Travels of the Mind Pt. 07

7 Billiards

She sat in the back of the taxi looking out of the window at the rain sodden streets. The clouds building on the horizon for more rain; perhaps a storm. The windscreen wipers methodical and hypnotic with their 'whirr whirr'. She leant back and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again the car seemed quite different, larger and more sumptuous. She blinked, the taxi driver now was in uniform with a cap and everything. She looked down. Upon her lap not her leather handbag but a golden chained evening bag and, instead of her pleated dark blue skirt and blouse, it rested upon a flowing evening gown. Her hair, down before, now pulled upwards and clasped. Her thought not that she was going mad or was dreaming but -- Harris. It was not him in the driving seat, the chauffeur was not Harris. Quite clear when the car swung left through high pillared gates and down the sweep of a carriage drive to stop in front of a large mansion, right at its columned portico. It was not him opening her door and wishing 'Miss' an enjoyable evening.

What could she do? Refuse to leave the car and ask to be taken onto her own house, her destination. She felt the chauffeur would not even know where it was. Enough strange happenings before, for her to just rise from her seat and go into the house, even saying 'thank you'.

The hallway, grand and with a black and white marbled floor, was large and full of people. The men in dinner suits, the women all very well dressed, but so not as she would have found them at any party she had attended. The ladies were not dressed à la mode. Not just old hat or passé but of a different era altogether. Was it fancy dress? She rather thought not. It was the real thing. She was there in the past -- for real, or at least in her mind's travels. Some dresses looked very Edwardian but some of the young things, particularly the slight, willowy girls were in loosely hanging, short, sleeveless 'flapper' dresses complete with close-fitting cloche hats over their bobbed short hair. Was she there in the 'Roaring Twenties'?

"My dear, welcome!" an imperious lady, dressed very much in the Edwardian style. An Empire dress in purple and blue, with fitted bodice ending below the bust, a high-waisted appearance, with a gathered, long and loosely fitting skirt with sash. Upon her head a turban. Clearly the hostess. "Now who can I introduce you to?"

Her eyes whisked around the room and settled on a tall and distinguished man in an immaculate, cowl collar dinner suit. It was Harris.

"Why?"

As always, she did not really expect an answer and got none. Harris made some comment about the gay throng and complimented her upon her dress. She had not chosen it. Had he? A pale almost lime green, perhaps more moss green, low cut and loose, reaching almost to the floor with a buff or soft brown cummerbund or sash, all under a long flowing open kimono, very much kimono sleeved and definitely brushing the floor.

"May I get you -- champagne?"

A waiter appeared and Harris deftly lifted a pair of champagne coupes from the tray.

"Your health, my dear." Their glasses clinked.

A young man in dinner suit, as all the men were, if not in formal military or Highland dress, went past, his hair flat to his head, oiled back, slick and shiny. He paused, looking at her.

"Ah, yes, I say, billiards? The chaps looking for a game."

Should she say she did not play, but that was not true. Bar billiards perhaps more, but she had played snooker and pool. He took her hesitation as assent.

"Good -- o. Harris will show you the way. A match before dinner, an aperitif -- what!"

Down carpeted corridors, a real warren of a place, towards, presumably, the billiard room. More normally, perhaps, the preserve of men, certainly there was a pair of young gentlemen walking ahead of Harris and herself. How many were playing? Usually two though, perhaps, there would be two sides of two players each. Perhaps spectators.

The young man waiting at a high panelled door.

"Excellent. You are here." Harris passed on through but the young man detained her. "You know the rules of course?"

"Snooker, um, billiards?"

"Italian Billiards, you know."

She did not.

"It is a variation, a sort of cross between Carom and English Billiards. You know the difference? Carom, French Billiards, has no pockets to the table, English Billiards six pockets. We have but the one. Each player has a cue stick but," he smiled, "no need to chalk."

She had no idea at all. Had never heard of the Italian version. "How many balls? It is twenty-two, isn't it, in Snooker?

"Indeed," the young man's hand went to his smooth-shaven chin, "but a mere three in Carom or English Billiards. For our game it is two balls per player."

That so should have given her a clue. Two balls per player.

Inside the room a fire roaring in the grate of a large fireplace, the room comfortable with panelling and flock wallpaper. In the centre of room not the usual green baize covered table with cushions and pockets, rather, instead, a large highly polished mahogany dining room table as large, if not larger than a full-sized billiards table. No pockets, as the young man had said, but no cushions around the edge of the table either. Nothing to prevent balls from falling from the edges. Perhaps they were otherwise restrained.

"Do you need help with your clothing? There is a screen and hangers in the corner."

"I need to... undress?"

He looked surprised. "Of course! How else..."

She was not surprised -- really. Her experiences with Harris tended to involve various states of undress. She sighed, "how then is the game played?"

It was not billiards as she knew it. Far from it. As the young man had said, there was but a single pocket and, in this game, it would be hers! Her sex the pocket and, once that was appreciated, the nature of the 'cue sticks' clear, even if the particular course and rules of the game not obvious.

There was no point in resisting, or in protesting she did not want to play. She had accepted by coming to the room. They were not her clothes anyway. Nor were they her undergarments as she found behind the screen. A silk brassiere all white with lace and ribbon bows, crepe de Chine knickers with an elastic waist and, so surprisingly also, at the knees, all in peach, soft and generous in material.

Coming out, she found the young men, though not Harris, had divested themselves of their jackets, trousers and pants but not shirts or black bow ties. Their black silk socks held up by sock garters, not as erotic by far, she thought, as garters for silk stockings. Tight around the upper calf just below the knee, buckled to the socks keeping them upright and taut. Were they perhaps the legendary Threadgold's Thoroughgrip Garterettes?

Around their white shirt sleeves, sprung silver arm bands keeping the cuffs in position. Bib fronts to the formal shirts in marcella, the collars winged and detachable, black silk barathea bow ties, mother of pearl silver studs down the fronts of the shirts with matching cuff links at the young gentlemen's wrists. A rather revealing exhibition of male dress accoutrements, many not expected to be normally seen. An additional item, most unusual, were silver chains drawing back the upper and lower front shirt facings to the sides. Unusual because normally all is hidden within trousers. But seemingly for this informal occasion, this game of Italian Billiards, the young men's generative organs needed to be visible and displayed. The shirts drawn aside revealed their pubic areas, their penes and scrota. The uniformity of the black and white of their formal dress not kept to when a young man's pubic hair was not black -- and several were not. Blond, nut brown and auburn! The penes all rising as she came out from behind the screen, stark naked. Quite a sight, a moistening sight for her. Young, half naked men, looking perhaps rather absurd with their garters, and exposed hairy legs but yet all so very male -- arousing her mind.

What was to happen? What were the rules?

From Harris' pocket two ribbons drawn, one green, the other red. He carefully tied them tightly to her thighs, green to her right, red to her left. Navigation lights or colours, as if she was a vessel?

He then drew on white linen oversleeves to protect his evening coat as he opened a tin of -- wax. His thin smile coming as he gestured for her to bend over the highly polished table. A surprise as he began to apply the wax to her bottom. Surely this was not a repeat of the goose grease; surely the young men were not going to serially take her in the ar... bottom?

No, not that. The rules rather different, though her being taken was very much the object! It was all explained to her by the young gentleman who had brought her there, his penis so up next to her as she listened. A fine young penis, all smooth and supple, its vermillion head revealed above the folds of his prepuce, its strongly indented exit hole to the top, all rounding inwards. Turned towards him, she bent over the table as Harris waxed her bottom, the young man's penis was rather close to her.

The game played upon the smooth tabletop. The main playing piece -- the pawn, comprising her, or another woman -- sat upon the table, hands clasping ankles and with legs well open and outstretched, pudenda well exposed, was spun across the table towards an opponent. The aim to spin the woman so her feet went over the edge but not so far as for a ribbon to venture over the edge -- and certainly not so far as to cause her to fall from the table. The scoring system complex. Ten points for spinning the woman's feet over the edge, fifteen if a knee went over, but if a ribbon crossed the edge no points at all; worse, a loss of fifty points for the woman to fall off! Failure to spin enough so no part of the pawn crossed the table's boundary was another ten points lost.

That was perhaps simple enough, but there was more. Clear as a pair of dice were rolled onto the table. Large wooden dice, rather, as she thought, the size of a pair of men's bollocks albeit cuboid rather than egg shaped! If a garter crossed the boundary, then the opponent nearest rolled the dice. He then used his 'cue' upon the pawn, not to send her rolling across the board but simply to 'fuck', a thrust for each pip upon the dice. Two, three, for or more up to twelve, but a double score, the same number on each die, doubled the number. The potential for twenty-four. The numbers also counting as a score to his team. Coming -- ejaculating -- would mean the player was out of the game, only his successful thrusts counting.

Winning, the first team to reach three hundred points, or when the opposing team had all ejaculated.

She did not really need to understand the rules and the scoring. Her role simply to be the playing piece, the pawn. She was lifted onto the table, her waxed bottom slipping easily upon the highly polished surface, and was instructed in how to hold her ankles and legs apart.

Harris stood at the head of the table, immaculate and dressed. His role to be referee and dealer. The young gentlemen with their 'cues' all at the ready, took their places at the table's corners and in the middle of the long side. Six gentlemen, all ready to play.

"But if I fall off?"

There were, after all, cushions like for a billiard table only drawn out from underneath the table rather than being along its edge like a billiard table. Soft long cushions, for the players to stand on as well as to catch the pawn.

Harris spun the pawn. She whirled across the table towards the bottom right corner. It was a perfect spin - clear Harris was expert. Both her knees went over the edge of the table but not a garter. Had Harris been a player there would have been fifteen points to his team, but he was not; neither had she gone so far for the dice to be rolled; the game had begun.

At the pocket 'her' young gentleman, his vermillion knob upright but not yet to penetrate her. Not according to the rules. She was, she found, a little disappointed. He spun her and she whirled away, round and round up the table, the feeling upon her bottom only slight, the wax and highly polished tabletop making the movement almost frictionless. It was a good spin -- a fifteen pointer. Harris moved the scoreboard, moving the brass arrow for the team along.

The next player not so skilful, perhaps, her whirl across the table a little too fast, perhaps his aim off as she arrived at the middle of the right-hand side of the table with a lot of leg over the edge.

"Dexter!" cried the young gentleman at the right middle position and, indeed, the green ribbon was well over the edge of the table -- her 'starboard' leg. The man reached for the dice, shook and spilled them out of his hand onto the table. A double three -- six points to his team but, perhaps more importantly to the young gentlemen, a half dozen thrusts into the pawn. His rather slender and pointed penis twitching. He wasted no time, her opening was right before him, at the edge of the table and he held himself, aimed and pushed in.

"One, two, three, four..." Harris was counting. His task as referee to ensure all played according to the rules.

"So good!" exclaimed the young man. Around the table the other young gentlemen watching with some envy and perhaps even concern. There was a risk to the game that not every player would bring his cue into play. A common ploy being to spin the pawn towards a single player and for him to over excite, perhaps with successive high dice scores and ejaculate out of the game -- into the pawn. A risky strategy to employ, perhaps, as his team might well be building up a high score.

The young man withdrew, his turn almost over, but still he needed to spin the pawn. He spun, sending the pawn whirling; correctly he had spun her the opposite way from before, anti rather than clockwise. Appropriate not to make the pawn unnecessarily dizzy. Back up the table she went towards the top left.

"Sinister!" and it was clearly so, almost her green ribbon over as well as the red. A shake of the dice but a groan from the young man's team, it was the lowest score, a two and a one, merely three thrusts and three points to the team's score, albeit none to the other team. A second penis sliding easily into the pawn. "One, two, three". And then he too spun the pawn right back down the table. A poor spin, with the pawn's feet not even over the edge. A ten point penalty. The recent three just swallowed up. Back to right middle and a first-rate spin, knees over but not ribbons. A good fifteen and none to the opposition.

But back up to top left -- the sinister team. Was it deliberate, the risky strategy or a poor spin? Both garters over. No score for the spinning team but for the young man a second chance with the dice, his still wet penis, rather thick and with low slung, rather hairy balls, twitching excitedly. But a groan from both him and his team. A double six -- twelve pips but doubled to twenty-four. A great addition to the sinister team's score but that risk. That especial risk. Twenty-four non-stop thrusts could cause ejaculation -- and worse, not necessarily at the twenty-fourth. The team might not even get that many points and lose a player. Not permitted in the rules to pause or slow during the fuck.

Grins from the dexter team. Did they know? Important in so many games to know the capabilities of the opponent, and no less so in Italian Billiards; was the particular young man known to not be very good at holding his semen? An easy ejaculator -- a man with a tendency to 'come too soon'?

She was surprised how she was getting into the game, finding the competition exciting, to say nothing of the sexual excitement and pleasure she was receiving. For the second time that evening the young man slipped into her, that lovely filling feeling and that delightful pull on her clitoris as he began his twenty-four. Silence in the room as the fuck began, no sound but the wet sucking noise of joined genitalia moving and Harris' steady count. Up and up went the numbers and then a cry from the young man:

"Oh, no!"

Faces of his teammates falling as the fuck continued. "Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three."

"Aaagh, ohhh!"

"Twenty-four!" Clear as Harris spoke the young man was ejaculating, his penis pouring out his semen into the pawn. Nothing for him to do now but withdraw from the pawn and the game. He stepped backwards, pulling himself from the woman's sex, cock turgid and dripping. It would not stay like that. He would continue to watch the game but not with the arousal and firm penises of the others. Out of the game he would stand against the wall and watch. His fellow teammates looked at him disapprovingly. He had added twenty-three to their score, though.

For the dealer now to spin the pawn back into the game. Down the table she went, whizzing around and around on her waxed bottom, the players and room a mere blur. Down to the bottom left but, again, a perfect spin. Her legs and knees over but neither garter. Harris was good, perhaps that was why he was not playing but performing the role of dealer. He would have an unfair advantage over the younger players.

Back up the table she spun, a feeling of wet beneath her. She realised the spinning, the centrifugal force was releasing the recently deposited semen out of her, blobs of the stuff spraying out of her -- indeed, a little bit like she was ejaculating semen herself! If a number of the players 'came' the tabletop could get quite messy, perhaps even more slippery. Another twist on the gameplay perhaps? A need to judge the pitch, it becoming faster when wet.

Quite a game. The dexter team doing really well until one player spun too hard and fast. Perhaps misjudging the slip but the pawn went further than planned, much further indeed as she went right off the table down onto a cushion. A loss of fifty points -- significant! And, of course, a throw of the dice to the sinister team. A double five, a potential twenty points! Indeed, achieved without an ejaculation.

The sinister team, despite being one down, crept into the lead, but then disaster. A second ejaculation leaving the team with just the one young man. The dexter team pressed home their advantage, not now trying merely to score tens and fifteens but to make him roll the dice and keep fucking the pawn. Grins from the dexter team when he kept scoring high.

Back again she went to the single young man, back for his penis to slide into her once more. Repetitive but not unpleasant, not at all. Quite the opposite. Did the rules give extra points to a team that made the pawn come? A nice penis too -- well, they all were! Fleshy and firm but she rather liked the upwards curve and its well-shaped 'coal-scuttle'; she found she could very much feel its brim, its scoup, its fine purple edged corona. In for another eleven strokes. Would this be the third ejaculation into her of the evening?

No, though she thought he came close. Indeed, one of his opponents said 'Nearly, old boy," with a grin. But he spoke too soon, a perhaps poor play then by the young man with the fine curve and 'coal-scuttle', landed the other man with a green and red garter and a requirement to shake the dice. They rattled across the table -- a double six. A twenty-four fuck! So amusingly that proved too much for the young man who had spoken too soon. Too much at thirteen! The tables were turned upon him.

"More than nearly, eh, old boy!" The remaining single player from the sinister team being suitably teasing in reply as the young man with dripping cock withdrew from the table, no longer grinning.

Two players to one now. Three cues in play still. Firm, upright and ready to pocket. The single sinister player, with his upwards curving penis and 'coal-scuttle' knob bobbing, was playing well. Repeated fifteens added to the team score as he sent the pawn across the table with her knee or knees over the edge but not her garters. Good play from him but not from the dexters. A red garter straight over the edge, so the potential for the young man's upwards curve to spurt if a high dice score, but as the large, bollock sized, dice clattered across the table, it showed an easy four and five pips. A nine thrust. Not a problem -- indeed a pleasure! A grin from him as, again, he sunk his turgid organ between the pawn's soft thighs, Harris as the dealer counting his thrusts up to the nine.