Message-ID: <36821asstr$1024269004@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel) X-Original-Message-ID: <20020616101750.23553.00000510@mb-fl.aol.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 16 Jun 2002 14:17:50 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel: Mashie, Niblick, Spoon, Cleek (MF golf) Date: Sun, 16 Jun 2002 19:10:04 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw In celebration of the final round of the U.S. Open Golf Championship, I am reposting a few of my "golf" stories. These are "The Open," which was written for the Dulcinea Romance Festival of 2001, "The Sarabande and Six Iron," and "The Orange Dress," which first appeared in Mark Aster's Journal of Desire. I am also posting a new story, "Mashie, Niblick, Spoon, Cleek," which is soon to appear as one of the days in Mat Twassel's Calendar http://calendar.atEROS.com Sex excepted, there is no activity I prefer to golf. These stories feature golf and sex. Go, Tiger! For more stories and photographs take a look at my web page http://members.aol.com/mmtwassel/ and visit my calendar at http://calendar.atEROS.com Mashie, Niblick, Spoon, Cleek by Mat Twassel ============================= Katherine got up to pee, but a moment later she was back in bed beside Bill. "Did you sleep well?" he asked her. "Okay," she said. "I had a bad dream." "Oh?" "Not a really bad bad dream." "What was it about?" "Golf. Every time I tried to ..." "You play golf?" "At school. I was pretty good. Sophomore year I was third in the conference. What about you?" "Naw," Bill said. "Golf wasn't invented back when I was in high school." He started stroking Katherine's tummy under the sheet. "So what about this dream?" "Mm," Katherine said. "I'd get to the green, but every time I tried to putt, the ball turned into a dead mouse." "A dead mouse?" "Yeah. It was horrible." "I imagine. Was the mouse dead before you started to putt or after?" "I don't know. It was just dead." Katherine sighed and squirmed under Bill's fingers. "I can't remember ever having a good golf dream. Like sometimes I go to my golf bag to get a club and there's nothing there but silverware. Knives and forks and spoons." "Oh, my." Bill chuckled. "Hard to hit a golf ball with a fork." His fingers circled lower on Katherine's tummy. They tested the gentle slope of her mound. "Spoons," he said, brushing the upper boundary of her hair. Her tummy quivered, the slightest quivering. "Aren't spoons a kind of golf club? Brassies and spoons, I seem to remember. Brassies and spoons, but no forks." "Cheap forks, too," Katherine said. "Flimsy, like you'd find in those greasy old diners." "Greasy spoon diners," Bill said. "See, there's a connection!" His palm pressed her belly as his fingers continued to play. "Fat in the frying pan," Bill said. "Fire in the hole. Vats of mouse soup coming to a boil." "Mouse soup?" "Just a kids' book," Bill said. "From when you were a kid?" "No, I remember reading it to ..." Bill paused, but his fingers strayed deeper into the thicket. "What was it about?" Katherine asked. "Don't remember," Bill said. His fingers toyed with the curly hair, tracing and twining. Nearing the secret skin. At the apex, he pressed harder. "Nice rough," he said. "Isn't that what they call it? Rough?" Katherine didn't answer. "Nice and soft. Make a fine bed for some little mouse." "Gross." Katherine said. She shifted slightly, and Bill's fingers lost ground. "You don't want a little white mouse nesting and nestling in your pussy fur? Not even if he were very clean and well-behaved? Not even if he groomed himself five times a day and vacuumed up all his crumbs and kept the music at a murmur? Not even if he promised not to make hanky panky with his lady friend?" Katherine laughed and shifted again, and Bill's fingers found themselves in the fold. Katherine drew a deep breath, then sighed. Bill manipulated the little clit. "This must be the niblick," Bill said. "Cute little bitty." His forefinger petted the bud of flesh, pushed it down, stroked it softly on each side and on its hooded top. "Such a sweet little niblick you have." "How come you know ...?" "Or maybe it's a mashie niblick." He smoothed it down, caressed across it, pinched it gently. "Mashie? Niblick? Which?" He pinched again. "Come on, say. Say, my little golfer girl." "I don't know," Katherine said. "Mashie," Bill said, pressing his fingertip directly above the hood. "Niblick," he said, stroking the hood top to bottom. "Cleek," he said, nudging the nodule from below. He repeated the procedure: "Mashie. Niblick. Cleek. Mashie. Niblick. Cleek." All this attention had Katherine's clit prancing and preening. Katherine moaned. Bill rubbed. "Cleek, cleek, cleek," he said. Up now, fully fattened, the clit blushed ruby red. "Cleek," Bill said, tweaking it once more, and then his forefinger began circling in earnest. "Cleek." A slow whisk of a whisper. The dripping click of an old clock. "Click. Click. Click. Hear its little squeak? That means your dew is coming." His fingers wound around and around, slow and steady. Katherine whimpered. "Please," she said. "Too much club?" But Bill's fingers continued the gentle rubbing. "Such a fine fat cleek, so slippery and sleek. So sweetly, sweetly swollen. I'm going to have to kiss it, I'm afraid. Yes, I am, in a moment. In a second or two or three. Soon. Soon my little golfer girl. Soon I'm going to kiss you on your cleek. I'm going to take it between my lips and kiss it and suck it and keep on sucking it until it's all shiny and slippy with spit and sap and secret dew, and then you'll come, my darling girl, yes, you will, my darling, darling little girl, yes, you'll come so hard and good and sweet, my good little golfer girl, you'll come just like that, that's good, yes, you come, oh, yes. Come, sweet. Sweet, sweet come. Come." So excited Katherine was, Bill's mouth barely got there in time. ============================= Mashie, Niblick, Spoon, Cleek by Mat Twassel Mat's Erotic Calendar at http://calendar.atEros.com -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+