Tennis Miss-Match – Cuckold erotica

Bestselling cuckold erotica

An initially innocent game of tennis has a most fateful outcome…
Sometimes in life you compete in a game where you are simply outclassed, cheapest as your opponent is far superior to you; it is a dangerous thing when you are too blind to realise that you are out of your league!
Naïve, buy Jack is punching far above his weight on holiday with his haughty, advice pretentious, young girlfriend. The owner of the hotel is the mercurial, mature, and oh-so calculating, Vito. A game tennis is proposed, a seemingly innocuous, harmless distraction and adventure….…But it is eventually momentous….and where the outcome… will set his unending, possibly compulsive, cuckolded destiny for the future.
An inspired insight and story from the award winning Mia Robbins, into crude, sordid and base sexuality, developing relationships and the fact that you do not enter a rash, ill-advised match however much of a one way bet it seems, when you are batting out so far out of your own league!
A tantalising, teasing tale of tennis torment!




I was delighted to see the old, quaint, picturesque, Italian villa up on the small hill and similar but grander Alpine rises in the near, but bright distance.

It had been a long, laborious, dusty journey from the airport and Pippa, my exceptionally gorgeous girlfriend, was not in the best of moods.

It was just that she was exasperated with me as always; we had been driving forever around this quiet corner of Italy and only discovered by accident the hidden dirt road to the secluded hotel where they were booked.

It had seemed an ideal location when searching upon the Internet for what we wanted; it was small, scenic, quiet and peaceful and the fortnight we were booked in seemed ample time for us to get to know one another properly, and I fervently hoped, far more intimately than we did at the moment.

Pippa was my genuine, official, unexpected, delectable, girlfriend to my pride and delight as she was far better looking and more attractive than I was; I had never expected to have such an elegant beauty such as her on my arm or by my side and considered myself very fortunate.

However that being said she was something of a handful, extremely high maintenance and very tightly strung; in simple terms, Pip’s, as I liked to affectionately call her, was often not an easy person to handle or be around.

We had been dating in a friendly way for a couple of months and although I liked to feel we were becoming very close as a couple, I had, to be frank and honest, hardly ever kissed this divine, vibrant, young, dark-haired girl who was now driving the car so erratically and with such obvious infuriation and frustration.

She was truly displeasured, incensed and annoyed with me, as she so often seemed to be during our time together and literally breathed then spat out in obvious irritation and real fire.

“Why the fuck did you not get better directions, Stupid?”

I just blinked and looked down meekly at the mucky, black mats on the floor of the rapidly moving car and muttered apologetically.

“Sorry, sorry…but we’re here now, Pip’s… please don’t get mad… try to relax, Darling… please…we’re on holiday!”

As I had explained I called her Pip’s as a personal, special term of endearment but she simply was not enamoured with me at the moment, ignored and sneered at me in ongoing agitation.

Finally she swerved the car into the sooty, gravel drive of our destination in a dramatic explosion of dry, red sand and explosive dust that had lifted like a small, dramatic Mediterranean, coloured cloud over us.

We were then parked in front of a grandiose, resplendent, rustic, old house and she alighted from the car energetically, gratefully and forcefully; I dutifully got the luggage out of the boot and found Pippa talking animatedly to a tall, striking, older man with inky eyes, dark hair, dappled with specs of grey, on the antique, pale, stone, entrance steps.

As I approached I could clearly overhear the end of their provocative and patently protracted conversation.

“I am zorry, Signorina…we have no tween-bedz…your room eez for a double…eet eez good…no?”

This stranger who was obviously the owner of this establishment saw me and offered his hand which I shook as firmly as I could, as if in some small demonstration of my masculinity and authority.

“Bonjourno…my name eez, Vito…theez eez my house…you are very welcome.”

Pippa interrupted him forcefully, rudely and in disrespectful, almost childish, irritation, tension and impatience as she began to scream at him in embarrassing, terrifying, bad temper.

“I want single beds…I specifically told you, when I booked …Jack and I wanted single beds…I ordered… single beds!”

The man only smiled genteelly as if trying to pacify and placate her but I knew such condescension would only make her even more aggravated and incensed.

“We only have ze beeg double…eet eez a four pozter…veree neece…veree zpeceel…good for ze…lovemakeeng…No!”

Pippa’s pert, delicious, pink, perfectly formed mouth dropped in true outrage and horror on her pretty, apparently innocent face, and she almost flew at him in her volatile wrath and fury.

“What did you say?”

The man however was cool, incorrigible, unflustered and continued with what he must have presumed was male, mature, Italian charm although it was undoubtedly lost on my precocious girlfriend.

“Ze bed…eet eez zo veree beauteeful…two young loverz eez zo perfect and good for ze love…the fuckeeng!”


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