Sweat drips on the indoor tennis court. Score’s tight: 6-3, 2-1, 30-15 for me. Valérie moves like a predator, skirt flipping, navel golden from sun, tits bouncing on every lob. Her legs endless, chasing balls, driving me wild. I’m gay, but damn, she’s art. Pure aesthetic thrill. No kisses, just smashes and slices.
Door bangs open. Cop strides in. Stunned silence. Pandemic rules: no indoor sports. Fine’s 135 euros each. Courteous bastard, but firm. Rain outside, I plead. Weekly players, he knows. IDs out. Wallet ready. Valérie blurts: ‘We’re lovers. Fuck every night.’ Lie. Total fiction. But she pushes. Tattoo on my shoulder: Che Guevara hacking cane. I strip shirt, show it. Cop shrugs. Needs proof.
The Spark Ignites
‘Fuck in front of me,’ he says. Heart pounds. Valérie’s naked already. Smooth skin, curves begging touch. ‘Come on, darling?’ Fuck it. I drop clothes. Cock half-hard from adrenaline. Her eyes widen—surprise at my softish dick. Thrill surges. Forbidden. Exposed. Cop watching. Pulse races, skin prickles. Excitement builds, cock twitching despite myself. This transgression? Pure rush.
She pulls me to the gym mat. Mouth on my cock. Sucks hesitant, brows furrowed again. Wet heat sloppy, tongue fumbling. I’m thickening now, veins pulsing. Illicit eyes on us. Her pussy glistens—wet from the dare? I grab tits, nipples hard peaks. She moans fake-loud. Cop hands us condoms from his kit. Rip open, roll on. Missionary first. She’s guiding my cock in—tight, slick walls grip. Hesitant thrust. Clumsy slide. But heat builds, friction sparks.
Raw Thrust into Forbidden Ecstasy
Flip her. Improvise: legs wide, athletic twist like a serve. Pound deeper. Sweat mixes, slaps echo. Court smells of rubber, us. Her ass up. ‘Anal?’ Gel from her bag—lube slick. Finger her hole first, puckered ring yields. Cock probes, slow push. Tight squeeze, burn delicious. She helps, hand steering. Inch by inch, buried. Whisper: ‘Fake the orgasm.’ She gasps, screams theatrical. My balls tighten. Thrusts frantic, ass clenching. Cum blasts—quick, intense. Pull out, rubber full. She’s pouting, disappointed mask slips.
Days later, report arrives. Detailed. Notes her surprise at my limp start, no condoms, awkward entry, improv positions, faked climax, my rushed spurt. Not convinced. Fines jacked: 735 euros total. Valérie fumes: ‘We fucked for nothing—screwed by the cops!’ But me? Secret high. Back to normal—tennis buddies, no more. Yet replay it nightly. That exposure, raw plunge into her body, cop’s gaze fueling every thrust. Gay or not, the risk? Addictive. No one knows. My hidden kink: baring all for the forbidden fuck. Thrill lingers, cock stirs at memory. Osen’t dare share elsewhere. Here, anonymous rush owns me.