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That Friday night, as we were fucking like rabbits in our marital bed, Victor came inside of my hungry cunt…

My wife is a gorgeous woman. At 40 only two things mar her petite little body. Stretch marks on her belly from childbirth and the fact she basically only has nipples for breasts. Having been married to two sluts before my current wife, I knew she was a slut of world-class proportions. I also knew the only way to keep a slut faithful was to keep her appetite for ‘strange’ satisfied. I was also to the point where my wife fucking others was less hurtful than her cheating on me. In fact I had so convinced myself with this, I was all time asking my wife to open up sexually to threesomes and swinging and the like. I had images of her in my mind on her knees, in a room full of men waiting to use her willingly sucking mouth. I also fantasized of her on a bed moaning her lust, her legs in the air, while strange men with large cocks took turns fucking her. But I couldn’t get her to go there. We had fought on the issue on numerous occasions, but my fears of her growing restless and cheating on me would not allow me to give the issue a rest even if I couldn’t bring it up to her. I decided I must skillfully guide her to the first event and then she would probably go there willingly. I set about devising a plan. Besides being gorgeous, my wife is a social animal. We regularly entertain friends at our home, where my talents at the BBQ grill are used to their utmost. This time I intended to use more than my talents at the grill to gain enjoyment for our guests, my wife, and myself. I have over the years been able to get my wife to loosen up on her attire some. When we met she dressed rather frumpishly. She usually looked like the President of the local School Marm’s Association. A lot of this had to do with body image, and though I never successfully argued that a man didn’t care what you looked like, gross obesity aside, if his cock was in your mouth or your pussy, she wouldn’t relent. She stated her reluctance to wear sexy clothing stemmed from the background of a wife of a low paying military man not being able to afford sexy clothing and she had no desire to dress “trashy and flashy”. I was able to counter those arguments when my small-business began to thrive and year in and year out draw in revenues in the multiple 6-figure range. So she could now afford anything. I countered the “trashy and flash” by purchasing sexy, yet classy clothing for her at Christmas one year and when she liked what I had purchased explained to her this wasn’t “trashy and flashy”, yet was still sexy. She had gradually changed in the way she dressed. Her skirts had gotten shorter, which looked great with her long tanned legs, and she had gradually moved toward only wearing thong panties. For the party we were currently planning, I asked her to wear a recently purchased black mini-skirt. I didn’t ask her to wear a specific blouse, feeling she should have the choice, to select as conservative a blouse as she wanted to help her feel comfortable in her dress and not draw attention in her mind to the extremely short skirt. When I came through the bedroom as she was dressing and I saw her putting on pantyhose, I asked her if they were necessary. I explained this was an informal get together and she should be comfortable in her dress and that her legs were already nicely tanned this year and hoses of any kind shouldn’t be necessary. I would have liked it ok if she had chosen lace-top thigh highs, but none were better than pantyhose (my view of the modern chastity belt). She agreed one less waistband would be more comfortable and returned the pantyhose to her lingerie drawer. Now phase I of my plan was in place and the rest could proceed. Some of our friends were married couples and some were single. We hadn’t gravitated away from singles once we married as so many couples do and the single guys and gals were a regular part of our entertaining. I had singled out a young black male co-worker as my ‘partner in crime’ as my wife had a fantasy about big black cocks fucking her. Gerome was his name and I explained my plan to him and detailed his part in the plan, and he eagerly agreed to participate. I had known he would, for I had seen him undress my wife with his eyes more than once. I guess the vision of a strong burly black man fucking a petite blond white girl wasn’t just a white man fantasy. So the plan was in place as the guests started to arrive for a late afternoon BBQ. The ribs were sizzling in the smoker, and a large pitcher of Top Shelf Margarita’s was chilling in the fridge. My wife liked these especially well, and I did too because with three shots of booze and three shots of mix per drink, one didn’t have to drink many to feel the effect. As she poured for the first of our guests, she politely poured herself one and began to imbibe. My wife, ever the dutiful hostess, kept glasses topped off and, congenially, drank right along keeping pace with her guests. By the time the ribs were served with the fixings, she was starting to feel the effect as she had consumed several of the potent cocktails, on an empty stomach. I cautioned her to slow her consumption. I wanted her relaxed and slightly buzzed, but not passing out drunk. After the meal and some socializing, the couples started to drift toward the door. I had hoped the free-flowing liquid refreshment would encourage hasty departures and it had worked. The single males however were all staying put. They all knew the grand plan, though not the detail, for their involvement would be spontaneous. After all the couples had left and only several single males remained, Gerome asked if we could retire to the den for some movies on the 52″ home theatre system we had recently purchased. After he had briefly reviewed our impressive library of videos, he asked me, in a manner my wife could hear if I had any skin flicks? I said yes and went to the stash in the master bedroom. I chose one that had the semblance of a plot to it, hoping to keep my wife interested in it. When I returned the sweet yet acrid smell of Pot was floating in the room. I had told Gerome to try to get my wife to smoke some. I knew this always made her horny, but she was on again off again about its use. As I entered the room, she was taking a big hit off the joint Gerome had passed her. She passed it to me and I hit on it then passed it on. We continued to pass the joint around the room until it was gone. All totaled my wife took three hits off the joint. In her desire to be a good hostess, she had joined right in which was what I had hoped for. I told the guys to settle in and put the video in the VCR. It was about a young woman taken captive by a biker gang and forced to serve them sexually, but who overtime, comes to enjoy her role. It had all the elements I needed. Multiple partners, and interracial fucking. I threw a pillow on the floor beside the sofa, and lay down on my belly to watch. I gestured for my wife to join me. Though partially drunk and partially stoned, she managed a very ladylike decent to the floor beside me in the short dress she was wearing. I snuggled in close to her and we started watching the fuck flick. As the movie progressed, I sensed a rise in her level of excitement, characterized by her fidgety movements next to me. I decided it was time to put the next phase of my plan into action.wife fuck friend sex storiesRolling to my side I drew her into my arms and kissed her a long, slow, deep-wet kiss. The kind designed to stir feelings. She responded by kissing me back in the same manner. It certainly appeared as though the combination of Margarita’s, Pot, the fucking on the movie and my kiss was creating the desired effect. Now it was time to see how deeply that effect ran. I began kissing her again, and at the same time I ever so slowly I crept my hand down her back and across her ass until it was at the hem of her short skirt. My hand then reversed direction and started to slide up under her skirt, along her inner thigh. When I reached the crotch of her panties I slid my hand up onto her ass. As my fingers traced her crotch upward to her ass, it felt as though her pussy lips were fully engorged with the blood of her lust, and she moaned softly. Releasing from the kiss she whispered that I should stop as we might be seen, yet she made no move to remove my hand. My hand began to caress the cheeks of her ass, an action that really turns her on. I whispered back to her the guys were all staring intently at the video and we wouldn’t be observed and from where we were lying they would have to make a concerted effort to see what we were doing. My fingers moved to the thong that ran through the crack of her ass and traced downward to her sopping wet cunt and began to work inside. As first one then two fingers worked in and out of her steamy snatch, I told her they couldn’t see anything if they looked except my hand under her skirt anyway. I went on to say even if they did, that was OK, because she was my wife, and we could put on a little bit of a show for them. This must have appealed to the exhibitionist in her as her lips came down onto mine and she began to kiss me in earnest again. I could feel her cunt starting to suck on the invading digits sawing in and out of her steamy fuck hole, and her ass moved in an almost imperceptible counter rhythm to my finger-fucking motions. I felt it time again to advance the plan along. I laid my ankle over the ankle closest to me and started to draw her legs further apart, ostensibly to gain better access to her pussy. At first she resisted slightly, then she yielded completely. Her legs slid apart and to lend credence to why the move was necessary, I inserted a third digit into her pleasure palace. She again moaned softly into my mouth as she continued the heated kiss. My leg spreading he legs was Gerome’s signal to action and he moved unnoticed to the place beside her other leg. I held the kiss, hoping to prevent protest as he took her other ankle and spread her legs a few inches further. I detected a jump of surprise from her as he touched her ankle, but she didn’t stop kissing me. So far so good. Gerome continued with his execution of the plan, by placing his hand under the hem of her skirt and moving it smoothly, slowly but deliberately, up the back of her thigh. I again felt her inwardly gasp as his hand contacted the cheeks of her ass, but I felt her melt again as he gently molded the nearest cheek with his large hand. She began to offer more intensity to the kiss I was receiving, telling me Gerome’s efforts were having the desired effect. I don’t know whether it was just the pleasure of the kneading of her ass or the fact it was a strange hand, Either way, I didn’t care, she hadn’t protested this intrusion and I felt we were on the way to the goal I sought. Gerome continued to knead her ass for several moments as instructed, and my wife’s kisses became more passionate. It was time for the next step. I gave Gerome the signal to proceed by unwrapping my leg from around hers. Gerome began to move his hand over to the thong as I had and once it was under the cloth, slid it down toward her fevered pussy. When I felt his hand touch mine, I withdrew my fingers from my wife’s cunt to be quickly replaced by two of Gerome’s larger digits. I felt her start to diminish the kiss as if to protest and I quickly began to massage her stiff clit with my cunt-juice slickened finger. Instead of breaking the kiss, this served to intensify her passion and she began to suck on my invading tongue as if it were a hard cock. Her hips were also actively gyrating to the stimulus of the two hands. I felt it safe to continue. I withdrew my hand from her panties leaving only Gerome’s probing digits, and her hip gyrations never diminished. I scooted up toward her head until I was sitting with a leg down either side of her body, her head in between my legs. I bent over and whispered “Suck me baby.” as I unfastened the fly of my pants. My erect cock sprang free and my wife quickly grabbed it and swallowed the head into her mouth. The look in her eyes told me she was lost to her lust, but that she also was also perhaps a little miffed to the whole scene that was unfolding. Yet the intensity with which she was sucking my cock and gyrating her hips to Gerome’s finger fucking told me lust was winning the war in her mind and body. I let her continue to suck me for several more minutes, then gave Gerome the next que. Bending over my wife’s bobbing head, I grasped the hem of her skirt and drew it up around her waist. I heard Gerome gasp as my wife’s lovely ass came into view, just inches from his face. The only thing obstructing the view was the band of thong material that split her ass checks in two. This was his signal and Gerome smoothly withdrew his fingers from my wife’s nibbling snatch and grasped her panties by the waist and started to slowly draw them down. This was a moment of truth, and when my wife redoubled her efforts at sucking my cock, I knew we had passed this milestone. Gerome drew the panties down her long shapely legs, and off one ankle. He then reached up on the sofa for a large pillow. Sliding his hand under her belly, he lifted her up and slid the pillow under her midsection. He then settled between her splayed thighs and began to dip his tongue into her fully exposed cunt and to tease her lust engorged clit. I had always heard, and bought into the stereotype, that blacks didn’t like oral sex. But Gerome went after my wife’s lust bloated pussy like a man possessed. His tongue dipping into her soppy cunt and then flicking her hardened clit, with occasional attention to her puckered brown star was having its effect. My wife was nearly deep-throating my cock, something she had never been able to do, in her effort to drain my balls of her favorite beverage. I felt it as time for the ultimate test and signaled Gerome. The lusty young black man raised to his knees, between my wife’s splayed legs. Unzipping the fly of his jeans, he released the largest cock I had ever seen. I have a nice size cock at nearly 9 inches, but Gerome’s was close to 14 and what made it truly magnificent was it was as big around as my wife’s wrist. It was only partially erect when first released from his jeans, but a couple of good strokes and the huge black fuck-tool was fully hard and ready for action. The dark black head glistened with the precum that had oozed from it while he had stroked it to full erection. Gerome scooted up further and began to trace the bloated lips of my wife’s pussy, slickening the head of his cock further with her juices to prepare for penetration. The feel of the cock tracing her pussy caused my wife to look up at me, though she never stopped sucking my cock. The look in her eyes said don’t you think its time to put a stop to this.sex storyAt that very moment, Gerome began to penetrate my wife’s tight, wet cunt with his massive cudgel. The first thrust sent 8 inches of the huge Alabama black snake into her steamy hole. My wife gasped at the fullness of the sudden intrusion and stopped sucking my cock momentarily. On the second thrust I heard Gerome’s belly slap against my wife’s ass and knew he had sunk all 14 inches into her. For her part my wife just moaned at the fullness this fucking cock was stretching her too, and again drew my cock back into her mouth for another round of enthusiastic sucking. As Gerome continued to thrust into her, my wife gradually was coming up onto her hands and knees in an effort to meet his thrusts with counter-thrusts of her own. The slut in my wife had finally been set free and she was actively fucking another man as she sucked me. There could be no doubt that she was a willing participant even if booze and drugs had been used to break down her false inhibitions. On her hands and knees now, I pulled her blouse, a simple tee, up around her armpits and unlatched her bra. The slapping noise that Gerome’s fucking had caused, caught the attention of the other guys and they all quickly surrounded the three of us. Not saying a word, only indicating with gestures, I had two of them lay on their backs and begin to suck the turgid nipples of her small breasts. My wife’s breasts, being as small as they are, are extremely sensitive to any attention at all. As the two men sucked and nipped the erect nipples, she responded by hoovering my cock even more vigorously. After a few more moments, I emptied my balls into her mouth. She lost nary a drop as she swallowed every squirt of her treasured prize. I gestured at one of the other guys to take my place and just before she inhaled his offered cock into her mouth, she screamed as the first full-blown vaginal orgasm of the evening ripped through her. “FUCK ME LOVER. FUCK MY CUNT. HURT MY LITTLE WHITE PUSSY WITH THAT BIG BLACK COCK OF YOURS. FUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKK MMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEE.” Gerome was slamming into her hard now. My wife was rocking back to meet his inward thrusts, then rocking forward to capture the cock in her mouth again before rocking back against Gerome again. I was in heaven watching from across the room through the viewfinder of the video camera as I captured every moment. But now for that special shot before Gerome blew his load, putting him out of action for a brief while. I walked to the group and stopped them all with gestures again. My wife looked up at me with lust in her eyes and a look that said why are you stopping them. I took her hand and stood her up, then led her down the hall toward the guestroom. I knew she would never approve of fucking another man in our bed and this way too, our bed would still be ok to sleep in if we made it to sleeping this night. As we walked, I completed the disrobing of her fully exposed body. The guys had followed without being told to and I laid my wife down on the guest bed. The two that had been sucking her nipples lay down on either side of her and went back to sucking. My wife’s hands came down to caress the backs of the heads of the two guys and her eyes closed as she gave into the lust consuming her body once more. I told Gerome not to resume fucking her until I returned with the video camera, and left the room. When I returned, I set the video tripod at the foot of the bed and zoomed in on her steamy pussy. I had never seen my wife’s lips so bloated before or her clit standing so erect. It looked like she had a small penis growing from between her labia. I gestured to Gerome and her crawled between her legs. I caught the most beautiful sight on tape to view again and again, as her cunt opened up and swallowed the huge black fuckstick Gerome was shoving into her. The contrast of black cock disappearing into white cunt was truly the most erotic sight I had ever seen, and the fact the cunt belonged to my wife made it even more so. Now my dictionary defines the word cuckold as a man whose wife is unfaithful. I have always heard it said it is a man who likes to watch his wife getting fucked by strangers. If that is the true definition, I became an out-of-the-closet cuckold at that very moment. Watching that big black cock drive into her petite body, seeing her legs in the air and hips thrusting against Gerome’s thrusts and hearing the moans of pure animal lust coming out of her were enough to give me my second hard of the night. My wife for her part was moaning in cadence with the cock thrusting into her. “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. As her next orgasm approached she got louder. “FUCK ME. FUCK ME. FUCK ME. FUCK ME.” Then as Gerome let loose his hot seed into her belly he triggered another orgasm. “FUCK ME. FUCK MY CUNT. YES, YES, HOSE ME DOWN WITH YOUR HOT CUM. DROWN MY CUNT WITH YOUR CUM. OH YES, FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKK MMMMMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.” After Gerome finished unloading into her and climbed off, one of the other guys climbed on. For the next several hours it was a continuous chain of fucking cocks. As quick as one would blow in her, another would take his place. My wife was usually sucking on one trying to get him ready to fuck her again, while another pounded on her cunt. She was being her own fluffer. But she had always loved sucking cocks, even telling me of men she sucked even though she wouldn’t fuck them. I was treated to watching her lovingly suck Gerome’s cock into readiness a couple of times that evening. Again the erotic sight of that big black cock disappearing into her white face was soooooooo arousing. Followed by it disappearing into her willing cunt. My wife is a fair complected blond, and Gerome one of those extremely dark African-Americans whose cock is even black at the head, so the contrast was even more stark. Her orgasms had started to come continually, which wasn’t unusual for her after she got the first two. So the chant of “Fuck me” was also continuous, only stopping while a different lover crawled between her legs. If a lover took too much time getting into her cunt with his cock, she would chide him to hurry and fuck her. I told you my wife was a world-class slut. Yet, in spite of the fact I knew this, she even surprised me that night. My wife had been abused anally by an insensitive lover at one point in her life and the resulting damage to her tiny ass had led to infection, embarrassment and weeks of physical pain. But the most severe damage had been emotional. And though she loved me to tongue her ass or finger her ass with a well-lubricated finger, while I fucked her, she would never let me stick my rather large cock into her ass and fuck it good and proper.hot incest storiesAfter a couple of hours of fucking though, most of the time being double penetrated with a cock in her mouth while one worked her cunt over, she announced she wanted to be triple penetrated. She had one of the men lie on the bed and she mounted his erect cock taking it deep into her cunt. Then selecting the man with obviously the smallest cock, she handed him a small jar of Vaseline from the nightstand and had him lube up and put his cock into her ass. She chided him to go slowly until he was buried balls deep in her ass. Then she called Gerome over to her head and began to suck his stiffening cock. After a few minutes the three cocks were stroking her without mercy, but after she managed to suck Gerome dry, it became obvious she was experiencing the best fucking of her life as she chanted. “Fuck me. Fuck my ass. FUCK MY ASS YOU BASTARD. FUCK ME HARD YOU SONS-OF-BITCHES. CUM IN MY ASS. I WANNA FEEL YOUR CUM IN MY ASS. FUCK MY ASS. FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKKKK MMMMMMEEEEEE.” The guys fucked on her for about four hours. Each fucked her at least three times. A couple, including the undeniable Gerome, four times and one even five I think. Oh the staying power of youthful lust. After all left around two in the morning, my wife was covered from head to toe with dried or drying cum. I helped her to bathe and to bed. We slept the sleep of the dead curled in each other’s arms and woke as the late morning sun illuminated our bedroom. The thought had occurred to me the hell to pay might come in the morning as I drifted off. My dreams though were of cocks coming from every angle at my willing slutty wife, and dreams of becoming a millionaire selling amateur videos of my wife, the newest porn queen, on the Internet. As I awoke, I rose and went to the kitchen, preparing coffee for me and setting my wife’s teapot to boil. Her tea was ready as she entered our country kitchen a few minutes later, and any worries of recrimination by morning’s light were quickly dispelled. As she sat to her tea and the toasted English muffin I had prepared for her, she quipped “Remind me never to smoke pot and drink Margarita’s in the same evening again.” As if on queue, I asked why. With a wink and then a smile she said, ” MARGARITA’S AND POT MAKE MY PUSSY HURT!” I proved myself right, in that, since that night, I have no trouble getting my wife to participate in sexual events that involve third, fourth, and more parties. In fact, if she sees a strange man or woman (yes, it turns out my wife is BI) that turns her on sexually, she won’t hesitate to ask and I will attempt to set up a liaison. Sometimes the women are reluctant, but my wife is so attractive, the men have never been. We only have two rules. One I must always be present, so she isn’t cheating (a loose distinction I know, but it works for us) and two, we keep it within limits. No obsession with it, so we usually confine it to two or three times a quarter. Oh, in case you wondered, my wife wouldn’t allow anyone to see the videos except those who participate, so there goes my dream of riches. I always video the events and sometimes participate, but usually I am just the voyeur behind the camera. I will have to tell you about some of these sometime, but that is another story for another time. Ok, we all know I am a sick puppy, even so if you have comments or suggestions, write me at

My first time playing the role of mommy but I had a lot of fun, I hope you all enjoy!…

(What follows is a work of fiction. All readers must be over eighteen years of age. It is suggested that readers use their most open minds, but, since some have nothing resembling such, this cannot be made a requirement for enjoying the story. If you are one of those poor, unfortunate thinkers who have lost the key of acceptance and cannot open their minds, please don’t continue reading what you know will stir up your righteous indignation.)Chapter OneMy Dad made mistakes the year I was 18. He was a deputy sheriff in Oklahoma City. He was busted for dealing pounds of methamphetamine, and given thirty-five years. Because he was a lawman, he was put in solitary confinement. Putting ex-lawmen in solitary confinement is a clever way of letting the general prison population know they’re cops. I was just finishing the drawing I was going to send him for my 19 Christmas, when I found out he had beaten himself up and then hung himself in his cell at the prison at Lexington.Mom made some mistakes, too, but hers were more innocent…at least at first. After Dad beat himself to death, Mom grieved for about a year, about the appropriate time for a wife-beater who was wired all the time. Then she started dressing more attractively. She also started taking the stairs to and from the third-floor law office where she was a legal secretary. She had some extra weight to take off if she hoped to find a husband who wouldn’t take off, she said. When she fell down the stairs and broke her arm in seventeen places, her job as well as her motivation to exercise ceased.Mom had no choice. She was alone in Oklahoma City without a husband or a job. She also had a hungry, growing teenaged son. She packed our belongings in the back of her Ford Country Squire station wagon and drove us the one hundred and twenty miles from OKC to Hanging Tree, Oklahoma–the strangest smalltown in the world.Hanging Tree was named after a hanging tree that still stood–after two hundred proud years of evil–in the yard of the courthouse square in the center of the tiny town. The tree had been used for hanging in the previous century first by the “civilized” Native Americans then by the “cultured” European invaders. Ropes tied to its strongest and most accessible limb had ended hundreds of lives over the years. I thought the town was going to end my life without the courtesy of a noose.Mom moved us in with her widowed mother in a white clapboard house at the southskirts of Hanging Tree. From the moment we moved in, there was trouble. Trouble was named Stanley. Stanley was my cousin, but he wasn’t proud of that fact. To him, my father’s disgrace was mine and my mother’s as well. He was a thick-skulled, ex-Marine, 18 years older than I was, but he became my personal demon. He didn’t like the idea that Mom and I were living with his grandma, increasing her burden in her golden years. He loved his grandma. He respected his grandma like any good military man. When he came over and threatened to kill me if I didn’t leave, I told him to go fuck himself, so he decided to change tactics. That’s why he told Grandma Russell that I’d been having sex with my mother since Dad went to prison. It was his way of gently motivating his beloved grandmother to do the right thing and kick us out.I had just walked into the yard at Grandma’s house. I’d been across town at a friend’s house smoking pot. I loved the way pot made me feel, and the fact that it was illegal only made me feel closer to my dead Dad. Grandma was out in the yard, hanging washing on the clothes line. They liked hanging things in Hanging Tree. I had no idea my grandmother was waiting to hang me up for the rest of my life.As I walked into the yard, Grandma Russell said, “Micheal, come here! I want to talk to you!”She sounded serious, so I stopped in the yard and said, “What you want, Grandma?”She walked her bony, wrinkled ass, working her elbows for propulsion, and came quickly across the yard to where I stood by the gate. When she got two feet from me, she stopped, put one hand on a hip, and shook the index finger of her other hand in my face. Taken aback, I said, “What’s the deal, Grandma?”“Micheal Russell, have you been having sex with your mother?” The finger in my face wagged out each word. “Stanley was over here this morning and said you’ve been doing it with your mother ever since your father went to prison and died! If you have, you had just better confess your sin so I can pray for you!”I looked at her. I started to speak, but words wouldn’t come. I was shocked beyond tears or self-defense. From my 18-year-old viewpoint, I was living through a hell on earth. My father had been disgraced, imprisoned, and killed. My mother had disabled herself, and we’d had to move from Oklahoma City to a scab like Hanging Tree. I had been getting one or two pimples that made me self-conscious. We had no money, I had no friends, and now my grandmother was accusing me of fucking my mother!“No, Grandma! No! Christ!”“Don’t you use the name of the Savior in vain, young man. You’re in enough trouble with Heaven for having carnal knowledge of your own sweet mother and her with one bad arm!”“But I didn’t! I didn’t have sex with Mom! Grandma! Stanley’s lying! Why are you so quick to believe something like that just because my sick cousin Stanley says it’s so?”She looked at me with hidden disappointment dawning as she realized that it probably wasn’t true. She had been ready for a battle against the devil for my soul and Momma’s pussy. Now that she began to believe I was telling the truth (and at the time I was), she became embarrassed. But it was a strange embarrassment.Instead of acting as if she were embarrassed about what she had said, she acted as if she were naked in front of me. When a woman is simply apologizing for being irrational, she doesn’t cover her clothed breasts with her arm, or splay her hand over her clothed pussy. I was young, but I read a lot. I knew the signs, and there was no mistaking the look in Grandma’s eyes. She was as turned on as a cat in heat.She took the hand that had symbolically hidden her pussy and put it on my arm. She smiled at me and laid her head against my shoulder. I couldn’t believe what seemed to be happening. Then she removed any doubt. Putting her other hand on the bulge in the front of my jeans, my grandmother said, “Since your grandfather died, it seems like my old cunt does all my thinking for me.”The longer Grandma massaged my dick through my jeans, the more forgiving I became. “Your Mom is going to be in Tulsa till late tonight. Let’s go in the house,” she said. I was easily led.We went to her bedroom. She sat on the bed and pulled me close to her. With a wicked gleam dancing in her old eyes, Grandma undid my belt and fly, took out my rock-hard eight inches (the only thing Dad left me), and dove for it like a big-mouthed bass for a spinner. I’d never experienced the like before, but Grandma had. She knew just what to do, grabbing my ass, twirling the tip of her tongue around the head of my dick as it bobbed in and out of her mouth. In what seemed like moments, I was holding the back of Grandma’s head with both hands and squirting cum into her throat. She moaned as she sucked. My head was reeling from the orgasm and from the thought of what I was doing.When she’d sucked me dry, she sat back, wiped her lips, smiled at me and said, “Now…you may not be fucking your mother, but you can fuck your old grandma’s pussy if you want.” She pulled her feet up on the bed, pulled up the hem of her dress, spread her legs, and scooted her hips forward on the bed. I reached down and grabbed her panties and pulled them down her skinny thighs and off over her tiny feet. She reached down and spread her inner lips. My dick got hard again.I kneeled on the bed and positioned myself between her thighs. Grandma reached in the front of her dress and pulled out a long, hard-nippled breast. Then she reached between my legs and grabbed my cock. “Oh, God forgive me! Heaven knows I need this!” Then she put the head of my dick between her moist lips. She threw her arms around my lower back and slammed me into her sixty-year-old snatch. It was warm, and soft, and I was hooked.In the limited day to day evaluation of a teenage boy, I became quite fond of life in Hanging Tree. I went to school where I was a slightly shy new kid with few friends, but when I came home I had plenty of opportunities to relieve the day’s stresses. Every time Mom was out of the house, I’d fuck Grandma like we were newlyweds. I had her all over the house. She made me like the forbidden aspect of our lovemaking by being up front with her wickedness. Sometimes I’d worry about people coming to the door, because when I was sliding my big dick in and out of Grandma’s lush, withered cunt, she’d shout things like, “That’s it. That’s it, son! Fuck Grandma’s pussy hard! Oh, you grandmotherfucker!”Mom never let on that she knew. I found out that Grandma had told her soon after it began, but Mom played dumb. Then on the night of July 4th, 1979, Mom and Grandma started getting ready to go somewhere. I came in the house and went to the refrigerator to get a Dr. Pepper. I noticed them getting ready and asked where they were going.“You’re going too,” Grandma said. “Go get cleaned up some.”“Where am I going?” I asked Mom who came into the kitchen, asking me to zip her up. (Her right arm was still weak from the fall.)“We’re going to a special Bible study,” Mom said, smiling over her shoulder at me after I pulled the zipper to her neckline.“Ah, Mom. I don’t want to go to church.” We didn’t make it a habit of going to church. Dad had been a nonbeliever, and Mom hadn’t made a big thing of her beliefs if she had any. I had come to the conclusion that God was a story like Santa Claus that they told you to convince you to be good.With Mom standing right in front of me, smiling at me and working to put her earring on, Grandma walked right up to me and grabbed my bulge. She’d never done anything like that in front of Mom before. I looked at Mom’s face, expecting surprise, and saw only that kindly light she always shined at her only child. Grandma said, “You’ll like this Bible study, you hard-dicked sweetheart. Now go get ready!” She gave my bulge a squeeze that made me see stars. I went to comb my hair.It was indeed a “special” Bible study, but I wondered then, and I still wonder, how unique it was. Christianity, in its more fundamentalist forms, is a repressive disease that starves its practioners for sex. If there were no Christianity, there would be a hundred times less perversion. Christianity forces people to deny their sexuality until it bursts forth in slightly twisted eruptions. I wondered how many churches across the nation has special meetings that only the more sensual Biblethumpers attended.The Bible study was held at a house in the country. When we pulled up about sunset, there were six cars parked carelessly around the circular drive at the front of the expensive home. Grandma parked the station wagon, and we went inside.A beautiful blonde girl of about twelve years met us at the front door and escorted us to a large inner room. There were eleven people in the room. Our number would bring the total to a multiple of seven. I learned that this was thought to be important. The young blonde introduced us to the assembly by happily proclaiming, “The seventh family is here! Here they are! The seventh family is here.”The room was furnished with style. The walls were covered with bright abstract paintings and the leaves of potted plants set all around its perimeter. The open square of the center of the room was bordered by long, plush, white couches. We sat in one corner of the fence of couches, and a tall, thin, dark man in a black business suit stood and began addressing the congregation:“If you have known Love, you have known God,” said the deacon.“If you have known Love, you have known God,” we all repeated.The deacon strolled slowly around the inner square, smiling at each, acknowledging each, as he spoke:“This is a great occasion for us today. Last month we lost three of our members who moved to Los Angeles. We have done well, but there is only so much we can do if we lack the Holy Numbers. Now we have seven families represented by fourteen people. Our prayers will be mighty tonight, praise God.”“Praise God,” the congregation echoed.“I am called The Deacon. No one here uses their everyday name. This is a special meeting of true believers in God’s grace. We believe, as did the first century Christians, that nothing is wrong as long as it hurts no one and is done in true love. Our freedom, eroded by centuries of dogma, is the liberty of the Law of Love.“We all go to regular Fundamentalist churches because Fundamentalism is about all there is in Oklahoma. But this is our true place of worship. Here we thank God for the gift of our bodies. Here we live as we were created to live in shameless Eden.”At that, everyone stood. I’d only been to church once or twice in my life, but I remembered they were big about everybody doing everything together, standing together, sitting together, singing together. I stood. Then everyone started taking their clothes off. It was quiet, unhurried, almost reverent. Not until I saw Mom and Grandma, to my right and my left, disrobing did I come out of my amazement enough to do likewise.When everyone was naked, the Deacon took a seat on the couch. Then the women, all the women, stood and paraded in the center square. At first they said nothing, just walked around, every shape and size of women, every age from the twelve-year-old blonde to my sixtyish grandmother. I couldn’t take my eyes off my beautiful, big-boobed, brunette-bushed Mom. Since I had been wrongly accused of fucking her, fucking her was all I could think about. The mind is funny that way.Then, at a nod from the Deacon, the women stood together in a cluster, raised their prayerful hands to their lips, bowed their heads, and began chanting a Bible verse over and over–“Give to every man who asks of you, and from him who would borrow of you, turn not away.“Give to every man who asks of you, and from him who would borrow of you, turn not away…”Besides the Deacon, there were two other males in the room, a fat man with a grey beard and a skinny redheaded guy a few years older than me. They were all masturbating their cocks to get them hard. I didn’t have to.The women stopped chanting their Bible verses. Then Mom walked over to me, her big breasts swinging, still firm. She held her bad arm under her breasts. She got on her knees in front of me and said, “Be careful of my arm, darling.” Then she bowed her head again and took the head of my dick in her mouth.I was ecstatic. Nothing had ever felt as good. Looking down incredulously, I saw her beautiful hazel eyes smiling at me merrily as she sucked my big, thick dick into her pretty mouth. I began to rock my hips up and down, fucking her mouth. Her good hand crept up my thigh and squeezed my balls.“Oh, fuck this,” I said. I got up and set her where I’d been sitting. She was more beautiful to me, sitting there with her legs pulled back, smiling at her son about to fuck her, than anything I’d seen before or have seen since. I grabbed my throbbing dick in my right hand. I was going to fuck my mother! I was going to be a motherfucker just like I’d been accused of being. I was about as far from being ashamed of it as I could be. I felt like the luckiest guy in the world.I could feel the individual hairs of my mother’s hot cunt touching the head of my dick as I guided it between her fat, olive-pink pussylips. When I stuck the head in her hole, Mom cooed, “Oh, yes! Stick that big, beautiful dick in Momma’s hot, hairy pussy. Oh, Micheal! Stick it in and fuck me. I’ve wanted this for so long.”I shoved my dick up in my mother as far as I could. Her heat and sweet creaminess was all the more delightful because it was forbidden. I was fucking my dear sweet mother, had my dick in her pussy, and I wanted to stay there for the rest of my life. Pumping my dick back and forth, in and out of Mom’s soft, wet twat, I heard the sucking sound that’s a soundtrack to sex. The sound itself turned me on even more. I looked down and watched Mom’s cuntlips cling to my dick. Her breathing was becoming quicker and uneven. I reached down and began sucking her rose-brown nipple while my hips continued driving my truck up her tunnel.I was sucking and fucking Mom enthusiastically, when I felt her start to spasm. She began moaning my name faster and faster, throwing her pussy up to meet my jabbing cock. Then she almost screamed, “Oh, God is Love! Micheal, fuck Mommy’s pussy. Oh, fuck Mommy’s wet hairy hole! I’m cumming! I’m CUMMMING!!”Pulling my mouth roughly off her tit, I straightened up and began kissing Mom’s mouth like we were horny kids in the backseat of a car. I pounded my cock in her cunt and French kissed her through her orgasm. When she was spent, I kept fucking her slowly. Her eyes looked into mine and widened. I smiled at her, kissed her lips briefly, and then, punctuating every word with a thrust of my dick into her honeypot, I said, “Mom, I hope you like what you started, because you’re mine now. I’m going to fuck you like you were my girlfriend from now on. Say it. Say this pussy is mine.”She put her hands on my biceps and wiggled her pussy from side to side as I slammed into it. “Oh, yes, darling. Mom’s yours now. Your Daddy’s gone, and you’re going to fill more than his shoes.” She laughed and then pulled herself up to my sweating body and began slapping her sopping cunt up to meet the rhythm of my dick. “Anytime you want to borrow a little of your Momma’s hot pussy, all you have to do is ask, sweetheart. All you have to do is ask.”Still fucking, but feeling my own orgasm rising, I laughed and said, “Why do I have to ask?”When I asked the question, Mom had been sucking on my right nipple. She pulled her face back and began running her fingers through my sweaty chest hair as my strokes in her steaming twat got faster and faster. “Because that’s the Law of Love,” she said. Just as I started shooting a huge load of cum up her gleefully incestuous cunt, Mom began chanting:“Give to every man who asks of you, and from him who would borrow of you, turn not away. Give to every man who asks of you, and from him who would borrow of you, turn not away. Give to every man who asks of you, and from him who would borrow of you, turn not away.”THE END

Another year, another Wimbledon, another semi-final … another match point. Tina had heard it said that history repeats itself, but this was surely pushing it. How could she have been so stupid…? She knew exactly how, of course. Ever since that fateful day this time last year, women’s tennis had changed beyond recognition. The photos in the next day’s papers had won her immediate condemnation from a bunch of people she did not care about, while also earning immediate super-celebrity status as one of the world’s leading sex symbols. The fact that she had ended up losing the match made no difference at all. The job offers came rolling in, though she politely declined all requests that she pose nude for men’s magazines, and her bank balance grew and grew…This fact was not lost on her fellow tennis starlets. At last year’s US Open, a succession of tiny microskirts made their way out on to the courts, and soon Tina found herself facing stiff competition. One girl, in particular, seemed to have hardly any inhibitions at all – her name was Laura Lessing and she had won the hearts and loins of millions of male admirers across the globe. She had first made news by wearing bright red French-cut panties under her short skirt, and though she received reprimands from numerous umpires she continued to wear similar underwear in tournament after tournament. Her skirts were generally not excessively minuscule, but they were made of such a light material that they flew up around her waist at the slightest breeze, and she was not quick to cover her modesty. She obviously adored the limelight.As did Tina, who found herself driven to further exhibitionistic acts on the court just so she could keep herself in the media spotlight. In the French Open, she had worn a skirt that only barely covered her buttocks, with lacy panties beneath. The skirt was made of a stiff material that would neither fly up nor ride up, but whenever she bent over she knew she was showing her panties to the crowds and the cameras.Her fan sites doubled in number, then trebled. Fan mail poured in, as did the contracts, and she carefully ignored the vicious backlash from conservative groups. The people she had intended to thrill were thrilled.For this year’s Wimbledon, she had prepared well. The stretchy skirt idea had been a good one, but it had been flawed. Now, however, she had ironed out the problems. A skirt had been designed and made for her specially – one that would ride up as she moved, but not too quickly. Unlike her night-club skirt of the previous year, this one would not end up around her waist. Indeed, even after the longest, most vigorous points, it would uncover no more than a centimetre of the lower curves of her buttocks. Thus she could be sexy, but safe in the knowledge that she was in control.The dress code for this Wimbledon had been re-written. With new money pouring into the game, big name sponsors had put pressure on the rules committee to allow the female players a little flexibility. In short, the players could wear skirts of any length as long as they covered the buttocks while the player was at rest and standing straight, and the underwear rules had been relaxed to permit any kind of underwear except thongs and g-strings. There had been fierce opposition to these changes, and a few resignations had occurred. But the changes had stuck.So, on the first day of the Wimbledon fortnight, Tina had strode on to the court wearing a semi-stretchy white miniskirt that covered her buttocks with almost an inch to spare, with a pair of pale blue French-cut panties underneath. The outfit had gone down a storm. Every day for the last week and a half, she had graced several pages of each and every tabloid in the country. She practically received a standing ovation every time she walked out on to the court.And today she faced Laura Lessing. Laura had received a similarly rapturous welcome on her first day, as she appeared on court wearing not only her trademark ‘flying’ skirt, but also a tight tank top through which the outline of her bra was clearly visible. The tabloids contained nearly as many photos of Laura as they did of Tina. In fact, over the last couple of days Tina had been incensed to discover herself almost marginalised by full-page spreads of Laura’s latest gimmick – a pair of French-cut panties that had been judiciously altered to turn them almost, but not quite, into a thong. And the committee did not object! This angered Tina. Laura was flouting the new rules and getting away with it!So last night, Tina had decided she was not going to be outdone in her own match. She had summoned her tailor (she never went anywhere without him these days), and given him the job of ‘editing’ her own panties. She showed him the picture of Laura’s bottom adorning the front page of The Quasar. “I want you to make mine even skimpier than that,” she said, “while still not being a thong.”Gerard’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “That … will be tricky,” he remarked. “But I’ll give it a try.”And so he had. The following morning, Tina was impressed with the result.“That will surely slip between my buttocks,” she observed critically.“It will, after a short while,” agreed Gerard. “But it’s not a thong – not quite. And I’m sure you’ll get a kick out of pulling it out of your arse every few points in front of the cameras.”Tina considered this, and a smile came to her lips. “Yes…” she said.“That will be fun.”But Martin, her manager, was outraged when he saw the garment. “You cannot wear that!” he exclaimed. “It’s hardly any bigger than the thong you wore last year! And just remember – you almost got banned from Wimbledon on account of that little stunt.”“It wasn’t a stunt!” objected Tina. “But that’s academic anyway. They’ve relaxed the rules since then, as well you know.”“But there are still rules,” Martin insisted. “And one of them is that thongs aren’t allowed.”“This isn’t a thong,” said Tina.“It virtually is. And when it’s bunched up between your butt cheeks, who’s going to know the difference?”“Who indeed?” Tina smiled wryly. “But I can easily prove to them that it isn’t.”Martin frowned, then turned on his heel and walked away.“He’ll get over it,” Gerard told her. “Now, about this top…”“Oh yes! Do you have it?”“It’s in your bag,” said the tailor. “Check it out – I think you’ll like it.”Tina hurried through to her room and placed the almost-thong on her bed next to her equipment bag. Opening the bag, she smiled as she spotted a white cut-off t-shirt folded neatly on the top. She smiled to herself.This was her latest gambit – exposure of the midriff. She pulled it out and held it up, giggling naughtily. Then she pulled out the miniskirt and sighed happily as she imagined the whole combination. This was going to be a good day. Finally she went through the rest of the equipment in the bag, making sure it was all present. She was not going to make the same mistake she had made this time last year!Placing her racquets in the bag first, she re-packed everything, leaving her clothing until last. She hesitated for a moment, then resisted the temptation to try the clothes on before packing them, too. She laid the panties and the skirt side by side on top of her track suit, then placed the t-shirt on top.“Tina?”She turned around at the sound of her manager’s voice. “Yes Martin?”“Waldo’s here – he wants to talk to you about tonight’s do.”Tina frowned. “Couldn’t he have phoned?”“He was in the hotel,” explained Martin. “Thought he’d ‘just drop by’ or something.”“Okay, I’m coming.” Tina stood up and went out to meet her agent.Waldo was a tall man with a thick crop of wild grey hair that always looked as if he’d been out in a strong wind. He had a habit of finishing every other sentence with “don’t you know” and his eyebrows bobbed up and down as he talked. Tina found him rather intimidating, but he was the best agent she’d had.“Ahem, well Tina, good morning and how do you do,” he pronounced sternly.“I’ve been chewing the old fat with the blokes at the press office and they happened to bring up the subject of interviews, don’t you know. So I thought to myself, as I am wont to do, ‘now here if I am not greatly mistaken is an opportunity old boy’ and …”Tina only half-listened, fascinated by his eyebrows, as Waldo trundled on through a terribly one-sided conversation at the end of which he paused, awaiting her response. She shook herself. “Ah, whatever you think is best, Waldo,” she said. “I trust your judgment.”“Most gratifying I am sure, well I’ll be tootling off now if you’ll pardon my flying visit – oh and I have another advertising contract I need to discuss with you, but it can wait until tonight, what? Or even tomorrow don’t you know. Toodle-pip.” And with that he swept out of the room.“We should be leaving,” said Martin, coming back into the room. “Are you ready?”“Sure,” said Tina. “Let me grab my bag.”She walked back into her bedroom and reached down to zip up her bag. Then she stopped. Something was not quite right. Her eyes narrowing, she slid her hand down the side of the bag and pulled out a white object that she had just glimpsed the corner of. It was a pair of conservative white panties.Annoyed, she flung them on to the floor. “Thought you’d try to convince me of the error of my ways, did you Martin?” she muttered.She said nothing to Martin as they left the hotel, and only in the car did she finally break her silence. “Honestly Martin,” she reprimanded him.“Sometimes you act just like my mother.”“Huh?” Martin looked puzzled.“The panties?”“Oh.” Martin flushed and responded defensively, “Well I’m sorry, but there are limits, you know.”“Just forget it,” said Tina.In the Centre Court changing rooms she met up with her arch-rival, and today’s opponent, Laura Lessing. “Hi,” said Tina rather coldly.“Hi Tina!” Laura gushed. “Wow, I’m so happy to be playing against you at last! You are my absolute hero, you know.”Tina was utterly disarmed, and found herself rather flustered. “Well, I…” she began. “Thank you! That’s nice of you to say so.”“I think it’s great what you’ve done for women’s tennis,” continued Laura.“You’ve possibly seen my, um … tributes … to your groundbreaking stunt last year…”“It wasn’t…” Tina began, before changing her mind. “Well, I guess I always figured you were trying to outdo me,” she said. “You must admit you’ve become rather popular yourself…”“I know!” Laura’s eyes were like saucers, as if she could barely comprehend the idea. “Isn’t it amazing? I mean, I’m nowhere near as pretty as you – I’m just overwhelmed at the attention I’ve got.”Tina chuckled. “Have you ever thought of, you know, toning it down a little?”Laura looked surprised. “Why, no,” she said. “Have you?” But she did not wait for a response before continuing in a conspiratorial whisper, “I just love to go a little further each time, you see. I know sooner or later I’ll get into trouble, but isn’t it amazing what they’ll let you get away with this year?”“Yes, it is,” agreed Tina. She sighed and began to undress. “Guess we’d better get into our skimpy outfits then.”Laura giggled. “Ooh yes,” she said.Tina pulled her t-shirt and skirt out of her bag, then stared into her bag in horror. Her heart plummeted into her shoes. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed.“What is it?” asked Laura in alarm.“My panties! They’re not here!”“What? Are you sure?”Tina suddenly realised with a shock that Martin had not only placed a conservative pair of panties in her bag, he had removed the other pair at the same time! “I don’t believe it!” she said. “My manager’s taken them out!”“Can’t you wear what you’re wearing now?” inquired Laura. “As I understand it, that’s what you did last year.”“I’m not wearing underwear,” hissed Tina sharply.“Ah,” said Laura. “Oops.”“Hey, are you wearing panties?” asked Tina on a sudden thought.“Yes but…”“Great! Can I wear them?”“No! I’m wearing the ones I’ll be wearing on the court!”“Oh.” Tina was crestfallen. “Good grief, what a fix.”“What skirt have you got?” inquired Laura.Tina showed her.Laura nodded. “Ah yes, I know that one. It doesn’t ride up much, does it?”“Not much,” conceded Tina. “But enough, probably.”“Maybe not, if you’re careful. And won’t it be awesome? Think of it – the first woman to play tennis at a Grand Slam tournament without panties!” Tina groaned. “I suppose it’s possible I might get away with it,” she said. “But I’ll be giving you the advantage.”Laura waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense,” she said airily. “You’re the better player – you’ll have no problems.”Tina stared at Laura, perplexed. “What kind of pep-talk do you give yourself?” she inquired. “Are you expecting to lose?”“I don’t mind.” Laura shrugged. “I’m just out to play my best and have a good time. I don’t have any illusions.”Tina shook her head in great puzzlement, then sighed as she considered her position. Eventually she decided to bite the bullet, and changed into her miniskirt, sports bra and cut-off t-shirt. The latter item caught her by surprise – it was far tighter than she had imagined.Laura whistled. “Wow, sexy!” Tina chuckled. The top really was tight – it clung to every curve of her breasts and the bra beneath made highly visible ridges in its fabric. She decided she rather liked the effect.But then she noticed what Laura was wearing. She gasped. “Oh my goodness!” Laura had really pulled out all the stops, knowing she was up against the woman who had started the whole revolution in women’s tennis wear. Her light skirt had been drastically reduced in length – it barely covered her buttocks – and she was wearing a tight lycra crop-top that made Tina’s t-shirt seem almost conservative. “How do I look?” she asked.“You look … naked!” exclaimed Tina.Laura giggled. “Why thank you!” she said.The two girls donned their track suits and walked out to meet the crowd, to whistles and cheers and great applause. They lapped it up. Then Martin arrived.“Where have you been?” Tina hissed.“Getting a drink,” he said. “What’s up?”“What’s up??” Tina fought to control her anger. “Martin you idiot, I didn’t realise you’d taken my panties out of my bag!”“Huh?”“Those ones you put in there – I threw them away! Now I have nothing!” Martin gasped in shock. “Oh … my … God,” he managed at last.“Tell me about it. Now do you think you can go and get me some?”“Well, I’ll try,” he said, “but you know what the traffic’s like. Remember the last time?”“You don’t need to go all the way back to the hotel,” she told him. “Just find a clothes shop.”Martin nodded. “Okay,” he said, and hurried off.The sky was overcast as the two girls took off their track suits to rapturous applause. Cameras snapped in their hundreds. Tina had stomach butterflies as she began her warm up with a few serves from the right-hand side of the court. But her skirt stayed put (pretty much), and she made sure its hem stayed well below her buttocks. The breeze on her naked pussy made her feel terribly uneasy, but she forced herself not to think about it, and tried to concentrate on serving well.Meanwhile, Laura was getting all the attention. She was leaping high in every serve, her skirt flying up to reveal a pair of white silk panties that were almost as small as the ones Tina had been planning to wear. And they looked as if they were several sizes too small. Already the material at the back was creeping between her buttocks, and she made no attempt to rectify the situation. And she took her time about bending over (with straight legs) to pick up balls from the grass.Tina was a little relieved not to have all the cameras scrutinising her, but also rather annoyed that the crowd was watching Laura and not her.Nevertheless, she did not dare to let her skirt ride any higher than it was doing already, so she forced herself to ignore her opponent’s exhibitionistic antics and the crowd’s response.The match began. As expected, Tina’s skirt did not ride up much, and she began to relax a little. She was careful not to allow any point to go on for too long (sometimes this meant giving Laura the occasional point, but she could afford them), and gradually she began to feel that she was, after all, in control. After four games, the score was 3:1, and Tina was about to serve in the fifth when it began to rain.It was just a light drizzle, but after only a couple of points the grass was beginning to get slippery, and after a meaningful glance from Tina, the umpire ordered the covers to be brought out. Tina was relieved – it would buy her some time before Martin got back.But the covers were not on for long. Five minutes later the rain had ceased, and the players were cleared to resume the game. This they did, but this time Laura had the advantage. The damp grass caused them both to slip on several occasions, but whereas Laura took this in her stride, relishing the opportunity to flash her panties yet again, Tina could not afford to let her skirt ride up at all. So she played it safe, taking only small steps, while Laura capitalised on the opportunity to break serve for the first time.The drizzle began again in the next game, but stopped after only a couple of minutes. Tina was by now getting rather frustrated. She lost to Laura’s serve, then lost her own serve after that. Things were not going well. On the positive side, the rain was causing her t-shirt to cling even tighter to her chest, and the material was even easier to see through now that it was damp.Laura could not help but notice this as she came all the way up to the net to slam home a winning cross-court volley. She realised that her own crop top was not the type of garment to turn transparent in the rain, and she wished she had thought to wear a thin t-shirt like Tina’s. But perhaps there was something else she could do…At the beginning of the ninth game, with the score at 5:3 (to Laura), Tina bounced a ball in front of her, glancing occasionally at her opponent. She watched as Laura hopped from one foot to the other, bouncing on the spot, and then frowned. Laura seemed a little more … bouncy? than usual.And then she realised the startling truth: that her opponent had taken off her bra! Laura’s crop top was now bouncing under the influence of a pair of decidedly unfettered breasts (and Laura’s chest was fairly large for a tennis player).“Two can play at that game,” thought Tina to herself, and she clenched her teeth in a new resolve.Determined to pull herself back into the match, Tina began to take a few more risks. She managed to win her serve, but then had a nasty fright in Laura’s service game. While running at full-stretch to intercept an attempted pass, she slipped and abruptly did the splits (almost) on the damp grass. She squealed in horror and immediately closed her legs, pulling her skirt down to cover her neatly-trimmed pubic hair.There were one or two puzzled stares from the crowd, but the glimpse had been too brief for them to be sure about what they had seen. Tina could almost hear their comments: “Did you just see what I saw? Well, I’m not sure… it looked like she’s not wearing panties… Of course, I could be wrong…”She got to her feet, somewhat rattled, and returned to the baseline. The next couple of points went badly, and soon she found herself facing the wrong end of a set point. Biting her lip in anxiety, she was almost wrong-footed as the ball came hurtling down the court to her right-hand side. She launched herself towards it.Her foot slipped, and shot backwards. She sank to the floor as the ball whipped past her unmet. Her skirt had ridden up again and she hastily pulled it down as she got to her feet. Again, the whispers…“Game and first set to Miss Lessing,” announced the umpire.Tina sighed unhappily and prepared to serve. The lack of a bra certainly had not severely handicapped her opponent’s game. In fact, she seemed to have acquired a new confidence and was making very few errors. Still, her serve was not strong and could be beaten.By serving well, and taking some judicious risks, Tina succeeded in winning her service game. Smiling to herself as she sat down, she decided to up the stakes in the battle for the press’s attention. As surreptitiously as she could, she unclasped her bra and slipped it off, pulling it out through the left arm-hole of her t-shirt and dropping it into her bag. Immediately the damp t-shirt clung to her bare breasts, and with an involuntary shiver she realised she could just make out her nipples through the thin material. She was sure that the press cameras would also be able to see them.Without bra or panties, she walked out on to the court in just a cut-off t-shirt and a microskirt. Feeling naked and vulnerable but also rather aroused, she winked at Laura before her opponent served. The sensation of playing with no restraints on her breasts, however, was too unfamiliar and her return went wide. Laura’s next serve she pounded back into the net.Cursing to herself, she prepared to try again. She was annoyed with herself for having so much difficulty playing without a bra, when Laura seemed to be managing just fine.‘She probably practices without a bra all the time,’ she thought to herself suddenly. ‘Oh heck, what have I let myself in for?’ She lost that game, and then her own service game. Now 2:1 down, she watched as Laura prepared to serve once again. Her nineteen-year-old opponent’s crop top seemed a little skimpier somehow, and Tina frowned.What had the dratted girl done now? A brief rendezvous at the net in the next point answered her question.Laura had folded over part of her top, so that not only was it now more revealing, but it was also serving to keep her breasts in place more effectively. This was a clever plan, but it was risky – too much bouncing and Laura’s breasts would pop out from underneath the crop top. No doubt that added to the girl’s thrill.The drizzle began again, but not before Tina had broken serve, and then held on to her own serve, to bring the score to 3:2. As the two girls sat down in their respective places, the umpire leaned over to speak to Tina.“Miss Hathaway?” he said.Tina looked up guiltily. She folded her arms across her chest, convinced he was going to reprimand her for removing her bra. But she was mistaken.“How’s the court?” he asked. “I’m considering abandoning play, but it’s up to you two. Miss Lessing is happy to continue, so it’s your decision.”Tina thought for a moment. Martin was not back yet, but he surely would be soon. And she was beginning to play better now. Finally she was back in the lead, and she was becoming confident she could stay ahead until the end of this set. Furthermore, she was enjoying the way the drizzle was making her t-shirt more see-through every minute. “I’m okay for the moment,” she said. “It’s not that bad out there.”“Very well,” said the umpire, nodding.Tina took a swig from her water bottle, then got up and returned to the court.Two lost games later, she was regretting her decision. The drizzle had stopped, but the ground was still rather wet and slippery. She no longer felt she had an excuse for requesting that play be abandoned, and her t-shirt was not getting any more transparent. Facing what could possibly be her penultimate game of this tournament, she decided to go all out in her efforts to win the publicity battle. If she could not win the match, at least she could still steal the next day’s headlines from that upstart Laura.Carefully and deliberately, she poured the remaining contents of her water bottle over her chest, making sure she covered both breasts equally. The material quickly turned almost completely transparent, and despite herself she gasped at the sight of her breasts staring back at her. The wet t-shirt clung tightly to every contour and concealed nothing.Holding her head high (while trying not to meet anyone’s gaze), she marched out on to the court once again. Laura did the same, but then her jaw dropped as she saw Tina’s transformation. Tina saw her giggle and then hold up a thumb in admiring support.“Miss Hathaway…” came the umpire’s voice over the loudspeaker.Tina trotted over to speak to him.The umpire leaned over and said, “Enough is enough, Miss Hathaway. This is not a wet t-shirt contest, it is a tennis match. The new rules regarding the dress code are there to encourage freedom of expression, not indecent behaviour. Do you have another shirt?”“I’m afraid not,” confessed Tina.The umpire sighed. “And where is your bra?”“It broke,” Tina lied.“All right, but one more lewd act on your part and I will disqualify you and ban you from the tournament. The whole tone of this event has dropped through the floor, and I’m damned if I’m going to take it any more.”Tina nodded. “I understand.” Rather subdued, she returned to the court.The game went badly. Tina found her t-shirt highly distracting, and with every bounce it rode higher and higher and threatened to expose her breasts to the world. Soon it was revealing as much flesh as Laura’s crop top.Nevertheless, she liked the effect and did not attempt to replace it, until she heard a warning cough from the umpire. She hastily pulled it down.She lost that game, and prepared to serve to stay in the match. She served well, but a good return surprised her and she failed to clear the net with her follow-up shot. Then she noticed that her vigorous serve had resulted in her t-shirt being hoisted up high on her chest. Only a half-inch of material extended below the lower curve of her breasts. Rather reluctantly, she pulled the t-shirt down.The next few serves had similar effects, but a longer point almost resulted in her breasts popping free of the t-shirt entirely. She won two points, but also lost two.So now she was at match point, again, and this time her predicament was even worse. What could she do? If she preserved her modesty and lost, was that any better than going all out and perhaps being banned from the rest of the tournament? Probably not.She served, and at once felt her t-shirt climb up again. But she ignored it and concentrated on trying to predict where Laura’s return would end up.It was short – that was good. Tina raced forward and whipped the ball over to the far corner. But Laura, realising the danger, was already almost there. She hammered it back down the line, and Tina had to lunge to reach it. She made it, just, and the ball bounced high off her racquet – a mis-hit.Laura was quick to take advantage, her chest bouncing as she ran around the back of the ball. She attempted to fire it down the right-hand line, but Tina caught it at the net with a drop volley. However, it bounced harder off her racquet than she had intended, leaving Laura with an easy opportunity for a lob. Tina raced backwards, only to find to her horror that Laura was not going for the lob at all. She was responding with a drop shot of her own.Tina sprinted forwards, just reaching the ball in time. But as she dug her feet in to brake herself, they slid on the wet grass, shooting right under the net. Tina yelped as she fell to the ground and slid forwards on her back. Her skirt, caught by the net as she passed beneath it, was yanked up to her waist. Her t-shirt was pulled up by sheer friction, both on the ground and on the bottom of the net, until it was wrapped around her neck.At this point Tina came to an abrupt halt, with her head on one side of the net and her rather unclothed body on the other.The crowd fell into a stunned silence, then erupted in a cacophony of wolf-whistles, cheers and thunderous applause. The umpire’s announcement of “Game, set and match to Miss Lessing” went completely unheard. Laura, meanwhile, walked over to where Tina was lying with her pussy and breasts fully exposed to the crowd and to the world’s photographers. She looked down at Tina and smiled.“You win,” she said.THE END

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