My Pathetic Obsession With The Hockey Boy

Cheryl

He entered me slowly, his cock easing into my wet pussy so slowly I could feel every inch of him.

His fingertips entwined with my hair, his breath mingling with mine on my parted lips. His penetrating gray eyes locked onto mine, pushing into the depths of my soul as he moved in and out of my pussy.

A breathy moan escaped my lips as he moved in deeper.

"Fuck, Cheryl," Carlson moaned on my parted mouth, his lips brushing against mine.

Just as we were about to kiss, a loud sound pulled me out of my horny dream.

I woke up, my eyes wide, panting and sweating, the remains of desire still lingering in my mind.

It felt so real. The rough way he touched me and the kisses. The feeling of his cock pushing between my pussy lips and entering me.

It felt so real.

Yet it wasn't.

This wasn't the first time I dreamed of Carlson fucking my brains out. In fact, it had become a very recurring dream, one I'd admit I anticipated every night.

It was the only way I could voice my true feelings.

I know. It wasn't possible for us to ever be together.

He was way out of my league, not just in terms of looks. Carlson was the star athlete, a sexy player everyone looked up to. And I was just... me.

Both our worlds could never connect in the way I wanted it to.

Yet, in my dreams, they did clash.

I sighed heavily, twisted around, and silenced the alarm clock. With a groan, I flopped onto my back, staring at the ceiling.

My body was still shaking with that ache of desire Carlson left in my dream. An ache I knew only he would be able to stop.

But of course, in my reality, that wasn't possible.

I closed my eyes, biting into my bottom lip harder as my fingers trailed down my body. Between my breasts and lower.

I imagined that it wasn't mine but his rough calloused fingers that felt good on my skin.

I moaned as I imagined him saying nasty things in my ear. His body beside me. His hands... on my pussy.

I gasped as my fingers pushed into my panties, kissing its way down to my throbbing clit.

I imagined his touch. Rough yet tender. The way he would kiss me while his fingers rubbed circles around my clit. The way his fingers would seek my-

"Looks like you're having fun."

I heard my sister's high pitched voice and my eyes shot open.

They connected with her cold blue eyes and a mocking smirk. Celeste. My older sister and the golden child. The one who had been haunting my real life since the day I was born.

She was standing beside my bed, leaning down so she was the same height as me. With her arms crossed over her chest, Celeste chuckled. "Did I interrupt your little session?"

Her eyes gleamed with cruel amusement when my cheeks reared an ugly red embarrassed flush. I nearly choked on my saliva.

I was so lost in my imagination, I hadn't heard when she entered my room.

I sat up, awkwardly moving my hand out of my panties after realizing I still had them tucked in there. I could feel how wet and exposed I was. But I pulled my fingers out anyway with my face still burning.

"How long have you been here?" I uttered awkwardly, my face hot as I was unable to look at her.

How embarrassing.

Celeste let out a laugh. "Long enough to see that you were enjoying yourself, Cheryl," she teased. "Who were you thinking about? Let me guess. Carlson again?"

I groaned, throwing the covers over my head, my mortification now worse by her playful taunting.

"Please pretend like you didn't see that," I moaned, burning in embarrassment under the covers.

I can't believe she walked in on me masturbating. I was so close to moaning out his name.

Suddenly I felt the dip of my bed and fingers prying the sheets off my face.

I peeled my eyes open and sucked in a breath with how close she was to me.

Celeste smiled widely.

I knew the cruelty behind it.

"The journal," she said softly, her eyes dropping to my nightstand. "Where's the journal?"

My blood went cold.

"What journal?" I said, my voice cracking.

She laughed, reaching over me and yanking open my nightstand drawer. I tried to stop her, but she shoved me back with her free hand.

"Get off me, Celeste!"

"There it is," she said, her fingers closing around the leather-bound notebook. "The one you keep hidden under your mattress like a dirty little secret."

"Give it back!"

I lunged for her, but she was faster. She danced out of my reach, flipping through the pages with a look of pure delight on her face.

My journal has had different fantasies about Carlson ever since I had the opportunity to be the hockey team journalist. Now it's in the hands of Celeste. I'm so doomed.

"Oh my God," she said, her eyes scanning the page. "Cheryl. This is... this is disgusting."

"Give it back right now."

She held it above her head, reading aloud. "'I wonder what his hands would feel like. Not in a weird way. Okay, in a weird way. In a very weird way.'" She looked up at me. "You're actually obsessed with him. This is pathological."

"Celeste, I'm serious. Give it back."

"Wait, there's more." She flipped to another page, reading faster. "'I think about his fingers inside me, about him making me cum on his face. His tongue dancing around my clit. I think about him fucking me against the lockers while everyone watches, and I don't even care because it's him, it's always been him-'"

"STOP IT!"

My voice shaked on the last word. I could feel the tears swelling up my eyes, but I tried hard to not let them fall.

Celeste closed the journal slowly, her expression shifting from amusement to a frown

"You know what?" She tapped the journal against her palm, thinking. "I think everyone at school should see this. They should see what their little video analyst writes about in her spare time. I think Carlson should see exactly how pathetic you are."

"Please, Celeste. Don't."

"Please?" She tilted her head, pretending to consider it. "Why should I? You've been hiding this for years and writing your little fantasies. Always pretending you're something you're not."

"I haven't done anything to you."

She turned and walked out of my room with my journal in her hands. I scrambled after her, my heart beating so hard I could barely breathe.

"Celeste, give it back. Please. I'm begging you."

I followed her into the kitchen, where my parents were sitting at the table. Mom was reading her tablet while dad was scrolling through his phone.

"Mom," I said, my voice shaking. "Celeste took my journal. She's going to–"

"Your sister is just playing with you," Mom said without looking up. "Sit down and eat your breakfast."

"She's not playing. She's going to show it to the whole school. She's just wants to humiliate me in front of everyone"

Dad finally looked up, his expression irritated. "Why would she do that?"

"Maybe you should ask her??."

Celeste laughed, holding up the journal. "I found her writing about Carlson. You know, the captain hockey player in our school. She's obsessed with him. It's actually kind of sad. She writes about him touching her. It's disgusting dad!"

Mom sighed, setting down her tablet. "Cheryl, can we not do this right now? Your sister has a game today. We're trying to focus. She has scouts coming and you know her future is very important to us."

"A game? She has a game and I'm about to be humiliated in front of the entire school! She's going to show everyone my private thoughts!"

"Maybe you should think about what you're writing," Dad said flatly. "You're always doing this, Cheryl. Creating drama and seeking attention"

"Creating drama?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "She broke into my room, stole my private journal. And I'm the one creating drama?"

Celeste hissed at me like one poisonous snake. "Maybe if you didn't write such creepy things, I wouldn't have anything to show."

"That's enough," Mom said. "Celeste, give her back the journal."

Celeste's smile faltered. "But Mom–"

"Give it back."

She tossed the journal onto the table like it was garbage. I grabbed it, clutching it to my chest, my hands shaking so badly.

"Now sit down and eat," Mom said. "We have a long day ahead."

I stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of what had just happened. They'd barely even reacted about it.

"Why don't you just find something else?" Dad muttered, and I looked at him, confused. "Even that journal nonsense you're doing for hockey athletes. You're so bad at it."

"Dad–"

"You heard him." Mom picked up her tablet again. "If you're going to have these little hobbies, at least be good at them."

Dad stood up from his chair, walking toward me until he was inches from my face.

"Find something useful to do with your time, Cheryl," he said. "Or you're dropping out of school. I'm not wasting money on your nonsense. You have one week to show me your usefulness in this stupid analyst job you're doing.”