Fartonmeboys

Yep, the special reward was an all-expense paid trip down to pound town (also known as the last stall in the men’s bathroom) with the one and only, Bubble Butt Billy. It was a shame that Billy was the best darn pool player in that town and the next town over. 

It was a lucrative business for Billy, who never once had to surrender his pride to another man. However, it was speculated that the Beat Billy challenge was more profitable for the bar than it was for Billy himself. The challenge drew large crowds of pent-up men, some, who in their lustful delusions, thought themselves skilled or lucky enough to earn themselves some quality time with Billy’s behind, and others, who were more financially conscious, would instead egg on their pals to give the challenge a go just for the chance to see Billy bend over the pool table a couple more times.

Without a fault, each Wednesday night would bring to the bar a rowdy crowd, despite how predictable the events of the night were. Billy would pocket a nice amount spending money at the expense of his hopeful challengers, and the patrons would get their fair share of Bubble Butt Billy action. Billy barely had to try against his challengers and was eager to play a game of pool against an actually formidable opponent, and on one Wednesday night he got exactly that.

It was a Wednesday night that seemed to be going the same as every other Wednesday before it. Billy had just defeated yet another challenger and was counting ten dollar bills with his signature cocky smirk painted across his face. “Anyone else want to challenge me?” he said, teasing his audience by leaning his upper body ever so slightly over the pool table.

“I will.” An unfamiliar voice boomed from the back of the room. Billy turned around to size up the stranger. Billy, who was never short of words to belittle his upcoming challengers, was silent. It wasn’t the stranger’s face that left Billy at a loss for words; his eyes hadn’t even gotten up that far. Billy’s gaze was stuck on the bulging mass that was tenting the stranger’s tight jeans. For the first time in a long while Billy remembered the consequences of losing the challenge, his mind trapped in thoughts of how his virgin hole would fare if he lost this one time. 

“My eyes are up here buddy,” the stranger said in a playful tone, strutting towards Billy with an irresistible swagger. “Just teasin’ ya. The name’s Rick,” he said warmly, reaching his hand out for a handshake. “I’d like to challenge you to a game of pool. I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem.”

Billy snapped out of his daze and shook Rick’s hand. “You’re new around here, so I’ll have to warn you not to get your hopes up,” Billy said, building up his confident facade again. “I haven’t even been trying tonight.”

“I expect nothing but your best.” Rick was unfazed. “I’ll let you break.” 

Billy picked up his cue stick and the white ball as Rick set up the rest of the balls to break. As he had done a hundred times before, Billy got ready to begin play, lining his cue stick up to hit the white ball as his butt pointed out towards the leering spectators. Usually, Billy was so quick in his play that his opponent’s wouldn’t have time to register that the match had started. That night, Billy wasn’t so fast to start.

The cause of Billy’s delay was his opponent, who was standing on the opposite side of the table with his crotch directly in Billy’s line of sight. Rick’s hands were on his waist and he leaned just a little bit back to accentuate his large package.

“All bark and no bite,” Billy muttered under his breath. Billy struck the white ball, which jetted in the group of remaining balls causing them to scatter. Not a single ball had been potted into one of the holes, which was unusual for Billy.

It was Rick’s turn and he grabbed one of the cue sticks from the rack. He stroked the long wooden stick with his powerful hand lewdly under the guise of surveying its quality. “You know where I’m from, they call me Thick Stick Rick,” he said to Billy as he walked past him, meeting Billy’s gaze with a wink.

Rick quickly potted two balls in a row with ease, putting Billy on the back foot. Billy countered with his renowned precision. He potted three balls in quick succession and set himself up for an easy put away with a fourth.

The white ball had rolled to the centre of the large table meaning that Billy had to lean over extra far to reach it, causing his two large cheeks to stretch his jean fabric to its limit. Billy, who had been able to regain focus in the match, was about to sink his ball into one of the pockets when he felt something large and hard brush up against his crack. He turned around to see Rick towering over his lower half.

“Hey, you have to win first before you can have any of that,” Billy snapped, audibly annoyed.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to bump into you,” Rick said, feigning sincerity. “I just forget how big I am sometimes.”

Billy tried his best to brush off Rick’s comment and struck the white ball, but it clearly affected him as the ball he was aiming for, which was set up so well, bounced off the rim of the pocket and back towards the centre of the pool table. Billy swore under his breath; he never missed a shot like that.

“Don’t stress about it,” Rick said, placing his middle and index finger into one of the pockets. “These holes are so tight,” he wriggled his two fingers, “that these balls only just fit in.”

Rick’s innuendos had a marked effect on Billy, allowing Rick to even the scoreboard in spite of the vast difference in their skill levels. Each player now had one ball each to put away before they could go for the win by potting the eight ball. It was Billy’s turn and he was once again bent over the table, ass in the air, and lining up for a shot.

“Looking good Billy boy.” Rick chimed in as Billy was doing some practice shots in front of the white ball to check he had the right alignment.

“I don’t need you to help me with my alignment, I’m the expert… '' Billy trailed off as he realised Rick wasn’t commenting on his shot preparation. Instead, Rick’s eyes were glued to Billy’s famous butt.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just keeping my eyes on the prize,” Rick said, biting his bottom lip.

Billy tried to ignore Rick and went ahead with his shot. He managed to pot his final ball, but foolishly sunk the white ball as well. The crowd, who had fallen silent from the tension of the match, let out a gasp when Billy made this rare error.

Rick was able to sink his final ball as well, leaving the two in a race to pot the eight ball first for the win. Rick had no success on his first attempt as the eight ball was stuck in a tricky position. His comparative lack of experience showed as Rick was not careful enough to put the eight ball in a difficult position for his opponent to finish off.

All Billy needed to do was hit a straight shot from one end of the table to the other, which was easy for a player like himself. Rick, the schemer he was, was still not out of ideas. He moved himself behind the pocket Billy was planning to sink the eight ball into and started grinding his huge bulge against that corner pocket.

“How badly do you want to get into this hole, cause I want to get into this hole real bad,” Rick said with a slight grunt. Billy stayed silent. “It’s only a small hole Billy boy, it could be a real struggle to fit in.” Billy lined up his shot. “God Billy,” Rick’s voice turned low and rough as he took a step back from the table and squeezed his tightly wrapped manhood with his hand. “I’m a big boy, and I’m not even hard yet. You can’t even imagine the damage I could do to your bussy, or is that what you want? Have you been going easy on me on purpose Billy boy?”

Billy’s face was red from a mixture of anger and fear. He was sweating profusely and his hands were trembling. Billy drew his cue stick back then thrusted it forward with as much might as possible. The white ball rocketed into the eight ball which slammed into the pocket. In his desperation, Billy had struck the white ball far too hard and it followed the eight ball into the pocket.

Despair was the only thing that could describe Billy. Sinking the eight ball and fouling in the same shot was an automatic loss. The crowd knew this and roared with excitement. Thick Stick Rick was victorious. 

Billy looked to the crowd, his eyes pleading for mercy. This was futile as the crowd, who had lost a lot of money over the years to Billy, were seeking retribution and Rick would deliver it. 

“Rick! Rick! Thick Stick Rick!” the crowd chanted.

Rick approached the defeated Billy. “I ain’t gonna force you or nothin’ Billy boy, I ain’t like that,” Rick said, placing his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “But if you –”

“I’m a man of my word Rick. I couldn’t show my face in this town again if I didn’t go through with this.” Billy replied earnestly, not letting Rick finish.

“That’s the Bubble Butt Billy I’ve heard so much about. Now don’t you worry, Rick is gonna treat you real nice.” Rick gave Billy’s big butt a friendly smack.

The crowd’s chanting reached a climax as Billy and Rick walked into the men’s bathroom together. “Give ‘em hell Rick!” yelled a frenzied patron.

Soon, the bar fell into silence as the once raucous spectators listened suspensefully. At first there was no sound coming from the bathroom. After a little while a faint banging noise could be heard. It got louder and louder, until Billy’s moaning commenced. Billy reached a transcendent state, his shameless moans of pleasure filling up the bar and causing the pants of everyone in it to become a little more snug. Some opted to loosen their belts to relieve the pressure that was quickly building below.

“That son of a whore Billy is really enjoying this isn’t he?” commented one of the bargoers.

“Rick sure is a stallion!” remarked another.

“Billy won’t be able to walk properly for a week!” 

“Don’t tell me Bubble Butt Billy lost on purpose!”

Rick and Billy’s erotic encounter culminated with a shared orgasmic roar that reverberated throughout the entire establishment. Rick, ever the gentlemen, offered to book a hotel room for the two of them for the night once he caught his breath back. All Billy could do was nod and collapse into Rick’s arms, his body completely exhausted.

“Oh shit, bro. I fell over too,” I say, my breath landing on his lips. “Let me help you up.” I grab him by the back of the waistband of his pants and lift him off the ground. His weight too heavy, and the angle too awkward, I drop him back down, accidentally pulling his pants up to the back of his knees in the process. “Sorry, bro.”

“Here, it might help if I hold on to you,” he says, digging his fingers under my waistband, catching my underwear too. I lift him up again, only for my pants to be yanked down as I do. My cock spills out, its engorged head landing right on his hole.

“One last try. I’ll get you up this time, bro.” I jam my arms between his quads and his waist, and lift him with all my strength. His hole stretches wide around my tip, and slowly slides up the length of my cock as I lift him up higher into the air. I keep lifting him and his tight ring squeezes past every last inch until it kisses the base. I pause, and we make intense eye contact before I drop him back down, genuinely exhausted from all the energy I exerted.

Having got a taste, I realise I can no longer hold back. I grab his ankles once again and I impale him. I hammer him. I split him. I pummel him. I skewer him. I plow him. I smash him. I spear him. I ram him. I fuck him. I fuck him so hard and deep and fast that I am sure he has lost his vision and I am sure he won’t be able to walk properly for at least a week and I am sure he will be begging me every day for me to fuck him again.

I shoot load after load into him until I shoot blanks. The entirety of my body weight collapses onto him, this time not on purpose. We lay there for a while in an awkward embrace, drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Bro, I really did fall over.” He stares at me earnestly. “Or rather I should say, I really did fall for you.” He can’t stop a cheeky grin from washing over his serious face. “But if I knew you were that big, I wouldn’t have done that… so long after meeting you.”

I can tell the post-orgasm afterglow is hitting him hard, because for the first time those eyes are staring at me with love instead of lust. I feel it too. It makes me realise why we pretended for so long. Now we’ve broken down the barrier, we can't go back to being just roommates again.

“We’ve fucked up, haven’t we?” I say with a sigh.

“Yeah, I don’t think roommates are supposed to do this shit. Ummm… let’s just say I really did fall over, and you really did fall over, and both our pants accidentally got pulled down when you tried to help me up, and your cock just happened to slip into my ass as you pulled me up, and then you didn’t mean to fall back into me again and again and again and again…”