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The sun was beating down hard on the tennis court that day, and every stroke of the racket sent beads of sweat beading between my breasts. My tight white shorts and fitted tank top left little to the imagination, especially when I bent over to pick up the balls.

I'd long since noticed the insistent stares of my teacher, Marc. Muscular forty-something, powerful hands and a way of addressing me that bordered on insolence. Today, I'd decided to play his game.

"No, no, your grip's too soft," he growled, coming up behind me.

His torso pressed against my back, his calloused hand covering mine on the racket handle... and something hard pressed against my buttocks through his gym shorts.

"Like this, see?" His voice was husky, his breath hot on my neck.

I deliberately arched my back, rubbing my ass against his burgeoning erection. "Oh, sorry...just looking for the right balance."

A dull growl. His fingers tightened on my hip.

"You're doing that on purpose, you little bitch."

No denial. Just a smirk as I dropped my racket and swiveled to face him. His gaze plunged into my sweat-soaked cleavage.

"Maybe... But you don't seem to be complaining."

His hand gripped the back of my neck roughly. "You want a real lesson?"

I didn't have time to answer. His shorts fell away, freeing his thick, veiny shaft, already glistening with pre-sperm.

"Show me how you back that up," he growled, pushing me to my knees on the astroturf.

The heat of the sun, the salty taste of his skin under my tongue, his fingers knotted in my hair... I obeyed, of course. Slowly at first, savoring every inch, then voraciously as her curses became rawer.

"Fuck, yes... Squeeze those pink lips."

When he finally flipped my position to take me doggy on the training bench, the club's windows reflected our silhouette-zealous teacher and very diligent student.