Really Bad Shot

I hadn't been to that beer bar before. It was on the other side of the state and not in an area that travelled to with any frequency. But it was 9:00ish on a Thursday night and I figured I'd find some action on a couple of games of pool. I am a pretty good pool player, better than most and, truth be told, it isn't often that I meet my match. So, I knew I'd be able to stir things up at this joint.

There were half a dozen guys there. The bartender was a consumer himself despite the state law prohibiting that. There was "painter" guy, obvious from the blotches on his shirt and pants; and "landscaper" guy who was wearing a "Ferdie's Fertilizer" T-Shirt, a tanner than tan tan, scratches on his arms, and no finger nails. "Pan Head" was the fat biker type: black jeans, black T-shirt, leather vest, and black boots. I hadn't seen a "Hog" in the parking lot so I guessed he just liked the look. And there were a couple of teen-ish "dudes", likely not really able to legally drink anything with alcohol in it, but the cut-offs, flip-flops, tank tops, and backwards baseball caps gave them the look of credibility and, as I said, this place looked like it winked at the refinements of state law.

I sat down at the bar, ordered up a beer, and waited my turn at the pool table. The table itself was a ill-used relic with worn felt, what looked like tired cushions, and cigarette burns all around the edges; in other words, your typical beer bar pool table. There was a rack of cues on the wall and there didn't appear to be a straight cue among the lot. I noticed, however, that nobody in the place had brought their own cue. "Amateurs--every one", I thought.

I came up in the rotation and shot "Eight Ball", the game d'jour. I played with 'Pan Head" who turned out to be a fairly skilled player. I shot with modest skill losing with three of my solids still on the table. Another beer and half-an-hour later I was up again and wound up with "Painter" guy, an o.k. player, and I won going down to the Eight Ball. They bought me another beer.

There was a "No Gambling" sign above the bar but, like I said, I sensed this place really didn't care much for legalities, so I offered to shoot a game for a round of drinks for the house. Everyone agreed. I took on "Landscaper" guy, who was a terrible player, and I managed to lose by seeming a more tipsy than I actually was.

I got myself red in the face and bellowed, "O.K., you two kiddies, I'll play both of you for $50! You can each have a turn before I take a shot. That's fair!"

They looked at each other and smirked. "You got a deal, old man! Rack 'em!"

I beat them. They were good players but they couldn't figure out bank shots on tired cushions. I had adapted to that during those first games I played.

It turned out they had been over confident and didn't have $50 between them but the bartender bailed them out. He said, "I'll play you two out of three. If you win, I'll pay you their $50 plus another $50 of my own. If you win, you'll pay up $100. How does that sound?"

I said, "You ARE on!" Things were going my direction.

Bartender was a very good player and made things interesting. He won the first game; I won the second. The third game boiled down to the eight ball on my shot. It was nestled right against the cushion by the center pocket. That's when I got cocky. I called my shot.

"I'll bank it in the opposite in this pocket, the center pocket right next to the ball. Double or nothing!"

The thought of losing $200 bothered them. Then I said, "O.K. Forget the $200. If I hit the shot, You'll pay up the $100 and one of you can suck my cock! Right? And, if I miss the shot, I'll pay up the $200 and suck the cock of every guy in this room! How does THAT sound?"

There was a nervous laugh from all of them but they were looking at the same table I was and it clearly showed a very tough shot to make. One by one they nodded in agreement. Then they tensed up, arms folded, biting their lips, narrowing their eyes while I lined up my shot.

BANG! I came across the face of the eight ball it rocketed to the opposite side cushion and caromed back and sunk right into the designated side pocket! I looked up at them and saw hands go their foreheads as they averted their eyes. "OH NO!" was practically a chorus from them. I know they were thinking , "Which one of us is going to blow this guy?"

Then there was the sound of a "clunk". The cue ball lazily rolled down the table after hitting the eight ball and slowly dropped into the corner pocket. A SCRATCH! Game over! I LOST! They WON!

I took two $50 dollar bills out of my pocket and plunked them down on the bar and started to head for the door. "Pan Head" stopped me. "O.K., Podner, it's time for the blow jobs!" He was big enough and menacing enough to convince me I needed to pay off; plus, there were six of them and only one of me!

By this time, it was about midnight. Bartender guy went over to the front door of the bar, closed and locked the door, turned off the neon "Beer on Tap" sign, and pulled the "blackout" curtain. "All right, Slick, how are WE going to do this?"

"Pan Head", already by a bar stool, unbuckled his black jeans and let them drop to the floor, pulled down his boxers, sat up on the bar stool, and started massaging his dick. His cock was very big and it didn't get a lot bigger from his rubbing it. In fact, it didn't even get much bigger when I put my lips around it and sucked it into my mouth.

"Pan Head" was easy. It only took a couple of minutes for me to get him to shoot his load into my mouth. As I pulled my head off of him, I looked around for a place to spit. "Pan Head" pointed to his throat and then clenched his fist. I got the hint and swallowed. Honestly, it didn't taste that bad.

"Landscaper" guy was on the next bar stool. He had a mid-length cock but it was thick. His crotch smelled of sweat and lawn clippings, not exactly

eau de parfum

, but not entirely repulsive. I had to work him a bit, up and down, and with my tongue but after about five minutes he shot a huge load down my throat. I didn't have time to decide whether I was going to swallow or not; in fact, I didn't really have a choice. His cum shot right down my throat. "Pan Head's" taste was still in my mouth.

"Painter" guy was a little different story. I don't think he really wanted a guy to suck his dick to begin with but his buddies goaded him into it. He was sitting in a chair at one of the two tables in the bar with his pants and underwear down around his ankles. I had to get down on my knees to take care of him. It took me some time massaging his cock to get it even half-way hard. I said, "Man, I've got to do this or I'm gonna get my ass whipped so just close your eyes and think of me as that housewife you just painted the front door for." I must have struck a nerve because his cock started to get real hard real fast. I went down on him and he began to buck his hips which forced his cock farther into my mouth. I held it there and massaged his balls. He stopped, stiffened his back, and came into my mouth. If fact he came so much that some of his cum leaked out of my mouth. I swallowed what was in my mouth and fingered what was on my chin into my mouth and swallowed that. I certainly didn't want to incur the wrath of "Pan Head" by not swallowing every drop!

The two "Bubbas" were ready for me. They not only had their pants down, they had them OFF! They had pulled a table away from one of the booths and were both sitting there, side by side, with their cocks hard. What can I tell you? Young guys tend to have hard cocks and these guys were not exception. I sucked one and jacked the other one in succession--sucksession, so to speak--and wasn't getting much of anywhere.

"Bubba" #1 said, "How about one of us fucks you in the ass while you suck the other one? That's be a hoot!"

"Dude!" I pulled back and said, "The deal is for a blow job! If you don't like that, you and your buddy can just get up and leave!"

Just then, "Pan Head" came over and tapped me on the shoulder. I looked back and he whispered in my ear, "Pal, you've got the short end of the stick here. I think you'd better take them up on their little suggestion!"

So, "Bubba" #2 got up and went around behind me. While I was sucking the dude that stayed in the booth, the other one reach around, unbuckled my pants and yanked them down around my knees. I heard a spit and felt a hand rub saliva on my asshole and then felt a jolt as he rammed his cock into me. I grunted but didn't stop sucking his buddy.

The ass fucking apparently excited the cock-suckee "Bubba" #1 because he shot his load in very short order. Lots of cum....LOTS of CUM. I wound up spitting half of it in his crotch and "Pan Head" who had been observing the proceedings, gave me the "You gotta lick it up" look, so...I did! One thing about "young cum" is that it doesn't taste all that bid.

After "Bubba" #1 came, "Bubba" #2 pulled his dick out of my ass and, having the courtesy to do so, used a bar towel to wipe my ass leavings off his cock. Then he turned me around and, while standing, grabbed by the back of my head and forced his cock down his throat. This got me to gagging and I thought I was going to throw up all of the cum I'd already swallowed from the others but Bubba #1 came almost right away. His cum went directly down my throat, no taste whatsoever.

I was worn out as I got to my feet and pulled my pants up. I started to walk toward the back door when "Bartender" guy put his arm out to stop me. "You're forgetting someone, Buster!"

I reached into my pocked to find four $50 bills to pay off the rest of the bet but I could see my the look in "Mr. Bartender's" eyes that he assumed that he would be included in the festivities. So, I figured that after all that had happened, It would be poor form to ignore this character. I did him a favor and unzipped his fly, fished his cock out into the open, and had at it.

"Bartender" guy had a really nice cock. It wasn't too big or too small or too big around. Odd as it is to say, it fit nicely into my mouth--and I liked the smell his brand of after shave gave it. He stood here leaning against the bar while I worked him over. I took a little extra time with him. I could sense when he was about to cum and held off so he could settle down a little. Then I would start in again slowly but speeding up little each time and massaging the bottom of his shaft when I drew my mouth back. Getting his slick, hard cock all the way in my mouth wasn't difficult and even less difficult given my previous work that night.

He finally gave up his sperm and I held is softening cock in my mouth until I extracted every last drop. His cum was quite good tasting. "I could get used to it...", I thought.

Afterwards, I put myself together, threw my $200 on the bar and headed for the back door--for real this time. Bartender guy said to my back as I left, "Dude! That'll teach you not to make stupid bets!"

I had to agree with him. I don't make stupid bets. They don't know me on that side of the state or much of anywhere outside my home city, for that matter. I'm an excellent pool player. I'm a good enough pool player to set up shots--easy shots that I know someone else will make, and shots that look difficult that I know I can make but shots that I KNOW I will miss!

I'm a good judge of pool; I'm a good judge of character and of human nature, As a matter of fact I'm a good JUDGE--a REAL Judge! I'm a good enough judge to know that people in my community really don't want to know that I like to suck cock and get fucked in the ass!