Cassie had noticed an empty seat behind the goal during the third period and then snuck down during the following intermission, giving her a front row seat for possibly the most iconic moment in the history of Boston sports. She experienced it all in slow motion: the give and go from Orr to Sanderson back to Orr, the St. Louis goalie flailing helplessly, the red light bursting alive, Bobby Orr flying through the air, fifteen thousand fans erupting in frenzied cheers as the Bruins clinched the Stanley Cup for the first time in nearly thirty years. In a league with only six teams, you’d expect to strike gold a bit more frequently than that.
As the fans filed out of their seats, still cheering, Cassie held back and then worked her way over towards the teams’ benches as she rummaged around in her purse.
“Where ya headed, little lady?” an usher challenged her.
Cassie pulled a small notebook, pencil, and card out of her purse. “Hi!” she chirped, waving the card under his nose. “I’m a reporter for my college newspaper; is this the way to the locker room?”
The usher glanced at the card, which had PRESS emblazoned across the top.
“Yeah, but I don’t think they’re gonna let a young lady inside,” he countered.
“Well, maybe I can catch some players in the hallway,” Cassie shrugged. She put everything back in her purse and glanced down at the half wall separating her from the bench. “Help me over the wall?” she asked with an innocent smile.
The usher shook his head and looked skyward to say I give up. He placed his hands on her waist over her black turtleneck sweater as Cassie placed her hands on his shoulders. She jumped as he lifted her up, then she scrambled over to the other side.
“Thank you!” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared down the tunnel.
Cassie peered down the corridor to her left and saw the door to the locker room, where an attendant was turning most people away. “Press only,” he said wearily. “Only press allowed in the lockah room.” A pause as someone pleaded his case. “I don’t cayuh who yuh friend is; if you ain’t got a press pass, fuhget it.”
Cassie pulled out her tools of the trade once more and sauntered up to the door.
“Press only, miss.”
“Oh, I am press. I write for The Tech, MIT’s student newspaper.” She presented her roommate’s student press pass with a smile.
The attendant read the name on the card, looked at Cassie, looked at the card again, and scratched his head.
“Leilani Kealoha?” he said suspiciously.
“Yep, that’s me!”
“I gotta say, miss, you look moah like a Kelly O’Leary than a Leilani Kealoha.”
“I’m adopted,” Cassie huffed, with a flip of her lush red hair. “My parents are Hawaiian.”
The attendant raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Besides, them guys’ll be gettin’ undressed and takin’ showahs. The lockah room ain’t no place for a girl like you.”
Cassie muttered “Oh, you have no idea what kind of girl I am.”
“I beg yuh pahdon?”
“Look, here’s the deal,” Cassie said bluntly, changing tactics. “I paid ten bucks’ admission, but my editor won’t run my article if I can’t get some quotes from the players.” She pretended to sniffle. “And then he won’t reimburse me the ten bucks.”
“Awright, awright, don’t cry,” the attendant sighed, handing back the card. “Go on in, Leilani.” He opened the door and jerked his head towards it.
“Mahalo,” Cassie giggled, slipping through the door before he could change his mind.
She edged past the crowd of reporters clustered around the big stars—Orr, Espo, Pie, Chief, Cheesy—and wandered towards the back of the room.
“Wooo!” someone shouted, and Cassie turned, startled, just in time to get blasted by a fountain of champagne.
“Jiminy Crickets!” Cassie spluttered, wiping her face with her hand.
“Soary, miss!” a man said, handing her a towel as she blinked to clear her eyes.
Cassie mopped her face, and then saw that her attacker was a player wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. She gave him a wry smile. “Soary, eh? You’re Canadian?”
“Uh, yeah, we all are. What are you doing in here, anyway?”
She held up her damp notebook. “I’m a reporter for my college paper. Trying to get some quotes from the players.”
“And you couldn’t squeeze your way in to talk to the stars, so you came back here to talk to the Black Aces,” he chuckled, referring to the players who would have earned plenty of ice time on other teams but couldn’t crack the lineup on this juggernaut.
“That’s about the size of it,” Cassie laughed. She looked down at her chest. “Ugh, my sweater is soaked.”
Cassie stuffed her journalism gear in her purse, which she tossed on the bench. Crossing her arms and grabbing the hem of her sweater, she whipped it up over her head, dropped it to the floor with a wet smack, then stood there in her hip-hugger jeans and small white cotton bra.
The player blinked a couple of times, then grinned and handed her a bottle of champagne. “I’m Tim. Want to celebrate first, before you get your big scoop?”
“You know it!” Cassie giggled, aiming the bottle at him and twisting the cork. “I’m gonna get you back!”
At that moment, another Black Ace got Cassie’s back, spraying her between the shoulder blades with another bottle of champagne.
“Eep! Now I’m gonna be all sticky,” she laughed.
“That’s okay, we’ve got showers back there. I was just on my way,” Tim added, indicating his towel.
“Me too,” the second player spoke up. “I’m Mike. Wanna join us?” he said, half joking.
Cassie looked from one player to the other, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “All right, let’s go.”
The three of them tumbled into the shower room. Cassie wriggled out of her pants and dropped them outside the doorway while the men busied themselves with turning on the hot water all around the four walls of the tiled room. As the room began filling with steam, Cassie cast her eyes on their towels and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Lose ‘em,” she growled.
Both players chuckled and threw off their towels, exposing their hairy cocks and balls. Cassie’s eyes lit up and she peeled off her wet bra, revealing her small, firm tits. She knelt down on a towel in the center of the room, then crooked a finger and beckoned them to her.
The two men approached Cassie and stood before her. She spat into each of her palms, then reached out and took a cock in each hand, slowly stroking them as they began growing.
“So tell me, how did it feel, winning the Stanley Cup?” she asked, keeping up the pretense of writing an article.
“It was the greatest moment of my life,” Tim replied.
“No question aboot it; nothing else compares,” Mike agreed.
“We’ll see about that,” Cassie snickered, pumping their slick cocks faster as steam continued filling the room.
“I mean, up to this point,” Tim clarified.
“We’re still young,” Mike chimed in.
Cassie smiled enigmatically. “Boys, I have a special request for you.”
“Yeah? Name it.”
“After you cum on me, I want you to pee on me, too.”
For a few seconds, the only sound was the hissing of the shower heads and spattering of water on the tile floor as the men digested this information.
“Er, okay—” Tim began.
“As long as you don’t call a penalty for high-sticking,” Mike smirked.
Cassie acknowledged that with a tip of her head, then abruptly plunged her mouth on Tim’s cock while continuing to beat both of their dicks with her dainty hands.
Tim threw his head back and groaned while Mike watched for a moment in amazement.
“These American girls, eh?” he chuckled eventually.
Cassie pulled off Tim with a pop, then engulfed Mike’s cock in her mouth while continuing to work both of their cocks with her hands. He groaned and stroked her hair as she pistoned her head on his stiff rod. This lasted only a minute before Tim panted “Are you ready?”
Cassie popped Mike’s cock out of her mouth, turned to face him, and nodded. She pounded his cock until it exploded, shooting gobs of hot, slimy cum onto her pretty face and tits. When he had finished, she let go and turned her attention back to Mike, beating his dick with both hands until it began spurting cum all over her face and chest as well.
Tim took his dick in hand and pointed it at Cassie, then produced a stream of yellow piss that splashed her face and started washing the cum away. Mike joined in, spraying his piss on her pixie tits and rinsing them clean of both men’s cum. Cassie moaned in ecstasy as she bathed in their golden urine and the steam billowing up all around the shower room.
When both men had finished, Cassie gave each of them a quick lick on the tip of his dick. “Hey, fellas,” she said. “Isn’t it tradition to drink from the Stanley Cup?”
“Yeah, of course. We’ve got beer—”
“And champagne, obviously.”
“So, frothy yellow liquids,” Cassie mused. “I am thirsty, but I don’t want beer or champagne.” She smiled wickedly. “Maybe you could get the rest of the guys to fill the Cup for me?”
