Train Rides and Golf Clubs (part 2)

Here's the next part of my story "Train Rides and Golf Clubs".  I'd like to publish on literotica.com but would love some feedback first.

 

So about half way through the morning, Steve Webster popped into the office to say hello.  I smiled at him as I thought back to kneeling under the chairman's desk.   What a slut.  "Hi," He said.  "How about lunch in the bar?  Interested?"

Well, Steve was a good looking man.  as a semi-professional sports man he needed to keep himself in pretty good shape.  He was five ten or five eleven and slim and trim.  A nice looking guy with slicked back dark hair.  I suppose I didn't really care for the golf garb that he wore, but then that does really go with the territory.

"Sure," I replied, "What time?"

"I'll stop by just after 12:30.  I have a lesson that finishes then."

"Sounds good!  See you then."  And off he went.  I spent the rest of the morning going through accounts, working out who had and had not paid their membership dues this month, who had bar tabs that were out of control, who had paid for their lessons--that sort of thing.  It was drudgery really, but I needed to do something to keep from thinking about how sore my pussy was; the colonel's cock was enormous.  Seriously.  When I did think of it, my pussy would spasm and a little more cum would seep out onto the gusset of my knickers.  12:30 rolled around and I was getting quite hungry so I was glad when Steve was on time.

By 12:45, we were sitting in the club bar.  We had ordered a couple of sandwiches; I took a glass of white wine to the corner table, and he took a half a bitter.  I sat with my back to the wall looking out over the bar; he sat facing me. We made small talk about his various pupils and how much they owed until our sandwiches arrived.  I swear he purposely waited until I had a mouth full of sandwich before he said, "I had a lovely chat with Colonel Jackson this morning."

I almost choked.  "Oh really?" I replied.

"Yes." said Steve, "He mentioned that he'd met you and how... accommodating you had been."

"I see." I replied, and Steve smiled broadly.

"Nice of you to take care of such an important member."

"Oh very good," I said under by breath.

"Pardon?"

"Glad to!" I said.

He smiled again.  "From what I hear--on the grapevine--he can be a hard man to accommodate."

"Oh good grief." I thought to myself.  But he was a good looking chap, and he filled his trousers nicely; I imagined nice muscly legs and a toned torso.  My pussy was still seeping the colonel's deposit, but I felt that familiar urge as I smiled back at Steve "Mr Pun" Webster.

"I suppose so.  But he's such an old dear.  I was glad to help."

"I should warn you though.  He's not such an old dear really.  He has a tendency to kiss and tell, so to speak.  Your... liaison with him is probably the talk of the club this morning."

I started blushing, "I see." 

Steve took a bite of his sandwich and I did the same.  I drank more wine as I thought through the implications of what he had said.  It was too late. The horse had bolted, the cat was out of the bag.  Elvis had left the building.  Everyone would already know--or know very soon--that I was a bit of a slapper.

"Oh God."  I said as it all hit me.

"Not to worry," Steve replied.  "I am sure it will be OK.  It is not the first time, and probably won't be the last--though I really don't know how long the colonel's heart will keep going at this rate."

I chuckled.

"It will all blow over soon--as soon as he makes another conquest."  He smiled, "And at his current rate of knots, by this time next week, it will all be forgotten."

"You think I'll keep my job?"

"Oh, I should think so." He winked.  There'll be plenty of members wanting to check the voracity of the colonel's stories.

"Oh God.  What have I let myself in for?"

I put down my sandwich and swallowed the rest of my wine.

"Thirsty?" Said Steve.

"Not so much," I said, "More like bracing myself."

Then Steve was laughing.

"Look, Nicki.  I think you just need to relax about the whole thing.  Really.  Don't worry.  The club likes you.  We think it would be great to find a place for you to carry on here.  But, just one question."

"What's that?"

"Do you actually play golf?"

"Not really. I replied, "Only if there's a windmill getting in the way of the hole.  You know, crazy golf."

"I see," He replied.  "Well, if you're going to be an effective employee of the club, I think you need to understand a little more about the game."

I nodded.

"So, I have arranged that you spend the afternoon with me and I'll teach you some golf.  OK?"

I shrugged, "Sure.  Thanks, Steve."

He took me over to his office and found me some suitable clothes--they were all new, samples sent by suppliers in the hope that the club shop would pick up the new lines. I put on a pair of slacks, and some nice two-tone golf shoes.  The jumper was plain (not Pringle) and fit me quite tightly.  Then a plain dark wind-cheater and I was ready to go.  Steve led me out to the beginning of the course.  He had got a golf cart ready, with his clubs and a set for me.

"Look," He said.  "It would be good if we can take our time.  There is a foursome about half way around the course, and another four with a tee time in about fifteen minutes.  Let's take the cart up to the 9th tee and start there.  It will take ages for the next group to catch up and we'll be just behind those in front of us.  While you're just starting, they're bound to be faster than us."

"Sounds good." I replied.  I jumped onto the golf cart with him and off we went.  It took us a few minutes to get out to the ninth tee, and I started to get a sense for how big a golf course is.  I could see the group of men on the green as we arrived at the tee.

Steve took out a wood, put a ball on the tee, and started talking me through how to swing.  I just smiled and nodded; I thought I could mimic what he was doing, and he showed me the details of how he twisted his fingers together to grip the club.  When the others hand finished on the green, he gave a final look then gave the ball a mighty thwack down the fairway.

"Wow." I said, "Impressive."

"Your turn," he replied.

It was all harder than it looked.  He'd managed to balance the ball on the tee with one hand while holding the club.  I ended up dropping the ball, putting down the club and bumbling about before I was standing next to the ball and getting ready to swing.  Steve let me have a go without any help at all, but when I went to swing at the ball, I closed my eyes and missed the thing completely.  At least he didn't laugh.

"OK," he said.  "Good points: your grip looks good, and the golf ball is staying on the tee."

I looked at him with a mock frown and pouted.

He chuckled.  "Nobody gets it right first time."

Steve stood behind me and leaned over me, talking me through my swing.  His hands gently gripping my hands and shadowing my movement--slight adjustments in my stance and my grip.  He was so close I could smell his aftershave, feel the warmth of his legs, his body.  "Now," he said, "Try again."

He stepped back and I took another swing.  "Gently does it."

Thwack!  Well, this time at least I connected with the ball.  it went off--quite low to the ground and off to the left, ending up in some trees.  But I was all smiles--grinning from ear to ear. "Much better." He said.  "Now let's go see if we can find your ball."

"But isn't it your turn?"

"That's not how it works, Nicki.  The person whose ball is furthest from the hole goes next..."

"And that's me."

"That's you."

"Could be my turn for a while."

"We'll see." He smiled.  He was trying to be encouraging.

We got into longer grass, then bushes and then trees--the air smelled of pine, there were needles underfoot and it seemed very dry too.  We looked around and it didn't take us too long to find my ball.  Right next to a tree.

"How am I supposed to hit it from there?"

Steve chuckled, "It's a tricky shot, but you can give it a go if you want."

"I can't just move the ball?"

"Well, you can..." He hesitated, "But you have to take a forfeit."

"What kind of forfeit?"

"Usually a stroke."

"What kind of game is this?"

"I mean a golf stroke."

"Is that a special kind of stroke?"  I really didn't know--I wasn't being intentionally dim.

"It means we count it as if you have hit the ball an extra time." He explained.

"Ah.  I see."

"But, I suppose we might be able to devise other forfeits."

"Like..."

He took a step towards me.  "Well..." He whispered, "After what the colonel was telling me this morning, I did wonder..."

I raised my eyebrows, "Oh you did, did you?"

"Mmmm hmmm." He nodded.

"And how many strokes would that be worth?" I smiled, eyes twinkling.

"Oh. I am sure we could come to an... amicable arrangement."

I bit my lip, then said, "You seem very amicable."

"Oh I am, I am."

I took a step closer to him, our noses were almost touching.  Without my heels I was maybe three or four inches shorter than him.  I put my hand on his thigh.  "If I stroke your thigh like that, what's that worth."

"Oh, not very much I am afraid.  I could probably move your ball six inches or so from where it is."

I shook my head, "That's really not enough, is it?"

I raked at his thigh through his trousers, "And now?"

"Maybe a foot?" he smirked.

I slid my hand over his crotch, feeling his growing cock in my hand.  I gave it a squeeze and just raised my eyebrows as if to ask, "And now?"

He swallowed, "Now we might be getting somewhere."

I grinned. "I think I can get the hang of this game."  I unzipped his fly and slipped my hand inside, caressing his cock, then slipping it out--it was growing in my hand.  I started stroking his cock as it grew, until I had eight solid inches (and thick!) throbbing in my hand.

"You have definitely got the fundamentals." Said Steve.

My other hand cupped his sack and gave it a squeeze. "But I need to do better at ball control." I quipped.

"Oh, I don't know," he replied.  "I think you're doing very well."

I knelt down in front of him and looked up as I stroked him.  I lifted his cock upright and leaned in, licking at his balls.  I opened my mouth and took one of his testicles into my mouth, humming, breathing through my mouth, swirling it around with my tongue.

"Oh sweet Jesus," he said, and I felt he knees go weak.

I took his other testicle into my mouth as well, and sucked on them both--feeling his cock twitch in my hand in response.  Then I rubbed at his cock, faster and faster.  I didn't expect him to come as fast as he did, I kind of wanted to swallow his load, but I still had his balls in my mouth when he erupted and shot his cum over my head, leaving me a sticky mess in my hair.

"Now, that's really not fair," I said.  "You've had your fun, but I've not had mine..."

"Good God Nicki, that was amazing. I have never ever felt anything like that before.  I just couldn't help myself."

"Then I think that's exactly what I'm going to have to do."

"What?"

"Help myself."

I had had a wicked idea.  Wicked enough that it might just get Steve ready for another round. I sat down on the bed of pine needles and lifted up my jumper, showing off my bra.  I unclipped it and lifted my boobs out so that they showed above my bra and below my jumper (I was still wearing the windcheater as well, you know).  Anyway, my boobs were on show,so I started playing with them, cupping them, pressing them together, pinching and twisting my nipples. 

Steve just stood there, watching me, dumbstruck.  I was really enjoying myself.  I popped the button on my slacks and unzipped them.  One hand still caressing my own boobs, the other sliding between my legs.  Of course I was already wet and it didn't take long for me to slip two fingers into my pussy.  Slowly sliding them in and out, in and out.  I worked my slacks and knickers down my thighs and then down to my ankles (couldn't get them passed my shoes).  Then, with my legs spread I could slip three fingers into myself and give myself a good frigging.  Steve knelt down beside me; he couldn't stop himself reaching out and grabbing a handful of tit. 

"Make yourself useful,"  I said, "And pass me a putter."

In a daze, Steve did as I asked, and handed me his putter.  I held the metal head of the club against my thigh--it was cold, and made me tingle.  I slowly slid it up my thigh until it brushed my labia, then slipped the tip between my lips and into my sopping cunt.

"Oh Fuck," said Steve.  This was enough for him, and I could see his cock starting to swell again.

Holding the shaft of the putter between my tits, I slipped the head in and out of my pussy, fucking myself with it.  The cold metal felt amazing inside me.  In and out, in and out, fucking myself with the small metal cock.

"You're fucking amazing," he growled.

I was certainly turned on, but it wasn't enough.  I wanted more.  So I leaned back, lying on the ground now, and teased myself with the club's handle. The leather of the handle felt totally different as I pushed it inside me--not nearly as cold or as slippery as the metal.  But I could take more of it, and it was thicker.  Inch by inch, I eased the putter's handle inside of me, and Steve started rubbing his hardening cock.  Little by little, I got more of the club inside me, until I felt as full as I had with Jacko that morning, "Oh God, yes." I whispered, "Yes."

I glanced over at Steve, and saw that he was now sporting a raging hard-on.  Well, flesh and blood cock is better than a golf club, so it was time to switch.  I told him to lie down, then kicked off my shoes so I could take my slacks right off.  Then I stood over him, and crouched down, feeding his cock inside me, with my back to him.  Slowly, slowly, I took more of him inside me until, kneeling on the ground, I had every inch of him inside.  Steve started thrusting upward, and I met each thrust as I bounced up and down on his cock.  I could reach down and play with his balls as I fucked him.  Well, Steve wasn't short of staying power.  He fucked me hard and fast for an age. 

After a while I stood up, turned around and slid back down onto him.  Then I rubbed at the hard little nub of my clit as we fucked, and he mauled my tits--pinching at my nipples, raking at the soft flesh of my chest.  On and on, I was sweating and tired, but Steve kept on fucking me.  He grabbed my waist and lifted me off, then got me on my knees and fucked me like a bitch from behind, with each hand squeezing a tit.  Oh God, it was good. He pushed a finger into my arse and I squealed.  His knuckles were pressing into my bum cheek and I was coming; my pussy gripped his cock, and my arse his finger, as I fell forward onto the ground and felt the orgasm tear through me. 

But he was still going.  Unstoppable.  I was exhausted, but he kept going, hammering into my cunt with all his might. 

On and on, he fucked me, relenting only long enough to turn me over, lift my legs over his shoulders and fuck me again.  His hands on my breasts (oh how he loved my tits) and ramming his massive cock deep into me, balls slapping against me as he hammered and hammered away.  I couldn't have stopped him if I wanted to (what makes you think I'd want him to?); he fucked harder and faster and deeper and harder and faster and deeper until it was all a blur.  I came over and over again; my cunt throbbing with pleasure and at last, with a final gargantuan thrust, he came.  I felt like he'd split me in two, as I arched my back to get every last inch of him inside me.  And I came with him, biting at his shoulder to avoid an earth shattering scream.

Steve collapsed on top of me and I didn't have the strength to move him.  I needed a while to catch my breath.  And in all that time, my golf ball hadn't moved an inch.