The D-league
Copyright© 2026 by HungTalesFL
Chapter 5
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 5 - Amy and Alex were high school sweethearts. Florida was supposed to be the upgrade: a gate, a country club, and a zip code that wasn't Boise. When she takes up tennis, the brochure promises courts and cocktails. Nobody mentioned the real game.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Age Gap Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Masturbation Oral Sex Size Slow
I sat with it longer than I needed to. Almost locked the phone. Almost put it face-down.
The afternoon opened around the screenshot anyway. Emily at Epcot with a friend. The office shut.
I told myself I was only looking.
The whole club lived in the app. Dinner. Tee times. Courts. A ball machine I had booked once and never used. Lessons behind a green button I had never touched.
Until now.
Packages.
A row of faces. The head pro at the top, a hundred and fifty an hour. Then the rest of the staff stacked beneath him like a sale rack.
Tommy.
Sixty-five an hour. Fifty if you bought five. The club photo in the polo, the same arrogant smirk from the fence. The way most of the world knew him. A kid with a basket of balls, priced like a leftover.
An orgasm officially had a price. I sat there with the number in my head and hated myself for finishing the equation.
I called it looking.
The guilt was worse than the curiosity.
I muted D for Effort. Two days. My thumb sat on delete more than once. Getting rid of the thread was the only way to get them out of my head. It also meant becoming a leper. No team. No tennis. No friends. I locked the phone instead and went downstairs.
He was in the kitchen, already half in the office.
I told myself that if I could still want him, the app didn’t count. If we could still do this in our bed, I was still the woman from Boise. Church. Twenty years. One man. I put the shrine away. I even put the kitchen insult away and went looking for him anyway. Too out of shape for singles. Still his.
I put my hands on him. Mouth on his neck. The way I used to, before the spark went out and nobody told me.
He didn’t pull away. He didn’t lean in either. A pause first, like a man checking whether this was required. Then the look of someone who knew he had something to make up for.
“Yeah,” he said. “Give me a minute.”
When he came upstairs, it wasn’t cruel. That was what made it worse. He was careful. Hands where they used to be. Doing the one thing we had ever known how to do.
It was short and quiet and nowhere. Same position. He pulled out the way he always did and finished in the towel. A box getting checked so the household could stay current. I tried to stay with him. I tried to use the body I was pissed at to talk myself down.
I couldn’t.
He felt small in a way I had never let myself name. I could measure him now. Against Tommy. Against the shrine.
When it was over, he had the old look. Relieved. Clock reset.
He kissed my forehead like he meant it.
Then he was gone. The office door. The lock.
I lay there in the dark with it still trapped in me. The orgasm he hadn’t touched. The guilt hadn’t gone anywhere. It had only learned the difference.
I thought about the group.
Gloria. My mother’s age. Jill, six months out of a body that had just made a person. Beth, who might as well have been me. All of them paying for it on a club account and calling it a lesson. Risking the houses. The families. The prenups. Three married women prepared to burn it all down for a teenager.
I was still wound tight. My hand knew where to go. The photos. That would have been the easy version.
I almost did that.
Then my body got there first. Not a plan. Not even a thought I could defend. The club app already open from earlier. Lessons. His face in the polo. Availability sitting there like it had been waiting.
My thumb hovered. I told myself I could lock the phone and go back to being the woman who had only tried to get her husband back.
I booked it the way you reach for a glass of water.
Confirmation hit before the thought could catch up. Tommy. Thursday. 8 p.m. Two days from now.
Easy as that. A line on next month’s statement.
I unmuted D for Effort because I needed somewhere to go. Nobody typed my name. Nobody typed Thursday. The thread went on like it always had. A sale. A salad. Who was driving Saturday.
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