Tightening Her Grip on the Shaft
Lucy longed for just the right stroke
She laced her fingers around the shaft, loving the firmness of her grip. The sensation traveled from her hands and up through her arms, exciting her.
But Lucy couldn’t get totally comfortable so she loosened her hands — and then tightened them again. Her expectation was to have a phenomenal experience, one unlike anything she had ever known before.
Involving the fingers and hands wasn’t enough.
Lucy licked her lips at what was ahead and put her whole body into the effort. She arched her back so her ass would protrude just so, and swayed her hips in a semi-circle. Power would flow through her legs. It was all so exciting, thrilling.
But the shaft — and her grip. This was the heart of what would happen, and where the energy would flow.
Lucy wasn’t finished. She loosened her fingers again, then tightened them so they felt perfect while swaying her hips and sticking out her butt.
Yeah, push the ass back.
For a moment, she felt so sensual and beautiful and wondered if that’s how a skilled stripper felt on stage with lithe movements, wrapping a leg around the pole?
Lucy could be that stripper who was alluring and seductive. The image was so captivating that sweat beaded on her forehead, remembering that the grip on the shaft had to be firm, yet delicate.
She paused.
When she laced her fingers around the stiff shaft for the umpteenth time a voice bellowed — shattering her concentration.
“Come on, lady, either hit the ball or get the hell off the fairway!” Some guy with a bulging belly, chomping on a cigar, stood on the tee box a hundred yards behind her.
Lucy sighed, whacked the golf ball, and watched it dribble twenty feet.
Damn it. She forgot to bend her knees.
That’s when the truth surfaced: she hated golf so much that she’d rather be at home fucking her husband while he watched football and drank beer.
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