Anyone For Tennis? - Sex Stories

Anyone For Tennis?

... stretched into the footwell, thinking of the lucky boyfriend that would be getting between them, perhaps this evening.

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Chapter 2

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“Dad and Mum are away; you can park in our driveway.”

I turned the wheel to pass through the gap in the high hedge surrounding the front garden before the wheels crunched over the gravel parking area in front of a large detached house.

Out of the car, I opened her door and offered my hand to pull her up. Kirsten leaned into me again and handed me her tennis bag to carry as we resumed the hobbling walk to the front door. She pushed her key into the lock, turned the handle, and gingerly walked inside unaided. I followed a pace behind.

She grinned. “We had to make it look bad, just in case any of the neighbours were peering over the hedge from their upstairs. Come with me.”

Kirsten started up the stairs carefully, hanging on the bannisters, taking one step at a time. I followed with her bag.

On the landing, she hobbled across and pushed open the door to her room. My first impression was of a teenage girl’s room; pinks and roses were the dominant colours, with a selection of fluffy toys on the pillow.

The most prominent feature was a large poster-sized photo on a wardrobe door. Not some pop idol, but Kirsten herself sat on a handsome, jet-black horse, holding a trophy. Her top was so tight that her nipples and areola protruded through the cloth. Her breeches were so tight that every fold of her flesh was visible as if ...

... she were naked. I was certain I would have seen her vulva impressed into the stretchy material if it were not hidden from view.

That picture was intensely erotic, and I stood there in awe.

“Oh, God, you are a stunner.”

I felt her hand on my shoulder.

“Thanks, Stefan, but the real thing is standing next to you.”

I turned to look at her, and then she put one hand behind my head and pulled my lips onto hers. Kirsten’s tongue pushed deep into my mouth. She sought and found mine. Just a couple of seconds passed before she drew back and looked into my eyes.

“I’m a nineteen-year-old slut, and I am yours today, yours however you want.”

“Are you sure?”

It was a daft question, but my mind was in a whirl.

“I get turned on by old men, and you are definitely old, Stefan. When was the last time you had a nineteen-year-old empaled on your cock?”

“About forty years ago.”

“Then it’s about time you had a chance to remember how it was when you were young.”

I lifted my hand and stroked her long, blond tresses.

“Angelica is blond too, so it will not change completely.”

“You can take me, Stefan, or I can take you. Which one is it to be?”

“I don’t know; I’ve not been with a slut before. I’m not sure what to do or what that means.”

“It means I am insatiable, I will screw any man at any time, and I’m completely amoral. All I want is my satisfaction.”

I stood transfixed, overwhelmed by her sexual aggression.

“Well, I am going to take you, Stefan. ...