Golf Player

It was the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday and I was a little bored so I swung past the local golf club to see if I could pick up a game with someone. I quite like golf but I prefer to play it with a partner. The trouble was that at this stage of the afternoon I'd probably be out of luck partner wise. Still, I could use the practice.

It turned out that I was in luck. A trio were about to start out and they didn't mind me making up a foursome. My new friends were a married couple, Mike and Wendy, and George, someone like me who'd been hoping for a partner or two.

It was George's suggestion that we pair up and have a friendly competition, losers to shout the others a drink. I was OK with that but we ran into one small problem.

"I am not pairing up with Mike in a competitive game," Wendy flatly stated. "He tries to dictate what I should do."

"Friendly advice is all," protested Mike. "You know I'm a better player."

"Maybe, but when we're playing your friendly advice sounds distinctly unfriendly."

"I'll partner you," I offered. "Your husband can team up with George. I have to warn you, I'm not the best player in this club."

(Or the second or third best. Probably not even in the top one hundred.)

So we started off and after the first hole it was obvious to me that Wendy and I were in for a bit of a hiding. Mike was good, and George just as good. Wendy, on the other hand, was my type of player. The type who says, "I see the ball and I hit it (hopefully) in that direction and pray."

OK, so I was going to lose. I could afford a round of drinks.

I found out why Wendy didn't want to play with Mike on the third hole. She'd hit a nice shot and it landed on the green. Only just on the green, but it was there. Mike promptly started in with the advice, telling Wendy which club to use and how to hit the ball. I intervened.

"Ah, excuse me, Mike, but Wendy is my partner. I must ask you to refrain from unsolicited advice as it may put her off her game. You're the competition, remember."

Mike laughed and stepped back. "On your own head be it," he said smugly.

Wendy gave me a fulminating look.

"I suppose that now you're going to tell me what to do."

"What? Me? Oh, OK. Why not? See the ball?" I said, pointing to it. "Try to hit in in that hole over there."

"That's it? That's your advice?"

"Um, something more? Ah, if you do it with a single shot no penalties will be required."

"Penalties? Golf doesn't have penalties," she said as she addressed the ball.

"It does when I play. If you stuff up the shot you'll have to play the next round commando. Well, damn."

With a seemingly effortless stroke she'd skidded the ball across the green and into the cup, giving her a two for a par three hole. That meant between the two of us we'd parred the hole.

"You don't think that Mike might notice if I went commando for a hole and object?" she asked, giving me a look.

"He'd probably object," I conceded, "if he noticed. I think you'll find he's so tied up in competitiveness that he wouldn't notice if you were playing naked. Not that I can make that penalty, unfortunately."

I wasn't kidding about Mike's competitive streak. He was not only competing with his wife and me but also with his own partner, wanting to make sure that he demonstrated that he was the top player in our little group.

"Just so you know," I murmured softly to Wendy, "the next time I say you're doing a penalty shot you'll have to undo your bra for the next whole, letting those lovely ladies swing free."

It was odd but any time I suggested a penalty Wendy would pull off an amazing shot. Either she was a damn sight better than she pretended or the thought of the penalties gave her that extra zip. I had a suggestion for her as we approached the final hole, not that it would matter what we did on this hole. We could score a couple of hole-in-ones and still lose the challenge.

"How would you like to make a hole-in-one?" I asked her.

"And exactly how am I supposed to manage that?"

"Easy. I call a penalty on your doing it. That should make it a certainty. You've come through with every penalty I've requested. It's disheartening, to say the least."

"Not going to happen," she said. "Neither the penalty nor the hole-in-one. You'll just have to resign yourself to losing out on all counts today."

"Oh, I don't know. I've had a fun afternoon. It wasn't as though I was expecting to win the game, although I had had some hopes where the penalties were concerned. As a matter of interest, are you a damn sight better player than your husband thinks or were they all lucky shots?"

"A bit of both," she said with a laugh. "Let's say I'm not as bad as he thinks and I had my share of luck. And I had that incentive. I didn't really fancy teeing up and driving while commando."

"So who's having what?" I asked as we entered the clubrooms. "As high scorer for the day I guess I buy the first round."

"Very high scorer," jibed Mike, a comment I grandly ignored. I mean, really, deduct my handicap and I wasn't that far behind his score. I considered again. OK, even deducting my handicap, I still got trounced but I was learning. I'm not sure what I was learning; modesty, humility, and good sportsmanship, probably. I sure didn't seem to be learning golf.

George ordered a beer, while Wendy and I both went for orange juice. I assumed that, like me, Wendy was driving. Mike, seeing someone else was paying, ordered a scotch.

After having his beer George thanked us all for an interesting game and departed. Mike was still in a competitive mood and challenged me to a game of pool. I was quite happy to accept. Pool I can play and I wiped the table with him. He had another whiskey and demanded another game.

That man could not stand losing. He kept sculling his whisky's down and insisting on another game, even though he hadn't come close to winning one. I finally called a halt to it when he wanted to put money down.

"I think I'll pass on that," I told him. "With my luck you're probably a regular pool shark, lulling me into a false sense of security before cleaning out my wallet. How about I buy you another drink and then I'll hit the road."

Mike went along with the free drink, assuming I was too timid to play when money was on the table. I steered him back to Wendy and sat him down while I fetched him another whisky. Wendy had better be driving. Mike was just about out of it.

Mike sat there slurping up his drink and I made goodbye noises, only to be stopped by Wendy.

"Hold it, Greg," she said. "This time I'm calling a penalty."

I raised an eyebrow and waited.

"You helped to get him plastered," she said, smiling sweetly, "so you can help me get him into the car."

I had to concede that she had a point. She coaxed Mike to his feet and once he was standing I assisted him to walk out of the clubrooms. This meant I half-carried him out. I was surprised to find that so much time had passed. It was quite dark outside.

Wendy indicated the direction of their car and traipsed along ahead of me. I followed obediently, half dragging Mike, while watching her pretty little tush roll around as she walked. Did she know what her bottom did when she walked? It occurred to me that she must, because it hadn't wobbled around like that out on the course. She was doing it deliberately, the little minx.

Their car was over to the back of the carpark with no lights around, rendering the area rather gloomy. Wendy beeped the car doors to unlock them and opened up the rear door for Mike.

"In the back?" I queried.

"Yes. If he falls asleep he can lie on the seat. Better than having him lie on me while I'm driving."

We stuffed Mike in the back of the car and Wendy stretched the seat-belt over him, hopefully locking him in place. He settled back and closed his eyes, not really cognizant with what was going on. He didn't even react when Wendy closed the door with a bit of a bang.

"Thank you for your assistance," she said politely.

"Thank me later," I said, reaching over and taking her keys out of her grasp. I looked at the remote locking gadget and pressed the lock button twice, hearing a satisfying clunk both times, meaning that the car was not only locked but couldn't be opened from the inside.

That done I tossed the keys on top of the car and reached for Wendy's top, pulling it loose from her skirt.

"Stop that," she snapped. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I am going to make up for all the penalties I couldn't collect," I explained, "Starting with unhooking your bra."

"Don't you dare," she said. "Are you forgetting Mike is right there in the car?"

My hands were inside her top by this stage, reaching around her and up to her bra. It was the work of an instant to unclip it.

"But I like daring," I told her. "Mike is asleep and even if he woke up he's trapped inside the car. He won't be able to unlock the door."

"He has his own keys," Wendy promptly informed me. "And stop that. It's too dark for you to see anything anyway."

"He had his own keys. I saw you confiscate them after he'd had his third drink. Not that he'd be able to use them in his current state. I have a wonderful sense of touch," I added. "I use it to check things out when it's too dark to see."

I demonstrated this ability by sliding my hands under her loosened bra and over her breasts, gently stroking them, feeling her nipples tighten under my touch.

"This is nice, but not good enough," I told her. Returning to the hem of her top I lifted it, pushing top and bra up over her breasts, freeing them. "Lips and tongue are much more sensitive when it comes to feeling things," I assured her, demonstrating what I meant by bending forward and capturing a nipple with my mouth.

I entertained her breasts for several minutes while she protested, explaining what a bad idea this was. However, apart from feebly slapping at my back she didn't try too hard to push me away. I was breathing a little harder when I lifted my head but, to my satisfaction, so was she.

"And might I ask just what was that about?" she asked.

"You may," I said, and waited.

"Well?" she demanded after a few moments.

"Oh. That was your way of asking? Sorry. That was a little bit of preparation so you won't be too surprised."

"Preparation for what? Surprised about what?"

"Just preparing you emotionally so you won't resist too hard when I lean you against the car, pull down your panties, and make love to you."

"You have got to be kidding! You do remember Mike, don't you? He's sitting right there," pointing to Mike in the back seat.

"Yes, I remember Mike. He's the guy in the car snoring his little head off. Don't worry. If he wakes up and sees you looking through the window at him he'll just assume you're checking up on him. He probably won't even notice me behind you. Alternatively, if you prefer to face me while I take you all he will see is someone's back. He'll ignore it and go back to sleep."

Wendy just stared at me and even in the dim light I could see she was slightly startled.

"It occurs to me that it's probably bad manners for you to be staring at your husband while I'm taking you. Why don't you move over here and lean across the front of this car, instead?"

While I was talking I was steering her over to the car behind theirs, urging her to lean over the hood. I had already lifted her skirt and was lowering her panties before she found her voice.

"Just you wait a minute. I haven't said anything that would make you think I want you to have sex with me. I haven't agreed to any such thing."

"Well of course you haven't," I said, surprised. "How could you? You're a respectably married young woman. Don't worry about it. I don't expect you to agree."

By this time her panties were down and I was massaging her firmly, feeling the heat coming from inside her.

"Then what the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice rising sharply towards the end as my fingers strayed to forbidden places.

"I've already told you what I'm going to do," I reminded her. "You surely don't think I'm going to let a little thing like the lack of permission interfere, do you?"

I was continuing to massage her, feeling her body responding even as she protested. I unzipped and pressed the length of my erection against her, feeling her buttocks pressing back against me.

"You can't do this," she muttered, even as I was easing her lips apart and pressing my cock against her.

"I'll scream," she whispered, and indeed she let out with a long low cry as my cock pushed firmly into her.

She was wet and welcoming. Um, let's say the essential parts of her were welcoming, even if she was decrying what I was doing. I continued forging ahead, her protests coming fast and furious, but also very quiet, while her bottom was pushing back against me, easing my entry.

By the time I was firmly inside her she had accepted the situation, her protests drying up. I started moving, pumping her quite vigorously. If Wendy had any misgiving about what I was doing I must say she hid them marvellously. I'd drive in, my engorged penis driving down her well lubricated passage, and she'd lift her hips, her bottom bouncing as she pushed firmly back to meet me.

I have to say that we moved together quite nicely. I like to think of it as skill on my part, but Wendy certainly demonstrated a fine natural talent. A strong thrust would send me sliding down her slippery passage, feeling it eagerly give before me, clinging to my cock as I passed. Pulling back, her passage continued its clinging, dragging against me, exciting me.

I kept on driving home, trying to extend the time and the pleasure, knowing that along with taking my own pleasure I was also giving it. Wendy was gasping, urging me on, wanting more of what I was giving her, and I was only too happy to oblige.

I was nearly disappointed when I eventually reached the point that I just had to finish. However, stifling my own feelings, I went into action, driving faster and harder, determined to give Wendy a fine send off. I managed it, too, with Wendy giving a gurgling cry and starting to shake as her orgasm went through her, happily joined by my own.

I just leaned against her, still inside her, breathing hard. She was also breathing hard, not saying a word. Suddenly she gave a start, and began ranting at me.

"Oh, you brute," she wailed. "This is rape. Oh, no, how could you? Mike will kill you for this."

I felt rather stunned and looked at her to see she wasn't turning to look at me but staring into the car windscreen. Doing the same I saw a figure looming up behind me and I ducked, feeling a fist whistle through the air, damn near taking my head off.

I have never disengaged from a woman so fast in my life, spinning around to see what the hell was happening. Mike was there, and how the fuck he got out of the car I'll never know. He took another great swing at me, not saying a word, and I took a step back to let him miss again.

The second swing and a miss, combined with his alcoholic intake, was enough to send Mike off balance and he fell over. Wendy had been yelling, "Hit him again Mike," laughing at me while she did so. With Mike on the ground her cries changed.

"Oh, Mike, did that brute hit you. He's a monster. Get up, darling, and hit him again. He deserves it and you're so strong."

Seeing that Wendy was busy helping Mike to his feet, and with the look on Mike's face saying he wanted to keep fighting, I made an instant decision. There was nothing to be gained by fighting a drunk. It would be beneath me. I turned and walked away. Rapidly. Very rapidly. I was thinking of poor Mike. If he came chasing after me he'd probably trip over his own big feet and wind up breaking something. Being a nice chap I thought I'd save him from himself.

I was in my car and driving away before Mike got anywhere close to me. I just might switch my sports, I thought, as I drove. Golf didn't really seem to be my game.