Chapter 10 It Hurts When Your Balls are in the Rough
CHAPTER TEN: "It Hurts When Your Balls are in the Rough"
THWACK!
Alison watched with some satisfaction as the small white ball flew high
in the air in a graceful arc before beginning its descent to the fairway below.
It bounced several times and rolled to a stop.
"Nicely hit, Alison," complimented Lady Meranda. She teed up her own
dimpled sphere. "This promises to be an interesting round, yes?"
"Well, as I said earlier, I'm very pleased to be playing in your
threesome, Meranda," replied Alison. "It's an honour, for your reputation is
widely known."
Meranda cocked an eye in Alison's direction. Alison flashed a foxily coy
smile.
"As a superb golfer, Lady Meranda," she demurred.
Meranda gave her guest a contemplative look before turning her attention
back to the tee. With a smooth motion born of long practice, she swung the metal
club.
Thwack! The ball soared high in the air, flying over the spot where
Alison's had initially landed. Meranda's play rolled to a stop some 20 yards
closer to the hole.
The third member of the group pushed the small wood tee into the grassy
knoll. He was slightly above average height, with the wiry build of a long
distance runner. David wasn't a runner, though; it was a kindness of genetics
combined with a dedicated cardiovascular workout program that created his long,
lean physique. He removed his cap, revealing gray-dappled hair cut stylishly
short. Re-setting the cap on his head, he adjusted it to his satisfaction.
"You two certainly are a hard act to follow," David smiled as he
prepared for his shot. "We should place a wager on the game."
"Now there's an interesting thought," Alison replied, her eyes alive
with anticipation.
Meranda smiled sweetly. "In due course, my friends. Perhaps when we
reach the back nine?"
David smacked his ball toward the woods at the edge of the fairway. The
ball smashed through some leaves and with a resounding thunk! ricocheted into
the tall grass at the edge of the fairway. He was short of the ladies' drives by
many yards.
"Well, lady luck was with me there," he said as the threesome headed off
the tee to their awaiting carts and caddies.
Lady Meranda Augusta's "Masters and Mistresses Tournament" was limited
to 36 golfers. The teams were divided into threesomes ("I do so love a menage a
trois", Meranda had jested when planning the event). A "shotgun start", with
each team starting from a different hole, ensured everyone would finish about
the same time.
Players were each expected to bring at least one slave to serve as a
worker in the tournament. Lady Meranda provided what other help was required.
Tournament rules stipulated that no Master or Mistress should have to
walk the course unless that was of his or her own choosing. Similarly, no Master
or Mistress should carry his or her own clubs - that was a steadfast rule.
Golf clubs slid into golf bags with a clanging and slithering sound. The
two ladies climbed into the cart that would transport them down the fairway. The
two ponygirls grunted at the sudden addition of weight to the load they were
bearing.
"Let's go girls," directed Lady Meranda as she flicked her buggy whip in
the direction of a shiny, round rubber-covered buttock. The ponygirls pulled
against their traces and the cart began to roll down the fairway.
David took his caddy-slave's leash in his left hand as he began to walk
in the direction of his ball. She hobbled along behind him, the short chain
connecting her ankles forcing her to take small mincing steps. Her butt wiggled
to and fro in a highly erotic motion as she scrambled to keep up.
The players progressed down the fairway.
-------
The sun was relentless, hot. The girl moaned her agony and discomfort
but there was no around who listened, or cared. She felt slimy, slippery wet,
the insides of her skintight rubber suit slick with her perspiration. Her
nipples itched, the nagging sensation building and building into a torment
because she could not scratch. She wriggled her fingers as best she could, the
bondage mitts forcing her hand to clench. Her palms were moist.
She moaned her frustration, her gagged mouth ensuring her sounds were
unintelligible.
-----
Alison groaned as her putt rolled down the finely trimmed grass toward
the hole, then curled around the yawning cup.
"Damn! That's a five for me," she groused.
The distinctive sound of a golf ball swirling about in a metal cup
echoed. Meranda sank her putt.
"Four," she said. "One over par."
"And I shot a miserable seven," bemoaned David.
"Well, Alison and David, I'm sure you'll find the next hole more to your
liking."
"I hope so," said David. "I seem to be all over the place today."
"Troubles concentrating?" asked Alison. "Too many distractions?" She
smiled, gazing at the ponies and his caddy-slave.
"Well, I do have to say that the ponies are marvelous. I love the
outfits. The horsehair manes and tails are a very nice touch, too."
Alison chimed in. "And where ever did you get those shoes? They are
divine!"
"I had them made specially," said Meranda. "Look at this." She strolled
over to one of the ponygirls. Taking the captive girl's ankle in her hand,
Meranda displayed the sole of the boot to her guests.
"Look at that! Horseshoes!" exclaimed Alison in admiration. "How
marvelous!"
"It makes the pony experience that much more... real. Enjoyable."
Meranda added. "Shall we?" She led the way toward the next tee box.
----
She pulled with her left arm but the bonds refused to budge more than a
quarter inch. A kick of her leg had the same result. She pressed down with her
shoulders and tried to raise her back but the ropes binding her waist and
breasts held fast. She was pinned like a butterfly on a board. Her efforts only
served to remind her of the metal pole parting her labia to press against her
clitoris.
The heat from the sun was becoming unbearable, and the yet the day had
just begun. Was it the sun or was it the layer of heavy rubber enclosing her
from head to toe, trapping all her sweat and attracting the heat?
Her movements increased the itching she felt on her belly, her nipples,
her inner thighs. She remembered how Lady Meranda's footman had poured bag after
bag of hairs and itching powders and god-knows-what-else into the rubber catsuit
before locking it on her.
People! After the persistent blackness of her hood, suddenly she could
see people! She tried to raise her head only to discover that ropes leading from
the top of her rubber helmet held her firmly in place. Voices clicked
metallically in her ears. She realized that the discipline helmet with which she
had been fitted contained video imaging for her eyes and speakers for her ears -
and it was all remotely controlled.
"Unnhh!!" she screamed her frustration. A bird flying overhead took no
notice of the figure below.
----
The tee box was hidden behind a grove of cottonwoods and lilac bushes.
The footman, now wearing a red rubber mess jacket and holding a video camera,
greeted them as they passed through an opening in the ticket.
"My Lady, Mistress, Master. Welcome to the Twelfth Hole. We have a
special amusement for you here. A 'closest-to-the-hole' contest."
Pointing with his arm, the footman directed their gaze to the green some
154 yards away. It was just like any other golf green, with the possible
exception of the young woman staked out upon it. Her purple latex catsuit
glimmered in the sun. With the exception of the delectable area between her
splayed legs, she was completely covered by the tight fitting second skin. From
the tee box, it appeared as if the flagpole marking the cup was pressed tight
against her exposed crotch, splitting her labia. A funny looking box covered her
head.
"Interesting," mused David. "I assume there is a prize for being the
closest to the hole?"
"Certainly," explained Meranda. "We have some very special prizes for
all our contest winners. David, I believe you have the honours?"
"Hmm, looks like a five iron to me," he said as he placed his ball on a
tee. "Tell me Meranda dear, what do I win if I sink a hole in one?"
Meranda smiled. "Sounds to me like you'd like to put your club and balls
in the wrong hole. You should concentrate on golf."
David laughed. He took a couple of practice swings, then stepped up to
the ball. With a resounding smack! the hard white orb was lifted high into the
sky. It hung there for a few seconds, a small white dot against the bright blue
prairie sky, then began its graceful descent to earth. The ball hit just short
of the green, and bounced back in the air. Its trajectory carried it closer,
closer to the supine woman.
"Oooo!" Alison said as she watched the golf ball smack into a purple
rubberized breast, then bounce to the side. "You've got a tough putt there
David!" she laughed.
"Your turn, Alison my love," purred Meranda. "Good luck!"
Alison's club met the ball with a pleasing thwack. It felt good to her.
The players watched as the ball rolled to the edge of the green near an
outstretched foot.
"Nicely done Alison!" praised David. "Now it's our gracious hostess's
turn."
With a courteous nod, Meranda moved up on the tee. She cleared her
throat. Instantly the footman scurried over, placing her ball in the proper
place. Meranda ran a gloved hand over his rubber-covered buns as he bent to
place the ball for her. She reached between his legs as he straightened, and
grasped his burgeoning manhood through its encasement. He stood at attention as
she caressed his swelling cock, then rolled his latexed testicles in her hand.
"That will be all," she said to her footman. "For now."
"If it pleases my Lady," he said, bowing and backing away from her.
----
The slave girl couldn't believe what she was seeing and hearing. She was
a target! for a bloody golf contest! Realizing the camera was positioned to
follow the golfers, the slavegirl watched as a strange man stepped up into her
viewing range. Helpless but curious, she saw him swing through the ball, she
heard the crack! as his club connected, and then in rapt fascination, she
watched the white ball soar gently, graciously into the blue sky. Disorientation
gave way to sudden realization as the scene shifted. She could see the ball
descend toward a figure in purple spread-eagled against the green grass, a
flagpole splitting the triangle formed by the juncture of splayed legs, and she
realized she was looking at herself and the ball was dropping rapidly at her.
Tears formed in her eyes at the sudden pain in her right breast. She
began to cry, pain, shame and fear commingling, for she realized that there were
more than 30 golfers yet to come.
----
Meranda turned her attention to the upcoming shot. She took a practice
swing, then took aim at the purple prisoner 154 yards away. Her round hips
waggled invitingly as she addressed the ball. It took off like a rocket when the
steel head of the club lifted it from the plastic tee.
It was a low shot, straight down the middle of the fairway. It looked
like it might have too much force behind it when the ball began suddenly to drop
toward the ground below. The ball skipped once, twice, before smacking into a
purple thigh. The physics of motion carried the ball along the purple-coated
second skin to the apex of the triangle. The ball hit the pin with a clang! and
bounced up, landing on the lower midsection of the helpless girl.
"Wow! Almost a hole in one! Great shot Meranda!" exclaimed her two
golfing partners.
Meranda smiled her pleasure at the shot and the praise. "Practice makes
perfect," she said. She looked over at her footman. "Isn't that right my pet?"
He blushed before answering. Unconsciously his hand strayed to cover his
genitals. "That is correct, My Lady."
