Chapter 6
"Boy, do I ache. Paul was home all morning yesterday. How was the lesson Tuesday?" Marje asked, settling down at the table with her coffee.
Carol shrugged. "Okay, I guess."
"Okay you guess. Is that all you have to say? What's the new instructor like? I heard he's absolutely out of sight," Marje bubbled. "Come on, give. What's he like?"
"Well, he's not tall, and he's not dark," Carol commented.
"Ah-hah, but he is handsome!" Marje almost squealed. "I knew it, I knew it. Come on, what's he like?"
"He's a good instructor," Carol went on carefully.
"Ah, but at what kind of instruction? That's what I want to know."
"Why Marje, I didn't know you were thinking of taking up golf."
"Golf my aching butt. Who cares about golf? I've heard his 'personal instruction' is absolutely the most."
"I wouldn't know about that," Carol replied innocently.
"The hell you wouldn't. Come on, give."
"All I'll say is that the reports are true," Carol finally said. "I don't really have time to tell you more. Besides, the last time I got clinical about the whole thing, you messed up our pepper mill."
"When's your next lesson?" Marje asked, ignoring Carol's comment.
Carol glanced at the clock. "In about half an hour."
"Wow. You don't waste much time, do you?"
"Nope. If I'm going to get at Frank, I've got to learn his game quickly." Carol got up from the table. "I'm sorry I have to run. Look, if you want to, stick around. The kids are still asleep but they should be down soon."
"Thanks. That way at least I can enjoy your coffee," Marje said. "Any messages for them?"
Carol started to shake her head, then thought again, and said, "Yes. Tell them that after my lesson I'm going shopping, so I won't be home until dinner time."
"What's with Frank?" Marje asked before Carol could escape.
"Nothing." Carol paused, checking her reflection in the hall mirror. "Absolutely nothing. He barely knows I'm alive. He was working late last night, and he's going to work late again tonight."
"So what are you going to do?"
Carol sighed. "I don't know yet. I want him back, but how do you compete with a fifty-thousand-dollar, full-term, double indemnity policy full of legal double-talk?"
"This is a problem," Marje admitted. "Have a good time."
As she drove to the country club, Carol told herself that this time the lesson would be strictly golf. She blamed Tuesday's incident on her being caught unprepared. Today, she would be ready for those incredible gray eyes and that compact muscular body and she wouldn't let them affect her.
Half an hour later she was being studied by the penetrating gray eyes of George Maclntyre.
"Ready to go, Mrs. Anderson?"
"Any time, George," Carol replied, melting into those eyes again. She wanted to pull back, deny him, but her frustrated needs and desires drove her on.
He gave his flashing grin. "Fine. Let's start out on the practice tee and see how you do at hitting a few drives."
"Okay," Carol replied, hiding her slight disappointment well. Angry with herself, she reminded herself the main purpose of her presence was to learn golf, and try to regain her husband's attention.
The air was crisp and clear as they went to the tee. Carol teed up a ball under George's direction. Carefully, she took aim and tried to remember the swing he had shown her. Her first mighty swipe topped the ball, sending it dribbling slowly across the clipped grass.
"I think you'll find it easier to hit the ball if you keep your eyes open," George observed dryly.
A blush of" embarrassment bumped Carol's cheeks. "Right." Again she teed up the ball and took her stance. This time she connected with the ball and it took off like a rocket, slicing viciously off to the right into the woods bordering the course.
"Better," George acknowledged. Carefully he tried to explain what she had done wrong, then teed up another ball for her. "Now, don't try to kill it," he cautioned. "You aren't Arnold Palmer, you know. You're a woman."
"Well, I should hope so," Carol retorted. Through a stroke of fate, her next shot flew straight and true.
"Wonderful," George applauded. "Now, let's do it again."
For half an hour he coached her as she slammed ball after ball down the range. By the time they were done her shoulders were aching.
He seemed to sense that her muscles were painfully sore. "Let's take a break. If you try any more today, you'll be too exhausted. What I want to do now is show you how the other clubs are used."
Carol leaned on the driver, panting slightly. "Okay, teach away."
"Let's get a golf cart and head over to the first tee. It's easier to show you out on the course, if that's all right."
"Suits me."
A few minutes later, a drink in her hand from the just-opened bar, Carol was sitting in the golf cart, watching George tee up a ball. The gin and tonic she was sipping cut the dryness in her mouth and made her feel a little giddy.
Carol was feeling more secure in the presence of the young golfer. Throughout her practice drives, he had corrected her mistakes strictly from a distance, keeping his hands off her. His apparent lack of physical interest eased Carol's mind. Her eyes continued to measure his athletically trim body. She told herself there was nothing wrong in this, but a tiny warning voice inside refused to be stilled.
"Now, your three woods differ in the range and loft they give you," George explained. As he described each club he showed her how they differed. Finally he took up his stance, waggled the club experimentally a few times, sighted down the range and drove the ball straight and true down the fairway.
"Not many people," Carol commented as he guided the cart down the fairway to where the ball lay.
"Nope," he acknowledged, steering the cart casually with one well-tanned hand.
"I imagine it can be really empty in some parts of the course," Carol went on.
"Yep," George agreed.
Carol found his reticence reassuring. They reached the ball, and George got out of the cart.
"Now, after you get from the tee to the fairway, you have a decision to make based on the distance you want your next shot to cover. If you have a very long shot, you might want to use one of your woods. On the other hand, if you want to make a shorter shot, like here, you'd choose the appropriate iron."
Carol nodded, dutifully trying to absorb what he was saying as he showed her the differences between the various irons. Her eyes kept wandering over his muscular, well-formed body.
"Don't worry about trying to remember all this right now," he told her. "I'll give you a sheet that tells about the uses of the various irons and woods. I just want you to get some idea of them right now." He selected a club and set up in front of the ball. Again his shot was straight and true, bouncing and rolling up to the green.
"Do you have many other students?" Carol asked.
"A few," he said.
"That's nice," Carol commented, feeling pleased for some reason.
George took her through the first three holes quickly and smoothly, pausing now and again to show her a new club or stroke. The course was deserted this early in the morning.
At the fourth hole, he teed up and took his stance carefully as usual. Carol felt drops of sweat beginning to bead her upper lip as the day rapidly warmed. George seemed impervious to the heat except where his back was against the seat of the golf cart. There he had sweated, making his shirt cling to his well-muscled back.
"Damn," George swore as his shot went awry, curving sharply off into the deep woods bordering the fairway.
"Oh, dear," Carol sympathized. "What do we do now?"
George jammed the club back in the bag and got behind the tiller of the car. "We go looking for it."
"How'll we find it?" Carol asked, studying the thick woods.
"I know about where it went," George said. He guided the cart to an almost invisible track into the woods. It was just wide enough for the little electric machine. He steered the small vehicle carefully and skillfully around the twisting curves of the path until they reached a dead end.
"I think it's probably over that way," George said, pointing into the thick of the trees. The area was completely deserted and isolated.
Carol swung her tanned legs easily out of the car. "Let's go look." A warning voice was screaming inside her, but a force she couldn't resist drove her on.
As she carefully picked her way through he underbrush Carol felt the dappled sunlight moving across her shoulders. Somewhere in the trees a mockingbird was trying out his repertoire. A thick carpet of dry leaves rustled noisily underfoot. The air smelled of summer and growing things.
Carol was a little giddy from the drink, and tripped on a tree root. As she stumbled, she reached out to balance herself and touched George's shoulder. The brief contact sent a jolt up her arm, making her jerk her hand back as if she'd touched a hot skillet.
"Do people ever get lost in the woods?" Carol asked.
"Not to my knowledge," George replied. "It's so pretty in here. Like the Garden of Eden."
"No snakes in the grass, though," George assured her.
"What a beautiful clearing!" Carol exclaimed when the woods suddenly opened out into a small grassy area about twenty feet square. "Do you think maybe your ball is here?"
"I wouldn't be surprised."
Something in his tone of voice made Carol turn back to look at him. Standing in the sun, he was stripping off his shirt, baring his muscular torso. His tan was uneven from his long hours of golf, ending where his sleeves began, and at the collar line on his neck.
"Wh . . . what are you doing?" Carol asked, suddenly afraid.
"What does it look like?" He tossed the shirt away, and, at the same time, kicked away his shoes.
"I think we'd better get back to the clubhouse," Carol suggested, her voice catching in her throat.
"First, we'd better look for my ball," George replied. He was unfastening his pants, tugging them down and kicking them away. His cock was half-erect in his shorts, making a bulge that attracted Carol's attention like a magnet. As she watched, he peeled his last garment off, and his prick sprang into view, pale white in the bright sun. His pubic hair was brown and curly around the base of the staff.
"I think I'd better be going." Carol fought to keep her voice steady as she looked around for a way out of the clearing. The instructor was blocking the only path through the thick underbrush.
"You weren't in any hurry the other day, Mrs. Anderson," George said, advancing on her, his erect prick leading the way like the lance of a knight.
"K . . . keep away from me," Carol stuttered. "What happened the other day was an accident." She backed away from him. "I want to learn to play golf, so I can play with my husband."
"We both know better than that," George argued gently.
"No, it's true. I love my husband," Carol said desperately. "And he loves me."
"Oh, yes, your husband. That would be Frank Anderson," George observed. "A husband straight out of the old school. Double standard and all that."
"What do you mean?" Carol asked, dodging aside as George tried to back her into a corner of the clearing.
"Do you really think he's golfing all the time he's here, Mrs. Anderson?" George continued his relentless pursuit of Carol, herding her toward the thick brush.
"Yes, I do," Carol shot back.
Suddenly George leaped at her, and Carol stumbled over a root, tumbling flat on her back. As she lay there, half-dazed, the golfer pounced on her, hands mashing down on her breasts. The sudden bruising pressure triggered Carol's passions abruptly.
"Stop it," she screamed hoarsely, battering at his chest with her fists, fighting her own passions as well as his.
"Relax, Mrs. Anderson; no one can hear you out here. You can't tell me you've forgotten Tuesday. You want this as much as I do."
"No, I don't," Carol denied. Even as she tried to fight, George pinned her arms with his knees. His fingers flicked open the buttons of her blouse and pushed it back. Carol could feel the fresh air brushing the bare skin not covered by the bra. She looked up into George's gray eyes and was nearly trapped by them again, but this time there was an animal gleam deep in them, that made her shy away. As the golf pro's muscular hands mashed her breasts through the lacy bra, Carol struggled feebly against his pinning legs. Her arms were beginning to ache and tingle painfully from the pressure.
"You're quite a woman, Mrs. Anderson,"
George whispered harshly. As he milked and squeezed her breasts, his eyes feasting on them, his teeth were bared in an animalistic smile.
"Stop it," Carol grunted, and managed to heave him half off her. She rolled to her knees and tried to crawl. His hand grabbed the collar of her blouse and she crawled right out of it, leaving it in his hand. He cursed and threw it away, then tackled her, rolling her over. His lips bore down on hers, and Carol, incredibly stimulated by the brutal treatment, felt her passion suddenly burst forth. Even as her lust roared higher, she struggled against his iron-hard embrace. His hands tore at the fastening of her bra and she felt it loosen. She broke away again, and he ripped the undergarment down her arms. Her breasts bounced free in the fresh air, her nipples hardening immediately. Before she could roll away he was wrestling with the fastenings of her tight shorts, then ripping them down her legs.
As furiously as she was battling him, Carol's passions continued to betray her. Now she knew she was going to lose the battle, looked forward to losing the battle. Naked, she rolled away from the golf pro, only to have him pounce on her again, driving the breath from her lungs.
"If you want me," she snarled at him, "you'll have to take me."
He growled like an animal and held her flat on the scratchy grass. His hands pinned her shoulders to the earth, his lips bore down on hers again, and his tongue pried her mouth open. She bit at his lips, only driving him crazier with lust until he wedged her thighs open with his knees. Carol's passions blazed high from the brutal treatment, making her want him more than ever. Her roaring desires drove every thought of fidelity from her mind as his cock sought and found her still-dry cunt. The tearing pain of his first brutal drive set Carol off like a rocket, driving her to a sudden fiery orgasm that sent a wash of juices pouring from her cunt.
His path well lubricated in a split second, George rammed his big cock into her so hard he drove the breath from her in a grunt. As he pounded into her to the hilt, Carol slammed her hips upward to meet his thrust. The slap of their bodies meeting rang through the woods, silencing even the raucous call of a bluejay. They pistoned at each other like wild animals, and Carol roared to a second climax, then a third. George began to come like a machinegun, quick, hard jolts of cum blasting into her as he lifted her hips clear of the ground, driving his finger up her anus as he did so, making her come even higher until the world whirled around her. For long seconds they held the pose, Carol's back and buttocks arched clear of the ground, her pelvis grinding unforgivingly against his, until their passions slowly died away, letting them collapse exhausted to the turf.
Fighting for breath, Carol felt his cock still in her gut, but slowly softening. She moved her hips restlessly, and was rewarded by only a slight surge before the tool began to shrink further. Finally it was gone, and the golf pro rolled off her, sprawling wearily on his back next to her in the sun. The sun was warm, but the breezes cool as they dried the sweat on Carol's body. Scratches and bruises inflicted by George's pursuit and wrestling were beginning to sting and ache as she regained her breath.
Something George had said at the beginning of the battle tickled Carol's memory. "What was that crack you made about my husband?" she asked, looking sideways at George as he lay on the grass.
He was still panting. "It wasn't anything."
"No, I want to know," Carol insisted. "You made some comment and I want to know what you meant."
Wearily, George rolled his head in dissent. "It wasn't anything, believe me."
Carol felt a flash of anger. "It was something, and you know it. Now, talk." She rolled to one elbow and looked down at him. She correctly took his silence for refusal. "Talk, damn you, or I'll scream rape to the manager of the club."
The instructor's eyes snapped open and he looked up at her. "You wouldn't."
"Like hell I wouldn't," Carol shot back. "And you just better believe they'd believe me. All I'd have to do is show them a few of my scratches and grass stains from this little romp and you'd be out on your ear so fast you wouldn't have a chance to pick up your final check. Now, talk."
George seemed to crumble slightly. "You think your husband plays a lot of golf, don't you?"
"Doesn't he?"
George shook his head. "Not as much as you think."
"But he's with clients," Carol argued. "Oh, he's with clients all right," George agreed. "The last one was a blonde war widow."
"You're lying," Carol snapped. "Why should I lie?"
"I don't know," Carol admitted miserably.
"What does he do if he doesn't play golf all the time?"
"Let's just say we aren't the only ones who've used this clearing," George replied. "Your husband is just as good at deliberately slicing a drive into these woods as I am."
"I thought that drive was awfully peculiar," Carol said. "You'd been driving straight as an arrow all morning until you reached this hole."
George smiled crookedly. "I'm getting pretty good at this shot."
Carol flopped on her back, staring up into the cloudless blue sky. "That bastard," she muttered, her anger lending strength to the words. "That unmitigated bastard."
The golf pro looked over at her, worried. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know."
"Christ, don't tell him I told you!" the golfer exclaimed. "He'd get me sacked in a second."
"Don't worry," Carol reassured him. An urge for revenge was boiling up in Carol's gut. She turned toward the young man and moved over him.
He grinned wearily. "I don't think I'm good for another go."
"Bull," Carol argued. Moving carefully she lowered herself toward him. Her lips touched his just as the tips of her breasts made contact with his chest. She felt her nipples tighten at the light touch and her lips worked demandingly at his. He responded with his mouth, and Carol swung her chest, making her nipples scratch across his chest. He had little hair there, but the touch of his skin was enough to set her breasts afire. His hands reached up to her shoulders, but she resisted as he tried to pull her down on him, finally breaking the kiss. His cock was still limp.
"Told you I was all out," he said regretfully.
"Over my dead body you're all out," she snapped. The urge for revenge was building in the only direction available, creating a ball of desire that threatened to explode in her gut. She reached for his limp prick, lifting the flaccid mass in gentle fingers. It barely moved in response as she carefully pulled the foreskin back from the pink head. It was still sticky with their combined juices as she toyed with it.
The golf pro lay on his back, his arms behind his head as she fondled his limp tool. "Believe me, I'm trying," he told her.
"Well, try harder," she urged. Nothing she did seemed to be working. Finally, in desperation, she lowered her head toward his groin. The first touch of her tongue to the tip of his prick made it jerk slightly, encouraging her.. She licked at just the tip very gently, tasting the mixture of juices still coating it. Slowly it raised its head, beginning to fill her hand. She continued to lick his prick, and a corner of her mind marveled at her willingness to do this. Early in their marriage, Frank had tried to get her to perform fellatio and she had refused angrily. Now, as she tasted the cock of the golf instructor, her passions flamed at the thought of what she was doing. Her own earthy lust and drive for revenge smothered any misgivings she might have felt.
"Go to it," George encouraged her.
More eager now, she sucked the stiffening prick into her mouth, playing with it with her tongue. It responded vigorously, springing erect in her mouth, filling her with its bulk. Passion welled up in her as she sucked the hot tool, making it burgeon upward and outward rapidly. The slurping sounds of her anxiously working mouth filled Carol's head, adding to her excitement, as did the heat of the sun on her bare back and buttocks as she knelt over the golf pro. Faster and faster she worked her head over the big rod, until finally it was stuffing her mouth to the bursting point, its tip ramming toward the back of her throat, making her gag slightly. Her cunt was awash with flame, her excitement growing as rapidly as the golf pro's. Carol could feel new waves of her juices sweeping down her passages, wetting the expanding folds of her tissues.
Finally, she could take it no longer and wrenched her mouth from George's now-mighty cock with a hoarse cry. The big rod glistened with her saliva and its own secretions as she climbed on top of the young man. Guiding his phallus to her cunt, she lowered herself, drilling his shaft upward into her belly. She was hot and ready for the huge instrument, and its welcome bulk rammed upward into her to the hilt. Their bodies mashed together, and Carol commenced to screw herself wildly on the golf pro. His hands reached up to mash and squeeze her breasts as she pistoned wildly up and down on him, rotating her hips for the greatest possible pleasure. She threw her head back, letting the hot sun burn down on her face as she squirmed and pounded him. Her climax roared near, then burst over her in a wash of flame and joy, making her grind her pelvis and cunt down on the staff until it began to blast upward, shooting wads of sperm against the end of her vagina, pressuring the thick fluid down around the big, hot mass, forcing it out into their tangled pubic hair with every pulse of his balls.
With a triumphant cry, Carol collapsed down on the golfer, her lips meeting his in an open, savage, soaking, tooth-clashing kiss. Her shuddering pleasure died away and she let every muscle in her body loosen slowly as her orgasm passed, leaving her weak and helpless.
Finally, the golfer managed to roll her off of him. As he gathered up his clothes and began to dress, Carol lay on her back, unable to read his expression against the glare of the sun. To her surprise, after donning his shirt he reached down to help her to her feet. Her exhausted muscles protesting, she scrambled up and tried to brush the grass off her. He helped by picking off the pieces stuck to her ass by their juices, then gathered her scattered clothing for her.
"Thank you," Carol said gratefully as she slipped the garments on. Her shoulders ached with stiffness as she wrestled with the bra, finally having to turn her back for his help in fastening it. In a few minutes she was ready. Her knees kept threatening to fold under her as she made her way back to the cart.
"I hope you meant what you said about not telling your husband, Mrs. Anderson," George commented as he carefully backed the cart out.
"Don't worry," she reassured him. "He'll never hear a thing from me. And as far as this little session today goes, you're safe, too. But him I'm going to tear him to shreds."
Cold fury filled Carol's belly as she contemplated Frank's infidelity. For months she had been patiently accepting his absences and disinterest, assuming it was due merely to overwork.
"What are you going to do?" the golf pro asked, plainly worried by the hatred in Carol's tone.
"I don't know yet," Carol admitted, tearing her mind from her thoughts of Frank's treachery. "But whatever it is, I'm going to enjoy it."
George dropped her off by the parking lot and headed the cart over to the Pro Shop. Carol noted that the young man's next pupil was an eighteen-year-old girl in an outfit so tight it was indecent. Carol smiled contentedly, knowing that she had totally drained the golf pro, making it impossible for him to take on the girl, no matter how hard the bitch tried. Carol's success at satisfying the young man tempered the fury she felt toward Frank. Forgetting completely about her shopping plans, she turned toward home.
After pulling into the driveway and shutting off the motor, she was surprised to hear loud music emanating from a partially open basement window, since Pam and Jack had had another bicycle trip planned. Stepping out of the car and moving toward the window, Carol's heart skipped a beat at the sound of her daughter giggling excitedly. Something made Carol move cautiously and quietly as she neared the window, bending down to peer into the playroom. Her heart stopped beating when she caught sight of what was going on.