Pool Party
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Pool Balls free porn video
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**Author's Note**
This is a short little tale inspired by a picture a friend of mine
pilfered off the internet. Some names and places are fictitious,
others aren't, but hey you've got more to worry about than me using a
name that might belong to your half sister's second cousin's brother-
in-law's lawyer. Anyway, it's just a story....probably.
Pool Balls
The Watcher
"Bar Rules," the man called out to both players. Willie Harrell had
challenged Sam "Sir Billiards" Sloan to a duel, something practically
unheard of within the Chicago city limits. But this wasn't your
classic "pistols at twenty paces" kind of duel, the weapons here were
much more dangerous; this was a Stick Fight. The rules were simple:
Straight pool, game to 50. Winner gets a thousand bucks and control of
the table. Loser goes home crying.
Duels were quite common at Shale's. What wasn't common was to see
someone dumb enough to challenge "Sir Billiards" on his home turf.
Everyone knew he was the king of the mountain here, there wasn't a game
he couldn't play, and to just stroll in without paying your respects
was a bold statement. Often, people would buy him a round the second
he walked through the door, hoping to disuade him from coming their
way. Not only had Willie neglected to pay Sam his tithe, he'd gone so
far as to challenge him, and that was a big no-no.
Sam loved the challenge, though he couldn't help but be sorry for the
poor kid. Willie was at best a second rate player. His geometry was
lacking, and the closest he'd ever come to proper english was in a
dictionary. When he first came to Shale's four months ago, Sam had
hustled him for more than three hundred bucks. Since then, he'd been
determined to get it back. While he could hold his own against your
regular Joe Nobody, to Sam, Willie was pet food, not even worthy enough
to hold his chalk.
The game didn't last two hours, and when it was over Willie paid his
losses, bought Sam a forty, and walked out the door with his proverbial
tail between his legs.
"Too bad," Sam said, sitting at the bar, sucking back on his beer, and
watching though the window as Willie walked off. "I hate it when they
cry like that."
"Well, if they can't afford to lose, they shouldn't play," said
bartender and owner, Tony Shale, "though I wish you wouldn't scare them
off so quickly, he didn't even buy a drink."
"Sure he did," Sam said, holding up his now empty bottle, "this one."
"Speaking of which, you look like you could use another." Tony offered.
"Yes, I could." Sam agreed. "Who's it on this time."
"Young fellow with the girl over in the corner. Probably doesn't want
you to come and embarrass him in front of his lady."
"Well, I'm nothing if not gracious," Sam said, raising his bottle to
the guy in the corner, who had been looking his way nervously ever
since the duel ended. "I?ll leave him alone for tonight."
"The king chooses mercy." Tony laughed, knowing that nothing could be
farther from the truth. "Sir Billiards" may choose to spare people on
occasion, but once the game started, mercy was out of the question.
After polishing off his third beer, Sam decided it was time to go home.
If he got too drunk, he'd lose his edge and "fall prey to revolution,"
as he put it. Saying goodbye to Tony, he left, stopping just outside
the door and listening for the sigh of relief that always followed his
departure.
-------------------
The next night, Tony walked in and scanned the room for potential
marks. Willie was no where to be seen. Not surprising, considering
that when someone loses a duel, they usually can't afford to play for
at least a month afterward.
Sam walked up and sat at the bar, ordering a beer and not at all
surprised to find it already paid for. Someone didn't want his
attention tonight.
He got up and headed for an open table. Racking the balls, he began to
play some one-man rotation to warm up before he decided to take on his
first match of the night. He had just sank the fifteen off the seven
when the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on came up and
asked if she could join. She had long, flowing, brown hair that
reached halfway down her back, she was wearing a tight, brown, low-cut
top that barely contained her ample breasts and abundant cleavage, more
perfect than that of a freshly cut diamond. Her face was like that of
an angel, soft and sweet with rosy cheeks and full, pouty lips. But
what caught Sam's attention was her eyes, big and brown with long
lashes, absolutely beguiling. There was a distinct playful quality to
her eyes, something that said she was more than just a beautiful body.
She was dangerous, this one.
He introduced himself, "Name's Sam Sloan."
"Evette," She replied in a sultry voice. Her very speech was
tantalizing, like a siren's call beckoning him to her.
"Hello, Evette. So, what'll it be?" Sam asked, "Eight-ball? Nine?"
"How about straight?" she cooed, leaning forward on the table, exposing
more of her luscious cleavage.
Sam swallowed, fixated by this display. "Umm, straight it is."
"Say," she said, walking seductively to the wall and picking a cue,
"wanna make this interesting?"
"A wager?" Sam said, surprised. He knew she was the dangerous type,
but no one willing to bet money would trust their funds to a house
stick. "Standard around here is twenty a ball, that sit right with
you?"
"Sounds good to me." She flashed her eyes at him and smiled. Oh,
yeah. She was up to something, he thought.
Sam couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for her. Everyone knew he was
the best, himself included. Since a game of straight went to 150,
except in the case of a duel, she could stand to lose as much as three
thousand dollars, depending on how hard he played.
"Nice rack," Sam said, grinning and pointing at where Evette had set up
the balls. She cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked at the obvious
pun, but said nothing.
As the game went on, Sam became impressed with her skills, and not just
at pool. Evette was making shots that a professional would have
difficulty with; two, three, and even four-ball combinations. When she
broke 100, she was only seven points behind him. Part of that was
because she was good, the rest was because she was really good.
Sam wasn't playing his A-game tonight; he couldn't. She was too
distracting. Whenever he'd line up a shot, she'd lean over the table
and arch her back, pushing out her chest and exposing as much cleavage
as possible. She would stroke her cue suggestively as if it were a
man's cock and she were giving the greatest hand job ever. And when
she would sit down, her hand would slowly move down to her pussy and
she would finger her clit, moaning softly and smiling enticingly at
him. Once, while she was leaning over the table, her right breast
actually popped out of the confines of her shirt, right as Sam was
taking his shot. He lost control of his stick, and accidentally popped
the cue ball up into the air, straight toward her. She caught the ball
in mid air, tucked her breast back into her shirt, saying nonchalantly,
"My turn."
Sam didn't know what to do. He looked around the room, seeing if
anyone had noticed what had happened. Hearing the crack of balls
crashing against one another, he spun around just in time to see three
go down. She was now dead even with him with five points to go before
the game ended. Evette's next shot bounced around the inside of the
pocket but didn't go down, and control was back with him.
Sam breathed a silent sigh of relief at that. Evette was the first
person in a long time to come this close to beating him, and while he
did enjoy the challenge, there was no way he was going to let some
woman get the better of him.
*Thump.* Down went the twelve ball, and the game was over. Evette gave
a sultry puppy-dog pout in mock disappointment as she handed over her
losses to Sam, who quickly counted it before tucking it into his vest
pocket. It was only a hundred bucks, but it had been the hardest
hundred bucks he had ever made.
"Well, that sure was exhilarating." Sam said as he waved over to the
bar for Tony to bring them a round.
"It doesn't have to end," Evette said, running her finger up Sam's
chest, "How about one more go, only this time we up the stakes a
little."
"Um, What'd you have in mind?" Sam said with a gulp.
"Well, I tell you what. How about, if I win, I get something of yours
that I want," she said, grabbing his crotch in her right hand. Moving
her left hand enticingly up to her chest, she added, "...and if you
win, you get something of mine that you want."
"Okay," Sam agreed, thinking that he was just one game away from the
best lay he'd ever have, "What's the game? Straight? Nine-ball?
Carom?"
"Simple Eight-ball." Evette answered confidently as she strolled over
to the end of the table and began to rack the balls. Sam talcked his
hands and chalked his cue, a determinate look in his eyes. Those who
frequented Shale's knew that look; anyone who met its gaze faced
certain doom. Sir Billiards was here to do battle.
Though Sam had won the last game and was therefore entitled to break,
he yielded that right to Evette. Leaning far over the table, she lined
up her initial shot, which bounced off two rails before striking the
racked set from behind and scattering them across the table.
*Thump, thump*, down went the three and the seven. With her unusual
style of break, Evette had managed to sink two balls. Strolling
leisurely around to the opposite side of the table, a blatant smirk
across her face, she eyed the table like a predator for her next shot.
*Thump* down went the four. Sam twitched as a strange sensation washed
through his body. All of the sudden, his stomach felt tight and a dull
ache spread over his chest. His scalped itched slightly, and upon
reaching up to scratch, Sam was surprised to find that his hair, once
jet black, was now a medium brown and considerably longer, reaching
down just beyond his shoulders.
"What the hell?" Sam said, holding a lock of his hair out in front of
him, "What's going on?" Evette, still smirking as she watched Sam out
of the corner of her eye, lined up her next shot. *Thump*, down went
the one, and Sam felt the sensation intensify, as well as his pants get
much tighter in the hips. Sam's gaze darted around the room, looking
to see if anyone had seen what was going on. Strangely enough, the
whole place appeared oblivious to his situation, and seemed to simply
fade into the background.
Evette's next shot bounced off the corner of the rail, just out of
range of the center pocket, and Sam stepped up to the table. As with
before, Evette began to play to Sam's libido while he shot, leaning
over the table and pushing her chest out as far as it would go. Sam,
tried not to concentrate on the proximity of her bountiful breasts as
he lined up his cue.
*Thump*, down went the eleven. *Thump, thump,* the ten and fourteen
were next. Sam was thankful that whatever force was changing him at
least took a break while he was shooting. *Thump, thump.* Sam watched
the fifteen drop, cringing as the two followed it in.
The sensation engulfed Sam, and the room began to spin. When he
finally came out of his daze, he discovered that he'd shrank eight
inches and was now the same height as Evette. "Oh my god," Sam said,
his moment of clarity cut off by Evette's sultry voice.
"So, have you figured out what I want yet?" She grinned as she lined
up another shot. *Thump...thump.* Down went the five, followed
shortly by the cue ball. "Damn," Evette pouted as she stepped back
from the table.
"What do you mean? What's going on?" Sam asked, confused by Evette's
remark. The sensation increased into a strong tingling, as if his skin
were being prodded by a billion minute pinpricks. Sam felt a pushing
sensation as his shirt became tight as his chest. Looking down, he
watched as it swelled before his eyes. Tearing it open, he came close
to hyperventilating at the sight of two perfectly formed breasts
jutting from his chest and any hair that had been on his chest
beforehand had mysteriously disappeared. Another feeling, this time
more a tugging, came from his groin. Sam's hand shot to his crotch,
desperately searching for what wasn't there.
"Don't you see, Sam?" Evette said, shedding her seductress facade, "As
my balls go down, yours go away." Sam's eyes went wide at that. What
Evette had said was no joke; she had upped the stakes, only now,
instead of playing for money, his very manhood was on the line. Sam,
more determined than ever to win, struggled with his new protrusions as
he lined up his next shot.
"Nice rack." Evette giggled, the irony of her statement not lost on
Sam.
*Thump, thump, thump.* Driven by what was at stake, Sam launched back
into the game with renewed zeal, lining up shots with eagle-eye
accuracy. With only the eight left, Sam's pulse came back down.
"Looks like I get what I want after all," he said, confidently adding
with a tap of his cue, "Corner." Sam lined up and his stick launched
forward, driving the cue down the table where it hit the eight with a
resounding "crack." The eight ball skidded toward the pocket Sam had
indicated, impacting the rail and ricocheting back and forth in the
recess without falling in.
As the eight ball spun to a stop, Sam collapsed on the ground, his new
breasts jiggling violently as he did so. Evette's grin spread
practically ear to ear. She made short work of the six, and Sam felt
the sensation wash over him with greater vigor. He arched his back as
the wave spread through to every fiber of his being. Everything melded
into white noise as his senses were assaulted from every angle. When
it was over, Sam found his body was now completely feminine. His arms
and legs were silky smooth, his hair had again lengthened and now
draped in flowing waves across his massive chest. Standing up, he
looked into the reflection of a mirror near the bar. The face staring
back at him was none other than Evette's.
The sound of a crack echoed and Sam spun around toward the muffled
*thump*. As the eight fell, so did his heart. A bright light washed
over him along with a wave of dizziness, and when it passed, it was not
Evette's face that met his, but that of Willie Harrell.
"Well, Sam, looks like you spoke too soon." Willie said, grabbing Sam's
jaw as he gloated, "I get what I want. I'm the new king, and you,
you're nothing but an oversexed bitch. All the money in the world
couldn't buy this kind of pleasure, the pleasure of seeing the great
Sir Billiards reduced to a libidinous little whore."
Willie lifted Sam to his feet, walked him to the door, and promptly
threw him down onto the concrete. As he was turning to go back inside,
Sam asked hoarsely, "Why didn't you change any?"
"Aw, your train of thought just pulling out of the station?" he mocked,
"All you wanted was sex, Sam, nothing more. I wanted to watch your
life slip away, and I got it. Sam Sloan is no more, a memory, soon to
be forgotten. I'm the new king, you can call me Slick Willie."
Willie stepped back into Shale's, leaving Sam out in the cold. Sam
shivered as he looked through the window at the world he once enjoyed.
Now that was gone..... "Or is it?" He said, cocking an eyebrow and
looking back down at his chest.
-------------------
*Epilogue*
Two years later, the doors of Magoo's swung open and in walked the most
stunning woman ever to grace the streets of New Orleans. She wore a
short red leather skirt that clung tight to her full hips, and a
matching halter top that showcased her ample cleavage. Her lips were
emblazoned with red lipstick and her brown hair flowed in waves down
her chest. As she walked through the bar, time seemed to slow down and
all one could hear was the tinkling of metal from her wrist where the
words "SEQUERE ME" were etched into her bracelet.
As she stepped over to the pool table, the men stood back, lining
themselves up. The woman took out her cue, screwed it together, and
slowly began waving it back and forth between them. She stopped at one
wearing an open flannel shirt over a bare, well-toned chest. His tight
blue jeans did little to hide his erect member, which twitched at the
sound each man in the lineup hoped to one day hear, "Challenge."
If you were to ask her name, the woman in red would answer, "Samantha
Sloan," but to the denizens of Magoo's she was more commonly known as
"La Belle Dam Sans Merci."
Sam smiled to herself. Willie wanted to take away her throne, fine.
She just went and found a better one. Sometimes when you win, you
lose. And sometimes when you lose, you win. Long live the Queen.
Fin
Lauryn
- 10.01.2022
- 16
- 0
