Chapter 11: Susanah’s Golfing Sexfight

This can be read and enjoyed as a stand-alone story, but deeper character depth and the effects of the plots, rivalries, twists and turns will be found by reading the chapters in order.

Susanah arrived back from her golf tournaments really pissed off with Marjorie Ravenel, a woman whose family name went back a long way in South Carolina history, even further than her family. The Ravenels arrived in 1685, settled in Berkeley County, and became foundational members of Charleston’s wealthy merchant and planter class.

She went into a tirade about the tournament and the 21-year-old Marjorie. As you know, I am not interested in golf, as you have to work hard at it to improve, but I decided to keep the peace and not interrupt her with the news that I had a Negress for her to sexfight. But I only half listened as she went on about how not only had that bitch Marjorie won and she was runner up, but the cunt had worn a new brand of clothing. It was a new brand, White Stag, and had a skirt so short it showed her lacy underwear when she bent down, which she made sure to do often, Susanah said cattily. Susanah wasn’t upset by the scandalous look, but that it upstaged the new skin-tight Jantzen shorts she was wearing.

I heard how it got worse as Susanah explained that to get her revenge, she had got Marjorie tipsy at the 19th hole by spiking her drink, then challenged her to a sexfight. All good that ends well, I thought, as she was now going to describe how she fucked the shit out of Marjorie. That could wait because I had not fucked her for the two weeks she had been away, though, to be fair, I had enjoyed Sabina for the last three days. Anyway, I pulled out my cock and fisted it, and that did the trick.

Susanah stripped in the way she had hundreds of times before and would do hundreds of times more because it was what she wanted and needed. The tight shorts came off first, the new Jantzen pair she had been so proud of until Marjorie Ravenel outdid her when she bent over to tee up her ball at the first hole and showed the whole Charleston Country Club what she had on under it.

Her bra came off next, releasing her full tits with a bounce that, after a two-week absence, made my cock twitch. Her nipples were already anticipatory hard and pink, standing out like bullets against her pale skin. Next, her knickers, definitely not Amateur Golf Association approved, slid down her shapely legs to let loose her shaved pussy. She stood there in nothing but three gold chains dangling from her waist, cunt and ankle. I had given them to her in Japan, but I hadn’t bought them, as they were part of the Kempeitai’s stolen wartime treasure that I had illegally acquired.

I extracted her white golf glove from her golf bag and set it on the side table where I could reach it later. I was going to work my chamois leather-covered hand deep into her cunt when she was ready to take it, and she knew it. Her eyes returned to me, full of desperation and hunger. I could see that her cunt lips were swollen and wet with anticipation and her clit poked out from between them, a swollen ambassador announcing news of her need. I could smell it from three feet away: a sharp musky scent that showed she had spent the afternoon dominating another woman and was now desperate to be dominated herself.

She licked her lips and spread her legs slightly, offering herself up like the sex addicted blue-blood Southern socialite she was, showing she was aching to be used. She spread her legs wider without being told, presenting everything she had, offering it up like a sacrifice. Her hands were clenched at her sides, fighting the urge to touch herself, because she knew the rules. She had to wait for me to allow it.

I let her stand there and suffer for a few moments, taking my time pouring another bourbon, while she trembled before me. It was a power I had learned to enjoy in Tokyo, the simple act of making a needy woman wait. Susanah McBride, who had presumably humbled Marjorie Ravenel in the clubhouse change rooms not four hours ago, was now reduced to a quivering vessel of need, willing to do anything I asked if it meant that I would use her. The gold chains caught the light as she turned her head to follow my movements, and I saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips.

She was ready. To be truthful, she was always ready. That was why I was married to her, although her money and the fact that she, along with the CIA, had enabled me to illegally enter the USA and obtain citizenship. Why I did this you will know from the previous chapter.

I stopped pacing and unbuckled my belt and dropped my trousers. Susanah fell to her knees immediately, but instead of waiting for permission, she lunged forward with her mouth open, trying to get my cock between her lips before I gave the word. I caught her wrists in one hand and held her back. “You are too greedy,” I said. “You think you can just take what you want?”

I grabbed some silk stockings from a drawer and tied her hands tightly behind her back, clinching the knots until her shoulders were pulled back and her tits thrust forward. Then I dragged her across the room by her waist chain, and pulled back the heavy velvet curtains to open the front window, allowing the humid evening air to pour in, thick with the aroma of jasmine and distant rain, so different to the smell of refuse in my home-town slum suburb of Richmond in Melbourne, Australia. I forced her to kneel on the window seat, facing outward toward the lawn where any passing field hand might, while the light still lasted, see my naked blonde wife, and owner of the plantation, bound and naked. I went to work.

After my carnal needs were satiated, I settled into my leather armchair and looked at her. Now you can tell me every detail,” I said. “Start with the 19th hole.”

Susanah knelt on the window seat and trembled, her bound hands still twisted and bound behind her back and her tits thrust forward by the constraining ropes. “Marjorie was so full of herself,” she said in her thick Southern drawl. “ She didn’t notice me secretly pour bourbon into her glass, and soon her cheeks became flushed, and her eyes went glassy. She was wearing her new White Stag skirt, and I could see the twenty-one-year-old slut was proud of it, as I listened to her boasting how she upstaged me that weekend both in golf and as a woman.”

Susanah shifted her knees on the window seat, and her tits swayed slightly as she continued explaining how she manoeuvred Marjorie into a secluded section of the clubhouse and onto a sofa. She described how Marjorie was giggling and half cut and her blonde hair falling out of its restraining headband, as she lay with her legs splayed open, sprawled on the sofa. “Just like she opens them for any man,” she added spitefully. I thought I might pay a visit to Charlestown and find an excuse to bump into the new South Carolina Amateur Golf Champion.

Susanah pursed her lips and continued, “Then the cunt looked up at me with her blue eyes and smirked, ‘The men do not come to the golf course to watch you waddle around in your sexless Jantzen shorts, Susanah. They come to ogle me. I am twenty-one, and my body is what they want now. You are forty-three, and your best years are behind you.’ She even held one of her tits and told me to look because there was no middle-aged sag.”

Still fired up, she continued. “The bitch stretched her arms overhead and pushed her tits against her thin blouse, and she said, ‘I am better, younger, and more sexy than you. Your new husband would not even look at you if he saw me bending over on the first tee.’ Naturally, my blood boiled. She was disrespecting and challenging me, Bill. I slapped her face hard enough to leave a red mark, and I told her, ‘You conceited little bitch. I will show you what experience does to youth. I challenge you to a sexfight, and when I finish with you, you will crawl away from this golf club knowing who the real woman is. “I was ready to take her down.”