Marie-Beatriz and I have been together now for several years. We live and work in England, although both of us are French. In fact her name shows the influence of her Basque ancestors, as do her green eyes and blonde hair. At one metre seventy and fifty-five kilos (five- six and 120 pounds, give or take), she gets noticed in most places, particularly as she has that French dress- sense which makes the most of her assets. She and I share many interests, the most important of which are squash and the erotic elements of life. This story links both of these interests in an intimate way, and dates from a couple of years ago.
We play squash several times a week, sometimes seriously, sometimes as a dare-game. There is one court at our club whose interior can only be seen through a spy-hole in the door. A strategically placed piece of gum takes care of that, and we are free to indulge ourselves. Strip squash is the usual format, a training exercise continues until one makes a mistake, and a forfeit of one item of clothing is paid. The only advantage I have found in playing naked is that it makes Marie-Beatriz laugh so much that she often loses the next point. Both she and I have ended sessions, before now, wearing only our shoes and socks.
When the club decided that the back court needed renovating, we had to put our games on the back-burner for a while, and play on the courts visible from a spectator gallery. One evening, quite late, I noticed that we had a visitor. Nothing new in that, given that M-B plays wearing a thin white t-shirt, and her 34B breasts have never needed a bra. At the end of a session she looks more like a Miss Wet T-shirt contestant than a squash player, her nipples clearly visible through the material. Her choice of skirt is also on the borderline between skirt and broad belt... So our spectator, whom I placed as a few years younger than us, maybe twenty-four or five, tall, fair-haired and slim, stayed for some time, then he disappeared.
Two days later, we were playing when he appeared again, with a girl. she was fairly typically English, blondish, quite pretty, carrying a little surplus weight but not fat, a little younger than her companion.
In the bar a little later, they came over to introduce themselves, Drew and Susie wanted to know if M-B could give her a few tips on improving her game. As the following week I was going to be on duty, M-B agreed, and they fixed a time.
I learned from M-B that Susie turned up wearing kit which could not have been designed to make her look less attractive. They had played for an hour, and Susie had rushed off at the end, after thanking M-B, not even waiting to have a shower, but not before arranging a further session.
A phone call during the week delayed their next meeting, Susie had caught a cold from walking home in a sweat. M-B instructed her firmly to bring a towel next time. I was informed that I should meet them at the bar, to drive Susie home. They met, played and went to the changing rooms, where M-B peeled off and went to the shower cubicles. Susie followed, wrapped in a huge bath-towel. M-B decided that it was time to work on Susie's education. She "accidentally" knocked Susie's bag onto the wet tiling, ensuring that her fresh underwear was well soaked.
M-B apologised profusely when Susie emerged, to find that she had nothing to wear. M-B produced from her own bag a clean pair of knickers (panties if you prefer, I don't!) a skirt and her spare t-shirt. Susie's build meant that they were tighter than on M-B, but the effect was quite pleasing. The skirt was radically shorter than usual, making the view from seated opposite rather charming, and the t-shirt over her breasts improved her sexiness considerably, since M-B had (obviously) not supplied a bra. In the bar, Susie sat opposite me, torn between embarrassment and an excitement that I could see reflected in her erect nipples!
I duly delivered Susie to her house, and the following day rang Drew to find out what he had thought of the transformation. I need not have bothered, they had both enjoyed an active night, turned on by the event.
The following week-end, unusually, there was squash on television, and I invited Drew and Susie over. They arrived, he in t-shirt and jeans, she in a light flowery summer dress, carrying a bottle of Pastis and a litre of Coke. M-B was in her usual short skirt and t- shirt. They sat opposite us around a coffee table, and I was very aware that, from his position on the floor, Drew could not avoid looking up M-B's skirt.
