Fishing Golf Giving Pleasure To Bulls

FISHING, GOLF, GIVING PLEASURE TO BULLS

by BigBull4YourWife

Beautiful crisp morning, and their tee time is bright and early and worth it.

The course is emerald. The morning sun makes the water look golden. It is a great time for golf.

Rick plays in a regular foursome with two other, older guys like him, and one young ringer. The ringer is fresh from his college's varsity golf team, and even playing three balls against one, the young man takes each hole.

Rick and his friends don't mind. They love seeing golf played at a high level, love the sound the young man's ball makes coming off his driver, love watching it go long, hard and straight down the fairway.

They do not mind the five-dollars-a-hole it costs in gambling winnings for them to see this young man play the ball so cleanly. The two older men think they get closer and closer each week to winning one single hole against the young golf stud, and that drive and competition is more than worth their friendly ninety bucks each, which they hand over to the young man at the end of their game, fresh from their wallets, fresh from the ATM in the Club's Men's Lounge, aka the Men's Locker Room. The two older men are fired up after the competition, trying to chase their own youth, and go home to their wives, where they take their golf frustrations out on their wives with a passionate trip to the bedroom. The wives get to brag to their friends and to their sisters about their virile and passionate husbands, who play golf but come home ready to them "at least once a week, it's so much at our age!" They are so contented, they do not even notice the ninety in extra cash that their husbands are depleting their bedroom petty-cash drawer of each week.

Rick, however, hands over his weekly golf gambling debt with glee. At his age now, Rick harbors no false illusions about being able to win even one single hole back from this fitter and better, younger man. He knows the young man's drives are longer. He knows his short game is harder, with more and better spin on the ball than Rick could ever muster, even when he was the young man's age.

At the end of their eighteen, they shake hands and sign their scorecards. Rick's two older friends go home to their wives, riled up, and the young man gets into Rick's car with him. Rick introduced the young man to the other guys months ago, saying he was the son of one of Rick's neighbors.

Fresh home from college. That part was true, though.

They even told an elaborate story about the recent college grad having mowed Rick's lawn years ago. All bullshit. They met on a scandalous website. They bonded over golf, and over a love of Rick's wife.

The young athlete loved fucking her and Rick loved watching him fuck her.

So after he won the round of golf that they played each week, Rick brought him home and Rick's wife jumped into the shower with him. She soaped his muscles and rinsed him off and cleaned his young cock with her throat.

She was more than fit for her age, which was several decades less than Rick's, and with all her pep and energy, she was more than enough of a bonus prize for winning the match each week.

She cleaned his young asshole with her tongue, and when he was ready to fuck her, she would never, ever think of asking the healthy young man to wear protection or to pull out.

After he fucked her bareback in the marital bed, and came in her twice, Rick's wife did what she usually did next, and made them all sandwiches for lunch, which they ate together on the lanai.

Rick loved married life, it agreed with him.

2.

Flashback in time to Rick's wedding night. Late in the night, all the partying is over, the happy couple are in their luxury hotel bed under their luxury hotel covers.

Afterglowing in the darkness.

Rick feels what he thinks is connubial bliss. A satisfied smile on his face. His lovely and lithe wife lays next to him, impossibly slender, impossibly sexy. How did he get this woman? he wonders with pride. How did he just marry her tonight? And how did he even fuck her and come in her twice tonight and fully own her, fully make her his?

Who cares how he did it, he did it! He beams with pride. This beautiful woman was his now, and forever.

She stirs, in the darkness. Surely, she was beaming with joy just like Rick was. Just like her husband Rick was. There, that's better.

"Ooooh, honey," she says. "I guess I should say, oooh husband now," she says, and she laughs. He chuckles too, everything is joyful to him after tonight and what they have done.

"Yes, you should," Rick confidently replies.

"You should know it feels so good to know that you love me, to know you love me so very, very much like this," his wife says.

"I do, baby. I love you so much, sugar muffin."

"I've never loved anyone more," his sugar muffin replies.

"I've never loved anyone more," Rick echoes her, like she intended him to.

"I've never met anyone who truly wants to give me everything," she says, cuddling tight against him, squeezing him with an obvious desire to be so close to him at all times.

"I've given you my heart and if I can give you the moon, then those tides better watch out!" Rich laughs and she laughs with him. He is so playful, so on top of the world.

"Would you give me these, baby?" she says, her left hand with her rings suddenly on his nuts, pulling and squeezing and cupping them in her left hand. His wrinkly, connubial-bliss balls fit easily in her closed fist. "You've already given me your heart, darlin'," she reminds him.

"Of course, baby," Rich assures her, "I'll give you every part of me."

"I mean, I'm serious. If there was, like, an enzyme or something that your balls produced, and I needed them because I was, like, sick or something, would you give them to me?"

"Huh?"

"If I were sick and the only way to save my life would mean sacrificing your balls, would you give your nuts up for me to save my life?"

"Why would I have to?"

"Medical emergency, it's gonna win a Nobel Prize and we won't have to work again because of the groundbreaking science and the notoriety."

"So people would know?"

"No, we'd just own some of the patent and be rich from that."

"Could I still get erections?"

"Sure, there's pills for that," she promises him quickly.

"Fine, honey, to save your life, you can have my balls."

She smiles so wide in the darkness, a smile far wider than one of connubial bliss.

She kisses his cheek. Her fist still tight around his balls. "I love you, honey," she says, and as she rolls over and falls asleep, gives his happy nuts a hard final squeeze, the kind that is painful, and growing more painful.

Rich thinks to cry out, but what would he say? How could he let her know that he could not take it? How could he let his new bride know his balls were not as tough as her grip? He could not dare let her know those things, and so, says nothing, taking the ache, taking the pain from her, waiting those agonizing moments until she releases him and this final test of his wedding night is passed.

Rich falls asleep after her, the slightly-crushed feeling that she left in his nuts, lingering.

He's married now.

3.

The soft, romantic music he fretted over is playing in the background, but she does not seem to be paying any attention. She's too busy taking care with her eye makeup.

She's going out.

When she came home, she saw the "Happy Fifth Wedding Anniversary" sign he put up. "That's cute, honey," she told Rick. "So sweet of you."

"I thought this could be our night. We haven't had a night just for us in a while," Rick said gently, following her up the stairs.

"I know honey," his wife told him, kicking off her elegant work heels and taking off her work suit she wore as her company's top sales performer, three quarters running. "But Sean has been riding me so hard at work, I need this kind of night right now."

"But, it's our anniversary," Rick says, and he is shocked to hear those words having come out of his mouth. He told himself he would not say them. But, there he's gone and done it.

"That's why, sweetie," his wife tells him. "You know this is much more how I would want to spend our anniversary," she says, and says no more. She has no complaints about Rick watching her take off her work clothes, watch her strip to her lingerie, watch her then strip fully nude, letting her body relax and decompress after the day.

Watch her rub out the imprints the elastic waists of her panty and her hose left on her tummy and hips, the marks the straps of her bra left on her shoulders.

He has not the slightest thought to run up behind her, to cop a feel, to grab her butt. His own wife, but he keeps his distance across their bedroom and watches, sitting on their bed while she goes from day to evening.

Fresh deodorant under her arms. Perfume everywhere, a cloud she walks into, and special sprays on the insides of her thighs.

Then, the new lingerie, far more skimpy than what was under her clothes at work.

She takes her time putting the tiny things on, nonetheless. The bra is elaborate with clasps and buckles and she does not rush. The garters, the stockings, the tiny gossamer panty. She knows what she's doing and moves slowly so as to not catch any of the fine fabrics on her manicured nails.

Then, washing her face, then brushing out her hair, then the reapplying her makeup. All the while, the dinner Rick prepared cools until it's cold downstairs. The wine he had cooling on ice has now warmed, and the ice is now water. The music he curated for hours this week is a far-off afterthought. His wife is not even making small talk, she is focused on re-doing her face, removing the sophisticated day look and replacing it with her smokey, bedroom, night look.

When she has it right, she slips on an easy-to-unwrap wrap dress.

Heels even higher than the ones she wore to work.

She texted him on her way home, that these were her plans. They were with "That Guy From the Gym," whom she had never named, or described, except to say he obviously cares about his body, and that he has a body worth caring about.

When she's nearly ready, she addresses Rick finally: "How do I look?"

"You look great," he tells her. The truth is she looks like someone totally different than the woman who just came home, even. She looks wild and fierce, like a woman highlighting all of the features that would make a man want to fuck her instantly on sight. Instantly upon her offering up herself to that man, of her own volition and consent and desire.

"Thanks," she says. "Don't--"

She's about to say "don't wait up," but he interrupts her with his intrusive thoughts. "You look like you're offering yourself up."

That gives her pause, a bratty little curveball she did not expect or anticipate. She thought Rickie knew his place tonight. She thought he knew what she was doing for him tonight, summoning up all her energy and summons up all her sexy, to go out after another hellish day at the office. She thought he, of all people, would respect the sacrifice she was making to leave him alone and with his hand, on their anniversary. But she knows how to handle Rickie by now.

"That's right, I am offering myself up," she says, confidently. "Not to you. Even though it is our anniversary. I am going to offer myself up to another man tonight, and I'm going to be with him for the first time on our anniversary, Little Rickie." She takes a leather jacket from her closet to finish her look. "He and his fresh, hot body are going to celebrate our anniversary with me. Five years, and I'm celebrating it with someone new, Rick. And he's offering himself up to me, tonight." She picks a lip gloss, and applies it. Bright red, the classic and unmistakable sign. "He knows I'm married and he does not give a fuck. So, yeah, hubby. I'm going to drive over there and offer myself right the fuck up to him."

Long pause. Then she recalls what she was going to tell him.

"Don't wait up," she tells her husband, and kisses him dismissively on the cheek, and then leaves without even locking the front door behind her. Into her car, and then speeding off into the night, Taylor Swift jams booming loud out her lowered windows.

And then it's quiet, and then she's gone, and then Rick is all alone in their house. It is dinner time and his special anniversary dinner is cold. The wine is warm.

But he eats and drinks anyway, alone. He cleans up alone, and puts everything away. He takes down the anniversary decorations, and it's all over. Back to normal life.

He takes his shower at the usual time, takes his evening pills at the usual time. It is quiet in the house, and he puts some music on for company.

He gets into his pajamas, but then he does not do what his wife told him to do.

He does wait up. Hour, after torturous hour. Checking his phone, to see if she texted. Not a word. Not a single pic. Not a single emoji. She is ignoring him on their fifth anniversary. But he's not ignoring her, he's thinking about no one and nothing but his darling, still slender, still sexy wife.

He wakes up to the sound of her key in the front door lock, opening it.

He fell asleep in their bedroom, sitting up in their bed, with the lights still on. The light is sharp now, forcing the drowsiness out of his eyes. The door closes downstairs and his wife comes up the stairs, to their room.

"Ugh, why are all the lights on in here, it's the middle of the night," she complains, breezily, hiding her face and moving around the room to flick switches and take the bright down to a low dim.

Her makeup is almost all off, her dress hastily tied.

He looks at the bedside digital clock. 3:03. It was definitely no longer their anniversary.

"What's that, honey?" she asks, taking off her leather jacket and hanging it on the back of her makeup table chair.

He must have been thinking out loud, he realizes. "It's no longer our wedding anniversary," Rick says in a shy voice.

"It's okay, baby," his wife says, "I brought you back an anniversary present." Her heels are off and with one tug on a string, her wrap dress is unwrapped and open. The fancy lingerie she spent so much time putting on earlier, under that dress, is gone and nowhere to be seen. Not even the stockings nor the garters remain.

"I think a lot of it dripped out, but there was plenty," she says, giggly and tipsy in their dim marital bedroom. "Here, get your tongue in deep, there's definitely still plenty up there."

Rick, sitting up in bed still, frozen in place from the moment he woke to the sound of her return, was in the perfect place to welcome her return, exactly how she had planned on him welcoming her, he thought.

For she stepped up easily on their bed and braced herself against their headboard while she sat her sticky, creamy cunt right on her husband's open, waiting mouth.

He had no idea that the thought to do this, something they had done before, came into her head for the first time that night no sooner than when she saw him there. Sitting up in bed, a face so easy to mount. She knew.

"I told him to not wait up," she thought, "and now it's almost dawn and he's wide awake. This will teach him to be so alert when I slip back in the door late."

She had wanted her own night, she had wanted to find her husband passed out from exhaustion or from a sleeping pill. She had wanted Rick dreaming and docile, she had wanted to slip back into her safe life and safe house and safe bed, next to her sleeping safe husband, and pretend that he and no one were aware, that she could live her own life unobserved.

But there he was, like a horny boy despite being a grown man and a successful businessman, and she knew he had been probably going crazy with the magic mental mix he loved, imagining her stretching on and for and around someone new, someone who spent long hours in the gym and not at the office.

She would hand it to him, though. She told him to get his tongue deep inside her and lick up the bull-cum still stuck there--and Rick got his tongue deep inside her, licking out that bull-cum.

"Oh, you like your anniversary present!" she said, laughing, at him, at the situation, at her power over him, and she liked the way he licked her all the way to a final cum of the night, right on her husband's face, helping spasm out the finial droplets of another man's seed, out of Rick's wife, and dripping down to Rick's obedient, husbandly tongue.

She dismounted, slipped down to her side of the bed, and rolled over and passed right out, afterwards. Settling herself into position and falling asleep before she could mumble good night.

Rick tried to fall asleep, but eventually had to stroke his cock to her uninterrupted snores, thinking of the taste of a woman's cum, the taste of a man's come, and the taste of shame.

It was a masturbatory orgasm worthy of a fifth anniversary.

4.

Rick knows his wife is a flirt. She flirts because she can, because she is good at it.

She looks good, dresses to make herself feel good, has a quick mind and can always think of something to say, and she likes people who are also quick. She loves banter.

She's very handsy, too, very touchy. Whether with women or men, she's always enhancing her points, enhancing her connections, by a touch on the arm, by a touch on the shoulder, the back.

She hugs all of her friends hello, and lingers.

Rick loves taking his wife to business events. Company parties, events where clients will be, small dinners with prospective clients or partners: his wife shines in these arenas.

She's usually the best-looking person there, certainly the best-looking woman. She's always the most stylishly dressed, and she always has her best attitude on her when she is being Rick's wife in public.

She is charming, positive, makes no social mistakes and holds onto Rick tight, praising him and making it seem like they are so much in love, still, after over a decade. So tight, so together, nothing and no-one could come between them. Everyone Rick works with thinks they have the perfect marriage.

Well, all of Rick's colleagues at work, that he has to see every day. They all think he and his wife have a happy, good, successful marriage.

Some of Rick's clients, however, might understand the parameters of that happiness, the type of good marriage that it is, the kind of success they like to have.

At this point, after decades of marriage, it's no longer a feeling of terror. No longer an overload of shame, and the erotic charge all that shame brings.

Now, watching a client flirt with his wife, Rick is in heaven. Rick is happy that this client or prospective client isn't a dud. Even if he has a wife back home in wherever he's from, now he's in Rick's city on business, and Rick's wife is flirting with him. So of course this tired business traveler is going to flirt back. He's a successful businessman, here in town on business, with tons of prospective business that his company can bring to Rick's company.

After dinner, there's cocktails. There's handshakes.

There's a long, quiet conversation between this would-be client and Rick's wife, his hand on her back the entire time.

She gives him a hug goodnight and kiss on her cheek, like this was not a business meeting, and then comes over to Rick to report.

"He said he's got a great suite at his hotel. Great view of the river and the skyline. He says he'd love for me to see it."

"And what do you think?"

"I think he's a real alpha, hon," she tells Rick. "Did you see how he pulled me away from you, just physically took me by the wrist and moved me at one point? You letting him do that is beta behavior, hubby. I think he's an alpha, and I think I wanna ride him."

A moment of shock. The rejection and the shame and the arousal are all fresh, all overwhelming again.

He loves her standards. He loves her drive. He loves her sexual ambition. He wishes he felt that for himself, but he has always felt that for her. He wants to be with the hottest bitch. He wants to know what he has at home, even if she is not at home.