SCENE AT A TENNIS LESSON

copyright: Lesley Tara, 2010


I have a crush on you. I have had such a crush on you for the last month, from when you started giving me these personal coaching sessions. I love tennis, I have a natural talent for it, and I’ve been playing it since I was six years old. Now, eight and a half years later, I am getting pretty good and beginning to win the local junior tournaments … and my heart is set on making it onto the professional women’s circuit and, who knows, maybe some day I will lift the trophy at one of the majors! So, getting individual coaching in advanced skills is really important if my game is to progress to the next level, and who better to do this than you – a former touring player, and now the professional coach at the most expensive country club in the area.

I come here straight from school, four afternoons a week. I change into my tennis gear in the locker room, and then go through to a special indoor coaching court. It is separate from the other game courts, rather smaller and quite private – there is no audience viewing place here, no one at all except you and me, which is just how I like it … and so do you.

I think you look fantastic in your playing outfit. The navy blue singlet top clings to the entrancing swell of your bust – your breasts are nicely medium-sized and so smoothly shaped and rounded, encased in their tightly-fitting sports bra. Your very short white pleated wrap-around tennis skirt swishes engagingly with every step that you take, and it shows all of your tanned thighs and legs – so athletic, so fit and trim – right down to your white ankle socks and trainers. Your blonde hair is cut short, but it is thickly-layered and shaped to frame so neatly around your ears and your clear high cheekbones. You have merry, dancing hazel eyes with lovely dark eyelashes, and there always seems to be a smile hovering about your lips and a bouncy vigour in your movements. But I know what attracted me first and most, is your ass – so flared from your narrow waist, so jutting and jaunty, so lithe and supple.

I get to see it a lot, which is just great by me. I have noticed that when you go to the other end of the court to retrieve the balls that I have been serving, it seems that you always have your back to me as you pick them up, and you do that by bending over from the waist whilst keeping your legs straight and together – so that your little white skirt rides up and I am presented with a clear view of your taut butt, and can see most of your panties. I’m getting familiar with them now: usually they are white, sometimes a lovely feminine pink or a pale blue. Your posture as you reach down to the floor shows me the gusset of your panties as it disappears between your legs – if you were not wearing them (maybe sometime, please, oh please, sweet Lady Mary, you might forget to put them on and not realise it), I would be staring at the base of your pussy, at the start of your lovely womanly slit. I can imagine it under that thin bit of cotton fabric – oooh, Christ above! ahh, this is getting me so hot and wet just to think about it, can’t you see how turned on I am, just longing for your touch, and longing to touch you?

I think you are wonderful, so clever and so smart, and such a good coach – I admire you so much. I hope you like young lissom athletic girls like me – I’m imagining that you must have fucked plenty of them when you were a touring professional player, like those cute ball-girls that you see on TV at Wimbledon. I’ve heard rumours that those of them who want to can spend their nights in the hotel rooms of the female players, and I don’t think they’re getting lessons in philosophy – I think they’re squirming their hot little pink tongues into tennis-pro pussies, and then getting their sweet young girl cunts stretched wide and drilled deep with a big strap-on. Ooooh, it just sends shivers through me thinking about it (and I get such a kick whenever I see those girls on the TV coverage), and now my pussy is oozing again and there’s another dark wet patch on the crotch of my panties.

Do you think I look nice, too, in my tennis gear? My skirt is the shortest that I could find, my tennis shirt has several buttons at the top undone – for ventilation, I explained when you asked me, your eye maybe lingering just a shade too long on the view down my front that this affords. My panties are always innocently plain white, yet also rather saucily brief – really more like a thong.

Oh, I do hope you don’t think I’m too young for you! I know I’m only just sixteen, but I am well-developed for my age – as I have to be, to compete at this level: I am five feet ten inches tall, with still a bit of growing to do, so I’ll definitely reach six feet. I am well-built in proportion, with strong shoulders that give me such a powerful serve, and budding A-cup breasts that poke their nipples visibly in my shirt – you have said a few times, looking at them with a slightly preoccupied expression, that I should wear a sports bra, but I joke back that I don’t need one yet and I like the freedom of movement, but I guess I will need one in another couple of months. I think I have a good ass and legs – the boys at school are always saying that admiringly, though of course not realising that I’m not at all interested in having a boyfriend, but still it’s nice to have confirmation.

I am hoping that all of the rumours about women’s professional tennis are true – that it is riddled through and through with voracious lesbians, ready to prey on any sweet young pussy that comes their way. They won’t have to try hard with me at all – just one look, one beckon of their little finger, and my panties will be off and I’ll be on my back with my legs spread open. I think I’ve always known that I’m a lesbian, and certainly for the last two or three years. I have posters on my bedroom wall of some of the prettier young rising tennis players, but my parents don’t know that when I go to bed at night I lie there fingering my clit till my back arches and I come, whilst imagining that those hot babes are fucking me, just as hard as ever they want. That’s for the future – right now, I hope those stories are true because it means that you might be a lesbian, as I think and pray that you are.

You are showing me some variations on stances to adopt for receiving serve, and you position me carefully with my feet apart and braced at the ready. You are standing right behind me, and I am so conscious of your presence, with your sweet breath tickling my ear and neck, and the proximity of your warm feminine flesh. You place your hands on my hips to adjust my angle of alignment, and your touch thrills me – I feel electrified, so energised, with every sense at peak attunement. You move closer, and briefly and so tantalisingly your breasts brush lightly against my back, and my breath exhales with the softest of sighs.

‘More like that, yes’, you murmur, and you adjust me to bend forwards a little more; to balance this, my ass has to stick out more backwards, and the result is that your pelvis presses gently against it, and my right buttock nestles naturally into the triangular space formed by the tops of your thighs and your lower stomach. Oh, this is just too much temptation, and I cannot prevent my instinctive reaction. I bend a bit more at the waist, so that that my ass juts back into you more firmly and pushes my butt-cheek right against the front of your panties, with just the thin layers of your skirt and mine separating our naked flesh.

You give a little sudden gasp, there is a catch in your voice, and for a couple of seconds your body responds automatically and you grind your pussy against my firm butt.