Daphne Says

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I remember our first meeting, accidental, I thought at the time. I usually played a few games of tennis on Saturdays against Maggie, who was past her prime, but could set up a wicked serve. We were well matched as opponents, and I occasionally bumped into her and her husband, Edward, at social occasions on the Island. That was about as well as we knew one another.

One week she called me up to say that she had other obligations but offered to send a young niece in her stead and assured me that the lady would give me “a good thrashing” if I was off my game. Nevertheless, I felt a bit miffed at the substitution, though I agreed to it. I was expecting to be paired with some spoiled princess who would burst into tears if I wasn’t playing badly enough to allow her to win. Her rude act of arriving ten minutes late didn’t improve my mood.

Then Daphne bounced onto the court and all of my resentment evaporated. She was a vision in a knit sleeveless top and shorts. Her breasts were not overly large but (were those n****e bumps showing through that thin cloth?) high and well formed. She had long legs and muscular thighs, a body that was strong and tanned overall. She moved with a sensuous, catlike insouciance like a hunting lioness. I thought of the Goddess Diana, fresh on the hunt. Even her smile was feral. Atop all of this was the dark flame of her hair.

Her eyes sealed the deal, intelligent with a hint of playful cruelty and irony, a deep hypnotic blue. She extended her hand at shoulder height for me to take.

“Hello! Name’s Daphne, and you would be Reginald. Shall we play for balls then?”

A handshake at that elevation was obviously out of the question, I bent forward gallantly and took her hand to kiss. When my lowered eyes fell upon those carefully honed talons, I was struck with the most vivid mental images of how these potential weapons might seek and gnaw at tender places during the s****l act. My c**k stiffened against my will, creating a bulge in my shorts that drew her gaze

“Balls?” I said

She looked up again, freezing my eyes with hers. I had a moment of terrible apprehension, certain that my accidental double entendre had offended. Then she flashed a grin of genuine amusement. Whether or not she thought my reply was a crude joke, she must have found my confusion amusing. She was so vivacious, so captivating.

“Don’t be a silly boy!” Her laughter was full throated, nearly bawdy. “I’m talking about the spare balls. It’s likely that there is a can of three in your gym bag isn’t there?”

“Yes, of course.” I blushed. Every serious player knows that packing extra balls is a must. Even the balls that don’t get lobbed over the fence and into the woods tend to lose their bounce eventually. Hard players simply beat them to tatters.

“Three games,” she predicted. “I shall have them all.”

I hate to admit it. Her confidence psyched me out, the thin, hard smile that flashed as she delivered the challenge. I lost everything in that moment, the game, my heart, my self -respect, my freedom, and my soul.

Not that she couldn’t play! She was a demon on the court, swift, cunning, and ruthless. The question of allowing her to win never came up on my list of options. I got the good thrashing Maggie had warned about. The first, as it turned out, of many.

So, after my first defeat, when my nod of the head and a gracious “Good game!” failed to satisfy her; that was when my breaking began.

“I’ll be having that ball now.”

“You mean, in your hand?”

“No. you should put it in my bag for me, sweet buns. I’m already holding the ball that I shall use to give you a second trouncing.” she bounced it on the ground and caught it one handed before holding it aloft to taunt me.

Her tone was so amiable and so cheerfully infectious that I was grinning like a schoolboy back at her as I opened my bag with a flourish and shook a ball out of its tube.

“Do hurry lad,” She chirped. “I’m eager to lay claim to a pair of your balls, and your poor attitude has already been noted.”

Chagrined, I dropped the grin and broke eye contact as I followed her pointing finger toward the bench off court. When I opened her bag to put the ball in, I glanced inside. Nestled between her hairbrush and a clean pair of socks, incongruous as the devil in a pew, I saw it. A short, heavy strap of leather, folded over and stitched to an unmistakable leather sheathed handle.

“It’s a riding bat,” she giggled, noting my reaction. “I have ponies at home. Sometimes a mount needs a bit of encouragement.”

When we resumed play, I was determined to even the score. Her obvious psyche outs and exquisite, confident beauty could not be allowed to distract my injured pride or intimidate me. Yet playing tennis with a semi erection certainly put me off my game.

She was flirting with me; I was sure of it. I’ve never been considered much of a catch. I am short of stature, slight of frame, and shy by nature. I had a small trust fund, nothing grand, no titles or outstanding talent to offer on the s****l market. Women of her caliber were generally beyond my reach.

Yet all the signs were there to be seen, the way she tossed her hair to make it shine in the sun,

her fierce, challenging grin, the way she stroked her hands upon her thighs while waiting for my serve, or tapped the racket into her palm, as though she were delivering a coded threat.

To have the attention and affection of a prize like Daphne was beyond price, certainly worth eating a bite of crow and enduring a bit of teasing. Her cruel smile was more of a promise than a pose.

So it was that at the end of the day, she held her bag open for me as I sheepishly dropped in the last of the three balls. We were both a bit breathless and perspiring freely by that time, and the hard points of her n*****s thrust aggressively against the damp fabric of her top. A slow and quite impossible to ignore rivulet of sweat flowed down that swan like neck and disappeared into her cleavage. I took a small comfort in the evidence that she had at least been compelled to earn her victory.

We were both shod in tennis shoes, but she needed to bend a bit to kiss me briefly on the lips. She studied my eyes a moment, assessing me, my chin poised on her fingertips. I felt the light stab of her thumbnail on my cheek. She flashed that smile again, her eyes narrowing slightly as I winced.

She tapped the seat of my tennis shorts with her racket playfully, suggestively.

“Do stop by tomorrow at ten! I have the most interesting diversion planned.”