I spent the last few nights staying with a sub while I was in town. Sweet boy, eager to please, kept the fridge stocked, kept his mouth shut unless I needed it open. One thing that caught my attention? He mentioned the rec room in his building had a pool table.

Midnight rolled around and I wanted to play. We slipped down there—no one else around. Just the two of us, a dim overhead light, and a long, smooth table begging to be put to better use.

I told him we were playing strip pool, but with a twist. He didn’t get to strip. He started naked.

He looked nervous. Good.

I made him sit right on the edge of the table, legs spread wide, cock soft, balls exposed. I bent over the table and lined up a shot. Deliberately aimed low.

Cue ball slammed forward, smacked into another ball, which bounced hard into his balls.

He flinched. Twitched. Bit his lip.

“Don’t move,” I said.

And we kept playing.

I didn’t care about sinking shots. I cared about the way he jolted every time a ball clacked into him. I circled the table slowly, taking shot after shot, hitting his thighs, his balls, grazing that pretty little cock that had nowhere to hide.

After a few bruising hits, I walked over, grabbed him by the chin, and bent him over the table. His chest flat against the felt, ass high, toes barely touching the floor.

I strapped on right there, spit in my hand, lined up, and shoved inside him. No countdown. No prep. Just took what was mine.

He moaned so loud I had to shove a hand over his mouth.

I fucked him hard over that table, using his hips like handlebars. Felt the table shake with each thrust. Heard the balls still rolling around from earlier shots. It was raw, nasty, and perfect.

When I was satisfied, I pulled out, made him drop to his knees, and lie back on the table. I climbed on, spread my legs, and told him to eat.

He licked me like his life depended on it. I rode his face, grinding down until I came all over him, holding his hair tight and keeping his mouth where I wanted it.

And still, I wasn’t done.

I strapped back up, laid flat on the table, and told him to get on and ride.

He climbed on slow, lowered himself onto my cock, and started fucking himself. Desperate. Awkward at first, then smoother as he found the rhythm. I slapped his ass every time he slowed down.

He rode me until his legs gave out, collapsed on top of me, breathless and used.

We didn’t even bother cleaning up right away. He curled up on the table next to me, still shaking, cock twitching.

Midnight pool may just become a new tradition.

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