringing the look back," said Sasha with a grin. It would certainly get her millions more views on the internet, I acknowledged, as if she didn't receive more than her fair share already. "Of course, I'm sure you have an opinion on that."

"Only a favorable one. Seeing your knickers does make me realize that you've earned no spanks yet today," I said, her ass clearly on my mind. I felt a healthy twinge of regret. "You've been a model student this morning, Alexandra, I must admit."

Perhaps the distraction of working on a new serve had put her in better spirits, but she had been surprisingly amenable all morning. My comment seemed to darken her mood, as if she suddenly remembered that she'd forgotten to be properly surly with me.

"If you actually coach tennis, versus your other nonsense, you'll find I have no issues with you," she said, in what sounded like the thinnest attempt at conciliatory praise. As if realizing she was being too generous, she added smugly, "I fear I've ruined your day, haven't I? What will you look forward to this afternoon now? I suppose you can just wank off to the memory of yesterday."

"Practice isn't over yet, there is still hope," I said, which made her glower. "Anyway, I promised you an explanation of the BNL tournament last night."

"Yes, how did I get 'baited', or whatever it is you foolishly thought happened?" Sasha asked, her face skeptical. There was real interest in her eyes, however, and she immediately came to my side when I turned on the laptop I'd brought down to the courts.

"Jana is a power player, known for one thing, her backhand, correct?'

Sasha nodded as I played a video showing her playing Jana on a backhand rally. A brutish, muscular woman, Jana's two handed backhand was a all out assault on the ball that she punctuated with a loud grunt. Sasha's single handed elegant reply, while powerful, looked practically dainty by comparison.

"You played well at the start, and went up three to luv in the first set. That's when she set the bait," I explained, showing her some rallies. "She gave up trying to win the first set, and instead lured you into backhand rally after backhand rally."

"Rubbish, she won two more games. I beat her six to two in that set," countered Sasha.

"I didn't say she threw in the towel, it was subtle," I said, and paused a rally. "She held her serve when she could, but down thirty to luv to you for instance, she set up the backhand every time."

"Isn't the backhand her strength? Why is that baiting me..."

I played a video that showed Sasha winning a backhand rally after outhitting her brutish opponent.

"She toned her shots down, and you got overconfident," I continued, showing her six other rallies in that set with Jana losing each time. While still violent, the speed of Jana's shots was slower and Sasha had time to be on the offensive for her replies. It was the equivalent of giving her meatballs to smash back easily.

"I was just hitting well," said Sasha, uncertain. "My play deteriorated. Maybe I was knackered..."

"There is that, which is why we need more conditioning," I said, as I flipped to the later rallies. "But here, you see her playing for real in the second set, which she won in a tiebreak. The crucial points, when she broke you, and in the tiebreak, all backhand rallies that she won because you were overconfident from earlier. You never switched courts. The third set we don't have to watch, you'd lost your confidence by then and your head was gone."

"You think she tricked me?" asked Sasha, her anger rising and her doubt fading. "That bitch."

"She's good, but the playbook for her is simple. Run her to the forehand and make her hit from that side," I said, as Sasha nodded. Even she knew that. "Yet in the second set, you stayed on your backhand and even switched rallies to that side during critical points, as if you thought that was your advantage after the first set."

"Cheating whore," said Sasha, now bitter. "Let's work on my backhand so I can destroy her the next time."

"Wrong," I said. "You will beat her because you are a better player, and smarter. You bait her if needed, or do everything you can to get her on her forehand, and punish her."

"I want to outhit her on her backhand!" Sasha snapped. "To show her she's nothing! Not run away from her as if scared!"

She had a lot to still learn, I realized. Her ego and temper meant that she wanted to win straight up, by having better strokes than her opponent. No one was that good all the time. Hitting hard, like she preferred, was akin to the way she masturbated. It felt good, but was just lazy and unproductive.

"You'll play her, and all your opponents, the right way, which is into your strengths and their weaknesses," I said firmly as she scowled at me "With your head."

She looked skeptical still, no doubt thinking my advice was more old woman strategy.

"I have an idea for a game, between you and Yelena. Same rules as yesterday, but a full set today?"

"The old woman style of play, again? Second serves only, one fault, and no winners?" sneered Sasha, looking annoyed. "We've already proven I can win against her like that. What's the point?"

"What if something is on the line more than your pride?" I asked innocently.

"Like what?"

"Thirty minutes of pleasure for the winner, from the loser of course," I said, with a grin.

"Bollocks," spat Sasha, darkening at my suggestion. "I don't do that. I told you that. I'm still disgusted by what you forced me to do. I brushed my teeth three times before bed last night! Now you've descended into perversion again and I think we should wrap up."

"If you are going to win, what's the risk to you?"

"Why play for it? She'll give it to me anyway, won't you Lena?" asked Sasha sweetly.

"No she won't, my orders are firm," I said, before Yelena could answer. "If you want your pleasure, you'll have to earn it. Are you that scared of losing?"

"No! It's just absurd, I'm not—"

"I think she is," said Yelena with a grin. She winked at her friend, who sulked at our joint attack. "Come on. I think I can beat you with that as the prize!"

Sasha looked horrified, then snorted at Yelena.

"I bet you want it again badly, don't you?" she said, chuckling. "Fine. Let's play. It'll make my victory even sweeter. Thirty minutes is short-shrifting me, but if Lord Greg has decreed it, then I'll let you escape with a half effort this afternoon."

"I'll even allow reciprocation afterwards, if you aren't a sore loser!" I said, clapping my hands and waving for them to take their courts. Sasha snorted at me, clearly thinking it an unnecessary clause as she was going to have an easy victory. "Remember, try to place all your baseline shots deep in the corners. Work on placement and running your opponent."

I'll give Sasha credit, she came out playing well and took the first three games easily. Our practice on her second serve paid off and she tricked Yelena a couple times, setting up easy shots that she could rush the net on and dink for a point. Sasha was celebrating early and already making crude comments to Yelena about looking forward to her tongue, when the smaller girl held serve finally. Sasha lost her composure, faulting several times, and Yelena broke her to make it 3-2.

It was back and forth after that, with Sasha getting increasingly angry as Yelena doggedly held serve. Sasha's final game on serve was hotly contested, and she cracked under the pressure and tried to cheat the rules by hitting winners. She fumed when I called those shots back and threatened to storm off the court under the accusation that I was favoring Yelena.

It led to a tiebreak, with Sasha red faced and cursing both of us, while Lena gave her a couple barbs of her own about looking forward to her thirty minutes. Lena played inspired, almost brilliant tennis under the rules I'd imposed, and won the tiebreak with a fist pumping celebration that made it seem like a tour victory, while Sasha threw her racket.

"Greg cheated for you! I WON'T do it!" she shouted at us, and turned to head up to lunch. A final yell followed her retreating form. "You are CHEATER, Greg! In more ways than one."

We followed her, but she stormed past the patio towards her room when she saw us close behind. Yelena and I grabbed our food to go, with an extra plate for Sasha, and followed Sasha to discover her door locked and no response to our knocks. Yelena, eager for her reward, went to her room to fetch the spare key she kept and we let ourselves in.

"Don't be a sore loser!" I said as we entered.

"GET OUT!" Sasha screamed. She was in her bed, her clothes on her floor, and her eyes were red as tears ran down her cheeks. "You both cheated! I won't be humiliated like this!"

"Sashka!" said Lena playfully, but her friend pulled the sheets over her head and let out a sob.

"We brought you lunch..." I said as I placed the plates down on her bedside table.

"Just leave me, it wasn't a fair contest, you know it!" said Sasha from underneath her sheet.

Lena climbed into the bed and settled in against Sasha's covered form.

"Sashka, come on," Yelena began. "I won... I promise afterwards I'll do you. Please!"

Sasha seemed to stiffen at Yelena's touch, but her sobs diminished.

"Fair is fair, Alexandra!" I said sitting on the other side of the bed. "Yelena played well, don't deny her that! Would you rather have a spanking?"

"I'd rather you fuck off," said Sasha from under the sheet.

"Well, if you are going to be the sore loser, I supposed it's a spanking and no Yelena for you then..." I said and reached my hand out to touch her foot. Sasha bent her knees and yanked away from the contact. Her sheet lowered to her nose and she glared at me. Yelena hugged her, nuzzling against her more tightly.

"Don't touch me," she said at last to me, but she turned into Yelena's embrace. "Fine. I'll do it, only because Yelena did play well and I honor my bets, even if Greg cheated for her. I'm NOT a sore loser!"

"Thank you Sashka!" said Yelena, beaming now. "I'll take care of you, I promise!"

The smaller girl sat up and, after a shy glance towards me, began to strip off her tennis clothes. Sasha's eyes tracked Yelena movements, and we both watched as her slender body and perky breasts were revealed after two eager tugs of her bra and shorts. With a sigh of defeat, Sasha pulled her sheet down and exposed her own naked and sweaty body. I'd seen it before, several times in fact, but the beauty of her long and lean form made me catch my breath.

"I expect more than thirty minutes in return," muttered Sasha as she sat up and emerged from the sheets fully. Her breasts swung deliciously as she crawled on her knees around Yelena, circling her smaller friend like a cat eying a tasty morsel. Yelena settled back uncertainly, her head on the pillow and parted her thighs with a self-conscious laugh at the lewd gesture.

"Mind the time, Greg, no cheating again," ordered Sasha as she flicked her braid behind her back. On her haunches now, her eyes studying Yelena's spread form, she grabbed one of the brunette's ankles and pushed it wider. A smile came to her face as her eyes lingered between her friend's legs. "Look how wet she is already. What a slut you are Lena. You played your heart out for this, didn't you?"

"Maybe," said Lena, a smile on her face as well. She wiggled her hips invitingly, blushing as she did the wanton gesture. "Are you stalling? I hope Greg hasn't started the clock yet."

"I'll make you come so quickly I don't know how I'll fill thirty minutes," said Sasha as she placed her hands down and lowered her face between Yelena's parted thighs. Her tongue darted out to whet her lips and she opened her mouth as she approached the pink and glistening target that Yelena offered her.

I touched her shoulder, making her pause inches from Yelena's sex. The skinny girl moved her hips again entreatingly, and let out of a groan of frustration.

"How about a little foreplay?" I said, my eyes running up Yelena's stomach and settling on her modest breasts. "I'm sure she'd appreciate a little teasing first. It's not all about getting to the orgasm as fast as you can, after all. It's about giving her pleasure for thirty minutes."

"What, are you giving lovemaking advice now as well?" said Sasha, flashing her eyes at me. "As if I need THAT! I know how to tease someone... even a woman.. and will make her beg to be finished off."

Yelena made a little moan and grinned down at Sasha. The blonde's scowl faded as she looked at her friend's nude body appraisingly and seemed to reconsider what she'd just said. I saw her redden slightly, as if realizing she'd just admitted this was lovemaking, not a punishment, and that she'd somehow been baited by my words into agreeing to a more sensual act than what she'd agreed to do.

"Fine, you little whore," said Sasha after studying Yelena. "I'll make you wish you had sixty minutes with me then. Enjoy this as it'll be the last time you get it from me."

Her head lowered, but it was to Yelena's leg that her lips descended. Kissing up the girl's inner thigh, Sasha carefully avoided the wet cleft that begged for her touch, and dragged her tongue around Yelena's smooth mons instead.

"You taste salty, you dirty little girl," murmured Sasha as her mouth explored her friend's belly. She took her time, seeming to enjoy her scenic journey up the girl's naked body. On this first pass she led with her tongue, lapping the dried sweat from Yelena's tanned skin and avoiding the pale flesh of the girl's small breasts. "You want me to kiss your boobs? Is that what I hear? Beg me more..."