by Jess Bentley
Chance has had that “hot air balloon captain” thing in the his pocket for a long time. I’m so glad he finally got to use that. I bet that just made his decade.
He is grinning from ear to ear as we disembark, all of us looking just slightly rougher around the edges. That was a completely astounding experience, and I’m not entirely sure I can top it. But I’m certainly going to try.
Captain Murdoch is all knowing smiles and semi-official salutes. He takes Chelsea’s hand to help her out of the gondola and Chance slips him a tip of folded hundreds that is so thick it’s kind of ridiculous.
The driver opens the door for us and we all practically fall into the back seat, still blissed out and exhausted from our ride through the sky.
Luckily, I did kind of think ahead. The Red Bulls are still ice cold in the cooler, and I pass them around. Chelsea cracks hers open immediately, guzzling it so fast that a trickle of liquid escapes from her lips and slides down the side of her cheek.
“Wow, thanks so much,” she breathes heavily. “That took a lot out of me!”
“Not me,” I counter. “I’m ready to go again. How about you, Chance?”
Chance squints at me, accepting the challenge stubbornly.
“Yeah, I’m hard as a rock,” he snarls. “That was just an appetizer.”
Chelsea looks between us, amazed, her head swiveling back and forth. “You guys are amazing!”
I lean in close, eager to kiss her again. Maybe it is that thing that dogs do, where they have to go where another dog has just been. Something about having Chance here makes me feel like I can never stop wanting her. I can never stop getting on top of her, kissing her, touching her. I can’t get enough.
The driver takes us back to Eagle Ridge, letting us out near the pro shop. When we get out of the car, we all stretch like we just emerged from a year-long nap.
“Golf?” Chelsea yawns. “You were serious about that? I don’t think I have golf apparel, if that is a thing?”
I reach out for her hand, caging it in mine gently. I like that feeling. It’s nice.
“The pro shop has one of everything. Tops, skirts, shoes… Just pick out something you like.”
“Oh, fancy!” she smiles. “Kind of expensive, right? What about clubs?”
“Um, hello?” Chance interrupts. “Fabulously wealthy boyfriends? Money is no object? Any of these things ringing a bell?”
“Oh, right,” she chuckles. “Ronnie was always more of a money is no option kind of guy.”
Chance picks her other hand up and pats it against his. “Last time I want to hear that guy’s name, deal?”
She widens her eyes in surprise. “Are you serious? You don’t want me to mention Ronnie ever again?”
He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m possessive.”
She pulls a surprised face and turns to me. “And you? What are your feelings on the matter?”
“Also possessive,” I confirm. “But, ultimately, that’s up to you, Chelsea. You’re the boss.”
She looks around for a few seconds, nodding to herself and thinking. It’s a beautiful view, sweeping hills and trees. Golf carts dotting the picturesque landscape.
“Well, all right… Since I am the boss, let’s go buy me something expensive!”
The lady at the pro shop keeps squinting at us judgmentally, but then catching herself. I can see her thumbing the front of her cell phone vengefully, probably texting a friend. Do we give off a scent or something? I don’t know why she would be so outraged about three perfectly normal people dropping a few hundred dollars in her establishment.
But when Chelsea comes out of the locker room with her hair tied up adorably under a visor, posing in her new outfit of a bright violet, sleeveless golf shirt tucked into the cutest little golf skirt I ever saw, I swear I hear the cashier snarling under her breath.
“Is this what I’m supposed to look like?” Chelsea chirps, shifting her weight from side to side, posing like a fashion plate.
“Absolutely perfect,” Chance confirms before I can.
“Size seven?" I ask, picking a box of Footjoys off the shelf.
She takes the box for me and opens it, her mouth circling into an oval of delight. Separating the tissue paper, she pulls out a sparkly purple golf shoe and turns it slightly to catch the light.
“Is this what golf shoes look like?” she asks, amazed.
“That is what really cool golf shoes look like,” I confirm. “I’m glad you picked the purple shirt, too. People love a nice matchy outfit on the links.”
She swishes from side to side again, the skirt ruffling along those beautiful, tanned thighs.
“I like it very much,” she smiles, bending over to the shoes, exposing the full length of the backs of her legs, even the pale crescent at the top, just under her ass cheek. Chance and I watch shamelessly, drinking in every detail. When she stands back up again, I hear the cashier swear for a full three seconds.
“Can I help you guys?” she calls out, her voice trembling with emotion. “Are you going to want a cart or something? Do you have clubs here?”
Chance narrows his eyes at her and stares her down for a few moments before looking at me. He quirks an eyebrow and then shakes the thousand-dollar set of Titleist clubs in the rack in front of him.
“Yes, a golf cart would be great,” he answers slowly. “And clubs. We will need three of these too.”
“You need to get clubs measured,” she snaps. “People don’t usually just buy them off the rack. A pro will be here in about an hour. Do you want to wait?”
He shakes his head. “No. We won’t wait. We’ll take these. And one set of ladies clubs.”
She looks Chelsea up and down sucking her cheeks in.
“Has she played golf before? You want a full set of clubs for her already?”
Chance walks across the room, smiling his most dangerous smile. When he is just six inches away from her, he bends over slightly so we can say this directly into her face.
“I don’t just want a full set… I want your most expensive set. For her. Who has never played golf before. And probably never will again. We will just leave them in the cart when we’re done, and you can donate them to the local school, okay?”
She breathes through her nose for a few seconds, her cheeks reddening. “You can rent clubs, you know,” she says through clenched teeth.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he answers smoothly, leaning over so far that she’s forced to step back.
“Fine,” she grins as she turns away and stalks behind the counter. She stabs the screen of the cash register a bunch of times and begins to read out a number, but Chance just hands her an American Express black card.
“We’ll need some bottled water… And a six-pack of Heineken please, in a cooler. And a few dozen golf balls, tees, markers, divot tools. You know how it is.”
“Well, why don’t I just give you one of everything!” she huffs.
Getting in on the act, Chelsea swishes over and leans on the counter, smiling angelically. “You’re so sweet! Thanks!”
She tips her chin to look up at Chance, who places a long, lingering kiss on her lips, sighing a little ostentatiously. And just to put the cherry on top, I do the same thing. Taking her from the other side, then nipping at her shoulder for good measure.
The look of horror on the cashier’s face is all I really want in life right now.
She can’t get us out of the shop soon enough, and when we head toward the first tee the attendant is already there, hurriedly ripping the plastic covers off our new clubs. He gives us a look of unconcealed surprise as we walk up.
“Anything else I can get for you guys?” he asks politely, tipping his hat like an old-timey caddy.
“I think we’re all set,” Chance smiles, handing him at least a couple hundred dollars, just because he was nice.
The first tee is basically right in front of the pro shop, so I hope the cashier is watching us as we get Chelsea all set up for her very first lesson. Chan
ce balances the golf ball on the tee in front of her and hands her the driver.
“Remember softball?” he asks her, and she nods uncertainly. “Yeah, you could hit a ball, I remember. Well, this is just like that, only at a different angle. Ready?”
She tugs on the little white glove, fixing the Velcro on the back of her hand. Damn, she is really hot.
“Do I look ready?”
“You look amazing,” I answer her.
I need to get my compliments in where I can. Looks like Chance is kind of taking over the day.
Chance walks around behind her, showing her how to place her hands on the club, showing her how to line her feet up with the ball on the tee. He curls his body over hers, briefly holding her belly so that he can show her how to swing her hips, and watching this turns me on all over again. I can’t wait to get in the cart and get going. There’s a little tunnel on the third hole that I am looking forward to very much.
“Okay? You don’t have to make a big swing. Just connect with the ball and follow through, okay?”
Brow wrinkled in concentration, she glares at the ball. Her fingers wriggle against the club handle and she rocks back and forth quickly, shaking that adorable ass of hers. I hold my breath as she draws back and then swings forward, connecting solidly and sending the golf ball straight down the fairway.
“Did I do it? I can’t see it!”
I watch the ball bounce somewhat to the right, but still on the fairway. Chance raises his eyebrows at me.
“Actually, that was pretty amazing! Are you sure this is your first time?”
She casts her weight on one side and gives me a sarcastic look. “Don’t you think you would know if I were some kind of secret golf club girl in high school?”
“You could’ve been taking lessons for the last three years,” I answer.
“Nope!” she replies, swinging the club playfully as she skips back to the golf cart and drops it in her new pink bag. “That was my very first time hitting a golf ball. It looks like I actually kick ass at it!”
I don’t remember golf being quite this enjoyable. It’s usually something we have to do with the executives of whatever company is trying to buy our new application. Usually we have to let them win. Chance and I actually don’t get the opportunity to go out and play together very often. Which is a bummer. It’s a lot of fun, as I am remembering now.
The three of us a zigzag back and forth across the fairway, while Chance and I try to fill Chelsea in on the general rules and protocols of golf. She drives the cart like a mad woman, with a beer in one hand, brazenly chugging it as she speeds toward the green.
Real golfers are made by the short game, as they say, and she gets adorably frustrated when it turns out that it is actually difficult to get the ball into the hole. She putts past it a few times before making the point.
“How many was that?” she asks, squinting under her visor.
“Um? Six maybe? Twelve? Who cares?”
“It’s fun though,” she smiles, switching back and forth again. “Especially this outfit. I love this little skirt. And the shoes are great!”
“Yeah, I love that little skirt too,” I nod hungrily. “Why don’t you get back here so we can get to the next hole?”
She skips back toward me, swinging into the seat, holding onto the pole. Chance cracks open another beer and slaps the top of the cart twice to let me know it’s safe to drive on.
As we round the gravel curve, I crane my neck to see ahead and behind us. There are no other teams on the course. We’ve got at least a few minutes of privacy.
The cart rolls to a stop under a tree, where it is cooler in the shade.
“Wow, it really is beautiful out here,” she sighs.
“Show me your tits.”
She raises her eyebrows, a playful smirk twisting her pink lips. Slowly she tugs the hem of her shirt out of her skirt and raises it, inch by inch, teasing me with every exposed millimeter.
“Out here? In front of everybody?” she whispers.
“Yes.”
“And what would you like me to do next?”
The cart shifts as I step out of the driver’s seat, looking around again for good measure. Chance follows, positioning himself at the back of the cart, leaning on it with his shoulder, his arms crossed over his chest and a mischievous smile on his face.
“I want you to come over here and lean over the driver’s seat.”
She looks surprised and excited. Quickly she finishes raising her shirt and tucks her tits together between her forearms, jiggling them playfully before hopping out of the seat and skipping around the front of the golf cart.
When she gets to the driver’s seat, she stops for a second, pouting, vamping. She struts in front of me, pointing her toes and flexing her leg muscles before dramatically leaning forward to rest her weight on her forearms in the seat. Twisting her head, she stares over her shoulder at me and winks. The wind ruffles her skirt, lifting it up to expose the tight, black panties underneath.
I am already rock-hard again, just like I always am for her. I never seem to run out of energy for this one. Just the sight of her untanned bottom gets me hard. I pull the skirt down hard, immediately groaning when I see that sweet pink diamond from behind. Right there, that perfect flower pussy. The vaj my brother just had an hour ago, now here for me.
She is still wet, or wet again, it doesn’t matter. But when I come up behind her and breach her from behind, she moans deeply, flexing up onto her toes and pushing back against me.
“Fuck, yeah,” I groan, falling into an immediate rhythm pumping her hips, burying myself as deep as I can.
With the sun in my face and wind in my hair, birds chirping all around, I can’t imagine anything better. This is it.
She isn’t shy, groaning and moaning at full volume as I rail her until I bust, plunging to the middle of her to empty myself as deeply as I can.
We stay connected for a few more seconds before I remember time is short. And I have a twin brother who’s been very patient this whole time. I slide out, careful to catch my seed in the palm of my hand and flick it away into the bushes.
She begins to stand up again, but Chance stops her with the palm of his hand in the middle of her back. She drops back to her forearms and chuckles.
“Yeah, Chance, why don’t you finish me off?”
Chance’s khaki golf pants crumple around his ankles as he fucks her, a smooth elliptical motion that I’m sure pegs her deeply. I love watching her expressions. Her fingers digging against the golf cart seat. Her knees bumping against the floorboard.
His dick is so big that I can see a good six inches of it when he pulls out, covered in her juices, dripping gold creamy liquid onto the pebbles below.
When he comes, he slaps both of his hands against the roof and arches his back, squeezing his ass together so tight that he creates orange-sized dimples in either cheek.
After he’s done, he backs off and she stays there for a few more seconds, her still open, gaping, dripping shamelessly onto the ground. She sways back and forth, mesmerizing as a cobra.
“Are we done here? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, Chels,” I smile, sighing. Taking the golf towel off my bag, I use it to wipe her up gently, aware that she winces slightly. But then again, she has gotten quite a good dicking today.
When she settles back into the seat to drive, she grimaces, then laughs.
“Are you okay?”
“Perfect,” she says through gritted teeth.
“You sure you are okay?”
“Never better!”
We keep ribbing her about it through the afternoon, catching her limping or cringing every once in a while. But she won’t let on. She’s very proud. It kind of makes me want to fuck her harder.
By the seventh hole we just stop keeping score. It’s pointless. At this point it’s more like bowling. The balls disappear under the trees or in the rough. Nobody cares. We still have some balls left.
The attendant is
happy to see us come back up, though. We must look pretty happy, I imagine. But he has the good manners not to say anything about it. He gets another healthy tip out of it, too.
“Back to the house?” the driver asks as we walk up, our golf clubs still on the cart, as promised.
“House?” Chelsea repeats.
“Yeah, a friend of ours, Ricky, has an estate up here that he’s letting us borrow. Totally private. Nice place to clean up for dinner. There is even a vineyard we can walk through on the way to the restaurant.”
She shakes her head as she climbs into the car.
“Are you seriously okay?” Chance asks her, taking her hand and making her look at him. “It’s really okay if you’re not. We might’ve been a little rough on you back there…”
She looks at him, twisting her mouth and sucking her cheeks in. I can see she’s trying to put the words together to explain how she’s feeling.
Reaching up, she takes his face in her hands and draws it towards hers, so she can press her for head against his forehead for just a moment.
“Chance,” she sighs, her voice thick with emotion, “I am a million times better than okay. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.”
She turns toward me, reaching out to draw me closer as well. As the driver pulls the car away from the golf course, we just silently hang out together, holding hands, legs crossed over each other, happy and silent.
Chapter 22
Chelsea
“Can you excuse me? I’m just going to go to the ladies room,” I sigh, standing up carefully. Every time I move my nether parts, they twinge in objection.
I may have finally broken my pussy. Yep, pretty sure it’s going to take a while to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
Chance snatches my hand before I leave, circling his thumbnail in the center of my palm, sending another shiver of my arm. He observes the goosebumps with pride.
“Hurry back, okay? We have oysters coming.”
“You know what that means,” Jack adds lasciviously.