Anyone for Tennis, Dennis? Ch. 01

I was still twitching, feeling the sensation of the material against my naked skin.

I think I purred.

I barely felt my short, white, pleated, tennis-skirt being flicked up my back.

Of course.

This is why we were here.

I had known. And yet this was not what I had expected. But now I did.

Of course, it would be like this. It was only ever going to be like this.

With HIM how would it be any other?

I felt his hand on my bottom. He had big, soft, hands. No manual labourer- he.

He did not have the hard, calloused hands of my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend.

"Perfait." He said, rubbing his hand on my arse cheeks as he has done on the statue in the garden.

I was not surprised, and yet still had not really expected it, when I felt him move away, only to come back hard and fast against me.

I felt the air gush out of my lungs.

This is the way it should be.

This was the way to treat a tart like me.

I felt the instant surge of heat. I felt the sting.

I felt the impression left by his hand as he moved away again.

I could feel a tingling where his palm and each finger had made contact.

But mostly I could feel the heat. A heat not just on my poor, tender, butt cheek, but deep, deep within me.

I waited. And waited.

The tension built.

And then it came. Another smack. This time on the other cheek. The one that he had touched earlier. The one where there was a few, red, stripes lingering from the half-hearted smacks, loser-Larry had given me the previous night.

I was knocked forward. My breasts mashing into the soft leather. My nipples tingled.

The next two strikes came fast and hard. My bottom was a ball of fire.

I wanted this, but did not know how much I could take.

I felt alive.

I felt free. I was locked down, but free to enjoy the pain in a way I had not thought of. Had not experienced. Had wanted all my life. But had not really known it until now.

This!

This is what I had longed for in my dreams.

There was a brief hesitation. Just long enough for me to think these thoughts and wonder.

Then a series of blows rained down fast and hard and random.

I was crushed against the device. My breasts squeezing into the dimples made to hold them. My knickers were rubbing against the thick leather seam.

I had wondered about that seam. Thick, tough, leather with big, serious, stitches.

A ridge that was now pressing against me just -- THERE.

Every time I was hit, my body slid forward on the saddle. As I relaxed, I slid back.

Rubbing.

Arousing.

Heating.

FUUUUUUUCK! My body was screaming.

I could feel the tingling. My toes were bathed in hot water. My thighs were tense as steel.

My belly felt full and empty. I could feel the fire.

Another series of blows.

Five?

More?

I could not count.

Nothing else existed. I could no longer hear the blood pumping in my ears. I had long forgotten the games outside.

All that existed was my flaming buttocks.

My pussy was as hot as my bottom.

Another series of smacks. Steady. Measured. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

And on the last one, I came.

I came like I never had before.

Molten metal filled my veins.

My pussy clamped down empty and longing.

Twitching. Twitching.

But then I felt the soft touch of flesh.

My knickers were pushed aside and he entered me.

I came again as I felt his bar of hot steel fill me.

He was bigger and harder than lousy Larry.

Not that I was thinking that at the time.

Nothing existed outside of my pussy, gripping him. Feeling his flesh against my searing bottom. Feeling his big, cool, hands caressing by burning bum

I was in heaven.

I wanted this moment to last forever.

If it never happened again, I wanted to remember this feeling. To feel so hot and full.

He stayed inside me forever. Moving, touching, stroking. A week, a year later -- later, later. He came and filled me more.

His seed flooded my insides. Flooded my senses.

I was exhausted.

Floating in my own dream-world of pleasure and pain.

I was a wet, limp, rag, drifting at the bottom of the ocean.

I could hear my blood woosh, woosh, woosh in my ears.

Vaguely, far away, I heard a cheer.

"Ah! So it is." I heard him say from miles away. "The games. They are over. We must go."

He withdrew and I felt so, so empty.

I heard clicks as my wrists and ankles were released.

I tried to move but had no muscles. They had deserted me.

Gently, Dennis helped me down off the horse with is big, strong, hands, and held me.

"I would offer you a shower, but there will be prizes. You will be missed. No?"

"Oh gods." I nodded. Trying to stand on jelly, wobbly legs.

"Maybe later, then." He took my hand to kiss it again.

Gods! The way he kissed was so sexy.

Then he helped me to straighten myself up. He helped me with my bra and Polo shirt. His hands now soft and gentle. Comforting. He still smelled of wild flowers and trees.

"Everyone will be hot. Will be sweating on such a day. After so much sport. Yes?" He chuckled.

Sport?

HA!

He had had his sport all right.

He held my hand as he led me back down the corridor. He even went ahead of me down the dark, winding servant's stairs.

As we approached the side door, I ran my fingers through my scraggly brown hair.

What must I look like?

Dennis let go of my hand as we emerged into the June sunlight.

He took my hands to his lips again. But kept his eyes staring into mine.

What words could either of us say?

Fortunately nearly everybody was down by the bottom lawn and the Tennis courts. We were more or less hidden by the Rose bushes and Rhododendrons.

"I am to congratulate your Angela? She it will be, who has won." He said eventually.

"Not mine. Not mine at all. But yes. I would bet she has won." I said. I tried not to sound too begrudging. I was not. The tone of voice was just my usual reaction to her.

Angela may have her prize and keep it. It was not a fraction on the prize I had.

As we emerged round the bushes, where everyone else came into sight, a few heads turned our way.

"... And this lovely Rose was given to me by my wife. Now my Ex-wife." Dennis pointed as if he had indeed been giving me a guided tour. "I brought it here from my 'ouse in Fleury. The climate is better here. For the flowers."

I nodded.

Ex-wife? I wondered what that story was.

"Ahh and we have finished? Oui?" He asked aloud, as we approached the rabble of villagers. There were a dozen or so men and a dozen women, still in their Tennis clothes. There were double that in partners, audience, fans, or helpers. Perhaps 60 or 70 people.

I recognised nearly all of them. If not all their names, then at least to nod and say hallo as we passed in the street.

We had never had such a turnout. But perhaps the change of venue had something to do with that.

Some of the villagers had grumbled a few years ago, about the ancient hall being bought by a 'Forner'.

At first he had kept quiet and nobody knew much about him. Only recently had he become somehow involved in village activities. Probably through one of the committees or something.

Now everyone had turned up to have a look around and eat his food.

One of the stuffed shirts from the village committee approached Dennis, as I tried to slink into the background.

They shook hands and talked for a few moments.

"So this year the lady's winner goes to Anjayla Forduswooorthy." Dennis announced aloud. It sounded like he was struggling, perhaps genuinely, perhaps not, with the English name.

Angela came forward to shake his hand and accept the trophy.

She turned to the crowd of onlookers who cheered and clapped.

Joe from the local newspaper took her picture as she held the trophy high.

My trophy was shining like a beacon under my skirt. I could feel cum trickling down my inner thigh.

Perhaps it was a good job that I was standing right at the back.

After being handed another trophy and some whispering from the stuffed shirt, Dennis announced

"And the gentlemen's trophy goes to Graeme Jenkins. Winner two years... now."

For that I was pleased. Graeme was a decent guy. He did a lot of work on keeping the village looking nice. He had never hit on me, but always said hello and asked about me. I even liked his little, mousey wife, Doreen.

"Please. To accept my congratulations." Dennis said. "And please all join me. On the terrace at top. A celebratory meal. Yes?"

The stuffed shirt gave a speech. He droned in a monotone and I had no idea what he was saying. Something about how good the village clubs were, this year. And how exceeeedingly grateful he was for Dennis hosting the annual competition.

Drone, drone.

I zoned out.

I could still feel that feeling. I could feel the outline of Dennis's hand on my butt cheeks.

I would not be sitting down for days.

Good job that I would be walking home. It was not that far and it had seemed a bit daft to drive.

Angela had driven. Of course. In her, brand new, Jaguar. Her house was a bit further out, but not that far.

The committee, with the winners, led the way across the grass, up the terraces towards the waiting tables and catering staff.

I lingered at the back.

I did not want anyone behind me as I climbed the steps.

They were small steps, made of wide stone slabs. Nothing like the steep steps up to that room.

But I still didn't want anyone behind me.

Until, that is, I felt a cool hand on my burning rear.

"You take a few days to heal. I think." He whispered.

I grunted a sort of 'yes' acknowledgement.

"I go to Paris on business tomorrow. Perhaps you are free for some batting practice next weekend?"

I looked at him.

Batting practice?

Did he mean Tennis racket practice? Or not? Something else?

Oh god!

I nodded.

"Bon. And perhaps you learn some French. Yes?" He smiled that gorgeous smile.

"Oui." I offered, giving him my sweetest smile back.

"So what was it you said? Ahh! 'Je Suis Chaude.' You were correct. But did perhaps not know this. Repeat it next week. And maybe to learn 'batteur de fond.' And 'fessée en bas.'" He chuckled as if to some private joke.

"These are words you should know. They will serve you." He chuckled again.

GODS! I loved his light laugh.

And then he was gone.

The perfect host. He circulated. He talked casually to everyone.

I stayed as far back as I could. Several friends from the club and other villagers stopped by to offer commiserations, sort of, on my losing the semi-finals, as they circulated around the tables grabbing the food.

I did help myself to some sandwiches and cakes. The strawberry scones were to die for. I pigged out and made a mess all over my face.

I felt a finger scrape a blob of cream off my cheek.

"Jusqu'à la semaine prochaine. Until next week." He whispered as he sucked the cream from his finger, slowly, while staring into my eyes.

Gods alive! How could he make something so prosaic, so sexy?

But then he was gone again.

It was going to be a long week.