Sapphire Cove
Copyright© 2026 by Fanlon
Chapter 5
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 5 - Sapphire Cove is a series of books, be patient, it will be more than worth it in the end! If you enjoyed Sam and his story in The Windy Pines, you'll love Lucas and Leah's stories in this new series. Sapphire Cove tells the story of twins, Lucas and Leah, who have a special relationship, as most twins do. Living in a nudist household, there are no secrets, except the ones the twins keep from their parents. A move to the exclusive community Sapphire Cove could change everything, if they get in.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Mult Incest Group Sex Swinging Voyeurism Nudism
“Lucas, get up!” my dad yelled into my room. “Tee time is in thirty minutes, let’s go!”
My eyes snapped open, and from the light in my room, it was late morning.
“Shit!” I scurried to get out of bed and ran for the bathroom.
“Hurry up, we don’t have time for breakfast since you decided to sleep all morning.”
I didn’t even bother to respond to my father’s words as I shut the bathroom door and cranked on the shower. It wasn’t until I washed my hair that I realized that I didn’t get to say goodbye to Danny and his family when they left this morning.
I knew Leah and I had stayed up late, but I didn’t think it was that late. Even if it was, it was worth every second of it. I was never going to complain about snuggling with my sister, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to stop playing with that tight body of hers.
There were few things better in the world than looking down and seeing Leah’s full lips wrapped around my cock and the way she would look up at me. Those eyes danced with excitement, joy, and mischief. It was enough to make my breath catch in my throat. I just wished there was a way she and I could truly be together. I knew that was not possible because it’s highly illegal. That, and I wasn’t sure if that was something Leah actually wanted. Hell, both of us were only fourteen, and what we wanted now might not be what we wanted next week, let alone when we were eighteen and considered adults.
I have heard that it might be allowed if both people were willing to sterilize themselves so they wouldn’t be able to have children, but I could never ask that of Leah. When she was older, I had no doubt she was going to be an amazing mom. Until then, I was going to enjoy every single moment the two of us got to share everything we had to offer to each other. Soon, hopefully, that meant sex. Full on sex. God, just the idea of it always made me rock hard, just like it did now.
Cleaned, drained, dried, and dressed, I hurried down the stairs to head to the course with Dad. I love golf. Ever since Dad got me my first set of little kids clubs, I was swinging at practice balls all over the backyard. This was the one thing I did for me, and for my dad if I was honest. At least that’s how it started, but once I was able to make that first good contact and watch the little white ball take off right in the direction I was aiming, I was hooked.
“Couldn’t sleep because you’re scared you’re going to lose to your dad, again?” my dad joked as we drove to the golf course.
“Oh yeah...” I nodded, rolling my eyes. “That’s definitely it.”
“I figured.” He chuckled, acting as if I hadn’t been sarcastic at all. “I was surprised you weren’t up to say goodbye to Danny before they left.”
“I meant to...” I replied. “I guess I stayed up too late playing Call of Duty with Leah.”
“That’s what your mom thought. When we tried to wake up your sister, she threw one of her pillows at your mom, and I quickly ducked out of the room to save myself.” I laughed at that, thinking of my dad running away from a wild pillow-throwing Leah. “Your mom took a direct hit, right in the face.”
“What?” I gasped. “No way!”
“Yup.” Dad nodded, glancing over at me with a smirk on his face. “Direct hit, right in the kisser.”
“That does sound like Leah.”
It’s not like it’s a surprise that my sister isn’t a morning person. Both of my parents were well aware of it, too. She is borderline evil until almost lunch. If you push her for anything before then, especially on the weekend, or just the summer in general, you’re playing with fire and more likely to get burned than not.
“It wasn’t our finest moment; we’ll just say that for your mom and me.”
“At least you didn’t get taken out.”
“Leah has shockingly good aim and a very strong arm.”
“I don’t know where she gets it,” I teased, making it sound like it couldn’t have come from my dad.
“I do...” Dad grinned. “Your mother!”
We showed up and checked in at the clubhouse twenty minutes early for our tee time. Dad grabbed two warm-up buckets, one for him and one for me. These buckets typically only had ten to fifteen balls in them, just enough to get you loosened up and get your blood flowing before your first tee shot. There was nothing worse than showing up and duffing one right off the bat.
Dad took those warm-ups seriously. He had a system: three balls for his gap wedge, a couple with his seven-iron, a few more for his four iron, and then the rest were for his driver. That was all after he went through his ‘old man stretching routine.’ For me, I took a couple swings with the wedge, like he did, because that was the heaviest club in the bag and enough to get my shoulders and back stretched out.
After that, it was all driver. I even hit a few off the deck, because on the par fives, I would need that distance to reach the greens in two. My three wood just wasn’t enough unless I got an insanely lucky bounce or something on my drive.
My first couple of swings were terrible, and when I say terrible, I mean the worst swings you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Shit!” I said, missing the first one completely, and my dad hid a smirk behind his hand.
I set up again, this time my eyes focused on the ball, my muscles tightening because I wanted to crush the stupid fucking ball. I swung again, hard, and I heard the tell-tale sound of shank right off the hosel, and the ball shot forward down the line.
“Fuck!” I roared, feeling a rage burning in my gut and desperately wanting to throw my club as far as I could.
I didn’t; I knew better than to do something stupid like that. You only made that mistake one time with my father around. I learned that lesson long ago. Still, thank God no one was in front of me because I’d have rammed that ball right up their ass if there was.
“Lucas!” My dad glared at me, unimpressed with my outburst, not to mention my choice of language.
“Sorry!” I winced, throwing up my hands in surrender.
“Take a breath, slow down, and quit trying to kill the ball.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I waved him off. “I know.”
I used my wedge to pull another ball over, trying to get the ball to rest on a fluffy lie, thinking that would help. My next swing, I caught it a bit heavy, but I hit the ball with the clubface, so that was a drastic improvement.
“Better.” Dad smiled and offered me a nod.
“Still not good,” I replied, setting up another of the warm-up balls.
“Eh, better than trying to kill someone else on the tee-box with those worm-burners.”
I couldn’t help it; I laughed at that. He grinned but waved me off to keep going, and I did. I took two more swings with my wedge, and both of them were a lot better. Now it was time to swing the big stick and show off a bit in front of my dad and everyone else on the range, which was only two other older men who looked to be in their seventies.
I teed up the first one nice and high. My parents gave me a new Taylor Made Sim 2 Max driver last year for Christmas. I absolutely loved it because I could crush this thing. I’d been using my dad’s old Callaway nine-degree Big Bertha titanium since I was old enough to swing it. It was still a pretty good driver, even though it was older than I was, but it didn’t compare at all to the newer ones.
I took it easy on the first swing with my driver. I aimed down the middle of the range but didn’t really care where it went. I just wanted to make solid contact.
I took a deep breath, relaxed my shoulders, and swung. The ball launched off the face perfectly, flying down the middle of the range and just turning over in a picture-perfect five-yard draw. I watched as the ball flew, a smile on my face, before looking over my shoulder to see my dad watching it too, grinning proudly.
Dad gave me honors to tee off first on the first hole, and I absolutely striped it. The first hole was a five-hundred-and-twenty-yard par five. It was a dogleg right that, if you hit it perfectly, you could cut the corner a bit, and then if you were lucky, get a great roll out and have a good look to reach the green in two.
I was grinning as I held my finish, watching the ball soar right over the shorter pine trees that marked the corner of the dogleg.
“Nice shot, Lucas,” my dad said, watching the ball fly just like I was.
“Thanks,” I replied, smiling as I picked up my tee and stood off to the side of the box to let him hit next.
My dad went through his routine and, as casually as breathing, hit it right down the middle with a perfect little fade. He was never a long-ball hitter, but he never tried to be either. Even though he was almost head and shoulders taller than me, I was still longer off the tee than he was when I caught one.
The key to that, though, was that I had to hit perfectly. I wasn’t exactly consistent when it came to my drives. I had the tendency to slice one off the planet when I really tried to go after it, or when I played with Dad. I don’t know why, but for whatever reason, I just couldn’t play well when it was me and him. Dad always said it was because I was trying too hard, and that’s probably true. Still, even when I went about it like it was just another day, I saw my dad standing there watching me, and it just ... happened.
“Right down the middle.” I nodded and picked up my bag and threw it over my shoulders.
“Yup, we’ll be able to find both of those, I think,” he replied, putting the headcover back on his driver and putting it back in the bag.
“Skins?” I asked, feeling confident today.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, looking over at me as we walked down into the little valley before it climbed back up to where the dogleg started. “First in, first on, closest?”
That was the skins game Dad always played with his golfing buddies, which was now down a man since Scott had moved.
“I was thinking just score. Carryovers and birdies double?”
“Oh, really?” Dad smirked at me. “Someone’s feeling froggy today.”
“Damn right!” I grinned.
“You’re on,” he agreed.
“How much a skin?”
“You tell me?”
“Buck a point?” I asked. A dollar a skin wasn’t much, but I was only fourteen, and I didn’t have a job, so money wasn’t exactly growing on trees for me. My allowance was only twenty bucks a week, and I was risking it all if I lost every hole, which would suck.
“It’s your money you’re losing,” Dad joked, knowing that would rile me up a bit, and it did.
“Actually, it’s your money I’m playing with.”
“That...” Dad trailed off but then chuckled and shook his head. “You know what, fair enough.”
As expected, Dad’s ball was damned near perfectly in the center of the fairway. He was still about two hundred and fifty yards away from the green. As he always did on this hole, he took out a seven iron. He couldn’t reach the green and wanted to leave himself an easy wedge in.
My ball was about twenty yards further down and hugging the right side of the fairway. I thought I’d cut it off more than that, but my ball must have come down in the rough and then released into the fairway. On a great drive, I’d have around two hundred yards in.
I grabbed my three wood and eyed the green. There were two big bunkers on either side of the green and one deep. The front was wide open though, and this was a gettable hole for me. I wanted to get my first skin here, and if I could get it close, that would make birdie on the first hole easy.
The wind was pretty calm, and the ball was just slightly above my feet, which set me up perfectly for my preferred ball flight. Confident with my shot, I aimed just slightly right of the green and gave it a rip. The ball flew just as I’d hoped, drawing in right at the center of the green. I grinned as I watched it, only for it to land twenty yards short of the green and die.
“Close,” Dad said, smirking before he finished with a snarky, “Hope you gotta a couple chips in on the range.”
“Chip and a putt, and I’ll be in for birdie,” I replied casually. I sucked at chipping. It was probably the worst part of my game. I’d rather be in the bunker than have to chip every time.
Dad hit his easy wedge into the middle of the green, leaving him around twelve to fifteen feet for birdie. I walked up to mine and dropped my bag on the automatic stand legs. I had about five yards of fairway before the green started. The immediate debate was to chip it or putt it. Like I said, I’m a terrible chipper, and I pulled out the putter.
“You’re going to putt that?” Dad asked, giving me a dubious look.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’ll just lag it up there close. Easier than chipping.”
“Whatever you say,” Dad replied, grabbing his putter and walking to his ball on the green to mark it. “Just don’t leave it short.”
I rolled my eyes. I knew I didn’t want to leave it short. That went without saying. The problem was, I wasn’t thinking about that before until he said something about it. Now, that’s all I could think about. I had no idea how fast the greens were, because I hadn’t hit a couple putts on the practice green. I bent down, sitting on my heels as I tried to read the green. I’d played this hole so many times, I didn’t really need to read it, but it was a habit at this point.
“Uphill and it will start off moving from right to left and then will turn back right a ball or two right before the cup,” I told myself aloud, picturing the line in my mind. “Just got to get it there and scare the hole a bit.”
I stepped up to my ball, took a couple of practice swings, and then swung. The ball took off, rolling end over end and onto the green. “Shit,” I cursed when I realized I’d hit too hard. “Please stop, hit a house, hit anything!” I begged, but it just kept on rolling. “Damnit!” I spat when the ball finally came to a stop ten feet past the hole and nowhere near the gimmie or tap-in range I was planning for.
“At least you didn’t leave it short like Scott always did,” my dad said, placing his ball back down on the green and lining up the sharpie line he’d drawn on it to where he wanted to aim the putt.
“Yeah, ten feet past is SOOO much better,” I complained. You could park a city bus between where my ball ended up and the cup.”
“You can’t make a putt if you leave it short,” Dad explained. I know he was trying to make me feel better about it, but it was his fault I hit it that far past in the first place.
“I know...” I muttered.
Dad’s putt was just short, and he hissed as it came to a stop. “Just like that, see?”
“Yeah, yeah. Nice par, Dad.”
He tapped it in and moved off to the side, grabbing the flag, ready to put it back in the hole as soon as I finished.
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