My night off

I was rudely awoken by some banging on my door. I groaned, "Coming!" and the banging sort of stopped. Sort of, because while I didn't hear any, I felt them all the more in my head. My mouth felt like a rodent of some sorts had died in it. I grabbed my sarong from the door, wrapped it around me and opened the door a little. I blinked against the bright sunlight light through the opening.

"Good morning miss, I was about to leave," said the man wearing a brown uniform and holding a box.
"Ummm, 's okay, I'm here," I said and reached out through opening to take the package while trying to hold my sarong up.
"You have to sign for it, miss," he said and pushed a little terminal with a stylus dangling on a string towards me while still holding the box.
As I reached for the terminal, my sarong slipped from my clenched arms and he got an eyeful of my naked body. He grinned. With the terminal in one hand I picked up my sarong and more or less wrapped it around my chest as much as I could. My head pulsed with waves of pain and I signed for the package awkwardly, then handed him the terminal back, "Here, signed."
He offered the box and I had to open the door further to accept it. As I turned around I head him whistle. I guess my naked backside was appealing to him as well. I heard him say, "Have a nice day," as I kicked the door shut.
I dropped the box and went straight back to bed. I groaned from the pain in my head, but somehow I managed to fall asleep eventually.

Several hours later I woke up feeling a bit better. My head wasn't pulsating any more, however, it did feel as if it was stuffed with cotton balls. The taste in my mouth was still bad and I stumbled in the red glow of the sunset towards the sink. I brushed my teeth and tongue in an attempt to remove the taste, then drank several glasses of water. After that I made myself some strong coffee. As I made my way to the couch I almost tripped over the box that I had dropped earlier. I shoved it aside with my foot and sank down on the couch, taking a sip from my coffee. I turned on the TV and leaned back with closed my eyes. Every now and then I took a sip while I listened to the noises coming from the TV, although I didn't pay much attention to it. When I had finished my coffee, I drank another two glasses of water, then heated up a frozen dinner. While waiting for the microwave to ping I watched the news. The usual ****, politics and of course, celebrities passed and my dinner was ready. I sat down and slowly ate my meal, being somewhat full from the water didn't help.

After I was done, I took a shower, then opened the box. The dress I had ordered was as nice as it looked on the website. I tried it on. While I checked myself in the mirror I adjusted the halter around my neck, pulled the soft fabric a little further over the sides of my breasts and fastened the transparent clasp in the middle. The neckline went down as far as my belly button. My back was mostly exposed, the fabric made a nice curve over my lower back. The lower half was somewhat pleated and as advertised reached just over my knees. I hoped that Marc would like it as much as I did. I took it off and hung it away in wardrobe.

I put on some clean clothes, then packed all the dirty ones into my sports bag. I did my make-up before going out and walked to Aunt Tammy's. She did the laundry for me, as I didn't have the space for a washing machine and Sandy Shores didn't have a laundromat either. More often than not I found a package with some home made food with my clean laundry when I collected it. Aunt Tammy always mothered me a little, even when my mother was still living here. I went back to my home, got in the car and drove to Yellow Jack Inn.

Janet greeted me friendly, "Hey Lisa, the usual?"
"Hi Janet," I said and shook my head, "no, just a coke and run me a tab, please?"
"Hush," she said as she placed the glass of coke in front of me, "you know we don't run tabs officially."
"You want me to pay this one then?" I asked while I began to dig in my purse.
She shook her head, "Nah, you're good." She lowered her voice, "Did the salve help?"
"I think so, I forgot to reapply it today," I said.
She smiled, "I might smell like hell, but it does an amazing job. So what are you up to tonight?"
I shrugged, "Not sure, maybe shoot some pool."
"Be careful," she nodded towards the back, "some hustler is trying to make a few bucks."
"Oh well, I don't play well enough to make any bets. Thanks for the tip though. I'm going to see what he's up to." I took my glass and went into the back.

There were only four guys in the back, I recognised three of the faces and I assumed the fourth, who was about to take a shot, was the hustler. One of the onlookers flashed me a smile as he saw me.
I smiled back, then walked over and asked, "Hey, what's up, Mike?"
He shrugged, "Nuffin much. Bill is losing for the second time."
"Isn't he always?" I asked.
He chuckled, "Yup, except when you play against him."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I can't play, no need to rub it in," I said with a grin.
He hesitated for a moment, then asked, "You up for a game anyway?"
"Sure," I said, "maybe it'll sharpen my skills." Then I laughed, "But maybe I'm a lost cause."
"Doesn't hurt to try," he said with a wink.
I shrugged, "No, it doesn't." I knew all to well that he'd enjoy 'teaching me' more than actually playing. The guys liked to cop a feel while teaching me to play pool and as long as it didn't get out of hand, I didn't mind. If the guy was nice, I enjoyed teasing them in return. Not so remarkably, my skills rarely improved during these hands-on teachings.

The stranger had pocketed the eight-ball and was looking around triumphantly while putting the money in his pocket, then his eyes lingered on me. He wiggled his eyebrows and asked, "Do you want to play? Only ten bucks, what do you say?"
I shook my head, "No thanks, I'm no good."
"Fine," he said with a shrug, then eyed the rest, "Anybody?"
Bill was getting another beer and both Mike and Joe shook their heads. They rarely played for money, usually it was about who paid the next round of beers.
The stranger walked up to me and caressed the skin on the top of my arm with the backs of his fingers, saying, "Are you sure you don't want to play?" Somehow he became creepy to me, he sent off some bad vibes.
I pushed his hand away and shook my head, "No thanks."
He turned and walked away, mumbling, "Bunch of losers."
Joe, who had a bit of a temper, sprung forward, but Mike held him back shaking his head, "It's not worth it, bud."
Joe grumbled, but didn't go after the stranger.

Mike smiled at me, "Let's play." Then turned towards the pool table and set the game up. Still holding the rack he said, "You break, Lisa."
"Thanks," I said while I picked out a cue. I made my way around the table and moved the cue ball in position. My shot wasn't too bad, all the ball scattered around over the baize, but none of them ended up in a pocket.
Mike smiled, then positioned himself and said, "Stripes." He took his shot, the cue ball hit the orange banded ball, which seemed to hesitate at the corner pocket, then dropped in. He gave me a wink, then positioned himself for the next shot. The cue ball hit a stripe, then a solid, then slowly came to a halt at almost the centre of the table.
I walked around the table, looking at the angles I could possibly use to pocket a solid. Mike, trying to be helpful, pointed out from where I should take my shot. I took position and leaned over the table. Mike leaned over the table beside me, then shook his head, "No, aim for the other one." Then I saw what he meant and took my shot. The cue ball hit the solid green, which spun towards the pocket, but remained at the corner of it.
"Too bad," said Mike while he positioned himself for his shot. As he readied himself and took the shot, Joe coughed, "Miss!" The ball made its way over the table, bounced off the rails before coming to a halt not far from the rail closest to me. Mike cast a fowl glance at Joe while I took a sip from my coke, then placed it back. Joe laughed, "Go Lisa, make him suffer!" Then Mike laughed as well.
Chuckling I bent to take a shot, then Joe interjected, "Use the rail," while pointing at the rail to my left. I could manage straight shots, but via a rail was a lot more difficult for me. As I took position, Joe stepped up behind me. He grasped my sides gently and urged me a little further to the right. I aimed my cue and while he was still holding me, I took my shot. The ball hit the rail and headed for a solid, but came to a halt just before it.
"Awww, too bad," Joe said and let go of my sides.
As I straightened up and stepped back, I bumped against him. I turned to apologise and he just grinned.
Mike took his shot and pocketed another stripe. His next shot was a little less fortunate and the stripe he had hoped to pocket blocked the pocket while leaving the cue ball in a bad position for me. I walked around the table twice, not seeing an opportunity to score.
"Which one?" I asked in general. They all looked thoughtful at the table, then Bill offered, "Go for the seven," before he turned to Joe again and resumed his conversation.
No matter what angle I looked at, I didn't see how I could possibly pocket the seven. Then Mike walked to one side of the table and said, "Try from here."
The cue ball was across the middle of the table for me from that side. I leaned over the table, standing on my toes, when Mike leaned over me, pressing his crotch against my ass. He slipped his hands up my sides, one remaining at the side of my breast while the other moved to my wrist.
"More to the left," he said soft.
I wiggled on my toes to my left, causing my bum to rub against his slowly stiffening member. Then he whispered, "No, I meant your guiding hand." As I wiggled back he drew in a soft breath, then I moved my hand. "Yes, there," he said and pulled my wrist back. "Not too hard," he said as he let go of my wrist. I took the shot and as I straightened up, he quickly cupped my breast before stepping back himself. The cue ball bounced off the rail, went for my blue solid which in turn bounced of another rail, then landed in one of the centre pockets. I made a little jump, "Yay!" then smiled at Mike before I looked at the table again. The cue ball was in a good position to pocket the green, but I messed up my shot, missing the green by a hair and pocketing the cue ball instead.
"You needed help with that one?" Mike asked teasingly and I laughed shaking my head.
Mike pocketed two other stripes before it was my turn again. I aimed to pocket the green, while Mike stepped behind me and cupped my buttock.
"Oi," I said over my shoulder with a grin and he took his hand away. I pocketed the green, but the cue ball was in a bad position to pocket another. I moved around the table and thought I saw a possible shot via the rail. As I took my shot, Mike said, "Wait," but it was too late, the ball was already moving. The ball missed the solid I had aimed for, hit a stripe and both moved over the table, then the stripe dropped in a pocket.
"I told you so," Mike said with a grin.
"A little late though," I said.
"Maybe you should take more time next time," he said with a smile.
"Maybe I should," I replied while he placed the ball behind the line. He took his shot, pocketing another stripe. One left before he could pocket the 8-ball. He glanced at me before he took position, took his shot then grinned at me, "Almost done." He aimed carefully, then with a nice rail to rail angle shot, he pocketed the last stripe, winking at me as it dropped in the pocket.
Whether it was deliberate or unintentional, I don't know, but he completely missed the 8-ball with his next shot and had managed to leave the 3 close to a pocket.
As I positioned myself to take the shot, he took my wrist, "No, that'll pocket the cue." He moved behind me, took my sides and urged me a little aside. I felt his cock pressing against my buttocks as he bent over me, slipped a hand onto my belly and guided my hand over the table with his other hand. He gave a little thrusts with his hips while whispering, "Shoot like that."
"Hard?" I asked, being well aware of the double entendre.
"Yes," he said while his hand moved up over my belly and onto my breast, "but no. Just shoot hard enough to bounce off the rail and hit the solid on its sweet spot."
"Hmmm, sweet spot, eh?" I whispered as I wiggled my bum, then as he gave a light squeeze on my breast in return, I took a breath and began to aim again. I took my shot, the ball bounced off on the rail, headed for the solid and tapped it. The solid moved towards the pocket, but stopped well before it.
Mike let go of me as I straightened up. "Some help you are," I laughed.
"Hey," he said holding his hands up, "I was trying to help, but you didn't shoot hard enough and missed the sweet spot."
"And you always hit the sweet spot?" I asked.
"Kind of," he said, then added with a lowered voice, "I never had any complaints."
I chuckled, then went to drink the rest of my coke. I watched him pocket the 8-ball without any problems. He offered his cue to Joe, then walked up to me.

"Congratulations, Mike, you won. Again." I said with a smile. I had never won from him the few times I played against him and it didn't matter to me anyway.
"What did I win?" he said jokingly.
I thought for a moment then grinned and kissed him on his cheek, "This."
He chuckled and shook his head, "I guess I should have let you win, so I could give you something even better."
"Something better?" I asked raising my eyebrows, "Like what?"