Sasha slammed a palm against the lockers. It stung, left an aching throb, but it felt good, like plucking hairs. She did it again. The locker remained undamaged, the metal reflecting her own face. Angry, scrunched up, wild. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then dropped onto the bench seat.

The match was not going well. The scoreline said it was close, but Sasha could feel it slipping away. Final set. She shook her head, wiped a finger over her eyes. Maybe it was time to hang up her racket. Go into coaching or commentary.

“I have had a good run,” she told herself. “I have been number fourteen in the world… fourteen. Nikto…” nobody “…would ever have…” She shook her head, unable to go on, sniffed, laughed a bitter laugh. Did the men’s changing rooms smell of rose petals? She doubted that.

The umpire had been against her from the beginning. He overruled calls that would have been in her favour, gave her stern looks when she tried to challenge. At first she had kept her cool, but when it was obvious that it was something personal…

She rubbed at a grass stain on the hem of her tennis dress, but couldn’t move it, and that frustrated her more than ever. She let out a low scream. “Ublyudok!” Bastard.

As her hand slipped against her thigh it felt good. Just the touch of skin on skin, even if it was only her own. Comforting. She lifted her dress, clasped her hands to the sides of her legs, hoping to regain some composure. Skin-tight polyester shorts prevented that all important skin to skin. She slipped them down and stepped out of them.

Sasha rubbed her palms up and down her thighs, and took a few deep breaths. She wasn’t clean shaven. Her dark, little, trimmed bush felt soft against her wrists as she moved her hands. She dug her fingers through the hair, felt her stomach clench as her nails caught against the delicate skin beneath.

When she flicked a fingertip against her clit it made her gasp and bleat. The noise echoed, sounding louder in her ears as it bounced back from the tiled floor, the whitewashed walls. She looked around self-consciously, then grinned as she made the noise again. It popped and bounced like a hundred-mph serve. She rubbed her clit, then dipped a finger inside her pussy.

Her face relaxed.

This was exactly what she needed. She could feel the tension melting away as she moved her body and her hand, fucked herself as she thought of the umpire. His stern looks, hard eyes. “Punish me,” she whispered as her hand sent pulses of delight through her hips, her abdomen, stomach, breasts, throat. She stiffened and moved just her wrist, delighting in the feel of her own soft fur, the wet sounds of her fingers as they stroked her sweet spot.

When Sasha came, it was with a scream. All self-conscious thoughts were abandoned. She screamed again, then panted, then smiled and breathed.

“Miss Caulder?”

She gulped and licked her lips. Nodded. “Just a minute.”

“You’re needed back on court, miss.”

“Yes, just a minute.”

As she walked back on court, she met the umpire’s eyes, gave him a nod. After all, he was just doing his job. And the match was neck and neck. Everything to play for.

Get back to fourteen, she told herself. But that wasn’t good enough. Top ten. She needed to be in the top ten.

“Time,” the umpire said, and he was right. It was time.

This story is set in the world of my  upcoming “Love All” series. If you enjoyed it, watch out for further announcements. You’ll never think of tennis in the same way again…

Written for Masturbation Monday Week 96. If you’re not already aware of Masturbation Monday then you’re missing out. Although personally I’d recommend masturbation any day of the week…