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.
