Tennis Lessons

"You never stop, do you? Even after I told you the other day that I have no interest in a sports jock like you, you still keep on."

"That's just me, what you see is what you get." Chuck was even blatant enough to punctuate his words by using one hand to grasp a hold of the bulge in his shorts, "It's the whole package."

"Well, not for me thanks."

He left the court and I followed him to the pro shop. I put my racquet down on the chair I had used before. Chuck had slipped behind the curtain, but quickly reappeared holding up two garments for me to see. I quickly realised that it was a bra and a pair of panties that you would only wear to play tennis. They had frills all across the arse part but they were certainly more demure than what I was wearing today.

"I would like to give you these to go with your new outfit," he said, holding them out to me.

"Give me, what do you mean give me? I don't want your gifts, I'll pay for them if they suit me."

"No you won't, I didn't have to pay for them so I am giving them to you. The manufacturer leaves me samples from time to time, these are samples, they didn't cost me anything."

"What's the catch?" I asked, knowing that there had to be one.

"Only that you model them for me, go back to the stock room and put them on and show me how they fit. I just need to see how they look, how snug they fit, on one of our players so I can recommend the range to others."

"I guess you want to see them without the tennis dress on?"

"Yes of course, I have to check the way they fit, whether the panties are snug at the crotch, and whether the bra cups can hold the breasts securely. You're quite a large woman in that area."

"No thanks, I'll buy something appropriate."

"I only thought of offering them to you because you have such a great set..."

"Are you referring to my breasts?"

"Yeah, they're great tits ... a real handful! But they will be uncomfortable when you play tennis if you don't have a sports bra. That one you have on today didn't support them at all. They just bounced around all the time."

"I bet you liked that!"

"I did as a matter of fact, loved to see them moving, but I'm only thinking of you and your comfort. And I am hesitant to say this, but your panties today ... I mean, I loved them and they would be so appropriate if I was stripping them off your body for foreplay. But as underwear for tennis, it would upset the establishment here if you were to wear them on the court, a bit too sexy for this place."

"I appreciate your concern for me," I told him with a degree of sarcasm dripping off my comment. "I will take your advice but I will pay for anything that I need to wear, underwear included."

"The offer still stands, take them," and Chuck thrust the garments into my hands, "but just remember, you can't wear them on the court until you have modelled them for me. I can wait until you're ready."

"You'll be waiting a long time, they will be staying in my drawer at home," I answered defiantly.

I kept my new tennis dress and my sexy panties on until Gary came home from work. I showed off my new sports ensemble and he looked like he approved. But we had to wait until after dinner, until our boys had adjourned to their rooms to do their homework. Then I lured Gary into our bedroom much earlier in the night than usual and jumped his bones. I was the aggressor, pushing him down on the bed and sitting astride his body. I slipped my damp silky panties off and dangled them above his face before dropping them over his nose. I heard him sigh when he breathed in my aroma deeply.

He looked like he approved when I reached down between my thighs and guided his upright cock to the opening of my vagina. There was no need to wait for foreplay, I had been constantly wet all day, ever since the tennis lesson. I raised my body up then lowered it down over the head of his vertical shaft, taking it into my body. I watched a smile of contentment come over Gary's face as my vagina engulfed his cock.

I was completely wild and uninhibited and I managed to hit my peak quickly and get myself off before I slammed my body down over and over again on his erection. Until Gary could hold back no longer and he came inside me violently, painting my insides with a spray of cum that did this 42-year-old man proud.

"Wow, what got into you?" he asked when we both came down from our sexual high.

"I'd say you just did," I told him with a broad and satisfied smile -- and an innuendo that would have done Chuck proud.

"I know that, but what caused you to take control like that ... to be on top? I can't recall the last time you did that."

I couldn't answer him. Of course, I wouldn't want to tell him that even after only 2 lessons, Chuck and I were embroiled in some sort of sexual by-play where he would be constantly suggestive and I would try to rebuff him and play hard-to-get. No, I couldn't tell him that because besides it giving Gary the thought that I might one day cheat on him, I really didn't know myself why I was letting this little sexual charade with Chuck continue.

So instead of introducing the spectre of Chuck and his sleazy come-on lines into our marriage, I simply said, "Darling, I felt so good after my tennis lesson today, with my new gear and all, that I felt like giving you a sexual treat tonight. Just to show you how much I am enjoying our new lifestyle."

"That's great honey, because I was really concerned that the upheaval of change that we're going through with my new job might affect our marriage, could see you unhappy ... and I don't want that. I am happy when I see you happy ... just keep doing what you're doing, it's working."

Oh dear me, don't give me that advice (keep doing what I'm doing) because I wasn't sure what I was doing. But whatever it was, I was worried that I was getting myself into something that I may not be able to handle. I still couldn't plausibly explain to myself why I hadn't been truthful with Gary about the way that Chuck behaved on our first lesson. Chapter Three

Another day and another lesson! Chuck started out teaching me how to serve the ball. Toss it up high and then bring the racquet through hard sending the ball over the net and into the opposite court. This man -- this jock -- was so unsubtle that after he had shown me what to do, he lay down on the court behind me ... he said it was so he could assess my every serve.

But he hadn't chosen that unusual position just to judge my serving. From where he lay, Chuck could see my tennis dress fly up almost to my waist every time I reached up to serve the ball. He could see the white cotton panties that I wore today, a snug fit encasing my arse. I was glad that I had worn the white cotton and not anything as revealing as the silky panties I had worn last time.

"Getting a good view down there?" I asked with exasperation after about 10 minutes.

"A perfect view, I just love it. Have I told you that you've got a great arse."

"No you haven't so far, only that I've got good breasts. I thought you were supposed to be checking on my ability to serve the ball."

"From down here I can do both, and why wouldn't I ... you've still got a great figure. You're gonna make some of the other wives jealous around here, particularly when you start wearing the panties and bra I gave you. Are you ready to show me what they look like without the dress yet?"

"Certainly not!" I was as emphatic as I could be so he wasn't left with some lingering hope that I might relent.

I stepped over near to his supine body and reached forward to pick up another ball to serve. He admonished me, "Didn't I tell you before, when you're picking up a ball, bend over away from me."

"Why, so that you can check out my arse?"

"Of course, what do you think I'm here for. Even in those plain cotton panties, I can still make out the dark shadow of the crease of your arse ... it is so sexy."

I looked back down at him, stretched out on the back of the court, and my eyes scanned over his body. The bulge in his shorts was quite obvious now and I wondered if it was a result of his being able to see the shape of my arse in my cotton panties every time I served the ball. He watched my eyes and quickly pounced on my reaction, "Aren't you tempted to at least have a good look at it? You can if you want, anytime you're ready."

I knew exactly what he was referring to. "No, not tempted at all, I am quite happy with what I've got at home."

"You would be a rare woman these days if you didn't think about what another man might have, to look at the shape, just like you were doing then, and wonder what that one would look like. More importantly, wonder what another man's would feel like inside of you. We're all different you know, every man brings something different to the bed, thick, thin, long, short, some have better technique, really know what to do with it to make a woman happy. Then there's tongues and fingers, so much variation, I hope you're getting all that, but I bet you're not ... not this far into a marriage. My cock's thick, very thick, Sandy. I'm no longer than the average man, but I'm told that my thickness is something special. That's what women have told me."

"Lots of women I suppose?" annoyed that he was again being so suggestive in spite of my warning on day one.

"I do alright ... as I'm suggesting to you, most women these days like to see what else is around, I reckon that more than half of those that start looking around will give one a try. You're already looking so you're halfway there."

"I am not looking," I interrupted defiantly.

"You were checking me out, looking at the size and shape."

"Yeah, like it was still in your shorts."

"Doesn't have to be, I told you, you can have a close look anytime you want. Remember the thickness I told you about, you're missing a real treat if you don't try it."

"So what is the incentive for me to risk my marriage, to risk everything I have? What, just the fact that you're thicker than most and I am expected to enjoy that."

"I am just laying it out there Sandy, telling you what most other women are doing, at least in the country club set. They're getting something special on the side. If you're going to do that, it's best that you get it from some guy who really knows what he's doing, one who can make it special for you."

It seemed that he was elevating his approach to the next level, he had now progressed to openly propositioning me to have sex with him. I obviously hadn't been firm enough on that first day when I told him I didn't want to hear his sexual double entendres. Now it was day three, I didn't think that's what I wanted, but there was just a glimmer of doubt in my mind. I needed to steer it back to fit within my strict moral code, but first I had to ask myself the question: what could Chuck give me -- do for me -- that Gary couldn't -- and hadn't?

I turned back to resume serving practice and Chuck continued to blatantly lay there behind me, watching the movement of my arse cheeks in those cotton panties as I exerted myself tossing the ball up and following through with the racquet. I could only imagine what it must look like and what it must be doing to his libido.

At the end of the session, we walked off the court alongside each other and strolled back to the pro shop. I expected that he might resume applying the pressure on me but he just opened up his diary, "So when can I pencil you in for?"

"Let's go for Thursday next week."

"Okay, I've got 11 to 12, are you good with that."

"Yeah, I guess so."

I left without any further discussion between us. He had already left me a lot to consider. As I walked through the clubhouse, I looked curiously at each woman, wondering which were the 50% or more having sex outside their marriage. That's if Chuck's assessment was correct. Was he being factual or spinning a tale just to get into my panties?

Instead of heading straight back to my car when I left the clubhouse, I detoured past the golf pro shop, just to check out Ed, the golf pro. What was it that Chuck had said about Ed? 'He would have your panties off before you've completed the first three holes and be in your first hole before the fourth.'

I stepped into the golf pro shop, it was a similar small set-up just like the tennis pro shop. The guy behind the counter was cut from the exact same mould as Chuck. He was a bit taller, muscular without overdoing it, but bulging biceps, flat stomach ... I couldn't see his legs. "Can I help you?" he asked warmly, a big warm smile on his face.

"No thanks, just looking around."

"You look like a new member to me, can I show you around?"

"No, I'm fine," and I got away quickly before famous Ed talked me into playing a few holes and getting my panties off.

I thought about Chuck's comments a lot ... as I was driving home, then when I sat down on my patio to have a late lunch.

That night, when Gary arrived home, he led with, "You had another tennis lesson today, didn't you? How did it go, still enjoying it?"

Here was my chance, I could open up to Gary, tell him what a sleaze ball sports jock Chuck was, relate how he lay on the court behind me so he could look up my dress. But even as the thoughts of how to verbalise it were forming in my brain, my mouth was already in gear, telling my husband, "It was great Gary, he had me serving balls today. I am really getting quite good at it."

"That's fabulous honey, I am so pleased that you've taken to it. And this Chuck's a good teacher?"

"Yes, a bit on himself." Go on, now is my chance, tell him what I mean by that. But instead, I added with syrup, "but overall he's an okay guy, good at what he does."

"That's great honey," Gary's voice was fading, like he had lost interest in the topic already. For just a moment, I wondered if he had heard a whisper around the club about Chuck's reputation for women. Maybe Gary was testing me, to see how much I would reveal about the tennis coach. Chapter Four

Thursday was my next lesson. I loved wearing my new tennis dress, I felt really good in it. But I was still wearing the white cotton panties beneath. I would have liked to wear the special tennis panties with the frills and the sports bra for support, but I wasn't about to take the bold next step with Chuck and model them for him.

We actually played a mock set of tennis (first to six games) now that I could serve as well as hit the ball back -- well at least some of the time. I was quite exhausted when we had finished the set and slumped into the courtside chair. So predictably, Chuck dropped down to sit on the ground, positioning himself directly in front of me, his eyes level once more with my crotch. When I saw where he was looking, I brought my legs back together tightly.

He lifted his eyes to look up at mine, "That looks so uncomfortable, clenching your legs together like that, Just relax, let yourself go ... you're stuffed from the hard set, you let it all spread out when you sat down. Don't tense up on my account."

"But you're always looking, I can never relax. You're either peeping at my cleavage or staring up my dress, in front and behind."

"You should be flattered that I find you so beautiful that I want to do those things, you look great from every angle. That's just me, I am a very sexual person."

"Would you call yourself an addict ... a sex addict I mean?"

He paused to think about that for a moment, which was unusual, Chuck stumped for an answer. "I guess I might."

While he was pausing, I relaxed my legs, letting them spread wider, the way they were when I first sat down in the courtside chair. It didn't take him long to notice, and now he was not looking at me as we continued talking. His eyes were zeroed in at my crotch.

I continued on my assessment of him as a sex addict, "I think you are because you talk about it at every opportunity. Even when I was on my first day! You would think that you would let a new client get comfortable to start with, before bringing on all the sex talk, all the innuendo. But you, you're just full on from day one. I guess you get quite a few that get swept up in it and say yes because you're so forward."

"I get my share, but I always feel the need to try ... the one that I don't hit on is the one that I'll never get. A lot of women in this club have time on their hands and they've been married long enough that they only get it at home once a week from hubby. I put it out there for them -- and you ... a chance to live out a fantasy, a man who doesn't require any commitment, but who can make them feel like a queen every time he fucks them."

There it was, he had crossed the final boundary, now using the word fuck to me.

"What about precautions ... STD's and pregnancy?"


"I'm very careful, I keep it clean. And the women should look after birth control themselves, that's not my responsibility."

"That's not my point, what if you go with a woman whose husband has been at it with prostitutes and the like. He gets something from them, passes it on to her, she gives it to you, and next thing, you're giving it to every woman you..." I paused unsure whether to use his word for it, then went with it, "...fuck."

"Doesn't happen, not with the women I choose, they're all clean skins."

"I don't see how you could know that for sure." Without consciously being aware of what I was doing, I looked down to see that my legs were moving, from side to side ... maybe it was nerves because of the subject matter. But the effect of their movement was that I was virtually flashing him where he sat on the ground, my thighs opening and closing to show the vee of my cotton panties. Damn, the crotch was probably wet again too.

Chuck came back at me, "I am pleased that you have progressed the prospect of whether we will fuck to the point now where you are checking whether I will use a condom on you."

I sat bolt upright at his suggestion, clenching my legs tightly together again, "I suggested no such thing. There you go again, trying to put words in my mouth. I was simply curious whether you ever caught anything from the high number of women that you claim to sleep with."

"That's something I don't do much of. The last thing that these women want from me is to have a quiet relaxing sleep. I give them enough orgasms to do their sleeping when they get home," he boasted proudly, so cock sure of himself.

"How many women would you have in a week?" Curiosity brought me back down from the high dudgeon I felt when he suggested that I was checking on whether he would use a condom on me.

"I think the record's six, different women that is," he said gloating. "But sometimes only one or two."

"Are they always different women, or do you have the same women coming back for more?"

"There's definitely a lot of repeat business."

"Is it always here in the back of the shop?"

"Generally yes, although sometimes a woman will call me up and say her husband's out of town and could I come around. Those house calls are usually at night and then there will be sleeping involved because I stay till dawn."

"I've got to say that I find it all most extraordinary. If you're telling the truth, I cannot believe there are so many women having affairs."

"I wouldn't call what I do with them an affair. It's just fantasy stuff, fill in a few hours with the jock." He stood up and held out his hand to me, "So when can I pencil you in?"

I had taken his hand to rise up off the chair, but I snatched it back when the impact of his question hit me, "Never, I've told you that, never!"

Chuck looked at me with a smirk, "I meant for your next tennis lesson Sandy. Good God, what do you take me for?"

I was embarrassed, I had overreacted sharply when I thought that he was asking to pencil me in for sex. I stammered, "Well, we were ... err ... we were talking about how much you do it with these other women, and I ... err, I thought that you were still on about me joining your harem."