My Husband’s Lesson

fiction by Matt, 2000


Amanda looked the man over as she extended her hand. Attractive, fit, well-groomed.

“Hello,” she opened. “I’m Amanda Martin.”

The young professional looked at her with equal speculation. A little older than himself but a fine example of womanhood. A sweet, pretty face framed by blonde curls. Not real, but an excellent substitute. Knit top, short, tight skirt keeping her soft curves in place, high, high heels. Not the latest chunky style the young women wear but old fashioned sharp ones. Sheer dark hose and a tiny purse. As she turned he could see that she was wearing a bra, though from the front he’d thought maybe she hadn’t been.

“Amanda. Pleased to meet you. I’m Gary. You’re here for your lesson?” He said it with a note of uncertainty. She turned back and pointed her breasts at him again. This would be alright, he thought. It’s what some women want and this one would be definitely okay by him.

Amanda noticed his stare and looked down at her wardrobe. “Oh! I see what you mean. No, no, it’s for my husband. I’m just going to watch, if you don’t mind. He’ll be with us any minute. It’s his first time, you know.” Strange, that he should have been raised in such a life of privilege and yet made it this far without such an experience before.

“I hope I won’t be too distracting.” That was a blatant lie and as she said it, she wiggled a little under her purse strap, a shimmy that set off a matching tremor in the pro. She had sized him up quickly and dismissed him but she wasn’t about to let him know it. She liked the idea of making men’s mouth water. It reminded her of how much she had to offer her husband. But if she was ever to dream of another man, it would be one who took a woman by storm, satisfied himself (and her thoroughly but only incidentally) and cast her aside without a backward glance. Not the avoiding type but that careless rejection that would have another woman on his arm every time they met again. Gary here, he was too eager to please. He wanted Amanda to like him as well as bed him. Too grasping.

But even as her fantasy lover cast her aside, her real dream lover walked in the door. Here was a man who had always had every thing he’d ever wanted, yet he dedicated his every effort to seeing that everyone around him was accommodated. She was certainly accommodated, despite her strange desires. This one, perhaps, was the greatest accommodation of all and yet, he had entered it willingly.

Richard was an athletic man, with attractively graying hair and the suntan of those who play during the hours when the rest of us are working. He had been raised to command, but grown to facilitate and, in doing so, he felt that he achieved more than his father ever had. Certainly they had both achieved wealth, and power, in their own way. But there, he hoped, the similarity ended.

Richard had played tennis at least four times a week almost since he had been old enough to walk. But now, at age 45, he had not held a golf club in his hands for almost four decades. The reason for this was simple. His father was a very successful businessman and an avid golfer. Had the man had his way, Richard would have grown up to join the pro tour - the pro golf tour. And like so many sons, Richard had vowed never to touch a club. He combated this by swinging a racquet and until late college he thought he might still join the pro tour. A minor knee injury late in his junior year gave him the time to realize that the only reason he could turn pro was the fact that he could finance his own career. The real winners at that level were that much better than he could ever hope to be.

But now his father had gone to the early reward of hard-driving businessmen and it was as much for himself as for his lovely wife that he had accepted Amanda’s request that he take a lesson from a golf pro, while she watched. Maybe this would bring him more peace with his past, although Amanda’s desire had little to do with peace.

Richard observed with amusement the stricken look on Gary’s face as Amanda perched off to one side. She was really looking her best today. Richard strode over possessively and gave her a hard, insistent kiss on the mouth, the kind that makes her nipples pop. Returning to the practice mat, Richard thought of the scene in 9 ½ Weeks where the man tests a riding crop across his lady’s thighs, right in front of the clerk. He expects that Amanda is thinking about this scene as well and wonders if Gary is.

“So you’re new to golf?” Gary begins. “You’ve certainly got a strong grip. That’s good. It will help a lot.”

Yes, Amanda thinks to herself, he has a very strong grip. And yes, it helps a lot.

“It’s been said,” Gary relates with a chuckle, “that golf was invented in Scotland as an ancient form of flagellation.” Out of the corner of his eye, Amanda seems jump suddenly. Must concentrate.

“Many people find golf rewarding because it rewards good play and immediately punishes every mistake, without fail.”

“Punishes?” Richard asks blandly, “punishes how?”

“With extra strokes,” Gary informs him. “More strokes to the hole, penalty strokes and sometimes, strokes taken over. It can take its toll.” He had known Amanda would be distracting but she seems to squirm every minute. And every time she does, her skirt rides up just a little higher, as if it wasn’t short enough already.

Amanda listens to Gary’s matter-of-fact statements with interest and mounting excitement. Married to Richard, she had never been a big golf fan but she realized its potential. She finds it hard to concentrate as Gary’s voice washes over her preoccupied mind.

“Want to hit this one on the upswing…angle of attack…plenty of wrist snap…” She crosses her legs and squeezes tightly, surprised she isn’t wringing herself out like a wet washcloth. But the men gave no indication of hearing her.

Richard follows Gary’s gaze to see that Amanda has crossed her legs, showing the underside of her thigh up past the top of her stocking where the garter strains to hold it in place, giving the illusion of exposing her right up to the curve of her luscious cheek. Neither man comments, focusing instead on the problem at hand.

Amanda finds her mind wandering back to other times when they had gone so far. On their honeymoon, when Richard presented her with a pair of jeweled nipple clamps. How he held her down and sucked each nipple so hard as he removed them, bringing the blood rushing back with it in a stab of pain like an arrow through her breast, first right, then even worse on the left, while she, on her back, thrashed under his arms. How she cried real tears when he held them out to her the next day for more of the same unbearable treatment, and how she raised her wrist behind her neck and arched her back for him when he declined to relent.

“Amanda?” Richard calls to her softly, here, in this room.

She opens her eyes to find them both staring at her, as she has unconsciously repeated the movement here in the pro shop, with her nipples standing so firm that the ring of goosebumps around each one was visible through her sheer bra and knit top. She colors to the neck and crosses her arms protectively in front of herself.

The lesson continues. Shift you weight. Lift your heel. Get your whole body into it. Amanda thinks of the cane, wrapped from top to bottom in a long red ribbon, awaiting their return. Maybe this is a little too much, like the day the spanker arrived. She will sit through dinner but not comfortably, though it will be only nerves and anticipation that will keep her from doing so. Richard is going out to eat, she reflected. She is merely going out to wait.

Power from the forearms. Coil and turn. Certainly this is more than he needs to know. Amanda’s attention is caught by Gary’s warnings - avoid a tendency to slice. Striking too low can be painful, especially in cold weather. Amanda quickly stands up, trying to avert a climax. Thank God she wasn’t made to go pantiless. She wobbles unsteadily on her heels.

A few final words of advice. Imagine a straight line leading out from your target. Amanda almost giggles. That should be easy enough, with her cheeks as plump as they are. She wondered how Richard will have her - bent forward, English style? Grasping her ankles, watching from between her legs? On the bed, hands trapped under her knees? She will have to ask him at dinner.

“Take dead aim” Gary adds. “That means, when you’re about to swing, think of nothing else but swinging. No appointments, no score, no partners. Just the target.”

And finally, “Remember, you use your full swing 36 times a round. More in the beginning. That’s spread over four hours but it gives you an idea how important it is. Are you all right, Mrs. Martin? Would you like a drink of water?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she manages.

“You’re very pale, Amanda,” Richard informs her.

“I’ll be fine, just give me a minute.”

“Well, Gary, thanks for that insightful instruction," Richard thanks him. "Now I have a lot better idea of what I need do. I really think this was one of the best birthday presents I can think of.”

“Oh, is it your birthday, Richard?” Gary inquires politely.

“No,” Amanda answers waveringly, “It’s mine.”