ONE

Heather Stanton took a sip of her gin and tonic. As she set the highball glass down, she clinked the glass next to her. "You're nursing that beer, Maytag," she teased her partner.

"I need a glass of water," Maytag said.

"Are you still winded from that rundown?" Stanton asked.

"I got him, didn't I? Besides, that guy was fast. I didn't see anyone else join in."

"Much more fun to watch you."

Maytag ignored the comment. "Stanton, it has nothing to do with that run, and everything to do with the ungodly temperature in this bar."

"Don't even think of asking him to put the air conditioner back on," Stanton warned him. "It was like a skating rink when we came in here. Besides if you're hot, you should lose some of those clothes."

Stanton wore a powder blue cotton top with spaghetti straps, cutoff jeans, and sandals. Her outfit weathered the heat better than Maytag's suit.

"Unlike you, I didn't pack my entire closet for this trip."

"No, don't give me that," Stanton said. "You thought there was no lead to follow here, and that I was on the wrong track. You never expected to find them here."

Maytag sighed. "You were right, I was wrong. How many times do you want me to say it?"

"Until you mean it."

Maytag pulled around on his open collar and loosened his tie some more. "It's still hot in here."

"Take off the jacket," Stanton said.

"I'd rather not."

"Are you still upset about that stain?"

"It looks terrible," Maytag said.

"It's just chocolate," Stanton said. "Who doesn't like chocolate?"

"It looks like shit."

"Simulated shit," Stanton corrected.

"Of all the perversions we deal with, I think I can honestly say that infantilism freaks me out the most."

"Whatever," Stanton said. "If you have a hang-up, don't complain to me about being uncomfortable."

"You might have a hang-up too if you chased a half naked guy in a bonnet tossing shitty diapers back at you."

"Simulated shit," Stanton corrected him again.

"Whatever," Maytag said. "It's my hang-up."

"Well then, sit there and suffer."

Maytag took a generous drink of his beer. He licked his lips. "I wouldn't be suffering if you hadn't cheated on that eight ball bet. Now I have to turn every public space we enter into a sauna."

"Cheated? Again with the cheating claim! Is that what this is about?"

"I think I deserve another shot."

"Forget it, Maytag. I'm not letting you get out of this one. The benefits are too good."

"Then at least give me a shot at getting out of it for tonight. Just tonight."

Stanton thought it over while stirring her drink with a swizzle stick. "What do you have in mind?"

"They have a pool table," Maytag said.

"Ha!" Stanton laughed. "Maytag, I've seen you play pool. Your game is pure slop."

"You're not much better," Maytag said.

"I do more than just slam the cue and hope something goes in!"

"My bet, and I say pool."

"Your bet, your game," Stanton said. "Fine with me."

The two made their way over to the table, Maytag in his dark suit, Stanton with mostly skin exposed. To their delight, they discovered no one on the table.

"OK, Maytag," Stanton said as she selected a cue stick. "So how do you want to work this?"

"We play for clothes," Maytag said flatly.

"Strip pool?" Stanton asked. "A little juvenile, don't you think?"

"No, no," Maytag replied. "Not like that. This is about comfort. If you win, then I have to lose an article. But if I win, you put something warm on so you can suffer in this uncomfortable bar along with me."

"Maytag, I'm gonna have a pile of your clothes on this stool in no time. Rack 'em!"

"You ready for another round?" asked the perky cocktail waitress.

Maytag smiled at the cocktail waitress. "Just a water, thanks." He started to rack the balls.

"Absolutely," Stanton said. "Another gin and tonic. Maybe, just maybe, it'll even the odds out." She grinned at Maytag.

Maytag returned her grin with a smirk. "Do you want to break, or is that left for the underdog, too?"

"I'll break," she said. Stanton moved over to the table and took the white cue ball in hand. When she looked at the table, however, she was surprised to see a slender diamond pattern of balls where the normal broad triangle might be.

"Nine ball?" she asked.

"Yes, nine ball," Maytag said. "My bet, my game, right?"

Stanton shrugged. "Like I said, fine with me." But she was not as confident as she was before. Nine ball moved faster than eight ball, and garbage was all legal. A slop player with a quick run of luck might win a game.

Off the break, Stanton sunk nothing. Maytag had a long shot across the table to the one, but the cue barely kissed the yellow ball, and Stanton took over with an easy shot. She sunk the one, moved to the two, and sank that as well. She breathed easy again. The three was a tough shot, and she missed it, knocking it hard off the rail, but at a wrong angle.

"That's a shame," Maytag said.

"Tough shot," Stanton said. Then she realized he wasn't offering sympathy. The three ended up in good line for a 3-9 combo shot. Maytag knocked it down.

"How about that?" Maytag asked.

Stanton placed her tongue squarely in cheek. "I don't have extra clothes here."

"Go fetch some," Maytag said. "I'll rack again."

While Stanton was gone the cocktail waitress arrived with their drinks. "Are you two gambling in this establishment?" she teased.

"Not exactly," Maytag answered.

"I should hope she's not taking something off, like in strip poker," the waitress said.

Maytag did a double take. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, we get a guy in here that likes to do that sort of thing a lot."

"Quite the opposite," Maytag said. "She's actually going to put on more clothes."

"Really?" the waitress sounded surprised. "Oh, well. Whatever floats your boat."

Stanton returned with a bundle of clothes. She made a great show of slipping on a sweatshirt over her top. Maytag greeted the performance with mock applause. "Your drink arrived in case you need to cool off," he said. Maytag broke. Once again, Stanton worked a few balls. Once again, Maytag looked solely for the quick win. He earned it again, sending the green six hurling off rails until it smacked the nine and deposited it in a corner pocket.

"Looks like I win again."

"I'm putting on socks," Stanton said. It killed her fashion sense, but she was starting to get a little warm.

"OK," Maytag said. "You're allowed one questionable article. But after this, I don't want to see any head bands or anything."

They played again, and this time Stanton took the approach of going for the quick win herself. But by then Maytag had time warming up trying combination shots. He won another round.

Just as Stanton was pulling the sweatpants over her legs, a man appeared at the table. He watched her slip the pants over top of her cutoffs and shook his head. "Now I know it can't be that cold in this bar, because I'm sweating like a Mississippi mail man in August. So why is it you're putting on heavy clothes?"

"Ask the pool shark," Stanton instructed him.

"It's just a simple bet," Maytag said.

"What kind of bet?" the man asked.

Maytag explained, and the man only shook his head more. "Well, that's just terrible. I can say quite certainly after staring at Jeff the bartender most nights that you are much easier to look at than the staff at this bar. And here your friend wants you to cover up those nice legs."

"I hear you, Kenny," said the waitress, who arrived to check on their drinks. "First you apologize to her for your shameless talking about her legs. Then you better send some of that shameless talk my way, or you'll be fetching your own beer from now on."

"Sorry, I guess I was a little forward there. I don't even know your name."

"Heather," she told him.

"A pleasure," Kenny looked at her and smiled.

"Ahem," the waitress cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry, Donna," Kenny said. "May you see fit to smother me with those legs should I ever fail to compliment them in the future."

"That's better, you little wise ass. Another round?"

"Yes," Maytag said. "Another game?" he asked Stanton.

"Another one?" Kenny said. "She's already bundled like an Eskimo! Tell you what, why don't I stand in for her?"

"So we can both end up like Eskimos?" Stanton asked.

"I wasn't planning on losing, Heather," he said. "Besides, I'm not going to be putting on clothes."

"You're taking them off?" Stanton asked. "I like this more and more."

"I'm doing that either," Kenny said. "This is your bet, I'm just standing in for you. But we can make it more interesting."

"How's that?" Maytag asked.

"Double the bet. If I win for Heather, she gets to ditch part of her winter get-up, while you lose an article."

"And vice versa?" Maytag asked.

"That's right. You rack, I'll break."

Break Ken did. The thunderous collision made Maytag wince, and the soft thump of a ball landing in a pocket only made the ominous sound worse.

Donna the waitress returned with their drinks. "Look out for this one," she whispered to Stanton. "He's a cross breed of pool shark and hound dog."

"I can see both," Stanton replied. "Don't worry, though. He's on my side."

"I see," Donna said. She wasn't gone but a minute before Ken had won the game. Stanton lost the sweatshirt, and Maytag ditched his tie. Stanton told him that was his questionable article for the night.

Thunder Ken ran through the table again. Stanton removed her pants, baring her legs again. Maytag lost shoes and socks.

"That's almost questionable again, but considering you're down two articles, I'll let it go."

"Generous of you," Maytag said. As an aside, Maytag told his partner, "I think I've been had."

True to Maytag's assessment, Ken was not nearly as generous as Stanton was. He did not run the table, but Maytag managed only two poor attempts at stealing one from his opponent. At the end, Ken made a smooth shot along the rail to put the striped nine ball away.

"What's next?" he asked Maytag and Stanton.

Stanton removed her socks. Maytag opted for the jacket. Their clothes were piling up like the remains of a make out session.

"Hey! what's that on your shirt?" Ken asked Maytag. "Looks like--"

"Chocolate!" Maytag cut him off.

"It's only simulated shit," Stanton said.

"I don't understand," Ken said, as he racked the balls.

"You don't want to know," Stanton said. "And you don't need to play any more. I've been avenged. See, I'm back to the starting point."

"You mean you're not going to give Gerry here a chance to win one from me?"

"Yeah, Stanton," Maytag said. "Let me have a go at it."

"OK," she said. "Though I don't like your chances."

Nor did his play give her reason for optimism. Before she could order another drink, Ken had won again. Maytag stripped out of the soiled shirt so fast that Stanton suspected he may have even thrown the game.

Stanton took off her shoes.

"That doesn't count," Ken said.

"What?" Stanton said.

"Well, you said Gerry's shoes were questionable, and we've established that you've had your questionable article. So shoes aren't good enough."

That left the brunette to choose between her cutoff jeans, her top, or a retreat from the contest.

"Stanton, don't worry about it," Maytag said. "Shoes are fine."

Retreat wasn't her style, though. "That's OK, Maytag, I'll play by the rules."

That left her with a choice between confirming the world's knowledge that wearing spaghetti straps is equivalent to wearing no bra and revealing to the world that she was wearing polka dot panties. She chose for the polka dot revelation, and was grateful once again for having a her bikini line waxed regularly.

"Oh, my," said Ken.

"Oh, my," said Donna the cocktail waitress.

Aside to Stanton, Donna said, "I guess he wasn't on my side, really."

"Well, he's honest," Stanton said. "From the start, he was playing to get my clothes off."

"Honest? You've definitely been had."

"So are we playing again or what?" Ken asked.

"I've literally lost my shirt," Maytag said. "I'm done."

"Heather?" Ken asked. "Do you want us to keep going?"

"I think you've proved your point," Maytag said. He put his cue stick down and moved to Stanton's side. "We have a lot to do tomorrow, right Stanton?"

"She's a big girl, Gerry," Ken asserted. "I'm sure she can speak for herself."

"Yes, I can," Stanton said. "I say we go one more round."

"I'm not going to be a party to this," Maytag whispered.

Stanton moved her lips close to his ear. "Yes you are," she said. "Just pick up the stick and play." She winked at him. It was tough for Maytag to say 'no' to women in spaghetti straps and polka dot panties. He picked up the stick.

Ken almost licked his lips in anticipation. He didn't know what these two had going on, but he had seen couples do crazier things in this bar. She certainly seemed to like flaunting it in front of this guy, and yet Gerry just sat there and took it. Didn't matter much to Ken, as long as he got to see more of those curves. He racked and broke.

Maytag seemed on the verge of a rally. After Ken broke, nine balls still stood on the table. Maytag sank one, two, and three as if he had learned something from his opponent. He missed the next shot, though, in an attempt to drown the nine ball. Ken looked ready to pounce.

"I want to get a better look at this," Stanton said. She stood up from her stool and walked to the table. Bounced was more like it. She jiggled on the way over and made quite a show of leaning over the table. "That still looks like a tough shot," she said. Then she slowly made her way back to the chair.

The polka dot panties had a Brazilian back, or a half width bottom. They covered a good deal of her round ass, but ended just where the curve of the cheek was greatest. The garment fought a losing battle to remain there, and started to ride up her ass as Stanton's hips swayed on the journey back to her seat.

"We're waiting," Maytag said.

"Yeah," Ken said. But Stanton's ploy worked. He missed the shot.

Maytag was left with a clean shot at the four. Next, he solidly hit the five, but the orange ball bounced around the jaws of the pocket. It was back to Ken.

Ken drained the five ball, but Stanton had another distraction for him. She started to suck a piece of ice and made quite a bit of noise doing it. When Ken flubbed the stroke, he shot a look at Stanton. She only smiled at him and licked the ice cube. Ken chose to blame his cue rather than the minx in the polka dot bottoms, and made a Freudian show of chalking the tip.

"My turn," Maytag said. He pocketed the six, and left the cue in a fine position for the next ball. Maytag walked around the table and sank the seven. He eyed up a tough cut shot on the eight.

"Tough shot, Gerry," Ken said. He wasn't above psychological games either. "Think you can make that eight ball?"

"All signs point to yes," Maytag said as he stroked the stick against the cue ball. The white ball glanced off the black, and sent the eight rolling to the corner.

Stanton clapped. "Didn't know you could do that," she said.

Maytag shrugged. His work wasn't done yet. The nine sat far across the table, up against the end rail. With no other option, he aimed to kiss it and send it lightly to the corner. The cue hit the ball too squarely; it only managed to rattle it off the rail. The cue stopped behind it, leaving an easy shot.

"Thank you very much," Ken said. He stood and raced to the table. He couldn't escape Stanton's last effort though, and it was a good one.

"Did it get colder in here, or is it just me?" Her nipples stood straight out of her shirt, like rasberries trapped between skin and cloth. She must have used the ice, Ken thought. Then the brunette stood and wrapped her arms under her breasts, shoving them up and almost out of the scoop neck top. "Gives me the shivers," she cooed.

The balls were aligned too perfectly, though. Ken sank it, even with one eye on Stanton's tits. "Ha!" he said. "Looks like you owe me an article of clothing."

"I guess I do," Stanton said. "Can I get a little help taking it off?"

"Absolutely," Ken said. He let the cue stick fall and moved toward her to claim the spoils of victory. He wanted to see that fine ass completely bare.

"What makes you think I need your help?" Stanton asked.

Ken's jaw dropped. So this really was just some sort of game between the two of them. Then he looked at the other guy and saw that Maytag was just as surprised.

"Stanton," Maytag said, "I think maybe you've been drinking too much."

"Don't get your hopes up either, Maytag. Hey, Donna!"

The cocktail waitress looked up from her station. "Yeah!"

"C'mere a second!" Stanton yelled. She bent over to take something from her jeans. Ken thought again how good it would be to see that ass naked.

"Looks like you've been had," Maytag said.

"You, too, pal," Ken replied.

"Aww," Stanton said, turning round to face them again. "Don't be such babies." She stuck a pacifier into each of their mouths.

"Rrt da fff?" Ken asked.

Maytag spit the rubber mouth plug out. "I hate infantilism."

Donna was on the scene by then.

"Donna," Stanton asked as she hooked her thumb in her panties. "Would you mind taking these off?"

"Not at all, sugar," Donna said.

Stanton took a step away from the guys and turned away. Donna knelt in front of her and took an inordinate amount of time to peel off the panties. Stanton stepped out of them, and looked back over her shoulder. "Be a dear and gather my clothes, Maytag. I'll see you in the morning." Then, naked but for her top, she walked arm in arm with Donna out of the bar.

"At least I got to see her ass," Ken said. "Not bad, huh, Gerry?" He turned to face Maytag, who was busy taking off his own pants. "What the hell is this?!" Ken cried.

"If Stanton kept her end of the bet, I can, too."

Ken just shook his head. "This is not what I had in mind when I started this thing."

TWO

Stanton lay spread eagled on the hotel bed. Her nipples stood straight and firm, and her breasts heaved with every irregular breath brought on by pleasure. Her pussy lips glistened with wet arousal, the juicy flesh of pink fruit surrounded by puffy white skin shaved free of hair. A hand draped over the wiry bush of dark pubic hair nestled just above that slit. Fingers reached out from the hand and plunged inside the sopping hole, a thumb twiddled the erect nub of flesh poking against a small hood of skin.

Those were Stanton's own fingers getting her off, but she was fantasizing they were someone else's. Donna's fingers would have been nice. The opportunity was there. The waitress had thrown her apron around Stanton to at least cover her pubes. And they collapsed against each other laughing when they walked out of the hotel bar.

When Stanton made a move to kiss her though, Donna backed away. The brunette didn't usually take no for an answer very well, but given that she might have been swimming against the current, so to speak, she let it go and headed to her room.

She was turned on, though, and already half naked. Stretching out for a little stroking off seemed a perfect way to ease her mind. No rejection in masturbation.

Then there was Ken. Cocky, arrogant Ken. She was not about to give him the satisfaction of winning, but she knew she had missed out no one there. Those self confident guys had a way of being the best lays, though. And he certainly was smooth with that cue stick. But Maytag was there, and the bet maybe killed the mood. Another lost opportunity. One of these days, she was going to have to do it on a pool table.

"Heather, you are such a ho," she thought.

She imagined herself flat against the smooth green felt, with Ken's beefy cock delving inside her. She pushed two fingers far inside her and gave a swirl to simulate his motion. It would feel just like this, his dick. Or maybe nasty pool shark Ken would use the butt end of his cue stick instead.

The thought broke over Stanton like a thunder cloud. Her shoulders rolled and her toes curled with orgasm, as the image of Ken fucking her with a cue stick flooded her senses.

"Mmm," she moaned. "such a ho."

*

With the buzz as background noise, Donna thought about that woman from the bar: long dark hair, fair skin, impossibly blue eyes. She was a looker, all right. It was amazing that she turned down Ken. Then Donna saw what the other guy looked like without his shirt on, and he started to look like a fine way to spend the night.

But the brunette left with her.

She had a nice body, too. Legs shaped by exercise, not starvation. A trim little waist. When she walked away from the bar, wearing only that tank top and an apron, Donna could see she had a neat ass, too. Even those little dimples on either side of the base of her spine. It was trashy to walk around in just that, something a ho might do, but Donna admired her confidence.

Maybe she shouldn't have moved back when the brunette tried to kiss her. Donna could have shown the same kind of confidence and just gone with the flow.

As her vibrator hummed away, Donna thought about that. Just a little bit of confidence. Maybe she could play Ken in a game of pool the next time she saw him. Donna thought about Ken a little more, she increased the speed on the vibrator by a notch. Then two.

*

"Two!" Ken thought. "I could have had two if I played that right."

Just the thought of him in the middle of a Donna and Heather sandwich made the head of his dick swell up with enthusiasm. He squeezed the base of his cock tight and treated it to short deliberate jerks. The way those two bitches walked out of there holding on to each other made him want to spooge. Ken bit down on the pacifier just to relieve the tension. The rubber was soft and pliant in his mouth, and he could suck on it as he stroked.

"You know," he thought about the pacifier, "I could get into this fucking thing."

But those fucking lezzie skanks leaving that bar together, that drove him nuts. He pictured them in a sixty nine, with their faces buried deep in muff. He put Heather on top with her sweet ass out in the air. She had a rump, that one. If he came up on that, he would just stick it right there, let Donna lick his balls while he slapped up against that ass.

Maybe he'd let them take turns sucking his dick first. But then, yeah, for sure, he'd be giving it to Heather from the back while the hos licked each other senseless. Then when it was time to shoot his wad, he would pull out and splash that fine fucking ass, and let it dribble down onto Donna's face.

"Urnh," Ken grunted through the pacifier. His prick shot a stream of hot cum around his navel. He stroked his dick hard, and drained every last drip of jizz from its length.

Ken took one last sniff of quim from the polka dot panties, and then wiped himself clean with them. He sure hoped that other dude Gerry hadn't seen him snatch the panties from the pile. "Whatever happened to that guy anyway?"

*

Standing in his underwear, Maytag took a firm hold of the wood and stroked. Not exactly what he wanted, but not bad.

"Hey, pal," the bartender yelled. "We're closing up!"

"Right," Maytag said. What a shame. All he wanted was a few more practice shots on the table. Now he was going to have to spend the whole night thinking about his missed chances at nine ball.

END