First Summer: Erotic Strip Tennis

Alison Brie


These stories are based in Australia and written in the idiom the characters would use.

Some issues in language variations I anticipated and built translations into my narrative. Others have caught me by surprise especially in their intensity. Generally, the intended meaning will be clear from the context if you don’t cling too tightly to your usual usage.

Crutch/ Crotch has been a subject of much comment. Australians more commonly use ‘crutch’ and that meaning of the word is supported by the Macquarie Dictionary.



Karen’s shared summer holiday with Greg continues…

All the exercise I was getting with Greg was doing wonders for my fitness. If I thought the girl looking back at me from the mirror on the first day had an athletic figure to start with, it was much more so know. Being naturally skinny, I neither wanted to nor could afford to lose weight. Indeed, the exercise let me indulge in the extra treats I tended to share with Greg without guilt. Rather, there was a firmness to my body now that wasn’t really there before. My swimming and running were both getting more effortless and faster.

From the first week of our relationship Greg had been willing to play a tennis match against me every Monday morning to keep my hand and eye in.

I made a point of looking nice for the games. Generally I wore what had been one of my favourite beach outfits before the new bikinis. It started with my really nice blue triangle bikini. The top was the normal tie string with smallish triangles. The bottom was low waisted, but with a narrow side band rather than a tie side. Over that I wore a stretch cotton sleeveless sheath mini-dress. The dress had an attractive deep v front, a bit of flare in the skirt and was a matching blue to the bikini. It had originally been just a day dress, but had shrunk to the point of immodesty. Still, with swimwear underneath, it was fine to go down the beach and ideal to play tennis against my boyfriend in.

The Court was on a private property; albeit let out for public use by the owner. From the looks of it, it didn’t see much action. It had a run-down tar surface, a sad net and an over grown carpark. It was accessed by a different road from the house and completely surrounded by dense foliage. There was the usual tennis hut between the carpark and the Court itself which contained a slat picnic table and chairs and a sink with a cold water tap in the corner.

To use it, you’d book the Court and then go and pay the owner at his house – or leave the money in a box, since he was rarely there – before you started. A booking whiteboard was located over the money box, so you could see if you were going to be squeezed for time at the end. Mind you, apart from ours, it was generally devoid of entries. Anyway, to start a game you had to drive up to the house, then back on to the road, along a bit and then up the not insubstantial length of the tennis court access road. So you had plenty of warning of someone coming. Greg swears that’s not why he picked this Court.

Most days we booked the court for an hour, but in the heat of that summer played for just over half that, with only a set or two. Since I was a comp player and he, by his own admission, little more than a social player, I would have been disappointed if I wasn’t able to get the better of him. That generally proved to be the case, with me winning most sets about 6:3

Anyway, pendik escort after a few weeks, there we are setting up for a game, when Greg asks:

“What say we play strip tennis today?”

“What does that mean?”

“You lose an item of clothing for every game lost, shoes don’t count. You win the match when you beat your naked opponent in a game”

“What if someone comes?”

“We can hear people coming a mile off. And we can go and get dressed behind the shed before they see us”

Sometimes I had to wonder about this guy. I figured that would give me a spur to play even better, so I could strip him naked and stay clothed myself. With the bikini and dress, I had three items of clothing. He had shorts a T Shirt and I assume underwear, which gave him three items too. I figured this would be a short match. I decided to up the stakes. “OK, but only if the winner also gets to have their way with the loser”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s simple, they get to have selfish sex with the loser in whatever position takes your fancy, as long as you can do it on the tennis court and it doesn’t hurt the other”

“What’s selfish sex?”

I was tempted to tease him with a “you’re a guy you should know”, but that wasn’t fair to Greg, even as a tease.

“It means you can give vent to your own fantasy without having to worry about pleasuring the other. You can leave them wanting so to speak!”

“What have you got in mind for me?”

“Are you assuming you’re going to lose? Anyway, that’s for me to know and you to suffer if you lose”. The truth was, having spent most of my developing years on a tennis court, I’m sure I could give vent to several fantasies involving tennis nets and other things.

“You are strange. OK”

I’m strange; he’s the one who suggested strip tennis.

I beat him in the first game, so he lost his T Shirt. But it wasn’t a walkover. He wasn’t particularly skilled, but he tended to have a combination of powerful back of court shots and lollypops that made it very difficult to be in the right place. Often his powerful shots would go out anyway, but when they landed, they were hard to get back. It was almost a case of, because he wasn’t skilled he was difficult to predict. It was not helped by the rough surface of the court which made bounces go everywhere

I lost the second, so there went my dress. At least the bikini should distract him, since his bare chest was distracting me.

He was getting better at landing the powerful shots. I lost the third and my bikini top with it.

I knew all this sexuality was affecting my game; I could actually feel the crutch of my bikini pants becoming wet. So to try and put him off his game I ramped it up a bit, flaunting my bare breasts at him when I was close to the net and making a point of waving my bum in his direction when I recovered a ball. It must have worked, because he lost the next game with a series of double faults and with it his pants.

That left him wearing only a pair of boxer shorts; something I hadn’t seen him in before. Now I was totally distracted. His semi-erect penis was sticking out the open fly of the shorts, waving about like a baseball bat in a tennis game. I lost the game and with it my bikini pants.

I’m not sure whether I was flushed by the prospect of losing or by the strange feeling of playing tennis complete naked and fairly aroused; after all a tennis pendik escort court was like my second home and being on one naked is the sort of thing that normally only happens in nightmares inevitably involving large crowds and the absence of anywhere to hide. But a combination of that and the distraction of the randomly swinging penis meant I lost it entirely during the next and match game. That wasn’t the outcome I’d anticipated. I wondered what he’d have in mind for me.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“What was it you said; something along the lines of ‘that’s for me to know and you to suffer”?

He stood by the end of the net, next to the door though the perimeter mesh fencing that led through to the shed. It’s where we’d been hanging our clothing on the support post for the net.

“Come over here and stand in the open door” He had a grin a mile wide on his face.

“Put your hands up against the top of the door frame”

He picked up my bikini top and came and stood so close to me that the front of his body was in full contact with mine. Bending at the knees, he squatted down; sliding his body and lips the length of mine kissing me as he went. He stopped only when his face was at my crutch level and his hands were touching my feet. For a moment he kissed the skin of my mons sucking the flesh gently in to his mouth. Then – while keeping maximum body contact – he slowly rose up. He slid his hands up my inner thighs, brushing my crutch with them, then both sides of my stomach, each breast, through my arm pits and up to my hands. Then he used my bikini top string to tie my hands to the door bar.

As I stood there naked and tied up, he circled around behind me.

“Now then, what are we going to do?”

Wrapping his arms around each side, he cupped each breast in a hand; lightly working the nipples underneath to engorge them as he kissed my back between my shoulder blades. Working down he kissed along my spine until he planted a kiss over both the cheeks of my bum. Standing up again, he rested his chin on my shoulder. He motioned with his feet for me to open my legs. I complied. Releasing a breast long enough to take his erection in one hand, he slid it between my legs, bending his bum under so that the cock slid out the front where I could see the bell of the tip; a little bit of fluid already collecting on the end.

I hadn’t yet told him about being on the pill as I still wanted to allow a bit more time before we stopped using condoms for any activity that risked pregnancy. So this was only the second time I’d had his bare cock against my clit and the first time it had been more than a momentary brush. The sexual tension of the tennis game had already rendered me wet and aroused. The foreplay had brought me to a near boil. That first direct contact brought forth a sharp pleasurable intake of breath. He slid it back and forward on my wet, hot swollen clit for a while, increasing the pressure and my arousal; just a couple more times and I would have exploded in climax.

Sensing that, he withdrew and moved around to my front. He kissed me on the cheek, down my neck and over my breasts. He moved over a nipple. He knew there was a particular motion which, although pleasurable, was also very ticklish. He did it. I squirmed around begging him to stop. He did, but then went back to arousing the nipple, taking it lightly between his teeth and pulling it out as pendik escort it engorged to his action. His hand slipped between my legs and massaged my clit – his fingers extending out and rimming my open tunnel as he planted his face over the other nipple and used his tongue to engorge it too. Again my body was working towards its climax; a moan escaped me, my breathing grew faster.

My state of arousal betrayed by my body, he stopped again. He was teasing me outrageously; bringing me to the brink time after time but not letting me go over.

Taking a condom, he slipped it on and slid himself inside me. Once he had himself buried to his balls and he sensed my body had adjusted to him, he grabbed my bum cheeks and started thrusting hard. It was more animalistic than his usual action. It had a desperate urgency to it and the passion in it excited me. I’d never really understood the expression ‘pounded’ until this moment, but in Greg’s usual considerate way that’s what is was. The tempo and pressure increased until with a moan that his physical exertion had converted to a loud long grunt, he came; the usual powerful rhythmic thrusts accompanying his orgasm. For a moment he just held my body tightly; then was overcome by a post-orgasmic weakness. I even sensed his legs wobbled a bit as he withdrew.

Then looking me straight in the face with a broad grin and raised eyebrows, he took off the condom, tucked himself away and said:

“Thanks for that”.

“You can’t leave me like this” I pleaded. I was desperate; really desperate. I needed for the release only an orgasm could give.

“Don’t worry I’ll untie you eventually”

“That’s not what I meant” I pleaded again.

“I thought that was the deal”

“Aw come on, have mercy. I’ll be as grumpy as hell” I offered in a desperate deal clincher

“I don’t know, a deal’s a deal” but already he was sliding his hand down toward my groin, fingers extended. He gently massaged me, licking my nipple at the same time until my frustration burst out of me in a giant orgasm. Relatively immobile because I was still tied, my legs went all weak. I hung there limp until he untied me and then collapsed to my knees unable to stand again until my strength returned.

“Next time you have to wear speedos under your shorts. That was unfair. Far too distracting”

“And don’t you think I noticed you flaunting your breasts”

“Yeah, but it didn’t work”

“Don’t underestimate the power of breasts”

“How come you beat me then? Are you a better player than you’ve let on before today?”

“Oh no, you’re definitely a better player. You’ve creamed me every game before today and I definitely wasn’t holding back. It’s just that, well, every athlete has something that motivates him to a personal best. I think the thought of stripping you is my special motivation. You don’t fancy standing on the beach next time I’m doing an iron man competition and taking off an item of clothing every time I’m leading a leg do you?”

“Only if you’ll act as a naked ball-boy next time I’m playing in a tennis comp.”

“I could be tempted by that deal. Will you go first?”

“What? And trust you to hold up your side of the bargain?”


“I think I’ll pass on that. Tell you what though, I’ll start with a pair of shorts and a T Shirt and progressively strip off to a bikini every time you’re leading”

“Not even a naked breast?”


“Alright, I’ll take the T Shirt and shorts, but I can’t guarantee it’ll have the same effect”

“Ok, and you’ll still go as a naked ball boy?”

“There seems to be an imbalance of offers there”

“I thought you’d squib it”

“You ready for lunch?”…

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