What My Friend Saw Under My Tennis Skirt

Before moving to the capital, I played tennis almost every week at a modest club on the outskirts, the kind with two clay courts and a café that always smelled of reheated coffee. I had given it up for lack of time, but when Bea wrote to suggest a match, I didn't hesitate for a second. It had been years since I'd felt the urge to pick up a racket again simply for the pleasure of it.

“I'm bringing someone with me,” she told me over the phone. “A new coworker. I've told her about you and she wants to meet you.”

We arranged to meet an hour beforehand at the courts' café, to have a drink and break the ice. Bea was already sitting on the terrace when I arrived, and beside her was a girl who immediately stood up to greet me with two quick kisses and an open smile.

“Vega,” she said, holding out her hand after the kisses, as if she wasn't quite sure which of the two gestures was called for.

She was somewhat younger than me, with brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail and eyes that laughed before her mouth did. We ordered tea and spent quite a while talking about anything and everything: the city, work, how difficult it was to find people to play with who didn't treat it like a life-or-death competition.

Vega came from a good family. She didn't say it in so many words, but you could tell from the details: a master's degree completed abroad, a large family business she'd returned to, learning the trade from the bottom up, a rotation through different departments that Bea partly supervised. She talked about all of it without boasting, almost with irritation.

“What I really need is to move out of my parents' house,” she confessed, stirring her tea with the teaspoon. “Living with them again at my age is suffocating. My aunt even controls what time I get home. I asked Bea to help me find a place with normal people.”

“That's why I wanted to introduce you,” Bea cut in, looking at me meaningfully. “You've got plenty of room, and with all the traveling you barely spend any time at home. Six months at most.”

I thought about it for a moment. I liked the idea more than I let on. I asked for a day to decide, so as not to seem too eager, and Vega thought that was perfectly reasonable.

***

When it was time for the match, we each went off to change. I'd brought my usual outfit: a sky-blue polo shirt, a flared white tennis skirt, short socks, sneakers. I looked at myself in the locker-room mirror and smiled. I was wearing absolutely nothing under my skirt.

It was a whim I'd been carrying around for some time, a small, private fantasy I'd never dared to fulfill. Playing like that, with the fabric fluttering with every stroke, knowing that one sudden movement could reveal my naked pussy, which no one was supposed to see. That half-empty club, with only three women I trusted for company, seemed like the perfect place to finally do it.

We drew partners by spinning a racket, and I ended up on Vega's side. Bea and her other teammate, a petite blonde named Ingrid, took their places opposite us. The first rallies were just warm-up, gentle ones as we sized each other up. But as soon as we started playing for real, everything changed.

As I stretched to return a cross-court ball, I felt the cool afternoon air where I shouldn't have felt it, directly between my thighs, slipping as far as the lips of my pussy. My skirt flew up for a moment and fell back into place. I looked up and saw Bea on the other side of the net, discreetly gesturing toward her own skirt, as if warning me that I'd forgotten something. I held her gaze and slowly shook my head, smiling. I haven't forgotten anything.

It took her a second to understand. When she did, she opened her mouth in silent laughter and whispered something to Ingrid, who looked at me too, this time without hiding it. They had both caught on.

But the one I was really interested in was Vega, beside me. I caught her glancing at me between points, first with curiosity, then with something thicker that I couldn't name. Every time I bent down to pick up a ball, she lingered for a moment too long, as if waiting to see my pussy peek out beneath the white flare.

The game turned into something else. The score stopped mattering. I exaggerated my movements, stretched farther than necessary, ran for short balls knowing perfectly well what my skirt was doing behind me. I could feel my pussy getting soaked inside, my lips swollen from feeling watched, a warm trickle running down the inside of my thigh that wasn't sweat. It was a new and intoxicating sensation: knowing I was being watched, desired, and enjoying it instead of feeling ashamed.

When the first set ended, Bea almost ran toward the locker room. We thought she'd suddenly needed to use the bathroom. But when she came back onto the court, she lifted her skirt slightly with two fingers and showed us that she, too, had taken off her underwear. We resumed the game laughing, and on the very first stroke she bent over so deliberately that all three of us saw the same thing I'd been showing all afternoon: perfectly shaved pussy lips, still reddened from her recent waxing.

“This is outrageous,” Ingrid said, laughing her head off and fanning herself with her hand.

But she didn't leave. None of us did. We played one more set, conspiratorial, laughing like teenagers who had discovered a secret, pretending to concentrate on a ball that nobody cared about anymore.

***

As we gathered our things, sweaty and still laughing, Vega came over to me while the other two went ahead toward the exit.

“I realized during the very first game,” she told me softly, almost in my ear. “And I haven't been able to think about anything else since. My pussy got soaking wet on the court watching you.”

I felt a heat that had nothing to do with exercise.

“And did it bother you?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

“Quite the opposite. I loved watching you. I loved knowing that you knew I was watching. Every time you bent over, a moan slipped out of me, I swear.”

We walked toward the locker rooms without saying anything else, but the silence was heavy with meaning. The club's showers were individual, with plastic swing doors that reached neither the ceiling nor the floor. Bea and Ingrid went into the two at the far end. Vega and I were left with the adjacent ones.

I undressed with my heart racing and turned on the water. I could hear Vega's shower right on the other side of the partition, the rush of water, the sound of her feet on the grate. Then suddenly, a sharp knock and a cry.

“Ow!”

I came out at once, half-wrapped in my towel. Vega had opened her door and was holding her elbow, which she'd knocked against the faucet. It wasn't anything serious, but the sight rooted me to the spot.

She was completely naked, water running down her skin, and what impressed me wasn't the nudity itself but the marks. Her body was crossed by the distinct outline of a one-piece swimsuit, old-fashioned, the kind that covered the whole body. Her belly, tits, and hips were almost completely white, in a brutal contrast with the golden color of the rest. Pink nipples crowned two round, firm breasts that swayed with her breathing, and the triangle of her pubic mound, also pale, was covered in short brown hair.

“Wow,” slipped out before I could stop myself. “Those marks…”

She followed my gaze downward and laughed, not covering herself, without a trace of shame, parting her legs slightly so I could see her better.

“My aunt's doing,” she said. “At the pool at home, that kind of swimsuit is the only one allowed. No bikinis, don't even think about it. My Aunt Remedios is like a nun in expensive clothes, the guardian of the family's modesty. This”—she pointed to the pale outline of her skin—“is her handiwork.”

I took a step closer. The water from my own shower was still running behind me, filling the air with steam.

“It's unfair to keep a body like that hidden beneath an awful piece of fabric,” I said.

“You think so?” Her voice had dropped an octave.

“I do.”

We stayed that way, both of us standing in the doorway of her shower, looking at each other. Me looking at her, naked and wet; her looking at me, holding a towel that wasn't covering much anymore. All the tension from the court, all the stolen glances during the match, condensed in that narrow, damp passageway.

She was the one who reached out and gently tugged at the edge of my towel. I let it fall. There was no hurry, no awkwardness. Only the recognition of something we'd both wanted all afternoon.

“I've been imagining this since we drew partners,” she murmured, slowly looking me over as if she wanted to memorize me. “Imagining your pussy, imagining what you taste like.”

I stepped into her shower with her, beneath the warm spray. The swing door closed halfway behind us. At the far end of the passage, the other two showers were still running, and from a muffled laugh that drifted over, I knew Bea and Ingrid knew exactly what was happening. They were listening. And the idea, far from stopping me, aroused me even more, making me squeeze my thighs together to contain the pulse already pounding between my legs.

Water slid between our bodies. I ran my fingers along that pale line on her belly, along the exact border where her skin changed color, and felt her shudder. She brushed my wet hair away from my face and kissed me, slowly at first, then with a hunger she'd been holding back for hours. Her teeth bit my lower lip, her tongue thrust deep into my mouth and stole my breath.

“I've been watching you all afternoon,” she said against my mouth. “Now it's my turn to let you look.”

And she leaned against the tiles, offering herself, watching me as I explored her with my hands and eyes. I caught one nipple between my lips and sucked, feeling it harden inside my mouth, while with my other hand I kneaded her other tit, playing with the tip between my forefinger and thumb. Vega moaned softly, arching her back against the cold tiles, searching for more.

“Don't stop,” she panted. “Suck my tits, fuck, harder.”

I lowered my mouth along the pale swimsuit line, nibbling at it, following the exact border up to her navel, to the beginning of her pubic mound. I knelt on the shower floor, water falling over the back of my neck, and opened her legs with both hands. Her pussy was right there, wet inside and out, her lips already swollen and parted, gleaming beneath the spray. I ran my whole tongue over it, from bottom to top, and she grabbed my hair with both hands.

“Oh, fuck, yes…”

I licked her slowly, savoring her, slipping my tongue between her lips, drawing circles around her swollen clitoris without quite touching it. Vega opened her legs wider, thrusting her hips against my face, wordlessly asking me to eat her all the way. When I finally closed my mouth around her clitoris and sucked, she jerked and let out a moan so loud that muffled laughter reached us from the changing room next door.

“They can hear you,” I whispered, my lips pressed to her pussy.

“Let them hear,” she replied, pressing me harder against her. “Let them hear me come in your mouth.”

I pushed two fingers inside her, very slowly, feeling her pussy close hot and tight around them, and began sucking her clitoris again while I fucked her with my hand at the rhythm her hips set. Vega squeezed her thighs against my ears, bit the back of her hand to keep from screaming, and I could feel on my fingertips the contractions beginning to build inside her.

“I'm coming, I'm coming, don't stop, please…”

I sucked harder, curled my fingers to find that spot inside her, and Vega let go completely. She came, thrusting her pelvis against my face, her legs trembling, releasing a long, filthy moan that bounced off the tiles throughout the club. I kept licking her slowly as she came down, gathering the warm juices escaping her with my tongue, until she pushed my hair away with both hands because she couldn't take any more.

I stood up and she pulled me against her, breathing unevenly, and kissed me, tasting herself on my mouth.

“Now you,” she said, turning me against the tiles.

She positioned me with my back against the cold wall and opened my legs with a gentle knee between my thighs. She began with my tits, sucking one and then the other, biting my nipples with an eagerness that drew a moan from me. Her hand moved down my belly, paused for a second at my pubic mound, then continued, two fingers parting the soaked lips of my pussy.

“You're dripping,” she murmured against my neck. “You've been like this for hours, haven't you? Since that first drop shot.”

“Before that,” I panted. “Since I took off my panties in the locker room.”

She laughed against my skin and buried her fingers to the knuckles. She fucked me slowly, savoring every thrust, while her thumb drew circles over my clitoris. I closed my eyes, arched my back against the tiles, and bit at the wet air. From the other side of the partition came a different kind of rustling now: two breaths, a sharp moan I recognized as Ingrid's. Bea and Ingrid hadn't held out either.

“Listen to them,” Vega whispered. “They're eating each other for us.”

The thought of all four of us fucking at once, separated by a plastic partition, shot through me. Vega lowered herself, knelt on the shower floor, and replaced her fingers with her tongue. I dug my nails into my palms when her mouth closed over my pussy, when I felt her tongue slipping between my lips, moving up and down, patiently searching for my clitoris in a way that drove me crazy.

“Put it in deeper,” I begged her. “Eat me all the way.”

Vega obeyed. She opened my lips with her fingers and buried her mouth, sucking me as if she were thirsty for me, alternating long licks with suction on my clitoris that made my knees tremble. She inserted two fingers and curled them upward, never once letting go of me with her mouth. I grabbed her wet hair and thrust my pelvis against her face, no longer caring, no longer ashamed.

“Yes, like that, right there, don't stop…”

The orgasm rose from my feet. I came with a hoarse cry I didn't even try to stifle, pressing her head against my pussy, feeling her continue to suck, drinking up my last contractions. From the other side of the partition came an almost simultaneous moan, Bea's, and then another, and I understood that all four of us were coming almost at once, each in her own shower, each in another woman's mouth.

Vega rose slowly, her chin shining, and kissed me. She let me taste my own flavor mixed with hers while the water poured over us and washed everything away. Looking and being looked at had stopped being two different things. Fucking and being fucked had too. They were the same thing, and we took turns in them without words, beneath the steam, while the water washed away what little modesty remained.

***

When we came out, Bea and Ingrid had already left, discreetly leaving us alone and a message from Bea on my phone that said only, “Tomorrow you'll tell me everything,” followed by three dots.

Vega dressed beside me, her hair still damp, and turned toward me while buttoning her shirt.

“Have you decided about the apartment yet?” she asked, pretending innocence.

I looked at her, at that smile that laughed before her mouth did, and thought of six months living together, shared showers, and all the things my new roommate hadn't seen yet and I was dying to show her.

“Bring your suitcases on Saturday,” I said. “But leave your aunt's swimsuit at your parents' house.”

She laughed, this time with her whole mouth, and I knew that that tennis match without panties had only been the first set of something much longer.