Brassy, The Thirty Morse


“You see my sweet heart, it’s all about the swing.” said my Daddy-for-the-night as he pummelled the raw steak on the counter. I’d been with him in other occasions. He likes to dress me up like a little child, and spank me, but quite frankly, he seemed to get more joy out of punching the steak than any spanking session we’d ever endured.

“When you’re out there on the green -THUMP

All the World goes silent, and nothing is left but your swing.” – THUMP THUMP!

“Swing, like the music?” I said as I chewed the raw carrot with my mouth open, and my bottom lip pulled down ever so slightly (for some reason, old white men love that look).

“Oh, what? No no no…. Golf swing. Don’t tell me you’ve-

He left the kitchen, and started mumbling something about what World did I live in where I’d never heard of golf swings… Well, what World did he live in where the word Swing didn’t prompt memories of late nights and naked people?

He came back with a golf bag full of clubs, and a fake piece of grass. He went to the other end of the kitchen and placed the fake grass down. It had a hole in it.

He gave me a putting club; “Try to get the ball, into the hole”

“No” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because I get holes filled, not the other way”

He laughed, but I was dead serious.

“Oh really? Well what if we change that around for tonight?” He said with the look of a perv and the confidence of a man that’s done and said things a lot worse than that.

“What do you have in mind, Daddy” The night has finally started; time to play his game.

“I want you to swing at me, and then, I want you to grab that Brassy, and rub it on my balls” He said as he dropped the beaten steak on top of the counter, blood still dripping from his fat, gold covered fingers.

“Are you going to show me how to swing then? I said.

He grabbed a club, not sure which one, took a T out, and a ball and ordered me to lie down on the floor. He then stuck the T in my ass, placed the ball on top of it, and lifted his arm to swing.

The ball fell off the T. He tried again, but I couldn’t keep still enough, and the ball kept falling off. He got frustrated, and then wanted me to hold it in my mouth.

“No fucking way, Daddy. That’s a hard no.”

“I’ll show you how to do it, it’s easy.”

“OK, if it’s that easy, I get to do it to you first, and if I don’t swing your face off, then you can do it to me”

“Well, it’s not that easy.” He said arrogantly “I’ve been playing for 40 years. This is the first time you even see a golf ball!”

He went back to the counter, grabbed the steak and threw it on the floor, stuck the T into it, and balanced the ball on top.

“I’ll demonstrate” He said.

He grabbed the Brassy, swung next to the steak a couple of times. The sound was intimidating, like a slow bullet too close to your head. I took a step back.

He took a step forward, balanced the club over the ball, raised his arms and swung!

Swoosh! The ball took off, the T remained in place, but the ball went straight through the terrace glass door!

“Fuck!!” He screamed. I burst out laughing, and we went outside.

“Just fucking do it! Ok? I want to T off your dirty fucking face” He spat out at me. He’s a client I want to keep, but I also want to keep my facial structure.

“Lets try the ass again, shall we?” I said as I started lying on my belly.

“No! Your face! Just fucking do it, sweet heart… Ok?”

He was shaking more than I was. I could feel his body vibrating as he turned me around on the grass.

The T’s back in my mouth, the ball is balanced on top.

“Stay still, it’s going to be fine.”

He raises the Brassy again. Just as the swing comes down, I spin my head to the side, the ball tumbles away, and he misses.

“You cunt!”

“What?! You try it! Come on!! I’ll swing way over your head, and if you don’t flinch, then I’ll do it again.”

“Deal, and you’ll rub it on my balls after.”

He hands me the club. It’s surprisingly light, and sturdy.

He lies down, just where I was. He looks at how I’m gripping the club.

“OK, stand straight. Put the club in front of you. grab it. Now bend forward, more than that, More you filthy pig!, and straighten those arms, and grab the club again”

I bent over as if I was going to be spanked, holding my weight on the club.

“Great, now stand straight again.”

The club lifted off the ground, it was awkward, since I had part of the club now protruding toward me. I was holding it, about one third down the shaft.

“This way, you can’t get my face, get it?”

“Yeah, stay still, it’s going to be fine.”

I lifted the club, as I’d seen him do it and swung down. I could feel the club sliding out of my grip. It’s as if it became heavier while it traveled in the air.

The Titanium head of the Brassy lodged itself approximately four centimetres into Daddy craneum. One eye had slipped out of it’s socket, the other was staring straight at me.

I guess that’s what you call a hole in one.





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