Seven Swats Game

The natural born brat asked for it.

Nike was running down the corridor propelled by her muscular legs. She had on her tennis whites, sneakers and short socks, and her racket in a sports bag. She stopped by her locker and grabbed a fur paddle that was waiting for her.

Tennis was good. She won and now she was on her way for the real reward and the one who was willing to mette it out to her.

Nike offered a paddle to the Wolf. As she bent over, her tennis dress barely covered the situation. She smiled under her eyelashes, daring him.

"You asked for it," growled the Wolf back, his blue eye growing dark and steely.

He hefted the paddle, threw it in the air, and admired the glint of light on the smooth, polished, wooden handle. He caught it the midair.

The Wolf draped Nike over his knees and made sure her arms were pinned beneath her body, her hands at a strategic place. Her strong, sinewy body found it's natural place in his lap, her palms at his leathered crotch.

He flipped her tennis dress over her waist. He was in no mood for anything 'Barely' covered, he only wanted bare.

The Wolf moved his hand over the naked globes. They twitched at his touch. As his palm moved over the hem of her dress, he enjoyed the difference; the boundary between Nike's bare flesh and the dress. He moved it to a spot between her shoulder blades, to hold her firmly in place.

"Are you ready, Nike? You have to count, you know!"

"Yes Mr. Wolf!" she quipped sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

"I hope you realize this is tennis too. A just reward for a good game."

Nike knitted her eyebrows, then brightened and nodded.

He swung and connected.

The left cheek trembled and exploded in pain.

Nike let out a gulp of air. The Wolf waited.

"Fifteen?"

"Yes. Good Nike!"

He swung again. She jerked forward.

"Umm, fifteen - all?"

"Thaaaat's right! Now, for the ace!"

The Wolf served an ace. Nike didn't look so smug now as she bit her lip.

"Thirty - fifteen!"

"You know how to keep the score! Not just ask questions! We'll teach you some respect yet," and he swung again, sharply.

"Oomph...!" coughed Nike as a tear ran down her flushed cheek.

"Thirty - thirty!"

"Are you sure? Perhaps we should call this game a forfeit and start again?"

"No no..." she quickly calculated ... fifteen love was on the left, right was fifteen all, then left was thirty fifteen ... then right again ..."it's forty fifteen, Sir!"

"Too late....This is a double fault, Nike!" he swatted her again, just to keep the ass-blush evenly distributed.

"That is thirty - thirty! And this will be ..." as he smacked her right cheek real hard, he admired its firmness, its remarkable bounce. The Wolf loved bouncy bums; he also loved her squirming in his lap. Sweat suddenly dampened her white dress. Nike gasped for air. Both cheeks burned and she was not sure of the score.

"Thirty forty, Sir?"

"Oh yes, Nike, and now, is this going to be the game point?"

He slapped Nike's red ass sharp and hard. Again, she jerked forward.

Tears welled in her eyes from pain, humiliation, excitement, or all three.

"Deuce...err...forty - forty," sobbed Nike.

"Then someone must take this game. Who?" he asked as he moved his hand across the tenderized flesh of Nike's burning bottom, rubbing it.

The Wolf paused to push his finger between the heated cheeks and found an incredible sweet wetness. He brought the finger to his lips.

"Who's to win, Nike? Left or right?"

Still trembling from his touch, her ass cheeks twitching, she whispered: "Left, Sir."

"Left what?"

"My left cheek needs another swat, sir... to win."

He swung fast and hard. Nike almost flew off his lap, but he held her fast.

"And a game to Nike!"

The Wolf waited for the sobbing. There was none. He caressed her bald pussy. It was almost difficult to grasp, so sleek and moist, but he managed. He flipped her over and held her with her buttocks pressed together, pelvis thrust upwards, lower legs hanging across his arm, and one tennis shoe hanging from her foot.

He brushed her flushed face, and gazed into her liquid eyes.

"What do you say... after such a lesson?"

Nike stammered "Th.... th ..."

"What? Say it!"

Nike's eyes glazed suddenly and her lips became tight line. Not a sound came from her. Verbalizing her gratitude for spanking and the treatments he gave her was an obstacle her ego just refused to overcome. No yet, anyway.

"That was game, set, and match. Now! Say it!"

She just stared at him as he asked again - then shook her head. He rolled her off his lap onto the floor.

"Get cleaned and dressed, you ungrateful tramp. Look at you!" he said as he scrutinized the crumbled tennis outfit.

She moved slowly.

"What?!" His voice cracked and she jumped.

She got down oh all fours, crawled away towards her locker, intentionally giving him 'come and get it' view of her red bottom. Stopping, she turned her head and he though he saw a glint in her eye.

"Scat!"

Nike hoisted herself up and trotted briskly to her locker where she peeled off her not-so-white-anymore dress. Naked and red-bummed, she shivered under his gaze. The unsaid 'thank you' sat heavy on her brow. She was beginning to float.

As opened the locker she looked at the Wolf timidly. He shook his head.

"Are you a slut, Nike?"

"Yes I am," she said defiantly.

"Then dress like one."

Out came her special bag, and she dressed like one. She took her time; displaying each piece of clothing to him and putting them on slowly. With a smirking frown he directed her little show.

"Those long latex stockings... roll them up, slowly, then - snap, snap. Now, the narrow garter belt to attach the stockings. But BEFORE you attach them, snap the snaps against your leg. I want to hear it."

"Snap SNAP," she said under her breath and covered her mouth quickly because she spoke out of turn.

"Arrogant ungrateful bitch, that is what are you. Now, attach the stocking. As for the gloves, pull them up slowly, one finger at a time, smooth them, first one, then the other. Not a wrinkle, Nike."

The leather vest was pulled out. It's quilted squares were steel knobbed, and it was very stiff, short and sleeveless. When she put it on, it reached just about the third of the way down her back and stuck out at an angle, its stiff edge away from her skin. But, in all it's absurdity, it stressed the curve of her naked back, and pointed to Nike's bare, glowing ass; an ass that appeared supported by the latex stockings.

Finally, she picked up the stiletto sandals and slowly clasped each thin, blood-red band over her feet, and ran into some difficulty as the leather straps glided over her smoothly latex encased feet. The red sandals accented the black outfit and seemed to bondage her feet for Wolf.

When she was finished, she cast a practiced glance under her long eyelashes at Wolf and searched for the approval on his face. She stood upright, proud, rightly proud. Her skin was pale and radiant under the fluorescent glare, her breasts jutting out between the vest's wings. A trickle of sweat ran between her globes, over the glimpse of her ribs, then over her hard tummy, exploring the belly button, sliding in tiny rivulets toward her jutting mons, drawn by glistening wetness between Nike's legs.

He tried to hide his admiration and practiced a stony look. Their eyes met; she smiled. He arrested his own smile and instead waved his hand towards her hair and face. She quickly wiped her still tear stained face, and rummaging in her bag, found a lipstick, almost purple, and applied it liberally. Pouting like a self conscious little girl who was trying on a stolen lipstick, she took a leather band and tied her hair in tight, smooth ponytail. Then Nike straightened up again.

"What are you Nike, tell me!" he said gruffly.

There was a certain timbre in his voice that sounded almost choked.

"A shameless slut sir."

"Yes you are. A real one."

"Yes sir. Your slut."

"AH, but you will NOT thank me for that impudent red ass of yours?"

She just looked into the distance. He stormed towards her, his boots echoing on the concrete, leather jeans emitting a squishy oiled noise. The Wolf pinned her hands behind her back. Nike felt her wrists encased with hard armbands, heard a click - she knew he locked the links directly to each other, letting the short chain dangle... As he pushed her toward the door, he held her steady with his body. She wobbled a bit on her stiletto feet, but he held her - pushing her on.

Corridors, stairs, hallway, and finally, to the parking lot... IT was almost bereft of cars, but not quite, almost dark, but not quite. In the distance, city lights glared and twinkled as they blotted out the stars in evening sky.

High above, Nike saw a zeppelin. It should say Goodyear, but somehow it spelled out to the world - SlutYea. It was fitted with strong reflector swinging slowly and whenever it passed over the lot, she was bathed in the stark, iridescent glare of the cold electric light.

As Nike was pushed towards his dark Lexus, her wrists were unclasped and she was made to grasp the edge of the car roof on the Lexus, her arms straight, her body almost horizontal. She spread her legs and they were pushed even further apart. Nike's head hung down and her tightly packed breasts reached out to mother earth. He pulled her chain around the luggage carrier on the car, re-locked the clasp, bending her, turning her into half sawhorse tethered to his car. Her legs - inverted V, her torso - sunk slightly in the middle, her ass jutted up. She was riding her own body-horse of desire.

Nike felt his hand on her heated ass and grew goose bumps from the chilly air. Suddenly, a pain exploded on her burning flesh. The heft behind the blow pushed her into the side of the car. The Lexus rocked from the blow, the stereo kicked in, and the muffled sounds of Led Zeppelin's "Black Dog" flooded the parking lot.

As her head flew up, her mouth opened in a scream. The ponytail whipped wildly against the jacket; it's tip audibly hit the bare skin. What? She racked her brain and was hit again, the swat almost lifting her off the ground. Sobbing Nike shook her head and swung her ponytail in wild semi-arc. This was not the paddle he used on her before. What was it?

"Yes, what?" He growled, familiar with her inquisitive mind. "Tell me what is it?"

Wolf struck again and almost tattooed her against the car with the force of next two blows.

He stopped to ask her again, "What is it?"

Straightening her trembling arms she pushed herself away from the car, sweat pouring over her body, dripping from forehead, running down her legs, slicking the latex even more... And there was another drip... between her legs.

The night air puffed her pussy lips even more. Nike though she could hear the drip of her juice on the asphalt - feeling tangibly the beam of blimp light bathing her, exposing her nakedness - sucking the essence of her nudity in the sky.

Whenever that beam of lights swung over the city it transported her message to all interested souls: Here is the wettest, greediest pussy - come and get it.

As the light came back to bathe her all those eyes adjourned to stare at her, to drink their fill of her exposed nakedness, to drink in her very soul.

And the SlutYea Eye in the Sky kept swinging, searching for more.

"What is it?" The Wolf reappeared and she tried to concentrate through the new surge of blistering pain. She tugged at her bonds.

"A paddle?"

"No," he laughed, "You can do better than that, you ponytail, you," and swung it again almost sending her on the roof, her elbows driving painfully in her sides. She desperately held on, clutching the edge of the car roof.

"Dowel!" screamed Nike in the night.

"Right! How smart. It's a short, rectangular one. How many blows? Including this one?"

"F.. four Sir?" she whimpered.

"Perhaps. You do not want to know what will happen if you are wrong!"

She heard a clatter of wood on the asphalt, knowing that he dropped the toy. Wolf grabbed Nike's ponytail forcing her upward, her panting mouth an O of desperation and desire. She felt him press into her, pulling her head back even more. Nike was looking into the sky - SlutYea zeppelin was just a silent observer now.

"What are you, again?"

"I am a bratty slut," she stuttered, trying to gulp the air between sobs.

"And what do you do when paddled at your master's whim?"

"I thank him!"

"How profoundly?"

"Most profoundly, from the bottom of my heart."

"We'll see how good you are at that. And there will be no more of that pony tailed brattiness?"

"No more!" gasped Nike because he squeezed her breast.

"No more of what? And MORE of what?"

"No more of pony tailed brattiness Sir. And more of heartfelt thankfulness, SIR!"

"Hrmmpff. We'll see about that, won't we?"

He let go of her ponytail, shifted and grabbed her blistered ass cheeks. She moaned as his finger moved between them, touched her drenched pussy, circled but never made contact with Nike's engorged clit. Wolf hand moved away and she knew that he was sucking her essence off his fingers.

"You need Pampers," he muttered, then grabbed her hip, placing the other palm firmly on small of her back, forcing her to bend even further.

Nike felt the head of Wolf-cock move between her spread ass cheeks, her anus twitching - the head touched it, moved away, came back. He pushed against the clenched muscle. She gasped, tried to turn to him but he slapped her face back.

"No peeking now. Not yet." Pushing against the pressure against Nike's sphincter, tempering his need with her resistance, - inexorably forcing her open.

"Come on it. Take the zeppelin in. Push. What do the good ponytails do when a cock announces its desire at their ass?"

"They welcome it... push back against it... "She gasped, then screamed as she forced her hole open and pushed herself on the Wolf-dick. "This pain was different", her mind sang, then she thought: "What TWO muscles?" and THEN - her mind blanked as her entered her. It turned into a penetrated, searing vortex of blissful pain.

Searing? Splitting - yes, but not her impaled body, her very souls. She heard his gasp as he lodged himself further in her trembling body, filling her very essence. She felt his need flow from his Nike-encased-dick into her guts, down her pussy then rushing into her mind like a bejeweled lighting. Lights flashed in her eyes and from the furnace that was Wolf she heard:

"What now - tell me what now!" and his balls slapped her inflamed pussy.

"Fuck my ass, SIR."

And she squeezed it. Hard. Wolf managed to withstand the viselike grip on his dick and when she tried to move away he grabbed her by the shoulder.

"You will fuck when you're told," he grated and pulled back an inch. Nike thought that her sphincter was pulled out - and then he slammed into her burning ass. Nike imagined that somehow he had become thicker, and instinctively tried to squeeze him but just felt her stretched even more.

'What now - you sluttail?" he inquired, grabbing her gaping pussy, entering her with two fingers, spreading her lips, allowing no more squeezing. Nike was invaded. Her holes were taken away from her, opened and stretched forever. She did not know if the emptiness of her sopping pussy was more intensive then the engorgement of her asshole.

"What now? What do you need to do now?'

"I need to cum, sir. Please... SIR!"

"Ah yes - but - not yet. You will learn to feel gratitude. AND – you will a need to express it."

He leaned over her, his weight almost overpowering her. Nike's legs buckled, but he held her, letting her legs dangle, her torso still horizontal. Wolf freed her from the car.

Nike felt small, almost cuddled, his arms bear-hugging her - just a perfect little sheath for the wolf-cock.

His lips brushed against Nike's wet cheek, finding hers. She moved her head to him and he smothered her lips, sucking her tongue and drinking in her gasps., Nike felt the pulse of her clit and her asshole in her mouth.

Looking in her liquid greenfire eyes, his disengaged his mouth and whispered:

"Perhaps little Nike is ready for a Zeppelin Hunt?"

She nodded her best little girl nod, "Yes sir."

He ripped his cock out without cumming, letting her asshole pulse, gape, and squeeze at liberty now.

He flipped her in his arms, never letting her touch the ground. Her legs dangled over his arm.

Nike's head lolled but he caught it in the fold between his arm and chest. She raised her fisted hand towards her face, thumb extended, then asked permission with her eyes.

He nodded, "Yes, little Nike, you may," as she put her thumb in her mouth, riding the high wave of subspace.

Wolf carried her towards the house. She enjoyed the swaying, the cradling, and the emptiness of her anus, wondering idly: "What is the Zeppelin Hunt?"

She did not wonder too much.

Nike knew she will soon find out.

END

For the One