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Ball in the Rough	By : MadameManga Category: WWF/WWE > General Views: 1670 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrities of WWE/WWF. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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All events in this story are entirely fictional and a product of the author's imagination.
Ball in the Rough

by Madame Manga
Pt. 2
"Twenty-two," called someone over a mic, and Larry had another hissy fit over the loss of one of his dreamboats. I kept my eyes on Big Red, as I had just nicknamed him. Crossing my fingers, I made a wish. "Twenty-three," said the announcer, and another foursome stepped up to the tee. "Twenty-four!"
"Come on," said Larry. "I think we’re getting Joe Montana!"
‘Rats,’ I said to myself, not wanting Larry to make cracks about my sudden penchant for wrestlers. I turned to follow him and stood where a man in a green jacket directed me when we got to the tee. "Woody…driver…dildo…" I muttered, sorting through my clubs while I struggled with the heavy bag.
"The biggest one," said someone helpfully, right at my elbow.
"Oh, OK," I said, hauling it out. "Thanks." I turned and looked up—way up—into the eyes of Big Red. "Uhhh…hi."
The view was almost better from the front—broad chest, shirt open over slightly furry pecs, more tats, and a face that was so masculinely strong-jawed and cheekboned and nosed and bearded that I wondered if there was an earthquake going on at the moment that only I noticed. And, I swear to God—his eyes were green. Really, really green, like the fairways and the tee and the trees. No, not like that sort of green, where the grass is all cut short and fertilized and manicured and dotted with goose poop. More like the part under the trees where everything grows a little wild, where you can lose things and never find them again. The rough, that’s what it’s called. His eyes were as green as the rough.
"Hi." He smiled, and the earthquake went up a few points on the Richter scale. "I guess we’re playing together."
"Oh, my God, I certainly hope so," I said in a daze. Larry was having a real snit somewhere over in the periphery of my vision. "I’m Annie MacClachlan, and that’s Larry Person."
"Yes, I read the name tag. I’m Mark Calaway." He put out his hand, which could have made about four of my hands, and I shook it. It was like shaking hands with a catcher’s mitt, if catcher’s mitts had long fingers with cute freckles. "This is John Layfield."
The dark-haired man he had been talking to came up and grinned at me. "Hey, there, missy. Looks like we got the best draw of the day."
"Look, this is not—can I get another assignment, for Christ’s sake?" I heard Larry say to the man in the green jacket. "This is really important—"
"Read your rules sheet," said the man. "All assignments are final, unless all parties agree to switch."
"Annie!" yelled Larry. "Back me up here!"
"Are you on drugs?" I said. "Not a chance, buster." The wrestlers chuckled.

"Hey, missy, you want to ride with me?" said John, waggling his brows. "I drive a mean golf cart." He was actually pretty cute, but next to Mark he came in a definite second.
"Well, I…"
"It’ll fit three," said Mark with a smile. "I reckon Harry here can navigate on his own."
"Larry," said Larry. We all ignored him.
"Ma’am, please go ahead," said Mark. "That’s the ladies’ tee, up there." He pointed to another tee several yards in front of the one we stood on. I took my driver and a ball out of the side pocket of my bag and walked up to tee off. Although I hadn’t actually done this before, I had a general idea of how to proceed, and stuck one of the little wooden pegs I had in my shirt pocket into the ground between the markers. I balanced the ball on it, set up to swing, and swung.
I missed. Not just the ball; the ground too, and clouted myself in the ass on the backswing. "Oops," I said. "Ow." John was busting a gut and trying not to show it, and Larry looked like he wanted to sink into the earth. Mark smiled and walked up to me.
"Here, let’s get those legs spread a little more," he said, arranging my stance with the club on the ground. "Snug up on the shaft like this." He stood right behind me and reached around my body to shift my hands on the grip.
"Oh, are you my golf coach?" I wiggled my hips a few inches backwards into his crotch. Mark cleared his throat.
"Yeah, I guess I am," he said, sounding a little thick. "There you go. Try that again." He stood back and I swung again. This time I hit the ball with a satisfying KRAK and it went into the air and bounced a reasonable distance down the fairway. "Nice shot."
"Thanks. I’m usually pretty good with things that have shafts and big heads." I bent over to pull my tee out of the ground, making sure to aim my backside in his direction. Mark cleared his throat again.
"OK, stand back to let us tee off," he said, and walked back to pick up his golf bag. Larry went first, making a rotten shot short of mine, since he was obviously pissed off. Too pissed off to notice my flirtations, which I had intended partly for his benefit. John went next and fired a screamer way past the point at which my ball had landed.
"Beat that," he said to Mark as he teed up.
"If you like," said Mark, and swung.
WHAACCKK! The ball took off as if it had been shot from a cannon. Mark held his pose for a moment as he watched it fly out of sight, his long legs in an interesting twist and his magnificent ass turned and tucked in just so, his muscles tensed under his shorts, which had pulled fairly tightly across the back. I decided I liked golf pretty well.
"Holy crap, I think you hit the green," said John, shading his eyes. "This is a freakin’ Par 4."
"I’m feeling sort of inspired today," said Mark, and grinned at me.
...
Nine holes later, I had a moderately bad score, Larry’s stunk to high heaven, and both of the wrestlers were doing fairly well. As Larry hacked and slashed at another sand trap, sending little puffs of dust into the air, Mark leaned on his nine-iron and looked at me.
"Getting tired yet, Annie?"
"Kind of," I replied, wiping sweat off my forehead as I raised my visor. "I didn’t realize this is such hard work."
"You’re doing really well for your first time. I’m impressed."
"Thanks, but I’m bogeying every hole." I had picked up a lot of golf jargon over the last hour and a half.
Mark shrugged. "Bogeying, sure. Only one double bogey so far."
"Unlike poor Larry." He was still slashing, his face red and sweaty. "I’m actually beginning to feel sorry for him."
"Who wouldn’t?" Mark chuckled as Larry hit the ball out of the sand and onto the green. It rolled clear across and fell over the opposite edge into another trap. Larry bent his sand wedge over his knee and hopped up and down in rage. "He’s taking so long, we might have to wave the next foursome through."
"What a maroon," said John, taking a drink of water and wiping his mouth. "I swear, I could grow a rose garden in the amount of shit he talks about sports." Larry, before his score had surpassed his grandfather’s age, had been bragging about his handicap.
"You’re preaching to the converted," I said.
"So when are you gonna dump him and try dating me?" said John, waggling his brows.
"When you settle down and get a real job," I said, and we all laughed. "At least ‘Bradshaw’ sounds like a normal person, but ‘Undertaker’? Beating up on each other for a living—now that’s taking money for nothing. You Texas boys would be brawling anyway, and don’t try to deny it."
"Yeah, but I don’t get to beat up on ‘Taker real often," said John, aiming a kick at Mark’s ass. Mark sidestepped him. "I think he’s about to steal my girl."
I smiled at Mark, who gave me a slow, sensual grin that curled my toes. "Maybe he is. If he gets an opportunity." Trying to bounce my ball off my club as I had seen him do, I hit it over my head and lost it in the tall grass. "Darn." I poked around for several moments but didn’t see it. Mark came over to help, but it was too well concealed to find. "Oh, I’ve got another one of these things, so the heck with it." I had lost one other ball in a water hazard and was down to one out of a box of three.
Larry had finally made his putt, and John pulled his ball out of his pocket and put it down in front of his marker. He sank the putt in one stroke and looked at Mark, who was just off the green, on an up-slope between two sand traps.
Mark selected a pitching wedge, took his stance and popped the ball up onto the green. It rolled to a spot six inches from the hole, and once he had tapped it in for par, he wrote down his score with a flourish. "Halfway through. Let’s ride." John brought the golf cart up and we all got in. Larry was having engine trouble, it seemed, and left his cart where it was, tramping forward with his golf bag on his shoulder. He looked as if he were about to drop from sunstroke.
We gladly left him behind and proceeded to the next tee. I hit a long curving shot that struck a tree and deflected into the rough.
"Oh, darn," I said. "I’m going to have to find that one; it’s my last ball."
"Go ahead and look for it," said Mark. "It’s Harry’s turn next, and he won’t be here for a while." I shrugged and headed up the fairway with a three-iron.
Concealed from the tee, the rough sloped sharply down into a small ravine overgrown with trees. I had no idea where the ball was, as it had taken a glancing path through the branches and could have dropped anywhere. Thirty feet down at the bottom of the ravine, I thought I saw a glint of white between the grass stems. It might not be my ball, of course. Probably a lot of people lost balls down here. But I had marked mine so I would be able to tell whose it was. I started down the slope, using my three-iron as a walking stick. The grass was slippery and damp in the shade, and when I stepped on one steep patch, my foot went out from under me and I fell the rest of the way, losing my club.
Since it wasn’t very far to fall, I was more shaken than hurt, and landed in a sitting position. The ball I had spotted was right in front of me. I nudged aside the grass and checked. It wasn’t mine. "Rats," I said, and looked for a good way to get up to the top of the slope again. An overhanging branch above my head provided something to grip, and I stood up, wincing. My bottom was going to have a nice bruise in a little while.
"You OK?" said Mark’s voice up the hill. "I decided to follow you, and I thought I saw you fall."
"Yes, you did. I’m fine—it’s just a little hard to get back up." I grabbed the tree branch with both hands and tried to haul myself up the slope. "I didn’t find my ball."
"Hang on, Annie. I’ll come down and give you a boost." Mark took a few sliding steps and landed beside me. "Hey, it’s kind of cosy down here."
"Oh?" I looked up at him; he was grinning sensually at me again. I loved his lips, because they were full and looked both luscious and very sure of themselves. I had never seen a pair of lips on a man that were so well made for kissing, I thought, and there really wasn’t any way to confirm that other than kiss him. So I did.
"Mmm," said Mark, leaning down into the kiss. "I think I found what I was looking for."
He opened his mouth a little way and ran his tongue-tip around my lips, lapping softly at the center of the upper one. My lips parted, and he plunged his tongue into my mouth and pulled me up against his chest. I responded as enthusiastically as I could, because my legs had turned to water. Mark held me up, leaned me backwards against a tree, and kissed me slowly, damply, and deliciously.
Within a minute, I was arching my back to roll my breasts against him, squeezing my thighs together and breathing hard through my nose, since my mouth was otherwise occupied. Oh, he was a fantastic kisser, if I haven’t made that plain already, and he smelled good too, despite being a little sweaty from nine holes of golf and one expedition into a ravine. I moaned and threw my head back to let him kiss my neck.
Buttons came undone on my blouse almost by themselves, though Mark was definitely helping them along. The collar slipped down my back and the blouse fell off my shoulders. Mark kissed along the inside line of one bra strap and tasted the sweaty spot between my breasts.
"Oh…my…God," I said.
Mark used his teeth to peel back the cup covering my left breast. "Mmm…is your boyfriend going to go ballistic if he finds out about this?"
"He is my boyfriend in name only. We haven’t had sex in a month and a half, and I barely noticed it then. Ohh…God." I got my hands on Mark’s belt and fumbled with the buckle.
"OK, that works for me," he said, and engulfed my nipple with his mouth.

Continued!
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Ball in the Rough