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Message-ID: <36821asstr$1024269004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel)
Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel: Mashie, Niblick, Spoon, Cleek (MF golf)
Date: Sun, 16 Jun 2002 19:10:04 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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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.
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