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Like a real goddess, she smashed the ball against the wall in the end of the hall. The ball bounced back towards her and again, she grabbed the racked harder in her hands and with all her power, she knocked it again.
Her heart was hammering in her chest and her body was glistering with sweat after twenty minutes of hard practising.
Her long midnight black hair swirled around her face and caressed her bronzed skin. She hit the ball again and quickly, before it came back, headed for her, she brushed the sweat off her upper lip.
The muscled played in her powerful thighs that could be seen under the short skirt and when she jumped or reached high for the ball, you could even make out her black sweatpants.
She was good at what she was doing, hardly any mistakes at all. And if she was really in the mood for it, she could go on for hours.
Again the ball came in a great speed in her direction and with enormous strength, she hit it passed the wall and into the big stand, where the audience use to be sitting, watching her play and screaming her name. She smiled at the thought, bent down and picked up a new ball.
Before hitting it away, she bounced it a couple of times on the floor, held it in her hand and squeezed it a bit. It was like she was getting to know the ball before she decided to engage in recreation. It was more than a game and a sport for the powerful woman. It was her life and had always been ever since she was a little girl. The more she played, the more she loved the thing she was doing.
She threw the ball up in the air and never letting it go out of sight. Putting both of her hands steady around the racket, waiting for the right moment to proceed and when she decided that it was time, she swung the racket with grace and hitting the ball in perfect time. The swishing in the air spoke of the power of the blow and within seconds it was right in front of her again. Several repeating movements were done before she decided to catch her breath.
The feeling that someone was watching her made her spine tingle, and with a quick glance towards the exit doors, she could make out the familiar petite face and the strawberryblond hair of the pretty woman sitting on the bench.
She was always there, watching the other woman practising her blows. It made her calm and at peace just to study the slender form of the dark lady in front of her. She was starting to learn her approach and her body language after observing her so many times earlier. It was like they knew each other, yet a word had never exchanged between them. She watched as the woman, with tenderness, stretched out her legmuscles and took a few swallows from her waterbottle. She then picked up another ball, threw it in the air and smashed against the wall.
The sweat was almost pouring from her body and she decided to do one last blow. She watched as the ball approach her in great speed and with the last energy she had in her exhausted body, she knocked it again over the wall and into the stands of the audience.
Happy with her achievement, she took her sportbag, swung it over her shoulder, grabbed the waterbottle in her left hand and the racket in her right and walked up the stairs to the exit doors.
The dark woman's blue eyes met green and a smile came across their lips.
With the little power she had left in her arms she pushed the doors open and inhaled the fresh cool air of the beautiful summer morning.