XXXXXX
Readers: please don't forget to donate to nifty to keep this site free.
XXXXXX
Additional note: a faithful reader and frequent correspondent shared a recent experience of his with me. below is the story i turned it into.
XXXXXX
SO MUCH FOR RENO
The bar was clearing out.
It was closing time, so I should have been hightailing it out of there, too, but I was half-wasted, truth be told. The bartender kept giving me freebies the whole night. Who was I to turn them down, right? Well, now I was paying the price. Unless I sobered up by the time he finished his cleanup, I was going to have to take a taxi back to my room. I think I was actually getting my act together when he put another free one right in front of me. I took one look at it and thought to myself, who am I kidding? There's no way I'm going to be sober enough to drive tonight, even if I don't take this last one. I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least the cab would be cheaper than the cost of all the beers I'd downed. What was one more, right? School was done. I'd shipped my stuff home with a bud. It was my last night in Reno before hitching my way back home to SoCal in the a.m. Didn't I deserve a little send-off?
When it was just the two of us, the bartender turned on some porn. He said it was his usual thing while he cleaned. I didn't object. He had good taste. The guys were hot. The dicks were thick. There were penetration shots, cum blasts. The whole works. My own dick started to tent up and, forgetting I wasn't alone, I started rubbing myself through the fabric. When I looked down from the monitor, the bartender had stopped wiping the counter in front of me. He suggested we play a game of pool. Maybe that would sober me up.
Do I need to tell you he kicked my ass? He said now I had to remove my shirt. I went with it. What the fuck, right? It was just a shirt, right? I figured it was fun and I would just stop when I didn't want to play anymore. I lost the next game too, along with a shoe, which I thought was funny as hell. I ended up losing my other shoe, my socks, my belt, my pants. I was down to my jockeys. By then I was really trying to win, believe it or not, but I don't think I had a prayer. I leaned over the table to line up my next shot but was really thinking more about what was going to happen after I was down to nothing at all. Then I felt him behind me. The fly on his jeans was right at the crack in my ass. I thought he was feeling around for coming attractions, but I was wrong. He wasn't going to wait for me to lose the shorts. He was going to help himself right then and there.
That's right. I'm leaned over the table, with the cue stick in my hands, ready to break when I feel my shorts yanked down and him line up his own shot. Only instead of the 6 ball in the corner pocket, he was going to put his cue stick right in my center pocket. I had just long enough to wonder when he was going to lube up before he made himself at home back there. I guess he lubed up when I wasn't looking.
I arched my back but he held me down. He leaned over me, the buttons of his shirt scraping along my spine, the warmth of the flannel a contrast to the chill of the cement floor beneath my bare feet. His voice was right in my ear. Between grunts, he said, "Take your shot, Patrick." It took all I had to not rip the table's felt with the stick. Not only did I not shame myself, for the first time all night I got a ball in on the break. His cock still up my ass, we moved together to my next position. He pulled out of me, his little head – which wasn't all that little – just kissing the lips of my ass. He had one hand on my throat, the other on my hip. I stood still, not knowing what was next. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. "Go on, take it."
I bent over, shivering with the tingles he was sending down my skin but somehow managing to follow orders, too. I lined up the shot. I pulled the stick back a few times. He timed the movements of his hands with my movement of the stick. And then as I shot the stick home at the ball toward the hole, he shot his own stick home toward my hole. Actually, "in" my hole, for you English majors out there. My own cock was rammed up against the table. I let out a yell at the pain that I didn't want to go away – and the ball went in.
I had another shot to make.
And that's how we spent the game. The two in the corner. The four in the side. The one in the side AND the seven in the corner. I turned around when he said that last one. I said he was nuts, there was no way I could sink both balls in a single shot. He told me to shut the fuck up and shoot. So that's what I did, having no prayer of actually making it. I'm an okay pool player on a good day, but drunk? At 3:00 a.m.?
With a nine inch cock up my ass? Let's just say my concentration wasn't in peak form. His twisting my nipples sure didn't help matters. Neither did his biting my ear or yanking my pubic hair. Then he twisted my face around, plunged his tongue down my throat, swirled it around, yanked it out, spit in my eyes, twisted my head back around and said, "Now shoot it, pussy." I wiped my eyes clean, pulled back my cue stick and feinted forward a bit. He did the same with his cock. I knew what was coming. I both dreaded and wanted it at the same time. I needed it. And was ashamed of myself for even getting myself in this position. Every time I feinted, he feinted with me. It was as if he knew every muscle of my body by then. So when I finally did let go and hit the ball with the stick harder than ever before, I knew he'd do the same to me, harder than ever before.
I wasn't disappointed.
Fuck, did I yell.
He was so in control, he timed his release for the eight ball. That's right. This game – the one with his dick up my ass and my dignity on the floor – this game I was winning. I didn't miss a single shot. He wasn't handling my stick. He never touched it. Not either one, to be clear: not the stick in my hand or the one between my legs. He didn't even tell me how to hit the ball. He just made me need to sink my shots more than I'd ever needed to sink shots in my entire life. Because I knew what he wasn't saying. We both knew that if I missed, he'd stop fucking me. And for all of it – the humiliation, the degradation, the vulnerability, the pain – I loved it and didn't want it to stop. My need – and my honesty with myself about my need – made me shoot the best game of pool I'd ever shot.
As the eight ball went in, I could feel his balls tighten up against my ass. His cock throbbing inside me. His teeth plunging into my neck. His hand in my hair... the felt on my chest and the rim of the table digging into my hip bones as I finally collapsed face down onto the pool table.
He slapped me on the ass.
"Nice game."
Next thing I knew I was lying in the backseat of a cab. The bartender said something to the driver about driving me home down to San Diego. He read out my address off my phone then tossed it and the rest of my clothes in the trunk and slammed it closed. The thunk of the slam made my throbbing head split. The bartender ripped six hundred dollar bills half. He tossed the driver one set of the halves and twisted the other halves in his fingers in front of his face: "Get him home in nine hours and you get the rest." I remember the driver laughing and saying something about making it worth his while, but with his accent and me passing out, who knows what he said. The bartender winked at me and slammed the door shut.
When I came to, I was still in the backseat of the cab only now the cab was in my driveway. It was one o'clock in the afternoon. My parents were just getting back from the store. My mom saw my head rise into the window of the cab and smiled at me. "Patrick's home!" Dad waved. They put down their groceries and approached the taxi – where I was naked and still covered in the bartender's dry cum. Or was it the taxi driver's? Jesus...
So much for Reno.
END
XXXXXXX
I love to hear your reaction, good or bad, so please share. It means a lot to me. I answer all questions.
Below are a few of my other stories, all of which are listed under my name, Abba Dabba, in the Prolific Authors section. If you enjoyed this story, you might check out "Eighteen" or "The Convertible" or "Nice Guy" or "Special Rest Stop." I have others as well.
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/eighteen
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-convertible
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/nice-guy
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/special-rest-stop
Also, visit me on tumblr where I have images which convey the tone I try to capture in my stories.
http://dabbaabba.tumblr.com/