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SCENE AT A TENNIS LESSON
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. Then, still pressing hard against me, you move your hands from my hips and slide them up my front to cup my breasts from below. I give a whimper of pure pleasure and astonished delight – can it be, can my longed-for desire and sticky night-time fantasies be coming true? You squeeze my nubile young breasts, and you pretend that this is just so as to show me the correct set of my torso for this move – but you hold me there much longer than could ever be necessary for that. You lean a little closer, my ass still pressing in between your thighs, and I feel your lips almost brushing against my ear as you whisper:
‘I could teach you so much about the game ... on and off the court.’
As you say the last three words, your thumbs unmistakeably rub across my nipples, feeling their hardened stiffness. I manage to croak out a reply, for my throat is suddenly parched and dry:
‘Please – oh, yes, do – please do ... show me, take me, I’m all yours!’
And you are kissing my neck, and licking my ear, and nibbling on my earlobe, and your strong hands have found my small breasts and are massaging them so authoritatively, making my nipples burn with a wildfire intensity.
‘Well’, you say with a teasing smile, ‘let the lessons begin ... I think we’ll continue in my office.’
You take my hand, leading me out of the small practice court and a few yards along the corridor, into your personal office. As I stand next to the desk, my breath caught in my throat in wondrous anticipation, I am watching your every movement. You carefully lock the door and pull down the blind on the inside; your office has no other window, so now nobody can see what is happening in here.
Now you kiss me properly for the first time, open-mouthed and with our tongues tangling and twining around each other. You tug my tennis shirt out from the elastic waistband of my skirt, and then with fervid eagerness you run your hands up underneath, over my stomach and ribs to my chest – and I feel your firm long fingers on the bare skin of my breasts for the very first time – but not, I hope, oh so I do hope, not for the last time! This is just a beginning, I know it is – I am on the cusp of something wonderful, ready to spread my wings (and other parts!) and fly, oh to fly so high with you! You are going to take me to the promised land, to the Valhalla where flows not mead and honey but the sweet sticky vaginal juices of women and girls making hot passionate love.
With a sharp tug, my shirt is bunched up under my armpits, above my breasts and exposing them to view. I lift my arms, and you pull the sports shirt over my head and cast it away with one fluid and athletic movement – and my eye is caught by the sway of your breasts as you do so, and I feel myself going all loose in my pussy, wetness dribbling into my skimpy panties.
Your hands rest on my shoulders for a moment, as you gaze hungrily at my slender youthful body, now naked from the waist upwards. You gaze into my eyes, and your right hand trails down to take my left breast delicately in its grasp, two of your fingers rubbing my enlarged nipple – it is so hyper-sensitive that this sends tremors shaking through me from head to toe.
You are delighted by my compliance, my physical responses, my evident eagerness and my openness to whatever you want to do. Still, I am much under the legal age of consent, and you need a little reassurance. You look deep into my eyes, your gaze steady but also warmly affectionate, and you ask me:
‘My little honey-pie, are you sure about this? Are you quite sure you want to do this with me?’
I have never had any doubt. I have been angling for this from my first lesson with you, from when I saw you move so gracefully across the court, from when I saw your lithe body in profile – and from the first glimpse I had of your ass and your panties. This is all my Christmases and all my birthdays wrapped into one – if a fairy Godmother gave me three wishes, I would use all three to be here like this with you!
I run my tongue along my lips, looking up at you with bright shining eyes and all the lustrous appeal of a girl ripening with puberty. I put every ounce of conviction that I can into my voice and posture, and answer you clearly and softly:
‘Oh yes! Please, please, yes! I want this so much, I have dreamed of this – I know for certain that I’m a lesbian, I don’t ever want to be anything else, but I’ve been so frustrated with no one to show me the way.’
Then suddenly and boldly, I know what to do in order to seal this bargain, to make quite sure that you won’t retreat from your offer to be my mentor – on the playing court, and in bed. I take your other hand and push it up under my little tennis skirt, onto my panties, and I push your fingers into their damp crotch.
‘See how much I’ve longed for your touch – feel how wet I am, how open for you! And take me, please – please take me!’
You give a little breathless gasp as your fingers caress my cunt through the now-sodden gusset of my panties, and your eyes light on fire with wonder and lust.
‘I’m gonna’, you breathe huskily, ‘oh, yeah, babe – I’m gonna take you, I’m gonna take you all the way!!’
With an expert motion, you flip wrist your wrist under my skirt and push your hand down again – but now inside my panties and cupping my pubic mound. I give a whimper of pleasure and excitement – for the first time ever, another woman is sexually touching my cunt, stroking my pussy and teasing her fingertips along my tight slit. I feel like I’m on fire down there, and wild desire floods through me. I start begging you to fuck me, as my pussy oozes wetness onto your enclosing fingers.
You smile, and your grip shifts – now both hands are under my skirt and hook into the waistband of my panties at each hip. Slowly, drawing out the pleasure of the moment in a teasing way which has wonderful erogenous effects, you tug the panties over my ass and away from my cunt, and then you slide them down to my ankles and remove them – though not without giving them an appreciative sniff before you chuck them aside.
Now you turn me around and move me back against your desk. You always keep it so neatly clear – a sign of the orderly mind which I admire so much (it’s not JUST your stunning mature body that I’ve fallen head over heels for!), so it is easy for you to lean me gently back across it. My feet are over the edge of the desk and still on the ground, as you lift my little tennis skirt up to bunch around my waist, and my naked pussy is exposed to your view for the first time.
You smile fondly at the tight little slit that is revealed, and when you run a finger along it I get an electrifying pulse of erotic sensation – I can’t help letting out a gasp, and my eyes widen at this strong sexual charge. Your hands reach for my young breasts, taking one in each, and you start to knead and grope them – and at the same time, to even more powerful effect, you kneel between my legs and your mouth brushes against my labia.
Shivers run down my spine and hot flushes surge through my pelvis and stomach, as your teeth nibble along the edges of my outer labia, and then the tip of your tongue insinuates itself into the tiny gap and probes along my length. Your hands still grip the small mounds of my breasts, and my nipples are so hard and fiery they are like rockets ready to take off and explode in starry bursts. You are licking more firmly now, and I can hear myself making little mewling sounds like a baby pussy-cat – and I am, oh! I know that I am going to be such a cat for pussy, all of my life!
My novice cunt is quite small and tight, and you let go of one of my breasts because you need to use your fingers to prise me more open, to ease the way for your tongue and – ooooohh!! fuckit!! oh yes!! – your fingers to slide into me. My vagina is quite small but I am really wet down there, and now that you have more of an opening, your fingers slip inside, entering me, and –
‘Oh?!’ you gasp in shock, rocking back on your heels, your gorgeous lips leaving my pussy and opening in surprise. Your fingers had probed into me far enough to bump against my hymen; somehow, you don’t really know why now, you had just never thought that I might be a virgin, although of course it’s really very likely at my age, even nowadays. You look up at me, with an expression of concern and seriousness which is endearingly attractive.
‘You’re a virgin!’ you exclaim, which is rather stating the obvious.
‘Mmm, yes,’ I reply: ‘I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Well ...’ your tone is rather dubious; ‘I don’t know ... I really shouldn’t, you might not like ... you might not be ready to ... perhaps, err ...’ and you trail off, leaving me suddenly fearful that you will balk at this fence, and I couldn’t bear that disappointment. I have been hoping and praying for a woman to seduce me for more than a year now, and I’m not letting this chance slip away. I prop myself up on the desk on my elbows, my legs still deliberately stretched wide apart. I reach down and gently rub along my pussy, and your eyes are drawn to it like a magnet.
‘I want this!’ I declare with fierce intensity, ‘I have no doubt, I know – I want this so much, I want this like nothing on earth – and I’m more than ready, I want it now!!’
I can see this is making an impression, soothing you like a horse whisperer calming a nervous filly. Now I play my trump card:
‘And I want it to be YOU! No one else, I want YOU to be the one – to be my first. I’ve been saving my virginity for you – so take it, take it, please oh! please take me!’
To be honest, it’s not strictly true – in the last couple of years, if I had met any girl or woman who wanted to fuck me, then I would have let them do so without a second’s thought. But I hadn’t been able to find a lover of any kind – and then, very soon after I first met you, four weeks ago, I decided that you would be the one – you must be the one – to initiate me.
This strikes home like a missile – your eyes widen, and your mouth makes a silent Oh! You lick your lips, gazing at the sixteen-year-old virgin pussy that is being offered up to you. Who could resist – and why should they, who cares about some legal age crap when a sweet young girl is begging you to fuck her? You’ve bitten on the hook, and now all I need to do is reel you in.
‘Are you sure? Now? and here?’ I feel happier, for there is much less doubt in your voice and posture now, and getting less by the second – you just need this final confirmation, but I know we have crested the mountain and in a moment we will be swooping down the other side, and hollering with excitement and glee.
‘Yes.’ I say it quietly, with a sober certainty. ‘Make me a woman – and make me yours. You know that I will never, ever, forget you.’
You tear your gaze away from the tiny pink slit of my vagina, and for a moment look me in the eyes. Seeing there my determination, my desire and my eagerness washes away the last of your hesitation. You say ‘OK, then!’ and break out in a huge smile of delight and anticipation.
‘Well, I did say I would teach you,’ you say musingly, ‘and this really will be the book from lesson one! So ... let’s do it properly!’
You rise to your feet, and pull me upright from your desk. You kiss me for a moment, and then you breathe huskily into my ear a request to remove your top and sports bra. My hands are shaking with nervous excitement, and you have to help me when I fumble with the bra clip – but then it is away, and I see your smooth breasts properly for the first time. They are pert and firm, with larger aureoles than I had expected, and with engorged nipples that just beg to be sucked. I need no encouragement, and swiftly bend forwards, taking one of your lovely tits into my mouth and fondling and stroking the other.
‘Aaahh! That’s good – yes – mmm! I think you could have a natural talent for this too, honey, as well as tennis,’ you observe, adding frankly: ‘and if so, you’ll be sure to go a long way – and have fantastic fun – on the women’s tour, when you turn professional!’
I am absolutely thrilled by that, and I have a warm glow from the implicit compliment that you have just paid me – for you said ‘when’ I turn pro, not ‘if’!
‘Now, babe, my skirt and panties too, please.’
I drop to my knees in front of you, and I unfasten your sports skirt at the side and peel it away from your hips. Today’s panties are plain bikinis in a cute girly pink, edged round with a little white lace trim. They also have a small red heart sewn on the middle of the crotch, just about where your clit must me, and I can’t resist leaning forward and placing a reverent kiss there. Then I tug your panties down to your ankles, and you step out of them, kicking them aside.
For a moment, I am lost in admiration as you stand in front of me, completely naked apart from your trainers and ankle socks. Your hands are planted akimbo on your hips, your breasts are high and proud, and you toss your head like the thoroughbred champion that you are. Then you reach down, gently take my head between your hands, and guide my mouth forwards until my lips are touching the warm bronzed flesh of your bare shaven cunt.
‘Show me that you want it,’ you say, ‘show me that you’re a lesbian – if this is your first time, then lick my cunt, eat my pussy, taste my cum, and you can make sure that you like it.’
I don’t waste time on speaking – my instant reply is action, as my mouth fastens like a limpet on your cunt, and my fingers reach for each side of your labia to stretch them apart. Of course, you are much bigger than me, much more mature in development, and much more Sapphically experienced. I am amazed by the looseness and width of your vagina, and then again by its depth as my tongue and fingers seek their way in. You are wet, oozing fluid, and I can smell your musky pheromones and taste the sticky sweet-but-spice of your juices. They are like heady wine to me, so rich and flavoursome, so fulfilling, and I am lost in sensation as I lap eagerly away, trying to squirm my tongue into every crevice of your sex. You give a little broken cry, and I feel your body tremble for an instant – after which there is more of your pussy-juice to lap up, somehow subtly different in its flavour, but just as richly satisfying, if not even more so.
‘Aaahhh, that was good ... really good!’ you say with satisfaction. ‘Well, babe, if that was the test for your first lesson, this here teacher-lady is going to grade you an A and give a gold star as well! But, now I think it is your turn – your first turn.’
You explain that we will take it slow and easy, and that it can’t be avoided that the actual rupture of the hymen may hurt a bit, and there will almost certainly be a little show of blood as well. I nod to show that I fully understand, and am still eager to proceed.
You lay me back on the desk – I still have my tennis skirt on, but you leave that – you’ve always liked fucking a girl who still has some clothes on, like some of her lingerie, or a skirt thrown up around her waist, or a pair of boots and hold-up stockings. You go to the locker in the corner of the room and bring back a towel, and with a gesture you indicate for me to lift my hips and ass; when I do so, you slide the towel underneath me.
Now you are unhurried, as you want to make this special, truly memorable. Your mind goes back for an instant to your own first time – it was another girl, two years older than you at eighteen, the captain of your school tennis team, who took you in the locker room after suggesting that you stay on late for ‘a private practice match’. She produced a strap-on from her kit bag (actually it was borrowed from the team coach), and she fucked you doggy-style from behind, not realising that you were still a virgin – when she thrust into you and the hymen tore, it was sudden and painful, but you bit your lip and gave only a sharp gasp because you didn’t want her to stop.
At first, you kiss me tenderly, our tongues meeting in an exchange of saliva. Then you trail kisses gently down my throat and across my chest, and devote your oral attentions first to my right breast and then to the left one. The resulting sensations are delicious, and I feel myself going completely loose and open – and dripping wet – in between my legs.
Sure enough, your mouth continues downwards, across my stomach – with a tickling lick around my navel – until it comes to the very top of my pussy. You nibble there for a moment whilst your fingers probe into me again, stretching my vagina wider apart, and you trace your tongue up and down the slit, whilst rubbing a thumb against my clitoris. I am softly moaning, writhing slightly on the desk, lost in a sexual daze.
When you are sure that I am well lubricated – and you see how turned on I am, how up and ready for it – you pause for a moment and go round to your side of the desk. You unlock a drawer and remove a long shiny tube. In my euphoric haze, it takes me a moment to recognise this, but then I give a delighted squeal. I don’t have one myself of course – there is no easy opportunity for a girl my age to buy one, or any place where I could hide it at home that my parents might not discover, but I have often wished for such a thing. How wonderful – a vibrator! It is sleek and smooth, silver in colour, with a top end that tapers to a point but not quite symmetrically, so that it points more to one side.
You give a slightly sheepish smile, and say that sometimes you get bored when you are waiting here with an hour in between lessons, and it helps to pass the time. I’ll bet it does!! But if you had me here with you, we could make the time fly in an even more pleasurable way – let me know, even better: book me in for those times, and I’ll be here, panties off and legs spread whenever you want!
At first, you keep the vibrator inert, using it as a dildo and just stroking the tip of it along my pussy, rubbing outside my labia before probing into the hot moist gap between them – which is wider now, far wider than I have ever see it flower before. You begin to slide the vibrator into me with a gentle pressure, easing it backwards and forwards, and going inexorably a little deeper each time. The sensations I am receiving are amazing, thrilling and so arousing, and I am babbling pleas for you to take me, have me, do me, split me, shaft me – oh, just fuck and fuck and fuck me!
The tip of the vibrator is now bumping against the thin membrane of my virginity, and at this point you switch it on. You leave it in place for a moment to do its work, and its pulsing presence in my pussy is shredding what remaining composure or inhibitions I might have – which is little enough by this stage.
I am on my back across your desk, my hands convulsively gripping its edges, my little tennis skirt a sweat-soaked white rag shoved up above my hips, and my legs as far apart as I can spread them. You lean over me, your lovely breasts swaying like a hypnotist’s pendulum. You have one hand holding the base of the vibrator, whilst the other rolls my right nipple between forefinger and thumb, tugging on it gently. You look down at me, steadily holding my gaze.
‘Now?’ is all that you say.
I nod vigorously: ‘Yes, oh, yes! Please – have me now, do it to me NOW!!’
And so you do – with a firm wrist motion you thrust the vibrator that further inch, meeting a resistance that tugs against you briefly and then is gone. I give a cry – it hurt more than I had expected, but only for a brief stabbing second. Quickly this fades, though leaving a tenderness behind, and I nod and smile at you to let you know it’s fine, it’s OK, don’t worry – and don’t stop!
You begin to thrust the vibrator in deeper and for longer, building a bit more force each time, sinking it in so that your fingers gripping its lower shaft have to enter me as well. I feel a climax coming, but one such as I’ve never known before from my masturbations – which I now realise were just feeble fumblings compared to the real thing. My hips are bucking up and down, driven by a motor over which my conscious mind has no control whatsoever, my mouth hangs open, and my whole body is shaking and quaking. You lean over me further, and your mouth fastens onto the breast that your hand is not tweaking, whilst your elbow acts like a piston rod, driving the shaft of the vibrator in and out of my pussy with increasing vigour and pace.
A sobbing scream is torn from my throat, as my head jerks spasmodically from side to side. I give a series of cries – all variations on the theme of ‘fuck me’ – and then the orgasm explodes, my back arches, and I give a long shuddering moan. It seems like a dam has burst in every sense – in my mind and in my vagina, from which a spurt of juices splashes onto your desk. You trail a finger through this and lift it to your mouth, licking it as if to taste a fine vintage – and I am, of course, sixteen is a very nicely flavoured age of pussy!
You have a huge smile on your face, and you say softly: ‘Welcome to being a lesbian, babe, and may you feast upon every cunt that you desire.’ You are tender and gentle as you switch off the vibrator and withdraw it from my vagina, but even so the movement sends delicious shivers all through me.
I lie here on your desk, looking at you, and I reach up to cup and caress your breasts, so temptingly swinging above me. I feel so satisfied and complete, and relaxed in a way I have never felt before. I smile at you, and whisper:
‘You are wonderful ... I think you are so wonderful!’
I am rewarded with your warm smile, and you bend down and kiss me softly on the lips, and then on each nipple, and then delicately between the legs. Your fingers part my labia once again, and your long index finger slides into my hole. I am so sensitive there now, that at once I respond, thrusting back against you and lifting my hips reflexively. Your eyes hold mine, your thumb finds my clitoris, and I shudder with delight as I feel another climax building, as you whisper your heart-warming reply:
‘So are you, babe’, you say admiringly, ‘so are you’.
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