The Tennis Skirt  

rm_guithappy413 56M
5 posts
2/28/2005 8:35 pm

Last Read:
11/20/2006 5:26 pm

The Tennis Skirt

The tennis skirt–a white, flouncy pleated number that swung and grazed the tops of her thighs just below the line of her tiny white shorts–felt good. As it caressed the soft skin of her legs, Kate remembered parts of the erotic waking-dream she’d enjoyed that morning. She’d awoken thinking about a story a man–a stranger she’d met at a party–had told her about, an experience he claimed to have had at an almost deserted beach in the south of France 15 years before.

He told her that he’d been hidden in a hollow away from the other bathers at the beach, reading a novel that had some very good erotic scenes and had gotten semi-aroused when he suddenly looked up to see a beautiful woman only a few feet away. Without a word (fortunate, since he didn’t speak French), she sat on the edge of his towel, took a sip of his wine, and then proceeded to masturbate. He had joined in as well, and when they had both climaxed, the French woman finished his wine, kissed him on the lips and walked away.

Kate had lain in bed aroused, idly stroking her breasts and her sex in the morning light of her bedroom before suddenly remembering that it was, in fact, a workday and marching off to the shower. Throughout the day, however, the sense memory of the fantasy would come back to her and send a small shutter, like a tiny trapped bird flying up a chimney, through her body.

At present, however, Kate was not pleased. Her tennis date for the evening, her flighty friend Ashley, was a no-show and it was doubtful that she would find a replacement from among the names she scrolled through on her cell phone. To make matters worse, a strange man on the next court was firing balls at her.

Or more precisely, a ball. The offending missile had only just missed her feet moments before and came not from a game in progress, but rather from a solitary player practicing what was apparently a very unpredictable service game in the next far court.

“Sorry,” he yelled from the next court. Before Kate could get the ball, he was already on her court, smiling at her as he walked.

“My serve’s like a teenager sometimes,” he said, “comes and go when it feels like it.”

“That’s okay,” Kate said feebly.

She’d never seen the man at these courts before and it was obvious that he wasn’t a member. His gym shorts looked as though they were held together with sheer willpower; he wore a ratty T-shirt, was tan and had broad chest and narrow waist.

“Hit a few?” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I asked if you wanted to hit a few,” he said. “I mean, until your partner shows up.”

“Well, it appears as though I’ve been stood up.”

Without missing a beat the man said, “I can’t imagine that happens very often.”

Kate felt herself blushing, which made her mad.

“Anyway, I think we’re in the same predicament. Doesn’t look like my buddy’s showing up either. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Kate thought. Something about the man was disconcerting, probably the way he kept staring at her legs, or her shirt, she wasn’t sure which, and smiling.”

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Kate wasn’t sure how she felt about this stranger. He had an irritating way of answering every sentence with one of his own, as if he were only waiting for his chance to speak.

About her tennis, however, Kate was more than confident. She solidly returned his groundstrokes with faster, straighter shots of her own, adding a little spin when she felt like showing off.

After a few minutes the man began to sweat, and he finally approached the net.

“I think we should play a game,” he said, “but if you’re going to insist on kicking my ass, I think you should know my name. I’m Doug.”

He extended his hand over the next and Kate took it,

“Kate,” she said. “And just so you know, I don’t like to be patronized.”

“Fair enough,” he said, “but maybe we should play a while before you decide that I’m patronizing you.”

And so their tennis game went; quick volleys back and forth, endless rallies. Kate discovered quickly that he came to the net late and started dumping unreturnable volleys near the next.

After a while, Doug figured the strategy out and starting sending impossibly high lobs over her head. The third time this happened, Kate turned around abruptly and saw her stranger tennis partner smiling widely.

“What?” she said, thinking he was laughing at her tennis game, then saw his eyes flash down to her skirt.

The rest of the set went badly for Kate. His lewd looks had added onto what was already an unaccustomed self-consciousness about her tennis game; she made stupid errors, began double faulting. All the while, Doug’s confidence grew, among other things. She’d noticed his bulge from the beginning, a firm mass beneath his thread-worn shorts. Now, it seemed to be growing. After yet another high lob, which Kate instinctually chased down with her usual intensity, she wheeled around and saw him vigorously adjusting his goods. It was Doug’s turn to blush.

Kate knew she would win the second set.

She excused herself for a bathroom break, stopping at her locker to discard the white stretch shorts under her skirt.

Beneath these she wore a tiny sheet white thong.

As usual, Doug was staring at her legs as she walked out. Kate opened the game by serving, purposely elongating her lean body on the upward throw and then pausing. With each serve she felt her skirt fly up a little further each time. She made a point of picking up loose balls with her back to her opponent, being from the waist to give him the most advantageous view. By the end of the first game, Doug had totally and completely lost his will to win. He played as if in a fog, sometimes missing shots completely while he watched Kate move from side to side on the court. “Not fair,” he kept saying, “not fair,” without referring to what it was he was protesting.

The bulge in his shorts grew enormous, clearly straining against whatever he was using to harness it. After he double faulted to lose the set without winning a game (had he even won a point), Kate waved from her side of the court, lifting her skirt in a crude, mock curtsy, and watched his eyes, widen.

“Thanks for the game,” Kate said, “you’re quite a confidence builder. And I mean that in the best way.”

“You mean you don’t want to play a tie-breaker, see who’s best?” Doug asked.

“No,” Kate said, “I’m good.”

She wasn’t certain, but Kate thought she heard Doug say, “I’m sure of that,” as she walked away. Once more, as a lagniappe, she gave him another view of heaven as she bent over to put her racquet in its case, then she sauntered off, conscious of being watched every step, to the ladies locker room.

As she opened the door, she realized he was right behind her. She had every intention of directing him to the men’s locker room, of telling him that he was being too rude, of pointing out that there were other women in the locker room (which she suddenly realized was untrue) when he spun her around and planted his mouth on hers.

His body was incredibly sweaty against Kate’s own, only slightly moist, tennis whites. His bulge pressed against her leg as his hand firmly held her lower back. She couldn’t believe how strong he was; every surface of his body seemed to be a chiseled plane, his other hand touched her next, gently but insistently.
Kate kissed back.

“You are so incredibly mother fucking hot,” he said. “Forgive the crudeness, but it’s true. You know that, right? How very sexy you look right at this moment?”

“What do you think?” Kate said, taking Doug’s hand and leading him to a massage table a few feet away. She sat on the table, her legs slightly spread.

“Let’s see what you got,” she said.

He stopped a foot away from her, peeled off his tattered shorts revealing a black jockstrap. Kate suppressed a giggle.

“You guys still wear those?”

“If we want to keep our business private we do.”

The black jockstrap protruded from the man’s abdomen. As he pulled his T-shirt off, Kate reached inside the garment, gripping a cock that was rock hard and huge.

He groaned as Kate pulled gently, admiring his well-developed pectoral muscles, his flat stomach, the redness of his tumescent penis in her hand. Abruptly, she bent down and put it in her mouth, tasting pre-cum as it mingled with her own saliva. Her mouth closed around the head of it and she pulled back, saw the sheen of her own spit.

Moaning as he did it, Doug reached down and pulled Kate’s tight spandex top from Kate, her jog bra beneath it all in one motion. Kate’s perfect 34c breasts sprang free, her nipples erect in their freedom.

Doug lifted Kate’s face to his own, kissed her deeply while his erect cock strained against gravity, standing parallel with his flat stomach. He pushed the tennis skirt above her hips, revealing the sheer write thongs, now very wet. While he kissed her, one hand reached between her legs, grabbing her sex roughly, his left hand cupped her breasts, mauled it. She felt his balls, shaved she had noticed, rubbing against her knee.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse, “I can’t wait any longer.”

They both watched as he pushed aside her thong. Her vulva, a swollen flower accented by a small, triangular strip of pubic hair, oozed wetness. Her outer lips opened invitingly to the first touch. They both watched as the red tip of Doug’s cock parted those lips, her inner lips grabbing the smooth tip and seeming to pull it inside her. Suddenly, Doug plunged the whole of his cock into Kate, splitting her, filling her.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, “so fucking tight, fucking wet, fucking yes.”

With his hands grabbing her ass, he lifted Kate off the massage table, pulling her hips to his, pulling his back, plunging again and again. Inside her, she felt the tip of his dick press violently against the front of her vaginal wall, hitting her g-spot repeatedly. Her thong rubbed against her clitoris. She felt his balls swing again and again, slapping the bottom of her ass as he laid her on the massage table. Her vaginal muscles clinched as he pulled away, playing with her clit as he pulled his cock from her and she came and the lights on the ceiling swam and her entire face flushed but she didn’t care anymore and when she opened her eyes she saw that his penis was a volcano of semen, a fountain that spurted into the air and landed all over her tits, her stomach, her belly button–she felt a small drop on her lip and licked it away greedily,

For a moment, Doug looked as though he might pass out. He propped himself against the massage table as the blood returned slowly to his head.

“Now,” he said, “let’s see if we can give this little tennis skirt the attention it deserves.”

Kate lay back as Doug kissed, very gently, her swollen, ready pussy.


5/21/2005 10:08 pm

That was one wonderfully put together story, I felt apart of it the whole time, like I was in Kate's place! Feeling everything that she was. Wow I wish that my husband was home now! I loved this story, if it is true or not, I would have to say that Kate sure had an awesome time!

rm_guithappy413 56M
3 posts
7/6/2005 4:27 pm

Thank youfor your kind words. it's nice to finally get a comment on this story.

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