Green Tee Nights

The late summer air hung thick and humid, smelling faintly of freshly cut grass and chlorine. Couples Night at Tallwood Hills was a ritual, a weekly escape for the regulars – a mix of seasoned golfers and their partners, seeking a brief respite from the demands of life. I, Daniel “Donnie” Hayes, had been a member for years, enjoying the camaraderie and the occasional competitive spirit. My wife, Melanie, or Mel as I affectionately called her, had only recently joined the ranks, her passion for golf ignited by my own long-standing love for the game. This Friday, however, we were running late, caught up in the chaos of our busy lives. Pulling into the parking lot, we watched the last few carts disappear toward the front nine, a wave of frustration washing over us.

“Damn it,” Mel muttered, leaning against the car door, her ponytail swaying slightly. “We missed the start.”

“Don’t sweat it,” I replied, trying to sound more reassuring than I felt. “The back nine’s still open. Let’s just get out there and enjoy ourselves.” We grabbed our cooler filled with ice-cold beers and a generous supply of G&Ts, and headed out to the first tee, hoping to carve out our own little corner of the course. The rhythmic thwack of the driver echoed across the vast expanse of green, punctuated by the friendly banter of other golfers. I found myself repeatedly glancing in Mel’s direction, captivated by her focused intensity and the way she moved with such effortless grace. Her white visor and pink polo accentuated her athletic build, and the short, form-fitting golf skort invited a close inspection of her figure beneath. It was a beautiful sight, and I couldn't help but admire her dedication to the sport.

As we made our way through holes 10, 11, and 12, Mel suddenly spoke, her voice low and intimate. “I love golfing with that group, but it’s nice just to go out together, just the two of us.” She squeezed my waist, her grin widening as she leaned closer. “At League this week, Kathy told me about a tradition here at Tallwood Hills.” She paused, her eyes scanning the landscape, before gesturing toward the 13th tee box. “Let’s get to the next hole.” The grin returned, and her hand slid into my lap, a silent invitation.

I pulled our cart from the 12th green and stopped before an opening in the dense woods that led to the ravine. It was a steep, 50-yard dive down into the shaded depths, lined with towering trees and thick undergrowth. The path back up was equally challenging, covered in loose earth and exposed roots. It felt like a secret passage, a hidden sanctuary just for us. As we descended, I felt Mel’s hand brush against my thigh, her touch sending shivers down my spine.

“To become a full-fledged member of Tallwood, you must fuck between the 12th green and 13th tee,” Mel stated matter-of-factly, her hand sliding over the top of my shorts, pressing against my hardening cock. Looking around to ensure we were truly alone, I accelerated the cart down the path to the bottom of the ravine. The scent of damp earth and pine needles filled the air, adding to the primal atmosphere.

I stopped the cart, locked the brakes, and leaned back, allowing Mel to take the lead. Her movements were deliberate, precise, and incredibly stimulating. Her head bobbed down, her lips gently tracing the sensitive tip of my member, her face pressing down to guide her way. Meanwhile, my right hand untucked her polo shirt and carefully pushed the waistband of her skort and panties downward, revealing her pale, smooth glutes. As she continued her descent, her touch became more insistent, more demanding.

Her hands reached up and pressed down on each side of my hips as she slowly slipped my wet cock between her lips. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and anticipation. When she reached the base, she enjoyed it like a Lindor Truffle, pulling out and reinserting the shaft repeatedly, savoring every inch of contact. Mel looked up, her eyes meeting mine, a mischievous glint in her gaze. She moved in for a kiss, sliding her hips up and shimming off her bottoms, her body pressing against mine with increasing intensity. Soon, she straddled my cool, wet shaft, her weight both supportive and provocative.

As we got into a rhythm, I accentuated her downward movements with upward thrusts of my own, our bodies locked in a passionate embrace. The air grew thick with anticipation, the scent of sweat and desire mingling in the humid air. Her small cries filled my ears, a symphony of pleasure that sent shivers down my spine. We continued our dance, pushing each other to the limit, until finally, we reached a peak of ecstasy. Mel’s hips continued their rhythmic sway, guiding me deeper and deeper, while my hands moved from under her shirt to her hips, pulling her down as I thrust upward.

She kissed my neck, her arms wrapping around my head as I raced to the finish line. We collapsed into each other, breathless and spent, clinging to one another in a tangled mess of limbs and desire.

“Oh, baby,” I exclaimed, my voice hoarse with pleasure. We held each other for a minute, savoring the moment, before remembering our exposed location and the need to move on. We completed the next six holes while maintaining a constant touch, sharing dirty talk, passionate kisses, and lingering glances. The round was undoubtedly the most stimulating of our lives.

When we finally finished, we retreated to the clubhouse, seeking refuge from the heat and the stares of other golfers. We found a quiet corner and ordered a couple of drinks, her leg overlapping and resting comfortably against mine. As we watched the others make their way back from the back nine, Kathy and Brent saw us, and they joined us at the table.

“We got some practice in on the back nine,” Mel said with a playful smile, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. Kathy paused, raised an eyebrow, and took a sip of her drink, clearly acknowledging the unspoken message.

We chatted for a while, our hands finding each other instinctively, before Brent and Kathy had to leave to get ready for their weekend trip. As we hung out with the rest of the group, sharing stories and complaining about the lackluster food at the restaurant, I couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfillment. The thrill of fulfilling the Tallwood tradition, combined with the intimacy of our shared experience, had created a memory that we would cherish forever.

As we packed up the cart, a small, handwritten note was attached to the steering wheel. “Congratulations on becoming a full-fledged member of Tallwood Hills. – Love Kathy and Brent.” It was a playful gesture, a sign of acceptance and camaraderie, and a perfect ending to our unforgettable Couples Night.

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