Love game turns into forehand fuck fest

The clack of tennis balls against rackets echoes through the empty court as Wickedywick, the seasoned coach, takes his pupil's serve. His hands, calloused from years of gripping rackets, guide hers, but his intentions are far from instructional. He leans in, his breath hot on her neck, his voice low and suggestive. His body pressed against hers, she can feel his arousal growing, her own desire mirroring his. The racket falls to the ground, forgotten, as he turns her to face him, his lips claiming hers in a passionate kiss. His hands roam, cupping her firm breasts, his thumbs brushing against her hard nipples. She moans softly, her pussy throbbing with anticipation, as he lifts her skirt, his fingers finding her wet, welcoming slit.

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