(Natalie and Pierre are on vacation in Puerto Vallarta, where they play tennis for the right to dictate their evening activities. If you are interested in an earlier story, it is "Such Release".)
Even though you are not fully awake, the images of last night have been awake in your emerging wakefulness, your cock thickening before you are aware of it, pulsing on its side in the warm room. Before opening your eyes, you reach your hands across the wrinkled sheets expecting to find her there, and you are very aware of textures, especially the texture of her flesh. If, like Pierre, the images are floating up more clearly now out of last night's pool of taut limbs and moans, you are anticipating any moment now the sensation of her skin at your fingertips: her hot skin, her caught breath, the moist crevice of her thighs and then the deeper jungle wetness of her aching cunt.
Your fingers feel every little fold of cotton, the contour of the mattress underneath, the coolness of cloth, little microscopic nubs that have been gathering on the surface of the fabric since the condo owners took the sheets from plastic bag. But instead of gratification, he felt chagrin. Finding nothing, he realized Natalie must have gotten up already. He rolled out of bed, and walked to the balcony of their condo naked, his cock slapping semi-hard against his muscular thighs, leaning comfortably behind the stucco half-wall that came up to his hips, a tall figure of a man, fair-haired, bronzed, very fit for his 45 years. The morning that shone down on him was perfect: the blue Pacific stretched away under an even bluer sky, the waves curled to the Puerto Vallarta shore, and below him the beach was dotted with a number and variety of bikinis that he would love to linger over, like a connoisseur studying a wine list, tasting each one in his imagination before plunging into his final choice. Remembering Natalie's face last night, he felt his cock thicken more. Then he saw the note on the kitchen table: "Our tennis game is booked for 11. Be there. Love, your nemesis, N." There was one of those "happy faces" under her initial, "N". He pursed his lips, smiled quickly and looked up at the clock. It was 10:45. He had to hustle.
After rushing down to the tennis courts in the humid Mexican air, he wiped the beads of sweat from his face and looked around to see which court Natalie was on. He had won their matches the first two days, and therefore had also won the "Cup" - which gave him the right to choose and direct the evening's activities. But he wasn't a natural tennis player, unlike Natalie, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before his string of luck was broken. He bounced the head of the racquet on his bent knee while he looked for her.
She was walking toward him purposefully from the backboard where she had been hitting balls. She had seen him first. A patch of sweat stained the front of her halter style tennis dress just below her breasts, and small half-moons of sweat hung under each breast from her exertions. She was all business, neither smiling nor frowning. As she walked, she accentuated the sway of her hips, pushed her chest out so her breasts were rounded under the halter top of her dress. Her nipples were hard under the white material. Her tanned legs, muscular and exquisitely shaped, moved like something from a fashion magazine under the short hem of her tennis dress. Goddddd. Pierre couldn't prevent the bulge growing in his shorts.
She dropped her racquet, and smiled slowly. She did an about-face to bend over and pick it up. Bending from the waist, her legs together, the back of her dress flipping up, he had a superb view of her ass, her bare smooth pussy. She was wearing no panties. The lovely pink petals of her lips were perfectly pursed at the top of her thighs. He groaned. She quickly stood up with her racquet and twirled around, a slight stern smile on her face. "Like the view? Don't get any ideas, buddy boy. I have plans for you. And once I am finished with you on the court today, you'll see what they are."
Pierre just breathed in deeply. She had obviously recovered from the night before, although he thought she would probably never forget the delirium his four hands on her body, his and young Bill's.
He never really had a chance. She had been a tennis player since childhood, and her experience and natural skill just rolled over Pierre's scrambling and natural athleticism. It was straight sets, 6-3, 6-2. Pierre couldn't remember the last time she had won so convincingly.
"God! You killed me today. Well, my sweet wife, I am in your hands. Fair and square." He stood facing her, tall and blond, wavy-haired, smiling honourably in defeat. She smiled, and dropped a tennis ball, deliberately it seemed, so it landed on her toe and bounced a few yards away. "Pick that up, would you?" she said, and looked away, as if her mind was on other things. When Pierre bent up to hand it to her, she was staring at two young men playing a hard game of tennis on the court next to them. She made him wait. Then, instead of taking the ball, she handed him her racquet. "Let's go," she said. "I could use some iced tea. Then lunch."
When they got back to the condo, Natalie walked out onto the balcony, still in her sweaty tennis dress. She turned and faced Pierre, the crowded beach to her back, and undid the halter top, letting it drop to her waist. She craned her neck up, letting the slight breeze cool her. Her breasts lifted as she craned her neck, the sunlight shining on them, so round and soft, the aureoles the size of silver dollars, the nipples just starting to protrude. There was a sheen of sweat that glistened in the shaded light that came in off the ocean and sky.
"So what do you think?" she said, crooking her finger.
He came out, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight, looking down at her breasts rising and falling. "Yes?"
Her tongue peeked out of her lips, running from side to side, her eyelids lowering. She lifted her fingers to her nipples and pulled on them. "Take your cock out, honey."
His eyes settled on hers, and he undid his tennis shorts. He pulled them down over his hips, and the bushy pubic hair emerged, followed by the long, thickening shaft of his cock. As his shorts descended, his cock became fully visible, only semi-hard, long, ridged and veined. His shorts fell to the floor. He watched her fingertips pulling on her nipples, her smile smouldering. His cock twitched into fullness, bobbing up from the side of his thighs, until it stood fully erect, pointing straight out at her. "Stroke it," she said. He closed his fingers over the pale pink shaft, breathing deeply, and started stroking. As each stroke slid toward the head of his cock, the crown shone as it swelled. Then he pulled his fingers back, and the thick hard shaft emerged from his fingers, long and hard.
"Don't stop till I tell you," she said, still pinching and tugging on her nipples with the fingers of one hand. Her other hand lifted the hem of her dress and her fingers splayed over the small tuft of soft hair on her mound, then dipped down on either side of her pussy lips. He couldn't believe she had played their match with no panties. He watched, simply following her commands, at her beck and call. He was enjoying her control, something she rarely asserted. He felt a knot of lust tightening in his stomach. He kept stroking, and in spite of himself he felt his hips start to shift as his arousal increased. Soon a low moan spilled from his mouth, and he spread his feet a little wider. She was breathing more deeply herself, watching him, spreading her legs wider as her fingers pressed harder along the outside of her cuntlips, the swelling pinkness just starting to show for his eyes.
