by Ra's Elf.

She was a pale and kinky bisexual BBW, close to two hundred and fifty pounds, probably five foot ten, with long red hair that she wore in a braid when she shot pool. Her name was Opal and she drove around in a pale blue Mercedes. She shot in two leagues and even managed her own team, an all-Lady crew in which she was the best player and in which two of the other seven members were also BBWS. Twice a year Opal would go out to Vegas to shoot in the National Ladies Bar-Table League. She never came back a champion but she did well in the money standings. And every time Opal traveled to Vegas, she'd tke a different male escort along for the ride ... at least that was the rumor in the local tavern where her all-Lady crew squared off against all comers on Wednesday nights.

I could tell Opal was kinky because she gave the room so many different looks and poses when she had her crew in ... she wore different apparel each time, sometimes ever so subtly themed, rather as if she kept a running subtext going in which she was not just a player, but she was also a Player. One night she'd look like a businesswoman, another night like trailer trash, then again she could appear to be a jogger, or a farmer's wife, or maybe even a defenseless widow. Her looks went on and on, and she was always perfect in whatever role she chose.

I could tell Opal was kinky because her eyes gave it all away. She was the businesswoman who liked her male underlings on their knees under her desk – you could tell that by the bold and contemptuous glare she would sometimes level at some wiseguy who flirted too openly when she came up to the long, U-shaped bar to order a round for "her girls." And when she wore those jogging shorts, with her thick strong thighs revealed in all their breathtaking glory, her eyes went way down the road when she leveled them at certain startled males. And when she wore her trailer trash ensemble, her cut-offs so snug to her abundant ass cheeks you couldn't fit a ten of diamonds between her skin and that stressed fabric, her eyes candidly solicited attention from both males and females alike. And when she wore her dark widow's dress, her eyes were ever so slightly smudged, as from weeping, and the entire room seemed to lean her way, as if seeking to comfort her ... I liked her widow's game a lot, because the dark aching dance deep within and all around the edges of her piteous gaze made my scrotum tighten and my nipples stiffen. Opal was a piece of work, oh you bet.

I could tell Opal was kinky because she could speak without moving her lips. It was her favorite game with some of the older gentlemen. You could tell she was doing it because when she'd come up to the bar and wait for the barmaid, the older gentlemen would kind of stiffen if she stood by them, as if they were being abused in some subtle way – she was very covert and said very nasty things, but only with certain of the older men. I know. Because I was one of them.

"How'd you like my poolstick up your ass, Sport?" was the first line she ever used on me. I spun my head toward her, not believing my ears, but she was watching for the barmaid and gave no sign of having said what she said. "You ARE an ass-man, aren't you?" I turned to her again, and again it was as if she hadn't said a word. She was in her businesswoman's outfit that day, but she never once even looked at me. I'd been watching her shoot, admiring the heavy spread of her powerful hips under the long skirt she wore. And even though her glance never came to meet my admiring stare, she had known I was eyeing her ass ... as she put a twenty on the bar and expertly took several drinks into her hands, she thanked the barmaid and then, just before she turned away, while my own eyes were still locked on her face, she said very quickly and clear as a bell, "I'll fuck you till you squeal, ol' Sport!" Her lips didn't move, and I was the only one who heard her. Then she was gone. She took my breath with her ...

Needless to say, I became a regular watcher of the pool league on Wednesday nights from that night on. I took care not to sit in the same place at the big, U-shaped bar, not because I didn't want to make my interest obvious, but more to see how Opal would react: I wanted to know if she was actually interested in me. Sometimes she would come to where I was, but mostly she did not. She never openly acknowledged my presence, but when she did appear at my elbow to order a round for "her girls," she always gave me a vulgar salute, never moving her lips and never uttering those lines in way anyone else could hear . . . ”Bet if I stepped on your balls you'd cry out for more," she'd say, or "I need to take a leak – want some?" Each time I'd be shocked, and delighted, but I'd never let on that I heard. It became our private side-game, played covertly ever so often.

Weeks went by and then I noticed a change. Opal and "her girls" always sat at the far side of the big room, at two tables near the far end of the section that had the two pool tables. I'd watch her from afar from wherever I sat. Then I noticed that she was also watching me. Not in an obvious way, but I could tell: she'd be talking with her crew and her eyes would suddenly be in my own.

It was a palpable thing, almost as startling as when she'd speak without acknowledging me or moving her lips ... no one else could tell. For all the world she was completely engaged in managing the team, or in humiliating an opponent, but she would laser into me from afar, brief and startling. It became something I could count on and a thing I looked forward to. I became addicted to that distant laser of hers, glancing into me, but still, we never openly spoke to one another. For all the world we were strangers, yet we were locked in.

It was one of her crew who finally broke the ice. "You a shooter?" It was one of the other two BBWs, the biggest gal on the team in fact. She always wore jeans and a T-shirt with words or phrases or ads on it. She was tall, just under six feet, and a true Amazon. She leaned one elbow on the bar when she spoke to me, with her other hand at her hip and one of her feet up on the low rail. Her bosoms were close enough I could sense their heat and heft and when I turned slightly toward her it was all I could do not to leer over at them when I answered. "Used to be all I cared about doing, actually." She laughed, a knowing sort of laugh, and extended her hand, "I'm Opal's little sis ... you can call me that. I’ve noticed you here before. What's your name?"

From then on, Little Sis would always stop by at least once a night. I'd get updates on how the team was doing when it played in other joints. Apparently, they were a very good team and they won often ... Opal, in fact, never lost, is what Little Sis said.

Much as I admired the spectacular Amazonian dimensions of Little Sis, I never flirted with her. So much so, I couldn't even tell if she was making a pass at me when she asked, "You don't exactly play around, do you?"

"Yes, well, no, actually … I guess I usually just kind of lay back and let things be... "

"But I’ll bet you'd play if the woman made the first move though, wouldn't you?"

"Hmmm – I think that'd really depend on who the Lady was ..."

"Aw come on now – don't be so coy, Sweetie. It's not as if we haven't all noticed how you keep watching my sister Opal ... "

"Yeah, well ... I guess I am something of a sucker for Ladies who know the game ... "

"That, and you really like us Really BIG gals most of all, don't you ... go on, you can tell your Little Sis!?"

"My secret's out."

"Well then, a word to the wise: if Opal ever got a hold of you, she'd turn you inside out. You might be a dyed in the wool sucker for us big women, Honey, but Opal's real hard on her men."

I looked into the eyes of Little Sis then. There was pity as well as humor in the candid gaze she returned. For the first time I let my own eyes fall to her bosoms, and they were so full I could feel myself blushing as I said, flirting with this Amazon for the very first time, "And which way would you turn me, Little Sis?"

"Ohhh – such a naughty boy! ... really likes the abuse, and all I had to do was make the first move, see! But the truth is, I never been with a guy Opal hasn't had first – we two been close like that forever. Sisters who share. Opal breaks `em down, then I build `em back up. And hey, good buddy -- when we see someone we like, we like to gang up on `em. And y'know what else, you slutty boy -- here's a bulletin for ya -- we like YOU!"

And with that, she leaned close and stared deep into my eyes as her hand cupped my crotch. It had been an awful long time since I'd been called a "boy." I was already semi-hard, but the touch of Little Sis was both gentle and bold at the same time and as she squeezed me, my cock sprang fully erect. I bowed my head in hopeless, easy surrender to that touch, unable to speak as her hand traced even lower and took hold of my balls. I moaned softly when I felt Opal pressing against me from the other side.

"What's the story here, Little Sis? You know you're up, don't you?"

Little Sis pulled her hand back and winked at me, and as she turned away to return to the pool game, she said, "Yeah, I know I'm up . . . and so is he!"

"You been distracting my players, Sport ... what's your problem?"

"Well, I, uh... "

"Little Sis tells me you used to shoot – ever been beaten by a gal, a Big GAL??"

"I, uh, never had the, uh ... pleasure ... "

My cock was already going soft when I felt her hand. "If you can get this little stick up in about five seconds, I'll beat you till you cry. I'll rack them balls so tight, you'll howl ... " It was a challenging and intimate boast, one that melted all my defenses, as if Opal could read my innermost weakness.

Not five minutes later, Opal had my trousers at my ankles in the backseat of her Mercedes, parked across the street and a few doors down the block, where it was dark on the street.

She'd tied my hands behind my back and spread-eagled me and got to work. She put a simple leather cock ring fastened securely around the base of my cock and balls as I began to engorge with blood, and she took out a bottle of lube, squirting some into her hand and letting the heat of her palm warm it up.

Then slowly and deliberately, she began to smear the lubricant around the ridged head of my now twitching cock. Starting at its tip and moving very slowly down in lazy circles, she smeared the clear lube along the entire length of my now rigid penis. Once it was coated with the glistening gel, she held the base with one hand and slowly traced the length of my dick with her forefinger, smearing lube as she went. When I say she did this slowly, I mean she did it excruciatingly slowly, and every second of the way she watched my face ... when she had finally reached the tip again, she took my straining member between her thumb and forefinger and started stroking back down, even slower than before. By this time I began to utter wee breathy gasps and whimpers. Reaching the base of my prick, she removed her hand and started back up at the tip, this time with three fingers, slowing moving down again. She kept this up until she was using her whole hand, encircling my thickened, throbbing cock and slowly stroking it with a smooth rhythm, kind of like she was still shooting pool, but always in that downward motion . . . as she sped up her actions, she continued those downward strokes, they were almost like thrusts, her fist wrapping around me and pushing down toward the base in deep sweeps. Within a few minutes she was working me vigorously, slamming her fist over my cock at speed, ramming toward its base, then releasing just before reaching my abdomen. There was just no way she could keep that sort of pistoning treatment up much longer, not without me exploding.

I was sure I was just about to come, and probably would've, but instead, she stopped suddenly. Just like that. I let out a deep rolling groan ... she knew her style of torment so well she could anticipate my orgasm, and stopped just prior. Every time. She turned her hand over and let the flat side of her fingernails trail down the length of my penis, and in my total hypersensitivity, she had me howling uncontrollably, mindlessly, like an animal. My cries echoed down the dark street.

But soon she began the whole process over again, taking me once more right to the edge of my orgasm, then bringing me back. I was drooling and gurgling from the prolonged tension and tears streamed down my face. This wild scene seemed to last forever. Over and over, she took me right to the edge, then backed off.

Then, after getting me to the point I couldn't even remember my own name, she pulled the butt-end half of a pool cue out from behind the seat, lubed it up greasily right in front of my face, staring with those eyes deep into my own as she did this. I could even hear the sound of her hand slapped on the lube, then she turned me on my belly, worked the thing slowly up into my ass, screwed me with it.

She began slowly but soon picked up speed as my hole widened and relaxed to receive her lengthening probes. At first it was almost unbearably discomfiting it was so thick, but as my anus inevitably adjusted and widened and relaxed, welcoming its controlling probe, the sensation of being taken up the ass by this woman became almost unbearable in a wholly other way – its presence up inside me began to feel utterly mesmerizing and Opal's complete command over me was so profoundly arousing that I humbly and earnestly begged her not to stop, to go deeper and faster ... and she did!

"BuddhaFuckingMary&Christ! you big slut-FUCK! . . . I KNEW you were a natural, from the very first time I laid eyes on you!"

When she finally reached around and unfastened the cock-ring and stroked me off to a full and exhausting ejaculation, squeezing and twisting my nipple hard with her free hand as my spurting commenced, leaving the pool cue buried in my ass, a tremendously draining orgasm happened during which I shot huge gobs of cum a good three feet, up and out onto her backseat ... it seemed every bit of my essence got milked from my straining cock in the most extraordinary and prolonged orgasm I'd ever known and then she scooped up handfuls of my cream off her upholstery and fed it to me, smearing it all over my lips and lower jaw in the process. Babbling incoherently and slobbering wetly, my own tears flowing freely, I licked myself out of her hand greedily, like a hungry baby, so delirious from her having kept me so long at the very edge of ejaculation.

Finally, she took hold of that pool cue again, steering and screwing me forcefully down into the seat cushion and pushing my entire face flush onto the cum-smeared upholstery, hissing in my ear, "Here's your big chance! Lick it up, Sport – lick up every drop like you love it, `cause you do! You've messed up my car, Lover ... now do your goddamned job!" With her other hand she kept twisting at my aching nipple ...

I did as I was ordered, carefully lapping up every smear of cum my ejaculation had left, and then the backdoor opened and out of the side of my eye I glanced up and saw Little Sis leaning in ... my position was humiliating and helpless, but I didn't care. "Well, well now, what have we here, my wicked sister Opal?" Little Sis was grinning lasciviously.

"Just in time, Little Sis – I think you need to put Humpty-Dumpty here back together again... " She deftly pulled the butt-end from between my ass cheeks, wiped it off and then wiped her hands and brushed her hair. She even sprayed a little perfume behind her ears.

Opal left the car calm as a breeze, not a hair out of place. Back to the games. In her wake, I was a complete wreck, my pride obliterated.

Little Sister slid in beside me, stripping off her T-shirt and unbuttoning her jeans. Her heavy breasts swelled to either side of my face, smothering me, and I could feel and hear her rustling as she wiggled out of those jeans.

"Now you get to suck me good, you poor, dear, beat Baby … suck everything I got … it'll make us both feel a whole lot better – !"

She rose onto my face and buried me beneath her enormity, riding my mouth with her loins. As she rode she reached behind her with both hands and took hold of my already sore nipples, twisting them as she ground down upon and all around my mouth.

"Your nipples are gonna be sore in the morning, ol' Sport, but it'll be good for you – every time you feel `em burning, your gonna taste my hot wet pussy all over again!"

It was a little after midnight when I finally made it back into the tavern. The pool league had already finished up and it was a late night crowd at the big, long, U-shaped bar. The lights were turned off above the pool tables by that time and the jukebox was turned way up loud.

I stood at the near end, close to the front door. I was totally exhausted, and very ready to down a longneck. The aroma and taste of Little Sis was still on my face and my nipples were truly sore and burning exquisitely, and then I spotted Opal down at the far end of the bar, catty-corners from me and sandwiched between a couple good-sized local guys.

The barmaid gave me a funny look as she brought me my bottle, not quite a smirk but close, and very knowing. My secret was indeed out. My eyes fell to the barmaid's hips as she walked off and they were wide and strong, deep and rolling, the very kind I was always such a complete sucker for . . . I felt a low moan escape my lips. I took a long swallow from my beer. Then I took another. I was staring past the upraised bottle toward Opal, still feeling completely exhausted, when suddenly her eyes locked in on mine ...

I almost choked as the laser power of her stare bore into me. It was like her eyes were trumping the bracing effect of my having just swallowed the beer, as if she was burning into my guts with that intense and wholly invasive stare of hers and making me drunk on the raw power of its possessive claim. I also knew instantaneously in my very bowels that she had seen me ogling the barmaid's hindquarters and I knew just as well she did not approve of my roving eye. And in spite of my utter exhaustion I felt my cock once again stirring, lifting against the restraints of my trousers, inspired by her scathing disapproval and its promise of further humiliations.

The barmaid returned, in her hand a generous shot of warm Jagermeister. "Opal sent this – said to tell you she thinks you are a real gentleman, not like the other guys that come in here. She says to tell you it was real sweet of you to treat her Sis so well." Such wicked irony - ! My cock continued to swell . . .

In that moment of fear and anticipation that only the recently raped truly appreciate, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that what the two sisters had done to me in the backseat was just a prelude. I felt my tender ass pucker defensively, and my nipples still burned intensely, stiffening and rubbing uncomfortably against the fabric of my shirt – and yes, that whole sensation brought back the intimate hot feel and sopping wet taste of Little Sis. I looked nervously along the bar and sure enough, there was Little Sis, but she was talking heatedly with some guy, not even looking my way. Licking my lips as I raised the shot, I swallowed the thickly exotic import in one long swallow and closed my eyes, shuddering, feeling goose-bumps and shivers that were more than alcohol-induced ...

My eyes shifted back to Opal's intent glare and again the bold shock of it hit me squarely in the pit of my stomach – her gaze held me like a deer caught in the headlights, and a thrilling nausea welled up within me. The warmth of the Jager both relaxed and aroused me. My entire rectum spasmed. And when she crooked her finger and then waggled it my way, a bright brief vision of Vegas flared brightly in my mind's eye. Not even aware I was doing it, I came around the bar slowly, in all deliberate helplessness, just as if that waggling finger had me under a spell so total my refusal was unthinkable.

I was hers for the duration, and we both knew it. Thru the rabid blare of the jukebox, I advanced deliberately unto my fate.

***

**

Return Home