Confessions from a Loser

This is my first story.

Please be give your feedback… but perhaps be gentle? I would love to hear from you – I think the real pleasure is from getting a reaction from others…. that, and I actually get quite aroused while writing and reading.

Happy

As soon as I said it… I regretted it. In the scheme of things it wasn’t a big mistake and anyone looking on would not have noticed anything unusual. As it was, no one else was there as we approached each other at the neutral point…in the middle. We were initially about 20 metres apart when I apologised. He was smiling, I dipped my head demurely but I knew, he was aware of my guilt and the associated feelings.

We shook hands, his hand firmly pulled me toward him. We kissed gently before his arm released my hand and slid around my waist, pulling me toward him. “You fucked up!” he said with his low tones directly into my ear.

Our sweat drenched bodies pressed together. I bowed my head and smiled. “Mmmmm, um yes” I gasp whispered back.

The sexual power play in our relationship had always ebbed backward and forward. Mostly he was the dominator and I was the receiver but not always and the variety adds spice…We play by rules and we love each other deeply By now, we know our boundaries and limits through fun and easy communication.

We’ve been married long enough and as I understand it, some drift into repetitive bedroom familiarity. We never did… or to this point at least we both share an adventurous spirit that keeps us on edge and smiling. We are not conservative sexually but by the same token are quite private. There are occasionally times we let others into our play… but very rarely and always with our anonymity intact. Don’t mess in your own nest!

We met when he was a dynamic software developer with no reputation but a massive work rate, determination and a will to succeed. He had an idea ten years ago that he evolved into something banks wanted. The latest versions of his inspired idea are used on phones by hundreds of millions of bank customers if not by billions and his small commission leaves us not wanting for anything at all really.

Let me put it this way…. a very tiny percentage on a very large number of continuing sales… is a lot – as a form of income. There are numerous charities we support and while we don’t spend recklessly, we do spend large. The truth is, the money from my man keeps pouring in and we would struggle to spend it all if we tried… and then it would re generate all over again.

We have been with one another for the whole process – from surly unappreciated graduates when we were scraping beans together and then from his fledgling, non paying idea and my bank employee wage. I had graduated with honours in economics having done business and law and decided I liked the thought of high finance. So began the process of working my way up… to and through the glass ceiling. It has to be said the normally limiting factors might not apply so greatly to a sharp and determined, ambitious mind.

Combine this with my long legs, toned and shaped through almost two decades of high level tennis. Also combine this with a chest and cleavage I am very proud of. “Proud,” is not the word I suppose as I have done little to attain them. “My tickets” as I refer to them are definitely an asset in my looks and I like to accentuate them. They are not heavy but firm and shapely. My work tops are always cut to offer a fleeting glance and often there is a glimpse of the light frill at the top of a bra. Sometimes even a temptation to be drawn into my tanned cleavage.

Many many times while I have been going over a document with a colleague or have glanced back from looking elsewhere to find a bedazzled male’s eyes drawn down into the valley. “The Tickets” paying their way again usually by way of an embarrassed rapid eye avoiding movement, left then right…. anywhere else. Sometimes a mumble apology or even on one occasion an admission “I can’t tear my eyes away,” from Ted Gimbles the old Chief Exec. The dirty old coot was seventy five. He died of a heart attack in bed six months later and the rumour was… it wasn’t his bed… nor was he alone.

Betty his wife, twenty years younger, handled it with dignity and never spoke of any dalliances that Ted may or may not have made. A job made easier by having majority custody of his 20 plus million dollar estate slip in her direction. It must have been real love.

After endorsing my role at the bank she left town and is happily living the dream on a West Indian island, wanting for nothing. We stay in touch via email, but rarely now.

Yes, right through, “the tickets” have been a valuable career asset. Bless them. I suppose it would be best to describe myself as looking quite like Robin Wright. Less like the Robin Wright in “Princess Bride” than the more worldly street smart version playing the first lady in “House of Cards.”

I am into my mid thirties so quite younger than her but others often make the likeness… and I don’t mind. My hair is short blond, I have very blue eyes and our physiques are very similar. I carry very low fat from my continued love and frequent playing of tennis.

That brings me back to our present situation. My silly apology.

We were playing on the court at our weekend coastal house. The court is situated near the sea side boundary. It is one of my favourite locations in the whole world… and I have seen a few of them. The house itself is large but with a lot of open plan rooms where dining rooms ease into large lounging areas. The house is laid out with beautiful but unpretentious furnishings, the decorating is all light coloured and the art, while modern and tasteful, is of course extremely rare and expensive. It mostly lends toward an erotic or sexual bent but in a subtle manner. Stamens and natural curves, not penis and vagina. Much of the floral work requires another glance for example. Nothing is in your face but many a conversation has been prompted from the pictures on our wall. Depending on the company we have at the time, this drives whether we plead ignorance or extensive leads on what the artists might, or was intending to display in their efforts.

Anyway, Dave and I had been having one of our epic tennis matches on our own court. Having played so much and indeed attaining a tennis scholarship at Brown University, while doing well in my studies, I excelled at the sport. Upon completion of my masters I was encouraged to turn pro but decided instead on my banking career. Obviously things paned out financially but I do sometimes wonder how far I could have taken my tennis.

Agh, no regrets!

With my tennis history I always beat Dave. He is very athletic. Broad shouldered and lean waisted. His game was football and he was a high school quarterback before his academic skills got him into Brown as well. From there he focused on his business degree and went on to apply it brilliantly in terms of developing an idea into something real, incredibly viable and successful.

He is still athletic having never let himself go in any sense – balancing work with the gym, running and he loves to row, which he does still with various periods of intensity and practice.

As mentioned he has never once beaten me and I was comfortably winning our game when I slipped up. It was in fact match point, I had served and I had him on the ropes easily controlling him from right to left. He was doing well as he does, fighting to return the angled, heavily hit, top spun balls.

Deep to his back hand, he sliced the ball back to mine.

Down the line to his forehand, he scrambled and hit a short lobbed stretched shot to mid court.

I knew I had him as I lined up to hit it. I could choose either side and I elected to hit the ball inside out to put it away on his back hand side. I went through the process to achieve this knowing only a miracle could save him now. I was smiling internally as i unleashed. I hit the ball high on its arched bounce, hard flat and angled, toward the corner. He had guessed correctly and was tearing as fast as he could manage in the correct direction. It would still take a miracle for him to return it.

As I landed on my left foot though, completing the shot and the follow through, the ball hit the net. It was one of those rare anomalies where the ball sat still. Its energy for a moment absorbed by the net. It seemed like forever as the game froze and we looked. He came to a halt from his full sprint and the ball fell to the ground….

On his side.

The point went from being very likely mine to an absolute certainty. He changed direction and had lunged forward briefly in a fruitless hope before stopping in a look of disbelief.

I raised my racquet above my head and gasped.

“I’m sorry Dave.” That was my mistake, right there. Brought on by a moment or unusual events at a crucial time. Not the net cord winner on match point, but the apology.

Daves head lifted almost instantly and from giving the look of frustrated male who can not match his partner at her chosen endeaver… again…. to a look of disbelief at his partners mistake and subsequent instant swapping of position in terms of positions of power.

I had won the tennis match but lost the balance of our sexual game… in a matter of a few quick-fire seconds.

This rule is that we never ever apologise for success. It has been established as a rule over a long period of development. It is a rare event now when it ever occurs and the last time was probably a few months ago when he apologised to me for dinner being late. It was a contentious issue and there was some debate, but then, as now, there would be consequences.

It may seem a trivial thing, or ungracious to never apologise for your success but think about it. We had both strived and worked and succeeded based on always wanting better. Getting something wrong is an opportunity to learn and grow and get better. Damned if I am going to be sorry for it.

Fuck it, acknowledge it – swear if you have to.

Fix it, tidy the mess

Forget it – Forget the consequence of the mistake – not what led to it, or it will repeat.

Move on and grow.

This main philosophy has served us well and we have incorporated it into our personal lives with consequences for not upholding the principle.

If he catches me out, I am his in what ever way he wants for an agreed term and alternatively if for what ever reason he see’s fit to apologise to me for anything we later deem to be success related… then, he is mine.

So my etiquette based apology was now the cause of some nervousness. I had won the game in an unfortunate manner when the ball clipped the top of the net and popped over… just. I of course responded as I have been trained to over all of these years and raised my hand and said “sorry.”

You might understand my frustration at this conditioned response fitting perfectly into a breech of the rules… and you might understand Dave’s delight at the eventual outcome.

We stood in our sweaty embrace for a few moments before Dave spoke again.

I’ll go up and see if dinner is ready and get things prepared for tonight. But give me your underwear before I go.” I looked up and he smiled into my eyes. “I’ve been looking forward to this one” he continued.

He released me from the embrace and I immediately reached down and removed my underwear. I was wearing a new white one piece skirt and top. My underwear are a stretched nylon fitted short.I like them for sports as they give a little hamstring protection and more support than normal panty briefs or a g string.

So, I handed these and he took them, tucking them into the outside of his tennis shorts at the hip. He was wearing dark grey soft cotton material and the white under garment was stark and stood out on his side. They were a little moist from the tennis exertions and his shorts were more than showing his almost immediate arousal.

He then said “drop you racquet on the ground” to which i complied immediately. “Keep your legs nice and straight and put a foot at either end of your racquet… hands behind your head” he added.

Again I complied quickly placing one foot at each end of the racquet. Smiling to let him know I loved and trusted that I was his, before… and from now on.

So there I stood. Tall and confident… but also nervous about what was to come. I had no idea what was in store for me but I was getting very hot…. in a good way.

If I had to describe how I felt more thoroughly I would say, “Excitedly horny, filled with a yummy apprehension.” This was less about concern for safety or reputation, it was about handing myself over willingly despite my mistake and having no idea what lay ahead. With historical precedent I expect to be used and abused with real class. I also expect multiple orgasms if history was anything to go by and to bring Dave off however he chooses and for however long.

He slowly reaches under my skirt hem, the last barrier to my sensitive flesh and he grips the fabric firmly. he is smiling. “Lets see whats under the hood?”

I meet his gaze as ever so slowly he lifts and folds my dress onto itself. It is a warm day but I can feel a delicate breeze tickle my flesh as more of it becomes exposed.

He carefully and slowly raises my fitted dress in small widths, folding it onto itself until i feel an unfamiliar draft from the wind on my belly button. He keeps folding. My breasts pop proudly free from the thick band of gathered fabric. He has rolled my sports bra up with the dress fabric. Everything is in a roll of fabric at shoulder level. My arms above my head. “Very nice” he breaths and he says it like they are something he is gazing upon for the first time. God I love this man.

Briefly he stands back and admires the view. Again I hold his eyes, looking out through a frame of fabric and my own arms…. but he lets his eyes wander all over my exposed body.

Standing there I feel so vulnerable. I am still lightly panting from the tennis exertions. I don’t have to look down to know that my nipples are hard. I felt them and almost moaned as they sprang free from my re arranged dress moments before.

Likewise I know my pussy is wet. This treatment would surely moisten the pussy of the, driest, most frigid and hardened heterosexual woman. World wide! It isn’t just the exposure and the feeling of the tight thick fabric above my chest. It isn’t that the man I love is looking at me as if I am so desirable it overwhelms him and it is not just my enjoyment of exposing myself… occasionally in the right circumstances. In fairness these elements all contribute but most of all it is… not knowing… what’s next?

After seemingly staring at me for what felt like minutes, drinking in my curves and peaked body he made his next commands. I had just exerted myself, I always give everything and was sweaty, flushed and quietly panting when he said “point your toes inward a bit and hold your freckle up as high as you can.” He always refers to my anus as my “freckle” or my “date” and I complied. I felt more exposed as the tops of my thighs opened slightly when I arched my back.

He waited a few seconds before taking the pace in toward me. Reaching gently between my legs slowly he slid his index finger between my labia. Lightly and slowly sliding the length of my pussy.

I gasped lightly but did my best to stay still in the same position as ordered. His stirring of my bare lips continued for an unknown time. He was staring into my eyes and I again held his gaze. All the while I wanted to buckle or thrust or lunge toward him and increase the sensations in some way. Somehow I resisted.

After the digital stimulation he slowly lifted his finger to his face and I watched him inhale me. He sighed “MMmmmmmmm, here have a taste,” before holding his index finger at my mouth. I slowly allowed him to penetrate my lips and as he gently held his finger at me. I contracted my mouth and sucked my own juices from him.

This is not our usual love making but the circumstances and spontaneity of it was making me more horny and more receptive than it might usually. Also, due to the nature of our agreement I had no say in tonights activities… at least.

“Remove your clothes and give them to me. Then make your way back to the house and up to the room.” His voice was different. The words quieter and while spoken with confidence, he was also more breathless or husky somehow.

I slowly lifted my scrunched dress and sportsbra above my head and handed it to him. Taking off your footwear in a sexy way while naked is difficult so I didn’t bother trying. Sitting on the astroturf court I felt the sand on my bottom as I spread my legs making sure he had a direct line of sight to my core. Then I slowly unlaced and removed my tennis shoes and socks. I then stood slowly turning and brushing the sand residue from my butt checks before making my way off the court and toward the steps up to the house.

My knees felt a bit wobbly and it was not from the tennis. They say the brain is the most powerful sex organ and I can’t help but agree. My imagination is running wild. As I top the garden staircase and cross the expansive manicured lawn wearing nothing but a grin as I contemplated the night ahead.

I felt David close behind me the whole way and if my butt and pussy could feel his gazes heat then i think they would be on fire.

I loved “the room” David and I had put it together, carefully even as we were building the large home. The full size gym on the eastern side of the property is not actually a gym. We realise that the two of us will never need more than two treadmills, two weight benches with accompanied weights… his are black and mine light purple – matching but mine are lighter and more feminine looking. There are squat racks which i rarely use and a range of other machines, all from the same manufacturer and all are laid out to maximise the space. The one pointer to excess in our gym area was the range of rowing machines which Dave loves to spend time on. We had a plunge pool, hot and cold, a yoga matted area covering a quarter of the room and the wall coverings were floor to ceiling sporting heroes taken at the best moments. Tiger at Augusta, Barry Sanders in full flight, Steffi (my favourite) at full stretch leaping to smash… with just a hint of her underwear peaking out below the red and white tennis dress. We had giant images of Ali standing over Sonny Liston and Brandy Chastain with her shirt off celebrating her goal and the Womens world cup winning victory.

When we exercised here we were surrounded and inspired by our sporting heroes. The gym is 30 metres long and 20 metres wide. The three walls of pictures are complemented by the full glass wall which offers an uninterrupted view, past the outdoor lane pool, over a small garden and to the city in the valley below, along the coastline.

Visitors who use our gym often comment that it is their favourite part of the house. Given the size of it there is far more space than we can use alone so we welcome our guests to utilise it when they stay or visit.

What they are not aware of is that the gym makes up only about 60% of that side of the building. When we designed the home we suggested to the architect that we wanted a private space to fill later. He complied with a very large triangular space which ran the cliff line at its windowed edge. While we gave the architect no indication of what we would use the room for our intentions were very clear. “Vast and open with the opportunity to utilise the view later.” That was our directive for this space.

The over all floor plan is almost triangular. Dave and I have subsequently divided this into arrangeable rooms. We have temporary walls we can manoeuvre into place for our needs. At present the space is divided into 4 very large rooms.