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I was hangin’ out at the Dew Drop Inn, the local waterin’ hole only two blocks from my house. I hadn’t expected to get a game so my cue was outside in the trunk of my 66 Camero. I always bring my car, one never knows when one might need to cruise.
I was getting really pissed. I had been sittin’ here for almost two hours, listening to this dickwad hillbilly fucker drone on about how good a pool shot he is. I wasn’t sure I wanted to show him what a really good player looked like. It would be fun to annihilate him, but these fuckers never really learn.
This ass had just beaten Alex, a good friend but mediocre pool player, by two balls. “Whoo, Yeah, who da man?” he begins declaiming in a loud southern accent. Y’all kin bet yer sweet asses ain’t nobody gonna whoop me. Ah am de pool magician.”
I had enough. Beneath so much bluster there had to be a “pussy” a man so unsure of himself that he needed all the phony bravado to bolster his manhood. I wondered if he had inner questions about his sexual identity. I decided to find out.
“Hey, you, what’s your name?”
“Y’all talkin ta me?”
“Name’s Beauford, Beauford Pickens.”
“Well Beauford Beauford, I wonder if you are really any good at pool.”
“You ain’t gotta wonder, ya’ll jus seen it. You bet yer sweet ass Ah am the best, the best in the west.”
“No, Beauford Beauford. You bet your sweet ass.”
“Whaddya mean? An’ why do you keep callin’ me Beauford Beauford, two times like that?”
“Because, Mr Pickens, that is how you introduced yourself, you said ‘my name’s Beauford Beauford Pickens’, isn’t that right Alex?”
“Yep. That’s right Tom, that’s what he said, we all heard him.”
About this time Mr. Pool Shark finally figures out that I am poking fun at him. He says, “Oh Ah get it, Beauford Beauford, how cute.”
“And the question I asked,” I iterated firmly, was: “Are you willing to ‘bet your sweet ass’ as you are so fond of saying?”
“I mean what I say. I have made it a practice in my life to say exactly what I mean, unlike some. What I said was. And I repeat myself for the third time, Would you be willing to bet your ass, to literally bet your ass?”
“Ah steel don get it.”
“I mean,” acting frustrated, “that I propose we shoot a game of pool and if I win, you must give me your ass. Literally to surrender your ass to me to do with whatever I choose.
“You shittin’ me?”
“Two things I never joke about, ass and pool.”
“What about if Ah win?”
“Well sir that is very unlikely to happen, but in the event that it did, you could have your choice, my ass or one hundred bucks.”
“A hundred bucks!”
Mr. Pool Magician looks around the barroom, takes in all the faces, taking the measure of everyone there. An aura of high expectancy hangs in the air, like a giant holding his breath. Although the ‘ass’ part has been sotto voce, everyone has heard the ‘hundred bucks’. I wait quietly. Finally to break the tension, I signal to the bartender. “Hey Wally, gimme the usual peppermint schnaps and a beer back, please. I turn to Mr. Beauford Pickens. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Uh ,yeah, sure,” he is taken somewhat aback by my suddenly friendly attitude, but well, that’s just how I am. He really hadn’t done anything to me, except irritate me with his bragging. He can’t help his accent, though I can barely stand it. And he probably really is insecure about his manhood.
I cross the three steps that separate us and hold out my hand. “I am Tom Francis. Nice to meet you Beauford, where you from, Montgomery? Hmm, maybe south of Montgomery.”
He takes my hand to shake and I hold it a long time before I let go. He looks at my hand, holding his. A questioning look crosses his countenance for a fleeting moment, then he lets go quickly. “Damn,” he says, “how’d you do that, guess where Ah’m from like dat. Ah am from Dothan.”
“Linguistics is one of my hobbies. That, and, during my military service, I lived in Fort Walton Beach, and I went to college in Tallahassee. I been through Dothan about thirty-five times, hitchhikin’ mostly.
“So are you serious about this game? He drops his voice. Do you really want to play for my ass? What does it mean? What would you do with it?
I lean closer, a slight grin on my lips, whisper in his ear. “Fuck it.”
“Huh? Oh!” His face is suddenly bright red as he finally realizes what the stakes of the game will be. For real, huh?”
“Yes, for real. What’re you drinking?”
“An excellent choice. Straight up? With a kicker?”
“That kind sir is exactly correct.”
“Did you get that ,Wally? Run a tab for me will ya, I’ll settle at the end of the night?”
“Will do, Tom. You guys gonna play?”
“Beauford here is still deciding.”
“Fer a hundred bucks?’
“Oh you heard that did you?’
“Yeah I heard it. Been a while since we had a game like that around here.”
I looked steadily at Beauford, letting him know silently bursa escort that the real stakes would be known only to me and him and Alex, who had overheard the original conversation. Anyway, for a bet like that you need a witness. Alex was a good friend who knew that I swung both ways, knew it from personal experience because I had seduced him late one night after a poker game at my house. We hadn’t repeated our intimacy. That way Alex can maintain the self delusion that it had happened because he was drunk and he really wasn’t ‘that way’. It remains our little secret, but had actually brought us closer as friends. I knew what had really happened, what he was really like, between the sheets, but felt no need to push it.
Beauford surprises me. “Okay,” he says. “You got a deal.”
I start grinning so hard I can barely talk. “Okay. Alex! Come here please.” Beauford and I shook on the deal and finished the pact with a shot. Alex held the money and was to serve as a sort of referee if their were questions or problems. “Give me a minute, Beauford. I’ve got to pee and go to my car for a second before we start. Okay?”
“You got it. Man, a hundred bucks,” shaking his head.
I return after a few minutes. I have emptied my bladder and retrieved my stick from the trunk of my Camero. I unbuckle my case and draw my sword. My cue is a thing of beauty, a $1500 Mucci like they don’t make any more, hand crafted from a single small maple tree of a type they call ‘bird’s eye maple’, with a simple tight leather grip. Inlaid just above the grip are my initials in mother of pearl. It originally weighed 16 ounces, but I have used it so long that it more closely approaches 15. My cue is named “sting” (in my mind only), after Bilbo’s Goblin killer.
I win the toss, but defer, and Beauford breaks. I have to admit he handles himself pretty well. He sinks two solids on the break, then two more. The six ball heads for the corner, but he shoots a bit too hard and it bobbles and stays up.
It is my turn. I walk around the table twice, checking out every ball and its relation to every other ball. Beauford probably thinks he has me snookered, as I am close behind the eight, blocked from every other ball, nevertheless, I see the whole game spread out before me, stroke by stroke. I know exactly where I am going to put each ball and in what order. All that is necessary now is for me to do it.
I hunker down and take my time. I call the fourteen in the corner, but I aim at the nine, drive it to the rail, it kisses the eleven, which runs down the rail and nudges the fourteen into the corner. Because the eleven stays put, I punch it into the same corner for my next shot, stopping the cue to run the nine back down the rail into the far corner. The cue stops half way down the table and leaves me straight in on the twelve in the side. Beauford watches me closely, feigning indifference so strongly that it is obvious he is worried. I bank the thirteen cross corner and slam down the Ten. I have now only the fifteen left before the eight ball, which lies directly in the middle of the table.
I have erred and the fifteen is tight against the back rail. I study a moment and slam it hard. It rockets directly into the opposite corner, Almost all the energy from the cue has been absorbed by the fifteen, it spins lazily against the rail, picks up a tiny bit of momentum from shear and barely kisses off the side rail. The shot I have left on the eight is not straight in, but is not very difficult.
“Hey Beauford,” I call softly.
“I’ll tell you what, How about I call it off and we make it a straight $50 and forget the rest? I watch his eyes closely until I am certain he understands what I mean by ‘the rest’.” It is a kind of a test, to see what he really wants, down deep.
He pauses a moment. I am holding my breath. Will he avail himself of the ‘out’ I have provided, or will he stick to our original agreement? And if he sticks to the ‘ass’ agreement, what will it mean? Will he go through with it? Will I? What exactly will I do? Certainly I cannot rape him, but?
Beauford’s smile is a thing of beauty. “No sweat, Yankee, we’ll play by the original rules.”
Twenty seconds more an it is all over. I slip Sting back in its case as I walk to the bar. Alex hands me the envelope with the “$200” in it. I sidle up to Beauford, take his hand and start pumping it.
“Well sorry man, I warned you I was pretty good. Hope there are no hard feelings. You oughta know better than to take a man’s challenge on his own home table.”
“Well, I do know better, I just thought I’d give it a shot. You know, go with lady luck.”
“Hey Wally, give us another drink, buy one for the house while you’re at it.” With the loud cheers and positive comments this announcement brings, it is noisy enough for me to address Beauford without being overheard. “After I finish this drink, I will leave, but I will wait for you in the parking lot at the end of the block. You can leave your car there and I’ll görükle escort drive to my place. It’s really a short walk, but I need my car there. Are we cool?”
“Wel, er, uh, . . . o. . . kay, I guess.”
“You wanna call it off?”
“N. . .no, I. . . I went this far. I don’t want,. . .but if I don’t, then. . .”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”
Wally comes with the drinks and the tab. “You want to take care of this now, Tom?
“Sure thing Wally, take it out of this. Of course I hand him the hundred. (The only one there has ever been).
I sit behind the wheel, waiting, wondering if I have been cheated, or if Beauford has gotten cold feet. But it is only about four minutes until he pulls up and parks, walks the twenty feet or so to my car and climbs in. “Nice car,” he says.”
“I try.” I turn the key and the 327 hums to life.
“Uh, hey. . .W…wait a second before you drive off. Kin Ah ask you somethin?”
I turn to look him in the eye. “Alright” in the closed car I can feel and smell his fear, which excites me terribly.
“Well, er, kin Ah ask. . . What do you plan to do to me?”
“Well, Beauford, you were acting like such a dick when I first went in to the Dew Drop that I should just fuck you silly without regard for anything else. But I really have made no plans. I thought I would just play it as it comes. A lot depends on you.”
“Whadya mean, on me?”
“On what you are willing to do or have done. I have won your ass, but not your cock or balls or lips or hands or anything else, not even your cooperation. So perhaps it would be a good idea in the few short minutes it is gonna take me to drive home, for you to think about what your own involvement will be.”
At that he falls silent. I drive slowly, but even so, the trip only takes five minutes. I guide him into my house. As his body brushes past me, I feel him trembling. Once again his fear excites me. I lead him straight to my bedroom, seat him on the edge of my bed. “Be back in a moment stay there.” I tell him. In a couple of minutes I yell from the kitchen. “You want another drink? I don’t have Turkey, but I do have a little Beam, How about that?”
“Okay.” His voice from the bedroom is faint. I return with a drink for him, ice water for me.
I set mine on the dresser and turn back immediately. “Stand up,” I command. I stand in front of him and unbutton his shirt, slipping it off his well formed shoulders. He flips back the Jim Beam in one quick snort. To test what his reactions will be, how easy or difficult he’s going to make this, I lay my palm on the sparse hair between his nipples. Goose bumps rise on his arms and around his nipples. Carrying things one step further, I run my palm over both taut nipples.
“D…don’t,” he mutters.
Leaving that for the time being, I turn my attention to his trousers,struggling with a buckle bigger than my hand. I twist and turn and fiddle and just when I am about to scream in frustration, like a miracle, his pants fall to his knees. Beauford is wearing those horrible tightie whities, (BVDs designed to thwart even the most ardent advances and protect the virtue of most Americans).” I take the short cut, yanking them down to his knees with one strong thrust of my thumbs in his waistband.
His cock springs free. From this point on, he is going to have difficulty denying his interest, His dick is rock hard, pointing straight up at me. I stare into his face. The expression there says: ” I don’t really want any of this, but my dick betrays me.”
I kneel to work his slacks and undies off his feet. His swaying cock is only inches from my face. The hot smell of male sex is strong in my nostrils. Inside my own jeans, the monster is stirring. Still kneeling, I reach to take Beaufords dick in my fist, but he pulls sharply away. “Hmm, if that’s the way he wants to play it,” I think, “so be it.” I rise.
“Turn around!” I command. He has no choice if he means to keep our covenant. Just for fun I slap him hard once on his right cheek. “Ow,” he screams, “Whadidya do that fer?”
“It’s mine.” I say, “I can do what I want.” I bend him over the edge of the bed and put a pillow under his head. “Stay there, don’t move, I tell him. I step across the room for some lube and a condom from my dresser drawer, a few steps, but I take my time. I want him vulnerable, doubtful, shaky.
I return and squirt an ample amount of lube on his lower back. The way I have him bent forms a small depression there, that I fill with the warm slippery fluid. Now I begin undressing, taking my time, talking to him. “I am gonna have so much fun with that nice pretty ass. I rub his cheeks. Nice butt. Hang on, I’m coming.”
“Uh, k.. . .kin I ask ya somethin”?”
“Sure,” I say moving around so he can see me take off my pants, unbuckling.
“What you’re gonna do, you know. . .”
“You mean fuck you.”
“Oh god, . . . will it. . .that is, er, does it. Shit! Is this gonna hurt?”
“Probably,” I say, letting my pants fall bursa escort bayan to the floor. As usual, I wear no underwear, so the monster springs up, long and dark and heavy looking, completely covered by a long loose wrinkled foreskin, except for my tiny cock eye, which looks as though it is looking him over. “It varies, some feel no pain at all, some scream at first. Don’t worry, I promise to fuck you long enough and hard enough for the pain to go away. I guess what you get out of it after that depends on you. I can probably make you cum, if I decide that’s what I want. Are you sure you don’t want to do a little playing around, maybe a little cock sucking before we get into this part, or maybe even instead of. I usually take an hour or more having fun to work up to this a bit, but, whatever. One other thing. The more you resist, the more it is gonna hurt. Just so you know.” I whistle a little tune as I take off my shoes and socks. I also take the time to check. Beauford’s dick is harder than it was before. He wants this more than he thinks.
I step up behind him so he can feel my balls on the back of his thighs, and lay the heavy head of my cock in the puddle at the base of his spine. I can feel his backside trembling under my pendulous dick. Using the fingers of one hand to spread his ass cheeks, I take hold of the mass of my dick with the other hand and rub the wetness clinging to its head up and down and all around and in between Beauford’s tight pink cheeks. Each time the fat head of my cock bumps over his anal entrance, I can feel the muscle there contract against my cock lips, as if exchanging kisses.
Beauford struggles, pulls his butt away from me. I reach between our bodies and grasp his engorged dick. This time he does not resist. He utters one word, “God.” I ease his considerable prick back between his legs and rub it against mine, he moans. I ease my body slightly away from him, still holding his rigid cock back between his legs, rolling my thumb over the fat red head. My other hand lies at the base of his spine, just at the curve of his cute ass cheeks. I curve my thumb and tap at his anus. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. His hole is slippery now and my thumb pops in. “Ungh,” he says and pushes his pretty ass back, embedding my thumb as deep as it will go. I forcibly yank out my thumb with an audible pop, drop his cock, take my rigid lance in hand, step forward a full step and shove the fat head of my prick past his tight anal ring, replacing the thumb. He wriggles, but I hold his hips, easing in inch by inch.
“Oh my God!,” he screams. “It hurts.”
“Easy, easy,” I soothe, pausing my forward progress. “It’ll be okay. Try to relax, don’t tighten up.” My cock remains about three inches inside him. I can clearly feel his anal sphincter spasming around it, like a soft hot tight glove grasping over and over. I begin running my fingertips over his back, ass, and thighs, dancing lightly over his pale white skin. A forest of tiny goose flesh rises all over his body I lean over his back, nipping sharply at the nape of his neck and he throws his head back to expose his throat. Kissing, licking, nibbling at the exposed flesh, I ease in another inch.
“Oh, oh my god, yes. Yes!” he screams. “Do it!” I bite his exposed throat sharply, the short intense burst of pain distracts him and I slam forward, piercing him fully. I pause a mere second, then begin rotating his ass with my hands : up and down, side to side, all around, massaging his prostate with the fat hard head of my prick.
Suddenly he takes over, moving, rolling his hips around, shoving his ass forward, then back, impaling himself over and over, loving it, repeating over and over in a kind of insane sing-song, “Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah.”
I respond, “There ya go Buford. Take it buddy. Take my cock. I knew you’d love it. I knew as soon as I saw you that you would love being fucked.”
“Yes, fucked, oh yes. Oh my god Fuck me hard!”
We settle in to a kind of mutual rhythm, smooth and fluid. My fat dick is leaking copiously; slippery strokes of my long, long cock, glide in and out of him effortlessly making a kind of sloshing sound. His rounded ass cheeks are still shaking, reverberating from the last thrust when the next thrust slams into him. And now we are moving in opposite directions. Each of my tremendous jabs forward meets his driving hips slashing back. My cock, hard as granite, slips from him for a moment and I see his hole, red and wide and welcoming, clasping and unclasping like a small sucking mouth. I scoop up my dick and guide it quickly back into him, resuming my frantic plunging.
All at once, Beauford collapses onto the bed, all resistance, thought, effort, gone. His voice is reduced to a single continuous high keening wail. His arms are spread wide. Inside, he is open from asshole to prostate, which my iron hard cock now strikes on each thrust. This solid contact, in turn slams my cock back hard against my own prostate. I begin to cum, one fast hard shot deep in his rectum, then it is pouring out of me and into him in a single long stream. I hold his hips firmly and pull his ass back tight against me. And then I can feel his ass, his cock, his prostate, contracting over and over, releasing his own torrent of cum against the damp twisted sheets beneath him.
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