PUCKED

by Helena Hunting

“Good point.” I strip out of my clothes while Alex watches from his bed. Naked, I sprint down the stairs and out the patio door to the backyard. I glance over my shoulder to find him chasing me, shedding his shorts and nearly face planting in the process. I’m almost across the lawn when he loops an arm around my waist and lifts me off the ground. He doesn’t slow as he races toward the edge of the pool. I scream when we take flight, and we land in the balmy water with a massive splash.

  Alex keeps his hands on my waist, propelling us upward.

  I break the surface with a gasp, laughing. “I almost outran you.”

  His left eyebrow lifts. “Not even close.”

  “It was totally close.” I hold onto his shoulders so I don’t have to tread water.

  “You might’ve had a chance if you hadn’t been naked. It’s a strong motivator for catching you.” His hands are on my waist and migrating north.

  “Now we know what would increase your speed during practice.”

  “You know what you should practice? Floating on your back,” he says.

  “You just want to see my boobs glisten in the moonlight.” I put my foot against his chest, intending to use his solid body to push off. He grabs my ankle and pulls me toward him.

  We bob to the edge of the pool where Alex pins me against the side with his body. His smile is soft, sweet, like melty maple sugar candies on my tongue. “You know me so well.”

  He wraps my legs around his waist, but keeps me high up, so we’re face to face and the MC isn’t touching the Beave.

  “I’m going to start training again soon.”

  “Does that mean fewer sleepovers?” It's a good thing my pipes burst; I can stock up on us time.

  “I hope not. But I’ll have less free time. I’ll be at the gym and the rink a lot more.”

  I’ve been by the gym while Alex was engaged in a light training session. Watching him run and sweat and pump iron is almost obscene.

  “Are you worried about how I’m going to deal with that?”

  “No.” He rubs his nose against mine. “I’m worried about how I’m going to deal with it.” I love that he’s hard on the outside and a total marshmallow on the inside.

  I also know where he’s going with this. “Are you going to ask me to move in with you again?”

  “No.” His lips are on my neck, teeth nipping at skin.

  Well, that’s a surprise. “No?”

  He readjusts his grip, lining things up this time. “Nope. That’s an open invitation. When you’re ready to move in, you let me know.”

  It’s not the answer I expect. I try to challenge him, but he kisses me and there are no more words.

  It takes more than a week to fix the pipes. After nine days at Alex’s I’m finally able to go back to my apartment. I’m not at all excited about having my own space again, and not because Alex’s house is so much nicer than my crappy apartment. I’ve gotten used to seeing him every day. I even cooked a meal for him—granted all I had to do was set the timer on the oven. I made a salad to go with it. And I chose a bottle of wine. I’m totally domesticable.

  The second I open the door to my apartment, I’m smacked in the olfactory senses. It smells like a gym sock covered in rotten eggs. It’s also rankly hot. I discover the gagworthy odor is actually my garbage. By the time I’m done disposing of it, I’m dry heaving and dripping with sweat. It’s not a sexy look for me. I take a tepid shower and debate my options.

  Alex will be more than happy to have me back at his place, and I’m happy to stay there. I’m also certain if I go back, I’m not likely to return to my apartment. I’ve been holding out, thinking if I wait until the end of the summer, we’ll have been together long enough for it to be reasonable. Putting a timeline on it doesn’t change whether or not I’m ready for this step.

  I pack an entire suitcase full of clothes and throw essential items—such as my home waxing kit and razors—into a box. It says a lot that I’ve never fully unpacked. Six boxes remain in the back of my closet, containing items which should live on shelves or bookcases. I haven’t taken the time to make it happen. This apartment has always been an interim, a stop on the road to another destination.

  It’s after nine by the time I cart all my stuff down to my car and drive to Alex’s. I don’t bother to call. I park as close as I can to the front door and wheel my suitcase up the steps. I have the code to get in, but I figure it’s more impactful if I ring the doorbell.

  Alex answers the door wearing only a pair of basketball shorts. He’s good at pretty much every sport including balls or pucks.

  He looks down at my suitcase. “Hey. Did you forget the code? ”

  “My hands were full. Something’s wrong with the air conditioning in my apartment,” I say by way of explanation.

  The excitement in his eyes dims, but he grabs my bag just the same. “Oh. So you want to stay here for a couple more days?”

  “Actually, I didn’t call the landlord about it.”

  “He’ll have to do something, Violet. You can’t go without air on the twentieth floor.”

  “That’s the thing,” I say as I follow him into the house. “I don’t think I want to stay there for the summer.”

  He turns around, his eyes the kind of wide associated with surprise and hope. “Is this you moving in with me?”

  I nod, and his grin lights up my world.

  “I love being here.”

  “Yeah?” He’s still smiling as he pulls me in for a kiss.

  “Of course.” His love is the best gift, filling my heart, giving breath to a future I can’t wait to start living. “My favorite thing in the world is here.”

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  ALEX

  “Violet, are you ready to go? We need to get to the airport.” I check the bedroom. She’s nowhere to be found. I could've sworn she said she was getting her bags together. This is unusual—where there’s Violet, there is rarely silence. “Violet?”

  “Whatcha doin’?” Violet scares the crap out of me as she comes out of the guest bedroom we’ve turned into her “private space,” which she uses to store her unpacked boxes.

  “Trying to find you. Are you ready?” I look her up and down.

  She’s definitely not ready to go. She’s wearing underpants and a tank top with no bra. We need to leave in the next fifteen minutes so we can make our flight. She’s not wearing a bra.

  She covers her chest with one of the books she’s holding. It only hides one of her boobs. She does the same thing with her other hand, shielding her straining, erect nipple from my greedy eyes. The damage is already done. I’ve seen them. The monster in my pants has awakened.

  “See what you’ve done.” I motion to my crotch.

  “I’m sure we can sort it out.”

  Violet lowers the books, taunting me. Boobs are the best thing ever created. My dick is in agreement. He punches at my fly, trying to strong-arm his way out of my pants and get to Violet’s boobs—and possibly between her thighs since that’s his favorite place to hang out.

  “We don’t have time, Violet.”

  She sways her way over and rubs against me. I can feel her nipples through the thin fabric of both our shirts, which exacerbates the swelling in my pants. I can’t deal with hard-on ache for the next three hours.

  “I’ll solve your problem on the way to the airport; as long as you can multitask.” She pats my dick through my pants.

  Lust barrels its way into my brain. I’m positive I heard an allusion to road head.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “I guess you can hold my boobs for me.” She looks pointedly at her chest.

  I’m already cupping them.

  I give them a squeeze and try for a kiss. This leads to some over-the-clothes cock-to-pussy friction until my phone alarm goes off; we have five minutes to get in the car and go, or we’ll miss our flight. We pry ourselves off each other. Violet throws on a pair of yoga pant things, and I load the car. I surreptitiously check
my carry-on bag one last time to make sure the Tiffany’s box is still in the front pocket.

  Once we’re on the road, Violet fiddles with the radio, ducks under her seatbelt, and follows through with her problem-solving strategy. I recline the seat to give her more room to do her thing. She’s considerate enough to put her hair in a ponytail so I can see what she’s doing while she’s doing it.

  I’ll admit it’s rather difficult to concentrate on driving while Violet’s lips are wrapped around my cock. I’m willing to perfect the art of multitasking should she decide she wants to do it again. It’s not until I’m groaning and coming that I realize I’m going almost a hundred miles an hour. We make it to the airport in record time. I’m lucky to evade a speeding ticket and an indecent exposure charge.

  The flight from Chicago to Toronto is short, and I’m super relaxed, thanks to Violet and her mouth. We pick up the rental car once we land and leave the city, driving north—away from skyscrapers and into the dense forest and rocky landscapes.

  “Where, exactly, are we going again?” Violet asks as I turn off the highway onto less traveled roads.

  “Lake Muskoka.” Up until now, I’ve kept the details vague. “We’re only about a half hour away.”

  “Is there indoor plumbing? I’m not going to have to pee in a bush or one of those outhouse things, am I? My mother sent me to Girl Scout camp as a kid. There were spiders in the bathroom!” She shudders and pulls her knees to her chest as if reliving the memory.

  I laugh. “There’s indoor plumbing. You don’t need to worry about peeing on spiders.”

  She grumbles something about it not being funny as she searches in her bag. Producing a lip balm, she slathers it on liberally, making them glisten. It reminds me of what they look like when she pops off my dick. Dammit. I need to settle down. I’m way too excited for this vacation.

  Violet finds a music station she likes and belts out the lyrics to eighties rock ballads. She’s tone deaf, but she’s still adorable.

  “This isn’t a cottage,” she says when I turn off the dirt road and down the tree-lined driveway.

  “Did you expect a rundown shack?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess I did. This is a house, Alex. A nice house on a lake. I figured we’d be staying in a trailer or something.”

  I only get to come here a few times a year. I wanted something comfortable and functional, if not a little excessive.

  Violet takes in her surroundings; the two story cottage with peaked roof and stained-wood siding is set close to the waterfront, providing a stunning view of the lake. The sun peeks through birch and pine trees, shining down on her upturned face. She closes her eyes and breathes in deep. She likes it. I like that.

  I take her hand. “Come on. Let me show you the inside.”

  The cottage is open concept with windows across the front, giving me an uninterrupted view of the lake. The master bedroom is no exception. Facing west, it has its own private deck, complete with hammock. We can lie out there and watch the sun set. I can’t wait to have outdoor nature sex with Violet. I don’t even care if she’s loud and the neighbors hear. Well, maybe I do. If I was into the BDSM stuff she likes to read, I might try a gag or something. I’m not. We’ll have to play the “see how quiet we can be” game instead.

  Violet falls in love with cottaging. She also falls in love with Sea-Dooing, kayaking, and my speed boat. I have two sets of everything; one for the cottage here and the other for the lake front property in Chicago. I even try to teach her how to water ski. Try being the optimal word.

  Our neighbor has a nineteen year-old kid named Louis who’s semipro. I consider asking him to teach her while I drive the boat. Except Violet is wearing her Hawks bikini. The one I bought specifically for this trip. While I can understand why he’s checking out my woman’s rack, I’m not interested in him getting close enough to really appreciate all she has to offer.

  I get his dad to drive the boat while I show her how to ski and Louis gives her pointers on form. There’s a lot of ass and junk grabbing under the water. It may have had an impact on Violet’s inability to figure out skiing.

  Later in the afternoon, we kayak to a natural whirlpool and have hot, outdoor, whirlpool sex. By late afternoon, we’re exhausted from all the activity and the sun, so we crash out on the couch and watch a movie.

  I must pass out hard because I open my eyes to the sound of giggling and the flash of a camera. I blink blearily as consciousness slowly returns. Violet’s lips curl in an uncommonly devious smile.

  “What are you up to?”

  My question is rewarded with more snickering and a very cute, worrisome snort. “Your snuffie is a super hero.” Violet bursts into a fit of laughter.

  I glance down at my semi hard cock. “What the fuck? Are those googly eyes?”

  Violet nods excitedly. How I’ve managed to sleep through this will forever be one of life’s unsolved mysteries. My dick is wearing a cape, the googly eyes are stuck to the head in such a way that the hole at the tip looks like a mouth, and—“Did you draw a mustache on my dick?”

  “I wanted him to be French Canadian.” Violet pets my dressed-up dick and adjusts the cape.

  For a few seconds, I debate whether or not this is a messed-up dream. However, the up and down motion of her hand is a good indicator it’s not. It’s difficult not to react to the petting, despite the really fucking weird scenario going on here. “Why French Canadian?”

  “He’s suave, you know, like French guys? And romantic.” Violet gives my dick an affectionate stroke and leans in and kisses the tip—below the drawn on mustache. “I had a dream awhile back; Super MC had a French accent.”

  “Right.” Because dreaming about my dick as a superhero isn’t strange enough. He’s got to have an accent.

  “Once, I dreamt he was wearing a tuxedo and we went to prom.” Violet circles the head with a fingertip. “The prom penis even had glasses.”

  I’m losing focus. I’m still shocked by the emasculated state of my cock, but her hand feels nice. She leans forward as though she’s about to kiss him again. She does. Even I’m referring to my cock like he’s his own person. This is so bizarre. Suddenly it’s painful.

  I sit up and groan as my shaft engorges further thanks to Violet’s caresses. The cape has a little bow tied under the head; it’s cutting off the circulation.

  I’m only about three-quarters of the way hard. I’m a grower. There’s more to go. She’s going to decapitate my dick. “The cape! It’s tied too tight!”

  “Oh! Oh God! I’m suffocating Super MC!” She pulls at the tie, but the bow unfurls into a knot. “Shit!” Her high pitch fuels my panic.

  I push her hands away. “Let me try.” Maybe if she’s not touching me, my dick will stop growing. Violet stands. She’s wearing a pair of superhero briefs and a sheer tank. She’s not wearing a damn bra again. Shit. I scream like a little girl as the pain intensifies.

  “I’ll get scissors!” Violet runs from the room, taking her perky nipples with her.

  “What?” I yell after her.

  Images of a severed penis flash through my mind, deflating my cock marginally. The problem is the blood already trapped above the neck of the cape is slow to drain, and I’m still mostly hard.

  Violet returns with an enormous pair of scissors. The idea of any sharp object close to my dick is not appealing. “What the fuck, Violet? Don’t you dare come near me with those! Don’t you have a pair of nail clippers or something not so fucking huge!”

  “Your snuffie is suffering! I promise I’ll be careful.” Violet motions to the head of my cock as if I’m unaware of the problem.

  “So help me God, if you cut me—” I let the sentence hang. If I can’t have orgasms for the rest of the trip, neither can she.

  “I won’t, I swear. Let me help.” Her voice shakes and her bottom lip trembles.

  I hold out my hand. “Give them to me.” I don’t need a crying woman with scissors near my dick.

  Violet passes them ove
r. Sinking to the floor in front of me, she wrings her hands in distress. I take a deep breath and think of Grandma Waters without her teeth. It seems to help with the deflation enough so I can slip the scissors between my shaft and the string. With one snip I’m free, and the circulation to the head returns. I flop back on the couch, heaving a huge sigh of relief as the blood flow equalizes and the ache fades.

  “Alex?” Violet asks in a small, watery voice.

  I don’t open my eyes because I don’t want to see her crying. Then I can’t be mad at her any more. Considering I’ve had a pair of scissors against my dick, I definitely want to be angry for a few minutes.

  I grunt.

  “I guess that wasn’t a very good idea.”

  “Ya think?” I snort derisively and crack an eyelid. Then I feel bad; she’s crying.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I tied it loose enough.” She plucks the small cape from my lap. “I even measured it against the circumference of my hand span.” Violet demonstrates by forming a circle with her forefinger and thumb. “I thought Velcro would chafe.”

  My dick is still hanging out of my shorts, shrinking slowly. I notice lettering on the back of the cape. I grab it out of her hand and inspect it. The M and C are designed in such a way to mimic the S on a Superman cape. It’s also blue and red.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “I made it.”

  “You made a cape for my dick?” I expect weirdness from Violet because frankly, sometimes she’s a little weird. Or a lot.

  “I thought it would be funny.”

  I continue to stare at her.

  “I guess I was wrong.” She looks down at her hands, biting her lip.

  “I guess so.”

  “I could make it up to both of you.” She looks at me with wide, not-innocent eyes and tentatively puts her hand on my thigh about six inches away from my mostly-soft-but-starting-to-get-hard-again dick.

  While I don’t want Violet to think she has to perform sexual favors in order to redeem herself for almost causing permanent damage to my dick, my superhero cock feels differently. Violet smiles softly and she walks her fingers up my leg.