Pucked (Pucked 1)

“Not too much. It’s so good.” I grip the sheets beside my head. Alex’s hands cover mine.

“You ready for me?”

I’ve been ready since I woke up and shared private time with the monster cock. “Please. Yes.”

He starts to move, and the head of his cock hits the spot. The so good turns into damn well fabulous. I can’t believe I doubted the existence of the elusive spot. It’s magically orgasmic. The word vomit won’t stop, so I keep my face mashed into the sheets. Only the pillow hears how good it feels, repeatedly.

It’s one of those positions where I’m right on the cusp of release. My inability to move or get to my orgasm switch prevents me from reaching the target. Alex must be psychic, or it’s possible he can tell by the pitch and frequency of my moans I’m getting close. He nudges my knees apart, urging me onto all fours.

If I was close to an orgasm before, it’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling now. Alex pops my hips out, changing the angle. His palm settles on the base of my spine, and he smoothes a path to the nape of my neck as his hips meet my ass.

“How’s this, baby?”

My wordless noise seems to be a sufficient answer. The beaver button is on red alert. His hand strokes along my side, moving over my hip and lower to tease sensitive skin. I’ve been straddling the line since we started. He rubs my clit at the same time as he thrusts again. I’m done for; I explode into a shuddering, moaning mess.

“That’s right, you come for me,” he says as though he’s scored a goal. I suppose he has. Or I have, or he’s scored the goal for me. Any way you look at it, a goal has been scored thanks to the skills of his monster cock and those nimble fingers of his.

I take control of the bean flicking, aware if I keep the pressure on I might come again. I’m stockpiling Alex-induced orgasms for beaver slapping material when he’s away.

This time Alex goes over the edge right after me. He collapses onto his side, taking me with him. He’s sweaty, but I’m too languid to mind. Besides, it’s a testament to how hard he worked to get me off. Twice.

We lie there for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow.

“What do you want for breakfast? Should we stop on the way to your work?”

At the mention of food, my stomach growls as if it has a wild boar hibernating inside. While this particular round of sex wasn’t taxing for me aside from the orgasms, I’m hungry.

“What were you thinking?” I would give my left nipple for a bowl of Cookie Crisp or even those chocolate peanut butter Pop-Tarts. On the other hand, a couple of Krispy Kreme donuts would hit the spot, too.

“There’s an awesome buffet not far from here.” Of course the hockey player wants unlimited food options.

Watching him eat a meal unhindered by things such as portion sizes would be entertaining, I’m sure.

“As amazing as it sounds, a buffet will probably make me late for work.”

“I can make you something quick. I don’t have a whole lot since I’ll be gone for the next couple of weeks.”

“I like almost anything.” I stand and stretch, stiff from all the sexing. “Do you have Pop-Tarts?”

“Uh, no. I don’t eat Pop-Tarts during the season.”

Alex fondles my boobs. Then he does the nuzzle thing. I scratch my nails up and down his back and press my nose into his hair while he has a silent love affair with them.

“I’m good with cereal,” I reply, breathless. He pouts when I pick up his shirt from the floor and put it on. The rest of my clothes are in the laundry room. The shirt is long enough to cover all the important bits.

“I have boxer briefs you can wear.” Alex’s half-limp cock bobs and swings in all its snuffie glory as he crosses to his dresser. Penises are interesting. Particularly his.

He roots through the top drawer and grabs two pairs of boxer briefs. One he tosses to me, the other he steps into. I don’t take my eyes off him as he pulls them up his legs and tucks himself in. The boxer briefs he gives me are men’s large with a cartoon print on them. They fall off as soon as I let go. It appears I’m staying pantsless for now.

Alex tilts his head as the boxers pool at my feet. “I guess you need a smaller size, eh?”

“It appears so.”

Alex doesn’t put on any additional clothing, which is fine by me. I’m more than happy to get in some extra ogle time.

Once in the kitchen, I take the liberty of browsing his cabinets. Everything is whole grain. It’s very disappointing.