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Anal

“Don’t even think about it.”

I recognized Bruce’s voice without needing to turn my gaze from Natalia. She is intoxicating to watch on the tennis court. I watched her masterfully returning ball after ball unloaded from the high speed serving machine on the other side of the net.

“She has amazing form,” I said trying to cover myself.

“Tennis form?” he asked knowing which part of the double entendre mesmerized me most.

My silence gave me away.

“Give it up, Tony,” Bruce counseled. “Every guy here has tried. She is impenetrable. She doesn’t let anything get in the way of her game. She’s a goddess, and lives on a plane none of us can reach.”

Natalia is the resident tennis champion at the club. She has played since she was three and has been resolute over the 19 years since to be the best. She is fiercely competitive. It isn’t enough for her to be the women’s champion. Winning is non-negotiable. She wants it all, has it all and maintains it at all costs. Her discipline is focused and her regiment relentless. It is one thing to be on top, it is another to stay on top. In tennis, Natalia is the image of perfection.

What Natalia is in tennis, she is also in beauty. She stands 5’9″ with long fit legs. She has large round 36D tits and a tight fit ass, a product of her diligent exercise. She has shoulder length bouncy brunette hair, almost always pulled back through her Nike tennis cap. She has a strong feminine jaw line, sparkling hazel eyes and a killer white smile as radiant as her ultra-bleached tennis dresses. No one looks sexier in a tight tennis outfit with her bronzed tan skin. Like her tennis, her beauty is faultless and untouchable.

“Hey man, people are people,” I said determined after we both studied her for a couple minutes. “Everyone has a weakness somewhere in their game.”

“If she has one,” Bruce said, “I haven’t seen it. Nothing matters more to her than winning, especially in tennis. See ya man. I gotta go.”

“That may be it,” I said smiling.

Every strength has a backside. If she is competitive, I will compete. If she ignores anything but high stakes, I will raise the stakes. I will challenge her in a way her fierce competitive instincts won’t allow her to walk away from.

Natalia’s success gained her rights to the exclusive pro court, away from the rest of the facility. Except for an occasional coach, her practice court was always off-limits to other players. Bruce and I had access as officers of the club.

The late morning summer sun began to beat down on the tennis courts. Natalia had been working out hard for four hours. Her tan fit body was soaked with sweat and glistened in the sun. She walked to her chair on the sideline and picked up a cold bottle of water. She threw her head back and poured it down her parched throat. She didn’t see me approach from behind.

“Taking it easy today Natalia?” I asked breaking the ice.

Natalia gasped with surprise, sucking some water into her wind pipe. “What are you doing here Tony.” She coughed again, irritated at the intrusion. “This is my court.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Natalia, I thought you were just playing around.”

“Does it look like I have been out here playing around?” she said annoyed. I’m practicing.”

“That was a workout? I thought you were just hanging out. I wondered if you might want someone to hit with you.”

“If you want to be on my court, I’ll let you be my ball boy,” she said condescendingly. “My regular guy is sick and it’s a pain in the ass chasing these balls.”

“Ball boy?” I asked laughing. “Can I get you more water too?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said without hesitating, trying to humiliate me off the court. “My ball boy does whatever I ask.”

“To be your ball boy” I answered.

“Yeah right,” she said. “I hardly think you’d lower yourself.”

“Not willingly,” I interrupted. “I’d rather have a root canal.” Natalia laughed knowing it was true. But,” I said pausing for effect, “If we play one set, and you get lucky and beat me, I will be your ball boy. I will do anything you ask – with no argument, until you are done with me.”

Natalia pondered the thought for a moment. She knew I was one of the better tennis players, but she could beat me easily. Not only would she have a ball boy for the day, but she could boast about my humiliation at the club, and send a message to the other drooling men. I relished that she was taking a moment to consider the offer.

I broke the silence. “I understand your hesitancy to play and your fear of being embarrassed by me beating you.,” I teased. “I’ll just leave you alone; head back to the club and hang out with the guys.” She knew I meant I would tell everyone she was afraid to play me.

“Not so fast,” she said. “Why waste your time and go through the humiliation of losing to me?” she retorted arrogantly. “Why don’t you just start picking up the balls now.”

“You are afraid,” I shot back with a smile, “I never thought I would see the day.”

“How canlı bahis can you say that?” she answered back. “What world are you living in? I will beat your pants off.” Her competitive confidence was rising like the heat on the tennis court.

“In your wet dreams,” I chided back. “But I accept your wager.”

“What wager?”

“To beat my pants off,” I answered back. “If you’re that confident that you think you can beat my pants off, then I accept the challenge. Let’s see if you can.”

“What are you talking about?” Natalia asked confused.

“We play one set, winner takes all,” I explained confidently. “Winner has the other person as a personal “ball boy” assistant for the rest of the day, just like you said. Anything asked will be done without question.

“OK,” she agreed.

“But, to go with your new idea of beating my pants off, every game played will cost a piece of clothing. After each game in the set, the winner picks the piece of clothing for the loser to remove – anything but shoes. You win the set the moment your opponent is out of clothes. That simple.”

“You’re perverted,” she said, while inwardly feeling aroused at the suggestion. She secretly had been attracted to a few of us at the club, but never allowed herself to get distracted from her tennis by getting involved. This seemed like an easy opportunity too good to pass up.

“Me? It was your idea,” I said. “You say you can beat my pants off. I don’t think you can. But if you’re all talk, I’ll just head back to the clubhouse.”

“OK, son of a bitch. I said you were perverted, but I didn’t say I didn’t like the idea. You’re on. Here’s what’s going to happen. We are going to play one set and get this over with quickly. I am going to beat you easily in straight games, systematically removing all your clothes. Then, I am going to enjoy owning your naked ass until I say you are done.”

I smiled. Her competitive strength just became her weakness that played into my hand. “I don’t know,” I said playing with her mind and pretending to back off a bit.

“Can’t back out now ball boy,” she said almost eagerly. “You’re mine. Rally for serve.”

I rolled the tennis ball machine off to the side before we rallied for serve. I found myself mesmerized again by this gorgeous sweat-soaked beauty playing me for high stakes. She slammed the ball past me and won the rally easily. “Get used to that ball boy,” she taunted. “This is going to be even easier than I thought.”

Natalia wasted no time to unleash her assault. She won the first game effortlessly on adrenaline and competitive determination. Giving no thought to pacing herself, she launched four torpedo serves, strategically hitting their targets. All four serves went unanswered. “Need some balls?” she asked as we switched sides. “Oh, and I’ll take your cap,” she said knowing I would be serving into the sun at high noon. I tossed it at her as we passed. “This is going to be fun.”

The second game was more competitive with me having the advantage of the serve. I intentionally worked to keep her back at the baseline, running her from corner to corner. It seemed impossible to get anything past her. Even though she dominated the game, I could see her already beginning to wear down from my ball placement in the corners. She took the second game. “Like I said,” she continued to tout, “straight games. I’ll take your shirt now,” she demanded from her side of the court. I slowly pulled my Adidas polo over my head, swung it around a few times before throwing it to the side. “Nice,” she complemented looking at my abs. I could feel the sweat beginning to bead up and roll down my body.

“I hope you are hungry,” she boasted. I am going to serve another four course meal right down your throat. Two-love, love-love” she announced as she threw the ball up for the serve. The first serve blew past me untouched. To her surprise, the second serve was returned. “Nice return,” she volunteered. I got lucky again with the third serve and found myself up for the first time. I could tell she was unusually distracted and was working to maintain her focus. It may because the stakes were high, or she was playing someone without a shirt in a shirt-required environment, or fatigue beginning to set in. “15-30,” she said frustratingly. She refocused herself on the game. I didn’t score again.

The set score was now 3-0. We walked toward one another to switch sides, and met at the net. “Let me help you out of those shorts I promised to beat off of you,” she said as we passed. I grimaced. This was not going as I had planned, and was exactly as she described it would be. With her tennis racquet under her arm, she reached over and unclasped my tennis shorts. She slowly moved my zipper down and could feel my dick growing as firm as a tennis shaft. She tugged my shorts down to accent her victory, smiling as they fell around my ankles. “Very nice,” she again complemented. My dick continued to grow in response to her attention, pushing up beyond the constraints bahis siteleri of the jock strap. “Ooo, very nice. I have to say Tony, that’s looking bigger than I imagined.”

“I am flattered that it’s been the subject of your imagination,” I shot back as I took the tennis balls for my turn to serve. Natalia blushed and became flustered at having her fantasy thoughts exposed.

My serve was warmed up for the fourth game. I also could tell Natalia was beginning to press through fatigue setting in from her morning’s workout. I continued to run her at the baseline from one corner to the other, and move her back and forth from the net. Opportunities to put easy shots away were traded for fatigue-inducing placement. She never gave up and was unwilling to allow any ball to go by without an all-out attempt to return it. I controlled the fourth game and finally had a mark on the board.

Natalia was stunned and suddenly felt vulnerable. She never considered the remote chance that she would lose a game or a piece of clothing. We looked at each other from across the net. I smiled, feeling deep satisfaction and anticipation in the moment. She began to lift her cap from her head.

“Uh, uh,” I corrected. “I’ll take your dress now,” mocking her with her own words.

“Now wait,” she tried to argue across the court. “I never thought I would actually have to…” her voice tapered. “I never planned to actually…” her voice softened again. She struggled for words and knew what was expected of her before the next game could begin.

“Would you like some help?” I calmly offered from the other side. I stood there in only my jock strap and tennis shoes. I had no interest in showing mercy.

She answered my question without words, and began to unzip the back of her short tennis dress. She pulled it off of her shoulders, lowered the dress and stepped out of it. God she is beautiful, I thought. Her body glistened from the sweat. Her large round firm tits were like that of a goddess, fully exposed through her sweat soaked white bra. It’s only remaining purpose was to provide support. The wet sheer material did nothing to hide the beauty it held or her growing nipples pressing through the fabric. She wore a matching sports thong, also soaked from sweat. She turned to hang her dress on the fence behind her, giving an unhindered view of her thong-lined tight round fit ass. “Very nice” I called out. “Very nice.”

Natalia’s loss steeled her resolve, but her exposure clearly flustered her. She felt self-conscious and vulnerable. Her body battled between her fierce competitive instincts and her self-consciousness from being exposed. Her natural desire to cover herself as she played interfered with her well-honed muscle memory and swing. She tried to focus and put her game face on as she threw the ball up to serve. The blushing of her cheeks and uncharacteristic stiff serve gave her away. She double faulted. She couldn’t remember the last time that happened. She felt herself begin to unravel. For the first time she began to fear what might happen. It was no longer only about winning, but what happens if you lose. In a new way, she experienced what was at stake. I made it a point to take in the view of her body, instead of her eyes, when she would look over the net before each serve. It made me more determined; it made her more self-conscious.

Sweat poured down her body from the heat and pressure. It took two for her to get her next serve in. I returned it to the opposite baseline corner. She got there, still struggling with her exposure, and hit the ball to the center of my court. I dinked it just over the net to the opposite corner. She sprinted to reach it in time, realizing she was offering me a closer look as she did. “Aaugh,” she groaned, and hit the ball into the net.

“Love-30,” I said smiling.

I enjoyed the view as she turned and walked back to the baseline for her next serve. I could hear her talking to herself, trying to regain her focus. She won the next two points, bringing it even at 30-30. I could feel her gaining momentum. I readjusted my jock strap to better contain my still firm dick. She waited to serve until I was ready, which distracted her again by the novelty of the situation. I returned her serve and initiated the best rally of the set. We both rushed the net, again heightening our exposure to one another. She hit the ball up, trying to lob it over me. I jumped up and reached for it with everything in me. She got a full eye view of my physique stretched out in the air. The tip of my racquet connected, sending the ball over her toward the back of her court. We were both riveted as we watched it land just inside.

“Yeeesss!” I said instinctively, clinching my fist and drawing it down victoriously.

She answered with a loud groan of disbelief. “I can’t believe it!” she said disgusted.

“I am trying to decide which I want first.” I paused to let my words sink in. “Your bra or that pretty thong of yours.”

Natalia’s mind began bahis şirketleri to spin. She couldn’t imagine playing without either, and shuttered at how dangerously close she was. The flood of thoughts and insecurities compromised her serve, sending the ball out of bounds off to the side.

“Damn it,” she said frustrated at herself. She carefully hit her second serve gently over the net, like a beginning tennis student. She had to make sure it landed in. She hadn’t served that way in years, but couldn’t stand the thought of losing her bra or thong on a double fault. Any serve like that to her in a tournament would always get it returned down their throats to prove her dominance. Now with her confidence shaken, she was serving to save her pride. Without fanfare, I met her serve as she would have and put it away at an impossible angle. She knew it was what a weak serve deserved.

We walked toward each other to trade sides. “2-3,” I said. She knew the score. She was waiting in disbelief to hear what she needed to remove. I let the anticipation do its work. She had tennis balls in her hand to pass off for my turn to serve. “I have balls,” I said answering her question from our first change of sides. She smiled sheepishly. As we met at the net, we crossed where my tennis shorts were still lying from when she dropped them to my ankles. “Why don’t we leave your bra here too,” I said. “Turn around. It’s my turn.” She obliged, allowing me to unclasp her bra from the back. The sport bra’s tension from her full breasts sprung the straps forward as I released them. She pulled the bra forward, freeing her tits and dropped the stretchy material on top of my tennis shorts. She tried to obscure her chest with one arm while carrying her racquet in her other. I smiled. It was a moment neither of us would have ever imagined.

“That’s all there is for you,” she said determined. “This next one is mine. Your ass is mine.” Her resolve was clear, but her confidence was compromised.

“God, your beautiful,” I complemented, ignoring her threat. She immediately tried to cover herself again with her arms, feeling more vulnerable than ever. “I am looking forward to owning that thong. Can I ask you a question?” Natalia didn’t answer, but looked over out of curiosity. “Is it sweat that has made it so wet?” The thin veneer of her game face gave way to the growing insecurity in her eyes. “My serve,” I said adding insult to injury.

We took our places on opposite sides of the net. I threw the ball up for the serve. Natalia instinctively opened up her stance for the return. Her two breathtaking melons that I had only dreamed of were now fully exposed. Like two large bright globes lit up at night, the tender white skin of her round tits reflected the sun’s rays against the backdrop of her dark bronzed tan body. I allowed the ball to drop without following through on my swing. “Wow,” I said as a complement. She blushed at her exposure and the complement.

I threw the ball up for the serve and launched my swing. The serve landed in the back inside corner of the square. Natalia turned and ran for it, immediately feeling the awkward weighty movement of her unconstrained breasts working against her. She surprised herself by making the shot. We rallied several times before she won the point. She experienced it as a small moral victory. She was ready to win and make me pay. She applied the same determination and took the second point of my serve.

“Love-30,” she boasted.

“I have you right where I want you,” I answered back smiling.

“Bullshit,” she answered back with her competitive juices flowing. Her drive to win now overshadowed her self-consciousness about her exposure on the court.

“I wonder if Bruce is done with his lesson,” I asked as if offering innocent conversation. “Fear ripped through her mind at the thought that someone else could be watching. I threw the ball up and served my first ace of the match. Natalia tried to focus on the game, but became preoccupied by who might be watching from off the court. She took one point and answered with the next two.

“Deuce,” I announced. I glanced up in the stands as if seeing something. Insecurity caused her to immediately follow my glance. I served my second ace.

“Damn it,” she said chiding herself for her breach of focus.

“Match point,” I called out, taking in the moment. I felt myself getting hard in anticipation of the trophy. Natalia was clearly nervous and sweating. I launched my serve. It was met by my ready opponent and was fired back. We engaged in one of the best rallies of the afternoon. I continued my strategy of running her from corner to corner at the baseline, and drawing her to the net. She was persistent, determined and beautiful. We both approached the net, and began to rally back and forth. She finally saw her opportunity and pounded one at an impossible angle. I dove for the shot, stretched across the court in mid-air to reach the ball. I felt my racquet connect just before I began my descent toward the hard surface of the court. I turned my head to look and watched the ball hit the top of the net and drop on the other side. Natalia stood there stunned as I lay sprawled on the ground with only a jock strap on.

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