“I don’t even know how to play golf, Larry!” I stared at my boyfriend over my latte and shook my head.
Not for the first time, I wondered why I had ever hooked up with him in the first place. Larry was a sports freak. If it involved large sweaty men, odd clothing and arcane rules of conduct, he was into it. Sometimes I had a suspicion that he liked the large sweaty men part of it the best–he wasn’t exactly an athlete in bed with me.
“Well, you never know until you try,” he said in his annoying lisp, and tore open another one of those little brown sugar packets they have at Starbucks. Larry eats way too much sugar, in my opinion. “I can’t get anyone else on such short notice. Maurice finked out on me, I have to have a partner to make it a foursome, and you can rent the clubs. Be a sport.”
“That was my point. I’m not into sports. I’ll kill somebody with the ball or something.”
“I doubt that,” said Larry. “You won’t be able to hit it that hard anyway.”
“Gee, thanks. What is this tournament, anyway?”
“Celebrity charity tournament. The celebs are all pro athletes.”
“Like I couldn’t have guessed.” I groaned and took a bite of my bagel. “God, look at the time. I have to get to work.”
“Are we on, then?” Larry raised his brows at me. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven sharp. Our tee-off time is eight-fifteen.”
I consider anything before nine a barbaric time of the morning. “I don’t know.”
“Annie, I’m going to forfeit the entry fee if I don’t show up with a partner! I thought you were all Scotch and thrifty. I can’t believe it–Scotch, and you’ve never played golf!”
“The term is Scots, as I’ve told you a million times before–I’m not a bottle of whisky. And my dad’s Scots–I’ve never even been to Scotland. He doesn’t play golf either.” I picked up my morning paper, downed the rest of my latte, and left the bagel.
“Oh, come on. Do me a favor once in a while. I’ll take you to some chick flick afterwards.”
“I don’t know…”
“I’ll buy dinner. Please?”
I considered that. “Not Chinese again.”
“Not Chinese. You pick the restaurant. Please, no more than three dollar signs per entree.”
“Ooh, big spender. All right, you’re on. You pay for this golf club rental, too.”
A look of real pain crossed his face. “All right, all right! Wear a skirt and walking shoes. This is one of those old-fashioned courses that have a dress code. No women with pants.”
“Women without pants are OK, then? Check.” I winked at him and headed out to hail a cab.
This was starting to smell like a relationship in need of a break. Like a breakup. But I had promised, and I would fulfill my obligations. As long as Larry fulfilled his and took me out to dinner and a movie. I could tell him I was dumping him after we left the theater.
“OK, which one is this again? The woody?”
“The 1-wood, also known as the driver. Sheesh, Annie, don’t try to make conversation, OK? You’re going to embarrass me.” Larry rolled his eyes and started the golf cart.
I put the bag of rented clubs between my knees and held on as the cart lurched away from the pro shop. I had really dressed the part today–I wore a tweed skirt that had been my mother’s in college, a pair of two-tone saddle shoes, an oxford blouse and a sun visor. I looked something like Katherine Hepburn in one of those movies she made with Spencer Tracy, except that I wasn’t quite as thin and wore my hair longer. I was actually having fun. The tournament hadn’t even started yet, but I was having fun irritating Larry.
He wore brand new golf shoes and expensive golf duds with Nike swooshes all over them, and my retro look didn’t quite match. “You look like you think you’re golfing with Sam Snead, for God’s sake. I feel like I ought to be wearing knickerbockers.”
Larry took an abrupt swerve to avoid hitting a small knot of Canada geese that were standing insolently in his path. They stared at him and took simultaneous poops on the grass as we passed. “Goddamn geese. They’re everywhere.”
“Yep, they sure are.” I grabbed my golf bag to prevent it from falling out of the cart as Larry took another swerve down a path marked “To the Tee”.
“Now, I don’t know who our athletes are. We’ll be assigned them just before we tee off. I want to take one of them in the cart with me, OK? You can ride with the other one.”
“Oh, are you going to take him home with you?” I batted my eyelashes at him and made little panting sounds with my tongue hanging out. “You did say they were ours. Can I take mine home with me too?”
“Jesus. Don’t embarrass me.”
“But it’s so deeply satisfying to embarrass you, Larry. You’re the one who begged me to come along.”
He muttered and mumbled to himself until we lurched to a stop in an open area. A set of bleachers rose up above the manicured grass, and groups of people stood around posing for photographers or chatting. I recognized a few of the athletes-football players and basketball players, with a tennis pro here and there.
“Oh, pinch me–it’s Andre Agassi,” said Larry with wide eyes. “God, I hope I get him!”
“Don’t look now, but I think he’s giving you the eye,” I replied. He began to mutter to himself again. I looked around as we got out of the golf cart and walked up to a table set up near the teeing green, with a sign reading ‘Partner Assignments, L-Z’ hanging from it.
“Hello, I’m Larry Person,” said Larry, holding out his entry form. “I’m pre-registered.”
“What kind of person?” said the elderly man behind the table, who seemed to be hard of hearing. “Hairy? You don’t look all that hairy to me.” He took the form and sorted through a box of index cards.
“No, that’s my name. Larry Person.”
“I guess your parents had a sense of humor, Harry,” said the old man after a long stare at Larry. “I’ve never approved of that sort of thing being perpetrated on innocent children. And your young lady?” He poised a felt pen over a sheet of sticky tags.
“Annie MacLachlan,” I said, and spelled it for him. The old man made me a name tag and handed it to me; I stuck it on my oxford blouse. Larry got a pre-printed tag and a number slip.
“Wait for your number to be called,” said the old man. “Whoever’s up at that point will be your playing partners for the tournament.”
“Oh, gee, couldn’t you tell us who we’re getting?” said Larry. His eyes bugged out as Joe Montana walked by. “And maybe we could slip into the right spot in line…?”
“Sorry, luck of the draw.” The old man shook his head and turned to the next pair of golfers.
“Oh, ugh!” said Larry, staring beyond me. “Pray we don’t get any of *them*!”
“Who?” I asked, turning around. “Those guys?” A group of very large, muscular men had just arrived in several golf carts and were getting out their bags. “Are they athletes, or amateurs?”
“Well,” sniffed Larry, “that’s a matter of debate. Pro wrestling isn’t what I call a sport!”
“Pro wrestling?” I know precisely zero about wrestling, as I do about most things of which Larry professes knowledge. Sometimes I think he pretends to be an expert about some things just because I’m not. I can tell that he’s faking if I have even the smallest information on the subject. Such as with sex.
“Yes; can you believe it? The organizers actually invited people from the WWF. Some poor bozos are going to be stuck playing with those low-lifes!” Larry looked at his number slip. “We’re twenty-four, so keep your ears open.”
Since he had expressed such disdain, my interest was piqued. I looked over at the wrestlers again. Six of them had gathered, some perfectly enormous and a couple of them more average-sized. Blond and dark-haired and bald, with one black man among them and one younger man with purple hair.
The last one of the group got out of his cart and stretched, taking off his baseball cap, and I let out a little gasp. This one was a redhead, and he was the tallest of them all.
“What?” said Larry irritably. “Oh, darn, Andre Agassi is in group twenty!”
“Well, there goes your chance of getting a date for Saturday night,” I said absently, watching the redhead. I could only see his back, but the view was attention-getting.
He wore a short-sleeved shirt and golf shorts that showed his muscular calves. Every inch of visible skin on his massive arms, right down to the wrists, was covered with tattoos. I rather liked tattoos, though not always the people attached to them. His hair was very long for a man’s, reaching down to his shoulder blades even braided, and it shone beautifully copper-colored in the morning sun.
I got a glimpse of the side of his face as he talked to another big man with dark hair, and saw a red goatee. ‘Ooh, facial hair,’ I thought. ‘Better and better.’
What really attracted my eyes, however, was his ass. He wasn’t a small man, so he didn’t have a small ass. It was big, lush, eminently squeezable-looking. My hands itched with the urge to go over and pat him on the butt. I wondered if he would mind.
“Twenty-two,” called someone over a mic, and Larry had another hissy fit over the loss of one of his dreamboats. I kept my eyes on Big Red, as I had just nicknamed him, and started to make a wish, crossing my fingers. “Twenty-three,” said the announcer, and another foursome stepped up to the tee. “Twenty-four!”
“Come on,” said Larry. “I think we’re getting Joe Montana!”
‘Rats,’ I said to myself, not wanting Larry to make cracks about my sudden penchant for wrestlers. I turned to follow him and stood where a man in a green jacket directed me when we got to the tee. “Woody…driver…dildo…” I muttered, sorting through my clubs while I struggled with the heavy bag.
“The biggest one,” said someone helpfully, right at my elbow.
“Oh, OK,” I said, hauling it out. “Thanks.” I turned and looked up–way up–into the eyes of Big Red.
The view was almost better from the front: broad chest, shirt open over slightly furry pecs, more tats. His face was so masculinely strong-jawed and cheekboned and nosed and bearded that I wondered if there was an earthquake going on at the moment that only I noticed.
And, I swear to God–his eyes were green. Really, really green, like the fairways and the tee and the trees. No, not like that sort of green, where the grass is all cut short and fertilized and manicured and dotted with goose poop. More like the part under the trees where everything grows a little wild, where you can lose things and never find them again. The rough, that’s what it’s called. His eyes were as green as the rough.
“Hi.” He smiled, and the earthquake went up a few points on the Richter scale. “I guess we’re playing together.”
“Oh, my God, I certainly hope so,” I said in a daze. Larry was having a real snit somewhere over in the periphery of my vision. “I’m Annie MacLachlan, and that’s Larry Person.”
“Yes, I read the name tag. I’m Mike Carrington.” He put out his hand, which could have made about four of my hands, and I shook it. It was like shaking hands with a catcher’s mitt, if catcher’s mitts had long fingers with cute freckles. “This is Jim Laymont.”
The dark-haired man he had been talking to came up and grinned at me. “Hey, there, missy. Looks like we got the best draw of the day.”
“Look, this is not–can I get another assignment, for Christ’s sake?” I heard Larry say to the man in the green jacket. “This is really important–”
“Read your rules sheet,” said the man. “All assignments are final, unless all parties agree to switch.”
“Annie!” yelled Larry. “Back me up here!”
“Are you on drugs?” I said. “Not a chance, buster.” The wrestlers chuckled.
“Hey, missy, you want to ride with me?” said Jim, waggling his brows. “I drive a mean golf cart.” He was pretty cute, with a black goatee and a big set of shoulders, but next to Mike he came in a definite second.
“It’ll fit three,” said Mike with a smile. “I reckon Harry here can navigate on his own.”
“Larry,” said Larry. We all ignored him.
“Ma’am, please go ahead,” said Mike. “That’s the ladies’ tee, up there.” He pointed to another tee several yards in front of the one we stood on.
I took my driver and a ball out of the side pocket of my bag and walked up to tee off. Although I hadn’t actually done this before, I had a general idea of how to proceed, and stuck one of the little wooden pegs I had in my shirt pocket into the ground between the markers. I balanced the ball on it, set up to swing, and swung.
I missed. Not just the ball; the ground too, and clouted myself in the ass on the backswing.
“Oops,” I said. “Ow.”
Jim busted a gut and tried not to show it, and Larry looked like he wanted to sink into the earth. Mike smiled and walked up to me.
“Here, let’s get those legs spread a little more,” he said, arranging my stance with the club on the ground. “Snug up on the shaft like this.” He stood right behind me and reached around my body to shift my hands on the grip.
“Oh, are you my golf coach?” I wiggled my hips a few inches backwards into his crotch. Mike cleared his throat.
“Yeah, I guess I am,” he said, sounding a little thick. “There you go. Try that again.”
He stood back and I swung again. This time I hit the ball with a satisfying KRAK. It went into the air and bounced a reasonable distance down the fairway.
“Thanks. I’m usually pretty good with things that have shafts and big heads.” I bent over to pull my tee out of the ground, making sure to aim my backside in his direction. Mike cleared his throat again.
“OK, stand back to let us tee off,” he said, and walked back to pick up his golf bag.
Larry went first, making a rotten shot short of mine, since he was obviously pissed off. Too pissed off to notice my flirtations, which I had intended partly for his benefit. Jim went next and fired a screamer way past the point at which my ball had landed.
“Beat that,” he said to Mike as he teed up.
“If you like,” said Mike, and swung.
WHAACCKK! The ball took off as if it had been shot from a cannon.
Mike held his pose for a moment as he watched it fly out of sight, his long legs in an interesting twist and his magnificent ass turned and tucked in just so. His muscles tensed and bulged under his shorts, which had pulled fairly tightly across the back. I decided I liked golf.
“Holy crap, I think you hit the green,” said Jim, shading his eyes. “This is a freakin’ Par 4.”
“I’m feeling sort of inspired today,” said Mike, and grinned at me.
Nine holes later, I had a moderately bad score, Larry’s stunk to high heaven, and both of the wrestlers were doing fairly well. As Larry hacked and slashed at another sand trap, sending little puffs of dust into the air, Mike leaned on his nine-iron and looked at me.
“Getting tired yet, Annie?”
“Kind of,” I replied, wiping sweat off my forehead as I raised my visor. “I didn’t realize this is such hard work.”
“You’re doing really well for your first time. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks, but I’m bogeying every hole.” I had picked up a lot of golf jargon over the last hour and a half.
Mike shrugged. “Bogeying, sure. Only one double bogey so far.”
“Unlike poor Larry.” He was still slashing, his face red and sweaty. “I’m actually beginning to feel sorry for him.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Mike chuckled as Larry hit the ball out of the sand and onto the green. It rolled clear across and fell over the opposite edge into another trap. Larry bent his sand wedge over his knee and hopped up and down in rage. “He’s taking so long, we might have to wave the next foursome through.”
“What a maroon,” said Jim, taking a drink of water and wiping his mouth. “I swear, I could grow a rose garden in the amount of shit he talks about sports.” Larry, before his score had surpassed his grandfather’s age, had been bragging about his handicap.
“You’re preaching to the converted,” I said.
“So when are you gonna dump him and try dating me?” said Jim, waggling his brows.
“When you settle down and get a real job,” I said, and we all laughed. “At least ‘Buckshaw’ sounds like a normal person, but ‘Gravedigger’? Beating up on each other for a living–now that’s taking money for nothing. You Texas boys would be brawling anyway, and don’t try to deny it.”
“Yeah, but I don’t get to beat up on ‘Digger real often,” said Jim, aiming a kick at Mike’s ass. Mike sidestepped him. “I think he’s about to steal my girl.”
I smiled at Mike, who gave me a slow, sensual grin that curled my toes. “Maybe he is. If he gets an opportunity.” Trying to bounce my ball off my club as I had seen him do, I hit it over my head and lost it in the tall grass.
“Darn.” I poked around for several moments but didn’t see it. Mike came over to help, but it was too well concealed to find.
“Oh, I’ve got another one of these things, so the heck with it.” I had lost one other ball in a water hazard and was down to one out of a box of three.
Larry had finally made his putt, and Jim pulled his ball out of his pocket and put it down in front of his marker. He sank the putt in one stroke and looked at Mike, who was just off the green, on an up-slope between two sand traps.
Mike selected a pitching wedge, took his stance and popped the ball up onto the green. It rolled to a spot six inches from the hole, and once he had tapped it in for par, he wrote down his score with a flourish. “Halfway through. Let’s ride.”
Jim brought the golf cart up and we all got in. Larry was having engine trouble, it seemed, and left his cart where it was, tramping forward with his golf bag on his shoulder. He was bright red and looked as if he was about to drop from sunstroke.
We gladly left him behind and proceeded to the next tee. I hit a long curving shot that struck a tree and deflected into the rough.
“Oh, darn,” I said. “I’m going to have to find that one; it’s my last ball.”
“Go ahead and look for it,” said Mike. “It’s Harry’s turn next, and he won’t be here for a while.” I shrugged and headed up the fairway with a three-iron.
Concealed from the tee, the rough sloped sharply down into a small ravine overgrown with trees. I had no idea where the ball was, as it had taken a glancing path through the branches and could have dropped anywhere.
Thirty feet down at the bottom of the ravine, I thought I saw a glint of white between the grass stems. It might not be my ball, of course. Probably a lot of people lost balls down here. But I had marked mine so I would be able to tell whose it was.
I started down the slope, using my three-iron as a walking stick. The grass felt slippery and damp in the shade. When I stepped on one steep patch, my foot shot out from under me and I fell the rest of the way, losing my club.
Since it wasn’t very far to fall, I was more shaken than hurt, and landed in a sitting position. The ball I had spotted was right in front of me. I nudged aside the grass and checked. It wasn’t mine.
“Rats,” I said, and looked for a good way to get up to the top of the slope again. An overhanging branch above my head provided something to grip, and I stood up, wincing. My bottom was developing a nice bruise.
“You OK?” said Mike’s voice up the hill. “I decided to follow you, and I thought I saw you fall.”
“Yes, you did. I’m fine–it’s just a little hard to get back up.” I grabbed the tree branch with both hands and tried to haul myself up the slope. “I didn’t find my ball.”
“Hang on, Annie. I’ll come down and give you a boost.” Mike took a few sliding steps and landed beside me. “Hey, it’s kind of cosy down here.”
“Oh?” I looked up at him; he was grinning sensually at me again. I loved his full lips, because they looked both luscious and extremely sure of themselves. I had never seen a pair of lips on a man that were so well made for kissing, I thought, and there really wasn’t any way to confirm that other than kiss him. So I did.
“Mmm,” said Mike, leaning down into the kiss. “I think I found what *I* was looking for.”
He opened his mouth a little way and ran his tongue-tip around my lips, lapping softly at the center of the upper one. My lips parted, and he plunged his tongue into my mouth and pulled me up against his chest.
I responded as enthusiastically as I could, because my legs had turned to water. Mike held me up, leaned me backwards against a tree, and kissed me slowly, damply, and deliciously.
Within a minute, I was arching my back to roll my breasts against him, squeezing my thighs together and breathing hard through my nose, since my mouth was otherwise occupied.
Oh, he was a fantastic kisser, if I haven’t made that plain already, and he smelled good too, despite being a little sweaty from nine holes of golf and one expedition into a ravine. I moaned and threw my head back to let him kiss my neck.
Buttons started to come undone on my blouse almost by themselves, though Mike was definitely helping them along. The collar slipped down my back and the blouse drifted off my shoulders. Mike kissed along the inside line of one bra strap and tasted the sweaty spot between my breasts.
“Oh…my…God,” I said.
Mike used his teeth to peel back the cup covering my left breast. “Mmm…is your boyfriend going to go ballistic if he finds out about this?”
“He is my boyfriend in name only. We haven’t had sex in a month and a half, and I barely noticed it then. Ohh…God.” I got my hands on Mike’s belt and began to unbuckle it.
“OK, that works for me,” he said, and engulfed my nipple with his mouth.
I got Mike’s belt unbuckled and his shorts pushed down to his knees while he sucked on my nipples and massaged my breasts with skillful fingers. It felt wonderful, since he knew when to switch off from mouth to hand and back again, and his mustache tickled in a way that sent jolts between my legs.
For a few moments I left his clothes alone and thrust my fingers into his long, soft hair. It was tightly braided, but I loosened it up a little and worked my hands around in it. Mike reached down and grabbed the hem of my tweed skirt.
“You sure have a nice layout to your course, ma’am. May I?” he said with a humorous inflection, still kissing my breasts.
“Oh, you certainly may,” I said, grabbing the waistband of his underwear. He hoisted my skirt, I pulled his skivvies down, and we got our hands on each other’s private parts just about simultaneously.
Mike’s silky cock swelled in my grip so quickly that I let out a quivering breath of anticipation. I seized his ass in the other hand and discovered that it felt just as good as it looked. I had been admiring it all up and down the fairways, though it hadn’t always been easy to walk behind him while he was trying to walk behind me.
It was cushy. Smooth, but with a light, velvety sprinkling of hair. It flexed under my hand as he rolled his hips forward to let me get a better purchase on his cock.
“Oh, my God, I love your ass. But this is awfully easy to appreciate, too.” I stroked his cock back and forth as it hardened fully. “You are a very well-proportioned man.”
“Thanks,” he said, kissing me on the mouth again. His hand had been cupping my crotch over my panties, and he rotated his palm a few times, his fingertips sliding under the elastic and going deeper with each tantalizing circle. “You are a very touchable lady. I was admiring your pretty shape and wondering what was under that cute skirt.” Mike took hold of my panties and pulled them down and off.
“Found it yet?” I breathed, holding myself up with my grip on his ass.
His hand stroked my pubic hair. “Hmm…there must be a little round thing in the grass somewhere here…” Mike licked my neck and thrust his middle finger into my cleft. “There are some flower petals hiding it, I think. Smells real nice, anyway.”
“Woohaahoo…” I moaned.
Mike pretended to search for my clit and teased around it with tantalizing slowness. “Mmm…the grass is getting mighty damp. I think the dew’s falling.” His hand began to pump up and down as I shuddered.
“Feel like playing through?” I gasped.
“I think I’ve got the right club for this hole,” he replied, sliding his middle finger into me and applying his thumb to my clit.
“Sure feels like it to me,” I said, yanking on his jutting cock. “It’s time to take your stroke.” Mike bent his knees, put both hands under my ass, lifted me to rest my back against the tree, and jammed his hips between my spread thighs. His shirt worked up his stomach and revealed more tattoos.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he said, getting me securely settled. I held on to his shoulders and arched my back as he rolled his pelvis back to get a little distance. The smooth warm head of his cock nudged my moist entrance. Mike looked me in the eyes with a sexy smile. “Fore.” He thrust.
“Ohhh!” I couldn’t help shrieking as his cock parted my entrance and pushed deep inside. He felt delightfully hard and thick, stretching me out more than any man I’d ever had, and his strength was a major turn-on. I watched his tattooed biceps swell with moderate effort while he held me up, his exposed abs flexing with his thrusts. “Damn, Mike, you are fantastic…”
“I was about to say the same thing to you,” he said, his face sweating. “You’re really something, Annie. Adventurous as well as beautiful.”
I kissed him and squeezed my internal muscles down on his cock. “Ohh, man…” Mike went to work in earnest, fucking me hard against the tree. It creaked slightly with his force, my back bumping the smooth bark.
I didn’t mind that, but his firm grip on my bruised butt was starting to become uncomfortable, and I let out a slight grunt. “You OK?” He moderated his strokes and looked me in the face.
“In general, yes. I only banged my heinie a little coming down the slope.”
“Not your fault…ohh.” I felt an orgasm coming, despite the small discomforts of the position, and began to hump wildly up and down on Mike’s cock.
“Ohh…don’t stop now…oh, God, yes…” I arched my head backwards and climaxed, my whole body spasming. His cock slipped out of me with the violence of my movements. Mike lowered me down to stand again and held me until I stopped shaking.
“You want to keep going?” He nuzzled my hair.
“Do I?” I said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “I want to go for a Par-3 at least.”
“I’m up for it,” he said, which he still was. But he turned me around, made me grab the tree and bent me over. “Let’s soothe that sore backside first, OK?”
Mike knelt down behind me, flipped up my skirt and kissed the bruised spot. Only two inches from my wet and swollen vulva, which was still pulsing from my orgasm. I felt his warm tongue run over my ass and gripped the tree to keep from falling down.
“Ohh, that feels good…” I shrugged off my loose blouse and let it drop to the ground. My bra cups were both pushed down, exposing my breasts and squeezing them up and forward.
Mike kept licking my ass, interspersing his tongue strokes with kisses and working his way towards the junction of my legs. I rotated my hips and gave voice to little mews of pleasure. When Mike’s mouth moved over my eagerly awaiting pussy, I let out a small scream. “Oh, yes!”
His tongue was magic; long and agile, flicking my clit from behind and lapping along the length of my cleft with relish. I couldn’t form words, moaning inarticulately while Mike licked my pussy and bumped his nose into my entrance.
I ground my crotch into his face and rose on tiptoes to get just the right angle. My hips began to shake uncontrollably. He deliberately tormented me, attacking my clit directly and then retreating to wander among my folds before launching another surprise assault.
I could hardly see or hear any more, rolling my head around and sobbing out loud, trying to force him to bring me off. Finally Mike took pity on me and thrust a finger inside me, pushing it in up to the last knuckle and tickling my clit until I came with a long, warbling scream.
He didn’t let me collapse, but stood up, threw his arms around my waist and rubbed his cock against my ass for a moment until he was fully hard again. I felt him work his glans into the right spot and nudge himself gradually forward.
“Yes, do it!” I cried. Mike flexed his hips and plunged deep. “Oh, God, fuck me!”
He grunted in response and rammed himself fast and hard, pulling me into his thrusts. Our bodies slapped together, my breasts and buttocks bouncing. His shaft shoving my swollen tissues open and stretching my entrance felt so good that I was sure I was going to come again soon.
In the mean time, I rocked my hips and enjoyed his fucking, listening to his panting breaths and the wet, slippery sounds of our sex. Yeah, I definitely had acquired a taste for golf, or at least for golfers with clubs like this in their bags…
Someone let out a sigh of pleasure. It wasn’t me, and it didn’t seem to come from Mike’s direction.
My head snapped up and I scanned the slope above. A man stood there, looking down at us.
“Oh!” I yelped in startlement. It was Jim, his black goatee framing a big smile.
“I was wondering when you were going to notice you had company,” said Jim. “I heard something and came over to investigate, ’cause I kinda figured that’s what you were up to.”
He leaned lazily against a tree, his pants open and his cock in his hand. “Nice view from up here. Don’t mind me.”
“Ahh!” I shrieked, and tried to grab for my blouse to cover myself. “Go away!”
“You sneaky SOB,” said Mike, still thrusting. He wouldn’t stop nor let go of my hips, though I wriggled and pulled in an attempt to escape.
“Ah, c’mon, spread a little of the joy around,” said Jim, jerking off in a leisurely fashion. His sharp, handsome features and long black hair looked rather piratical, especially in combination with the earring he wore and the lustful expression on his face. “You got her, you lucky dog–don’t I even get to enjoy the sight?”
“I don’t like spectators!” I shouted. “You can’t just stand there and watch us have sex! It’s not right!”
“You heard the lady,” said Mike. “No lurkers allowed.”
“Aw, nuts,” said Jim, and began to zip up with a resigned air.
“So you’ll just have to get your big ass down here and participate!” I couldn’t see his face, but Mike sounded like he had an evil grin spread from ear to ear.
“What?” Jim and I said simultaneously.
“If Annie’s agreeable, naturally. You were giving both of us the eye, sweetheart. How about it?”
My head whirled a little, but I had to admit the idea was oddly appealing. What was better than one big hunk of good-looking wrestler? Simple mathematics told me the answer to that one–TWO big hunks of good-looking wrestler!
“Well, don’t make him tell you twice!” I said.
Jim scrambled down the slope with alacrity. “What’cha got in mind, sweet thing?” he said, landing in front of me with his pants half undone.
I let go of the tree and grabbed him around the waist, stripping his pants and underwear down. His cock sprang free into my face.
“OK, I think I could go for that,” said Jim, his eyes bugging out slightly.
I opened wide and pulled him towards me, taking the head of his cock into my mouth. A salty taste of pre-cum seeped over my tongue, and I swirled it around to wet his glans and shaft. My sun visor got in the way as it bumped against Jim’s stomach, so I took it off and dropped it on the grass.
Mike stopped his strokes for a moment to watch. I heard him let out a deep, rumbling growl at the sight of Jim’s cock sinking into my mouth; his hands tightened on my hips and he pulled back and slammed into me again, sending his cock deep into my pussy.
“Now this would really burn Larry’s ass,” I thought with satisfaction as I worked Jim’s cock down my throat and took Mike’s thrusts in my vagina.
Larry didn’t like to hear about my wilder fantasies–he had never liked to hear my fantasies at all. Except for the one I’d described a few months before while under the influence of six shots of tequila and too many ESPN highlights, involving him being sensually abused by defensive linemen armed with whipped cream canisters and Red Hots. He’d actually managed to keep it up for longer than three minutes that time.
But all reflections on my lame-duck boyfriend quickly disintegrated under a double-ended pounding from two of the biggest, cutest men I’d ever laid eyes on.
Mike, screwing me firmly, bent over my back and worked his hand between my legs, stimulating my clit with two fingers. Jim stroked my hair and moved his hips rhythmically back and forth, moaning in pleasure, but taking care not to choke me. He put one hand at the base of his cock and helped me hold the skin tightly back.
As he grew harder, I plunged my mouth rapidly up and down on his shaft, popping my lips over the rim of the head. Jim’s legs got a little shaky and he stumbled back against the tree for support. With mouth and pussy full, Mike’s fingers stroking my cleft, and the knowledge that I was screwing two men at once, it didn’t take me long to come.
“Nn…nnnggh…” I warned Jim, and he pulled out of my mouth just as my teeth clamped down hard, my hips bucking with my orgasm.
I reared up against Mike’s chest and felt the pulses ripple through my body. “Wheeww,” I said.
Mike put his arms around me and kissed my ear. Jim leaned against the tree in front of me, his hard, glistening cock in his hand and a lascivious look in his eye.
“You getting a little worn out there, Annie?” he asked. “Or do you mind if I, uh, kind of cut in?”
“I can keep it up as long as you can,” I said with a wink. “Mike, it’s your turn for a blow job.”
“Wow,” said Mike under his breath.
I turned around and backed into Jim, who slid his arms around my waist. Instead of immediately getting into position to fuck me, he turned my face and kissed me on the mouth.
I thought I caught a little flash of resentment from Mike, though he had suggested Jim join us, but I closed my eyes and opened my lips to let Jim’s tongue probe my mouth.
Mike came closer and put his hands on my breasts, leaning in and running his tongue over my collarbone. Jim unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the ground, leaving me naked except for my pushed-down bra and saddle shoes.
The two big men surrounded me, the presence of so much prime male flesh sending shivers of heat through my body. Two hard cocks pressed into my bottom and stomach.
I began to rub my ass against Jim and reached down to circle Mike’s cock with both hands. Mike took over the kissing, and Jim used one hand on my breasts and the other on my vulva.
After a few minutes of this, the men alternately kissing and stroking me, my head spinning, Jim removed his shirt, took my hips and crouched down on the ground behind me. He guided me to stand over him, my legs spread, and made me sit on his upraised face.
Mike supported my shoulders as I leaned forward and took his cock in my mouth. Jim began to tongue me rapidly, making my ass jiggle up and down. He wrapped his arms over my thighs and locked me in position, humming against my sensitive folds.
Not as coy as Mike, he kept up the assault at a steady pace until I climaxed hard and suddenly slid off his face and landed in his lap, guided by his hands. Right onto his cock, which impaled me in one stroke. I cried out in surprised pleasure.
Jim sat back, crossed his legs and humped me on his lap, facing away from him, while Mike stood in front of me and got his blow job. With Jim’s hands on my breasts and his cock plunging deep into my vagina, moving slowly and powerfully in short strokes, it was a little hard to concentrate on anything else, but I did my best.
Mike’s cock tasted of me, naturally. It was too large for easy sucking, so I licked it all over to savor my own juices and used my hands on the base while I swirled my tongue around the head. I stole a few feels of his ass while I was at it. Mike took my hands and put both of them around his hips, then laced his fingers in my hair and began to thrust.
I dug in my fingernails and drew them across the luxurious contours of his ass, feeling the soft hair and smooth skin that made a satin coat over his heavy muscles. Mike panted, his cock deeply invading my throat and withdrawing reluctantly. I breathed through my nose and relaxed my throat as much as I could, then parted his ass cheeks with my fingers and searched downwards for his anus.
When I touched it, he shivered all over. Spitting on the fingers of one hand, I kept his cheeks spread with the other and worked a wet fingertip into his ass.
Mike let out a groan of sheer sensuality while Jim accelerated his rhythm in my pussy; I forced my throat open as Mike’s cock swelled to unprecedented proportions and he came. Down my throat he spurted, the spasms shaking his balls and contracting his ass around my finger.
Mike stood quivering for a moment as he finished, then dropped to his knees in front of me and kissed me. Some of his cum dribbled from my mouth into his.
I rocked up and down on Jim’s cock, feeling his orgasm beginning to build. Mike grabbed my breasts, Jim put a hand over my wide-split mound and rotated his palm over my clit, and Jim and I came together, his orgasm touched off by my contractions.
He leaned back against the tree, I fell against his sweaty chest, and Mike pillowed his head on my breasts. We all breathed hard for a little while.
Jim straightened out his legs with a grunt, his knees popping, and I rolled off his lap and lay on my side in the grass. Mike crawled over and scooped me up for a hug.
“I think I lost track of my score on that hole,” I said, laughing. “The rough has to be the best part of a golf course, by far.”
“Oh, yeah.” Jim sounded dazed, scratching some of his disarranged hair back from his forehead. “We were playing golf, weren’t we?”
“I think we were, yeah,” said Mike, chuckling. He was sitting on my blouse, and pulled it out and brushed it off before handing it to me. It looked decidedly the worse for wear. “In some other lifetime.”
“Damn-nation,” sighed Jim. “We sure did get the best draw of the day.”
“I got a better draw than you did,” I stretched luxuriously in Mike’s arms. “Twice as good, in point of fact.”
“So what the hell are we going to do to follow THAT up?” mused Mike, nibbling my ear.
“Follow it up? Like when? I thought you guys traveled all the time.”
“Oh, we’re in the city all weekend and the next two days,” said Mike with a smile. “House show and TV tapings.”
“Yeah, we sure are.” Jim lost his dazed look and perked up. “I think I got my date for those nights.”
“No, I got MY date for those nights,” said Mike in a challenging manner.
“How do you know I’m not busy those nights?” I put in, just to see their heads snap around. “Gotcha! I was going to let Larry permanently off the hook tonight anyway. One condition–no real fighting–and I’ll consider allowing you both to date me while I’m on the rebound. Hee, hee.”
I reached for my blouse and put it on, then shook the leaves out of my skirt and underwear.
The men began to dress as well. “What, we have to switch off?” said Jim. “Hey, ‘Digger, I’ll arm-wrestle you for tomorrow night.”
“You’ll lose,” said Mike, pulling up his grass-stained shorts and buckling his belt.
“No,” I said. “When I say you can both date me, I mean you can *both* date me. Got it?” Two pairs of masculine eyebrows went up. “As a matter of fact, I’ve already got some ideas for tomorrow night.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Jim eagerly. “Fill me in.”
“Well…you two could get to work on each other,” I said mischievously. “I’ve always gone for big guys and interesting combinations–what better combination than two big guys?”
Mike and Jim exchanged glances, obviously taken aback.
“Look, I know wrestling can sound a little, um, homoerotic…” began Mike.
“But we’re from Texas,” finished Jim.
“Yeah, Texas,” said Mike. They exchanged glances again.
“Don’t panic; I was just yanking your chains. I bet Larry’s looking for us by now.” I giggled, finished dressing and began to clamber up the slope. Both men put their hands on my butt to give me a boost up.
“You think she was joking?” I heard Jim say to Mike as I scrambled up to the top, retrieving my dropped club on the way.
“How the hell would I know?”
“I think she was sort of serious. In a kind of, y’know, joking way, but serious.”
“What, you getting adventurous in your old age?”
“Old age? Fuck you, ‘Digger.”
“Was that a Freudian statement?” Mike laughed. Jim spluttered.
As I emerged from the trees with the two of them trailing me, I almost stepped on a ball, neatly elevated on a mound of dirt thrown up by a gopher. It was mine. “Oh, will you look at that,” I said. “I didn’t need to fall down that slope after all.”
“Oh, yes, you did,” said Mike, kissing my neck from behind. I set up for the shot and chipped it out onto the fairway, then waited while Mike and Jim walked back to the tee to make their shots. Larry was standing near the green when we got there, waving through another foursome.
“Hey, I made birdie on this one,” said Larry carelessly, twirling his putter.
I glanced over his shoulder and saw multiple scrapes in a sand trap, imperfectly raked over. Obviously the little twerp had seized the opportunity to doctor his score in our absence, and was secretly chortling over his triumph.
“Where the hell were you, anyway? You missed my best hole yet.”
“Um…we were looking for a ball in the rough,” I said, blushing slightly pink. Mike chuckled. Jim looked at the sky and whistled tunelessly.
“Took you long enough!” said Larry with snide superciliousness. “Did you find it? Was it a good lie?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said with conviction. “Looks like that ol’ rough can catch a lot of balls. I found a couple once I got a little off the beaten track. Very good balls. With an excellent lay–uh, lie. In my considered opinion.”
Mike and Jim looked at each other. “Oh, you said it,” they said in unison.