Games

What a bitch of a day. What a BITCH of a fucking day. My umbrella wouldn’t open. I pushed, pressed; desperately trying to force it up before the now-biblical downpour drenched me. Losing my temper, I gave one last, almighty shove, only to be rewarded with a cut finger and an umbrella jammed beyond the point of redemption.

‘Well, fuck you!’ I shouted, oblivious to the stares of startled passers-by. Half-blinded by the deluge, I continued to stumble down the street, with the naïve hope that the rain would stop in the 20-minute walk between workplace and bus stop. Not that this was likely, given the clouds in the sky and the day I’d just had. It’s not like I wanted to work under a cunt of a manager: the sort of man who thinks bullying passes for acceptable personnel management. Or with those stupid, giggling bitches who looked askance at my dark hair and bitten nails, all the while gossiping about ‘Joe Millionaire’ or David Beckham or some such bollocks. But you do what you have to in order to pay the rent. You take the orders, bite your tongue the jibes and take all the shit that’s dished out.

I needed a drink. Wiping the water from my eyes, I peered round to see if there was anywhere nearby that would be useful to me in my quest for blessed alcoholic oblivion. The only option was hardly promising. An off black, weather-beaten sign flashed ‘JIM’S BAR’ in flickering neon. The windows looked as though they hadn’t been cleaned in years. Not exactly inviting. But I could hear the faint sound of a song I liked and surely being inside, no matter how grotty that inside might be, would be better than this endless rain.
I was hit by hot, moist air and the scents of whisky and cigarette smoke. It took me a few seconds to adjust to the dim lighting, as I gradually made out a row of booths along one wall and a bar along the other. A weary-looking man in his late sixties stood behind the bar, slowly cleaning a glass. I coughed and he looked up at me, raising an eyebrow. I got the impression that I didn’t quite fit the description of a ‘regular’. What the hell, I still needed that drink. Undeterred, I walked over.

‘Jack and coke,’ I requested. He nodded and silently prepared my drink.
‘£1.70’ he responded. Bloody hell, that was cheap. Pretty much summed up the bar, though. I took a couple of pound coins out of my purse and slid them across the bar, then pocketed the change. The barman looked me up and down: my dripping wet hair, smudged make-up and soaked jacket, skirt and shoes, slowly creating a puddle on his floor. I must have looked like a drowned rat. He tipped his head to the side, indicating to the back of the room. ‘There’s a ladies room back there, if you need to freshen up.’

He had a point. After he agreed to put my drink behind the bar (I wasn’t daft enough to leave it lying around in a place like this), I went to the ladies room. The harsh fluorescent light made my reflection an unforgiving portrait. I wiped my face clean with a paper towel and brushed my hair back into a ponytail. I shrugged off my jacket and blouse, leaving a thin (but mercifully dry) vest top over my bra. I couldn’t do anything about my damp skirt, but compromised by pulling off the soaking wet pair of tights and putting my shoes on over bare feet. Shoving the removed clothing into my bag and folding my jacket over my arm, I walked back out to the bar. I picked up my drink and sat in the only empty booth, farthest from the door and almost completely out of sight of the bar, laying my jacket out over the seat opposite in the vain hope it might actually dry. Fuck it; life was too short to worry about such things. With that thought, I took a healthy swig of my drink. It had a generous measure of Jack, more than I’d expected, but the burn in my mouth and throat was warm and comforting. I’d been forced to work through lunch, so it wouldn’t take much of this to get me to a very contented place indeed. Shutting my eyes, I leaned back and let my mind drift, as the Jack Daniels worked wonders on my empty stomach.

‘You’re sitting in my seat.’ I was pulled out of my contentment by a low, menacing voice in my ear. I opened my eyes to find a man in his early twenties leaning over me. Blond hair flopped carelessly over one side of his arrogant face, leaving just enough clear to reveal startlingly blue eyes, long nose and full mouth. He wore a t-shirt just tight enough to make out the not overly-developed muscles underneath. He had the sulky expression of a spoiled child who was used to getting his own way. Well fuck that, I’d been putting up with shit all day, I wasn’t about to let some boy play hardcase with me.

‘Don’t see your name on it,’ I retorted, lifting my drink to my lips in defiance.

‘I don’t think you understand, *this* is *my* seat, everyone here knows that. They also know well enough to leave it alone.’ He was surprisingly well-spoken for such a place. No doubt some little rich kid, going through his rebellious phase by hanging out with working men. Arrogant young men like this were the ones who played around, while enjoyed the life of a typical wage slave. Such boys act as though they own the world, which they probably would once Daddy hands over the reigns. Obnoxious twat. In any case, I was already too far along the road to being drunk to think about holding my tongue.
‘Piss off; I’m not getting forced out of my seat by some kid who thinks he’s a big man.’

‘Kid? You don’t look old enough to talk like my mother.’ He had a point; he couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4 years younger than me. However, I wasn’t much in the mood for conceding points. He smirked for a moment. ‘There’s a forfeit, y’know, for sitting in my seat.’

‘And what might that be, oh leader of the pack?’
‘You have to play me at pool.’
‘No go, kid, I can’t play pool.’ Undaunted, he smirked at me again.
‘I’ll teach you.’

***

I have no idea why I even considered his offer. Had I been sober, had it been a better day, I would have finished my drink and walked out. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have bothered finishing my drink. But I’d had a bloody awful day, I was well past sober and I couldn’t help noticing that, for all his arrogance, this young man was extremely pleasant to look at. I emptied my glass, only to see him motioning the barman for a refill. The barman duly brought another two drinks over and left with a hefty note in his pocket. So I was definitely dealing with a rich kid. So arrogant he hadn’t even bothered to check what I was drinking. At least the barman had remembered.

‘So where’s this pool room, then?’ I asked.
‘Through the back,’ he replied ‘it’s only got the one table.’
‘Let me guess, that’s *your* table too?’ He smirked in response.
‘Of course…’

I picked up my things and followed him, past the toilets, down a dingy hallway and into the room beyond. It was surprisingly nice, considering the rest of the bar. I sipped my drink (which was even stronger than the last time) as I took in the green leather sofa, CD player and pool table. I sat my glass on the edge of the table.

‘Why do have *your* own seat out there? Seems you’ve got a far cosier den in here.’ He smirked that infuriating smirk again.

‘Because I can. Now lets’ teach you some pool.’ He set up the table with meticulous precision, his long, deft finger positioning the balls. Slowly, he ran his hand over a rack of pool cues on the wall, before pulling one free. He chalked both his own and the other cue, and then passed it to me. I hung up my jacket and bag up on some handy hooks on the wall. ‘We’ll play one game without me showing you anything. That way I can see what your problems are and I can teach you faster. I’ll make the break.’ With that, he hit the white ball and scattered its red and yellow counterparts across the table.

What followed was a complete and utter massacre. I could scarcely hold the cue, let alone hit anything with it. He had finished before I even managed to pot one ball. It would have been humiliating, but for the fact that I’d got through a few more drinks and both of us were giggling.

‘OK then, Mr Know-It-All, why don’t you teach me how it’s done?’ He drew an appreciative glance over my heeled shoes, bare legs, skirt and vest top, before giving me a large grin.

‘It would be my pleasure!’ At any other time, I might have felt unnerved by this sort of attention. But now I relished it, feeling a sense of power over this cocky young man. He’d already won one game that evening, I wasn’t about to let him win another. Be it of pool or anything else.

‘Any chance of getting a window open in here?’ I asked, with apparent innocence. He climbed onto the sofa and pushed open a couple of small windows, high in the wall. The rain had stopped, but there was a cool breeze outside that quickly swept into the room. I could feel the goose bumps lifting on my arms, followed by my nipples tightening under my top. Perfect. I took the opportunity to undo the buttons at the neck of the vest top, turning it from something casual to highly suggestive. My companion turned round to face me, raising an eyebrow at my change in appearance. Once again he set up the table and I took great interest in the deft movements of those long fingers. I could already imagine the others skills those fingers might have. On my terms, though, I’d had enough of being bossed around.

‘Your turn to break,’ he said ‘show me if you’ve learnt anything already.’ I leaned over, very deliberately giving him a perfect view down my cleavage, as I attempted my shot. There was a loud intake of breath from the other side of the table. Excellent, I clearly had his undivided attention. My shot barely separated the reds and yellows on the table, the white ball, however, was now in a pocket.

‘Oops,’ I said, feeling anything but concerned. ‘Maybe it’s the way I’m holding the cue?’ Hardly the most subtle approach in the world, but I was growing impatient. There was a gorgeous body and great face hiding behind that arrogant manner, as well as a lively sense of humour. I wanted some fun, some excitement, and I wanted it now.

‘Maybe it is.’ He put his own cue down and positioned the balls. Then he walked round the table, until he was standing behind me. Both arms reached round me, guiding my hands along the cue, ensuring I held it correctly. He whispered in my ear, ‘try taking the shot again.’

I leaned over once more, his body still around me in a superficial attempt to guide my shot. However, as I pressed my backside into his crotch, I heard a groan and felt him stiffen against me. I gyrated against him, on the pretext on adjusting my aim. He grew even harder, his breath hot on my neck. I took the shot and scattered the balls across the table, potting a couple of red. I shrugged out of his grip and strolled around to the other side, where I succeeded in potting another. Amazing how much a positive mental attitude can improve one’s game. And how physical distraction can undermine it. Mr Arrogant fluffed his next shot, hardly able to tear his gaze away from my breasts in order to look at the table before him. This could be just the way in I was looking for.

‘Are you a betting man?’ I asked.
‘Oh, so I get to be a man now?’ he responded, sarcastically. I merely rolled my eyes.
‘Just answer the question.’
‘I’ve been known to place the odd wager, now and then.’
Fancy your chances?’ At this he smirked.
‘Oh, I think so!’
‘What are you willing to wager on this game?’ He pondered for a moment.
‘If I win, I get to teach you some of my other…skills.’ He shook his head at me as I chuckled. ‘Why, what happens if *you* win?’
‘I wipe that silly smirk off your face and take over the teaching position.’ His grin grew even wider. ‘So, are you willing to take the bet?’
‘Oh yes.’ So we played.

I had been accurate in my assessment. His attention in tatters, coupled with (what I suspected to be) some deliberate messing about on his part. It was still a close thing; after all, I hadn’t turned into a pool shark in the course of one game. But, as I saw my final shot win me the match, I allowed myself a smirk of triumph. Despite losing, and to a beginner no less, he grinned as well. I took my time placing my cue back on the rack. Suddenly, I was grateful for that cool breeze from the windows.

Can you lock that door from the inside?’ I asked. He nodded. ‘Do it.’ He quickly walked over to the door, pulled a key from his pocket and locked it. As he did so, I sat on the sofa, enjoying the feel of the leather under my bare legs. My legs were wide. He came back over and stood in front of me, eyebrow raised, awaiting my command. The thrill of power teased through me and I felt myself grow wet.

‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Come here, I want you standing *right* here.’ I motioned to the bit of floor between my feet. He duly moved and looked down at me, expectantly. ‘Now, take off your clothes.’ He was a tease, such a tease, as he slowly pulled his t-shirt off, revealing inch after inch of pale white skin. He made quick work of his shoes and socks, before slowly unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them to the floor, kicking them to the corner. His thumbs hooked the waistband of his boxers, which were doing little to hide his enjoyment, as he looked at me questioningly. I nodded and waved my hand. Down came the boxers. Firm, toned calves led up to strong, muscular thighs, cresting with a decidedly impressive cock at the juncture, bobbing slightly in front of my eyes.

I leaned forward and took it in my hand, stroking it gently, coaxing it to greater length and thickness. My tongue darted out and teased the head, licking a drop of pre-cum from the tip. His eyes closed and he let out a ragged sigh. Young men, you have to take the edge off their passion before they can concentrate on your pleasure. Didn’t want him getting distracted halfway through my enjoyment, after all. So I took him as far into my mouth as I could; stroking the rest of his length in one hand while I teased his balls with the other. I could feel him trembling, hear the little, inarticulate noises he made as I suckled and soaked him with my mouth. Over and around him my tongue went, drawing him deep into my mouth, as my hands played over his skin.

‘Oh fuck, I’m…I’m gonna…’ and he emptied into my throat. I swallowed it away, licking him clean. I gave him a few moments to get his breath back.

Now,’ I told him, in a stern voice ‘kneel down.’ He did as he was bid, kneeling silently between my legs, with an expectant expression. For once, the smirk was gone. I let myself sink back into the sofa. My hands played across my top, idly at first, but then with more purpose. My eyes closed as I began to tease my nipples through the layers of fabric. Somewhere I could hear music playing, and two people breathing heavily. My nipples ached with the attention, but I needed to feel more. I started to pull at the hem of my top.

‘Let me…’ I stopped him, mid-sentence and batted his hands away.
‘Wait until you’re told. No touching until *I* give permission.’ He knelt back down as I pulled off my top. My thin cotton bra left even less to the imagination. I continued to play, to tease my nipples to that fine line between pleasure and pain. I could feel the wetness in my crotch start slicking down between my thighs and I rubbed my legs together in an attempt to gain some relief. It felt good, really good, but I knew it would feel even better if I got my young friend involved. I opened my eyes and sat forward. His eyes were level with my chest and I smiled at the hungry way he gazed upon the thin fabric and what lay beneath. Reaching behind me, I unsnapped the clasp and pulled the bra away. His eyes widened, it seemed to take all his effort to keep his hands away. Perhaps it was time to take a little pity. ‘Touch me.’

His hands leapt up so quickly that I was worried he’d be one of those rough sorts; the ones who twiddle your tits like radio dials, regardless of how little pleasure that might bring. But, just as I thought he was about to grab me, he stopped. Slowly, he cupped my breasts in each hand and began to gently stroke and squeeze them, making sure never to touch the nipple. I grew restless, desperately wanting the touch that he playfully refused to give. I writhed under his hands, hoping to bring those wonderful fingers into contact with my aching skin. My eyes closed. And then…

‘You didn’t tell me what I was allowed to touch you with,’ he whispered, before his tongue went over the nipple for a second time. Fuck, he was good. He circled each cherry red tit with his tongue, flicking the tip mercilessly, before sucking each one slow and deep between those full lips of his. Kissing all the way up and around my neck while his hands played with my breasts. It was good, it was so good, but it just wasn’t enough. Hell, if you don’t ask, you don’t get.

‘Play with my pussy,’ I demanded, getting off more and more on the feeling of control. With perfect obedience, his hands slid down across my stomach and towards my crotch. He pushed up the hem of my skirt until a pair of white cotton panties was in clear view. Well, almost white, the centre was pretty much see-through from the wetness. He began to rub my crotch through the fabric, making tiny circles with those lovely long fingers of his. I could feel every stroke through the damp cotton, every little caress across my throbbing pussy and swollen clit. ‘Get them off,’ I ordered him ‘I want to feel you.’ I heard fabric tear (fuck it, I could always buy new ones) and then those incredible fingers were sliding across my lips, spreading the wetness over and around. He moved suddenly, then there were three fingers fucking me hard and fast while his tongue licked frantically at my clit. Oh fuck, it was so good, feeling his fingers, his tongue and his lips worship my pussy. He sucked my clit hard and I was gone, coming round his fingers and screaming like a banshee.

When I got my breath back, I found him looking like the cat that had got the cream. In fact, a little of that cream was still smeared on his chin. I licked it off and then proceeded to kiss it out of his talented mouth, loving the way I tasted on his tongue. Glancing downwards, I could see that he was ready to go all over again. Taking pity on his poor knees, I made him sit on the sofa beside me. Then I mounted him, his cock sliding easily into my slick wet pussy. I rode him hard and fast, feeling another orgasm building while he greedily suckled my breasts. I came first, loudly, followed by his jerking wildly inside me. We collapsed on the sofa, in sweaty mess.

This isn’t a fairy story. I didn’t get to quit my job, marry a prince and live in a castle. Life’s not like that. On the other hand, that certainly wasn’t the end of my pool lessons…