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“your serves are lacking in force. good on speed and accuracy, but put some shoulder into it, alright?” tashi’s voice sounded from the sidelines of the court.
you were exhausted, but putting on a tough face for your coach was essential so her opinion of you didn’t entail ‘easily overworked’.
this was so boring, too. you wished you were playing actual tennis with coach, but she insisted since she wouldn’t take it easy on you, it would only kill your spirits. so, now she instead has you smacking that little neon orb back and forth between your racket and a brick wall. you don’t find any other words to her critique other than “yes, coach. sorry, coach.”
“how many times have i told you just tashi is fine? c’mon, you’re making me feel old,” she quips with a smirk, dashing another ball at you. you giggle, throwing the sphere into the air and putting all your energy into the connection between the green, fuzzy crust and the gingham of your racket.
as she smiled pleased at you before throwing another ball your way, you briefly reminisce on your first encounter with coach. tashi first noticed you at a game she and art were invited to by stanford, the most accomplished of alumni to watch the up and coming generation of tennis play their lives out on a familiar court. wasn’t something the older woman would be totally opposed to, and so she went.
and it wasn’t often tashi donaldson was impressed. but the way you exerted a fiery passion in each serve and how your opponent always seemed to catch you whenever you were teetering on the edge of every play enamored her. she hadn’t felt so electrified since she’d last seen patrick and art play at the rochelle challenger in 2019.
tashi knew she needed to coach you. you reminded her of herself, in a way, and more than anything, tashi needed to know what could have been. what she could have flourished into. you could be that, she thought.
you didn’t miss a beat before agreeing to your previous coach’s offer tashi relayed to him, and quickly, she was arranged to become your coach.
practice was daily, except for every other saturday, and while you knew you were good, tashi donaldson pushed you to greatness. her influence may have worked so well for a few reasons, like that she was an excellent teacher with a great eye for improvements, or that she was a great encouragement through verbal communication and praise. those things may have very well been true, but you could not lie to yourself. you knew why you pushed yourself so hard.
you knew you what you wanted out of her from the first practice. the way she spoke to you with this hope and expectation of you, this belief in your capability—it made your knees weak. even when she insisted you call her by her first name, you couldn’t bring yourself to abide by it. the honorific of ‘coach donaldson’ fueled your fantasy. albeit selfishly, a little.
god, it was so wrong. you were fucking depraved, you knew it, but when you lie alone in bed at night, shameful thoughts couldn’t help but run wild and draw your fingers to where you needed the married woman most.
despite your less than dignified mental adventures, you still treated her with respect and tried to keep yourself behind the set line in the sand between a typical mentor and mentee.
it was a little harder for you, though, when she insisted you two were more than simply coach and athlete.
in her words, you two had a common experience, uncannily so and to her, you were her very own butterfly effect. her personal hologram of potential energy becoming kinetic through the process of due metamorphosis from novice to the optimum, being projected to her live in real time. this was her dream—you were her dream.
of course, this was expressed to you only to function as encouragement so your spirits live up to the standards expected of you. if you failed, tashi would lose the dream forever, once and for all. this was her last and final chance, and you couldn’t take that away from her, could you?
so, as coach donaldson throws you tennis ball after tennis ball, you make no complaint until she allows you to take a break. “that was better. here you go,” she throws you a bottle of powerade, the dusty white film of electrolytes foaming at the surface of the electric blue energy drink. “thanks, coach donaldson.” you smile at her through your eyelashes, and sit down in front of her, criss cross applesauce.
she looks down at you amused, eyebrows raised before shaking her head. you leaned back on the heels of your palms, peering up at her gleaming, golden, face through wide, innocent eyes. she just chuckles, the fleeting thought of you looking up at her just like this in a very different context leaving her mind just as quickly as it came. “don’t get too comfortable down there, we’re back on in 10.”
you nodded, but she waited before retreating. “you wanna sit with me, coach?” your voice raised in pitch with a saccharinity and tantalizing cadence that was sure to be a trap. tashi shakes her head, but still does not move. you smile, offering the the spot on the ground next to you with your hand, rapping your palm on the sun-heated court floor. she eyes you, skeptical and playful, but opts to sit herself down next to you.
“you know, i don’t thank you enough.” you admit, a little shy as you flick your fingernails against the leather strapped around your racket’s handle.
“could you ever?” tashi joked. she always knew her worth, and although she never said it, you’re so lucky to have her; so you better not fuck it up. that was the implication, at least. “thank you, coach donaldson. for all the work you do for me, you know i’d be totally lost without you.” there was a naivety in the teenage tone of your voice, striking the older woman’s psyche with an alarming cloud of heat.
she wins the fight with her urge to respond, only cocking her head at you, gaze burning through your every thought.
you try to ignore the way you can feel her expertly, it seemed, pick through your brain and read your mind to the filth it was. rather than letting her see your fluster and intimidation, you glance down at your dainty silver wristwatch. she follows your every move with a hot, piercing, gaze.
“10 minutes gone by already? hm, okay. let’s go again.” tashi rises, turning her back and walking to where she kept her racket. your heart nearly skipped a beat. you swallowed your excitement down and fought to keep your voice from betraying you. “finally playing me, coach?” you asked, taking a final sip from your powerade, standing and turning to grab your own racket, refusing to let her see the antsy anticipation written all over your face.
“don’t get too excited, honey, it’s only for one round. give me all you got, hm? show me what i taught you.” tashi’s hair was quickly up in a small ponytail as she let the energy of tennis soak up inside of her. she told herself the heat between her thighs was solely due to the racket in one of her tanned hands and the fuzzy green ball in the other. tennis was her arousal, not the pretty young thing she was coaching.
with no further words, you made your way onto the other side of the net and narrowed your eyes, zeroing in on the neon orb and not the intense glare in your coach’s eye, the faint smirk on her lips you wished you could just kiss off.
she served, and you tracked the ball as you hit it with some heavy force. tashi didn’t miss a beat, she was on you. god, please let this last as long as divinely possible, you silently prayed as you ran to and fro across the court, chasing the ball as you would chase the high of climax. there was something so intimate, so heated and bothersome about being one of the only people on earth tashi donaldson would play with. tennis is a relationship, she told you, once upon a time.
you wonder how many other people she’s spoken that line to.
but as that blazing green moon of dreams found the air around you, you suddenly realized in a heart-crushing epiphany that there was not a speed humanly possible you could travel at to be able to hit the ball in time. the sound of it bouncing off the ground ricocheted in your ears, crashing and burning. “fuck!” you muttered to yourself, racket thrown and head falling into your hands. tashi walked around to your side of the court, noticing your distress and wrapping her arms around your waist. your own limbs found their place around her shoulders as you let her hold you.
“you played well, really fucking well. never seen you that fired up,” her voice, god, her fucking voice, alone could’ve sent you reeling. instead, however, picking your head up from her shoulder, your eyes met her’s. they were undeniable pools of sweet chai, warms drizzles of honey and indeterminately deep. embarrassingly, but not shamefully, you took in every feature of her skin. the laughing crinkles worn at the outer corners of her eyes, the sharp arch of her dark brows, the flushed pink of her perfectly pouty lips. fuck, she was perfect.
“don’t look at me like that, angel,” her breathing was heavier, headier. “like what?” you doe’d your eyes to meet her’s, innocence feigning. “like i could fuck that bullshit purity out of you and you’d beg me for more… for worse.” she let her breath, warm and minty, fan over your mouth, jaw, intoxicating you with a need like you’d never felt before.
you whined, whimpered pathetically as her mouth crashed down on you with a mission; a mission to fuck you completely, ruin you for any other stupid boy or girl who thinks they can fuck you like how you need, like how you deserve. her tongue forced it’s way inside of your mouth, licking your teeth. she smiles at the way your mouth falls open in compliance, ready to be used and abused however she saw fit.
“jump, baby,” she muttered into your mouth, strong hands welcomely intruding in on the skin of your lower thighs. doing as she told, you jumped into her toned arms. she held you by the meat of your thighs, greedily kneading and grabbing at the plushy fat. the feeling of her grin against your mouth was so arousing you could hardly think of anything that wasn’t simply tashitashitashi. there was nothing that could be said in that moment that would tear you away from this awful, sinful, deliciously fantasy-like, affair that you found yourself diving into head first.
lowering your back onto the evergreen tennis court, tashi began trailing kisses along your jaw, licking down your neck and biting love marks into your collarbone. your white tank top was off in a second, along with your little pink sports bra. you were left in only your mini skirt and sneakers, panting and moaning like a bitch in heat as your coach’s mouth attached itself to one of your nipples while she massaged your other breast with a tentative hand. as you tangled your hand in tashi’s put-up hair, the hand that lie on your chest mysteriously found it’s way to your waist, down to the fat of your hips, and oddly enough, under your skirt and in between your legs. happily, you spread them open for her. “good girl,” she purred.
through the spandex of your shorts you wore beneath your skirt, tashi could feel the wetness leaking out from your needy cunt. “no pretty panties today?” she teased, rubbing her fingers against your covered folds. she was referring to the time a few weeks ago when she caught a flash of lacy, black, panties from underneath your skirt. she pointed it out with a sharp joke and your entire body was warm immediately with diffidence. this time, however, you couldn’t even bother to feel embarrassed when you were so shrouded in your cloud of need for the woman below you. “please,” the beg was uttered from your honey-sweet lips and left no room in tashi’s fogged up mind to deny your desires.
and so she was tearing off your skirt and spandex with a fervent passion, her mouth against your core immediately. you looked so fucking sexy, with your bloody glowing underneath the beaming sun, skin slick with sweat and face contorted in pleasure as you writhed with pleasure from her hand, on her tennis court, as her student.
“god! fuck, that’s so good, coach. please, i want to be good for you, i’d do anything to be your good girl, fuck, please!” you’re babbling nonsense at this point, words hardly registering through the pornographic sounds your voice was wringing out from your throat, along with the disgusting, erotic, vibrations from tashi sucking and slobbering over, borderline making out with your cunt.
you were so close already, back arched inches off the ground as you grinded your hips against her face, desperate for release. as she began pumping two fingers in and out of you, you needed to let go, more than you needed air to breath, it seemed. “please, please? i’ve been good—shit!—mommy, please make me cum, god, please, please, please, i need it,” you panted as she kissed her way up your body sloppily to meet with your lips as she continued fucking her fingers into you, hard and rough. “who’s little pussy is this? hm? who’s the only person who can make you this fucking stupid?”
“you are! you are, coach donaldson, fuck! yeah, only you, always fucking you,” there was far more truth to this than you would’ve liked to admit, but fuck if that was going to occur to you right now.
“go on, pretty. come all over my fingers. thaaaat’s it, baby. good girl.”
it was a white flash of heat and loud, scream-like moans of tashi’s name ripping through the air. mr. donaldson wasn’t home, was he? you really couldn’t be bothered by it (except for the fact that getting caught made this so much hotter for you) and rode her fingers through your orgasm like your life depended on it.
after collecting a gasp of much needed air in your lungs, tashi kissed you on your cheek. you smile appreciatively, and lean into her warmth. “we’re not done, baby,” the lust in her eyes was still dark and filled your stomach with swirls and whirls of excitement.
“go inside, keep your legs spread on the couch and wait for me.”
of course, you obey. you had plenty more energy to give her anything she could have wanted
but, what you didn’t expect is to walk into the donaldson home and see the man of the house standing with his hands in his pockets, smirk playing on his lips as his eyes drag up and down your naked figure.
“you guys having fun out here? it’s pretty warm out today, isn’t it?”
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