Her thighs closed on his hand, and he felt a slight thrust of her hips; a gentle uncontrolled, grinding motion that made her words a lie, her body speaking the truth of her need.

"Where can we go? Obviously, we can't go to your place or my place."

"Mmmmmmmmm," she gasped, her hips straining forward even more.

He frowned, time was of the essence. His hand was at the juncture of her thighs. He used his fingers, probing until he found the crease below the pubic mound and insinuated his middle finger. He pushed against her and found the bud of her womanhood under the thin wisp of nylon.

"No… please… I can't stand it… nooooooo," she gasped with pleasure.

Her words jolted him. Now, he was beginning to have second thoughts about the whole thing. He began to wonder if he might have gotten himself in too deeply, already, as he thought about the bizarre situation. They were both aroused sexually and there seemed to be no immediate answer to where they could go and fuck.

"Let's go to a motel," he suggested.

"It would take too long to get there," she murmured, her eyes glazed and passion-filled.

"All right, I know what we'll do," he said. "There's an equipment hut behind the pro shop…"

"Isn't that kind of risky…"

"You're right. We'll park behind it and just stay in the car. Well manage. Where there's a will there's a way."

Pulling his fingers from her cunt, he drove into the drive of the tree-shaded club and threaded his way around the member's parking lot around the rear of the pro shop to the employee's lot. No one else seemed to be around and he parked the car over to the corner of the small lot, quickly turning off the ignition and reaching for her.

Eagerly, readily, Sally came into his arms, lifting her lips to him willingly, and moving as close to him as the bucket seats of the expensive Porsche would allow.