Dean's POV

Deep into the night, I sat in front of my computer for four hours without typing a single word. My mind was filled entirely with scenes from this afternoon.

Every time I'd fantasized about him before, written about him, broken him down and placed him into those sexual fantasy scenarios, I'd never hesitated.

I'd written about his glans pulling out of my back entrance bringing out pink flesh, his semen trickling down from between my legs that couldn't close after being fucked, him kneading my buttocks with his thumb after finishing and asking me "Had enough yet?" with that wickedly possessive expression...

But today was different.

Today I'd seen his face, bitten his thumb.

I closed my eyes.

My penis was achingly hard, my hand unconsciously reaching into my pants.

There was a bit of moisture in my palm. I pressed down along the contour, sliding from the glans to the base and back again, the cotton fabric of my pants rubbing against the sensitive skin, separated by a thin layer of cloth.

Gripping my own equally erect penis, imagining the scalding, taut sensation of Curtis's thick cock.

I couldn't help but let out a sound from my nose.

My roommate turned over, I stopped, waited for him to settle again, then continued.

After leaving the Ice Arena today, I actually kind of hated Curtis.

Hated his probing, hated his touch, hated the certainty in his voice when he said I was freak.

But I also hated myself for writing these things.

When I write these things my hands shake, my penis gets achingly hard, my back entrance contracts uncontrollably, as if waiting for an entry that will never come.

But what made me hate even more was that his movements wrapping the bandage were gentle, his hands steady.

When he rolled the bandage his fingertips brushed my skin, as natural as finding his center of gravity on ice.

I was enjoying the pressure of his fingers as he bandaged me, enjoying my whole body heating up when he was that close.

I tried hard to recall every detail from this afternoon.

When Curtis bent his head to wrap the bandage, his practice jersey's collar gaped open slightly, revealing a small edge of blue tattoo.

I'd seen this in videos before, but videos would never have this angle. This angle could only be seen when trapped between the metal locker and his chest.

I'd written in my novel that Curtis's glans was round, with a vein running along his shaft all the way to the base.

I'd written it but never seen it. What if I had?

What if his cock stretched open my oral cavity, pressed against the depths of my throat, I couldn't swallow and could only make wet gagging sounds, then he pressed the back of my head pushing deeper, the whole length inserting, pressing against my esophageal opening.

But I actually had no idea what that felt like.

I didn't know what being stretched open felt like, what it felt like when the anal sphincter was forced to relax, when an entire cock ground past the edge of the prostate with pleasure like an electric current.

I sank into the vortex of desire, my glans swelling hard, I gripped it and stroked quickly twice, my hand speed getting faster and faster, the root of my legs rubbing against the desk edge, my mind full of continuing fantasies.

Curtis's thumb slid from my lips into my mouth, pressing on my tongue.

He looked down at my mouth containing his thumb, blue pupils dilating, so deep you couldn't see the bottom, "Lick."

I took his thumb in my mouth, my tongue tip circling around his fingertip, then sucking outward. Saliva flowed down from the base of his finger, dripping along the back of my hand onto the floor.

Curtis let out a low gasp, his breath hitting my ear, wet and hot.

His other hand yanked at my waistband, palm directly covering my erect penis.

Foreplay was completely skipped, I was already fully hard.

Curtis gripped me once through my underwear, his thumb brushing over the pre-cum seeping from the tip of my glans, that brush made my waist collapse.

I heard him laugh lowly, adding more force to his hand, "So wet. Just from licking a finger?"

I bit my lip without making a sound.

He pulled out his finger, using the finger covered in my saliva to hook the edge of my underwear and pull it down.

He crouched down, one hand gripping my base, tightening the circle, then opened his mouth and enveloped my glans.

His lips were thick and hot, tongue padding up from below, pressing against the frenulum grinding back and forth.

I weakly grasped his short stiff hair, neck arched back moaning.

He swallowed down, his throat constricting once deep inside, in that instant I almost couldn't control myself from coming.

"Curtis—"

Curtis flipped me over, pressing me against the locker door.

Curtis's hand gripped my waist, his other hand spreading my buttocks. I felt his erect penis pressing at the entrance, glans scalding and slick.

"Relax." He said against the back of my neck, "Don't dodge."

His size ground in inch by inch, my intestines peristalsing and tightening around his shape, he pulled out half an inch then thrust back in, this time deeper, the glans grinding past my prostate making my whole body arch violently, forehead hitting the locker door.

Curtis really used the hands that had crushed countless opponents to grip my waist, thrusting from behind again and again.

"Fuck, found it." He panted roughly, "Right here."

He thrust his hips and ground once more fiercely.

"Ah—" I couldn't control myself anymore, my whole body convulsing as I came.

Semen sprayed on the metal locker door, white turbid liquid sliding down.

My whole body was shaking, my hole flesh wringing his cock wringing it tight, Curtis's fingers gripping my waist sank into the flesh, he also couldn't hold back and came inside my still-convulsing passage.

Semen poured in spurt after spurt, filling me until I felt my lower abdomen bulge slightly.

Hot sticky semen sprayed on my lower abdomen, carrying a strong fishy smell.

I gasped for a long time before recovering, pulling out tissues from the desk drawer to clean everything up.

Disgusting, Dean, actually fantasizing about a hockey player at three in the morning and coming all over your hand.

The next day at noon, I stood at the door of the ice rink equipment storage room.

The bandage Curtis wrapped for me still wound around my finger.

When I showered last night I wrapped my hand in plastic wrap, and after coming out I wound it back on. There was a bit of water stain on the white gauze.

I'm a fucking idiot.

But I couldn't control it.

This section of bandage carried the residual warmth of Curtis's fingertips, the airflow from his breath brushing my hand back, of course these had long since dissipated, but I couldn't remove it.

Today the Ice Arena had a youth training camp, kids sliding around on the rink falling all over the place, protective gear clattering against each other.

I knew Curtis wasn't here, he went to an away game today, wouldn't be back for three days.

But I was just being pathetic, had to come see.

On the storage room door was posted a new shift schedule, Curtis's name listed on Tuesday and Thursday night shifts.

I took out my phone and photographed it, then felt like a stalker.

After handling various Ice Arena matters, I logged onto the forum, refreshing the thread.

Saw a new comment from 【SWEET】in chapter seventeen:

【Do you think he'll actually fuck you?】

【You looked like you were enjoying it yesterday】

Enjoying what? Enjoying Curtis pressing me against the storage room wall to wrap my bandage? Or the pressure of his thumb pinching my chin?

But come to think of it, how did he know I was enjoying it?

First possibility, this person was also at the Ice Arena yesterday, saw the whole process. Second possibility, he is Curtis.

The moment this thought surfaced, cold sweat seeped down my back.

I closed my eyes, his face leaning close yesterday floating up in my mind, corner of his mouth hooked in a half-smile, tone flat as he tapped out: "Because you are freak."

Maybe he'd confirmed it long ago.

I suddenly opened my eyes, sent a message to an old user I'd known for half a year on the forum, ID was 【Memory】.

She was Canadian, usually online despite the time difference. I sent her a private message, "Can you help me check the IP address of an ID?"