Rained-Out Greens: Best Friends Finally Taste Each Other

The rain hammered the roof of the exclusive clubhouse like a thousand drumsticks on tight skin, turning what should have been a sharp, private practice round into a soaked cancellation. Twenty-eight-year-old professional golfer Camila shoved open the heavy glass doors, her chest heaving, while her thirty-one-year-old best friend and caddy Imani followed right behind. Water streamed off both women, their matching white golf polos plastered translucent against their bodies, nipples stiff and obvious beneath the thin, drenched fabric. Camila’s short pleated skirt clung to the firm, athletic curves of her ass and thighs, the material molded so tightly it might as well have been painted on. Imani’s longer, more athletic frame looked even more imposing wet—broad shoulders, heavy breasts straining the buttons of her polo, powerful legs flexing under her own rain-soaked skirt.

They were alone. The private club had cleared out the moment the storm rolled in, leaving the luxurious space echoing and empty except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the wet slap of their shoes on marble. Leather couches the color of expensive cognac lined the lounge area, flanked by dark wood and glass cases full of gleaming trophies. The scent of rain, ozone, and warm female skin filled the air.

Camila pushed damp strands of dark hair off her forehead, her pulse pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the sprint. She could feel Imani’s eyes on her again—that same heavy, lingering stare they’d both pretended wasn’t happening for years. Locker rooms after long rounds, shared hotel suites on tour, late-night drives where the teasing had grown sharper, filthier. “Nice legs, Camila. Bet they’d look even better wrapped around my head.” Imani had said shit like that with a smirk for months, and Camila had fired back just as dirty, pretending her cunt wasn’t flooding every single time.

Now the teasing had nowhere left to hide.

Imani tossed her caddy’s rangefinder onto a side table with a wet thud. She looked at Camila for a long beat, water dripping from her chin onto the swell of her tits. Her voice came out low, rough, like she’d been holding the words behind her teeth for far too long.

“I can’t keep pretending, Camila. I’ve been dying to taste your pussy for months. Every time I watch you bend over to line up a putt, every time I see that tight little skirt ride up… I go home and fuck myself stupid thinking about burying my tongue in you. I’m soaked right now just saying it out loud. My cunt is aching.”

The confession hit Camila like a hot slap between the legs. Her clit throbbed hard inside her drenched panties. She’d spent years stealing glances at Imani’s thick, juicy ass, at the way her best friend’s heavy breasts bounced when she walked the course, at the hungry way Imani sometimes licked her lips after Camila stepped out of the shower. The hunger had been mutual, silent, and fucking unbearable.

Camila’s lips curved into a wicked smile, her voice dropping into the same filthy register. “Then you’re going to lose your mind when I tell you I’ve fantasized about sitting on your face for just as long. Grinding my wet pussy all over that pretty mouth until I drown you in my cum. I’ve cum to that thought so many times I’ve lost count—my fingers buried in my cunt, moaning your name like a desperate slut.”

The air between them snapped.

Imani moved first, slamming into Camila with a groan that sounded almost pained. Their mouths crashed together in a messy, open-mouthed kiss that went straight past teasing and into pure depravity. Tongues slid hot and urgent against each other, sucking, licking, tasting rain and want. Camila moaned into Imani’s mouth as strong hands grabbed her ass, yanking their bodies flush. The wet smack of lips and the soft, desperate noises they both made echoed off the high ceilings.

They stumbled backward toward the long leather couch, mouths never parting. Camila’s hands roamed greedily, shoving Imani’s polo up so she could fill her palms with those heavy, rain-chilled tits. She pinched both dark nipples hard, rolling them between fingers until Imani whimpered into the kiss. Imani retaliated by ripping Camila’s polo open—buttons pinged across the marble floor—as she palmed Camila’s perky breasts, thumbs flicking over stiff peaks with filthy reverence.

“Fuck, your tits are perfect,” Imani growled against Camila’s lips. “So fucking perky. I’ve wanted to suck them raw for years.”

“You’re one to talk,” Camila panted, squeezing the thick flesh of Imani’s ass under that soaked skirt. “This ass has been driving me crazy. So round and strong. I’ve wanted to bite it while you sit on my face.”

Clothes came off in frantic jerks between more sloppy, spit-slick kisses. Polos hit the floor. Skirts were yanked down and kicked away. Bras were unclasped and tossed. Soon both women were in nothing but their soaked panties, bodies glistening, breathing hard. They collapsed onto the leather couch, the cool material sticking to bare skin. Camila straddled Imani’s lap, grinding her dripping cunt against the older woman’s thigh while their mouths devoured each other again.

“I’ve been so fucking wet for you,” Camila confessed between kisses, voice husky. “Every practice round, my pussy leaks into my panties just from feeling you watch me. I change after every round because I’m drenched thinking about your tongue.”

Imani’s hands were everywhere—squeezing Camila’s ass cheeks hard enough to leave marks, sliding up to pinch her nipples again, then diving between them to cup Camila’s mound through the ruined fabric of her panties. “My cunt’s been throbbing for months, baby. I finger myself in the cart sometimes after you walk ahead of me, smelling your sweat and imagining how sweet this pussy tastes. I bet you’re dripping down your thighs right now, aren’t you, you filthy little tease?”

Camila rocked harder, moaning loudly. “Yes. I’m fucking soaked. My clit’s so swollen it hurts. I need your mouth on me.”

Imani’s control snapped. She shoved Camila back onto the couch, sliding down between those toned, spread thighs until she was on her knees on the marble floor. The older woman looked up with pure lust, face inches from Camila’s soaked panties, breathing in the rich, musky scent of her aroused cunt. Imani’s hands gripped Camila’s thighs, spreading them wider, thumbs brushing the edge of the drenched fabric.

“Please,” Imani begged, voice raw and trembling with hunger. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Let me eat this pussy first. I’ve waited too fucking long. I need to taste you, Camila. I need my tongue buried in your cunt right now. Please let me be the one who makes you scream before you sit on my face and use me like the desperate dyke I am.”

Camila looked down at her best friend on her knees, chest heaving, nipples tight, her own pussy clenching hard at the sight. The storm raged on outside, but the real tempest was just beginning between them—hot, filthy, and nowhere near finished.

The rain hammered the roof of the exclusive clubhouse like a thousand drumsticks on tight skin, turning what should have been a sharp, private practice round into a soaked cancellation. Twenty-eight-year-old professional golfer Camila shoved open the heavy glass doors, her chest heaving, while her thirty-one-year-old best friend and caddy Imani followed right behind. [...] “Please,” Imani begged, voice raw and trembling with hunger. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Let me eat this pussy first. I’ve waited too fucking long. I need to taste you, Camila. I need my tongue buried in your cunt right now. Please let me be the one who makes you scream before you sit on my face and use me like the desperate dyke I am.”

Camila looked down at her best friend on her knees, chest heaving, nipples tight, her own pussy clenching hard at the sight. She tangled her fingers in Imani’s soaked hair and yanked her up into a brutal kiss, tongues sliding filthy and deep. “Not just you eating me, you greedy slut. We’ve waited years for this. Get on the floor. I want your cunt on my face while I drown in yours.”

They ripped their drenched panties off in seconds. Camila’s smooth, puffy lips were shiny with thick arousal that dripped down her toned thighs. Imani’s cunt was darker, meatier, her fat clit already peeking out from its hood like it had been aching for months. They dropped to the thick rug on the marble floor, bodies slapping wetly as they twisted into a frantic sixty-nine. Imani lay on her back first, heavy tits splaying outward, and Camila swung a leg over her face, lowering her soaked pussy until it smothered Imani’s hungry mouth. At the same time she buried her face between Imani’s powerful thighs, inhaling the thick, musky scent of her best friend’s cunt before attacking it with her tongue.

Imani moaned like she was dying the second her mouth made contact. She licked broad, sloppy stripes through Camila’s folds, tasting the sweet-tangy flood of juice that had been building since the first crack of thunder. “Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” she growled into the dripping flesh, the words vibrating straight into Camila’s clit. Then she sucked that swollen nub between her lips and lashed it with the flat of her tongue while shoving two thick fingers knuckle-deep into Camila’s clenching hole.

Camila cried out, the sound muffled by the fat pussy grinding against her face. She licked Imani ravenously, tongue-fucking her open cunt with long, obscene strokes before sealing her lips around the fat clit and sucking hard. The taste was addictive—salty-sweet, pure woman—and Camila’s head spun with the realization that this was real, that her best friend’s juices were coating her chin and dripping down her throat. She added a third finger, stretching Imani’s pussy wide, then used her thumb to tease the tight pucker of her asshole. Both women fucked each other frantically, hips bucking, tongues slurping, fingers squelching in and out of soaked holes. The marble floor echoed with wet, depraved sounds—obscene sucking, desperate moans, the constant filthy chant of “Eat my cunt, fuck my cunt, swallow my juices, you nasty bitch.”

Imani came first, thighs locking around Camila’s head as her whole body seized. Hot girl-cum gushed over Camila’s tongue and she drank every drop, moaning like a whore at how good her best friend tasted when she fell apart. The orgasm triggered Camila’s own release; she ground her pussy harder onto Imani’s working mouth and shattered, squirting lightly across Imani’s tongue while her own mouth stayed latched to that pulsing clit.

They weren’t finished. Not even close.

Panting, faces glazed with cum, they broke apart just long enough to reposition. “I need your pussy grinding on mine,” Camila hissed, voice hoarse. They sat facing each other on the rug, legs scissored tight, and slammed their soaked cunts together. The first hot, slick slide of clit against clit made both women shout. Imani’s heavier tits bounced as she rolled her hips, dragging her dripping slit up and down Camila’s with filthy urgency. Their juices mixed into a slick mess that coated their thighs and the rug beneath them, every hard grind producing wet, obscene slapping sounds.

“Harder,” Imani demanded, gripping Camila’s athletic ass and yanking her closer. “Rub that pretty little dyke cunt on me like you mean it. I’ve jerked off thinking about scissoring you for years—now fucking do it.” Camila matched her rhythm, slamming their pussies together fast and brutal, their clits kissing with every thrust. The pressure built like a backswing on the tee, tight and coiling, until both women came again in rapid, shuddering waves. Camila felt Imani’s cunt flutter and gush against hers, and the sensation sent her tumbling into another orgasm that left her nails digging into Imani’s shoulders and her voice cracking on a scream.

Still trembling, Camila pushed Imani flat on her back. “My turn to use that pretty mouth.” She crawled up Imani’s body, swung a leg over her face, and sank down until her cum-slick pussy covered Imani’s lips and nose. Bracing her hands on Imani’s heavy tits, Camila began to ride—slow rolls at first, then faster, more desperate grinds that smeared her juices all over her best friend’s face. Imani’s tongue speared up into her, fucking her hole while her nose bumped Camila’s clit on every downward thrust.

“Ride my face, baby. Use me. Drown me in that sweet golfer cunt,” Imani gasped between long licks, her hands gripping Camila’s firm ass and spreading her wider. Camila’s thighs started to shake. The pressure in her belly coiled tighter, hotter, until it snapped. She threw her head back and screamed as she came violently, squirting hard down Imani’s throat in thick, pulsing jets. Imani swallowed greedily, choking and moaning, drinking every drop like it was the finest trophy she’d ever earned. Camila kept riding through the aftershocks, grinding out the last weak spurts until her legs gave out.

But she still wasn’t done with her best friend.

Camila slid off Imani’s drenched face, flipped the taller woman onto all fours, and shoved her chest down so that strong, round ass was high in the air. “Look at this perfect fucking ass,” she groaned, spreading Imani’s cheeks wide. The tight pink pucker winked at her, still shiny from earlier teasing. Camila leaned in and dragged her tongue from Imani’s dripping cunt all the way up to her asshole, then speared inside the tight ring without warning.

Imani screamed, fists bunching the rug. “Oh my god—yes, eat my asshole you filthy slut! Tongue-fuck my dirty hole!” Camila did exactly that, plunging her tongue deep into the clenching muscle while her fingers flew over Imani’s swollen clit and three fingers of her other hand slammed back into her sopping pussy. She ate Imani’s ass with sloppy, hungry strokes—licking, sucking, fucking her tongue in and out while rubbing that clit in tight, vicious circles.

Imani came so hard her arms collapsed, face pressed to the floor, ass still shoved back onto Camila’s tongue. Her asshole pulsed wildly around the invading muscle and her cunt gushed fresh cream down her own thighs. Camila didn’t stop. She kept licking and rubbing through a second orgasm, then a third that had Imani sobbing and screaming Camila’s name like a prayer. Camila herself reached between her own legs, rubbing her oversensitive clit until she joined her best friend in one final shattering climax, both women howling loud enough to drown out the storm.

When the last tremors finally faded, they collapsed in a sweaty, cum-drenched heap on the floor. Trembling, bodies glistening with each other’s juices, they crawled into one another’s arms. Their mouths met in a slow, lazy, cum-flavored kiss—tongues sliding gently, sharing the filthy taste of pussy, ass, and squirt like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“The rain can keep falling all night,” Imani whispered against Camila’s swollen lips, voice wrecked. “Because we’re just getting started.”

Camila smiled, grabbed Imani’s hand, and pulled her toward the showers. “Come on. I’m going to fuck you against that tile until neither of us can walk.”

As the hot spray hit their spent bodies and Imani pinned her to the cool tile with a fresh, hungry kiss, Camila realized with a sudden, dizzying clarity that every rainout, every lingering stare, every filthy joke on the course had never been teasing at all—they had been deliberate foreplay, and this was only the second act of a game they had been playing—and winning—for years.