What Love Means in Tennis

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I was tired out after one set of doubles. Sara was a much better tennis player than me, almost a match for David, and able to hold her own with my husband Eliot. She didn’t want to stop playing. We had a quick lunch on the patio, sandwiches, and iced tea, and she and Eliot went back out on the court to play another match. I had cooled down some, at least, but I didn’t want to go back onto the court. It was afternoon now, and it was going to heat up soon. David helped me clear up, picking up the plates. There wasn’t really any food to dispose of, everyone had been hungry. The air-conditioning felt great. It had been a fairly cool morning, but the patio had reflected the noonday sun and made me too warm. I put the dishes in the sink, offered David a beer, and plopped down on the sofa, crossing my legs under me. David sat down next to me as I picked up the TV remote. “Want to watch something?” I asked. bahis siteleri “As long as it’s not tennis,” he said. “Although I do love a woman in a tennis skirt.” “Or in any skirt,” I said. “I love you in that skirt,” he said. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll let you keep it on,” he said, reaching for my panties. “No David,” I said. “It’s inevitable,” he said. “Eliot and Sara could come in anytime,” I pointed out. “They won’t,” he said as his fingers touched me between the legs. “Not now,” I insisted. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my panties. “I’m sweaty, and I smell bad, and I haven’t shaved,” I said. “This isn’t the perfect time.” “We can’t wait forever until the perfect time,” he said. I couldn’t think of an answer to that. We’d flirted since the day we’d met, had a couple of make out sessions that ended just short of third base. It was inevitable like he said. I lifted my ass off the sofa, canlı bahis siteleri and uncrossed my legs, letting him slide my panties down my legs and off my feet. “Not here,” I said. “Where?” he asked. He proceeded to bury his face between my legs. I felt his tongue along my pussy lips, then he found my clit. “David,” I said. “The bedroom?” I asked. “That would be wrong,” he said. “In the sanctity of your marriage bed.” I almost slapped him, then the absurdity of his unwillingness to defile my marriage bed while licking my pussy made me laugh instead. “You sure do get wet,” he said. “And in a hurry, too. Sara takes a lot of work, and then I suspect she’s slipping in some KY sometimes.” I was very wet. Not really surprisingly wet, but a bit wetter than the time spent on foreplay would justify. I lubricate pretty well in inevitable situations. My pussy wants to be accommodating. I lifted canlı bahis my ass for him again as he slipped a throw pillow under me. He kneeled between my legs and started taking his dick out of his shorts. I reached forward and pulled them down a bit, helping him out. He was as big as Eliot, thick and veiny, with a beautiful mushroom head. I’d had my mouth on it one night, just my lips, and only briefly. He didn’t offer to let me have my mouth on it now, though. He thumped the head against my pussy, lifting me a bit, and smacking my clit with his dick. I wondered if Eliot had told him I liked that. What do men talk about? “Fuck me,” I said. I was ready to fuck, wanted his thick long cock inside me, but I wanted to hurry him along, nervous that we’d be caught. He slipped it into me, opening me with the tip, and giving me a couple of nudges before spreading me open and sliding into me as deeply as he could. “I’ve waited so long for this,” he said. He could have waited a bit longer, I thought, clenching myself around him. “That is so nice,” he said. “Fuck me,” I said. He slowly slid his dick out of me, then slid it slowly back in.

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