Things become more hands on

With the third beer their shooting seems to improve. It starts with Josh coming up to where you're bent over the table. His hand reaches under your bent form, his work-rough hand and hairy forearm grazing across your soft skin as he reaches for the pool cue, his other hand resting on your lower back, just shy of your buttocks.

Butterflies quiver in your tummy, fluttering straight to your crotch as he nudges you aside, taking the stick. A large gulp of beer hides your flustered face, and as you're tipping your head back he makes his shot.

"Hot damn, guys, I nailed that one!" he says, and you look down to see him leaning on the edge of the table, fingers mere inches from your crotch as he looks at his handiwork.

At first you don't see what's changed since your muffed shot, but you realize that one of the balls seems to have gone in. Unfortunately his next shot is typically bad and misses all the balls entirely.

"What'd you do before sinking that one?" Kyle asks while Josh puts down the stick.

Josh turns to you, pulling you toward him. Not expecting it you stumble into him, your body flush against his muscular one.

"She was bent over like this," Josh says, bending you over even further than you'd initially been. "Spread your legs a bit," he adds, and you somewhat reluctantly do, simulating your shot-stance.

"A little bit more," he requests, and you find your legs spread much farther than you think they were.

Oblivious to the crowd at the bar getting an eyeful of your completely unobstructed crotch you hold the position as Josh reaches under you, trying to reposition your hands. In the process his hands and arm rub across your stomach and over your breasts as he draws your hands - and inadvertantly your top as well - higher.

"So Jenny was like this," he says, hand firmly on your lower back. "I reached under like this," he demonstrates, one hand reaching under at breast level, his forearm pressing against one small mount while his callussed fingers rest on the bottom of the other. His other hand rests on your upper ass.

"L-lower," you gasp, and the hand at your back moves down to cup a buttock.

"It - it was low in front," you correct throatily, and he again adjusts his grip, his roughened fingers scratching down your lower breasts and across your soft belly, making you draw in a breath as they pass your belly button. You finally realize he's waiting for you to tell him to stop. His fingers go far lower than they'd been before you manage to stammer, "St - stop there."

With one hand on your bum and the other on the baby-soft skin above your pussy mound his fingers rub a little back and forth.

"Guess that's about right," Josh says, oblivious to the quivering going on beneath his hands.

"Well if that's what brings luck," Kyle says, and steps up to take Josh's place, his hands reaching under your body to straighten you again. For a moment his hand is over your exposed breast, then trails downward, his hands rubbing you front and back as your face and body heat up.

Their touch flusters you so much that it takes you a couple of shots to lower you top with fumbling fingers, giving everyone a good look at your chest. You might not have big breasts but you do have sensitive nipples that are thicker than most.

Having these new acquaintances rubbing your body seems to improve their shooting somewhat, but it also distracts them. By the time it comes to your shot you're the most distracted of all, breathing heavily and flushing while your crotch threatens to drop rivulets of juices down your inner thighs. Unfortunately, while their new good luck routine seems to have worked for them your shooting is as lousy as ever.

"Maybe we can help get some in the holes," Trevor suggests, and steps forward to volunteer his services.