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Colleen pulled her Mustang into a parking spot at the tennis club. In the rearview mirror she touched up her shoulder-length dark red hair with her matching dark red fingernails, put on some matching lipstick, clicked the cap back on, and swung her lovely tennis legs out of the car. She had been the ladies champion now for 3 years running. She was made for tennis, made for belonging to this club, for being champion of this club. In her late thirties, her 5’6 body was trim and fit. On the court, she wore tops that were tight, and skirts that were stretchy, almost never shorts: provocative, but controlled. In a way her tennis outfit was like a uniform, an invisible shield. The men liked to watch her play; she heard that in their locker room they waxed eloquent about her body, about the beauty of her breasts, about fucking her. They called her “creampuss”.

Among the women she had a few social friends – she was basically very nice – but her tennis skill and her sexiness got under the skin of the catty women, the women who “did lunch”. They would lower their voices as she passed them in the dining room, their Gucci and Versace handbags on the floor beside their chairs, their hair perfect. Even though Colleen didn’t have Anna Kournikova’s gorgeous flaxen tresses, these women still called her “bitchikova”. For her part, she called them the “dry cunts”, equally vicious, but more accurate. It didn’t bother her much; catty girls had been saying things like that since she was sixteen. The only thing that bothered her, completely privately, was the word “cunt”, a word she never felt comfortable uttering aloud. All the more appropriate then, for these witches.

She liked to play on Friday afternoons; the place was usually deserted. She smiled at her reflection in the front door of the club: slim, muscular legs, black leather skirt, and a tight black stretch top. In this reflection she couldn’t make out her nipples, but she knew they were just visible; her bra was almost sheer, a C-cup, and allowed her breasts to bounce as she walked. She felt good.

Inside she smiled and waved at homely Kelly, the receptionist, a sweet girl in her early twenties, who liked Colleen because Colleen always asked about her family in Saskatchewan. On the opposite side of the desk, talking to Kelly, was a tall woman, blonde, strikingly dressed in a shimmering electric blue suit, with red nails. Another one of the “dry cunts”, Colleen thought to herself, but she hadn’t seen this one before.

Colleen walked swiftly past the pro’s office. Ted, a bronzed mid-40s athletic guy, was always checking out Colleen’s legs and ass and tits, trying to get into Colleen’s pants, even though he had a wife. He was “a player”, as the girls called him in their locker room – not a tennis player, that is, but one who “played around”. She waved at him and flashed a sexy smile. Even though she always spurned him, she liked the effect she had. “Bitchikova”: in a few small ways, she did earn the title.

The reality was that sex – and men – interested her only from time to time. Even her fantasy life came and went. She did keep a couple of movies in her bottom drawer, mainly of men stroking their cocks and cumming; her favorite thing was to see cum shooting from the end of a hard, thick cock; she had a thing about men masturbating. And she had a couple of toys – vibes, special panties with beads that rubbed her clit, but she hadn’t touched them in about a month. The best way to describe her life right now was “contained”: contained within the tennis club, some volunteering, her son and daughter away for the winter at ski school – they were both incredible skiers – and her ex-husband sending cheques from California where he lived alone now, too. She shivered away the memory, and smiled at her luck: she had been losing interest in him anyway. Men were lusting after her all the time. She caught them looking. She made them look. But that was as much of a thrill as she had the motivation for these days.

Once in the locker room, she quickly changed. Tight cotton top, sports bra, and tight wraparound skirt that sometimes flipped up when she moved from side to side on the court, showing glimpses of lace panties instead of the functional cotton panties people expected. Naughty, but contained. She knew that when she played her nipples got hard, just like Venus Williams. But Venus and Serena were both such big girls. Amazons. She shuddered at the thought, and walked into the winter bubble they used in the bad weather.

“Colleen!” Ted’s voice came across the bubble.

“Fuck,” she thought, not bothering to turn around.

“Debbie can’t come today. She just called.”

Double fuck. She just waved at Ted, took her balls and went over to the backboard. She was in a pissy mood. She drove the ball, over and over, the THWACK of the backboard echoing in the bubble.


Colleen heard the voice and stopped, realizing someone had been talking to her for a while as she had been thumping the ball into the backboard. It was Ted again, and the woman she had seen talking acıbadem escort to Kelly when she arrived. The tall blonde “dry cunt.” Now decked out in tennis gear. Not just tennis gear: Ralph Lauren tennis gear. Colleen smiled politely.

“Colleen, let me introduce you to Katrina Matthews. A new member at the club. She’s quite a good player. Used to be a state champion, back east.”

The tall blonde woman looked down at Colleen slowly, with a slight smile that Colleen thought was probably friendly, then looked down over at Ted. Colleen could tell he was sizing the new woman up. In her Ralph Lauren tennis jumper, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and her tanned, muscular legs, she would fuel Ted’s fantasies for hours. Another conquest. Katrina gave him a withering look. “Please Ted, don’t say things like that. That was a long time ago.”

Ted smiled back, aware of embarrassing the woman. “Colleen is the ladies’ champion,” he said to Katrina.

Katrina raised her eyebrows – her well-plucked eyebrows – above incredibly blue eyes, so blue Colleen thought she must be wearing tinted contacts. “Oh really? Well you’re probably too good for me.”

“No, let’s hit. My match bailed.” Colleen extended her hand, much smaller than the other woman’s. She noticed the bright red nail polish again. Harsh. “Welcome to the club.” In a spirit of conspiracy, Colleen and Katrina turned to their respective ends of the court, both ignoring Ted. This woman, like Colleen, obviously was used to keeping assholes like Ted at bay.

They hit for a while. Then they played. The other woman actually was good. Competent, understated, and confident. Intense. Only real competitors possessed that kind of intensity. But obviously out of practice. Or some other problem, maybe an old injury. Colleen broke her four times, easily enough to win 6-2, 6-2.

Afterward, standing beside the net, Colleen tried to assess whether she wanted to play this woman again.

“The ladies champion, huh?” The tall woman’s voice was lower than her own. “I can see why. Did you ever play in the east? I would probably know you if you did. I just moved here.” The tall woman gave a shiver. “So good to be out of that world.”

Colleen looked up at her, angling her head. This was one of her looks she used on men, practiced so many times that it was unconscious: the angled, slightly puzzled, slightly modest look, used for responding to a compliment. She scratched her thigh with her nails, dark red nails, vividly contrasting her pale skin – another unconscious act. The tall woman just stood there looking down at her, saying nothing, then Colleen realized she was awaiting a response. She broke out of her daze. “Thanks! I’m just lucky to be in a club that doesn’t have too many competitive players, I guess.”

The tall woman raised her eyebrows quickly, then slipped her racquet in its cover. “Oh really? I consider myself pretty competitive. We’ll have to play again.” She pushed a wisp of her blonde hair behind her ear and picked her watch out of her bag. “Fuck. I have to run. I have a bit of a date. Sorry about that.” In ten seconds she was gone.

Colleen gathered her racquets and balls and walked to the locker room. She threw her stuff in the bottom of the wooden locker, not bothering to lock it, wrapped a towel around herself and walked to the shower. She hung the towel on the outer privacy door. Soaped herself up, around her breasts, lifting them, pinching them slightly, feeling a little something but not pursuing it. Soaped her mound of wispy dark hair, her fingers along her slit, washing away the sweat. Again, feeling a twinge of distant pleasure, but not pursuing it. She turned off the shower, and towelled herself dry.

Then she heard it. A barrage of the foulest language she had ever heard from a woman’s mouth. With pauses, like the woman was on the telephone. She must be on the telephone. A cell phone. Cell phones weren’t allowed in the club, it was that snooty. Colleen tiptoed along the rows of lockers toward her own, listening.

“You fucking bitch. You lazy, cunt-licking inconsiderate bitch. What do you mean you’re sorry? We were supposed to meet at 6 and you tell me you have to work? This date has been in the book for a week! I bet he’s fucking you, isn’t he?” [pause] “oh yeah right, he has a big case and just has to have you stay behind. On a Friday night? And I bet you’re wearing those clothes I told you to wear? Right?” [pause] “yeah right, no wonder he wants you to stay and fuck. Dressed like that. A fucking slut. That’s all you are. Filthy whore.”

By now Colleen was shaking. Whoever it was, this woman was talking to another woman. God how awful. She moved quietly, very quietly, closer to her locker. She stood on her towel and reached into her locker for her bra. But the barrage continued.

“I bet you’re wet right now just thinking of him fucking you, dressed like that all day, probably flashing him, watching to see if he has a hard on.” [pause] “Oh reaaaaallllly? It’s me you’re wet for? You needy, aching slut. You really atalar escort can’t control that wet cunt of yours, can you?”

Colleen was stunned. She stared into the darkness of her locker, wide-eyed, not moving keeping as quiet as possible. Why didn’t the girl on the other end just hang up?! She looked at her hand touching the door of her locker and realized it was shaking. The woman’s voice got closer, and louder. It was almost at the end of her row of lockers. Then it was there, right there: the woman just reached the end of the row of lockers and turned swiftly, still screaming at the top of her lungs.

It was her. Katrina Matthews. All decked out in that stunning shimmering electric blue suit, shouting into her cell phone, oblivious to the rest of the world. She turned swiftly on her heel without even looking down toward Colleen.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh right! you’ll make it up to me? You think I want to fuck you after you’ve had that slutcunt of yours fucked by some messy man?” [pause] “No, there’s nothing you can do to make it up to me. Unless you slide two fingers in your cunt and let me hear how wet you are. Then I might reconsider. Come on, let me hear it.” [pause] “Of course, I’m serious. Yes, at your desk. Now.” [longer pause] “Yes, I heard it. You are such a slut, aren’t you. But you know what, baby? There’s more sluts out there than you think. So I just might find myself another cute girl if you don’t have time to see me!” [pause] “No!! Don’t call me tonight when you’re done! I don’t want to be disturbed! I’m making other plans. You know what I’m like. I have needs!”

Colleen just stood stock still, stunned, as the voice got closer and then further away as Katrina Matthews stalked up and down the rows of lockers, obviously unaware that anyone else was around. Colleen’s entire body was flushed with shock and embarrassment. Shit, she thought. What kind of a girl would put up with that crap?

“No, honey, we’ll just have to see. Besides, ours was never a forever thing anyway, was it? Call me tomorrow.” Then some silence, the snap of a cell phone closing. Then the sound of heels thudding on the thin carpet. Clothes rustling. Colleen’s entirely body flushed, still naked, grasping her bra, standing on her towel, holding her breath.

She turned and looked at the end of her row of lockers. There she was, Katrina, standing with her legs slightly apart, her one hand on the strap of her leather purse, her face flushed, still breathing hard from her torrent of words. Colleen blushed deeply at her, realizing Katrina probably thought no one was around to listen to that spew of words.

Katrina tossed her head. Gave a chuckle. Took a step closer, then another, slowly. “So you heard all that, huh? Sorry honey.”

Colleen quickly began to put her bra on, very nervous, and fumbled with the clasp. “Very hard not to, actually.” She smiled weakly as she turned her back to the tall woman, feeling exposed. She cursed her fumbling fingers, hearing the rustle of the other woman’s clothes as she approached slowly. “But don’t worry. I am the last person in the world to gossip.” She still couldn’t get the clasp to fasten. “Damn.”

She felt the other woman’s fingers touching on her own where they were trying to fasten the bra strap.

“Having trouble? Here…”

“Thanks.” Colleen let the other woman take the two ends of her bra strap, and waited for her to do them up, blushing deeply at her clumsiness, dizzily uncomfortable. She closed her hands into a fist to control her shaking.

“Oh I’m not worried, Colleen, honestly. I’m way past that. And I couldn’t give a shit about gossip.” Colleen felt her bra, instead of being done up, being lifted slowly and carefully from her shoulders. “On the other hand, you seem embarrassed, Colleen. Did I embarrass you?” She felt the fingers brush her shoulder straps off her shoulders, then caught the bra as it fell off, around her tummy, her breasts bare, her back to the tall woman.

Shit. What now? How would she get out of this?

“Well I guess it is embarrassing, that kind of talk.” Colleen breathed deeply, deciding she had to be completely clear and emphatic, make her point about not being interested. She turned, and looked up at Katrina Matthews seriously, solemnly. “Listen. I’m sorry I listened to your conversation. Really! But- ” and here she angled her head again – “but… anyway… I’m not that way. Maybe you could give me some space.” She smiled disarmingly, wanting to be nice as she rejected the other woman. She had never been interested in women. Katrina must be wearing tinted contacts, that’s the only way her eyes could be that blue.

Why for the life of her was she noticing her eyes now?

Within the space of a single breath everything became slow motion. The tall woman lifted her hand to Colleen’s shoulder, then slid it up her neck slowly. Colleen had never felt so uncomfortable, so embarrassed in her life. She felt the other woman’s breath on her face as she spoke. The tall woman’s breath smelled of mint, and, strangely, of poppies. aydınlı escort Colleen couldn’t figure out why at this very second she would think of the scent of poppies, but that’s what the woman’s breath smelled like. Maybe because it was like a drug. Katrina spoke. “Not that way, Colleen?” The taller woman took Colleen’s small hand in her larger, slender one, and guided it to the nest of wispy hair between Colleen’s legs. “Then why are you so wet, Colleen?” She was, she didn’t know it, but she could smell it. Her face turned crimson. In one motion Colleen felt her fingers guided into her pussy lips, and heard herself whimper aloud, almost scream, with a high-pitched intake of breath, at the sudden invasion. She jerked her hips back. She needed someone to save her. The fingers at her pussy, her own fingers, forced there by the other woman’s, dipped into her quivering pussy lips. They were soaked. God how terrible. She groaned. She had to stop herself. It must be the fright, the shock.

“No! Please!” When she tried to wrench herself away the taller woman slammed her body against Colleen, pushing her back against the locker next to her own. Colleen had tears in her eyes, she couldn’t believe it. She was quaking, quivering, frightened. Worst of all, her pussy was so wet. God how awful. She had never felt such shame! The hand of the other woman at her neck then pulled her face forward, crushing her lips with a hard, bruising kiss. She had never felt a woman’s kiss before, not a hard, hungry sexual one. Their teeth clacked together. She could hardly breathe. She felt faint. She was miserable, she was humiliated, she was out of control, she could feel her body shaking, her heart pounding. Only when she began to cum did she realize she was fingering herself without Katrina’s fingers there; it was simply her own fingers pushing into her pussy. She was doing it to herself. She couldn’t stop. Her orgasm exploded as Katrina’s lips came away from her own, grunting loudly in rhythm to her own hard spasms. Low, hoarse grunts, like an animal. She didn’t know how her free arm became wrapped around Katrina’s neck, but as her orgasm swept over her she found herself hanging desperately there, her fingers unable to stop their intense fucking of her own pussy. When she couldn’t stop her spasms she sobbed, her body wracked with tremors, just sobbing and sobbing, not bothering to try and stop her own fingers on her clit and diving into her pussy, tears streaming down her face, jerking and hanging on for dear life to the taller blonde woman.

She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t know how she could be doing this. Shit what was happening? She sobbed, and felt the tremors still shaking her body. She crumpled. Felt her body sliding down the other woman’s, her back against the wooden locker behind her, till her ass was on the carpet floor, her legs spread on either side of Katrina’s black patent pumps, the scent of her own cum-soaked pussy rising up. She couldn’t stop sobbing. A dam had burst. Tears streaming down her face, falling on her breasts as she hung her head, uncontrollable. What had just happened? She screwed up her eyes, closed tight, hoping it was all a bad dream.

Then she felt something at her pussy lips, and looked down. The toe of Katrina’s shoe was there, the rounded point carefully sliding up and down her labia, slipping into her parted, swollen, soaking lips. She couldn’t believe it. She sobbed some more.

“Take my shoe off.”

Trembling through her tears and her humiliation, she reached down, felt down the stocking covered ankle, and slipped the shoe off the taller woman’s foot, which immediately started stroking her wet clit. Colleen shuddered and whimpered. “Oh please… please don’t. Oh god oh god oh god please don’t oh please yes oh god god yesssssss!!!!!!”

She grabbed Katrina’s foot and mashed it against her pussy, grabbed it very hard and tight and pressed it against her clit, humping it hard. She came very fast. Hard and fast. Groaning, trembling, shaking. She sobbed and threw her head back, feeling the tall woman’s toe just playing with her slit now, away from her sensitive clit. Colleen’s hands were still on Katrina’s ankle, then slid down to her toes, and felt how wet they were through her stocking. She spoke but all that came out were the hoarsest whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.” Colleen’s fingers wiped ineffectually at the tall woman’s toes, as if she was trying to clean them. she whimpered again when she looked down at herself sitting on her wet towel, her bare breasts, nipples pointed, her swollen pussy lips wet and pink and glistening, and the other woman completely dressed.

Katrina’s wet toes slid up her tummy, up between her breasts, under her neck to her chin. “You have to use your mouth, silly girl, not your fingers.”

Stifling a sob, Colleen opened her mouth and closed her eyes, taking the woman’s soft toes between her lips, feeling the texture of the hose, sucking them, licking them, tasting her own juices on the elegant toes. She had no control, the tears were still falling. She tasted salt. She realized her tears were falling on Katrina’s foot, which made it impossible to clean them properly. She hung her head and sobbed more. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. Then she stopped, saying nothing, not knowing what to say. Completely humiliated.

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