Confessions of a Bootlicker (3)

It was suggested to me that I should write more of these stories. Partially because they help me deal with certain consent-obsessed issues I have, partially because they help me try to find the source of certain things in my life, and partially, I hope, because they're sexy.

I really hope they're sexy. I hope these stories of my life aren't boring you. If they are, let me know. If they're not... let me know. Either way, give me some comments, people.

The girl next door

Angela and Carey were sisters. Carey was my age, Angela two years younger. They were from South Africa, and they moved in down the street when I was sixteen. Their dad had been a pool champion in his youth, and so they had a pool table in the basement. I would come over and we'd play all afternoon.

I had a thing for Carey. Angela had a thing for me. Carey thought I was the funny kid next door.

They both played better than I did, but I improved quickly. We kept playing even when I started 'dating' Teresa for those last few months before she graduated. Then Carey got a boyfriend, which should have stopped, or at least slowed down, all the pool. But Angela kept inviting me over. She kept wanting to play. She was even starting to turn into a bit of a pool hustler. She was fifteen, and her body was starting to make that abundantly clear.

When she came over to invite me to play one day, I was going to say no. She was cute, but she was too young for me. But then again, I had been too young for Teresa, but that hadn't stopped anything. Not that it was my choice, entirely. But this isn't about Teresa. It's about Angela.

Angela came over to invite me to play pool. She rang the door bell, and I answered with an excuse ready to go. But my eyes started down cast, so the first thing I saw was her boots. They laced up above her ankle and a few inches below the knee. They had rubber soles, though it looked like there was a block of wood in the heel between the rest of the sole and an additional sole for her heel. It gave her three inches of height that she didn't need, but that she used to great advantage.

All the excuses I had were lost in the black leather, the tan block in her soles, and the pants she had painted to her legs with some kind of air brush. “You want to come over,” she asked, “and play pool?” She smirked at me as I nodded. Maybe because she was realizing that I had forgotten the entire English language.

I played as well as I could, but I had no chance with her. At least, no chance to win a game of pool.

Slowly I remembered how to speak. And I kept trying to remember that she was so much younger than me. I tried to remember that I liked her sister. That she was the younger sister. That I didn't like her.

But then she'd bend over and take a shot, and I'd see her ass through the pants, and I'd forget that last part.

“Do you still like Carey?” she asked, looking over her shoulder after the shot, still bent over, still pointing her ass at me like a weapon.

“She's dating that guy,” I said. “What does it matter?”

She stood up and turned around, leaning against the table and pushing her chest forward just a little bit. “It matters,” she said. “Do you still like her?”

“She's all right.”

“You aren't answering my question.”

I shifted from foot to foot. She crossed her ankles. I looked down at her boots.

I laughed. “No,” I said. “I don't still like her.” I smiled. “Why do you ask?”

Angela stepped up to me and grabbed my shirt. She pulled me in and gave me a kiss that sent a jolt down my spine and made my knees weak. She held me up as she pushed her tongue into my mouth. I didn't know what to do with my hands, but they found their way around to her ass, and I used my grip there to help settle my feet back where they should be.

She pushed me away when she was done kissing.

I smiled, cleared my throat. “That,” I said, “Is the best answer I have ever gotten. To anything.”

“You grabbed my ass,” she said.

“It's a very nice ass.”

She frowned. “I didn't say you could grab my ass.”

I didn't get what was going on; I was still flying high from the kiss. “Well,” I said, “I never said you could kiss me.”

She put the cue stick down and stepped closer to me. Right into my personal space. She put her hand on my shoulder and tilted her head. Then she slapped me.

“I don't need to ask you to do things,” she said. “You ask me to do things.” She slid her hand over and pressed her hand around my throat. She squeezed, pressing up and lifting me up to my toes while cutting off the oxygen. “Understand?”

I nodded, my eyes wide. I could breathe just fine, especially if I leaned my head back a little bit. But I didn't want to. I wanted to let her hold me, to let her squeeze my throat.

I never claimed I had a problem with dominant women.

I nodded that I understood, and she let me go. Then she stepped back and smiled, as innocent as the day is long. “Good,” she said. “I'm glad we understand each other.”

She started racking the balls for another game as if nothing had happened. “This time you break,” she said. “I want to see that ass as you bend over the table.”

I've never had a more awkward time taking the first shot in a pool game. I don't usually lean over the table all that much. But Angela kept telling me to lean further and further forward. She kept insisting that I show her more and more, than I push my ass out for her to see. Eventually, I was bent over double, and the shot I took was pathetically poor. She laughed at me.

Then she pushed me head down onto the felt of the table and kicked my legs apart. “That was awful,” she said. She bit my ear. “But I like the way it looked.”

She put her hand on my ass, slid it down the back of my jeans. I felt her fingernails digging into my skin. “You really do have a nice ass,” she said. “I wonder if I could fit a pool cue up there.”

I tried to struggle, but by then I had learned the art of struggling without ever managing to get out of a woman's grip.

“You can't do that,” I said.

“Did you just tell me no?” She let me go and stepped away. Then she kicked my knees out from under me. “I thought we talked about this.”

“It's not that,” I didn't even try to get off my knees. Why would I want that? “I just mean that it would ruin your cue. You'd have to throw it away.”

She tapped her chin, then casually put one of her boots onto my chest and pushed me to the floor. “You've got a point there,” she said. She stood up on my chest, balancing all her weight down on top of me. She ground her feet into my chest, and I was smart enough not to try to push her off me. “Maybe you should do something about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“There's a store.” She looked down at me, hands on her hips. “You know the one I mean.”

I shook my head.

“I know you're not saying no again,” she said. “You must be shaking your head because you don't know what I want you to buy at that store.”

She leaned close, pressing her boot into my chest. “I want you to get me a dildo,” she said. “One that I can wear.” She smiled. “One I can wear so that I can fuck that pretty ass of yours.”

She stepped off me and helped me to my feet. Her hand slid down into my pants. “You'll do that for me, won't you?”

I swallowed hard. I moaned.

And I nodded.