Yes, Mistress Sharapova!

Readers may know – through my subtle repeated mentions of her and posting of pics – that I have a major crush on Maria Sharapova. And that I would be more than happy to be her submissive, lesbian sex toy.

Anyway, I was looking around the net for photos of her (as one does) and I found one that really pushes my buttons:

Ohhhh...! What a withering stare! It genuinely makes me tingle. That raised eyebrow... and that hand on her hip... she looks seriously cross about something. Excuse me whilst I imagine what that might be...

*****

Maria loved to have me near to her. She loved to look at me, touch me, hold me. And she also liked, she said, to “keep an eye on me.” It was primarily for the last of these reasons that I found myself enlisted one day, quite out of the blue, as a ballgirl for her matches. I didn’t have any say in the matter, of course, not that I would have dreamt of questioning her decision: countless painful hidings over the course of our relationship had taught me that lesson. Even so, I couldn’t help but pout with disappointment a few days (and two matches) into my stint when she informed me that I would remain a ballgirl for the foreseeable future. It was originally only supposed to be for one tournament, but Maria had apparently decided that the role suited me so well that the arrangement would be extended indefinitely. My impudent response to the news was rewarded (and my attitude greatly improved), I should mention, by a good thrashing with the belt. Naked on our hotel bed, I howled and writhed like the naughtiest little slut as the cruel leather lashed my skin. But I knew that I deserved it, and I lovingly thanked my kind Mistress when she gave me permission to.

While it was absolute heaven to be able to watch my beautiful Maria in action so close up, the role of ballgirl was a very humiliating one for a grown woman to be put into. For a start I had to wear a tiny, baby-pink dress and put my hair up into bunches, a combination that made me look and feel far younger than I really was. To my surprise and distress I found that players and officials alike began to talk down to me, where they had previously treated me with a fair degree of reverence. Even the other ballgirls bullied me. And of course, worst of all, each match I literally had to run around after Maria (and her opponent), chasing endless balls down, proffering towels and drinks instantly upon demand, silently meeting every request with breathless alacrity and faultless precision, like a well-drilled, athletic maid. It was very tiring, but I knew that I was pleasing Maria so I was happy.

Sadly, on the day of an important final my efforts did not live up to Maria’s exacting standards. I was nervous; I really wanted Maria to win, and I wanted to do well for her, too. I didn’t normally fumble catches, but that day I couldn’t stop. I fumbled everything. I couldn’t throw a ball straight to her. I dropped her towel in the clay. And my Mistress was, to put it mildly, unimpressed.

The final straw came when I accidentally spilt water over her during a changeover. I gasped, expecting her to shout at me, but she simply stood and fixed me with an icily stern expression that made me tremble. “I’ve had quite enough of your nonsense, Penny,” she said, her voice as coolly authoritative as her statuesque pose. “I told you in the last set what would happen if you misbehaved again. Well, my girl, now you’re going to get it!”

With that, she sat back down, took me firmly by the ear and pulled me across her knee. “Ooh!” I squealed, realising with horror that I was about to be spanked right then and there. “P-please, Mistress! Not out here!” I begged, squirming helplessly against Maria’s firm thighs.

“SILENCE!” she angrily returned. “I’ll punish you anywhere I please, slut!”

In a flash my dress was up around my waist and my matching pink knickers had been yanked down to my knees. And in another heartbeat Maria put her fearsome forehand to good use on my bare, bouncing cheeks, walloping them alternately with merciless vigour. SMACK! WHAP! SMACK! SMACK! “Ow! Ouch! Owww! Ohh!”

I struggled and squirmed and kicked my feet – making myself the very image of a pathetic, naughty little girl in the process – but I was held firm and spanked well past the point of tears, well past the point of helpless pleading, until my poor bottom was quite simply aflame. And all to the salacious cheers and whistles of the crowd! Even the female umpire clapped in approval. I had never been so humiliated, not in my whole life: spanked on the bare with all those people watching! A whole stadium! And countless millions more around the world! My mortification was so complete that my tear-streaked face was, if anything, even redder than my glowing behind. And the worst thing of all was that, deep down, I knew that I deserved it.

When Maria had finally spanked me to her satisfaction, a replacement ballgirl was summoned and the match was resumed. But I didn’t get to see any of it, for I spent the entire time with my nose in a corner of the court, hands on my head, knickers round my ankles and my punished bottom on display to all. I felt so very wretched; like the naughtiest girl in the whole world.

And, for the whole lonely duration, I knew that I would be in for another painful lesson that evening, when Maria had me to herself in our room...