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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.”
