Bent Over, Filled Up

Becca's POV

The golf course was sprawling, a sea of emerald green under the blinding midday sun. We had rented a cart, my dad was driving with Mark in the passenger seat, and me squeezed into the back, my knees tucked to the side.

The wind whipped through my hair, but it did nothing to cool the heat simmering beneath my skin. My thighs were still slick from the patio, my panties still stuffed in my dress pocket. Every bump in the cart sent a jolt straight between my legs, a constant and torturous reminder of what we had done just thirty minutes ago.

Mark sat in front of me, his back to me. He looked calm, relaxed, one arm draped over the side of the cart. But I saw it. Every few seconds, his fingers would twitch against the plastic, drumming a slow, impatient rhythm.

He was thinking about it too.

"Alright, first hole," my dad announced, pulling the cart to a stop. He grabbed his club and walked over to the tee box, leaving Mark and me alone. The moment my dad's back was turned, Mark spun around in his seat. His eyes met mine, dark and hungry. He didn't say a word. He just reached back, his hand sliding under the hem of my dress, his fingers finding my bare wet thigh.

I gasped softly, clamping my mouth shut.

"Don't move" he murmured, his voice barely audible. His fingers traveled higher, teasing the sensitive skin near my hip. "Just sit there and pretend to watch your dad."

I stared straight ahead, my heart hammering. My dad lined up his shot, completely oblivious. Mark's thumb traced small, lazy circles on my inner thigh, totally driving me insane. I bit my lip hard, gripping the edge of the cart. Do not make a sound. I repeatedly told myself.

My dad swung. The ball sailed straight down the fairway. "Nice shot, Dad!" I called out, my voice unnaturally high.

Mark chuckled softly, pulling his hand back. "Good girl," he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. Then he turned back around, acting completely innocent.

The rest of the hole was a blur of stolen glances and barely restrained touches. By the time we reached the second hole, I was a mess. My dress was damp with sweat and my thighs were trembling.

But the real test came at the third hole.

The fairway curved around a dense cluster of tall oak trees, creating a blind spot from the tee box. My dad sliced his shot, a terrible hook that sent the ball flying into the trees.

"Damnit," he grumbled, grabbing his driver. "I'm going to go find it. You two wait here."

He disappeared into the thicket of trees, his footsteps crunching on the dry leaves. We were alone again. Completely and utterly alone.

Mark didn't hesitate. He abandoned the golf cart, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the shade of a massive oak tree, away from the fairway and hidden from any other players.

"Mark…" I started.

He silenced me with a kiss. It was fierce, and demanding, his tongue plunging into my mouth. He backed me against the rough bark of the tree trunk, his body pressing against mine. I could feel him hard and ready against my stomach, straining against his shorts.

"We don't have time," I breathed, breaking the kiss. "Dad could come back any second."

"I know," he growled, his hands already working the buttons of his shorts. "That's what makes it so fucking good."

He dropped his shorts to his ankles, exposing his thick, aching erection. Then, he grabbed my waist, spun me around, and bent me over the hood of the golf cart. My hands splayed across the warm metal and my dress bunched up around my hips. I looked back at him over my shoulder. His jaw was tight, his eyes blazing with raw hunger.

"Keep your eyes on the trees," he ordered. "If you see your dad, you say 'fore.'"

I nodded, my breath coming in sharp and ragged gasps.

He didn't give me any warning. He slammed into me from behind, burying himself deep in one brutal thrust. I choked on a gasp, my fingers digging into the metal hood. He was frantic, his hips slamming against my ass with a wet, rhythmic slap.

It was fast. It was rough. And It was filthy.

He reached around, his hand finding my clit, rubbing me in tight circles as he pounded into me from behind. My eyes were locked on the treeline, terrified and exhilarated all at once.

"Fuck," he hissed, his pace increasing. "You're so tight. You're going to make me cum."

I was right there with him, teetering on the edge. His fingers worked me mercilessly and his thick length stretching me perfectly.

"Mark…." I whimpered, biting my fist to muffle the sound.

"Cum for me," he commanded, his voice a ragged whisper. "Cum on this dick while your father hunts for his ball."

That was all it took. I shattered. My orgasm exploded through me like fireworks, my inner walls milking him desperately. He buried himself to the hilt, groaning deep in his chest, and flooded me with his hot release. We froze there, panting, our bodies locked together. I felt his seeds trickling down my thighs, warm and sticky.

Then, we heard it. Crunch. Crunch. Footsteps coming closer.

Mark pulled out instantly, yanking up his shorts. I tugged my dress down, smoothing it frantically. Just as my dad emerged from the trees, holding his muddy ball triumphantly, Mark was leaning against the cart, adjusting his cap, looking like he hadn't moved an inch. I leaned against the cart, my legs shaking violently, my heart about to burst out of my chest.

"Found it!" my dad shouted, grinning. "Took a lucky bounce, but we're back in business."

Mark smiled, cool as a cucumber. "Atta boy. Let's finish this hole."

My dad walked right past us, completely oblivious. I couldn't even look at Mark. The taste of my own fear was still on my tongue, mixed with the lingering pleasure. I forced myself to walk toward the cart, my thighs sticky and my mind reeling. As I sat down, Mark leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear.

"Two more hours," he whispered. "I plan to make you cum at least three more times before we get back to the car."

I swallowed hard, staring straight ahead. I didn't know if I would survive the golf course.

But god, I was going to enjoy every second of trying.