A Wimbledon Tennis Tale: Steffi Graf vs. Brooke Shields & Gabriela Sabatini by jermaine

Steffi Graf always really liked the Williams sisters - she just couldn't put her finger on why, exactly. Like almost everyone else, Steffi enjoyed watching either of the sisters run snooty little Martina Hingis into the ground. Steffi could reflect on the glorious day at the French Open final when she came back and absolutely roasted Martina in the finals, leading to her infamous crybaby meltdown. But her mind was on something more immediate today. Husband, Andre Agassi, had just lost in an early round at Wimbledon, run off center court by some younger, stronger unknown. As he stared silently at the wall, Steffi knew her job was to find a way to gently massage his large, very tender ego.

Suddenly, the door bell rang and standing there were Serena and Venus, fresh from a quick and easy doubles victory. Steffi smiled and asked them in, but quickly discovered that it was Andre they’d come to see. Positioning themselves on a large sofa on either side of the dejected Andre, they started a very, casual light-hearted conversation. Steffi knew they’d heard of Andre's defeat and were there to help.

"To me", Venus began, 'You’re the champ. Period. And that's it." As she spoke, she looked deeply into Agassi's sad eyes. "Forget today, Champ. You’re still the best. Stay busy and you'll be back."

Serena could see Venus had the situation under control, so she rose to talk to Steffi, who had tears in her eyes as she watched Venus slowly bring Andre back to life. Steffi noticed through her tears that Serena's eyes were misty also.

"What's bothering you, honey?" Steffi asked gently, wrapping a sisterly arm around Serena who then opened The Daily Mirror. An showed her a headline that shouted in dark type, SABATINI: WILLIAMS SISTERS BAD FOR THE GAME!

Steffi couldn't help laughing as she read the headline, "Oh, Serena, c'mon now. Consider the source! Let me tell you something you'll figure out by yourself one day; some players play and some so-called players just talk. And if talking were tennis, Sabatini would have a lot more Grand Slams than one. But it's not. It's just talk - and that's all that washed-up slut does nowadays. Why do you think the papers call her 'Gabby'?"

Serena chuckled, but her eyes still showed that she was hurting. She was still too young, working too hard to excel, not to be hurt by Gabby's thoughtless comments. Then their quiet discussion was interrupted by laughs and smack-talking from Agassi and Venus. Thanks to her encouragement, Andre was ready again to take on the world.

"You kids have dinner plans?" he asked as he wrapped his arm slyly around Steffi's waist.

"No, not really," replied Serena, but Venus begged off, citing her match the next day.

"Then you're our guest tonight, Ms. Serena Williams...no argument," said Steffi as she playfully poked Serena in her firm tummy.

"Remember we have that cocktail party first, Babe," Andre reminded her.

"Will Gabby be there?" Steffi asked, her eyes lighting up mischievously.

"Free booze and a chance to show off her titties? What do you think?" he laughed. Then he glanced at the Daily Mirror headline and asked as he looked at Venus, "Did you see this shit?"

"Oh, yeah, I saw it. Worse, Serena saw it. You're saying Gabby Sabby's gonna be at that cocktail party?" Venus asked and Andre nodded. "Then Baby Sister, borrow the hottest little dress Steffi has in her closet. You're going to that soiree lookin' fine and you're gonna ask Ms. Argentina Thang what the fuck she means by sayin' we're bad for tennis. If you don't like her first answer, just dunk her ugly face in the punchbowl and ask her again." Venus snapped orders to Serena like a Paris Island drill sergeant to a recruit!

As Venus hugged Andre good bye, Serena and Steffi checked out the assortment of expensive gowns Steffi brought to London with her. As a retired champion, her role was to be seen and photographed and she had plenty of paparazzi-friendly outfits to work with. Serena found a revealing hot lemon yellow mini- that turned out to be a stunner. Without question, she would be turning heads.

In the limo on the way, Steffi took a very motherly attitude toward Serena., "Listen up and listen well young lady. You've got a tournament to win this week, so under NO circumstances are you to confront Gabby or in any way get in trouble or risk injury. I'll handle Gabby if it becomes necessary; I made a career out of thumping her tubby little tush when I played and I can do it again tonight if I need to. You just relax and enjoy the limelight. Let ME make Gabby eat her words."

Andre sat silent throughout the drive but his rock hard cock was proof he'd heard every word his wife said. As the limo entered the circular drive, they had to wait while the car ahead emptied. Andre noticed the first person out was his longtime friend and career rival, Pete Sampras followed by Pete's gorgeous blonde wife, actress Bridgette Wilson. Then, to his surprise, a third person followed. A long, slender female leg signaled her appearance, then long, flowing red hair came into view.

Andre's heart began racing as, on the sidewalk in front of him running her slender fingers absent-mindedly through her shimmering auburn tresses, stood all six feet of his ex-wife, Brooke Shields! As Steffi watched, she grew more pissed as she watched Brooke languorously arch her back, thrusting her perky breasts into prominence for the paparazzi as she seductively straightened her stunning black backless gown.

"Leave it to that bitch Bridgette to invite that hag along," Steffi sniffed angrily. "Just what I friggin' need...," she seethed.

As expected, the moment Serena Williams slid out of the car, flashbulbs exploded from all directions. Steffi had deliberately dressed down to ensure Serena got the limelight but now she regretted her largesse. She felt outgunned, knowing that Brooke was there dressed to kill!

As Serena, Steffi and Andre made their way inside, they saw the very vocal and flamboyant Gabby was surrounded by half a dozen aspiring Chippendale boy-toys. She was dressed in a hot little red number that left nothing to the imagination. In her loud, annoying voice, the Argentine big mouth shouted in greeting to Brooke Shields, who responded with a big, mischievous grin. The two embraced, then strode to the buffet table, arms around each others waists, like life-long bosom buddies.

"Oh, PUKE!" Serena hissed to Steffi, who burst out giggling when she heard it.

"Yes, PUKE, indeed!" Steffi shouted gaily, knowing full well her German accent would be detected by certain sets of ears in the room.

Sure enough, Shields and Gabby, spun around, their faces screwed into disapproving frowns. Steffi looked both of them in the eye, then shot an index finger insult to each as she took Serena's arm and they turned away dismissively, leaving Andre standing open-mouthed in shock!

Having run her mouth all week making catty remarks about the Williams sisters, Gabby knew full well what Steffi and Serena's appearance meant and she looked forward to a confrontation, especially with the tall, muscular - and very hostile - Brooke Shields at hand to help out. Plus, that mischievous grin on Bridgette Sampras face assured Gabby she had one more ally on hand, if necessary.

Meanwhile, old buddies Andre and Pete soon left the party to take a long walk together outside. Pete had also been eliminated from the tournament in the early rounds and both needed to feel the other out about their future as competitive players. There was also a business deal to discuss about a new proposed cable Tennis Channel.

With the menfolk out of the way, the cats began to show their claws. First, the devious Bridgette introduced herself to Serena, took her arm and led her out to the patio, supposedly to show her the exquisite gardens and grounds. Her real purpose, of course, was more devious - to remove Serena from the action and allow Gabby and Brooke tear into Steffi two against one!

Fearlessly but foolishly, Steffi had lost track of Serena as she hurried over to the buffet table to began filling her plate. No longer playing tennis, Steffi was now able to indulge her passion for high living. She found herself standing at the table squarely between her greatest professional rival and her greatest personal rival; Andre's pompous ex-wife Brooke.

As soon as Steffi moved into range, Gabby suddenly turned to her and shouted, "Steffi Graf, that's the last insult I plan to accept from you - ever."

Then Gabby unleashed a stunning back hand bitchslap that rocked Steffi back on her expensive Manolo Blahnik heels. As Steffi recoiled back in pain, Brooke stepped up and caught her from behind, putting her in a painful full nelson. While Brooke held Steffi firmly in her grip, Gabby unleashed a barrage of belly and breast punches to the defenseless Steffi's torso. Brooke chuckled wickedly as the Argentine spitfire put blotchy welts all over Steffi's body.

While Steffi was getting her lush body pummeled like a punching bag, clueless Serena was tip-toeing through the ivy in the well-kept English garden, admiring its beauty and oblivious to the terrible beating being laid on the woman whose back she'd promised to watch. But, as fate would have it, Serena felt the urge to use the bathroom. As she tried to excuse herself, she found a suddenly sinister Bridgette blocking her path.

Like a light bulb had gone on over her head, Serena suddenly got the picture. As Bridgette wound up to try to land a wild haymaker, Serena ducked and came up swinging. Having added boxing workouts to her training regimen, her uppercut was all the proof one needed of how well she'd learned her lessons. The pathetic blonde was lifted right out of her shoes and dropped awkwardly on her back in the petunias, knocked out cold by one devastating punch.

Serena took a short, admiring glance at her handiwork, then turned and hurried inside where she walked in and found Steffi already stripped and being tortured by Brooke and Gabby. Brooke was digging her long, sharp nails over Steffi's firm tits, while Gabby was landing brutal karate chops to Steffi's pussy. Shocked that no one was doing anything to stop their attack, Serena ran full speed into the massacre and dove through the air like an NFL linebacker.

Her head drove forcefully into Brooke's kidney as she wrapped her arms around the actress' waist and threw her rudely to the ground. Serena remembered what Steffi had told her about avoiding injury, but she was determined to kick Brooke's ass before the big redhead even had a chance to fight back. And so she did!

"Yo, Suddenly Susan. Looks like you're suddenly losin'," Serena quipped as she grabbed Brooke's flimsy evening gown by the front and with one quick downward pull, ripped it apart.

Serena treated Brooke to two full minutes of Living Hell. When the dust settled, Brooke was wobbling around on spaghetti legs; bloody nosed, black eyed, saggy breasted and holding her aching pussy with both hands. In the entire fight, Brooke had never even touched Serena! The noble Black gladiator stepped back and launched a flying drop kick; both feet smashing into Brooke's head. The big six footer toppled gently to the floor, unconscious. Getting to her feet, Serena surveyed her triumph, then calmly strode away from the motionless Brooke and did what she'd wanted to do originally, she headed to the ladies room.

Meanwhile, as soon as Serena turned the Steffi-Gabby match into a one on one, things went downhill rapidly for the trouble-making Argentinean. In their careers, Gabby had always been able to match Steffi in every measurable category - size, speed, power, agility and technique. But it was Steffi's superior mental toughness and will to win that always made the difference between them. Tonight's match would prove to be no different.

Freed from Brooke's evil clutches, Steffi sat up and met her enemy with a solid left hook. For the first time, the aggressor was getting a taste of her own medicine - not to mention a taste of her own blood - as Steffi's punch resounded deep in her jaw. Gabby clawed at Steffi's tender wounded breasts in retaliation, drawing pained squeals, but Steffi stubbornly refused to succumb to her pain and her fists were cocked and ready to do damage.

A stinging right cross/ left hook combination put Gabby on her ass, her feet flying upward as she hit the floor. As Gabby rocked back onto her shoulders, Steffi grabbed her by both ankles and Gabby's nightmare began to unfold. Steffi twisted Gabby's legs into a number of unnatural positions, each one eliciting screams of sheer agony from her victim. As Steffi was busy making sure Gabby would spend the rest of the Wimbledon fortnight in a wheelchair, Serena was returning from the bathroom.

"Hey, wanna trade? I'm guessin’ you'd like some quality time with Andre's skanky ex- wouldn't you? Plus, it's important Ms. Gabby and I become, errr..., 'better acquainted'! After all, for somebody with much to say about me, we should at least meet each other?" Serena said sarcastically.

Steffi accepted the deal right away and began the process of bitch-slapping Brooke back to consciousness. Serena quickly stripped away what little remained of Gabby's seductive little dress, then came her thong panties came next, leaving only a sheer pair of shimmering thigh highs as the only garment adorning the blushing Argentinean’s curvaceous body.

After kneading Gabby's breasts like two big mounds of pizza dough, Serena pinned her down school girl style, then grinned as she shoved Gabby's sweaty thong deep into her throat.

"Damn, girl," Serena remarked. "Your mouth is soooooo big, we gonna need TWO pair o’ these scanties to fill it!"

Serena rose up on her knees, reached between her thigh and winced as she ripped off her own panties, a pair her sister had designed for her especially for Wimbledon. Pinching Gabby’s nose until she opened her mouth, Serena shoved them between Gabby's swollen lips with the other pair.

“Nowwww,” Serena sighed. “Let's finish this Compton style!”

Serena reversed her position, put her hands on Gabby’s belly and squatted down with her big bad, bare bottom over Gabby's tear-streaked face. Then (pun alert!) Serena revealed her dark side as she began a rhythmic crushing motion. As she smothered Gabby into oblivion, Serena reached down and began plucking pinches of Gabby's hairy pussy patch, snatching one every thirty or so seconds as Gabby's muffled screams were apparent to only those closest to Serena as the panties and her all-encompassing ass flesh muffled any full expression of Gabby's distress.

Across the room, the strings of a tightly strung tennis racket were carving a crosshatch of crimson welts on Brooke' bare, tenderized and fairly spanked, bottom. Through hysterical tears, Brooke looked up and saw her ex-husband returning to the party, having left a surprised Pete Sampras to tend his wife Bridgette who was just barely reviving from Serena’s knuckle sandwich and bawling like a baby, curled in a fetal position.

As Andre surveyed the wreckage in the room, he smiled proudly as he came over to Brooke and leaned over her body to kiss his triumphant, albeit bruised and bloody, wife. He winced when he saw the scratches on her breasts left by Brooke's long, sharp fingernails.

Gently taking the racket from his wife’s hand, he pointed to the fear-frozen Shields. "Did SHE do THAT?” he asked, pointing to Steffi’s scratched breasts with the racquet.

"Yea,” Steffi blushed. “I guess I wasn’t as vigilant as I should have been. She’d have ripped them off if Serena hadn't come in and saved me."

"You've fucked with me and my wife for the last time, bitch," Andre snarled, his angry eyes boring down on Brooke's clueless, cross-eyed face. After Steffi gleefully forced Brooke onto her hands and knees with her round bottom raised, Andre drew back the racket and blasted it down on her already fire engine red butt.

WHACK! "Game!" he shouted as he raised his hand again.

THWACK! "Set!” he called as he smacked the racket even harder against his loathsome ex's ass.

CRACK! "MATCH!!" Andre screamed as he used a two-handed forearm smash that landed with such force the strings broke.

Gabby would need a wheel chair at Wimbledon, all right, but Brooke couldn't imagine sitting ANYWHERE for the rest of June or July!

Arm in arm, Andre, Steffi and Serena made a triumphant departure, waving gaily to poor Pete Sampras as he carried his limp, sobbing wife toward the carpark.

"You know, Andre, Pete's still one of my idols. But I've got to tell you - you've done a Hell of a lot better job picking wives.”

Steffi stopped and turned to face Serena, hands on hips, “Say WHAT?”

“Well, I mean the second time, anyway," Serena hurriedly added. “Second time’s a charm they say.”

Steffi nodded and hugged Serena, whispering, “Nice recovery from that foot-in-mouth fault hon.”

As Steffi opened a bottle of champagne in the limo, Andre hugged her and said gently, "I guess we all learn from our mistakes, eh?"

Then Serena threw her arms around Steffi and gave her a sloppy, wet kiss as Andre sat back awaiting his turn. It was going to be quite a celebration the night but it was the start of a week that firmly established Serena as one of the greatest women tennis players in the world and, in more ways than one, a worthy successor to the mantle previously worn by Steffi Graf.