Friday, 20 April 2012

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...


  1. Tennis just seems to invite spanking stories. I'm not sure if it's the short skirts or the incredibly bratty behaviour of so many of the the sport's stars. I've had fantasies about Maria myself, but they involve her over my lap, not the other way around. She seems so incredibly deserving of a spanking with her behaviour.

  2. I just discovered your blog yesterday, Penelope, and while I'm very much a "F/m" kinda guy, I wanted to say that I love your writing style!

    I also had to add that I've had a huge crush on Miss Sharapova for a long time too, and would love to be in the same place as you - over her pleated-skirted knee - in your fantasy here... Miss Sharapova's "ball boy"? Oh, yes please!

    A fantastic scenario, written extremely sexily! Thanks for sharing. :P

  3. I imagine corner time in a crowded statium would be quite humiliating, but on the brighter side it would give the bored camermen something more interesting to shoot when there was a break in the action than those boring crowd and reaction shots they use before and after commercials.

    Yes, the sight of your in the corner, with your bottom cheeks twitching as you heard each CRACK of the ball against the racket, would be more riveting than the game itself...

  4. Mmm! :) that's just how I imagined it! Poor little Penny, sniff sob... world (in)famous as a spanked brat. The shame of it!

    Banjo: thank you very much and welcome! Maria is gorgeous, isn't she? And I like the drawings on your site, btw - they're very naughty :)

    And sorry to be wilful, Aunty Andrea, but if you want to spank Maria you'll have to spank me first. Good and hard, hopefully... xx

  5. Wow, thank you, Penny... I'm blushing now! Feel free to drop by my site any time and comment, or even drop me a line/email to make a 'suggestion' (if I can!). Naughty? Why, that's my middle name! :P

    I'm totally worshipful of the gorgeous Maria (wait, I'd think she expects "Miss Sharapova", Penny! smack!). There's just something about her seems so... well... just so dominant, at least to me!

    And being a big fan of the 'psychology' involved in spanking, I really liked imreadonly2's mental image of nervously flinching/bottom-twitching every time Maria's racket THWACKs that ball loudly across the court. ;)