It was hight time I stopped just 'playing smart' with other people's
work and offered something myself ...
hope you like it.


Seven Swats Game by Pejanon

The natural born brat asked for it.

Nikita offered a paddle to the Wolf. As she bent over, her tennis
dress barely covered the situation. She smiled under her eyelashes, until
she felt the first swat!

"You asked for it" smiled the Wolf.

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

The Wolf draped Nike over his knees and made sure her arms were
pinned beneath her body, her hands at a strategic place.

Lifting her tennis dress a little more, he was in no mood for anything
'barely' covered, only bare.


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

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

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

"I hope you realize this is tennis."

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 Nikita!"

He swung again. She jerked forward.

"Umm, fifteen - all?"

"Thaaaats 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 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 none 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 double fault, Nikita!" he swats her again, just to keep
ass blush evenly distributed.

"That is thirty - thirty! And this will be ..." as he smacked her right
cheek real hard, he admired it's firmness, its remarkable bounce. The
Wolf loves bouncy bums; he also loves 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, Nikita, and now, will this be game point?"

He slapped Nikita'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.

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

"Who's to win, Nikita? 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. Nikita almost flew off his lap, but he held
her firm.

"And a game to Nikita!"

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?"

Nikita stammered "Th.... th ..."

"What? Say it!"


copyright (c) by Wolff

for the One who MADE me do it!