Chapter Ten
It had seemed an easy shot but she mistimed her backhand and the ball caught the net. Monica turned to face the camera, held her racket out at shoulder level and opened her hand. Her tennis racket clattered noisily when it bounced against the surface of the court. She reached back and shook out her hair. With a dubious blank expression about her eyes, Monica hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her under-panties and, bending forward, she pulled them straight down her legs.
When she stood, she held no secrets. Tiger marveled at the puff of blond hair, separated lower by the crease that divided her s*x into pudgy rolls. God, she was fuckable.
Monica took a step toward the camera, squatted slightly, and ran coy fingers through the damp pubic hair. It wasn’t lady-like, but it
