The Open

They met on the grassy mound just beyond the 18th green. It was the last day of a little local tournament, and she was sitting there on the grass next to her girl friends watching all the cute golfers play the final hole, and he overcooked a gap wedge. The ball hit the back of the green and popped up into the air and landed right in the lap of her bright red frock.

"What do I do now?" she asked her girl friends, and they said don't touch it, it's illegal, so she just sat there and waited for him to come up. He was grinning at her, maybe embarrassed, or maybe like he'd planned the whole thing, and after giving the situation just a moment's study, he said, "Don't worry, I was born to make this shot."

She wasn't sure if she should close her eyes, but she decided to trust him, and the next thing she knew there was this sweet little click, and the ball was scooting along that smooth green grass, gathering speed, and then, plop! straight into the hole. "See?" he said, smiling at her, and for some reason he helped her to her feet and they were hugging.

That was two years ago and now he was practicing his putts on the hotel carpet on the eve of the Open's final round. He was one shot off the lead. "Looking good," she told him.

"I don't know," he said. "It's these little ones that make me nervous. These three and four footers. I'm okay here, but out there I don't know. I have the feeling I'm going to mess up tomorrow. Those greens are so fast and slippery."

"Maybe I can help," she said. "Maybe I'll wear that lucky red frock."

He looked doubtful.

"Maybe I won't wear any panties on under it."

He gave her a look. "I don't see how that would..."

Before he could finish his sentence, she'd stepped out of her jeans and shucked her panties and sat down on the hotel carpet with her legs spread. "Okay," she said, "Here's your target."

He cocked his head and gave her a puzzled look.

"Come on, whatcha waiting for? Putt for my pussy. Roll it right into my hot little hole."

He laughed but he did as she asked. The ball rolled straight and true, bumping her bare pussy lips dead center.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she answered. "Nice putt." Then she picked up the ball, gave it a little kiss, and rolled it back at him. "Do it again," she said, "Just a little firmer."

He did it again, a little firmer. Dead center.

"Perfect," she said. Again she touched the ball to her lips. But this time, before rolling it back to him, she touched the ball to her clit.

"You got juice on it," he said.

"Just putt."

"I'm all stiff," he complained. "My caddie would laugh his head off if I putted this way."

"No excuses. Forget your caddie. Forget everything. Just concentrate on the hole. See how it's opening for you? See how open it is, how wide wide open, all for you? Mmm, it wants you so much. It really does. Roll it right in here, sweetie. Come on, baby. Roll it. Roll it right into my hot wet cunt."

Slowly he took the putter blade back. Smoothly he stroked it through. Again the ball rolled straight and true. Again it bumped between those bare pussy lips.

"Mmm, yes," she purred, nuzzling the ball between her puffy lips, easing it against the quick of her hole, rubbing it up under her pudgy clit, then rolling it back at him. "Yes, I think you've got it, but just to make sure, we're going to practice for a while longer. Hit it again."

"Oh, sweetie," she sighed. It was the next night. She was snug in his embrace. He was in her so deep, his big cock so smooth and deep and strong, driving her to the sweet edge of ecstasy and beyond. "Oh, sweet sweet baby," she crooned, "You are so fucking good. So fucking fucking good." She cupped his ass and spread her legs even more.

"Mm," he said, smiling at her, fucking her straight and true. "Mmm, mmm, mmmmmmm," he hummed, fucking her harder, filling her with everything he had. "I was born to make this stroke."

When they came, the whole room rattled, and on the night stand the Open Cup trembled itself right over the edge.