Golf course

She shows up in a tiny bikini that barely covers anything, stepping out of the electric cart like she knows exactly what she’s doing. The blonde’s body is all curves and sun-warmed skin. She walks to the tee, leans forward, ass high, and lines up her shot. The fabric rides up between her cheeks. Her focus is steady, but the view is filthy. She swings slow, deliberate, hips rolling with the motion, then straightens and glances back like she felt your eyes on her the whole time. A brunette stands nearby, watching, one hand already between her own thighs, fingers working in lazy circles. The blonde drops the club, slides her suit aside, and starts touching herself right there on the green—slow, teasing strokes that make her breath catch. The brunette moans softly, matching the rhythm, legs spread, skirt hiked up. No one’s swinging clubs anymore. Just soft, wet sounds and two bodies open under the sun, playing a very different kind of game.