Sarah Plays Pool

I exhale. A stressful day at the office behind me, I get off the tube and walk down the street towards home. I pass our local pub and pause "Maybe a quick drink to unwind a little" I think to myself before retracing my steps, heels clicking on the flagstones, and push open the door to the dim interior.

My eyes quickly take in the familiar surroundings. This place is a haunt for my husband and myself at weekends, but I rarely venture in during the week. I nod to the bartender, Simon, who responds with his usual surly grunt. He only shows animation when talking to customers about football and tends to ignore female clientele.

"White wine" I say, followed a second later with "...please" as I remember my manners despite my irritation. As Simon pours my drink, I glance along the bar at the sparsely populated room. My brow knits into a frown as I spot David at the end of the counter in his usual position. A large boorish man whose political correctness comes out of an early 1970s playbook. He is a permanent fixture in these premises, and currently engaged in animated laddish chat with another man who has a familiar face but whose name I have forgotten. As they are the only other customers, I quickly hover my card over the machine to pay for my drink and escort it to the corner table furthest from the bar.

I slip my hand under my short black work skirt as I shimmy into the red leather booth seat, the movement reminding me that I usually patronise the bar in far more casual clothing. I swiftly remove my matching black blazer as the warmth of the bar penetrates my body. I straighten my white blouse -- still crisp from its starch even at the tail-end of the day -- and stretch out my stockinged legs beneath the table as I relax.

After a few sips of the cool wine, I begin to feel human again. My eyes flicker to the TV screens dotted around the room all showing some foreign football match but with the sound, blissfully, turned off. Continuing my tour of the space, I smile slightly at the empty pool table at the far end. A common point of focus during busy Saturday nights I enjoy winning often. My modestly competent technique combines with the arrogant male assumption that 'women can't play pool' to send the confident men back, chastened, to the bar after I show them just how wrong they are. The fact that my winning irritates the hell out of chauvinistic David makes each victory doubly sweet.

Lost in my enjoyable reverie, I had barely registered the new entrant to the bar and was calmly replaying past triumphant games in my mind when a half-familiar voice disturbs my quiet.

"Sarah?"

I blink, frowning quizzically as I look up at the man who has approached my table. He obviously knows me, or my name at least, and I am sure I have heard his voice before but despite the sound teasing at my mind, no recollection arrives.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I say primly, looking up from my seated position to the tall man looming over the table as I admit my ignorance. My failure to recognise the new arrival does not seem to perturb him though, in fact a small grin grows across his face.

"It's me, Jon, from school."

I am acutely aware of his intense scrutiny as realisation dawns. I keep a calm poker face though I tighten my grip on the wine glass. 'Jon' -- the very name is irritating to me, generating a Pavlovian response of stress and anger. At school he was a perennial pest, almost a bully, and particularly enjoyed playing 'jokes' on me. I pout but then force myself to relax -- we are not at school now and much has changed.

"Oh yes, of course. Long-time no see." I respond flippantly with my tone of voice carefully kept neutral signalling neither annoyance nor encouragement.

"Good to see you again!" He grins, "Mind if I...?" he continues, gesturing to the seat opposite me. My instinct is to refuse the request as I have no desire to rake over the past but still in my professional clothes, my professional mode kicks in automatically and I consent, nodding once, unenthusiastically. My body unconsciously shows its discomfort as I fidget, arching my back, my 34C breasts pressing against the thin white blouse that holds them.

"How's it going, titch?"

Jon continues as he casually drops into the place opposite me, his strong arms resting on the table after setting his pint down carefully in front of himself. I try to read his expression as I wonder if he knows how much that old school name annoys me or whether it was just casual habit on his part. I am sensitive about my height; five-foot-tall (or should that be small?) has meant a life of looking up to people -- especially men.

"Fine"

I reply simply, discouraging further talk as the taunting name sets my teeth on edge and I try to blot out old memories.

There is a pause in the conversation as Jon gauges the situation, watching me evenly as he takes a drink from his beer. After a moment, he chuckles softly,

"Remember that time when..."

He begins before I rapidly cut him off, responding sharply,

"That was a long time ago..."

I eye him suspiciously as he grins, aware that he is savouring the incident -- I know which one -- when he pulled my skirt up in front of the class. Even the long-ago memory of the situation sends a shiver of frustration and embarrassment through my body, heightening my senses and making me aware of my current underwear pressing against my naked body beneath.

"...and I think you'll find I've come a long way since then."

I continue with a haughty sniff, raising my glass to my lips as I look away, waiting for my pulse to return to normal as Jon enjoys my reaction.

"Oh? Not such a loser anymore?" he laughs, setting my teeth on edge. I stare round the room, eyes alighting on the deserted pool table once more which gives me a sudden idea.

"I will show you who's the loser," I say, my head swivelling back to resume eye contact, "How about a game of pool - £10 to the winner." I sit back in my seat as I deliver the challenge, aware of a slight tingle of anticipation of taking money from my old adversary.

I watch as the standard expression invades his face. The 'I am a man and brilliant at pool while you are only a woman and hence useless at pool' expression that I have seen countless times in the past...usually ten minutes before I win the game. My confidence rises but I hide it behind pretend uncertainty to lure him in further.

"Hey, it's your money" he shrugs in implicit agreement as he pushes back his chair with a low scratching sound and levers himself up, glancing over his shoulder to check out the pool table as he does.

I follow him to the cue rack at the side of the bar, leaving my blazer lying carelessly in the booth. As we walk, I note the strong muscles of Jon's back, his irritating gait -- almost a swagger. My mouth dries in anticipation of taking him down a peg or two, and I allow myself a small internal smile as the delicious thought trickles through me.

We pass the length of the bar to reach the table. As we do, I sense, rather than hear, David's groan. I smile at his irritation at having to watch me prove my superiority once more as his conversation falls silent for a heartbeat as we breeze past.

As Jon picks out his cue, I pull my hair together, tying my long brown mane into a ponytail to ensure it will not interfere with my play. My matching brown eyes quickly select the best choice from the remaining cues, and I chalk it, watching while Jon racks up the balls into a neat triangle. I notice that he is unusually silent and read this as a positive sign.

"So, you seem really confident -- betting money and all, how about we make it even more interesting?" He asks innocently, "Loser plays the next game naked" he adds as casually as if he were talking about the weather.

There is sudden silence in the bar as the other men hear the challenge and freeze. I am about to automatically refuse but the idea of giving in to him again, letting him dominate again, claws at my throat. "You're on" I say before I can stop myself.

"Home player breaks..." he offers, extending a palm towards the prepared table with a surprised and perhaps slightly worried smile.

I move to the end of the green rectangle, facing back to Jon and the men at the bar as I position the white ball and step back to lean my slim body towards it, lining up my cue. As I prepare to break, I realise that I do not usually play in restrictive work attire -- usually I would be in jeans and a loose top. I focus, 'this shouldn't matter much' I think to myself as the blouse restricts my arm a little and my tight skirt grips my thighs as I move into position to make my opening shot.

Glancing up towards the bar I can see the men watching. Their eyes directed more toward my chest than the table. Mentally, I try to picture their view -- my blouse is buttoned up almost to the neck, so I am confident I am not putting on too much of a show. I release the shot. The loud crack echoes around the room as the balls split nicely with a couple rolling into pockets.

"Nice shot" Jon admits sullenly, crossing his arms around his cue as he watches.

I smirk, sensing the draining of his confidence as I drop in the next few easy shots before I need to stretch to reach the white. Lifting my leg onto the table I realise that a shot that is easy in my usual jeans becomes more of a challenge in my work skirt. Gritting my teeth, I hike it up a little -- stocking tops showing -- sensing the gaze of the men behind me as I reach, over-stretch and miss.

"Hah" I hear, though not from my opponent but from that ass David. 'No surprise he is not on my side' I think as I step back to let Jon play. I watch as he competently knocks in a pot, then another, then another. I feel my heart pounding a little faster with alarm. My teeth gnawing at my lip for a moment in distress when suddenly, inexplicably, he misses a simple pot and swears loudly.

This time it is groans I hear from the bar and I drink them in. Finally, I will have full revenge. I look at the table which has a position lending itself to a simple run-out. I exhale to steady myself and play the first few shots leaving myself a medium-length black for the game.

I step back to compose myself but also to savour the moment. The disheartened audience at the bar, my tense and irritated opponent. 'Don't blow it now' I whisper to myself as I lean forward. A surge of adrenaline rushes through me and I slam the black into the heart of the pocket, the white whizzing off around the table.

"OH, FUCK IT!" David exclaims loudly, slamming his pint down onto the bar as Jon is frozen into silence. I cannot help but smirk over at the three men watching at the bar and then back at Jon who, to my surprise has his gaze fixed intently on the table. I look down.

My heart stops. My excess energy has imparted quite some speed to the white ball. It is slowing now but heading towards the middle pocket. My eyes widen and I stare, mentally willing friction to do its job and stop the motion. The men at the bar have realised what is happening and are craning their necks to follow the ball's trajectory.

Closer but slower, closer but slower, on the edge of the pocket almost stopped, and with its last turn of momentum it passes the tipping point and is swallowed into the abyss of the table's innards.

"OH, YOU FUCKING BEAUTY!" Squeals David, instantly high fiving his mate and then the delighted bartender.

I hear the noises of delight but do not see them, my eyes fixed rigidly on the empty space where my victory was residing a second ago. The event also seems to have surprised Jon who takes a moment to compose himself "Well, I guess I win" he says evenly -- provoking another round of approval from the men.

I exhale, pulse racing in my body, mind reeling as I try to adjust myself to this situation of my own making. Determinedly I lift my gaze, ignoring the delighted grins from the bar and staring at Jon "Well played, best of three?" I try in vain, hoping against hope that he will, for once, take mercy on me.

"Sure," he grins, back to his usual self "But you need to pay up for this game first" as he takes a step back, folds his arms casually and watches me.

I know it is hopeless and any further pleas will only add to my humiliation. I reach for my blouse...

"Uh, money first please," he grins extending his hand.

In the horror of the second part of the bet I had completely forgotten the first. I move to the side table and open my handbag, extracting my purse and a slightly worn £10 note. Stepping forward I hear my heels on the wooden floor as I place it in his hand.

"Thanks titch!" He grins. "Now, you can continue."

I lift my fingers and latch them onto my blouse buttons to prevent their shaking. Slowly, raggedly, I start to undo each fastening, concentrating on the actions involved and not my situation, eventually it is undone and I slip it off my shoulders, the white lace bra beneath on display to the men. I look around for a place to put it at which point Jon extends his hand and helpfully takes it for me.

Ignoring the crude wolf-whistle from David I move my trembling hands to the zip on the side of my skirt. One movement and it is undone, the tube of material loosening and whooshing down my legs to a puddle around my ankles. I step out and pick it up, placing it on the table to the side then turning back to the watchers, matching white panties now open to their delighted view.

"Such a shame for you Sarah, you are usually so successful at pool" calls David, forcing my eyes to move up to angrily meet his. "Or should we call you 'titch' from now on?" He quizzes, eyebrows lifting in jocular enquiry as Jon chuckles approvingly.

I exhale sharply, taking a deep breath, reach to unclasp my bra. Moving my gaze into the middle distance I let it loosen, fall, and quickly throw it to Jon for some reason. Stood topless in my local bar, with men I know watching me, I quickly try to cover with my hands. I try not to think of my situation but, to my horror, I feel my nipples tingle strongly at their sudden release and exposure.

The only advantage from the first real show of nudity is the silence in the room as the male mood turns from amusement to lust. I can't resist looking around at the men, seeing all their eyes directed to my hands covering my bare chest.

I bite my lip in my usual way when nervous. I can't afford to delay, or I may never have the courage, so I quickly hook my thumbs into the waistband of my white panties and bend forward -- breasts hanging and exposed for a moment -- as I pull them down my legs and step out of them. I pick them up in one movement and throw them to Jon who catches them while never removing his eyes from between my legs, drinking in the sight of my shaven, tight, married pussy before I can quickly try to cover my pussy with my left hand while my right arm returns to protect my exposed breasts and nipples.

I stand in the familiar place but in an unfamiliar state -- just heels and stocking on, nude in all ways that matter...and with an audience watching my every move.

"This worse than having your schoolgirl knickers flashed to the class, Titch?" grins Jon as his eyes lazily move up and down my exposed skin.

"Yes" I say unevenly. I feel my body responding, nipples hardening with every second of embarrassment, my pussy beginning to join in. Body reacting despite mind forbidding.

"Oh? You knew it from school?" asks David rudely using his favourite 'it' pronoun when referring to women, his question earning a smirk and nod from Jon "Still in touch with any of your schoolmates?" he continues, winking. I frown for a second, not realising until he carries on "I bet they will enjoy hearing about this, eh?" All the men laugh as I tense inside, whimpering silently but...mind hammering, pulse hammering.

I stand, legs jammed together, trying to cover myself as best I can while the men happily chat.

"So, want to win your clothes back Sarah?" taunts Jon, though I detect a slight alarm from the other men who want no such thing. I stare at him and nod.

"Just win the next game then, I'll break" he says casually. I watch, complaints useless, as he re-racks the balls and breaks, potting a few then deliberately leaving me a shot that involves me stretching over the table once more, just as in the first game except...except now the skirt will be no problem.

I bend my knee, lifting it onto the table. With my hands holding the cue, there is no way to cover up and the movement of my leg onto the table, spreads my pussy. I glance back over my shoulder, the four men watching with delight and lust, their eyes directed between my parted legs, getting a full, unobstructed view of my most private area.

I can stand it no longer, with a quick regretful glance at my wedding ring, I lay the cue down flat onto the table but stay in my position of exposure and wait. The signal is clear to my audience and I sense them approach. I tense until finally I feel a hand upon my back, resting there for a moment before moving lower.

I lever my top half up a little to expose my breasts. Seeing David right in front of me I watch as he calmly reaches and feels them "That's better titch, I prefer you like this in the pub" he grins giving my nipples a playful, painful pinch before going back to caressing them.

I moan softly, my body on fire as I feel a movement between my legs. Looking back, I see Jon there, directly behind me he runs his fingers over my slick pussy. Feeling the encouraging wet-ness he undoes himself. I crane to watch as he pulls out his cock -- thick and hard as I knew it would be from such a dominant personality -- and places it at my entrance.

"Wanted to do this for such a long time, Sarah" he says triumphantly before pushing forward. I feel my tight pussy resist for a moment, the size unfamiliar, then giving way before re-capturing his shaft inside me. I yelp with lust and pleasure as I feel my bully's cock in my pussy.

The distraction of being fucked in public in my local bar only lasts for a second before I turn my head back and find David has also brought out his cock and is presenting it demandingly to my mouth. I part my lips and start to suck on the cock of this guy I hate. The humiliation and embarrassment sending sparks of excitement through my body. I look up at his smirk as he starts to thrust into my mouth, using it for his pleasure.

The intensity of the situation is such that it is only seconds later when David calls to Jon "Cum in it mate, let's fill it with two loads". I hear Jon grunt his approval as his thrusting becomes more urgent. His thickness throbbing in my pussy as I feel David's cock pulsating rapidly against my tongue.

I gasp around his cock as I feel my own orgasm shuddering through my body. The gripping of my pussy muscles contracting around him makes Jon's big bare dominant cock tense and start to shoot inside me while David lets go and fills my mouth.

Both men take a moment to leave their cocks inside me to remind me who is boss before withdrawing and quickly slipping their members back into their clothing. I stand unsteadily, satisfied and shocked as I clamber nude from the table, grappling back into my clothing as they watch. Tasting David's cum in my mouth and feeling Jon's in my pussy.

As I smooth myself down, still shaking but no longer exposed I hear David "Jon, that was great mate -- you'll have to come in again and I can introduce you to titch's husband."