The Hat Trick Pt. 01

Eventually, Maxine ran out of gas and the air around them seized up with tension, as Don, now perched on the tailgate, attempted to process all the bits and bytes Maxine had broadcast his way. He looked at Ryan, then at her, then back at Ryan, then slapped his knees and struggled to stand.

"Grab that blanket, Ryan," he said, pointing to it, "Maxine will freeze without it."

Ryan reached for the blanket and got it over his groin just as Don tugged his wife's jacket from his grasp and helped her on with it.

"Text Jack," Don said.

Maxine took out her phone, tapped it a few times, and issued a voice-to-text to the General Manager's assistant.

Maxine: Sorry to bother you Jack. Had a little emergency in the bar and had to leave the arena. Can you alert security to let us back in? Should be at the main entrance in about 5 minutes.

And very shortly thereafter . . .

Jack: Consider it done. You should have told me you were coming. I've got an empty suite. It's under renovation but you and your guests are welcome to it. Just let security know.

Maxine: Thanks as always Jack. Hope to see you at the firehall fundraiser.

Jack: We'll be there!

"All good, Don," said Maxine, matter-of-fact, as she returned her phone to her jacket pocket, but Jack's suite suggestion had ignited her imagination, and as they made their way back to the arena, she began to indulge in a highly erotic reverie: Ryan sitting on the couch in the private suite - this time it's his jeans jerked to his thighs - Maxine straddling him - dancing her panties along his love bone - the teeshirt up over her breasts - Ryan pressing them tight together and sucking the twin tips into his mouth. Then at his command, her bare foot on the couch - then the other - as she presses into a squat above his throbbing rod. His fingertips sweeping the fragrant crotch of her cotton panties to the side - then coaxing her down onto his cock, filling her - one flex - one inch - one groan at a go, until he's completely consumed by her carnivorous cave. They wrap their arms around each other tight - their lips to each other's ear panting in synchronicity to the passionate pitch - uh - uh - Uh - UH - UH! - UHH!! Then a gasp and a rumble, a surge and a scream, a grip and a grand spasm, and a glorious descent - for her, but Ryan is still on his way. He boosts the Brady shirt over her head, lifts her, and drapes her over the ottoman. He stands above her and smiles down at her, as his hips rock steady to the fuck of his right fist. He takes himself to the 10-second line - then crosses it.

"Squeeze those mama tits together for me," he groans, and there's barely enough time to comply. He throws his head back and grunts out an impressive string of young seed onto her crimson nipples, then he collapses to his knees, rolls on his back, and exhales her name . . . Maxine.

The image was so powerful, so real, it engulfed her senses. Her breath shallowed, her lips parched, and a cold sweat broke out onto her forehead. Then the blood in her brain abruptly abandoned it, and her vision began to fade to black.

"Help!" she whimpered, as her knees buckled.

"GRAB HER ARM!" Don shouted, and Ryan caught her elbow.

"Jesus Maxine!" Don blurted, as he waddled to her other side to further steady her, "You've really had a time of it, haven't you dear?"

******

"Finally!" Sarah yipped, jumping from her seat when she spotted them working their way down the aisle.

"Still no score I see," Don said, huffing and puffing as he approached her. He looked left and right, needing to sit, but confused as to where; an unfamiliar young woman was occupying his seat.

"Dad, this is my friend Linda Popovich," Sarah explained, "the realtor I told you about. She's got some townhouses for us to look at."

"Now?" asked Don, looking at his daughter with suspicion. She'd been talking up her homeownership strategy for most of the game, and he suspected this Linda person was part of an ambush to solicit a hefty down payment from him.

Linda shook Don's hand then moved to the right into Maxine's previous position, allowing Don to take his original seat, as did Sarah and Ryan. Maxine took the seat on the aisle side of Ryan - previously empty - and as soon as she was in it, he draped the blanket over their knees.

Don attempted to focus on the last few minutes of the first period, but the realtor set up sales camp in his lap, overwhelming him with photographs, facts and figures, and the pros and cons of buying versus renting in Tampa's real estate environment. Ryan was delighted with the diversion; he just needed to charm Maxine into debugging his hard drive. But that wouldn't be difficult, because despite her cool exterior, Maxine was still tipsy from the twiddle-dee-diddling, and daydreaming about the debt she owed him.

From the moment she first caught sight of it at the bar, packed tight in his Levi's like a rolled up hockey sock, Maxine wanted to see it, touch it, suck it, fuck it. Up until now, she'd been able to tamp down that shameless fascination, but tonight she'd felt it calcify against the curve of her lower spine in the beer line, and throb against her entrance as she lay pinned under his weight in the Range Rover. Tonight, she wanted it more than ever, but how to do it without detection - that was the question.

"How are you feeling, Maxine?" Don said, leaning back in his seat and craning his neck around Sarah who was playing with the marketing materials in his lap.

"What?" Maxine said, disoriented, then finally finding Don's face. "Oh I'm ah . . . still a little woozy."

"Keep an eye on her, will you Ryan?" Don said.

"Yes sir," said Ryan, most sincerely, but with a mock salute, and Sarah turned to him, squeezed his forearm, and kissed his cheek. Then she caught Maxine's eye, and she blushed; it was a sweet, tender moment, and it gave Maxine pause.

Just then her phone rang, but before Maxine could answer it, Ryan plucked it from her fingers and hung up the call.

"Give me that!" Maxine whisper-yelled, holding out her palm.

But Ryan twisted away from her and configured his contact information on it. Then he sent himself a text from it - a text Maxine would never send.

Maxine: Can I touch you under the blanket my young master?

Ryan passed the phone back to Maxine, then pulled his own phone from his jacket pocket and answered the forgery.

Ryan: Yes ma'am

He turned to gauge her reaction - her head was vibrating left and right in a palsied no. He patted her knee and nodded a slow yes in response, then slipped his hands under the blanket and unzipped. When his dagger leapt from it's denim confinement, he sighed.

ANNOUNCER: Oshie didn't like that hit - looks like his teammates didn't either. We've got more than a little skirmish ladies and gentlemen - it's full-on fisticuffs here in Amalie Arena!

The crowd jumped to their feet, booing and hissing and demanding justice for their side. Sticks, gloves, shirts, and helmets floated around the brawlers like so much flotsam and jetsam as the angry rivals fought to maintain their balance in the Lightning end zone.

Alas, Ryan and Maxine were oblivious, absorbed instead by a very different game: the 5-on-1 taking place beneath the buffalo plaid fleece. Ryan had the first go, crossing his ankle over his knee for further camouflage as he beat himself back to battering ram rigidity. Then, just as a penalty was called against Tampa Bay, provoking the agitated Bolts fans even more, Ryan coaxed Maxine's hand under the blanket and relayed his steely shaft into it. It twitched in her warm, open palm as she hesitated - her nerves now in the way of her naughty desire. Ryan read her resistance and turned to face her, his eyes soft and pleading. And when he mouthed the word, "Please," she succumbed, and coiled her claw around his cock.

"Yessssssss," he exhaled, as Maxine began the covert cuffing of his chiseled chain - her tentative grip becoming more deliberate with every sweep of his snug skin. She was staring ahead blankly, and to the casual observer, appeared as cold and hard as the ice under the players' skates. But beneath that frigid veneer, she burned white hot, and to prove it to them both, Ryan decided to raise the stakes. He leaned left and whispered in her ear.

"Lube your hand. I want to imagine I'm fucking your pussy."

Startled by the request, Maxine stopped the jacking, but only briefly - at this point she was all in, just as Ryan had suspected. She pulled some aloe vera from her purse, squirted a generous amount of it into her hand, and found her way back to his shaft.

ANNOUNCER: With 3 minutes left in the Power Play, it's Orlov to Lapierre to Eller - INTERCEPTED BY SEABROOK! And on its way back down to Cap territory.

Ryan gasped as Maxine coated him with the cool creamy gel. Then she squeezed his tip and held it still, prompting him to angle up into her hand and fight his way through her fist, facilitating his pussy fuck fantasy.

"You're so tight," he groaned.

ANNOUNCER: Missed opportunity by Cirelli. Picked up by Wilson - pass to Lapierre. He SHOOTS! . . . SAVE!!! Valsilefskiy!

Maxine let up on the pressure and smooth stroked him slow and even, stem-to-stern, fore-and-aft, stopping at his base to tickle his balls with her long red fingernails.

"Fuuuuccccckkkkkk, that feels so good!" Ryan whimpered under his breath.

And what began as a no, then morphed to a maybe, was now a moral imperative - she had to get him off, but with 1 minute left in the period, time was running out. And so she went after it - buffing and waxing him with a high-frequency flutter on his fireman's helmet and a flick of his slit with her thumb.

"Oh fuck yes, don't stop!" Ryan begged, white-knuckling his knees as Maxine fast-fived him, his seizured shifting in the seat ignored by the chaotic crowd, and his inappropriate outbursts absorbed by their deafening din.

ANNOUNCER: And it's Lapierre to Ovechkin, back to Lapierre, BACK TO OVECHKIN! He shoots! . . . SAVE!!! Vasilevskiy!!!

Watching Ryan come undone precipitated a wash of intense satisfaction through Maxine, breaking the dam in her core and unleashing an aching cascade of sweet nectar that soaked through her panties to her jeans. And caught up in the carnality and the public nature of their indiscretion, she abandoned any lingering fear or facade and whispered in his ear:

"Unload in my hand young master."

And that's all it took.

"Oh FUCK!" he wailed, "I'm gonna CUMMMMMMM!!!"

ANNOUNCER: He SHOOTS! . . . He SCORES!!!

And just as Ovechkin fired the puck into the Lightning net, Ryan fired a warning shot into the blanket. Before he could follow it up with a double dose of more, Maxine corked his slit with her thumb, and hot lava exploded under it, trickling down over her fingers and wrapping her wrist in a pearl bracelet. Ryan groaned and folded forward, elbows on knees, head hung low, and Maxine relaxed her grip and creamed him up and down, until the boiling blood in his boner receded.

ANNOUNCER: There's the buzzer and the end of first period. It's Washington 1, Tampa Bay 0.