Story: Graceful. Provocative. Classy.

“Oh? Does your father know them?”

I knew the answer to my question before I had even finished asking it, let alone before the spoilt coquette had uttered her response. The four tennis courts we were standing adjacent to had been built at her elder sister’s request several years ago, but had seen little use for almost a decade until Svetlana had seemingly applied herself to the sport.

Every day, the nineteen year old socialite walked to the end of my employer’s estate, well secluded from the 15th Century manor house and sauntering past my small workshop. I had seen her every morning in her short, white tennis dress, eyeing her from my vantage point; I adored watching the seductive sway of the teenager’s hips as she strutted sexily down the path to the remote corner of the grounds.

Graceful. Provocative. Classy. She made my cock swell and my lips dry.

Only, I knew that she wasn’t going to play tennis. There were a few clues. The fact that she didn’t always bring a racquet to the courts was one, the champagne corks I found in the bushes was another. And that day, I noticed her dress rode up too high: she wasn’t wearing underwear.

So that day, I spied on her: subtly following the young lady and watching covertly, as she beckoned two men into the estate from the lane via side gate and took them to the lower tennis court. The bushes dug painfully into my skin as I silently manoeuvred myself into position to observe. I was spell-bound in shock and excitement as a six foot black body-builder seized her body, and wrapped his thick arms around her dainty frame.

They kissed; his tongue pushed into hers as she writhed underneath his strong grip, squirming under his powerful build. Her dress was hitched first to her back and then discarded onto the court. She simpered as he squeezed her young tits and man-handled her delicate young frame.

Her skin contrasted with his; her age too. Both of her visitors must have been ten or fifteen years her senior and I knew the Lord of the Manor would have been aghast if he could have seen his youngest cavorting with the two men. They didn’t look like Oxbridge graduates like his son-in-law or a lawyer like his son! He would see them as disreputable: dressed in tatty tracksuits with paint splodges on their clothes. But status clearly meant nothing to her lust. She writhed under his tongue, squirming as he touched her pussy and held her naked skin tight to his body.

The other man – a short, bald-headed white guy – unzipped his faded jacket to parade his hairy chest. He squeezed her buttocks, caressing the glutes as his fingers slipped between her crack to openly finger her heaven.

She stood on tiptoes, parting her legs to present herself to them. Making her body more accessible and more desperate for their lustful attention. I could feel her desire radiating across the court. She wanted to be taken; the privileged girl was itching to be plundered by the two working class men. A shameless act of debauchery, a betrayal of her family morals.

Her hands pawed at her black partner’s trousers; she ignored his singlet barely hiding his muscles and hauled his tracksuit bottoms to the floor. He was commando. His dark cock swung free and her eyes widened at the sight of the veiny manhood bobbing into view.

The naked girl dropped to her knees, gripping the impressive dick. Her tongue floated across the tip of his penis as her fingers massaged the shaft, glancing up at him for approval.

His fingers twisted in her hair, forcing her mouth roughly onto his thick cock. She winced and spluttered as he rammed his manhood into her mouth, lewdly high-fiving his friend as the teenager was face-fucked. Her waist was pulled up as the second guy brazenly pushed his unfettered cock along her slit.

Her body ravaged from both ends by the violent thrusts of the two men, she groaned and squealed as she was spit-roasted. She muffled words of lust onto cock, they barked debauched approval at her ragged body. The slick wetness on their pricks as they forcefully rammed into both of her holes glistened in the morning sun. And they pounded her; she was nothing but a pair of orifices to them, ravaging her openings for their relief.

Her hands grabbed his thighs; I captured the eager lust in her eyes, listened to the desperate squall in her voice as the black man pounded his cock into her mouth. He grunted, shuddered and withdrew, deliberately squirting his cum over her delicate face.

My erection throbbed. The sight of the prim and proper daughter debased in such a debauched fashion had my dick rising and my lust overflowing. I ignored the thorns digging into my skin or my duty to my employer, I was entranced by the young lady and captivated by the rampant sex.

Her tongue now free, she spoke; squealing loudly and obscenely at her bald-headed friend to fuck her harder. To take her and to fill her. To make her come. His skin slapped against hers, his trousers pooled at his ankles. The base lust in his loins sparkled as his unfettered cock drove passionately into her teenage cunt.

Then he came too: spewing his cum deep into her, with a relaxed grunt and a deep breath. She kissed them both; the naked teenager dripping cum onto her legs and the court as she retrieved a bottle of champagne from her bag. “To us,” she laughed as the cork was popped into the flowerbeds.

They drank from the bottle, swigging the ludicrously expensive alcohol as if it was cola, until the glass container was empty. She lay on the court, chatting to them; they talked about orgies and gangbangs, sexual positions and practices as if it was afternoon tea at the vicarage. They laughed, she seductively made promises and I waited: my heart throbbing as her black friend slowly inserted the empty bottle into her. She panted, closing her eyes as the bottle neck was worked into her cunt and then pressed deeper and deeper.

She swore as her body shivered with the sensations from her pussy, stretching to accommodate the bottle as he rammed it further and further into her, coating it with her moistness as it pleasured the young lady.

She whimpered and cried, panting as her flushed face, twisted. Her legs trembled, climaxing with a snatched cry and a shaking body.

They didn’t stop; the bottle was replaced by their cocks and they pounded her until all three had come again, filling her cunt with more cum. I had not moved from my spot, watching the unbelievable sight was the two men kissed her, got dressed and slipped away via the side gate.

Tennis2 I scrambled free of the bushes, scratching my arms as I ran up to her. “I saw that. Are you OK?”

She scowled, seemingly annoyed at my forthright inference that she was troubled by the rampant sex. “Fine.”

“I mean, it looked …”

“They are my friends.” She interrupted. “You’re a man of the world,” she teased as her eyes twinkled. “You must know what a girl does with her special friends. Her very special friends. Well, two of them.”

“Oh? Does your father know them?”

“Of course he doesn’t,” she barked and glanced at my erection. “And I don’t want you to tell anyone! I can make it worth your while. I can buy your silence.” She winked, as she slipped her hand into my shorts. “You can be my special friend too.”

I groaned as her fingers swirled over my cock, pulling it gently as her thumb rubbed my purple tip. She applied calm strokes as she smiled into my expression, my frenzied lust stroked by her firm fingers on my cock. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being my special friend. We could have so much fun together.”

Panting, I hummed, nodding my head. “That’s … nice!”

“And I do love the feel of your cock,” she whispered. “So long, and hard. I’m going to have fun bouncing off this and taking this in my mouth. Sucking you dry. When was the last time a girl sucked you? I always suck my special friends.” Her lips formed an “O” and she swirled her tongue around her mouth, seductively enticing my mind.

But it was her strokes taking me to an orgasm: the pull of my shaft, the swirling thumb over my glans and the naughtiness of the situation. We were in public, we were in her father’s garden and I was an employee. I couldn’t resist and my resolve exploded; filling her hands and my shorts with stickiness. I sighed, sated. She giggled, knowingly. “Tomorrow, 10am,” she whispered. “See who else wants to play tennis with me! Oh, and recycle that for me, Brian forgot to take it!”

And with me holding her champagne bottle, the tennis girl skipped towards the manor house, her short skirt riding up for me to take in the view.

Graceful. Provocative. Classy.

And damn sexy!

Wicked Wednesday

Picture is  from Imgur

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  1. This Extremely, Far more than Erotic, story! You do something Great everytime you write! Thanks again!

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