Page 4 of Pucked On Camera

"Cap, you coming or what?" Zach tosses the puck in my direction with a grin that says he can't wait to hit the ice, and I return his smirk. We've been through this routine so many times; it's like muscle memory by now.

"Keep your jockstrap on, Mickelson," I shout back, grabbing my gear. We stride towards the rink, side by side, Alfie ahead of us, rolling his eyes. They’re roomies, practically attached at the hip, which means where one goes, the other follows. It’s like they share one brain cell between them when it comes to anything off the ice—but put them in a game, and they’re two parts of a well-oiled machine.

I step onto the gleaming surface of the frozen water, feeling the chill seep through my practice uniform. This is where all the bullshit fades away and it's just me and the ice.

My parents worked their asses off to keep me in skates and gear growing up. Every sacrifice, every extra shift they took on—it was for this dream. The dream that has me lacing up in the pros.

I’ve trained for it, lived for it, and most of all, want it—not just playing the game, but mastering it, owning it, becoming a name that resonates in the halls of hockey history. I'm not just here to play—I'm here to conquer, to build a legacy beyond what my folks could ever imagine.

I love the surge of adrenaline as I pick up speed. There's no place I'd rather be, no feeling that compares to this—the freedom, the power, the raw energy of the game coursing through my every move. Yeah, today's extra skate threw off my plans, but out here? Out here, I’m exactly where I need to be.

The echo of blades scraping the ice fades as we march off toward the locker room. The new girl, locker room attendant with a nametag I can't quite catch, slips out right before Jasper can barrel through.

"Hey, newbie! You got those mirrors shining like your eyes yet?" Jasper's voice booms across the hall as he sniggers.

I lock eyes with him, feeling that ripple of anger. There's no place for that crap here—not on my team. We're supposed to be professionals, not schoolyard bullies. I stare him down. He matches it, smugness lifting the corners of his lips.

That's when Alfie and Zach swoop in, their hands landing heavy on our shoulders like twin peacemakers. "Ease up, gladiators," Alfie chides.

Zach's laid-back grin is the opposite of the tension surrounding us. "Let's hit the showers, boys. No need for a throwdown where there are soap suds involved."

Jasper grunts, breaking eye contact first, and I silently count that as a win. As I stride into the shower, the hot water sluices over me, washing away the sweat and the irritation. Jasper Wright—built like a tank with the finesse of a wrecking ball. Theguy’s ambition is super transparent, but his methods, man, they rub me the wrong way.

Showered and changed, I slip out the door without pulling any attention to myself. I tap my phone, the car service app already loading. Alfie and Zach are good guys, but tonight I need speed, not company.

"Come on, come on," I mutter under my breath, watching the little car icon inch closer on the screen.

"Riley Watson?" the car service driver asks as he pulls up and rolls down his window. I'm pretty sure he sets a record getting me through downtown Chicago. I thank him with a generous tip and bolt up the stairs to my apartment.

Phone clutched tight, I unlock the door and rush inside. The notification I've been waiting for all day blinks at me. My evening plans are back on track.

My laptop shines a soft blue light throughout the room as I click on the bookmarked page. The 'live now' banner flutters across the screen, and I exhale a sigh of relief. Timing is everything.

I kick off my shoes and peel away the last of my clothes. The fabric of my sheets whispers against my skin as I slide into bed, the comfort of a routine set during my college days several years ago. I reach for the drawer beside me, its contents as meticulously arranged as my hockey gear in the locker room. Large bottle of lube, check. Fleshlight, check. A stack of tissues, check.

My fingers dance across the keyboard, adjusting the volume to just the right level where it’s audible but won't alert the neighbors. There's something about the live aspect, knowing it's happening right now, somewhere out there, that makes the blood pulse louder in my veins.

The stream kicks in, and the performer comes into view, pixels morphing into the curves and angles of desire. My hand wraps around the bottle of lube, flipping it open with practiced ease. It's cold at first, a stark contrast to the heat pooling in my lower belly. But it warms quickly, slick along my fingers as I coat the Fleshlight, prepping it like I would my hockey stick before a big play.

I start slow, gliding the toy over my now hard cock at first sight of her, allowing the sensations to build layer by layer. In the back of my mind, I know this isn't the kind of stamina training coach had in mind, but it demands focus all the same.

With each stroke, my grip tightens, my breath hitches as the plump head of my cock presses against the opening of the toy. I exhale heavily, gripping the sheets as I begin to slide in, feeling every inch disappear into the warm, tight grip of the Fleshlight. Her sultry voice echoes in my ears, commanding and intimate. The toy around me strokes and squeezes with each thrust, mirroring her movements perfectly. My hips buck against the mattress, chasing that perfect friction that only comes from being inside a warm, wet pussy.

As I move faster, my mind wanders to the fantasy: her nails raking lightly down my back, her body arching under me searching for her release. I can almost taste her sweet nectaron my tongue as I thrust harder and deeper. Sweat breaks out along my brow. I bite my lip to stifle a moan that threatens to escape. Each stroke sends electric shocks through my core, sending tremors through my body. My muscles tense and release in perfect rhythm with her hips moving on screen.

The sight of those rounded globes bouncing hypnotizes me. Her cries of pleasure fuel me further, driving me onwards despite the burn building in my legs from hours spent skating earlier at practice. I grind into it—the woman on screen—my hand working faster now taking control over what feels like an extension of myself. My heart pounds in time with each thrust, imagining sweat beading from between our bodies.

There is nothing else but me and her together; everything else fades away into background noise until all that remains are our joined bodies writhing towards climax...

Until suddenly it hits. The release is so intense that I hold my breath. It’s as if she was here with me physically drawing every ounce of cum from my body. I groan loudly out into the open space of my room. With one final pump, I collapse, sinking into the sheets exhausted yet satisfied.

I lay there and feel the aftershocks, my heart still pounding beneath my ribs. Tissues crumple in my hand, ready for the cleanup.

I've always been good at compartmentalizing—Riley the captain on the ice, Riley the man in control of his own pleasure in the quiet of his bedroom. I close the laptop, the show over,the performer none the wiser of their number one fan. This subscription is what gets me through and not having to rely on puck bunnies or the dangers of what lurks out there in the dating world. Here, in the privacy of my room, hidden behind a screen, I can get the release that I need to keep me focused on my job.

Chapter 3

Amelia

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