I Knelt Before Her on the Empty Court

The last light of evening fell slantwise across the clay court at Las Lomas club, and Mariana moved within it as if the dust belonged to her. Every step lifted a fine cloud that the sun turned to gold. I watched her from the side bench, my racket resting on my knees and the excuse that I was catching my breath. The truth was that I never stopped looking at her.

We had been training together for months, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She was better than I was, and she knew it, and she didn’t care to prove it. Her serve left me rooted to the spot, and every time she won a point she turned her head toward me with a half-smile that was not entirely sporting.

That afternoon we had played longer than usual. The rest of the club members had been drifting away, first those on the adjacent court, then old Ordóñez, who watered the geraniums at the entrance, until only the two of us remained and the hum of the floodlights as they began to warm up.

When she won the last game, Mariana dropped her racket over the net and walked toward the bench with the slow, unhurried pace of someone with no reason to rush anymore. She collapsed beside me with a deep sigh, head tipped back, her neck shining with sweat.

—You made me run —she said, without opening her eyes—. Today you almost beat me.

—Almost —I repeated.

She smiled, her eyelids still closed. Her pleated skirt had ridden up a little with the movement, revealing the edge of the white culotte shorts she wore underneath, tight, clinging to her flesh. Her soaked T-shirt stuck to her body, outlining her hard tits, the nipples marked through the wet fabric. I didn’t dare look too long. I focused on her feet.

I had been doing that for months. At first I told myself it was coincidence, that anyone notices their opponent’s footwear to anticipate the next shot. Then I stopped lying to myself. I liked the way she balanced on her toes before a serve, the way she dragged her feet through the clay between points, the way she kicked off her sneakers at the end as if shedding armor.

I had never told her anything. How do you say something like that? We had built a comfortable friendship on matches, beers on the club terrace, and jokes about who was better. I didn’t want to shatter it with a confession she might find grotesque. So I kept quiet, and looked, and went home to jerk off thinking about them, the image burned into my mind.

Mariana crossed one leg over the other and, with the toes of one foot, began to work at the laces of the opposite sneaker. The knot, swollen with sweat, resisted. She tugged slowly with her heel until the sneaker gave way and slid off, revealing the white sock stained with clay.

—I hate this part —she murmured—. My feet are wrecked.

She yanked off her socks in one impatient motion and left them balled up on the wood. Her feet finally appeared: soles reddened, arches taut, the marks of the seams etched into the skin. She flexed her toes with a look of relief that drew from her a low, almost unconscious moan.

—Are they that bad? —I asked, and heard my voice come out rougher than I meant.

—Try running three sets in these shoes —she replied, and then did something that left me breathless: she extended her leg and set her heel on the edge of the bench, right at the height of my thigh—. Go on, since you’re there. You owe me for the beating.

She said it half as a joke. But her foot was there, inches from my hands, and I had spent too long imagining this moment to treat it like a joke.

I turned toward her and took her foot in my hands. It was hot, alive, throbbing from the effort. The still-damp skin slid beneath my thumbs when I began to press the arch, slowly, searching for the spots where the tension had gathered. I felt my cock start to harden inside my shorts, and I spread my knees a little to hide the bulge.

—There —Mariana whispered, and let her head tip to one side to look at me—. Right there.

I dug my thumbs in a little deeper. She parted her lips slightly and her breathing changed rhythm. I was trying to keep my head clear, to focus on the massage, on the mechanics of the gesture, but the smell of her skin prevented it. It was an earthy smell, intense, of sweat and clay and something more that was only her. Every time I inhaled, my cock gave another jolt against the fabric.

The whole club seemed to have gone dark around us. The floodlights hummed, a warm breeze stirred the net of the court beside us, and the rest of the world had shrunk until it fit in the space her feet occupied between my hands. I worked the top of her foot with my knuckles, slowly, feeling each knot of tension give under the pressure, and I realized she was no longer pretending to be athletically relaxed: she was surrendering.

—You’re good at this —she said, watching me with half-lidded eyes—. Too good. One might think you’ve practiced.

—I’m just improvising.

—Liar.

I kept kneading the sole with my thumbs, alternating pressure and caress, while she gradually melted against the backrest. I pressed a spot below her toes and she let out a long moan that ended in a laugh.

—You’re going to have to do this every Tuesday —she said—. I officially declare you my physiotherapist.

—Any time you want —I answered, and I meant it in a way she still couldn’t suspect.

I slid my hands up to her heel, then to her ankle, tracing slow circles over the smooth skin of her calf. Mariana did not stop me. On the contrary: she lowered her other leg from the cross and set it down too, so that both her feet rested on my lap, side by side, offered up. She noticed immediately what was beneath. She smiled without opening her eyes and pressed her right heel against my fly, slowly squeezing the hard bulge that had formed there.

—Well, well —she murmured—. Look what we have here.

—Mariana…

—Shut up. —And she kept pressing my cock through the fabric with the sole of her foot, dragging it up and down over my shorts with calculated slowness—. You’ve been quiet for too long already.

***

—Do you like them? —she asked suddenly.

I looked up. She was no longer smiling; she was looking at me with a new seriousness, defiant, as if that question were a door that only opens one way.

—What?

—My feet. You’ve been staring at them for weeks when you think I don’t notice. —She tilted her head—. I’m not stupid, Sebastián. The only thing I want to know is whether you’re going to keep pretending or admit it already. Do you get hard thinking about my feet, yes or no?

I felt the blood rush to my face. I had her feet in my hands, one of them rubbing my cock through the cloth, my heart hammering against my ribs, and the certainty that anything I said from that moment on would be irreversible. I lowered my gaze to them: the toes slightly apart, the curve of the arch, the reddened skin still holding the heat of the match.

—Yes —I said at last, in a low voice—. I like them. I get hard thinking about them. I jerk off thinking about them.

Mariana’s smile returned, but different now, slower, charged with a satisfaction that was anything but innocent.

—At last —she murmured—. And what else, Sebastián? Tell me what else you want to do to my feet.

—Suck them —I said, and the words barely came out—. Suck them clean through. Put every toe in my mouth. Lick your soles.

—Then do it. Now. Before I change my mind.

I answered with no more words. I lowered my head, slowly, not taking my eyes off hers until the very last moment, and stuck out my tongue to sweep from her heel to the big toe of her right foot in one long, slow stroke. I heard her hold her breath. The skin tasted of salt and clay, rough and hot, and that flavor ran through me like a jolt that went straight to my cock.

—God —she whispered, pressing her fingers against the edge of the bench—. I never imagined you’d dare.

Neither had I. But there was no turning back now. I ran my tongue over the top of her foot again, went up to her ankle, came back down following the line of the arch, and then took her big toe fully into my mouth. I sucked it as if it were a cock, lips tight around it, tongue circling beneath the tip. Mariana threw her head back and let out a guttural moan that echoed across the empty court.

—Fuck —she panted—. Fuck, Sebastián, suck them like that. Don’t stop. Take them all in.

I obeyed. I obeyed because at that moment there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to obey her. I worked through them one by one, sucking two, then three toes at a time, sliding my tongue between them, drawing out the sweat mixed with the clay of the court that I had so often dreamed about. I licked the entire sole, from top to bottom, pressing my tongue against the arch, gently biting the edge of her heel. My other hand climbed her calf, squeezing her calf muscle, scratching her thigh when it got that high.

Mariana started moving her hips against the wood of the bench. Little by little, first discreetly, then without pretending anymore. She yanked her skirt up to her waist and lowered her free hand between her legs, over the white culotte shorts. The fabric had a dark wet stain at the crotch that was growing.

—I’m soaked —she said, never taking her eyes off my mouth buried between her toes—. Look what you do to me, you son of a bitch. Look at my cunt.

I looked. She pulled the culotte to one side and showed me everything: swollen, glossy lips, the clit peeking between them, a thread of slick already hanging from the fold. She slid two fingers inside and pulled them out shining, then brought them to my face without breaking eye contact.

—Suck —she ordered.

I sucked her fingers as I had sucked the toes of her foot, with the same hunger. She tasted sweet and salty at once, dense, and the taste of her cunt on my tongue made my cock get so hard it throbbed painfully against the zipper. I reached for my shorts to adjust it and she stopped me with her foot.

—Take it out —she said—. I want to see it. I want to see how hard your cock gets with my feet.

I pulled down my shorts and boxer briefs in one jerk. My cock sprang upward, throbbing, the head already wet with pre-cum. She licked her lips very slowly, then brought both feet up to my shaft and trapped it between her soles, one on top and one underneath, and started fucking me with them.

—Is this what you wanted? —she asked, smiling cruelly—. For me to give you a foot job? A whole season staring at my feet for this, so I could jerk you off with sweaty tennis players’ soles?

—Yes —I groaned, and I no longer cared about anything, not the club or the floodlights or who might pass by—. Yes, Mariana, fuck, yes.

Her feet were perfect around my cock, warm, slippery with sweat and with the pre-cum she herself spread with her fingertips. She slid the sole up and down, squeezing the tip with her toes, twisting her heel to roll my glans between them. Every so often she stopped, took one foot to her mouth, spat onto the soles, and started again. My cock sank between that rough, clean skin as if she were milking me with both hands.

***

That was when I looked up and remembered where we were.

The club was not entirely empty. In the distance, by the entrance gate, a couple was gathering their bags without paying us any attention. Farther on, a figure crossed the path that bordered the courts, barely a silhouette against the glow of the floodlights. The court was open, exposed, and anyone who looked our way would see us on the bench: me with my cock out and Mariana with her skirt hiked up and her panties moved aside, giving me a foot job.

I stopped for a moment.

—What if someone sees us? —I asked, my voice trembling.

Mariana opened her eyes and cast a lazy glance around. Rather than being frightened, her smile widened, and she squeezed my cock harder between her soles.

—Then let them look —she said—. Let them see the shy guy from the club finally daring to do it. Don’t stop because of that. Eat it. Eat my pussy now.

That answer lit something in me I didn’t know how to name. I slipped from the bench to the ground, knelt in the clay in front of her, and forced her legs apart. She moved to the edge and offered me her cunt in my face without a trace of shame, her skirt hiked up to her navel and her culotte shorts shoved aside. I buried my mouth against her sex. I pushed my tongue in as far as I could, then brought it up to her clit and stayed there sucking it slowly, lips tight around it, while two fingers went in and out of her drenched cunt.

—Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck —Mariana panted, grabbing my hair with both hands, pressing my face against her—. Like that, shy boy, like that, eat me good, suck this cunt of a bitch I’ve got, don’t let go.

The taste had changed. Now it was all hot, thick flow running down my chin, soaking into the collar of my T-shirt. I pulled her fingers out and pushed them back in, curling them to find that rough spot inside her that made her writhe, and Mariana began to tremble with her legs clamped against my ears, grinding on my face without the slightest pretense.

—I’m coming —she announced, through clenched teeth—. I’m going to come in your mouth, Sebastián, swallow it all.

She came with a hoarse cry I’m sure could be heard from the gate. It splashed down her chin and neck, and I kept sucking her clit until she squirmed, laughing breathlessly, pushing my head away.

—Come here —she said, tugging my hair upward—. Come here now, shove your cock in, I can’t take it anymore.

I stood up, my cock pointing at her face. She leaned forward from the bench, grabbed my ass with both hands, and took it all in her mouth in one stroke. I felt it hit the back of her throat. She sucked me three, four times, lubing me well with saliva, then pulled back with her mouth open and a shining strand connecting her to the tip.

—Fuck me now —she ordered—. Right here, on the bench. And don’t come out until you come inside me.

I laid her back against the wood. I lifted her legs and placed both feet on my shoulders, one on each side of my head, and from there, with those soles that had obsessed me for months brushing my ears, I drove my cock into her all the way.

Mariana screamed. I also let out an animal groan I didn’t recognize as my own. Her cunt was so hot and so tight I almost came on the first thrust. I froze for a second, buried to the balls, feeling how she tightened around me inside, and then I started fucking her mercilessly, marking each thrust with the hard slap of my pelvis against her thighs.

—Yes, like that, like that, harder —she panted, gripping the edge of the bench so she wouldn’t be thrown off—. Break me, Sebastián, break me whole, fuck me hard.

I gave it to her hard. I gave her everything I had kept locked inside, months of looking at her in silence pouring out in every stroke. I grabbed one ankle and turned her foot to suck on it while I fucked her, and she moaned with her mouth open every time my teeth brushed her arch. I shoved my other hand under her soaked T-shirt, found her breast, squeezed it until she gasped, pinched her hard nipple between my fingers.

The bench creaked. The floodlights hummed above us. And I was aware, unable to stop, that at any moment some straggling club member could appear in the aisle and find us like this: Mariana half-naked from the waist down, legs spread over the backrest, and me driving into her with my trousers at my knees.

—Let them look, let them look —she repeated, as if reading my mind, with a broken laugh—. Let them see you fuck me. Let them know I’m your slut.

I changed position. I lifted her off the bench and set her on her knees on it, hands braced on the backrest, skirt hiked above her ass. A round, tight ass, white where the summer sun hadn’t reached. I spread her with both hands and drove my cock into her from behind in one single thrust. She arched her back and pushed toward me, asking for more.

—Give it to me in the ass —she moaned—. The other hole, Sebastián, try it, put your thumb in me.

I sucked my thumb and shoved it into her asshole while I kept hammering her cunt with my cock. Mariana let out a roar and her whole body tightened like a bow. I felt her come a second time, felt her cunt gripping me in faster and faster waves, felt a hot stream running down my balls and dripping into the clay beneath the bench.

—I’m coming too —I panted—. Mariana, fuck, I’m going to come.

—Inside —she ordered, breathless—. I told you already. Inside. Fill my cunt, bastard.

I grabbed her hips and gave her the final thrusts, each one deeper than the last, until I exploded inside her with a groan that came from my stomach. I felt myself empty in waves, felt the cum surge up my cock and spill into her cunt, long, thick, endless. I stayed pressed against her back, forehead against her sweaty nape, breathing in her smell, until the last contractions faded.

When I finally pulled my cock out, a thread of semen mixed with her fluid fell to the ground between us. Mariana turned around slowly, still kneeling on the bench, and lowered her hand to gather a little of that mixture from her thigh. She brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked them, staring at me fixedly without blinking.

—Tasty —she murmured—. You taste good, shy boy.

I let myself drop down beside her, my trousers still at knee height, trembling. She lifted her feet back onto my lap, still smeared with clay, and rested them on my limp, sticky cock as if that were the most natural thing in the world.

The dull thud of a ball on a distant court reminded us of the world that still existed beyond that bench. Instead of frightening her, it made her laugh.

—Don’t stop —she whispered, closing her eyes, moving her toes against my tired shaft—. Not yet. You’re going to get hard again, and you’re going to put it back in me. And after that you’re going to finish wherever you want.

I had no intention of stopping. I held her feet with both hands, lowered my head once more, and gave myself to her without reservation, aware of the floodlights above us, of the distant silhouettes, of the latent risk that made every caress sharper. In that instant nothing else existed: not the club, not the court, not who might be watching. Only the taste of her skin, the ragged rhythm of her breathing, and the promise, suspended in the hot evening air, of everything that was still to happen between us.