In a dark smoky bar, shooting pool, we decide to wager. I'm highly competitive, although not all that great a pool player, but I can get into a zone where I do well, and it always makes me a bit cocky. You're always cocky and so the energy climbs. The wager starts out simple and teasing... each missed shot, the person has to unbutton a button on their shirt. We're both a bit giddy -- all the sexual tension and nerves from the bet -- and both end up with our shirts unbuttoned... a situation more acceptable for you than for me. A small crowd has begun to gather around the table to watch the proceedings and I'm very conscious of my exposure. Leaning over to make my shot, I can feel eyes all around on my breasts almost spilling out of my lacy black bra. I'm becoming very focused.... all the world in the circle of light from the lamp over the pool table... you moving in and out of the shadows into the light, your chest exposed, your eyes dark and intent on me... I can feel your eyes climbing up the backs of my legs as I widen my stance to make my shot and the feeling of you looking makes me stand wider, thrust my ass out more... a deliberate provocation that I know you feel each time I turn from the table and move out of the way for you to play.
Once our shirts are unbuttoned though, the bet can't end. You're doing better than I in general and smile, challenging me to up the ante. The bet becomes the loser has to remove an article of clothing... in your case, your shirt... in mine, my panties. We play and I do poorly, losing the game. I'm trembling a bit, wondering if I'll really go through with this all, but even though my heart is pounding, I can't stop myself. Knowing that a small group is watching, I carefully reach under my short skirt and slip my panties down.. step out of them and walk, smiling, over to you.. dangling the bit of black lace out in front of you. You take them from me and press them to your face, taking a deep breath, making me turn away quickly so you can't see the flush on my face. You stuff them in your shirt pocket carelessly and say, "Let's go again." How can I refuse?
That game I do better... some throbbing rhythm has started in my body. So conscious of my bare pussy almost exposed as I lean over to shoot, I go for the shots that require a lot of leaning and stretching and somehow manage to win the game. I'm laughing.. moving to help you out of your shirt... bodies so close but the only place we touch is where my hands brush your skin as I help slide your shirt off. I say quietly, "The management is going to kick us out." You respond, "The owner's a friend of mine... he'll never kick us out." And I know in that second that you're going to push it right to the edge and I'll go right along with you.
You go to rack up the balls and as I stand, waiting to break, I ask what the bet is. You say, "Winner's choice." I say, "What limits?" and you respond, "None." We are both of us intent on this game, and it comes down to the 8 ball. I'm breathing fast... my turn to shoot first. "Better make this shot," you say. "I won't give you another chance."
