Anyone for Tennis, Dennis? Ch. 02: Bummer

Anyone for Tennis, Menace, Dennis?

Chapter 2 -- Bummer

*

"Jools Hi! Yer reet duck?"

I turned. "Hey Sarah. Didn't see you here earlier."

"Yeah. Weren't." She half covered her mouth as if hiding her words. "Just snuck in at the end to have a nose round and snaffle some free grub." She sniggered.

Not as much of a cheap-skate as me, but neither of us had much money and we would always welcome free food.

"And why do you look like that cat that just had the cream?" She asked.

I do?

I do! Oh yes I do. I blushed.

"You still have some jam on the end of your nose."

I rubbed my nose. It was sticky.

Oh that. At least it was only that.

"The Scones." I said quickly. Perhaps too quickly. "The jam scones are amazing."

"Must try one before they all go." She hurried off to the table. That gave me a minute to compose myself.

People were already starting to disperse.

"So how did you do?" Sarah asked. Licking the cream form her fingers. "I see you're not parading with a trophy."

"Out in the Semi." I admitted. "Angela FordCapri won."

"She would. Oh Well." Sarah shrugged her shoulders. "Back to yours for a cuppa and a chinning, before I head home." Sarah suggested. "And you can tell me all about it."

We walked back towards the tennis courts, so that I could collect my kit. I hesitated as I started to bend to pick up my tennis racket and bag. Then I carefully crouched down, trying not to reveal anything to anyone.

I waved and said 'goodbye' to a few others who were also heading down the long driveway and back towards the village.

"Mrs Deakins says there are twenty rooms. And him all alone up there with just his cat." Sarah Said, as we walked along the main road.

"Really? Who?" I was lost in reverie. Still basking in the glow from my burning butt.

"Mrs Deakins. The lady that does cleaning. She used to do my mums house back along. I often see her in the shops. Now she works up at the Hall nearly full time. Every day. Cleaning every day and there's just him. That French chappy. Has two gardeners an' all."

"Oh Dennis? Right." I said absently. Still basking in my own personal heatwave.

"Oh Dennis is it?" Sarah looked sideways at me.

"Dennis Longechambon." I said. "He was the host. I met him. He gave out the trophies."

"Oh." Sarah looked at me again. "You allright?"

"Yeah. No problem. Maybe just a hot day." Hot all right.

"Mrs Deakins says she cleans the Kitchen every day. Then round the main rooms. Then she has a rota to clean the corridors and one of the barely used rooms. She says there are four rooms she hasn't been in. Kept locked. What do you think of that?"

"Probably not used." I suggested. I hope I sounded casual.

OH I bet Mrs Deakins has not been in THAT room. Oh no. I did wonder what might be in the other three. And would I see them?

"Yeah Maybe." Sarah said. "So, how's things with louse Larry? You rid of him yet?"

"Yeah got rid of him yesterday." 'Well nearly.' I added in my head.

"Don't know what you saw in him." She said. "Leisure Suit Larry in the Land of the Lounge Lizards." She said. "I always thought of him as a bit of a Lizard."

"Never saw him in a leisure suit." I said. "And he was more of a Lorry Lizard."

"Did he ever move in?" She asked.

I thought she knew that.

"No. Got his own place up the dale. And he said he had jobs on the go up there, so it wasn't fit for me to move in with him and he couldn't move in with me."

"Good job, if you ask me." Sarah said.

"I know you never liked him, but he wasn't that bad. He was just... I don't know. Just not right for me."

"You mean you were desperate, and there was no one else single about."

"Yeah Maybe. Something like that." I admitted it, even to myself.

"Well look on the bright side. We can see more of each other again. I was only avoiding you because he made my skin crawl. I hated his bad jokes. Crude and blunt. No subtlety to him."

"No. But Not much to me either." I said.

"Oh I don't know. You have your moments." Sarah said brightening.

By then we had reached my house. My little rented cottage.

We entered. I threw my kit into my bedroom, then moved on to the kitchen.

I pottered making tea while Sarah sat at the tiny kitchen table.

Even when I gave Sarah her drink, I still pottered, looking for things to do: wiping the sink. Tidying things away. Letting Sarah rabbit on about her job and her current boyfriend and the things they had been doing.

"Stop mucking about and sit down. Its ages since we've had a good natter." Sarah prompted.

"In a minute. I left things in a mess this morning in my hurry to get up to the Tennis competition." I lied. I blushed. I was never very good at lying.

I had just reached up to put a jar in the top cupboard.

"Holy moly mother of God. Jules what happened to you?" Sarah gasped.

I turned quickly. "What?"

"Your butt. What the hell happened to you?"

Oh God.

"Why are you blushing? Come on girl. Spill the beans. Sarah's here for you."

"I..." I took a deep breath. I did want to tell someone. And Sarah was one of my closest friends. And she did have a habit of getting the truth out of me.

"I got spanked." I admitted. I looked down at my feet. I had my hands together in front like a little girl caught with her hands in the cookie jar.

"Gerrert. Spanked? You? A big grown up girl like you?" Then she looked sideways at me. "Hang on. Your Dad lives miles way. You let Larry do that? I'll kill him. I'll put him in hospital for a week."

She suddenly sounded really angry.

"It wasn't Larry." I said quickly, trying to defuse her explosion.

"Then, who the fuck...?"

"It was Dennis." I said quietly. There it was out.

"Dennis? What The frenchy guy? What on god's earth had you done to him to get that? Do you want me to kill him? I bloody will."

"No. It's not like that. I let him."

"Let him? Now you got some 'splaining to do girl."

I leaned back against the sink and related the Tennis match. And him -- Dennis - looking at me. Then meeting him at the refreshment table.

"And what did you say to him?"

"He asked if I was all right. So I said that I was hot. 'Je Suis Chaude'" I said.

"You said that?" Sarah looked wide eyed at me. I nodded.

She collapsed laughing. She laughed a full throaty, belly laugh.

"Oh Gods Jules. How do you do it? Oh that was brilliant. And what did he say to that?"

"He said that I should have said 'J'ai Chaude.' I think."

"Yeah. Yeah. You're going to need to polish up your French if you're going near him again. Things like that can get you into trouble."

"I tried to make conversation and said something about Angela winning. Apparently, I said that she was good in bed instead of her being talented. 'Angela. Elle est bonne.' I tried."

Sarah laughed again. She lost it. Tears streamed down her face.

"Angela? Good in bed? Oh gods." She lost it again. When she had caught her breath, she said "Oh Jules. My sweet. You have made my day. You are always the best for Foot-in-Mouth Disease."

"Yeah. Well he smiled at me. He told me that I should have said 'Elle est douée'."

"Oh my poor stomach muscles. I ache." Sarah clutched at her middle.

We were quiet for a while after that, as Sarah got her breath back, and I stood there feeling like an idiot.

"So, that still does not explain... you know -- Your arse."

"I'm getting to that." I said "We did talk. And I did get something right. He is gorgeous. He is so handsome and strong and that sexy accent of his made me go weak at the knees. Anyway. He invited me to look round his garden and then at his house. I mean, I thought it was a sort of invitation. A subtle, but, you know, an invitation. I said yes. He took me up to a room at the back of the house. One of the ones that Mrs Deakins has certainly not been in. He spent the whole walk either touching, or staring at, my arse."

"Staring doesn't make it that colour. Unless he looks with lasers."

"When he sat behind me on the Tennis court, I could feel his stare as if he was looking at me with lasers. Anyway, we got to this room. Empty except for a leather stool thingy. I knew what it was, although for a while I was trying to pretend to myself that I didn't."

"AND?"

"It was a spanking bench." I said, letting out a long breath. There! I had said it.

"A What?"

"A saddle made of leather, designed to lay on to get a spanking. I lay on it and he spanked me."

"You just lay on it." Sarah asked incredulously.

"Well yes. But then he cuffed me to it." I admitted.

"You want to sue him for false imprisonment?"

"God No." I said quickly. "It was gorgeous. So soft and sensual. And the spanking was amazing. Sorry Sarah, but I guess you don't understand. I wanted this. I knew when he took my hand that somehow, somewhere along the way, he would obsess with my arse. I just knew it. I wanted it. I wanted him. So, he spanked me. It hurt like blazes. But then I..." I gulped. Now comes the admission. "I came. I had an orgasm. It was like nothing I had ever felt. I was still enjoying it when he fucked me. He fucked me like no-one has done before. It was the best sex of my life. Honestly Sarah. It was great. Maybe you don't understand. But it was wonderful. I can still feel it. I would do it again. Only maybe not tomorrow. My bum still hurts."

"You're right." Sarah said, sitting back on the chair. "I don't understand. So -- are you a masochist? You get off on pain?. And you never told me?"

"Yeah. Well sort of, I guess. I think I always have been. I think that was what I saw in Larry. I thought he was a bit of rough. Maybe he could give me what I felt was missing. But he wasn't. He was just a selfish idiot."

"You got that right." Sarah said.

After a moment, "I'm your best friend." she said. "We talk about everything. We moan about our PMS and our periods. We compare boyfriend's dick sizes. And you never told me this?"

"I... don't know. I guess it felt weird. But yeah. I knew from the minute I saw him staring at my arse that somehow, he was the one."

"Wow. Just... Wow" Sarah said.

She stood. "So come on. Let me have a look.

"What?"

"Turn around and let me have a look." She insisted.

"Must I?"

"I'm looking out for you." Sarah said. "Now bend and let me have a look."

Reluctantly I turned to bend over the sink.

Sarah lifted my skirt.

"Holy moly." She said. "Have you seen the colour of this?"

"No. Of course not."

"That is one red arse. I have never seen an arse that red." Sarah reached out and touched me.

I felt her cool, soft, hand against my burning cheek.

"That is hot. Is that why you are not sitting down?"

"Yeah. I won't be sitting for a day or so. I will probably have to get the bus to work tomorrow. I don't think I will be able to drive."

"Bugger." But her hand stayed touching my hot butt.

"Sarah." I said.

"Yes."

"Can you stop. Please."

Her hand stopped moving but did not leave me.

"Why?"

"Because..." I gulped and tried to steady my breath. "Because that's turning me on."

"No way." Her hand moved again.

"Sarah." I said more urgently. "Stop!"

She moved more. Over my whole bum and tops of my thighs. Soft and cool and sensual. So close. I could feel a gush as I got wet again and more cum dribbled into my knickers.

"Gods look at you!" Sarah said. "What a tart." She chuckled. "I can smell you. You've got dried cum on your thigh."

Humiliating much?

I shuddered as I had a small orgasm. Small but pleasant.

Sarah burst out laughing again. "Well that's a first." She said. "I've never given a girl an orgasm before. But that does look sexy." She paused. "Does that make me a lezzy?"

She did remove her hand and moved to sit down again.

"Well what a little masochist. I don't think I know anyone like that. What sort of pain do you like?" Sarah asked.

How could I answer that?

"I don't know." I said smoothing my skirt and turning back round. "It's kind of frightening. What if I go looking for it and find someone who really hurts me? What if I end up not being able to get off without pain? I don't understand either. I just know that it was amazing. And... and... I want more." I had said it. What I knew to be true.

"So you seeing Mr Frenchy again?"

"Yes." I answered quietly. "He's invited me to his place on Saturday."

"I bet he has." She sounded sceptical. "Shit look at the time." Sarah leapt from her chair. "I gotta go." She gave me a quick, friendly, peck on the cheek. "Catch you again in a few days. Maybe go to the pub, if and when you can sit down again."

"Sure. Only Sarah...?"

"Yeah."

"Please don't tell anyone." I said. Pleading with her. "I need to figure this out."

"Spoil sport." She pouted. "But Jules. Be Careful." Then she rushed away and out of the door.

Eventually I managed to strip and have a cold shower. The cool water on my rear and a single finger rubbing on my nubbin at the front and I had another small but pleasant orgasm. I did not understand what was happening to me.

I slept on my front. As I lay there, I thought it would be uncomfortable and I would be restless. But the next thing I knew, was my alarm clock on Monday morning reminding me that I had to go to work.

I dressed very carefully and conservatively.

Even though the local bus was not overly busy, I still stood in the open area near the door. I got a few strange looks, when a kindly old man offered me a seat, which I politely declined.

Catching the bus meant that I was early to work. I did not often have to open up, as Mr Conner was keen to be there early and show dedication. I fumbled with the keys, opened up. I set the coffee machine on, and busied myself. I carefully selected jobs that meant I could remain standing, or lean casually against things whilst ensuring my bottom never touched anything.

I changed the house details in the windows. I did some filing. A bit of cleaning. Anything, anything, but sit at my desk and type.

The day dragged by.

By the time I got off the late evening bus and made it home, my feet were on fire.

Another cool shower helped.

I still found that with a steady rain of cool water on my rear, my eyes tight closed as I remembered Sunday afternoon, and just a little help from a busy little finger on my clit, and I could still orgasm pleasantly enough. It made a change from those lonely nights in bed with my trusty vibrator.

Tuesday was a near repeat of Monday. I did have a couple of letters to type, which just had to go out that day. I sat carefully, trying not to move my body and rub my bottom against the satin of my slip. I bit my lips and tried so hard not to think about my bottom and about Dennis.

I made it. If only just.

By Wednesday I thought I was Ok to drive. It gave me an extra half hour to get ready, as we had a staff parking area right behind our office. I drove very carefully. Perhaps more carefully than usual. I did not want to have to do any emergency stops.

Thursday morning, when I did my daily inspection in the full-length mirror in my bedroom, I noticed that the redness on my bottom had faded. There were a few patches of darker pink. There were a few slight grey bruises. Nothing to worry about.

About Mid-morning a delivery arrived at the office addressed to me. That was very unusual.

I opened it.

The first thing to drop out was a silly children's toy. It was one of those things made of a series of hollow, wooden tubes, like beads, joined together with cord down the middle. The model was of an androgynous Tennis player holding a racket high. As you pressed on the button in the middle of the base, the racket went limp. Then the head drooped. As you pressed the button further in, the body went limp until it collapsed in a tangled heap over the base. As soon as the button was released a spring pushed back, the cords tightened and the body sprang back to standing, wielding the racket once more.

I had to smile. It was cheap and silly, but meant so much.

It had to be from HIM. I wondered how he knew where I worked. I wondered what this meant.

At least it meant that he had thought about me.

I was surprised at the relief that I suddenly felt. I realised that I was not just an object and easy sex for him. That thought had been nagging me. I didn't think it was true. And now here was the proof.

The second thing to drop out of the package was a small French-English dictionary. That made me chuckle.

As I flicked through the pages, I noticed that odd words or phrases had been highlighted with a bright yellow marker. I stopped to read a couple.

"Je veux te manger" and "Je veux Jouir", "Caresser Ma Chatte"

I thought for a moment. 'Caress my cat.' Was that as bad in French as it could be in English?

'Stroke my pussy'

Really?

Was that what the other phrases were about? Double meanings like some English Phrases that we laughed at foreigners getting wrong.

I wondered if they all meant something in particular, or if maybe there was some sort of secret code. That would be exciting, and fun to decode.

I put the book down.

The last thing, at the bottom of the package, wrapped in fine tissue paper was a pair of fine, ivory panties. The label was French, and showed a brand Aubade, which meant nothing to me. But what surprised me was the label showed my size, and Pure-Silk.

I wondered how he knew.

What had given me away?

Was he that observant?

When?

I rubbed my fingers against the exquisite soft material. I had never had silk underwear.

When I heard Mr Conner moving about, I quickly put the gifts back in the packaging and tried to look busy.

Once back home that evening I unpacked my surprise package again.

In the tissue paper wrapping was a small handwritten note.

" j'espère que tu as bien guéri"

"Être en bas, c'est être en haut"

" 2:00pm Samedi"

"D"

I could not resist trying on the silk Knickers.

They were gorgeous. Cool and Soft and tight fit. Like a second skin.

I did not want to ruin them too soon, so did not wear them for long.

As I often did, I wore a loose track suit when I was home alone.

After a quick meal I sat and looked through the dictionary. With my laptop on the sofa beside me, I tried typing some words and phrases into Google Translate and comparing the dictionary.

I soon discovered the difference between a direct translation and the colloquial language of French. Much like English I suppose, there are phrases that have over-tones.

When I realised the mistakes I had made, I understood why Dennis had smiled and why Sarah had collapsed laughing at me. 'Foot-in-Mouth' was right.

I got the note out and tried to make sense of it.

" j'espère que tu as bien guéri" - I hope that you have healed well.

That was easy to understand and showed his care and compassion for me. I felt all warm inside.

"Être en bas, c'est être en haut" -- To be on the bottom is to be on top.

What did that mean? To be on the bottom. To be AT the bottom.

That was the message. Just as he had said to me on Sunday. I was at the bottom of the competition, but that left me free. Or maybe it was him at the bottom -- my bottom - that made him on top. Or maybe both. Or something more. I needed to think about that.

" 2:00pm Samedi"

2:00 o'clock on Saturday. I suppose that is the time he wanted me up at The Hall.

"D"

*****