"The game is standard eight ball," Mack stated as he chalked up his cue stick. He found the squeaky noise somewhat irritating, but that was okay. A minor annoyance, really. Mack had far more interesting things to contemplate this evening.

"Fine by me," Geoff returned, leaning lackadaisically against the pool table. He seemed a bit preoccupied for Mack's tastes, as if his mind was somewhere else other than in Mack's game room. Still, there was the way he casually held his stick between his legs which Mack found appealing. Such a tease, and Geoff was probably unaware of it. Or was he?

"Loser takes a shot of this fine bottle of Kentucky Gentleman I've had for what, a decade, perhaps? I dunno. Rancid stuff, I assure you."

"High incentive," Geoff commented, raising his eyebrows in a manner Mack thought of as utterly sexy. "I'll take great care not to sink the eight prematurely."

"Indeed," Mack affirmed, strolling around to the head of the table and eyeballing the triangle of racked balls on the opposite end. "If you don't mind, I'll break."

"Certainly. You're the master of the house."

Now that was a word that had Mack mentally drooling: master.

Time enough for that later, Mack chided himself as he placed the cue ball on a slight angle from the rack. He leaned down, glided the stick between his left middle and index fingers. God, how he enjoyed the feel of his cue. He took a few beads, then let the cue ball rip into the collective. A loud crack! sounded, and balls scattered in every direction, a masterful break. There was that word again, master.

The twelve ball wobbled on its stripe, then plunked into the right corner pocket. Mack noted with satisfaction the eight ball had settled harmlessly against the left bank, directly between the center and corner pockets.

"I'm highs then," Mack said as Geoff wandered around the table, studying the alignment of the balls. "We're calling shots, by the way."

"Fair enough," Geoff replied, keeping his eyes intently on the table.

If you only knew the things I'd like to do to you, Mack thought to himself, trying to restrain his grin. Too late. Geoff spotted it.

"You can let me in on the joke," Geoff said, stepping away from the pool table and reaching for his beer which he'd placed on the bar close by.

"I'm sorry, it's private," Mack told him as he spotted a decent shot. If he nicked the ten ball just right, he'd deposit it in the left side. A mere tap should do it, lest he ricochet and potentially bump the eight ball into harm's way. With the precision of a computer tech inserting a memory chip, Mack glided the white ball along the green felt and executed his shot.

"Well done."

"Thank you," Mack acknowledged, already seeking out his next strike. When he was on, Mack could out-hustle the best table sharks Atlantic City had to offer. When he wasn't, Mack was still as formidable as any you'd find scamming takers in a pussy palace. He was merely toying with Geoff right now. If he really wanted to, Mack could put Geoff out without letting him get a single shot off. Where was the fun in that, however?

Geoff had his beer glass to his lips, slowly allowing the sudsy brew to penetrate them. Mack couldn't resist staring at him, despite the awkwardness of it. God help him, Mack was beginning to get hard.

"Drink up," Mack said, "I have plenty more, and I'll expect you'll be needing it as a chaser before too long."

"Ha, what confidence!" Geoff chuckled as he took another swig. "I'm not a bad stick myself, sir, which I'll gladly prove once I get the opportunity. It may be you who does a shot of that nasty swill."

How easily I could prove you wrong, Mack silently sneered. What would you do if I told you I could ram this stick up your ass and make you like it?

Mack ran his tongue lasciviously over his own lips, which were currently parched. He wanted nothing more than to end this game right now and get down to the real business he had outlined for this evening. It was all a matter of patience…

"Fuck," Mack pretend-hissed as he intentionally missed an easy corner shot. "I guess you'll get that opportunity, Geoff."

Geoff said nothing, merely nodded as he set his beer back down then sidled over to the table. He spotted his five ball in prime position, then assumed his stance.

You look so vulnerable in that pose, Mack sighed to himself, trying to ignore the erection in his pants. I could have my way with you just like that. Do you possibly understand how delicious you are?

Geoff launched the cue and forcefully knocked the five ball into the corner hole, coming precariously close to scratching behind it.

"Good play," Mack complimented, as he realized Geoff had failed to leave himself a follow-up shot due to his overzealous cue. Geoff seemed to realize the same fact, judging by the way he furrowed his brows in frustration.

"Piss," Geoff snarled as he stood impotently in place, desperately searching for an open shot. "I'd say you're effectively blocking any possible play."

"I'd love to take credit, but it's all circumstantial, I'm afraid."

"Circumstantial, my ass."

Geoff attempted a difficult bank shot that missed his intended mark of the two ball, inadvertently sinking his four.

"A fine shot, but not the one you called," Mack pointed out as he circled the table, already spotting an open lane to get rid of his fourteen ball.

"Rot," Geoff grumbled as he cleared the way.

"Now, now, be a good sport," Mack politely admonished him. In the back of his mind, Mack entertained thoughts of bending Geoff over the table and pretending he was a cop roughly frisking him.

"Sorry," Geoff said, rotating the cue like a butter churn between his encircled thumb and middle finger.

Like that, the fourteen vanished. Mack had given Geoff a fighting chance, but now the gloves were off. There was an appetizing thought…

In succession, Mack disposed of the nine, and eleven balls. In fact, he'd bunny-hopped Geoff's six to get the nine, much to his guest's astonishment. He was scouting for the thirteen, and with a pair of dazzling banks, it too was wiped off the table. All that remained was the fifteen, no problem, at least not for someone of Mack's skill. Of course, it would be tricky, considering his boner was beginning to hurt. Were he in serious competition, such a distraction would be his undoing.

I wonder if you know how much you turn me on, Geoff…

Concentrating, Mack exhaled, then with a slight chop, the cue ball skimmed and nudged the fifteen in the appropriate spot, dumping it cleanly.

"Fuck me," Geoff whispered.

Something like that, Mack snickered giddily in his head.

The cue ball slowed to a difficult angle, one that if Mack shot well, would sink the eight in the far corner. A slight misjudgment, however, and Mack could lose the game on a scratch.

You poor dear, Mack thought, You look like you've been had. I'll give you a break.

"Far corner," Mack announced, and with a hard delivery that was off-target, the cue ball rolled backwards and fell into the closest pocket.

"I'll be goddamned!" Geoff exclaimed. "You had me beat and scratched on the last shot!"

"Goddamned indeed," Mack said, feigning aggravation. "Looks like I take the Kentucky Gentleman shot after all."

With that, Mack let his stick rest against the pool table, turned to the bar, placed a shot glass on the marble counter, and filled it. Staring at the whiskey for dramatic effect, he sighed loudly, hoisted the glass and said, "God save me…hell, God save us all. Cheers."

As the firewater scorched his throat, Mack acted like he was repulsed by the Kentucky Gentleman, when in fact, he actually liked the damned stuff. How fun it was to manipulate his guest like this.

"It hardly seems fair," Geoff said, waggling the rack in his hand. "I offer you a chance to redeem yourself."

"Sporting of you, sir. Go ahead and rack them."

As Geoff began to collect the remaining balls on the table, Mack slumped backwards against a stool.

I want to shoot off in your face, Mack said quietly, realizing he'd come dangerously close to speaking aloud. Nothing would satisfy me more…

"Did you hear about the accident down on Webster and Prescott?"

"Can't say I did."

"Well," Geoff said as he arranged the balls in the rack. "It was pretty messy, so I'm told. Two cars banged up in the intersection. Both failed to yield the right-of-way and wham! I hear one of the victims has compound fractures all over her body. The other one came out alright. I believe he got away with merely a sprained ankle. Both cars were beyond repair."

"Were you there?"

"No, I wasn't. You know Bailey Kent?"

"Mmm hmm."

"He told it to me. Kent's not one for idle gossip, so I believe him."

"I see."

I could fuck your mouth until your gums bleed, Mack thought, as the nervous pangs in his dick became more desperate.

"Are you sure I can't talk you into a shot of Kentucky Gentleman, Geoff?"

"Not unless I lose this time," Geoff laughed aloud. "Though I certainly wouldn't mind seeing the same end result as last game. Normally I don't like to win that way, but there was no possible way I could've come back. You're a great opponent, Mack."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence. I believe the winner breaks."

"Thank you."

Now Mack's entire body was rupturing with lust.

I'm going to go positively mad if I don't take you now…

As Geoff lined up his break, Mack slowly arced behind him, taking care not to interrupt. Geoff sent the ball off and scattered the rack.

"Damn, bad break," Geoff fumed.

"You know, Geoff, I think I've changed my mind."

"About what?"

"Call me a sore loser, but I'm not really interested in pool anymore."

"Now Mack, I'm sorry you scratched at the end, but…"

"It has nothing to do with that, I assure you," Mack interrupted, moving closer to Geoff. "In fact, the reason I asked you over this evening has nothing at all to do with shooting pool."

Geoff backed away about an inch, his eyes darting around in his pupils nervously. "Th-then what?" he stammered.

It's taking everything I have not to force you to your knees, you artless creature…

Mack placed his hand overtop Geoff's, closing the distance between them.

"Surely you can't mean…" Geoff said, unable to complete his sentence. "I-I don't know what to say, Mack."

"You don't have to say anything Geoff. Want some Kentucky Gentleman now?"

"Yes, I…I think so. Mack, I never had a clue, you…"

"What, Geoff?"

"I didn't know you thought of me that way."

"Come now, Geoff," Mack said, grabbing a clean shot glass and filling it. As he handed it to Geoff, he quickly turned and poured himself another. He reached in, clinked glasses with Geoff's, then quickly tilted the whiskey down his throat. He placed his shot glass on the side of the pool table, just as Geoff finished his. Without giving him a chance to think, Mack seized Geoff into his arms. Possessed by lust, he penetrated Geoff's eyes as if trying to hypnotize him. He examined Geoff's smooth, nearly unblemished skin. Save for a tiny scar on the outer edge of his left eye, Geoff was nearly immaculate. The contours of his lips were all Mack could stand anymore. He needed to do this.

Without a breath, Mack plunged his mouth against Geoff's, hungrily seeking to subjugate him. Geoff's rigid body fell slack in his embrace, completely subservient. Mack couldn't tell for sure if Geoff was willingly receiving him or if he was too stunned to put up a fight. It didn't matter. He grabbed Geoff's hand and guided it to his penis, which seemed to be ready to tear through his slacks.

"You're in trouble, my young friend," Mack said, breaking his kiss long enough to yank his belt out of the loops of his pants. His heartbeat picked up with anticipation, while Geoff's ivory skin began to turn pink. Was Geoff excited by him, or was he frightened out of his mind? Who cared?

Snatching Geoff's right wrist, he closed it against the left and quickly wrapped his belt around them, tightening as far as the leather strap would go. He'd had plenty of practice over the years, plenty of young men in their early to mid twenties having served as his plaything in his game room. Not quite robbing the cradle, it was the right age, yes sir. Vibrant, robust, sexually potent, intelligent with enough naivete to make them easy prey. In Mack's forty-six years, he'd never found a man close to his own age who could satisfy him this way.

Mack undid his fly and let his slacks cascade down his ankles. His erection had wedged through the hole in his boxers, seeking new flesh, new experiences, new pleasures. A hot dribble of pre-come leaked from Mack's member in arduous expectancy and spattered on the carpet. No mind, he'd steam clean it later.

"Now, Geoff, you will see how this game is truly played…"

©2002 Ray Van Horn, Jr. - Contributor's Bio