Part 1: The Front Nine

I watched her bend over to place the ball on the tee, her tight pink golf skirt riding up just enough to show the white lace of her panties. “Nice form, Sarah,” I said, my voice low. She straightened up, blushing.

“Thanks, Mark. Just trying to focus.” Her eyes flicked to mine, that nervous excitement humming between us. I knew her husband, Dave, had a thing for watching her get watched, but Sarah had no clue. She was still in that stage where she thought it was just the adrenaline of the game.

We walked to the fairway. The sun was warm, the course nearly empty. I made sure to stand close when she swung, my hand brushing her hip as I corrected her stance. “Keep your weight steady here,” I murmured, my palm flat against the small of her back.

She swallowed, her breath hitching as my fingers dipped lower. “Mark... the waiter might see.”

“He’s in the clubhouse,” I said, my lips near her ear. “Besides, you like showing off what you can do, don't you?” I let my hand slide down over the curve of her ass, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric.

A small moan escaped her as she pressed into my touch. Her club clattered to the grass. “I... I don't know what’s gotten into me today.”

I guided her toward the rough near the trees, where the brush hid us from the main fairway. “You know what you want, Sarah. You just need permission.” I turned her to face the bunker, bending her over the hood of my golf cart, her hips resting against the warm metal.

She whimpered as I lifted