Prove It
Alice hated pool.
She hated everything about it. She hated that the balls were numbered for no particular reason. She hated that everyone had a different method of grotesquely contorting their hands to hold the cue and none of them seemed to work for her. She especially hated that the cue ball defied what she had previously understood as the laws of physics in order to bounce and wobble and generally make enough of a racket that every half-drunk shithead in the bar was constantly looking over with narrowed eyes and smug smiles. But most, most most of all, she hated the men.
All of them. All of them! Big men, small men, skinny men, tough men. Didn’t matter what breed of man it was, whenever they gathered around a pool table it was like the lights went out in their brains and all neural activity was replaced with aggressive showmanship. Alice suspected it was the phallic imagery that drew them in. They would stand there, these men, all rubbing the tips of their sticks with strange blue chalk and talking a big talk about the various holes of the game and what was going to go in them. Then they would lean down hard over the table, asses out in some cartoonish display of dominance, and gently roll the stick back and forth across the surface of their hands before hitting some balls together and unleashing a primal yell of victory. It would be easier to deal with if she were any good at the game, but she wasn’t, and neither were they. Every game felt like an overdrawn slapfight with a level of rising disappointment she hadn’t felt since the last time she spoke to her parents, and Alice was tired of it all.
Normally, she would never have time to visit a dive like this in between her busy schedule of Sleeping On The Couch and Sleeping In Her Bed, but her best friend Carla had dragged her out tonight. Apparently last week she’d had an encounter, one of her centaurs—“body of a man, dick of a horse!”—but hadn’t got his contact and was back again hoping for a round two. Unfortunately, despite several hours of drinks and “don’t worry, he’ll be here”—s, he never showed, and so it was that they paid twenty dollars to get stuck playing a game they both hated on a foggy Tuesday night. And all of this, all of this, would be bearable—fine, even—if not for one significant issue: some shitty, Joe Rogan-looking motherfucker had been staring at her ass all goddamn night.
He wasn’t obvious about it, at least at first. Quick glances she only noticed while scanning for Mr. Centaur, and even then there were so many people in the bar that she’d chalked it up to a misunderstanding. But, as the night went on and the drinks kept coming, his ogling became more and more confident. She’d catch him, vision fully locked, mouth agape, staring daggers into her rear end from across the room. One time she’d walked around a bit just to mess with him and it was like she had a homing beacon between her cheeks—his head swiveled around like a security camera to keep up. The worst part was that she hadn’t even earned it. Alice was having a terrible ass day. A terrible ass year, even. She’d been skipping leg day since, well, since she’d started going to the gym in the first place, and months of introversion had replaced the sleek leggings of her college days with baggy, functional PJs. Carla had tried to prod her into dressing up, but Alice just said she’d play ugly duckling to build her up a bit and showed up in a ratty bomber jacket and some ill-fitting old sweatpants. In her mind, dressing up like some kind of homeless witch would act as a powerful sigil to ward off any and all attempts at flirtation, but apparently it hadn’t stopped this laser-guided shithead from honing in on her waist with incredible precision. She’d brushed Carla off initially when her friend offered to go beat the guy up, but the final straw was when she once again caught him staring and the guy had the gall to look up, make eye contact with a warm smile, and move his gaze right back down ass-wards. Enough was enough.
“Hey, C,” Alice said, setting her cue stick across the table. “Back me up. I’m gonna go yell at you-know-who.”
Carla slammed the rest of her beer, wiped her mouth hard, and grinned like a madwoman. “Fuck yeah. Let’s get his ass.”
They stalked over to his little corner in lockstep, brows furrowed, faces hard, minds fast at work figuring out the best way to bring this douche down emotionally and, if that failed, physically. Alice got a good look at him on the way, a real look instead of the angry sidelong glances she’d been throwing him all night, and she hated him even more. His clothes said off-brand frat guy and his physique said military dropout. He carried himself with just enough of a slouch that it looked intentional instead of like bad posture. The guy looked like a gorilla was kidding. He looked like the human equivalent of a casting couch. Alice wanted to punch his stupid fucking face in, and she looked over at the bouncer to see if he was occupied—at that moment, he was turning away two teens with fake wigs and faker IDs, but he could be done at any minute. She filed that idea under Backup Plans and kept moving. Strangely, she noticed, he was playing pool by himself, but the weirdness was lost in the face of potentially making fun of his crippling loneliness. When they arrived at the table he looked up at them, back down at his game, then back up with a feigned air of surprise. They stood there, mouths closed tight, insults at the ready, each waiting on the other side to speak. Finally, Alice broke the standoff.
“Hey,” she said, “fuckhead.” A weak opener, but she was thrown off by her rage. She’d come up with better on the fly.
“Who,” he said, voice soft under the din of the crowd and music, “me?”
“Yes, you, you fucking lech. You’ve been stealing looks at my ass all night!“
“No, no,” he said, voice frustratingly quiet. “You must be mistaken.“
Carla spoke up, now. “Oh my God. Don’t act like the whole bar hasn’t seen you eyeball her. You look like a kid in a candy shop. I swear you were drooling.”
“Yeah, what the fuck? You came to this bar and paid money to stand here all no-thoughts-head-empty by yourself looking at random women? Who are you?“
“Really,” said the stranger, wry smile never leaving his face, “Couldn’t have been me. You must have me confused for someone else.”
Alice wanted to scream. Her head split open with anger. Her eyes were twitching too much for her to form a proper sentence, but luckily Carla picked up the slack.
“Guess looking is all you can do with a face like that, you carbonite-looking motherfucker.”
“Yeah,” said Alice, recovering a bit. “go take your MMA-dropout shit somewhere else. You look like a test subject for Great Value protein powder.”
“Like the kinda guy who’d text ‘what that mouth do’ to a chatbot just to feel something,” added Carla.
His smile faltered slightly at that. “I’m sorry, ladies, but you must be thinking of someone els—”
“Elephant-man-looking-ass,” yelled Carla.
The interruption was enough to shatter his patience. “I was saying,” he spat, “that it wasn’t me!“
He took a sip of his drink and made hard eye contact with Alice. “Honestly. Don’t kid yourself. You aren’t even my type. Your ass is,” he paused, eyes flicking down and back up, “fine. Could be better.” He shrugged.
What the fuck? thought Alice.
“What the fuck?” asked Alice.
“What the fuck?!” cried Carla. “Her ass is amazing! She’s been out here dragging a whole damn bakery behind her all night and this is the respect you show her? Do you have any idea how many men would walk through a mile of broken glass just for the chance of this bitch sitting on their face?“
Carla, obviously, was drunk, but at this point so was Alice, and she was happy to go along. She didn’t have much of an ass on the best of days, but that wasn’t going to stop her from telling this idiot off.
“Yeah dude, are you kidding me? I could out-cheek every woman in this place. Don’t talk shit if you don’t want to get hit.”
The man looked hard at her eyes for a few seconds, then shrugged nonchalantly and leaned back against the pool table.
“I’m not saying you’re lying,” he said, quietly, “but I am saying to, well. Prove it.”
Something shifted. The air felt warmer. Someone at another table coughed and lost their balance. Those drinks must’ve been stronger than she’d thought.
Alice felt heat rise in her chest. Prove it? Prove it?! She looked down at her herself to make sure both of them were looking at the same waist. Her jeans were tight, not too tight, but tight enough to outline what curves she had in fine detail. She was reasonably proud of her rear end—perky without being juicy, small enough that she could fit through tight spaces but with enough there that a roll of her hips in slim-cut pants like these could drop jaws and eyes alike. She’d learned long ago that attracting a man was much less about natural gifts than it was confidence, and that she had in spades. She wasn’t usually the attention-drawing type, but it’d been a while since she’d gotten anyone into bed, so when Carla had asked her out to pool she’d picked out the perfect outfit. It wasn’t anything too fancy, just a white t-shirt and the aforementioned hip-hugging jeans, but it worked perfectly as a surprise tactic: bait them in with a simple look and confident personality, then land the catch with a swing of the hips and a glimpse of the prize. Unfortunately, the only attention she’d attracted was from the one person in the bar she had no love for in her heart. Alice was, to say the least, frustrated.
“Excuse me,” she said, leaning slow and heavy to one side, hand pressed firmly on her hip, “but now I must be mistaken. Carla, did he just say this could be better?“
“I think he did, ma’am,” said Carla, equally flabbergasted and eager to support. “I know people smoke in this bar but your vision can’t be that cloudy, man. I mean, look at this thing. She walked through that door three hours ago and it’s still not all the way in. This bitch has enough ballast to keep the city of Venice afloat and you’re over here acting like she needs improvement?“
Alice flushed a bit at that. She knew what she was packing, and it wasn’t that great. Carla was laying it on a lot thicker than she could reasonably back up. Still, she thought to herself, confidence. She turned away from the stranger, moved her shirt up slightly, and gestured alongside her hips as if to reinforce her friend’s wild praise. Carla, for her part, punctuated her statement with a powerful slap of Alice’s ass that fit perfectly in line with the sharp cracks of nearby games of pool. She’d been raising her voice enough to grab the attention of those around her, and, Alice suspected, to put on enough of a show to bag herself another centaur.
The stranger remained unmoved, his voice just as annoyingly soft as before. “Look, ladies, it’s decent, I’m not denying that. It could just use some improvement, that’s all. You two talk a big talk, but if you want anyone to think your ass is worth a damn, let alone me,” he shrugged again, “you gotta prove it.“
Something shifted, again. Alice slipped slightly and leaned hard against the nearby pool table. Those drinks must have been way stronger than she’d thought.
More than drunk, though, Alice was exasperated. She had not worn these leggings to have a fuckwit like this treat her like some shapeless trollop. She’d been curvy her whole life, but only really grew into her bottom half post-college, when the loss of a rigorous routine gave her time for more gym and sex in equal measure. Her hips were borderline motherly, shapely curves outlining an absolute peach of an ass. It didn’t matter what she wore, not really—nothing could hide a waist like hers. It was all she could do to buy groceries without seeing a guy nearly pass out from redirecting blood flow too quickly. The leggings she’d picked out for the night were almost overkill. They hugged and swallowed every inch of her, packing two bubbly mounds of cheek into a curvy frame worthy of the Louvre. The leggings perked her butt up so much she was half-tempted to try balancing a drink on it. Every step she took sent enough appreciable jiggle rolling through it to knock the average man totally off-balance. And still, still, she was getting this disrespect? Alice couldn’t believe it.
“There’s no convincing this douche, Al,” said Carla, just as tired. “Let’s leave him be.”
“No. No.” Alice put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Words alone cannot convince a savage beast such as this. I know what I must do.“
A small crowd had overheard their impassioned shouting earlier and gathered around to see what all the fuss was about. Very few eyes were aimed head-height.
Carla started. “You don’t mean—”
Alice nodded. Her secret weapon. She only allowed herself to use it once per night, on a dick she knew she wanted to bag, but at this point the emotional victory of proving this guy wrong was well on its way to overpowering whatever orgasm she may or may not have had otherwise. She’d learned long ago that attracting a man wasn’t about natural gifts, it was about making them feel special despite all evidence to the contrary. Alice knew her ass for the WMD it was, knew the way the men here had been looking at it all night, and knew that once she busted it out in earnest that all other men would be a lost cause, their desperation endless, their souls crushed, and all of it for a guy she didn’t even like. In the midst of all this, Alice steadied herself, reached her hands underneath each cheek, and pulled up enough that when she let go there was enough bounce to send a man to the hospital. Her final gift to the crowd before this great sacrifice.
So it was that she faced the small gathering, bent over slightly, backed her ass right on up into the stranger behind her, and began grinding like a music video model while a crowd of onlookers had the hope drain from their eyes.
The stranger was knocked off guard by such a wide load rear-ending him without proper alarm, but, to his credit, he steadied himself and placed two firm hands on her hips while she twisted and rolled her ass against him. It didn’t take long for her to feel the all-too-familiar presence of a hardening cock straining against her cheeks, and, inwardly, she smiled. This was what she lived for, this moment of power, where logic and reason fled, replaced by the innate lizard-brain male desire to ride the nearest ass ’til the sun came up and went back down again. She cocked her head, wondering who had replaced the grungy music that had been playing all night with a deep, sensual bass, but decided it was a coincidence that didn’t matter. The extra rhythm gave her hips the extra bounce and swing they needed to make short work of whatever was left of this idiot’s thought process. She bent over further, placed her hands on the ground, and pushed her ass deep against the cock behind her. Looking up, she noticed that Carla had moved closer to one of the gawkers, redirecting his disappointment into her heavy chest.
“Don’t mind her,” she said, drawing his face up to her own, lips pursed lasciviously, “she does this kind of thing all the time.”
The stranger had enough presence of mind to push his own waist into hers, providing enough pressure that it almost seems as if the bonds of their clothes would break, as if his pants and her leggings would rip open and the throbbing cock behind her would slip right inside as she worked her hips and took it deeply, deeply, deeply, panting hard, sweating in the heat of the bar, rocking back and forth with heavy, ecstatic rhythm. It had taken her a full minute to get these leggings on, but in the right hands they could be off in seconds. The man grasped her hips, shaking her from her reverie and pulling her harder against his own waist while she redoubled her grinding motion. Dimly, she was aware that the sounds and motion of the bar had stopped, the only noise being the music and shashaying swish sounds of lycra rubbing hard against denim. She leaned up from the floor, back against the body that, she made herself remember, she hated with a burning passion, and reached a single red-nailed hand to stroke the bulge that was just now threatening to rip the man’s jeans.
“Thoughts?” she whispered, voice husky, purpose lost in the heat of the moment, hand still stroking slightly despite herself, body swaying gently against him to the beat of the music around her.
“Don’t get me wrong,” his soft voice whispered into her ear, “I appreciate your work. But, and I hate to say it...”
She could hear the smile in his voice as anger rose once more in her throat.
“I’ve seen better.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding,” cried Alice, pushing away from the stranger, turning and once more regaling the crowd with a view of her asset as her hips swung.
“I’m not! I’m not,” he said. “Look. It can’t be that hard. You clearly know your work. But you said you could out-cheek every woman in this place, earlier, and if you wanna back up a claim like that, well.”
She knew the words were coming before his mouth had even begun to shape them.
“Prove it.“
There it was—a shift in the air, a haze in the lights. The entire bar seemed to go slack-jawed for a moment as men and women both stumbled. Allie lost her balance entirely and toppled, catching herself, flat on the pool table, bent over for the world to see.
It was a good place for her, really. All her best work was done with her head at waist height. Perfect position for both giving and receiving, and Allie was quite generous with her gifts. She had three good holes, well practiced and ready for use, and though her tits weren’t up to par with the enormous ass she carried below her waist, a few planned trips to the surgeon would fix that right up. Luckily, her side income would help with that. She’d started camming the moment she’d heard about it, from a friend back in college. She didn’t need the money, not really, but she craved the satisfaction of pointing a camera at her ass and thinking about all those lonely faces masturbating to her bodacious rear end. Of course, anonymous jackers could satisfy her mind but they couldn’t satisfy the rest of her—that’s what her wardrobe was for. She’d had a burst of curves as she was finishing up school. As her hips grew wider, her outfits grew shorter, and by the time she graduated her collection of dresses showed off more ass than they covered. Her and Carla would place bets sometimes on how quickly she could get a guy naked after entering a bar, and she had her routine down pat. A bent waist here, a hip swing there, and before too long she’d be riding a rock-hard cock in the bathroom, bouncing her juicy ass up and down against it, dress pulled up and about to rip as it strained to contain her flared-out hips. That is, of course, if she and Carla didn’t bring their catch in together, lips wet and ready, playfully fighting in the dark over which hole would be used first.
Allie knew this stranger had been ogling her all night. Hell, everyone had. The little pink lycra outfit she was wearing fought hard to cover her curves, but it was a losing battle. She’d learned long ago that attracting a man wasn’t just about your natural assets, it was how one presented them. The heels she’d picked out were perfectly balanced to push her ass out with each step, and when she bent forward to hit each ball at the pool table she could feel every pair of eyes in the county slip downwards. She had no idea how to play pool. She doubted anybody cared.
“You’re a tough fuckin’ nut to crack,” said Allie, a plan already forming in her mind to get this man—what was she trying to do again? The heat of the bar was almost overpowering. In the dim half-light of the smoke-filled room, she saw clothes hitting the ground, lips touching necks, silhouettes being laid down against long-unused pool tables. What did she want to get him? Get him off her back? No, that didn’t make sense.
Get him off. That was it. She smiled warmly at the stranger.
“Listen,” said Allie. “normally I’d make a guy like you pay for this, but if you’re so unimpressed I’ll give you a special bargain.”
She slid her hands slowly down her hips, framing the thick, bubbly ass she loved so dearly, and, gently, so gently, began to lift her dress up, around, and over her hips. The heat of her dancing earlier gave her ass a nice sheen of sweat, and she twisted her hips so the man behind her could get a full view. She never wore panties. There was no point. She turned her head, narrowed her eyes, and gave a soft smile.
“Wanna try before you buy?”
The stranger didn’t waste any time. Before she knew it, a firm hand pushed her forward against the pool table with such force that a few balls near the edge jumped ship and hit the hard floor with a loud crack. Allie barely had time to giggle in appreciation before that same hand ripped her dress up, up, and past her hips, and she felt the snap as all the tension in the fabric pressed inward on a force it could actually contain. The heat of the bar moved quickly between her thighs, mingling nicely with the glistening juice in her pussy she’d worked up over the course of her performance. God, she was horny. There was something to be said for good foreplay, but damn it, sometimes Allie just wanted dick. Her wish was granted as a quick unzip and the sound of jeans hitting the floor prefaced her asshole being filled almost to bursting with sweet, sweet cock.
“Holy shit,” she said dreamily. “You were a centaur all along.“
The stranger was rough in exactly the way she wanted, pounding her against the fabric of the table, rattling the accoutrements that remained on top fiercely, railing her with such ferocity that her eyes rolled back and her nails dug hard into the fabric, unable to contain herself in her pleasure, trying and then failing to suppress a moan as the stranger’s entire palm slapped her ass cheek, sending enough of a ripple through her rear end that it almost knocked her off-balance. But, no, she steadied herself and began pushing back, meeting his force with force of her own, face buried against the table, tits splayed out, any sense of propriety long abandoned to primal cries of “harder! harder! oh, God, harder!“
Dimly, Allie was aware of Carla dropping to her knees in front of the man she’d been speaking to earlier, of Carla fumbling with a straining zipper, of Carla politely still trying to flirt before having her mouth stuffed with cock, her words replaced with wet moans as her lips sealed tight against the member in front of her and she began to bob her head in tune with the now overpowering music. In fact, the entire bar was losing clothes at a rapid rate. Some small part of her wondered why anybody would come all the way out to a bar for an orgy when a good-sized bedroom could do just fine, but the waves of pleasure multiplying through her body forced those thoughts out before they could cause any issue. She could feel climax approaching as her cries of pleasure echoed out alongside the murmering moans that were ever increasing in the haze around her.
“Oh, God,” she said, heavy breaths and the pounding from behind interrupting her thoughts and speech. “I’m about to come.”
“Good girl,” said the soft voice behind her, nearly unheard in the increasing chaos of the sex surrounding them. “Color me impressed.”
Allie managed to reach a hand down to rub her clit vigorously as she could feel her pleasure growing. When the stranger finished, shooting hot strips of cum deep inside of her, enough that she could feel some dripping out and down her legs, she screamed with such overpowering ecstasy that she nearly blacked out.
Whoever the tongue between her legs belonged to, they were doing a damn good job. The nice man who had so thoroughly dicked her down earlier had left not long after finishing with hardly a word, but there was a wealth of unclaimed cock still left to be taken in the hazy bar. Allie was propped up on a table, legs spread wide, head lolled back as the head pressed into her warm thighs worked its magic, giggling softly at the man’s work. She’d had a fun time, a really fun time, making her way from cock to cock, bringing each technique and position she had in her repertoire to life, but, to be honest, it was getting late. She needed to find a man, a good man, one she could bring home and who would leisurely fuck her against the headboard until they fell asleep in a sweat-stained, naked haze, only to wake up refreshed in the morning to do it all again. This guy was good, sure, but was he the right one? Allie decided to test him.
“Hey, guy, you mind telling me how much you’re packing under there?”
The face beneath her backed away for a moment, lips glistening, and looked up.
“Sure, slut. Stick a ruler down your throat and add a few inches.”
Allie grinned wickedly, grabbing his head and pushing him hard back between her thighs. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it, his tongue already retracing its path across her clit.
“I dunno, man. You talk a big talk.“
She shrugged nonchalantly, bouncing on the table with the generous padding her ass gave her, and pretended to think for a moment.
“Look. I’m not saying you’re lying. Not really. But I am saying to, well...“
His eyes met hers as she pulled him up, as she reached down to grasp and stroke against the cock that was already at full-mast, ready to fuck her and fuck her and fuck her until her brains were thoroughly fucked out and she lay exhausted in a pile of sheets, and then, after all that, to fuck her even more. Her lips smiled wide as they shaped the words they both knew were coming.
“Prove it.“