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She lay against me on the couch in the middle of the night. Her head nestled in the crook of my neck and shoulder. Her left hand rested on my chest, and I could hear her breathe softly as I ran my left hand through her soft, curled locks.

Sometimes, her voice was strong and unwavering. Other times, it was plaintive and girlish. It was more that way now.

“Tell me a story,” she whispered.

I laughed as gently as I could. I did not want to shake her head, which rested so comfortably on me.

“What kind of story would you like to hear?”

“I want to hear a dirty story. About a dirty princess.”

She’s an amazing girl. It’s hard to imagine anything better than just cuddling on the couch with her. And I’ll do anything to preserve this moment just one second longer.

“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess. She was named Meghan, and from early on in her youth, it was widely acknowledged that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her crystal blue eyes crackled with an intelligence that only added to her radiance.

When the princess’ eighteenth birthday arrived, she decreed that whoever supplied her with the present that pleased her most would win her hand in marriage.

A great uproar seized the land, as men of all ages prepared what they believed were the best gifts.

After sitting through hours of the same boring things- jewels, deeds, and clothes- the town glassblower presented his gift to the princess. It was an exquisitely modeled glass castle. There was a miniature castle placed inside a glass ball filled with fluid. The water-globe formed the base for the larger, finely detailed glass castle. Its beauty was breathtaking, and nearly impossible to describe.

The princess shrieked with delight, and then looked the glassblower over. He was nearly fifty years old, with a large gut and balding hair. A widower for many years, he was known for ogling the town’s young ladies. She found herself thoroughly unattracted to him. She was bound to her word, though, and it was clear that his gift was her favorite so far. She silently prayed that someone would come up with something better.

Several hours later, the princess had sat through more mounds of jewels and clothes, and one golden egg that turned out to be painted when it hatched in front of her (that had brought a quick beheading to the farmer who presented it!), the princess was becoming increasingly worried. The gifts were all unoriginal and boring, and the glassblower was staring right through her clothes. Her skin crawled at the thought of his sagging flesh on her own taut body.

The last gift was from the glassblower’s son. It was a glass cylinder of some type. Nearly a foot in length, it seemed to be made of the finest clear crystal. In its center was a massive, well cut emerald, which gave the entire piece a soft green glow when held in the right light. The cylinder was very thick- the princess could not fit her hand around it, but it was surprisingly light. At the front (she assumed it was the front), it tapered into a curved nose. The glassblower’s son presented it to her on a velvet pillow.

No one in the court had seen such an item before. It “was” very beautiful, but not more so than the glassblower’s castle. It was simply a crystal cylinder with an emerald inside.

‘What is this?’ asked the princess, clearly bewildered.

‘It,’ replied the glassblower’s son. ‘Is a pleasure stick.’

‘A pleasure stick?’ repeated the princess. ‘Whatever does it do?’

‘You will know,’ said the glassblower’s son.

The court was mystified with the last gift, and departed with a buzzing that the glass castle was clearly the best gift. They anxiously awaited the news the next day of what the princess had chosen.

That night, the princess Meghan wept softly in her chamber. She had thought her plan would allow her to marry a crafty and wise man, but it had backfired! She was going to have to betroth herself to a sickly and disgusting man who was the age of her father. She sniffled and rose from her bed, and padded barefoot across her floor to her royal mirror.

This body should not be given to a wretched old man like that, she thought. But can I really marry any of the buffoons who gave the other gifts?

She shrugged her nightgown from her shoulders and gazed at her naked self in the mirror. She was short, barely over five feet tall, and the top half of the mirror was wasted on her. She ran her hands through her long, jet-black hair. It was the same as her mother’s, and she grew it out to her waist like her mother did. Her own eyes sparkled back at her. They were still as blue as ever. Her skin was very pale- any more and she would have looked sickly. But she enjoyed her fairness; it made her skin very soft. Her breasts were like two small melons. They hugged her chest, not sagging at all. She could almost fit each one in her hand. No, they certainly weren’t large, but they fit her body, and that suited her just fine. Her nipples were as pale as the rest of her. In the candlelight, she had a hard time making out where they began. She reached up and pinched them playfully, and they quickly sprang to life. As they budded, they flushed with color. Pink, like she loved. She loved the way her nipples prominently stood out when erect- they went from pale parts of her breasts to large, pink nubs that demanded attention. She had learned how sensitive they were. Once hardened, it took little more than a gentle brush of them to make her gasp for breath. Her eyes flowed down her tapering body to her hips. Once they had been skinny- skinny like a young boy’s. But now they flowed out. They were wide (for her body anyway), and womanly. She ran her hands over the outside of her hips. She loved them. They gave her body a perfect curve. She waggled them back and forth in front of the mirror a few times. Could she give them to that old man? She shuddered.

Her eyes finally landed on her mound of womanhood. It was think and black, like her hair. She had one of her servants keep it trimmed into a fat rectangle. Her lovely black patch was a sign of her womanhood, and she was proud of it. She ran her hand through it and marveled at its softness. She would have to reward her trimming servant the next time she saw her. She cooed softly at the feeling of her fingers in her small, curled hairs. Her natural scent gently wafted up to her nose.

Could she really award all this to the glassblower? Her beautiful mound, so meticulously trimmed? Her tight, pink flesh, which gave off her sweet scent? It had never been touched by anyone, save her. Her maidenhead was still intact. She had felt it, exploring herself. The wall was there, always slick with her wetness, but always giving way to her fingers and not breaking. That most personal piece of skin- property of the glassblower?

She despaired.

Her gaze went back to the mirror. She was suddenly confused- her skin was supposed to be pale white, not green. Startled, she looked down at herself. She gazed at her black bush for a second, and then inspected the rest of her skin. It was white, as it should be. Relieved, she looked back in the mirror. Why was it green there? She looked around the room, her black hair swinging back and forth.

Then it caught her attention. The… pleasure stick. She had set it down and forgotten about it. It was refracting the candlelight through the emerald, casting a soft green light around the room. She smiled, and walked over to it.

Confused, she gently picked it up. ‘You will know,’ the glassblower’s son had said. That was rather cryptic. Just holding it in her hands did not give her any real pleasure. It was cold, but that only made her more aware of it. How could this simple thing give anyone pleasure?

Still, it was rather smooth. She ran her hands down its length. It was more than smooth. In fact, it was seamless. Even the glassblower’s castle had small seams on it. They were tiny, but they were there. His son was GOOD. And he had made this ‘pleasure stick’ for her. She smiled again. So far, the greatest pleasure she had gotten from it was the knowledge of how hard he must have worked to make it.

Curious, she headed over to her bed. She flopped herself backwards and bounced a few times. Once more she regarded the pleasure stick in the candlelight. It must have had a purpose. She resolved to find out what it was before she went to sleep that night.

* * * * *

Hours later, Meghan was angry. She had tried everything she could think of, and still the pleasure stick sat motionless in her hands. She had talked to it, rubbed it, blown on it- everything. It wasn’t magic. It didn’t DO anything. How was that supposed to give her pleasure? It was smooth and that was it.

Absentmindedly, she rubbed it against her bare feet. They had always been extremely sensitive, and she loved to tease them when she was alone and frustrated. It helped her relieve herself. She noticed immediately that the smoothness of the pleasure stick felt good against her soft skin.

It felt good.

Her frustrations faded as her other senses snapped to attention. Was that it? She now moved the pleasure stick gently and intimately against her feet, feeling the smooth crystal touch her sensitive points. She lay on her back, and pulled her knees to her stomach. Gently, she worked the pleasure stick through her soft, high arches. It brought a wonderful feeling. She began to breath more heavily.

Trying to fit it between her toes proved impossible, but she could tease them with the smooth tip, and she did, sliding it back and forth across the bottoms of all ten of her toes. She gritted her teeth in delight, her nose scrunching in pleasure. She relaxed her body, and began to use the pleasure stick on other parts.

It danced on her taut belly, caressed her hips, tickled her ribs, and nuzzled her neck. She ground the tip into her nipples, reveling in the sensation of the hard nipples twisting under the crystal. The electricity that ran through her body got more and more intense. She felt it acutely in her hips. They boiled with a yearning she hadn’t felt in a long time. But the pleasure stick couldn’t go there, could it?

Gently, she tucked it in between her feet as she slid her hands down to her pussy. One touch told her what she suspected- she was very, very wet. The long hour of playing with the stick had gotten her incredibly aroused. Her juices flowed freely, smearing the bottom of her ass, and causing her pussy to glisten in the candlelight. Her beautiful black hairs were plastered with her secretions.

It took only a second for her to decide.

She reached between her feet, and slowly dragged the pleasure stick from between them, stimulating her arches one last time. Then she placed the curved tip at the sopping entrance to her slit. That sensation alone made her gasp in delight. But she reconsidered. Even with just the slightest pressure, it was impossibly tight. The lips of her pussy were crushed in on themselves by the girth of the pleasure stick.

The tight pressure felt good, though. Good enough to make her continue. She slowly rolled the tip around her open hole, soaking it with her cream. She was now able to give it more pressure, and the tip sunk in ever so slightly. She inhaled sharply at the feeling of fullness which came along with even slight penetration.

The princess spread her legs out wide for better leverage. Her bare toes curled against the silk sheets as she slowly worked the curved tip around her wet hole. The pleasurable sensations allowed her to fit just a little more in every time. Leaving what she had inside herself, she sat up to take a look.

Her abs tensed and her breasts jiggled as she rose. There was perhaps an inch of the pleasure stick inside her. The crystal was coated in her cream, and it also shown light green, thanks to the emerald. She could feel the throb of her arousal in her lips as they pressed against the pleasure stick. Her pussy felt impossibly full. She didn’t have any idea how she could fit any more of the thick crystal into her shining pussy, even as good as it felt. She ran her fingers through her deep, black bush. A closer inspection showed her that her lips were completely folded in on themselves by the stick’s pressure. Bending over herself, she gently pinched her folds, and leaving the crystal stick inside her, she stretched them back out so that instead of being crushed, they sucked on it. That relieved enough of the pressure so that she felt she could continue.

She flopped backwards on the bed, sighing in ecstasy now that she had discovered a system. Through rotation and gentle pressure, she was able fit more and more of the pleasure stick inside her.

She had gotten a good three inches inside her- no small feat, considering the massive girth jamming her virginally tight cunt- when she felt a new pressure. It took her a second before she realized it… it was her maidenhead!

That tight, flexible flap of skin had long vexed her. She had been able to rub it with her fingers, but she was never able to get any deeper. Her fingers were too short for that. That problem had gone away now. There were nearly nine extra inches of the pleasure stick left. Thanks to her two hours’ worth of secretions, she could slide the stick relatively easily inside her clenched pussy, considering its immense tightness. If she focused on relaxing, it was even possible to move it freely.

She shuddered again at the thought of the slimy glassblower pressing against her there. She had heard the stories about the pain caused by the loss of virginity. Reviled at the thought of him inside her, she vowed that her maidenhead was her own. She clenched her feet hard on the soft sheets, scrunching them under her tiny, curled toes.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed both hands on the end of the crystal shaft.

Quickly, she found that even slight pressure created a pinching sensation that flowed up her spine and into her belly. She had several stops and starts, but each time, the tip of the pain forming made her stop and reconsider.

Finally, acutely aware of the silken fabric rubbing between her small toes, she resolved to break her own maidenhead, regardless of the pain. She rubbed her feet back and forth and took deep breaths, building up her confidence.

When she could bear it no longer, her hands once again found the rounded end of the shaft. She pursed her lips, listening to the liquid sounds it made as it moved inside her. She took one deep breath, then two, and her fingers clenched themselves white on the stick, and on the third…

She pushed inside herself as hard as she could possibly imagine! Unprepared for the excruciating pain, she screamed out in her empty room. Her back arched sharply as the pain burned through her body. Tears formed in her eyes and she writhed across the bed in agony. Her small feet let go of her silken sheets as her legs kicked wildly at nothing.

Now her stomach tensed as she tried to curl herself into a ball to escape the pain. She lay whimpering for a few minutes before she noticed that the pain had subsided. Her body twisted as she tried to see over her round ass. Despite the clenching together of her anus and legs, the pleasure stick was there, protruding and splaying her pussy obscenely. She felt full; there was no other way for her to describe it. But arching on her side did not give her a very good view, so she uncurled herself slowly- expecting flashes of pain again but feeling none.

She sat up, once again playing her feet on her soft sheets. Somehow, her pussy had accommodated itself to that monstrosity. Her lips were spread wide enough that she could feel the sensitive skin stretching. Gingerly, she tensed her muscles, but found it was impossible to grip the pleasure stick any tighter than she already was.

She placed her hands on the end again, and gently gave it a push. She did feel a little bit of pain, but it felt more like pleasure than pain. She could feel the tip pressing against her back wall, and it felt great. Clearly, she was unable to fit any more inside her, but there were only a few inches left outside. She sighed with pride. She had denied the glassblower what he sought.

In fact, the longer she left the stick inside her, the better she felt. As she relaxed, she could actually begin to glide the crystal shaft in and out of her.

And it didn’t feel good; it felt great.

She moaned deeply as the smooth crystal rubbed against her spongy-ridged insides. The thickness of the pleasure stick made her insides feel electric with heightened senses. She was very sure that no hollow space existed in her cunt at that moment. She could feel every inch of flesh inside herself as the silken curves of the stick caressed it.

The more she relaxed, the more pleasure she felt. She quickly found that the large girth of the stick played a musical havoc on her jelly pussy lips, strumming them back and forth as she moved it in and out of her. It also forced her hot sex juice outside of her. She could see that blood had mixed with her cream, but it didn’t bother her- it didn’t hurt anymore. The liquid built up around the edges of her tight hole, smearing into little pools with the friction of her penetration.

She soon noticed that the huge stick was not just rubbing her cervix and pussy lips, but indirectly, her clit as well. The intensity was building and she was rocking her hips inadvertently. Her body writhed in a good way now, as she set a deep, slow rhythm to maximize the friction with which she rubbed herself. At the end of each stroke she bumped her cervix, emitting a little cry of joy with the feeling it brought.

Much too quickly, her breathing began to come in short, agonized gasps, which she punctuated by soft ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’.

Slowly, a feeling of warmth began to flow over her body. It began with a tingling at the base of her spine, and soon grew into a strong fire in her stomach. She was acutely aware of it—it was building, overwhelming her, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. The heat spread over her body, and when it reached her loins, she was breathing rapidly, and unable to do much besides grunt and pump the pleasure stick into her swollen, wet pussy with a mechanical urgency. The princess had never experienced anything like this engulfing feeling before, and she was compelled to follow it to the very end—no matter what that end might be.

The end turned out to be amazing. In a flash, the warmth erupted into heat as Meghan’s already sensitive skin tingled with the feeling of thousands of needles. Where the crystal shaft penetrated her, though, was the most intense. Her clit cried out to her, and her pussy clenched on the pleasure stick of its own accord. She was a passenger on the orgasmic ride her body was taking. Her toes curled and her legs tensed, and her body was wracked with shudders that were uncontrollable.

Meghan wasn’t able to keep track of how long it lasted—to her, it seemed to be hours. While she finally began to settle down, her heaving chest gradually slowed. Her breath returned, and as she gained it again, she knew exactly what she had to do with it. She screamed. It was a scream of sheer joy and discovery, for the princess had discovered the true intent of the glassblower’s son’s gift. Savoring the hypersensitivity of her post-orgasmic skin, she pulled the pleasure stick from her with a sucking sound. Trailing a strand of cum, she immediately plunged the pleasure stick back inside her warm tunnel. The castle echoed with her screams long into the night.

* * * * *

The next morning, the kingdom was abuzz with the impending announcement of the princess’ decision. They gathered in the courtyard to await her proclamation. She stood on the balcony, ready to address the throng. As she looked out in the crowd, she felt anxiety, for the glassblower’s son was nowhere to be seen. She did see the glassblower, though, dressed in his finest clothes, looking over the crowd. “How smug he looks”, she thought. “I will savor his reaction”.

She groaned softly.

I lifted one of her cheeks and pushed the tip of my prick against her anus. I felt it clench tightly closed. I hadn’t put it up there in months. We hadn’t even brought any Vaseline with us.

Oh well.

I slid slightly further down the bed and let my prick move to the soft hairs between her two holes. I pushed slowly and gently in and against it.

“Hmm.”

She turned her head to face me.

“Why are you waking me up in the middle of the night?” She complained sleepily.

“Got to out ready for golf in less than an hour.” I explained pushing the tip of my prick against the opening of her fanny. I felt it give, slightly.

“I don’t.” She said opening her legs a little.

“Don’t you want to caddy for me? Or drive the little trolley?”

I promised Carole I’d stay with her and Louise.”

She grunted as I entered her then let out a long sigh as I started moving in and out.

She pulled my hand around onto her breast and held it there.

I felt her fanny tighten around my prick and my balls start to lift. Three more thrusts and I was there.

It was my turn to gasp as I jerked and sprayed inside her.

I pulled out and lay on my back. She turned onto her side towards me and placed her head on my shoulder. I ran a fingertip down her back and between her ass cheeks.

“Can I do anything for you?” I asked, stretching.

“Leave me some money.”

“Is that all?”

“Leave me a lot of money.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“What?”

“Do you want me to do anything to you?”

“You just did. Don’t you remember.”

“Yes. But.”

“It was very nice. Thank you very much but it’s all I want at the moment.”

She turned over away from me.

“Now let me go back to sleep and go away and play your silly game.”

I looked down at her ass. She pulled the sheet up.

“No. Go away.”

I climbed off the bed and went into the bathroom.

*Chapter 6. *

I met Howie in the restaurant at half past seven and joined him in a bowl of cereals and two cups of coffee.

Harve, Howie’s father and Andy, hiss boss joined us in the second cup before the mini bus pulled up outside and one of the receptionists, a beautiful black girl called Ruby, came and whispered into Howie’s ear.

Did I imagine it or did her tongue just touch the little hairs inside?

Why did I see sex in everything? I’d just fucked the girl I loved so my balls were empty. I was on a paradise Island just off for a round of golf. A pretty girl whispers in Howie’s ear and I immediately think he must be having an affair. But she did lick the inside of his ear. Perhaps it’s a local custom. I had better ask Jenny. On second thoughts perhaps not. Better to ask Howie when I could have a quiet word with him. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing at the wrong time and we men had to stick together.

“Well gents.” Howie said standing up. “Our transport awaits.”

We followed him out.

“Shall we draw for who gets Paul.”

He said as the mini bus pulled away.

“What’s your handicap?” Andy asked.

“Golf.” I replied, looking out of the window.

“What?”

“A joke. Hey?” Harve said.

“Eighteen.”

Well I would have been had I kept it up.

“Well I’m ten, Andy’s eight and Howie’s six.” Harve continued.

It wasn’t difficult to see what Howie spent his time doing.

“Let’s say Howie plays with Paul.” Andy suggested.

I saw now why Howie wanted to draw lots for me.

“Yeah. That’s fine.” Harve said.

“What are we playing, match play?” I suggested.

“But that would give you a shot on every hole.” Andy spoke.

“Well you would get a shot on the eight longest hole and Harve the ten longest.”

“And I the six.” Howie was thinking. “Okay everyone. Shall we make it interesting? Say five bucks a hole.”

Harve looked at his son.

“I was thinking twenty-five.” He said. “Each.”

“Uh.” A sound left the back of my throat.

“Don’t worry partner.” Howie slapped me on the back. “I have a plan.”

The mini bus pulled through the gates of a country club and pulled up in front

of the main entrance.

We climbed out. The back doors of the bus were opened and four youths around fourteen years of age ran up.

Three sets of clubs were lifted out

Everybody looked at me.

“Well I didn’t bring any with me.” I explained.

“Get him a set.” Harve said to the man in a white shirt and dicky-bow tie standing in the entrance.

“Yes Sir.” He replied and disappeared inside.

“The locker room is this way.” Harve said leading the way to a doorway into an annex on one side of the building.

I stood around whilst everybody opened their golf bags and took out spiked shoes.

“Did you bring nothing?” Howie whispered.

“I didn’t know I was going to play golf.” I complained.

“Look Howie.” I continued in a low voice. ” I am not sure this is a good idea. I haven’t hit a ball in nine months.”

“Okay. So you will be a bit rusty.”

“And eight months before that.”

“But you said you were eighteen.”

“I would have been at least that if I’d kept it up.”

I smiled at him.

“What was your plan?” I asked.

“You make par on the short holes and I’ll hold our own on the long.”

“Good plan.”

“Come on.” Howie looked worried. “You’re a better player than that. You must be. There are some shoes on the rack over there. Try ‘em on for size.”

“Do you want to up the ante, Howie?” Andy asked.

“No.” Howie replied. “It’s straight match play, with handicaps.”

He seemed a little short. I think I might have spoiled his day.

*Chapter 7. (Jenny). *

I did enjoy these early morning fucks.

Unhurried. Still half-asleep. Not being expected to do anything but lie there and enjoy it.

I watched as Paul pottered about. Mostly naked, still with a semi-hard prick.

He went into the bathroom and I turned onto my back. I ran one finger along the length of my fanny. Opening my lips and pulling them to one side.

I made a deep noise in the back of my throat. Was that nature’s way of attracting a mate?

I found my clit and pulled it from its protective cover. I rubbed to one side of it.

Another noise left my lips.

The shower was turned off and Paul came back into the room.

Should I throw back the sheet and let him have me again.

No. It was so nice here. The finger against my clit was hardly moving as he dressed. He looked down at me. I was sure he still had a hard on.

Should I let him take me again?

It was too late. He was gone.

My finger moved faster without any command from me.

I bent my knees and closed my eyes.

I couldn’t quite catch my breath. Should I stop? No. I was there.

That was nice.

I turned onto my side and pulled the sheet tight around me. My whole body tingled with a warm glow. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply the perfume from the flowers on the shrubs outside my window. I hoped this was a quiet holiday.

*Chapter 8. (Paul) *

I was handed a set of clubs by one of the boys who were acting as caddies for us on the first tee.

A driver and three-wood, odd numbered irons, a sand wedge and a putter.

I took the driver and had a few practice swings. Only hitting the ground once, which for me wasn’t bad.

My father had insisted I take lessons from the club professional at home from age eleven, more deals on done on the golf course than in board rooms, he kept telling me. I probably could have become quite good at the game in time but having had a forearm crushed by a panther and twice been shot in my left shoulder I had long periods when I hadn’t felt like, or been able, to pick up a golf club. That, and my University studies, had meant golf had been a long way down my list of priorities for a considerable time.

I was called to the first tee. Three hundred and twenty yards long, par four.

Harve played first, then Howie then Andy. They were all on the fairway. Howie’s furthest away.

I placed a ball on a tee and addressed it. Watch the ball and keep your head still. I remembered the professionals words. The golf course will be in the same place when you look up. Watch the ball and keep your head still.

I did.

Well almost.

The club head finished way above my left shoulder in the classic position.

I’d kept my head fairly still. Not lifting it until I’d finished the stroke.

Why then was my ball heading off to the right, into the trees that lined the sides of the fairway.

“Good swing.” Harve said as he led the way down the course.

“Yeah.” Howie muttered.

I located my ball in the trees and hacked it back onto the fairway with my sand wedge.

The others were waiting for me to take my third so I took a three iron and sent my ball over the back of the green.

I watched as the others made the green with their second shots then went off again to look for my ball. A shout from the next fairway pointed the way and I used a seven iron to send the ball high into the air hopefully for a dead landing on the green.

I walked back to the green and looked around. I could only see three balls.

Howie pointed to a bunker. My caddy stood at its mouth and offered me the sand wedge.

I was sweating like a pig by the time I finally hit the green and double putted out.

Seven, net six. It could have been worse.

Howie pared the hole. The others were both one over but Harve claimed a shot.

Hole tied.

This could be a long morning.

*Chapter 8. (Jenny). *

I had just dressed after taking a shower when there was a tap on the door.

I was still rubbing my hair with a towel as I opened it.

Carole and Louise stood in the doorway.

I invited them in. A waiter from the restaurant followed carrying a tray with coffee cups, saucers, milk, sugar and spoons.

He placed it on the coffee table and left.

Louise stayed close by Carole’s side, a wild look in her eye.

They sat together on the sofa.

I took an armchair.

“Hallo Louise.” I started as normally as I could. “I don’t suppose you remember me.”

Wonderful. The first thing I was going to do was remind her of our meeting on the day she was raped and had her hair set on fire.

“Never mind.” I continued. “Are you looking forward to the wedding?”

She looked at me. Then looked away.

I was talking to her as if she were a child. But how else if she wouldn’t respond?

She continued to stare away from me. Drinking her coffee automatically and gradually we excluded her from our conversation. Neither of us meant to. It just seemed to happen.

Carole and I talked of our school days. Wondered what was happening to Jo. The plans that had been made for the weekend.

She wanted me to be maid of honour with Louise. Louise didn’t react.

I studied her closely when Carole was in the toilet.

Her hair had grown back but seemed to hang lifeless over the right-hand side of her face where it had been carefully sculptured to hide the marks on her cheek and ear. I thought of the state of Paul’s hands in Hospital after he had used them to beat the flames. Fortunately the damage had been confined to the epidermis and he had made a full recovery with only a few small white patches to show.

Louise was still a beautiful girl. Clothes fitted her. Even in a simple blouse and pair of white jeans with the trousers rolled up to mid calf and open toed sandals she had style.

Her blouse had a button too many undone at the top. You could see the swelling of her breasts. The soft white skin as she leant forward for her coffee. The swan like elegance of her neck as she tilted her head to drink.

Stop it. I had to force myself to look away but even then I imagined what she would look like naked.

No. I’d tried that with Linda the previous year and I wasn’t going to start again with another woman. I was a man’s woman. Paul’s woman.

The toilet flushed and Carole returned.

“How are you?” I asked as she sat down. “How did you?”

She looked at me.

“You know I came back with Howie after he was shot.”

I nodded.

“It was a long time before he was able to perform. If you understand?”

Again I nodded.

“Well I’d stopped taking the pill as it was making me feel bloated and one night. Shortly before Christmas there was a break in at the House in New England and I thought Louise and I were going to be raped. We were made to stand naked in front of them and do things. Louise didn’t understand so I had to do things to her. Then Howie got free in another part of the house and rescued us.”

“You didn’t tell me, or Shirley.”

“Didn’t want to worry anybody and we were both alright.”

She looked at Louise. Louise turned her head towards her.

“Later that night, after the police had left, Howie took me and took me.” She smiled at the memory. “I don’t think I wore a pair of knickers for a month and of course, being fertile Myrtle, I found out I was pregnant just as we were leaving to come out here.”

She looked serious for a second.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She suddenly looked close to tears so I moved to the sofa next to her. I placed my arm around her shoulders and held her as she buried her head in my boobs and cried.

Her shoulders shook as she told me of how difficult the pregnancy had been. How almost from the beginning she had had to cut off Howie’s access to her body. She had tried other ways to please him but it hadn’t worked. She’d be too tired or not feel well. Then she had started to resent his demands and had moved into a separate room, which she shared with Louise’s. How she was certain Howie was having an affair with one of the receptionists. How she did so want to marry him and how it was all her fault.

I wished Paul were here.

*Chapter 9. (Paul). *

We were eight holes down. Two hundred dollars. Each.

This was going to make a sizeable hole in our spending money. How best to explain it to Jenny?

“Do you want double or quits?” Harve said addressing the tee.

“Sure thing.” Howie replied.

I felt my anus twitch.

“I can’t afford that.” I hissed at Howie.

“Don’t worry.” He took the driver offered by his caddy. “We’ll win.”

“I bloody well hope you do.” How was I going to explain away loosing all our spending money on the first morning?

I watched as Harve’s ball landed fair and square in the middle of the fairway about two thirds of the way to the hole. Howie placed his ball on a tee. He swung back, then threw the ball. Perfect. He’d hit the middle of the fairway all morning. Why was it going off to the left? Into the trees. Out of sight.

He looked at me. I looked for a hole to bury myself in.

“Hi.”

I heard a voice calling and looked towards the path that led from the third fairway. Jenny, Carole and it must be Louise we’re walking towards us.

“Thought I’d come and watch you win.” Jenny said putting her arms around my neck and kissing me.

“We’re not doing too well.” I said.

“What’s the score?”

“We would have drawn if we had one this.”

“Then why don’t you win it?”

“Because Howie’s hit his ball into the trees.”

“Shush.” Howie hissed.

Andy was addressing his ball.

“Why are we being quiet?” Jenny whispered in my ear as Andy swung.

His ball followed Howie’s into the trees.

“I accept cheques.” Harve said as I placed a ball on the tee.

“What for?” Jenny asked.

“We had a little bet.” I said addressing the ball.

“Oh yes.” She said, waiting for more information.

“If he looses this hole he will owe us four hundred dollars.”

“What.” She was angry. “Paul Wagstaffe, how could you.”

“It wasn’t my idea.” I protested. “Now be quiet and let me concentrate.”

“But I want to know……” She started

“Shush.” I hissed.

I didn’t have to look at her to tell she wasn’t happy.

I lifted the head of my club past my right shoulder and unleashed my most powerful drive to date.

My ball seemed drawn as if by a magnet into the trees, following the path of Howie’s and Andy’s. Even from a hundred and fifty yards I was sure I heard it hit a branch or trunk for it reappeared at right angles and landed on the edge of the fair way.

I handed my club to my caddy and smiled at Jenny.

She walked up to me.

“You loose all our money and I’ll have your balls.” She said, encouragingly.

“I’m trying.” I said, taking her hand and following the others down the fair way.

“Why is Harve so much closer then you?” She asked.

“I don’t think you two need re-tee.” Harve said to Andy and Howie. “Paul and I will finish the game.”

I could see why he was successful in business.

Don’t give the opposition a break. Or something like that.

I was only half way to the green. Another one hundred and fifty yards to go. Long and low or high and flighted. There was a path through the bunkers in front of me. If I hit it low and hard the ball should bounce onto the green. The club professional had told me to always have the end result in mind when I addressed the ball, then if the swing was smooth and the head still that was where the

It hadn’t worked yet today but I had to try something. Harve was only a decent chip and a put away.

I took the one iron then changed it for the three.

“Where are you going to hit it?” Jenny asked.

Do you see the gap between those two holes full of sand well I’m going to hit the ball so that it bounces between them and stops by the hole.”

“That looks easy enough.” She said.

“Paul.” Harve called. “If you win this hole with a shot like that I’ll give you the four hundred.”

I addressed the ball.

“Good luck.” Jenny said.

I stopped my lift of the club.

I gave her a smile, finished lifting the club and swung.

“Oh.” She said. “Look at it go.”

I did and it did. It bounced, bounced again found the gap between the bunkers and disappeared from view. The flag fluttered for a second.

I walked to behind where Harve was getting ready to play his shot.

“Think you went through the green.” Harve said taking a lofted iron from his bag. “Hard luck.”

He swung his club and the ball rose high into the air then seemed to drop almost vertically. It appeared to drop straight on top of the flag.

We followed the others onto the green. I couldn’t see either ball. I walked to the far side and down the slope that ran off towards the path that led to the country club.

I couldn’t see my ball.

“Where is it?” Jenny asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t see it.” I replied.

“Paul, Jenny. Come here.” Howie called.

He was holding a ball.

“This is your ball, isn’t it?” He asked, handing it to me.

“Where did you find it?” I asked.

“The last place we would normally think to look.”

I must have looked puzzled.

“In the hole.” He continued.

“Dads went straight in and when we took it out there was yours below it.”

“Oh.” Jenny said. “You drew.”

“No.” Howie said smiling broadly. “He won.”

“How?”

“It’s all about handicaps.” Howie started explaining. “Paul has a higher handicap than Dad so he can have a shot knocked off his score.”

“Does that mean he got a hole in one.”

“No.”

“But if you take one from two you get one.”

I put my arm around her waist.

“Never mind.” I kissed her. “Just be happy I won.”

“I am.” She kissed me back. “Think of the extra money we will have to spend.”

“Oh I couldn’t take it.”

“You can and you will, young man.” Harve said holding out his hand. “You won and I always pay my dues. Now I’ll

get the drinks in back at the hotel.”

We went back to the hotel. Jenny felt my wallet through the back pocket of my trousers.

“Feels big.” She whispered in my ear. My prick leapt.

In the locker room I refused at first to take the money then, when that had failed, I tried to share it with Howie, but he wouldn’t have any of it.

Louise couldn’t take her eyes off me. She turned her head to me everytime I spoke. Stood close to me. It seemed to upset her when I placed my arm around Jenny’s waist so I removed it.

We went into lunch together. Cold meats, cheeses, salads and fruit. Jugs of fresh fruit juice that had never seen a can.