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"Golfers Of Gor"..... a parody.

Reposted with the permission of the author
Previously posted on Thu, 22 Jan 1998 at 00:15:07 GMT in the soc.subculture.bondage-bdsm newsgroup


From the upcoming novel, Golfers Of Gor, under the working title of "If 'NotExcessive' DID play golf, it would be something like this...."

I hit the ball with my nine-iron, hoping to undercut my opponent, Amelius, by a couple of strokes. He has fared very well this day. Too, he has had the advantage all week long, in our tournament, and is becoming more irritating as his confidence and arrogance grow.

I have hooked the shot: I am displeased with the result. I will have to whip my caddy slave very severely tonight for this. It may help my golf swing muchly, for my swinging arm may well need the practice.

"Rats! There goes my ball, right into the lake!"

"Shall I get you a new ball from the golf bag, Master?"

"No! On all fours, she-sleen! Fetch!"

"Yes, Master."

My caddy slave crawls towards the lake on all fours, wriggling her arse for the visual delight of her Master. She enters the dark waters, and disappears beneath the surface. A moment later, she emerges, holding the ball in her teeth, and crawls back towards me, stopping at my feet. It's a good thing the chain attached between her collar and the golf buggy was long enough, otherwise she would have dragged the buggy along with her into the lake, and I would have had to punish her with the peppermint oil on her clit, delivered with a putter.

"Roll over onto your back, slut!"

My caddy slave immediately complies, rolling over onto her back, her arms by her side, palms facing upwards, still holding the golf ball in her teeth.

"Slave lips! NOW!"

My caddy slave makes slave lips, causing the golf ball to be ejected from her teeth, and sit on top of her puckered lips. I line up my shot - golf tees are inb short supply at the moment, since the tee factory at the heart of Ar's Station has been under siege by the forces of the Golf Course of Cos, so One must make do with what One can obtain. Besides, golf tees cost ten copper tarsk bits, and a caddy slave can be hired for a mere five.

I make my swing, but unfortunately, at that very instant, my caddy slave sneezes from the dampness of her experience in the cold waters of the lake, causing her to lift her head.

Whoops.

The result is not a pretty one.

I am not pleased. Too, this has caused my shot to fall short of the green by several pasangs. The accident with my caddy slave is sure to cost me several copper tarsk bits: the slave keeper in the Club House will undoubtedly not be thrilled.

Amelius is playing on up ahead.... I had best not enlighten him as to the events that have just transpired, lest his confidence become even more unbearable. Too, he will undoubtedly never let me forget it.

Well, back to the game.... but first I need a new caddy slave, so I start my journey back to the Club House.

 
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