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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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- This story ist part of the Used and Abused Tournament
- It competes against Nobody in the QF-4 match
- Theme: Hole in One
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The Maidhill Golf Club
"Brittany? The three wood, if you, ah, would."
The brunette smiled, tilting back her visor as she slowly bent over the golf bag. Frank gnawed at his lower lip as the girl's cut-off shorts rose over the pert rounds of her rump.
"Yeah, I think we might all be getting wood," Wallace murmured.
Tiffany smirked, rolling her eyes. Yeah, Brittany was earning the tips she'd make, today.
The Maidhill Golf Club exclusively used female caddies, mostly undergraduates from the local college. It was known to be an excellent way for young women to make a handsome income during the summer; some of the girls who had been particularly popular had purportedly paid off their whole year's tuition off of wages and tips.
It was also quietly recognized that the girls who received those handsome tips did so for more than lugging a bag of sticks around and knowing the difference between a chip wedge and a driver. The orthodontists and architects with club memberships were looking for more than a caddy; they were looking for eye candy. The girls who applied for these jobs were happy to oblige. The conventional wisdom was that it was less likely to see you groped than working as a stripper, or even in a bikini coffee hut. After all, these were men with careers to protect, reputations to uphold.
As Brittany sashayed back with the requested club, Frank looked down the fairway, took a leisurely ocular tour of Brittany's halter top, then looked back down the course.
"Actually, let's go with the five wood."
Brittany joined in as the men chuckled, taking her time slinking back to the bag.
Zoe pouted, twisting a strawberry-blond lock as she glanced across at Dennis, her player. She had shown up to the day's game in a bikini top and a micro-mini, certain that she'd be getting the attention today. Certainly she was showing more skin, and in her own not-so-humble opinion, had more to show. But Brittany was showing a mastery of the meta-game today, her every movement a flirtation, not only with Frank, but with all four of the golfers. Sometimes it was about hinting at what you didn't show. Sometimes, less was more.
Still, it was a gorgeous day, and they were getting paid well for walking around an exquisitely manicured landscape at a leisurely pace. Life could be worse.
When she returned, she extended the club to Frank in both hands, bowing at the waist, allowing the golfers a leisurely perusal of her cleavage.
"Thank you, my dear."
"My pleasure, sir."
"Can we get this ball rolling before someone asks to play through?" Roxanna barked.
The brassy interruption startled the group, but provoked another round of laughter. Roxanna, Ted's caddy, was the oldest of the four girls at twenty-two, and though she didn't seem to indulge in the coquettishness of the other caddies, her brash chutzpah seemed to fare all right with the golfers. The tight white t-shirt clutching her double-D bust probably didn't hurt.
With a final nod to Brittany, Frank advanced on the tee. After a couple of gauging motions, he rolled back his shoulders and carried through in a perfect arc, snapping against the ball and sending it flying straight and true down the fairway of hole eight.
Ted whistled, taking his baseball hat from his balding head to quickly wipe away a drop of sweat as he stared into the summer brightness, trying to follow the ball.
"Fuck a duck, Frank. You're totally dominating it, today."
"Eh," The stock broker said, shrugging with false modesty. "Beginner's luck."
"'Beginner' in the sense of being a new member of the Club," Dennis countered. "Don't let this shark fool you, he crushed on the amateur circuit, back in Los Angeles. I hope none of you jerks made a bet on today's game with this man."
Ted shook his head, smiling; Wallace looked down, scratching the back of his neck. "Well... I 'spect drinks back at the Club are going to be on me."
More laughter, and Tiffany crossed the putting green to scrub sympathetically at Wallace's shoulders. He quickly rose out of his theatrical funk at her ministrations, and the party proceeded down the course.
"It was on the green. I'm sure..." Ted frowned.
Frank's brand of golf balls were neon orange, and difficult to miss. It was Tiffany who thought to check under the flag.
"Holy... Frank. You bagged a hole-in-one."
Dennis grinned brightly, going over to jab Frank playfully in the ribs. "You little shit. I knew you were going to make this Club more interesting!"
Zoe, Tiffany, and Brittany went over to shower Frank with praise, and he hugged each of the girls in turn, lingering on his caddy. Roxanna hung back, fingering the belt of her black leather skirt. She glanced over at Ted, who shook his head.
The raven-haired girl grimaced, kicking at the turf with her boot. "Way to go, Frank," She finally added, tonelessly.
Wallace waved his hands, beseeching the sky. "Do we even need to continue this farce?"
"One more hole, man." Dennis replied, an easy smile on his face. "Think of it as giving Frank time to get thirsty."
He winked.
"You know... For all those drinks you're going to owe him."
Wallace groaned. "You're just being cruel."
At the end of the ninth hole, Frank had seven strokes on Dennis, his closest competition. Wallace was talking him up as a ringer for team play, with Dennis retorting that partnering with Wallace would eat even the kind of lead Frank had accomplished that afternoon.
"You can't expect the guy to 'ace' every hole," Ted laughed.
"Thank God," Roxanna murmured.
"Yeah!" Ted agreed, laughing even louder. "Can you imagine playing with someone like that? They'd be insufferable!"
Ted and his caddy dropped back from the group after that, speaking in hushed tones as the other three caddies fell over each other to praise Frank. A leisurely stroll back to the clubhouse saw Frank glowing with the attention, even as Wallace and Dennis fished out wallets and discussed tipping the caddies.
The club manager offered the group a nod as they entered the blasting A/C of the lobby, halting at the intersection of the pro shop and the bar.
"We'll round things off at three hours," Dennis announced, "At the usual rate. And since you ladies have been such good caddies, and such good company, we're thinking you each get an extra fifty for contributing to such a lovely afternoon? Sound good?"
Tiffany applauded girlishly. Zoe bounced up and down, an effect the men certainly appreciated. Brittany smiled, a little muted; she'd probably expected more.
Roxanna just held out one fingerless-gloved hand.
"'Sounds' good," she retorted. "'Feels' better...?"
Dennis tilted his head as Ted put two twenties and a ten in her hand. "Please, Roxanna. Like we've ever short-changed you."
"Oh, no. You'd never lead-" She cut herself off, smiling through pursed violet lips as she tucked the bills into a slim skirt-pocket. "Thanks."
Tiffany and Zoe received crisp fifties from the wallets of Wallace and Dennis. Then Dennis turned to Brittany.
"And as for Frank's 'lucky charm', our champion was thinking a cool three hundred."
Zoe clapped Brittany on the shoulder, giggling. "Oh, you bitch!" She squealed, a little too forcefully.
"And we'd like you to join us for a drink at The Water Hazard," Dennis continued.
Tiffany gave a little "ooh," like a child watching a classmate sent to the principal.
Still buzzing from the absurdly high tip, Brittany's sculpted eyebrows quirked, even as she beamed a full Colgate smile. "You... do know I'm nineteen, right?"
"Well, I don't think Shawn is going to say anything." Dennis smirked, glancing at the clubhouse manager. Glancing up from his podium, the man smiled quietly, making a "zipper" motion across his mouth.
"You can have a 7-Up, or something, if you want," Ted contributed.
Dennis rolled his eyes. "Killjoy."
"I'm going to get a soft drink from the pro shop," Roxanna announced. "I expect I'll be there a while. Gents."
So saying, she turned on a heel and walked rigidly through the doorway of possibly the least interesting store ever conceived for a young woman in her early twenties. Wallace smirked as he watched her leave, taking special note of the motion of her hips, though her departure seemed to bring an awkward pause to the group's vibe.
After a moment, Dennis continued.
"Ladies," He said, broadly gesturing to Zoe and Tiffany, "As far as I'm aware, we're still on for the pleasure of your presence next Sunday?"
"Sure, boss," Zoe piped. Tiffany bobbed her head in agreement.
"Wonderful. Until then," He said, waving two fingers at his temple.
With that small gesture, Zoe and Tiffany recognized that they had been dismissed for the day, and while they probably wouldn't be actively harassed or ejected for remaining on the grounds, it would feel increasingly awkward.
That recognition, though present, was hardly in the forefront of the girls' minds as they vacated the clubhouse. It was a job, and like many jobs, you shed yourself of much thought of it as soon as you were able.
The men braced around Brittany in a semi-circle as Dennis led the way through the glass-paneled door of The Water Hazard.
Only three club members were in the bar that afternoon, each a party of one, one pecking at a cell phone, another glaring down at a score card from an earlier game, the third gazing vacantly at the television behind the bar, playing a horse race with the sound low. Scrubbing a glass with a bar towel, Kelly, a barrel-chested man in his early sixties, greeted the newcomers.
"Gentlemen... And lady. How was the afternoon's sporting?"
"It seems that Wallace made an ill-advised bet with our newest member." Dennis said, smiling broadly. "So, the drinks will be on his tab, today."
Wallace sighed, nodding ruefully.
"What will you be having, then?"
"That's not all, Kell's Bells. In addition to winning his little side-bet, Frank here managed to sink an ace."
Kelly smiled beneath his mustache. "Ah! So you'll be wanting access to the private suite?"
"If you would be so kind."
The brass key was in a drawer underneath the cash register, a drawer which seemed to bear only the key, not any other random trinkets, nor even other keys. The portly bartender moved to a section of wall made of a buttoned, padded leather much like the Water Hazard's booths, found the depression of the keyhole, and pulled the door open with a creak.
"I'll be back in five minutes to get your drink order," Kelly announced, waving the party in.
The lounge, while well kept, smelled of so many decades of tobacco smoke that eliminating it entirely would likely have baffled the most dedicated cleaning crew. In turn, the brass overhead lamps, low leather chairs around polished wooden tables, and leather-bordered pool table could easily have come from a bar from the fifties, or even the forties.
It was a relatively small room, not intended for a group much larger than a dozen at most, and as the padded door squeaked closed behind them, cutting off the murmur of the bar's television, it felt a bit claustrophobic.
"Welcome to The Hole," Dennis intoned, pulling a ball from a pocket of the pool table and idly rolling it across red felt to clatter into a pocket on the opposite side. "It used to be for private business conversations, but for the last couple of decades it's reserved for members who succeed in getting a hole-in-one. And their guests, of course."
"Ah," Wallace murmured, fingering a pool cue on the wall, "If these walls could talk."
"I'm honored," Brittany said, smiling.
"Please. Have a seat."
Frank waited for Brittany to sit, selecting a chair close to her, his shoe brushing the shin of her folded leg, giving her a grin. Wallace sat across from them, eyes glancing between them, leering. Frank flanked Brittany, and Ted sat alone to one side.
"So..." Frank started.
"Ah-ba-ba-!" Ted interjected, raising a hand.
Just then, Kelly pushed back through the door, pad in hand. Wallace ordered a gin and tonic, Dennis a sidecar, Ted an imported beer, and Frank, to Wallace's annoyance, the bar's best top-shelf scotch. Brittany started to order a 7-Up, then impulsively asked the bartender to add some Southern Comfort to it. He didn't bat an eye.
As Kelly retreated, Frank nodded to Ted again.
"What Frank was about to say," Dennis said, smoothly, "Is that the Maidhill Golf Club has certain long-standing traditions. Traditions we're proud of. Did you know, Brittany, that more than nine-tenths of caddies in the United States are male?"
"I'm sure the girls and I are grateful for the opportunity," Brittany replied.
"And we appreciate the gratitude," Wallace returned, eyes firmly on Brittany's bare knees.
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, turning her legs to one side, in turn placing her shoulders closer to Frank. Her player draped an arm around her, leaning close.
"It's all about making the Club feel special," Dennis continued. "Just like golf is a retreat from the everyday world, it's important that club members feel like when they come here, they don't have to worry about whatever burdens lie beyond its walls. It's like they're knights of old, come back from long and arduous campaigns, back to their homelands where their station and authority is immediately recognized and honored. And when a member scores a hole-in-one," He continued, gesturing around the room, "It's rather like he's king. At least, for the day."
"And the rules don't apply to a king, do they?" Wallace smirked.
"Only to the king," Ted said, a hard note creeping into his voice.
Wallace sank back in his chair, face sinking into a sulk. Kelly took that moment to return with the tray of drinks. Finding that she had grown rather warm, Brittany downed half of her glass before setting it on a coaster on the table, and almost immediately regretted it.
"We'll come out when we need anything, Kelly," Ted said.
Kelly tapped a finger to his nose, smiled, and closed the door behind him. Dennis resumed a moment later.
"Brittany... I want to be plain with you. You girls are all aware that we're a bunch of pretty well-off men with more money than sense. And men like looking at you. We like looking at you. It's all part of the game, right? We get to ogle, and you girls get the big tits."
Wallace spat a sip of his drink back into his glass, and began laughing. "Paging Doctor Freud!"
Dennis grimaced, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. "Tips! Tips. Sorry."
Brittany laughed along, flushing.
"But... You know. The way you come here dressed, it's kind of, like, an offer that you don't really expect to fulfill."
The brunette nodded, even as she wondered whether she should be nodding.
"As I said, the club has its traditions. One of which is female caddies from the college. And tied in with that, on the rare occasions when a member scores an 'ace', he gets to sleep with his caddy."
Brittany's spine went rigid, and she was suddenly very aware of the arm across her shoulders.
"It's not outrageous. I mean, think about it," Dennis said, gesturing around the room, "when this place was built, you know businessmen were getting up to shenanigans with their secretaries and female staff all the time. No 'sexual harassment' or anything like that, then. Now? Well, you're just being informed that you actually have to fulfill that offer you made, coming here, dressed like that."
Brittany looked at her player. He had dark, wavy hair, and a strong jaw, and good cheekbones; he was actually pretty good-looking, as far as the group went.
She shook, like she was waking from a dream.
"Um... I'm really sorry," She started. "I am grateful for the job, and I don't want you for a moment to think otherwise. But," She started to giggle, her voice rising in pitch, "I mean, think of what the other girls would say! Can you imagine? Roxanna would never let me live it down..."
"Don't worry about that, sweetie," Frank said, his hand sinking off her shoulder to cup her right breast through the halter top, "Nothing that happens here has to leave this room."
Dennis nodded. "It's quite thoroughly sound-proof, in fact."
"Oh. Oh, boy." She squirmed. "Right here? In front of all of you? Not really my thing!"
"We're just here to make sure you seal the deal, baby," Wallace crooned.
"Ahhh... No." Shrugging off Frank's arm, she stood. "Look, I'm trying to be nice, I'm trying to be professional, but my answer is 'no'. Frank... it's nothing personal, but I hardly know you, and... You've got, like, fifteen years on me! And, and, this is ridiculous! You don't just, uh, tip a young woman three hundred bucks and expect her to fuck you!"
"No?" Wallace's brow lowered. "And do you know how much the girls in town ask?"
Brittany retreated from the group, struggling for a moment to find the seam in the leather where the door led back out to the bar. There didn't appear to be a proper handle, on the lounge side, and whatever latch the door had seemed to be holding quite firm to her attempts to open it.
Dennis sighed, rising in pursuit. "You have it wrong, Brittany. We're the ones who are trying to be nice. You are going to have sex with Frank. He is going to fuck you. You're not cheating an ace out of his prize. You're not breaking our tradition. You are fulfilling that offer. And if you don't want to, that's just too goddamn bad."
His hand was on the back of her neck, yanking out the halter top's knot, and Bethany gasped as her hands left the door to keep the front from falling off of her breasts.
"What do you think-"
"I'm doing you a favor," He snapped, jerking free the knot lower on the garment's back, its last securement. "We could rip this off, but then you'd have to walk home naked. Or in some crappy t-shirt from the pro shop, which you'd have to explain. Make this easy, Brit-"
Whirling, she slapped him across the face. His eyes widened, then narrowed.
"For fuck's sake," He snarled. "A little help, here. Frank, she's your caddy."
The men crowded around her, grabbing for her arms, and Brittany's back slammed against the padded door, her halter top fluttering to the floor, leaving her topless. She was aware of how her boobs bounced as she struggled, and Wallace looked like he wanted to take a bite out of her. Frank got a hold of her hair and a rough hand under her jaw, and she froze, afraid that she was about to be choked.
"Pool table," He snapped, the amiable charm that had made him seem handsome moments before gone.
They were remarkably coordinated, lifting her backwards, throwing her down on the table, hips against the padded rim, legs dangling down, twisting and thrashing as Brittany tried to grasp where things had gone wrong, how this was all happening so fast. Frank unbuttoned her cut-offs, and she tried to push him away, which was when a vengeful Dennis backhanded her across the face. Then Dennis and Ted were each pinning an arm back above her head, and the shorts were jerked off her legs.
Her panties, though high-cut, were a very simple, pristine white cotton. As chaste as you could get without going totally granny-panties, and it seemed like they ought to protect her, but soon Frank was yanking those from her ankles, too.
"I bet your boyfriend appreciates how tidy you keep things down here, Brittany," Wallace jeered, pinching the triangle of pubic hair above her pussy.
"Hands off, Wallace," Ted snapped. "This is Frank's show."
Wallace gritted his teeth. "You are such a pain, since you had a grandkid."
A zip, and Frank's cock was in his hand, hard and long and with an upward curve that looked like it would hit just the right places, or just the wrong ones, depending on how much he cared about the recipient. Her knees were forced apart before she could think about putting any real effort into keeping them shut like a proper young lady, as Brittany's great-aunt loved to say.
"Frank," She pleaded. "Stop. Stop... Stop!"
Frank didn't stop. Two fingers stroked roughly down the lips of her pussy, not even foreplay so much as locking on a target, and then the head of his cock was being jammed up against her...
His hips jerked forward, and her back arched, lungs pulling in air, and then the scream that filled that tiny room, but didn't leave it. Frank's hands on her hips slammed her back down against the red felt, and he buried himself inside of her, and began to thrust.
"Fuck!" Wallace marveled as Brittany's breasts tumbled with the assault. "Damn if she doesn't have the cutest nips I've ever seen outside of a magazine. Look at 'em! They're already going stiff!"
"Benefits of banging younger women," Dennis replied. "They stiffen and juice up before they even know what's going on. And, seriously Wallace, you're still looking at centerfolds? What millennium is this?"
"Fuck you, too, buddy."
Frank was filling his eyes with the gorgeous, tight body of the young brunette, jaw clenched as he sought to drive into her deeper and harder with every heartbeat. The slender hips, twisting and jerking to his rhythm. The taut stomach, pulled so tight that he could see the shadows of her ribs. Those delicious tits that so entranced Wallace. Just as well to stop there; her face was a blotchy, snotty, tear-wrecked mess.
That was fine, too. That part of her just provided the soundtrack, and every pained sob was a testament to what a job he was doing in fucking her.
"Take it, you teasing bitch," He snarled, peppering her with saliva between bared teeth. "Yeah, that's right. Hard, and deep. Right in this tight little cunt. Y-es. Yes. Yesss....!"
Her head turned to one side as she whimpered, trying to breathe through the pain of the cramping and the friction. A drop of condensation slid down the side of her half-finished drink; now she wished she had finished it. She wished she had called in sick. She wondered which of the girls would have volunteered to lug two bags, if she had.
He pulled her towards him as he approached orgasm, wrapping his hands under her thighs, forcing Dennis and Ted to lean forward to keep hold of her arms. Her legs dangled in his grip, hips precariously off the table's edge as he slammed down on her. The intruder inside of her bucked, and she felt him spurt against her aching inner walls, and it started her sobbing in earnest, again.
Frank jerked himself from her, and dropped her legs, making her cry out in pain as her spine suddenly fell and arched over the table's edge. Taking deep breaths, he stretched his arms over his head. His cock, sticky with semen and her secretions, still stood out at full mast from his open fly.
"Turn her over," He said, gesturing vaguely. "I want to pump a load in her ass, too."
"Jesus Christ, Frank," Ted said, voice quavering. "Right now?"
"Yeah. I always cum twice before this bad boy settles down. Ask my wife. She fucking hates it."
Brittany saw a cruel smirk form on his face before she was turned over, her hips pulled against the table's edge.
"Second one takes forever, too."
Brittany's heels drummed the floor as she felt the Frank's cock press between her buttocks.
"Wait-! Please! Lube, spit, something!" She shrieked.
"Just came out of your cunt, baby," Frank sneered. "If it's not wet enough, that's your problem."
Brittany tried to sink her teeth into the felt. Frank's cock forced the puckered ring apart without a hint of patience or finesse, and her saliva and tears flooded the pool table's surface as she wailed.
"AW!... Puh- please... AW! OW! GOD! GOD... DAMMIT...! HURTS... HURTS...!"
Minutes stretched out as her hips bruised against the table's rim, Frank's boast of his endurance during his "second coming" proving to be regrettably accurate.
Dennis smiled, watching the caddy's ass bounce with every slam. Ted grimaced, looking at the ceiling, but still holding the girl's twitching, outstretched arm down. Wallace hummed softly to himself, gripping his belt, twitching his hips when Frank inflicted a particularly powerful thrust.
"Give that ass a smack, would you, Frank...?" He purred.
With a chuckle, Frank lifted a hand from the girl's hips and brought it down hard, several times, painting her jerking posterior with pink finger-marks.
"Going to take more than that to get me off," he warned.
Brittany gave out a keening whimper.
"All right, let me try something," Wallace replied, a pinched smile darkening his face.
Fetching one of the pool cues from the wall, he seized Brittany's hair, yanking her flushed, jerking head upward to look at him. He spun the cue around, jabbing the much thicker handle at her lips.
"Put this in your mouth, babydoll."
Ted looked sideways at him. "I don't-"
"I'm doing this for Frank. Shut up. Do it, bitch. I'm not as concerned as Dennis if you go home missing teeth."
Miserably, Brittany opened her mouth, and Wallace shoved the cue's handle in, first past her teeth, then into her gullet.
Brittany spasmed as she gagged, and Frank let out a whoop.
"Her back door clench down, when I do that, buddy?"
"Yeah!"
The man pounding her rectum began to pick up his pace as Wallace started to pump the cue in Brittany's shuddering throat.
"Clench up for him, baby."
"Ah, yeah. Yeah...!"
"That's it. Be a good butt-fuck. Be a tight butt fuck. Let our man ruin that hole."
"awk... aGUUahhk... AWK...!"
Vomit streamed around the pool cue, and Frank again had to pin down Brittany's hips as her torso writhed like a live wire. Wave after wave of pain and nausea chewed the girl up as the man behind her pounded her asshole, the long-delayed tug of his cock contracting in her guts coming as a terrible relief.
As the cue was withdrawn from her drooling mouth, and Frank finally stepped back, she slid to the floor on her knees.
Ted's mouth opened, closed. He focused on the drenched surface of the pool table.
"You're going to pay to get that reupholstered, Wallace," He finally said, his voice devoid of affect.
Wallace snickered. "Worth it."
The men returned to the table, finishing their drinks, and Brittany stayed there on her knees beside the pool table, a high tone ringing in her ears, blood rushing in her temples, her breath rattling in her chest.
She knew the routine as "good cop, bad cop", but with Dennis and Ted, it was more like, "bad cop, your friend's Dad."
Dennis explained that the Maidhill club had all kinds of "ins" with the college, and the police. If she tried to report anything, she would be expelled with enough black marks to ensure she never got enrollment in another institute that bothered to check records, and never get a job in her field of study. Also, the police would lose the rape kit, the crime would take forever to come to trial, and in the mean time, an ex would be found to attest that she was a lying slut who was more than happy to twist men around to get her way, and by the way, look how the tramp went dressed to her day job.
Ted told her that she would indeed be given the three hundred dollars, and would do well to put this behind her. She was guaranteed employment for the rest of her time at the college (and, yes, she would keep caddying for the men, there were appearances to maintain,) and for the meager price of her silence, she was assured a glowing letter of recommendation. Really, everyone paid their dues on the way up the ladder; today, she had gotten hers out of the way. A few bumps and bruises, some nasty fluids in embarrassing places. A story about Ted breaking his arm and leg working construction for his father's firm, that she found astoundingly irrelevant.
Oh, and here was a morning-after pill, just to be on the safe side. Be a good girl, now.
Roxanna emerged from the pro shop as Brittany staggered from The Water Hazard.
"Did you know," Roxanna said, softly, "That most amateur golfers never sink a 'hole-in-one', their entire careers?"
Brittany let out a slow breath. "Huh."
"My original player only got the one. Harry Freedmont. Long since retired and moved to Florida. I took a semester off, after that."
Tears leaked from Brittany's eyes, and she trembled.
"So you knew."
"Yes. I knew. And, yes, they have me over the same barrel. So as much as I would have liked to warn you, I couldn't. I'm really sorry. I need to graduate so I can get the fuck out of this town."
Brittany drew a deep breath, prepared to scream at her fellow caddy, but as quickly recognized that it wasn't Roxanna she was angry at, and deflated, starting to sob softly, instead.
"But I can give you a ride home. And someone who knows, to talk to, which I didn't have. For what it's worth."
She nodded, started to say thanks, and found it was too much effort, on so many levels. Roxanna took her hand and led her towards the clubhouse parking lot like a lost kindergartner.
A burst of boisterous laughter from The Water Hazard followed them out as a customer emerged, then fell silent as the door slid shut.
