tagCelebritiesSerena Celebrates At Last

Serena Celebrates At Last

byquinn rogan©

It had been a busy night. I looked at my watch – 10.35 p.m. I decided to pick up one more fare from the Savoy Grill, then call it a night. The wife and kids were down at the coast for the weekend – I'd be home by midnight, and I'd have a stiff whisky and watch the rerun of the Ladies Singles Final before turning in ……

The commissionaire beckoned as the cab glided to a halt at the front, indicating the side entrance. I steered the cab round the corner, where it was so much quieter, away from London's busy streets.

"Must be a VIP," I thought. "Dodging the paparazzi."

I leaned back and swung the back door open. A tall, dark figure in a long black coat hurried out of the shadows, and the commissionaire closed the cab door behind her, with a salute.

"Where to, Miss?" I asked, automatically, glancing in the mirror. My passenger was female – young, fairly tall, and black.

"Oh, can you just drive around for half an hour, please?" came the reply from the back. "I just need to get my head together." The accent was definitely American – I looked again in my mirror, as I pulled out into the West End traffic, heading for Hyde Park Corner.

"Wow!" I thought to myself. The blonde-tinted dreadlocks were unmistakeable, as was the smile, the gleaming white teeth.

"I'm sorry, Miss Williams," I said, automatically straightening my cap and sitting up. "I didn't recognise you, right away. And congratulations on this afternoon's result."

Her smile was unexpectedly shy, and warm.

"Oh, thanks," she said, then – "you're not a tennis umpire, are you?"

"No, Miss," I replied, puzzled.

"Then forget the 'Miss Williams' – call me Serena!"

I laughed.

"OK, Serena," I chuckled. "I'm Phil. And well done this afternoon, anyway – I managed to see most of the second set."

"First set was better," she remarked, laconically. "But, thanks – you know, this is the first time I've been able to sit down and just enjoy it!"

"Ah," I said. "Family?"

She nodded, slipping her coat open to reveal a sensational red satin dress underneath, the front straining to contain her magnificent breasts. I caught my breath. She was one hell of a woman!

"Yeah," she said. "Oh, don't get me wrong – I owe them everything – including Venus, but – well, when you win a big one, like that – and they don't come any bigger than Wimbledon – well, you want to kinda 'go mad' …… But, well, we had a doubles to play later on, and then we had to go for a meal with Mom – Dad's at home in Florida – and how can you really celebrate when the girl you beat is sitting opposite you, and your Mom's as concerned about sympathising with her as she is about congratulating you?"

"Mmmmm," I said. "Difficult."

"Anyway," she went on. "Who wants to be with their parents on a night like this?"

"Well, you're not with your parents, now," I said. "You're with one of your biggest fans! Anyway, how come you left, anyway?"

She grimaced, guiltily.

"I – I said I was going to the washroom, but I just couldn't stand the thought of going back, so I asked the guy in the uniform to get me a cab – just to get me out of there for a while. In fact, I should call them ……"

I concentrated on my driving as she pulled a cellphone out of her pocket and spoke, softly, into it.

I couldn't ignore her presence, though. I hadn't been able to keep my eyes off her for the past fortnight. The gorgeous sway of her ass cheeks as she walked between points, in that miniscule white skirt. The glorious cleavage of her shiny black breasts as she stooped to receive her opponent's serve. I had had an almost permanent hard-on for two whole weeks ……

"So," came the voice from the back, as she slipped the cellphone back into her pocket. "You're a tennis fan, are you, Phil?"

"Well, no – not really," I confessed. "I'm like most Brits – I watch Wimbledon, then wait for the football season to start again."

"Oh," she sounded disappointed, and I felt a real heel. She didn't really need another disappointment – tonight, of all nights!

"But I always try to watch your games," I added, hastily – "and your sister's. And I like when you're playing together, in the doubles."

"Oh, really?" She sounded really interested. "And why is that, Phil?"

I began to stammer some nonsense about how she and her sister had revolutionised ladies' tennis with their power and athleticism, and my passenger listened quietly until I ran out of ideas.

"Well, that's good to hear, Phil," she commented when, at last, I finished. "You wouldn't believe how many guys watch us just because they like our cute asses. It's good to meet someone who appreciates us for the quality of our tennis ……"

I looked in the mirror. Her eyes were sparkling with amusement, meeting mine in the mirror. I grinned at her.

"Well, I won't say you're not easy on the eye, as well," I mumbled, half-embarrassed, and was rewarded with a deep chuckle.

Without thinking, I said – "Hey, Serena, would you like a drink – to celebrate? I'm finishing after this job – we could go to a pub, or – my house is only ten minutes away."

As soon as I finished speaking, I thought – "Silly bastard – of course, world-famous tennis star and sex icon wants nothing more that to go for a beer with a London cabbie on the night she wins Wimbledon! Yeah, right!"

But, to my astonishment, her mouth widened in that killer smile and she said – "Hey – that would be nice. Do you really mean it, Phil?"

"Yeah – well – sure," I replied, pinching myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

"But ……" she went on, and I thought – "Oh, yeah – here it comes ……"

"But …… I think it better hadn't be a 'pub', did you call it? Too many people – some one might recognise me and that would spoil things. Would you mind if we went to your house?"

"No!" I said. "Of course not!"

"Will it be OK with your wife?" she asked, anxiously, and my heart sank. Of course – as soon as she realised it would just be me and her, all bets would be off. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of lying, then acting surprised at Sheila's absence, but ……

"Oh," I said, lamely. "My wife and kids are away – visiting – down at the coast. I'm joining them tomorrow."

"Oh," Serena said, thoughtfully, then – "right. Well, then ……"

We both fell silent. I was inwardly cursing my honesty ......

"What's your address?" Serena asked, at length. I told her, wondering why she had asked. She took out her cellphone again and tapped on the keys.

"I'm just messaging Venus, to let her know where I'll be – to save them worrying," she said, with another smile. My heart jumped in disbelief.

"God!" I thought. "Imagine – Serena Williams – in my house!" I wished Sheila had been there to see it, and to meet her, as well. She is a real tennis fan, my wife, and she would be green with envy ……

Serena chatted easily for the five minutes it took me to reach the quiet street where our terraced house was. I was glad I had tidied up, and cleaned, before leaving for work that morning. I also had a bottle of sparkling wine – not champagne, admittedly – but there would be enough bubbles to create the illusion, and I didn't suppose Serena would be a big drinker, anyway. She was such a magnificent athlete and clearly took great care of her body. And it was a body that deserved all the care it could get!

My mind reverted to images of her in her tennis gear, and my cock stiffened again – hey, forget it, Phil, I told myself – the girl just wants somewhere to chill out and relax for a while. It would just be great, being in her company – something to remember, for ever.

I drew the cab to a halt and jumped out to open the door for her. She swung her legs out and, as she stood up, I was relieved to see she was no taller than me. That always unnerves me, when a woman stands higher than myself. She had buttoned her long coat again, but I could still detect the sensual sway of her hips as she preceded me up the short garden path. Her scent wafted back – alluring, enticing ……

I opened the front door, snapping on the hall light as I did so. As she passed me in the narrow doorway, she brushed lightly against me. I hoped she hadn't been close enough to detect my state of excitement – her nearness was intoxicating.

She was opening her coat and, automatically, I reached out for it. She turned and handed it to me with a smile of thanks. I nearly dropped it.

Her red dress was full-length, and fitted her like a sheath. She was unbelievably attractive. Thin straps – like strings – held the dress up over her powerful, but very shapely, shoulders, and it was pulled tight over her magnificent breasts, showing no cleavage at all. But, whereas the bra she wore while playing completely covered her nipples, whatever she was wearing tonight gave them full rein, and they protruded through the red satin like twin organ stops.

The dress poured down over a flat stomach, then flared out with the swell of her hips, clearly outlining her strong thighs.

My cock was pressing hard against the rough denim of my jeans, and I prayed that my state of arousal wasn't visible. I hung up her coat and ushered her into the front room, turning on the lights and the stereo. An Elton John CD was already in place – one of Sheila's favourites – and I pressed 'play' as Serena settled in one of the easy chairs and I busied myself at the drinks cabinet.

I held up the bottle and asked – "Will this be OK, Serena?"

"Yeah – fine," she answered. "Anything – but just a small one. I don't drink a lot. Say, this is a nice room."

We made small talk as I poured the drinks, then, handing her her glass, I sat down opposite her and raised mine in a toast.

"Well," I said, "here's to a very lovely lady, and her wonderful victory today!"

She grinned – a natural, unaffected smile – "Why, thank you, kind sir," she said, and took a small sip.

"So," I asked. "How do you usually celebrate – you know, when you've won other tournaments?"

She looked down for a second, then her eyes came back to mine. Her face was serious, then it broke into a smile again – but this time the smile held a hint of wickedness.

"I'm not sure you're ready to hear this, Phil," she said, her voice suddenly low, and breathy, and I felt a catch in my throat. Suddenly, her sexual attraction for me was almost overpowering.

"Try me," I responded, trying to sound confident, but I could feel the glass shaking between my fingers.

"Well," she went on, "on the circuit, we all live, pretty well, like nuns – most of us. Fitness – concentration – they're everything. You take your 'eye off the ball' for a moment and, next thing you know, you're on the plane home."

I nodded. "I can understand that," I said. "It's really tough – the competition."

"Yep," she said. "So, when you win, all that adrenalin – well, it's been banked up, with nowhere to go – and, afterwards – well, can't you imagine ……?"

My breathing was becoming difficult. I remembered reading about what was supposed to happen after the closing ceremony at the Olympics – hundreds of the world's top athletes working off their pent-up energies and tensions in the sexual orgy to end all orgies ……

But – that couldn't be what she meant …… could it ……?

With disbelief, I watched as she got up, slowly, from her chair. Her eyes were still on me, but, unbelievably, they were focussed on the crotch of my jeans ……

"I guess you can imagine what I'm talking about, Phil," she breathed. "Sure looks like you're thinking about it, now ……"

Her hands had gone up behind her back and I watched, incredulously, as they slid down, and there was the unmistakeable sound of a zipper being pulled. Then she crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers lifting the string straps of her satin dress.

Slowly, her eyes fixed on me, she lowered the front of her dress. Her brassiere was red lace, standing out vividly against her gleaming black skin. Her breasts strained against the flimsy material, her nipples pushing almost right through it.

She bent forward a little, to slide the dress over her hips, then, as it cleared them, simply let it go and it whispered down her bare legs, to the carpet.

I looked up at her – the most magnificent creature I had ever seen in my life. The scarlet V of her panties failed, miserably, to contain the profusion of black hair between her thighs. And, at the very apex, a spreading little dark patch on the material, told its own story ……

Slowly, she descended to her knees in front of me. I goggled as her hands reached out. Her right hand flattened itself against my tumescent erection – her left skilfully raising the catch of my zip.

"I think you've got the cure, Phil," she muttered, her eyes glittering. "All I need to celebrate – it's right there!"

My zip whispered downwards, and her fingers slid inside. She chuckled throatily as she felt the telltale dampness on the front of my shorts, then rubbed her fingers against it before withdrawing them and placing them against her pink tongue.

As she did so, her other hand burrowed into my shorts, and I gasped as a fingertip touched my pulsating erection, and then her hand closed round the pulsating flesh.

Her eyes closed momentarily, then opened again, wide and hungry. Her fingers slid out of her mouth and her hand went back down to my crotch. With two hands, she extracted my cock from my jeans, and she groaned …..

"Oh, Phil – that's just what I need – to celebrate properly. Can I – borrow it?" Her eyes flickered towards me, with a nervous smile, then, not waiting for an answer, she ducked her head ……

The feel of her thick, warm lips around my knobhead was exquisite. She drew my cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling round it, teasing it skilfully. One of her hands burrowed down into my jeans, and cradled my balls, gently caressing them.

I looked down at the back of her bobbing head, and then, beyond it, to her broad back, bare – apart from the thin strip of red material of her brassiere. With shaking hands, I caressed her shoulders, then her back, until my fingers touched her bra-strap. My cock, by now, was halfway down her throat, and my fingers were sweating so much I could hardly grip the hooks and eyes ……

Then, suddenly, the two halves parted, and fell away. I reached down, round her sides, and my hands cupped the firm fullness of her dangling tits. How many times had I dreamed of having these tits in my hands, while watching her on the TV screen, trying to catch a glimpse of them as she bent down to get a drink at the changeover?

My thumbs rasped against erect nipples, and I felt her jerk, in response.

Her head flew up and her eyes met mine. They were savage with longing, with passion. Her fist clutched my throbbing cock. For the first time, I saw her naked tits. They were superb – great shiny firm orbs, with thick dark purple nipples standing erect on large circular beds.

"Oh, I need it in me," she groaned. "I need you to fuck me – really hard."

She relinquished her grip on my cock and stood up. I kicked off my shoes and tore at my jeans and my shirt. Serena stood, watching, as I stripped in double quick time, her fingers pushing against the front of her miniscule red panties, her other hand teasing her upraised nipples alternately. Her tongue was running round her lips, her breathing harsh and laboured. She was bent over, as if waiting to receive a service, and I wished I was behind her, looking at her glorious naked butt cheeks ……

I don't think my cock had ever been so hard, my excited balls drawn up, tight, into my scrotum – the shuddering girl in front of me was sex incarnate and, in two strides, I was holding her in my arms.

I raised her face and kissed her mouth. Her lips worked wetly against mine, and our tongues snaked past each other, delving deep into each other's mouths. My cock was jammed, hard, against her firm belly, and my hands slid down her back to close over the exposed cheeks of her undulating rear. Again, I felt the incredulity sweep over me – that I was actually fondling the sensuous ass I had watched time and again, swaying sexily under that little white skirt – the cheeks bared, my fingers slithering into the deep crack between them ……

Then, Serena was falling back on the deep pile of the carpet, her arms round my shoulders, her breasts squashed against my chest. We landed, side by side, clutching each other, both of us moaning desperately, out of control.

I thrust my hand between her parted thighs. Somehow, her panties had disappeared and, first of all, my fingers delved into a deep bush of springy hair – then the tip of my middle finger felt moist flesh, and I crooked my finger-end. It slid between yielding lips, to be gripped by tight, slippery muscle – then I felt her hand grip the shaft of my raging cock and I levered myself up, on my knees.

Lithely, she slid her left leg round my knees, spreading herself open beneath me. I looked down at her – she was utterly magnificent, her black shiny breasts heaving, her athletic thighs splayed apart, her black-haired pubes thrusting up at me, her hand guiding my throbbing prick to her very centre – her core of pleasure.

"Oh, yes, Serena," I gasped. "Put it in. Feed my cock into your cunt ……"

"Fuck my brains out, Phil," she pled, simultaneously. "Nail me to the floor ……"

And her vaginal muscles gripped the head of my cock. I looked down. The contrast between my white cock and her black pussy was the most erotic thing I had ever seen – then she pushed upwards and I forgot everything but the exquisite sensation of my most sensitive flesh being absorbed, gripped, teased and tortured by her liquid vaginal walls.

How I managed not to come on the first thrust I shall never know – but manage it I did, and so began the most sensational ride of my life. My hands, and mouth, were everywhere, as were hers. Her thighs were clamped round my waist, and my cock, once inside her, never re-emerged, but the riding motion was sustained, purely, by Serena's incredible use of her vaginal muscles, tensing and gripping my steel-hard penis, then releasing it momentarily before possessing it again.

We were never still, and my energy never flagged – I was high on the most incredible dose of adrenalin. We seemed to be fucking for hours – and yet, it might have been seconds. Time ceased to have meaning – all that mattered was the ecstatic sensations assailing each and every one of my nerve-ends.

My mouth and hands gorged themselves on her gorgeous black tits – her rock-hard nipples. Her fingers raked up and down my back and her lips and teeth kissed and bit lightly on my chest and neck. I was in paradise, and I never wanted to leave this place.

But, imperceptibly, I was aware of my massive impending climax. I knew I couldn't hold on much longer, but I sensed that the girl writhing passionately beneath me was lagging behind. Her time had not yet come and I couldn't leave her 'high and dry' when I swirled – very soon - into the crazy tumult that orgasm would bring.

I couldn't last much longer – it could only be a matter of seconds ……

In desperation, I reached my right hand down. It touched the bunched muscle of one of her ass-cheeks. The base of my thumb could feel my own testicles, bouncing against her spread thighs. I straightened my middle finger and slid it between her splayed cheeks, feeling around frantically – then I found it – her smallest opening.

My finger was lubricated with Serena's vaginal juices and, summoning my last reserves of self-control to stave off my climax for just a few more seconds, I pushed against the puckered hole. I felt it tighten, then it relaxed, and my finger slid in smoothly.

As it pushed deep into her ass, I heard her continuous moaning change pitch – get higher – turn into a peal of high-pitched ecstasy – then her love-channel tightened around my erupting cock. Her arms and thighs squeezed harder round me as she teetered for a last split second on the edge of the volcano and then, simultaneously, we tumbled together into the deep vortex ……

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byquinn rogan© 1 comments/ 72274 views/ 6 favorites

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