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I am a pool slut.
I don’t mean the kind of pool you swim in, but the kind of pool associated with smooth felt, leather pockets, balls and cues — and the men usually attached to those cues.
You wouldn’t expect a girl raised in an affluent neighborhood to frequent seedy bars. I do, because I have been addicted to the game since my father, who I stayed with during holidays and summers, took me to his local pub when I was 14 years-old. He played, so I played. Within a year I had lost my virginity to a 22 year-old, good-looking, smart-ass pool jockey. The bastard dumped me after a couple of weeks, but I’ll always be grateful that he was as good at handling a woman as he was his cue. Thanks to him, my enjoyment of sex came as suddenly and forcefully as a hard, lashing break.
I have been in love with cues and dicks ever since, and especially when nicely combined. My experience shows that if a man knows how to use his cue with precision and finesse, shaping his shots, relying on confidence rather than arrogance, it doesn’t matter what he looks like, what clothes he wears, what tattoos or body adornments he sports, he’s usually good in bed. And if he’s not intimidated by an attractive woman who knows how to play a damn good game as well, then I’m happy to have him prove it to me. I may be the only woman in the world who can get wet from the way a man chalks his cue.
Yes, I’ve slept with a lot of men for no other reason. But last weekend I proved to myself that I am possibly the most hopeless pool slut of all time.
Lately I have been dating Mark, a lawyer with biker connections. He could easily make a living from the game if he wanted to. His performance on a pool table is calculated and exact, designed to warm up an unsuspecting victim and then finish them off without mercy. His performance on me, on my skin in particular, is similar. He can massé me into paradise as deftly as any lover I’ve ever had.
Our love life is a constant dare. Just as neither of us will back down at the pool table, neither of us will to back down when things get hot and heavy. Unlike anyone I’ve been with in the past, he actually enjoys having other men look at me lustfully. I love sexy outfits and he encourages me to wear them when we’re out together. I think he enjoys the power of knowing other men want to fuck me, but knowing I’m his to fuck. I like the power as well, of showing off and teasing, knowing Mark is going to want to rip my clothes off as soon as he gets me alone.
With this in mind, it is not hard to understand how I ended up as a passenger in Mark’s BMW on a sunny, spring Saturday morning, wearing a pair of Daisy Duke jean cut-offs, a loose tank top — and nothing else. He had the key to a friend’s cottage up the coast for the weekend. The property was so private, he said, that we could spend the whole time naked. Needless to say I had no objections to the invitation, nor to his request for my skimpy travelling attire.
My lack of clothing turned the normally boring ferry ride across the bay into 40 minutes of delightful torture. No sooner had Mark pulled the car to a stop in the darkness of the lower car deck, than his hand slid up my thigh and under my shorts. Already aroused by the weekend’s prospects, I gasped when his fingers slid inside me. Did I mention that skilled pool players usually have good hands? He played with me, from the time people left their cars, walking right past our side windows, until the ferry lurched to a stop. By then he had my shorts around my ankles, had lifted my tank top to toy with my nipples, had caressed, kissed, licked and flicked me to the edge of orgasm at least a dozen times. Each time I neared the peak he would stop, let me momentarily catch my breath while I cursed him, and tease me by telling me I had to save it. I warned him I was going to pay him back, which only made him laugh.
Half an hour later I was still a puddle of desire, even though my shorts were back in place. At first I objected when he suggested we stop at a roadside pub for a quick lunch.
“With what little I’m wearing I may as well go in naked,” I protested.
“C’mon Maddy. I’m hungry and I know you have to be,” he insisted with a grin. “Besides there’s no one here anyway. Whose going to see you, except me?”
The twinkle in Mark’s eye told me this had suddenly become a dare. I looked around. There was only a beat up, blue Dodge Ram in the parking lot.
“You never give up, do you?” I said with a smile, “Okay. Let’s go, you disgusting pervert.”
We decided to share a hamburger and fries. The old fellow behind the bar ogled me while he poured us a couple of pints of lager and then hurried into the kitchen. As we turned to find a place to sit, we were surprised to hear the familiar “clack” of balls colliding. Sure esenyurt otele gelen escort enough, two guys were playing pool on an old Olhausen table, which, judging by the worn out track in the carpet around it, had been in the back corner of the pub since the place was built.
The guy who was waiting his turn, a tall, bearded, heavy-muscled fellow wearing a black John Deere hat, gave me a good look up and down and nudged his friend as we chose a table near them. We were giving them a good look too, because, by habit, we were already assessing their talent. By the time our food was served we knew they would be easy picking.
When Mark swallowed his last mouthful of greasy beef and bun he said, “Let’s play.”
“I knew it,” I said.
“Knew you were gonna suggest we take them on. And you probably like the idea that they are going to get a good look down my shirt while we kick their butts.”
“Down your shirt?”
“Fuck off you innocent bastard. You know this loose top won’t hide a thing when I lean over to shoot. And that doesn’t include the damn good view they’ll get of my ass and other unmentionables.”
“Come on Maddy. Just one game,” he insisted, grabbing my hand and his beer. “Let’s go make them an offer they can’t refuse. Just follow my lead.”
I have never been able to resist a game of pool. Besides, Mark deserved some payback for the ferry torture. The idea of showing myself off in this empty country bar, in front of these two men while Mark watched, was beginning to appeal to me. So I picked up my beer and let him tug me over there. Both guys were staring at my chest as we walked up. My nipples, on full alert, were jiggling against my droopy tank top.
“You guys up for a game?” Mark asked.
“Uh… yeah,” said the shorter, slimmer, mullet-haired man, still looking at me. He was wearing a Corona T-shirt. “Sure.”
“You want to put a little money on the table?” Mark asked.
Mr. Corona looked at Mr. Deere, shrugged and said, “Sure. What did you have in mind?”
“I’d say you guys put down twenty bucks each. If we win we get your 40 bills. If you win you get to fuck my pretty wife here.”
I’m not sure who was more shocked, me or our two intended marks. I started to speak but Mark cut me off.
“That’s right!” he insisted. “She likes pool player dick, any time, any where. And it’s fine with me as long as I get to watch. Only thing is, if you win, you’ve gotta fuck her right here, right by the pool table. In, out, in, out, bang, bang — before the bartender pulls you off and tosses you out. That’s how she likes it.”
Mr. Deere glanced down at my jean shorts and swallowed. I was trying to swallow too. Mr. Corona looked pissed off. “Hey man, don’t fuck around. Don’t say somethin’ you’re not willin’ to back up. If you’re yankin’ our chain… talkin’ shit…”
“Okay… ask her!” Mark said, cutting him off and turning to me. “Honey, can these two fine gentlemen fuck your hot little pussy, right here, if we lose? Huh? Will you let them?”
I could tell by Mark’s expression that he was daring me to say yes. He was playing a dangerous game, but there was no way we could lose to these guys in a million years. With a glance around the deserted pub I turned to our two victims, eyeballed their crotches, smiled and said, “I sure would. My pussy is getting all wet just thinking about it.”
“Damn! You and your little lady are on!” Mr. Deere blurted.
“And how about you?” Mark asked Mr. Corona.
“Twenty bucks, huh? Alright.” Mr. Corona said, his eyes narrowed. He nodded to Mr. Deere, then turned back to Mark. “But we get the break. Better rack ‘em up Slick, ‘cause my dick’s already gettin’ hard.”
“No problem,” Mark replied, quickly gathering the balls.
Jesus! I’d never had my body up for grabs over a game of pool. And I hadn’t lied. Thinking about it was turning me on. If we made a mistake these two country pool jockeys… no, it couldn’t happen. Relax, I told myself. It was no use. I could have taken my pulse by putting my finger on my clit, it was throbbing so hard.
Mr. Corona sank two low balls on the break, potted a third and then missed, leaving the cue ball in a crowd. He smiled at me and gave his crotch a squeeze. Mark narrowly missed an almost impossible shot, but managed to nicely break out a couple of our balls. Mr. Deere had nothing, missed, and then it was my turn.
“Hate to tell you guys, but she’s good,” Mark said matter-of-factly as I looked over my options.
“She’s good at a lot of things,” he added, catching a glare from me. I decided on a long cut to the end pocket and slowly and deliberately leaned over to line it up. My tank top drooped.
“Holy shit!” Mr. esenyurt rus escort Deere couldn’t help himself. He was standing opposite me and had a clear view of my breasts. His beer stopped short of his lips. Mr. Corona stepped over to get a look.
“Not a bad set of fun bags eh?” said Mark. I hate him calling them that. My breasts are quite small, but they have a nice perky shape. I tried to maintain my concentration. “Watch how soft and jiggly they are when she shoots,” he added.
I shot. My breasts jiggled. The ball went in the end pocket. End of the first little peep show. Jesus! I felt hot between the legs. I was really getting aroused.
“Good shot,” Mr. Deere muttered.
“Thanks,” I replied, giving him a coy smile. Whew! My chest tightened when I saw the look of lust in his eyes.
“You trying to make me miss partner?” I asked Mark sarcastically, checking my choice of shots. Damn, not very good shape. I was definitely distracted. “Maybe you want us to lose huh?”
“Who me?” Mark mused. “No way. Just wanted to point out what a fine piece of tail these guys are going to get if they win.”
“Hah!” I decided on a bank to the side pocket. Our two victims were behind me now. Time for another little tease. I leaned over, arched my back and felt my jean shorts tighten. There wasn’t much left to the imagination.
“Sweet Mother of Jesus!” Mr. Deere again. I half expected to feel his hands grab me from behind. That thought sent another gush of warmth through me. At the very same moment something smooth slid up the inside of my thigh.
Sweet Mother of Jesus is right! I may as well have been touched by a branding iron. The shock caught me off guard. Tingles ran up my leg and into my groin, snatching my breath away, making me grunt in surprise. I put a hand on the table, took a gasp of air, then turned to see Mark grinning. He had stroked me with the shaft of his cue.
“Sorry Honey,” he said, holding a hand up in defence. “It’s just that you have such damn irresistible legs. I just want to give these guys a fighting chance.”
I glared at him momentarily. I was going to tell him to fuck off, but didn’t. Problem was, it felt nice, really nice, really damn naughty nice. Mr. Corona was still looking at my ass, his eyes as big as saucers. And then I noticed the rather obvious bulge in his pants beside his tightly gripped cue. Nice! All because of our naughty little act. I almost gave him an “oooh” of appreciation, but restrained myself. “It’s not going to work partner,” I muttered, turning to line up my shot.
I knew Mark would take my comment as a dare. Sure enough, the cue was back in an instant. The smooth rod started lower this time and pulled away just before it reached the frayed edge of my shorts in my crotch. Jesus! The ticklish nerves in my leg sent another fountain of electric sparks up my groin. I closed my eyes and lowered my head. He was making it impossible for me to play.
I vainly tried to line up my shot again. This time the cue slithered up my bare leg, rubbed gently on the inside of my thigh, then skipped to the other side. My belly filled up with warm pins and needles. My legs suddenly felt quivery weak. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. My muscles had stopped working because my ability to think was rapidly melting away. And then Mark bunted the end of the cue up against my pussy. He did it gently, but the nudge, right against my aching clit, lifted me onto my toes and made me chirp like a bird.
“Wha… the hell…” I gasped as my heels thumped back to the floor. I needed to tell Mark to stop or we were going to lose, but before I could speak the cue was stroking my thighs again and it felt so good I wanted him… I wanted him… oh God… I wanted him to nudge my pussy again!
Sure enough, the cue jerked up. Ohhhhh fuck! The blissful thud against my swollen lips and throbbing clit cut through me like a hot knife, making my fingers and toes curl with joy. And then, as if to beat me into submission, the cue began to thud up against me again and again. My head dropped to the table. Balls rolled helter skelter as my hands groped across the felt surface. Somewhere in the back of my reeling mind I realized that Mark had never intended us to win this game. Instead my wet and swollen pussy was being publicly spanked! With a pool cue! Bent over an old pool table that had hosted thousands of games! It suddenly seemed like the punishment I had always deserved, being the pool slut I am. I can’t tell you how aroused this thought made me as he gently beat all resistance out of me.
I barely felt the tug on the crotch of my jean shorts (I later discovered Mark had sliced it open with his knife) and then… oh God… fingers pried apart my pussy lips so that esenyurt türbanlı escort the smoothness of the cue laid right against them. The shaft began to move against me, sliding lightly back and forth, gathering my wetness on the rod and… ohhhhh… I couldn’t help myself, I began to slide against it as well, riding it, moaning with shameless delight.
“I think she likes that,” Mark observed, his voice distant, but deeper, more urgent than before. “Maybe she’ll like this even better.”
A giant, deep-throated groan erupted from my throat as the smooth, rounded butt end of the wooden rod was suddenly shoved up against my pussy hole, rotating in the seeping slippery juice. At that moment I realized Mark was about to fuck me with the cue.
I can’t expect you to understand what this did to me. I was already hopelessly aroused by the thought that I deserved this public pool slut spanking. But suddenly, bent over this old table, with my face pressed against the smooth felt I love, I was transported into some otherworldly pool hall. In my mind the game that had defined everything erotic in my life, hell, the God of Pool himself, was about to fuck me. And the cue, pressed against my eager cunt, was his cock. I began to shake. What little control I had left fluttered away. Strained, urgent words croaked out of my mouth, “Unhhhh yesss… fuck me… please fuck me…”
And then he entered me… pushing inside, filling me, seeking the deepest parts of me. Slowly at first, the wooden shaft began to thrust in and out.
“Ohhh… ohhh… yesssss… shove it… up my… cunt!” I cried. I wanted that cue inside me, the whole fucking thing, even though I knew I couldn’t possibly take it all!
I’m sure Mr. Deere and Mr. Corona didn’t expect this bizarre performance when they came in for their mid-day game and beer. Whether by some signal from Mark, or just plain overpowering lust, they now got involved. Someone poked a cue inside my tank top and began teasing my nipples with the tip, flicking them back and forth, making them stiffen and tingle.
My hands, long forgetting the cue I had been holding, scrambled across the table looking for something to hang on to. More balls clacked as my fingers sent them flying. I managed to grab one in each hand and held on tightly as my body trembled with joy.
“Sure. Go ahead,” Mark muttered. Go ahead with what?
My jean shorts were yanked again. Fingers pried apart my ass cheeks. There was a spitting sound. Something warm and wet landed on my asshole, followed immediately by something small, round and hard.
“Unhhhhhhh… my… fucking… God…” I croaked as the cue tip corkscrewed inside me… an inch… two inches… making little fuck-thrusts as it went.
I was going to have an orgasm. A big, churning, meltdown one! One that had been building ever since the ferry… Christ, one that had been building since the first day I picked up a cue! The God of Pool was fucking my ass… my cunt… teasing my breasts and nipples… and oh Jesus there’s something… something… something rubbing my clit… breaking me, splitting me… gonna shatter me all over the table… gonna melt me into the pockets!
Everything inside me squelched tight. I was held… helpless and trapped… in the most exquisite vise I’d ever felt. I was going to break those cues in half… snap them off and keep them inside me! Oh yesss… I am… I am… I am… oh yes… my God… I am… a… pool…
“SLUT!” The word squealed out of my mouth like a dying confession. But even though my mind rocketed into nothingness and my harpooned body jerked and convulsed to the waves of orgasmic bliss, I did not die. I actually felt more perfectly alive at that moment than at any other in my life… insanely and deservedly taken by my Pool God.
I don’t have much memory of what followed. Mark said something about forfeiting the game. The cues were replaced by real cocks. I was lost in a fog of ecstasy, unable to move, so twenty men could have had their way with me if they had wanted. I do remember that one cock felt amazingly big, but in my mind they were all my Pool God, still fucking me. And I loved every second of it.
Eventually everyone was either satisfied or too spent to continue. I staggered off to the bathroom, leaving the three men adjusting their pants. They were laughing and joking as if their hockey team had just won a championship. Mr. Corona and Mr. Deere had apparently cashed in on their unexpectedly easy victory. When I came back Mark leaned over to me and asked if I had known which one was him. I laughed and told him the biggest one of course.
I was still weak-kneed when we said our goodbyes and headed for the car, with the cut crotch of my shorts flapping between my thighs. Behind the bar the old fellow was grinning from ear to ear. “Come back soon!” he said.
Somehow he seemed a little too happy. “No!” I said suddenly, turning to Mark. “Him too?”
“Believe it or not, he was the big one. Got a friggin’ horse dick hidden in there,” Mark whispered.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. They had all nailed the world’s most hopeless pool slut.
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