Handle Me

by Unfortunate Reads

The hockey stick is sentient, it passes the Harkness Test.

Hahahahaha Gotta love the Harkness Test - long live Jack Harkness and his horny ways

My mother always told me to remember IYOTYL - if you’re on time you’re late.

Any athlete knows the importance of the pre-game ritual. You fuck with them, you fuck with your game.

I’ve always been ‘quirky’ as my family called me, but I didn’t start falling into this strict routine until a few months ago when I got my sponsorship deal with Tower Stix. When they handed me the prototype of the stick they wanted me to endorse, everything seemed to change. Honestly, I should probably talk to my therapist about this revelation.

Shocking even myself, I have this eerie feeling I should bring my stick in with me.

I don’t have the energy to question whatever weird shit my brain is making me do, though I make a mental note to schedule that therapy appointment sooner rather than later.

If I could shudder, I would. Jace may touch me all the time, but he’s never handled me like this.

The squeeze is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I thought the bite of the cold air of the rink was exciting. Thought the high of slapping a puck against my blade so hard it sails past the goalie was pleasurable.

something in the back of my mind telling me I should stop soon, but it just feels so damn good. I’ll stop when I hit the end of the tape, thats only about eight inches. Totally reasonable.

Holy shit. I am fucking my hockey stick. Or is it fucking me?

Closing my eyes, it sounds like a little voice is talking to me in my mind. No one is here but us, Jace. Ride me. Use me for your pleasure.

Before I finish riding out my high, my body tenses. Deep inside me, an ice cold liquid erupts into my channel and I hear my subconscious moaning my name.

Another moan rocks through me at the unexpected feeling before I scramble away from the piece of equipment I just fucked, and that I think just came in my ass.

No matter how hard I strain, I can’t even rock my body. I had hope because he was able to hear me that maybe I was evolving and I would be able to move autonomously.

Okay, I’m losing it. Lock me away and throw away the key because I think I just heard my fucking hockey stick answer me in my head. Not only answer me, but confirm it’s… alive?

Did the stick…come? Do I have hockey stick jizz dripping from me right now?

The creator made me just for you. He told me the day would come when you accepted me into your body, your soul. I didn’t think he meant literally in your body, but I’m not complaining. I’m yours, Jace. Always have been, always will be.

“I don’t know what you are, what we are, but I can’t bear to be apart from you. We’ll figure this out…together.” Together. I repeat back to him. I like the sound of that.