He stood behind me, put his hands on mine, and gently pointed them down toward the ground.
“You want to drop the racket down like this, at the end of your backswing,” he said. “Yeah, that’s it.”
I could smell his cologne. It was not tacky. But it was musky and nice. I liked the way he smelled. You wouldn’t know he’d been out here sweating all day on the court giving tennis lessons to women like me. They probably all wanted to fuck him. Roberto was eminently fuckable. He came from Argentina. Must have danced a mean tango. He had a skinny tango dancer’s body. And a deep soft voice that you would like to listen to while being fucked by him.
“You smell nice,” I said.
Oh shit! Did I just say that out loud?
“You smell nice, too,” he said, keeping his head near my face, as he stood behind me, demonstrating the way my racket should pull back and how it should swing forward. I could feel his sweet breath on my cheeks.
Yes, I smelled fine. I had put on my Chanel cologne that morning hoping it would cover up my own sweaty odor as Roberto ran me around. He was ruthless.
“Footwork is everything,” he had said earlier, as he tossed one ball to the left, and one ball to the right, and watched me dash back and forth from side to side like a pinball. It seemed like he almost got off on running me around.
Then we took a break from all that running.
“Let’s take a look at your form,” he said.
“You can look at my form all you like,” I said.
“It’s good form,” he said. “Very good.”
“I try,” I had said.
I’m not getting any younger, but I hold it together pretty well. Last month my husband bought membership to the local golf and tennis club, because he wanted to play more golf. I don’t like golf. It’s not good exercise and it takes forever. I don’t have time for that, as I am running my own business and trying to expand. But I thought I would give the tennis a try. Plus, I thought it might be good to meet and socialize with some of the people at the club. It has a lot of rich investment angel type members. I thought I might be able to hook into some of that to help expand my business to the next level.
Instead, I was hooking into Roberto. He had really caught my eye, the first day at the ladies’ clinic. We have three teaching pros, one white, one black, but I signed up for the clinic with the Argentine with the coffee-colored skin. I liked him a lot.
“I’d like to work with you one on one,” I had told him after the clinic, where I hit very badly with about ten very proficient, wealthy Mulholland ladies.
“I’d love to work with you one on one,” he said, looking straight into my eyes.
I detected a little ice on the faces of the Ladies of Mulholland. I was a new doe approaching their buck. I don’t know if any of them were fucking him. But I did know I liked him. I just wanted to flirt. I was a happily married woman — three years ago I married Rick, a realtor from Brentwood who gave me everything I always dreamed of. I didn’t need to fuck the tennis pro.
Or so I thought.
I told Rick I had signed up for my first tennis lesson and he was very excited. The more I got into tennis, the more reasonable his decision to spend a fortune on a golf and tennis country club membership seemed.
“Great, honey,” he said. “Tell me when it is, I’ll come watch.”
“Sure,” I said. But then I forgot on purpose to tell him about it. I really didn’t want him watching. I wanted Roberto and I to have a little privacy.
The courts were well fenced in and covered with these green plastic tarps, so on the court you were not observable. Except from above. There was a little veranda above, with a few chairs where every so often someone sat with an Arnold Palmer from the bar and observed the action on the court below. But for our first lesson, there was no one up there. I was glad. Because I was getting quite turned on as Roberto put his arms around me, to show me how to swing the racket. And I could see a little bulge in his shorts — was I giving him an erection?
“Now brush up your racket,” he said, swinging my hand and my racket forward and up.
He brushed against my right breast as he moved his arm forward with my arm swinging the racket. We ignored that.
When we started working on serves, he was practically kissing my neck, his face was so close to mine, as he stood behind me and tried to show me the correct toss.
“The toss is something you have to practice at home,” he told me.
“What about you?” I asked him. “Do you toss it at home?”
“Sure,” he said. “I toss it a lot.”
“Do you toss it really high in the air?” I asked, suggestively.
“I do have a high toss,” he said. “Explosive.”
“I bet you hit a lot of hard serves with these ladies of Mulholland,” I ventured.
“Sure, I’ve hit hard with a few of them,” he said. “Only the top players, though. I don’t like to hit too hard with the lower level players. Only the three point fives and the fours.”
It should be noted that there is a ranking system in the UTA that goes up to seven, I think — one being a beginner and seven being a touring pro.
“What would you rank me as?” I asked.
“Ten,” he said, without missing a beat.
“Oh, I didn’t know the numbers went up that high.”
“Eleven,” he said, smiling. “Your numbers go up to eleven.”
“You’re fishing for a bigger tip,” I joshed him. “You don’t have to do that, Roberto. I’ve already got a nice crisp hundred dollar bill in my tennis bag. My husband gave it to me. He told me to give you a nice big tip. That way you’ll pay more attention to me.”
“I’ve been paying attention to you since you joined the club,” Roberto said. “You don’t have to tip me for that. The pleasure is all mine.”
I was so turned on, I really was about to turn around and kiss him full on the lips. Then, I looked up on the veranda, and froze.
It was Rick!
He was smiling down on us from above, holding a drink in his hand.
I pulled away from Roberto and turned around to him, blushing. I gave Rick a little wave. He waved back down at me.
“So, should we rally a little?” I said, and I gestured with my eyes toward the veranda. Roberto followed my eyes and got my meaning.
“That’s your husband?” he asked. “He doesn’t play tennis?”
“Golf,” I said.
“Oh, that’s good,” he said. “I’ve got you all to myself then, on the court.”
“You’re a naughty boy,” I scolded him.
“I’m a naughty man,” he corrected me, and he gestured with his eyes then, down to his bulge. He was a man, down there. The bulge had grown another inch.
“Well,” I said, glancing back up to the veranda. “Let’s just focus on the tennis.” Then I added, “For now at least.”
“For now,” he agreed. And we hit the ball around for a while. I was terrible. But I didn’t mind. I had impressed him in other ways, I could tell.
I’m an attractive woman, I don’t deny it. Most men I met in my youth wanted to fuck me. Then I turned 40 and now only half the men I meet want to fuck me. It’s like there’s a cut-off for a bunch of guys. They don’t even look at the older woman. We become invisible. But some young studs can still see us. Sure, we may have a wrinkle or two, and our skin might not be as supple and shiny. But if we keep ourselves in shape, we’re even more fun in the sack. Because we know what we’re doing. We don’t just lie there like some stupid 18-year-old hottie who thinks it’s a great privilege for you to be fucking her. We work with you. We use our pelvis. We use our glute muscles. We really know how to use our mouth. We’ve been sucking cocks for twenty years, folks. We know how to go down. And we’re not averse to ass play. Hey, we know we’re in the late sets, here, sexually. We want to explore everything before it’s game over and we have to leave the tournament.
After the lesson I smiled at Roberto, slipped him his hundred dollar tip, and planted a kiss on his cheek near the corner of his mouth, so that our lips technically did touch for second. I thought I saw that bulge in his shorts twitch again, as our lips brushed each other ever so slightly.
“I’ll see you next week, sexy,” I said.
Then I walked off the court and let him enjoy the vision of my ass in my new white tennis skirt.
“Did you enjoy that?” I asked Rick later, when I joined him on the veranda with my own Arnold Palmer.
“Very much,” he said. “You did really well.”
“Could you hear us talking?” I asked.
“No. But I could see you hitting. You were hitting good.”
By the following week Roberto was calling me sexy too. He said my new outfit looked sexy. I did like the way my legs looked in a white tennis dress. I had been in the sun a lot so my brown legs were set off by the white in a nice contrast.
“You move well,” he said. “Very gracefully.”
He said, “You’re getting more powerful,” after the fourth lesson. The subtext of which might have been that he felt himself about to succumb to my powers. Or it might not. I wasn’t entirely sure.
Our fifth lesson was on a Wednesday morning. I knew Rick was at work, not playing golf. And I knew there would be nobody out on the veranda looking down. I was excited.
“That feels so nice,” I said, referring to the brushing against my breast that Roberto did each time he swung my arm forward. “Do it again.”
He swung my hands forward, and in addition to brushing my breasts, I felt his hard dick pushing into the back of my tennis dress.
“That feels even nicer,” I said, abut the pressure on my behind.
These tennis dresses are awesome. They come with a little built in tennis panty you can hold tennis balls in between serves. Some ladies wear panties under these panties. Not me. I felt sexier when I put the tennis balls up there and a bit of my pussy maybe touches them. And then, when Roberto held that ball in his hand, well…
“It does feel pretty good,” he said. “I mean I like the way you’re moving. But you have to smoothly stroke it. Picture a nice, smooth, long, slow stroke.”
“A nice smooth long slow stroke.”
“But sometimes you should stroke fast. And hard. Picture that.”
“A nice hard fast stroke,” I murmured, imagining stroking that cock hard and fast.
“In addition to the stroke,” he coached me, “the other thing is the thrust. That’s where all the power is.”
He was thrusting forward against me. Back and forward again.
“Oh I can feel the power.”
He was pushing up now, grinding his hips up and down, and I moved my hips in rhythm with his.
“Mmmmm,” I said, almost breathless. “Where is this all leading to?”
“The finish,” he said. “That’s what it’s all about.”
“The finish? So soon?”
“Well, first there’s the ball contact.”
“I like that.”
He spun me around, forcefully then, and looked me deep in the eyes.
“Oh, my head is spinning,” I said. He was going to kiss me. I was breathless with anticipation. But then something made me turn and look up to the veranda. My heart almost stopped.
Rick was up there sipping on his drink, watching us!
“Shit!” I said. “Rick! He’s up there.”
“Don’t worry,” said Roberto, calmly. “We’re just playing tennis.”
He turned me back around and put his arms around me as he held my wrists and swung the racket with me again.
“I’m just showing you how to swing,” he said.
“I’m not a swinger, Roberto,” I confessed.
“But you’re swinging now,” he said, pulling my racket forward and really brushing against my breasts and pushing against my butt with his pelvis. I was blushing like crazy now. This was incredibly intimate contact for my husband to be witnessing. I just wasn’t sure how clearly he could see from up there. It was three stories up, and about twenty yards set back from the court. And we were at the far end of the court. Maybe he couldn’t see anything at all. Maybe I was being overly cautious.
“Can’t he see us from up there?” I asked, nervously.
“He can only see us playing tennis, trust me,” Roberto said, confidently. I had the sudden feeling this wasn’t the first time he had done this with a female member while her husband watched from above.
“Now, we need to work on the grip,” he said, grabbing my ass hard.
“Oh,” I sighed with pleasure. I was so torn with pleasure and panic. Sure that Rick could see him grabbing my ass, but so delighted to feel his hand on there at last.
“Let me feel your grip,” he said. “Go ahead, grab it.”
I reached back behind me to grab his dick over his shorts. It was fully erect now.
“That’s a good grip,” he said. “We should talk about the various…positions, on the court.”
“I like it from behind,” I said. “Like this.”
“So do I,” he said. “It’s my favorite position of all.”
He gyrated against me.
“And now, if you’re ready,” he said, sweetly. “We can work on the serve. I mean, I will start. I’ll serve it to you. And I won’t hold back. I’ll serve it hard and fast.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Roberto,” I hesitated. “With Rick right there? Can’t we wait till next week to work on…serving?”
“We can wait as long as you like,” he said. “I’m just letting you know, I’m ready now…to serve it. Really ready.”
“And you’re sure he can’t see?” I said.
“The important thing about the first serve,” he said, “is is getting it in. And keeping it in.”
I was a little shocked. He really wanted to put his dick in me as he stood behind me on the tennis court, his place of employment. I mean, of course that is exactly what we had been playing at all this time, but I had only been playing, hadn’t I?
“Isn’t it hard to get it in?” I asked.
“Oh, it can be hard to serve into the box,” he said. “But it gets easier with practice.”
“You’ve practiced this before?” I said, stung with another flash of jealousy.
“I’ve been teaching a long time,” he said.
“And you’ve served it into the box right here and you haven’t gotten into any trouble?” I ask.
“No,” he said. “I mean, look at me. I still have a job.”
I felt a real pang. That fucker had done it before, with one of those other ladies of Mulholland.
“You’re a real slut, you know that?” I said. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I am,” he admitted. “But sometimes I can’t help myself. I’ve just got to serve it up.”
“Oh what the hell,” I said. “Go ahead.”
“You’re sure?” he asked, and he sounded overjoyed.
“Yes,” I snipped. “Hurry, before I change my mind.”
I felt his cock slip into me, from behind, as we stood there at the back of the court.
“That’s my first serve,” he said.
“It was an ace,” I gasped.
“Here’s my second serve,” he said, pushing into me again. “Try to return it this time.”
I pushed my butt back into his cock and let it go deep in me from behind.
“Oh!” I cried. Then nervous, I said, “Can he hear us?”
“He can’t hear a thing,” Roberto said.
I pushed back into him again.
“That was a good return,” he said. “You’re really using your hips well.”
“You too,” I sighed. “You play with a pretty large…racket, don’t you?”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “And very tightly strung. I like to hit it hard, and firm.”
He pushed into me very hard then.
“Oh!” I cried out.
Then I panicked. “I’m sure he can hear me.”
“No, he can’t,” he said. “Just concentrate on the game. What’s the score? Do you remember?”
“Advantage in,” I said.
“Advantage out,” he said, pulling out, and pushing back in. “Don’t try to cheat me. You’re not a cheater, are you.”
“Oh,” I sighed. “I am…I am a cheater. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said.
“I’m not sorry to you,” I panted. “My poor husband.”
“Ah, he’s fine,” he said. “He’s got nothing to worry about. We’re gonna keep this little activity on the court. Off this court, we will never see each other. It’s better, trust me.”
“Just on the court?” I said, flabbergasted. He wanted to make this a regular thing! And somehow he was still employed at this tennis club.
“You’re ballsy,” I said. “I’ll give you that.”
“Now tell me the score again,” he said, fucking me harder and harder. “Tell me the score!”
“I think we’re at break point,” I panted, as I felt myself about to come.
I looked up at Rick. He was smiling up there on the veranda. Sipping on his drink. Oblivious.
“Oh yeah,” he cried.
“Smash it,” I said. “Smash it hard!”
“Ahhhh!” he yelled, and he shot in me from behind. I came with him, feeling his ejaculate shooting up into me in four separate spasms.
We separated and caught our breath, as some of the millionaires of Mulholland approached the court.
“Hey Roberto,” they said, cheerfully. “Are you guys all done?”
“Oh yes, we just finished…together,” he said. Then he looked at me quizzically. “I think.”
“Yes, together,” I said. “Simultaneously.”
He smiled. I looked at the ladies. Did they catch my drift? Did they smell the sex on the court? They seemed to glare at me suddenly. I smiled a cold smile back at them. This finding an investment angel plan probably wasn’t going to work out after all. Oh well. The club had proven to have other advantages.
“Bye Roberto,” I said. “Thanks for hitting with me.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “I’ll hit with you any time.”
Afterwards, I joined Rick on the veranda.
“I didn’t expect you,” I said.
“My client cancelled. So I figured I’d come over here and watch you.”
“Well,” I said. “How did I do?”
“Great,” he said. “You hit it really well.”
“Thank you, dear husband,” I said, “It means a lot to me that you took time out of your day to come down here and watch me play on the court.”
“Oh, I love to watch you play,” he said.
“You’re so sweet,” I said, giving him a nice wet kiss. That was the only thing I had missed, on the court with Roberto, a nice wet kiss to finish the whole thing off.
“Wow,” said Rick, after the deep passionate kiss. “Aren’t I the lucky guy?”
“You sure are,” I said. “I’m gonna go hit the showers.”
“I’ll wait for you out here.”
I went into the locker room. Took off my tennis dress and went into the shower. The water washed away the slow stream of Roberto’s abundant come that was leaking down my thigh.
On the way out of the locker room I stopped by the desk and told the girl I wanted to book another lesson with Roberto next week.
“He’s got a slot on Tuesday and one on Thursday, both at eleven,” she said. “Which one would you like?”
“I’d like them both,” I said, boldly. “There’s some stuff I really want to work on.”
“Yeah, Roberto is really fun to work with, isn’t he?” she said, and I felt myself blush. “I’ll let him know you want to see him twice next week. I’ve got your husband’s credit card on account. Should I just put it on that?”
“Yeah, charge it to my husband,” I said, as my blush receded.
And I went to join Rick on the veranda.