This is taken from my blog at /VYpwY0 please provide feedback! “Oh? Does your father know them?” I knew the answer to my question before I had even finished asking it, let alone before the spoilt coquette had uttered her response. The four tennis courts we were standing adjacent to had been built at her elder sister’s request several years ago, but had seen little use for almost a decade until Svetlana had seemingly applied herself to the sport. Every day, the nineteen year old socialite walked to the end of my employer’s estate, well secluded from the 15th Century manor house and sauntering past my small workshop. I had seen her every morning in her short, white tennis dress, eyeing her from my vantage point; I adored watching the seductive sway of the teenager’s hips as she strutted sexily down the path to the remote corner of the grounds. Graceful. Provocative. Classy. She made my cock swell and my lips dry. Only, I knew that she wasn’t going to play tennis. There were a few clues. The fact that she didn’t always bring a racquet to the courts was one, the champagne corks I found in the bushes was another. And that day, I noticed her dress rode up too high: she wasn’t wearing underwear. So that day, I spied on her: subtly following the young lady and watching covertly, as she beckoned two men into the estate from the lane via side gate and took them to the lower tennis court. The bushes dug painfully into my skin as I silently manoeuvred myself into position to observe. I was spell-bound in shock and excitement as a six foot black body-builder seized her body, and wrapped his thick arms around her dainty frame. They kissed; his tongue pushed into hers as she writhed underneath his strong grip, squirming under his powerful build. Her dress was hitched first to her back and then discarded onto the court. She simpered as he squeezed her young tits and man-handled her delicate young frame. Her skin contrasted with his; her age too. Both of her visitors must have been ten or fifteen years her senior and I knew the Lord of the Manor would have been aghast if he could have seen his youngest cavorting with the two men. They didn’t look like Oxbridge graduates like his son-in-law or a lawyer like his son! He would see them as disreputable: dressed in tatty tracksuits with paint splodges on their clothes. But status clearly meant nothing to her lust.