Just Keep Swinging - Sex Stories

Just Keep Swinging

... knew that would not look good. I had been planning on sneaking out when the children were distracted playing tennis. I was not meant to be doing this.

"Shall we see how good she was?" The overly masculine testosterone-fueled voice asked through a very pretty smile at the gathered audience. The children started clapping and screaming. I was practically crying.

Fuck this was going to happen. There was no escape.

The handsome lips grinned happily over to me, yes, he was fucking sexy. I found myself responding just looking at him. "Okay, I'm seriously rusty." I gave in. Trying to regulate my breathing, my lungs had already started wheezing. I was also trying to work out how to stop staring at his pectoral muscles that were bulging through his fitted t-shirt. Also trying to work out how to win.

My heart was thumping ten to the dozen. I could feel sweat trickling down between my breasts and all I had done was shuffle to the back of the court. I was now fearing my ability to breathe.

He was kind to start with, gentle hits of the net, back and forth, it was child's play, I could easily handle this. I could feel the adrenaline starting to flow, it was amazing. My long-lost endorphins were flowing. Lighting a cigarette had recently given me the same buzz.

I could hear the children clapping each successful rally. My focus was on the yellow ball flying over the net at me, the problem was it was at ever increasing speeds. I really should wear glasses now to see the ...

... ball. It was harder work than I ever remember. Each swing needed effort. As for moving, I used to easily spring across the court, l loved chasing down drop shots. People were amazed at how quick I was.

The instructor, I was annoyed that I had not clocked his name, I should have listened but at that moment I had been busy staring at his crotch contemplating what was under the shorts. He was teasing me, sending the ball and myself left then right. He was having fun, just by looking at me he would know how unfit I was. I had been enjoying it, to start with. The clapping was getting louder, I was getting cockier, I knew what I was doing. I could literally feel the years were rolling back. I was running and stretching across the court with ease. Noticing that I was breathing harder and harder, sweat was flowing down my forehead and over my eyebrows and annoying my eyes. I should have put my hair back more. It was a struggle to see the ball, let alone get to it. He was continuously talking. Explaining to the children what he was doing. I was finding myself listening to him more than watching the ball.

It was then that the excitable sexy bastard sent a looping ball behind me, I turned, I tried to move my feet as they should have done twenty years ago. It did not work. I stretched my arms out in desperation as long as I could, the last thing I remember was gasping in annoyance as the ball passed the tip of the racquet. He had beaten me. My eyes followed the trajectory as the ball ...