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Synopsis

Bitter tennis rivals Riley and Jaime just can't get away from each other, training at the same academy and frequently contesting big matches. The hatred comes to a boil in an acrimonious encounter in the academy's locker room, where they learn that a tennis racquet can be used for more than just hitting balls... Warning: for adults only! Contains rough, rage-induced lesbian sex, spanking and oral. 4676 words.

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Excerpt:

At the end of training, Riley made her way to the girls' dressing rooms. It was the peak of summer and she felt totally gross, the sweat pouring down her slender, tanned body and her clothes sticking to her skin uncomfortably. She waltzed inside, placed her bag on a bench and began to undress, eager to get under some cold water.

She was a little surprised to see someone else was showering in one of the stalls. Normally she trained until later than the rest of the girls - that's just how dedicated she was. Now naked, Riley smiled and sauntered over to see who it was. She immediately regretted her decision when Jaime's figure appeared before her: nude, wet and soaped up. Her eyes were closed as the water poured down over her face, sending streams of soap down her fit body and to the floor.

Riley paused for a moment, trying to decide if she should say something or just turn around and leave it be. Before she could, though, Jaime opened her eyes. She immediately frowned when she saw Riley looking at her.

"What now?"

"Nothing," Riley smiled wickedly. "Just looking."

"You got any commentary?" Jaime sighed.

Riley's eyes drifted over Jaime's nudity, scanning her tits, the nipples erect from the cold of the water, and then moving down to her pubis, which had clearly not been shaved for a couple of days.

"Nothing you don't already know," Riley smirked.

"Go away." Jaime turned her back on her.

"What, can't take a little criticism?" Riley chuckled. "You seemed to handle Brian's criticism pretty well today."

"That's not my fault, it's yours. You're the one being a bitch."

"Give me a break," Riley scoffed.

"It's true!" Jaime turned around again, her face steaming red. "You've been nothing but a bitch to me all the time! I didn't do anything to you but you just can't stop insulting me all the time! You're nothing more than a bully. It's pathetic really, you're so scared I might overtake you in the rankings that you feel the need to belittle me nonstop. Well guess what Riley," Jaime mocked, "I just beat you three tournaments in a row. If I were you I'd be terrified. I'm better than you and you fucking know it. And all this posturing that you keep doing just shows what a petty bitch you are."

Riley could feel her rage coming to a steady boil as Jaime spat the frankly uncharacteristic tirade in her face. That she had still not gotten into the shower only made it worse - she was hot and fucking angry. Moreover, she didn't at all expect Jaime to come back at her so scathingly. She furrowed her eyebrows menacingly but couldn't quite come up with a response, instead standing there in inept speechlessness.

Jaime chuckled. "Now go away." She turned around again.

Riley's rage, though, wouldn't let her just skulk off in defeat. She stepped into Jaime's shower stall and promptly gave the blonde a decisive shove, sending her stumbling onto the wall. Jaime turned around again, her eyes raging. She was about to speak but Riley instantly shoved her again, pushing her two hands onto her tits. Jaime scowled, but backed up to the wall as Riley advanced on her.

"Very mature Riley," Jaime said, and immediately raised her arms up in defense as Riley tried to shove her again. She yelped as Riley grabbed a fistful of her wet hair and pulled it down violently.

"You fucking bitch!" Jaime screamed. She'd had enough, pushing Riley back and under the water current. Riley shivered as the cold hit her body suddenly, trying to defend herself as Jaime counter-attacked. She swatted Riley's arm away with one hand and grabbed one of her breasts with the other, tweaking the nipple aggressively and causing Riley to cry out in pain.
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