by Lana Brazen
That must be a nice feeling. When I look back on my marriage, I can’t say I ever felt fulfilled. We had sex, but it wasn’t on a deeper level or with the strange connection I’m feeling with Alene.
“Where is Annette?” I like his girlfriend. Not as in like her like her, but she’s good for Andrew, and she hasn’t let it get weird that the three of us shared a night—and a half. I hate that I fantasized about everything so much afterward. Not so much about Annette, but what we did—the three of us. I like that Alene has shifted my sexual fantasies, though, at least for the past two weeks.
“Annette is with her son this weekend, but I promised to sneak in later.” Andrew winks. “But seriously, I know you said you lost focus, but get it back. Satisfied women satisfy, you know what I mean?”
The look on Alene’s face after she sucks me, as she fucks me, comes to mind, and yeah, I get what he means. She practically glows, and it’s a nice feeling to know that brightness comes from me.
When Alene arrives at the gym on Monday, I accept that Mondays and Thursdays are my favorite nights of the week and I look forward to these sessions. I crave them. This night, I plan to make up for what happened last week. I don’t apologize for taking her between her breasts. She didn’t deny me, but I remind her before we begin that she can always say no to what we do.
“I understand, but I don’t need the safe word.”
I walk her to the small exercise area that’s set off by a waist-high wall. As she begins her initial flexibility exercises which we’ve established as routine, I reach for a resistance band. Tugging it tight before her, I ask, “How do you feel about resistance training?”
Her eyes light on the large rubber band.
“Have you ever been restrained?” I ask.
She shakes her head, biting the corner of her lip. She does that when she wants it, and I nod.
“Are you ready to begin?”
Her slow, sweet smile is my answer.
+ + +
Alene
Eric walks me backward until I’m in line with a metal bar balanced by vertical, slotted supports. The bar could be set higher for chin-ups or lowered as a brace for raised push-ups. We won’t be using it for either as Eric raises it to just below my shoulders.
“Spread your arms, please.”
I do as he asks, and he binds each wrist with a resistance band. His thick index finger wedges under the rubber material, checking that he isn’t cutting off my circulation. He stands before me, his arms crossed as he assesses me like he does. Crossing his arms, he lifts a finger to outline his full lips, and I like how he looks at me. Like he sees me. He likes to watch my reaction to him.
My chest heaves as the anticipation builds, and then he steps forward to unzip the sports bra I’ve come to find he appreciates. My breasts hang free, sagging a bit from gravity and age, but his thick palms cover each heavy globe and squeeze, pressing them together and upward before pinching my nipples simultaneously.
“Did you like me fucking these last week?” he questions. I lick my lip and bite the corner. Taking that as my answer, he grins. “I fantasized about it all weekend.”
I’m wet just thinking about him, thinking about me. His brow furrows, though, like he’s offered too much, and a mask returns as he focuses his attention on each breast. He tugs them forward, snapping at them until I yelp with the pinch, and then he releases them from the pressure of his palms. Tipping his head, he cups one reverently with two hands, and holds it higher before lowering his mouth for the peaked end. His mouth is wide, allowing him to take quite a bit of my flesh and sucking at it before his tongue plays with the tough nub at the end.
“These breasts,” he hums appreciatively before moving to the other and paying it the same favor. His mouth is so warm. His tongue large. I’m soaked within minutes, a small trickle tickling my inner thigh in this crazy skirt. I moan at his attention on one of his favorite parts of me. I’m thankful he ignores my belly, a little larger than I’d like, and my hips which are broad. He doesn’t complain about my body but devours its curves.
Removing his mouth with a pop, he lowers to his knees before me.
“Spread.” My legs move at his deep command, and his face comes closer to the apex of my thighs. A finger runs up the inside of one. “You’re a mess.”
I am, and I shake my head, acknowledging the truth. I’m dripping.
“I’ll need to wipe this up.” With that his face moves between my thighs, and his tongue slices through me, separating the sensitive folds before tickling my clit with the tip. He closes his lips, sucking at the sensitive nub before another lick crosses the entire length of my entrance. He hooks a hand under one knee and positions it over his shoulder, opening me up even more to his mouth. The spread makes me wetter and my single leg trembles as the orgasm ripples up my thigh within seconds. With my hands restrained, I can’t reach for him for balance, and he must sense the impending release from my shakiness. One of his large hands holds my ass under the skirt while the other squeezes at my hip and his tongue swirls deliciously over me before I scream. My knee gives a little, but he doesn’t relent, continuing to lap as I come undone. I want to cry out enough, yet I don’t want it to end.
Prickles of aftershock ripple over me, but he finishes with a final swipe over my drenched pussy. I’m amazed at the flexibility of his body as he quickly stands and tugs down his shorts to release the strain of his tight erection. Swollen, angry, and eager, I admire the view of his solid dick before he steps forward. Bending at his knees, he grips my thigh, lifting it to wrap around his hip.
I’m spread wide once again, exposed with one leg around him, and then he slips in, fast and deep. He groans at the intrusion, his head tipping back as he balances between my thighs. Positioned in a partial squat with my leg wrapped around his hip, I have no idea the strength it must take to balance us like this. My hands clutch at the bar where my wrists are tied and he reaches for the same bar just over my shoulders for leverage. He pulls back once, teasing me at the entrance to fall free of my channel, and then he thrusts upward, almost lifting me. His hands slip down the bar to my bound wrists, curling his fingers between mine. He draws back and then rushes forward. We both grunt. Something’s different. The measured tempo. The depth of connection. Then I realize what it is.
“Condom?” It isn’t the safe word, but a question and concern. I have no idea how often he does this kind of thing and with whom, and he’s currently bare within me.
“Shit,” he slips free, the sound a slurp of suction releasing. Peering down, I see his long dick is covered in slickness and the inside of my thighs are similarly coated in wetness.
“I’m clean,” he rushes out. “You’re my only…the only one.”
The word client lingers between us, and I try to remember this is an arrangement. I want to say it’s okay, but I’ve said those words too many times in my life. I’m here because I wasn’t okay with how I was treated before. What Stephen said. How he made me feel.
I nod to accept what Eric’s told me. I’m the only one. With that, he reaches under my arms for the bar at my back.
“I’m going to lower this. Kneel as I do.” I fold downward, and he holds the weight of the bar until I’m on my knees. Repositioning it against another support, he remains close. The slick length of him is my only view, and I open without direction, drawing him into my mouth, sucking off the essence of me on him. He steps closer, aiding me as I can’t use my hands. His hips come forward at a slow measured pace.
“Fuck, I wasn’t expecting that, but damn, that mouth.” He takes a breath. “That’s it. Take as much as you can.” His words empower me to give him more and allow him to the back of my throat. His hands return to the bar behind my shoulders. “It’s so hard not to come. I want to coat that throat, mark it as mine.” His voice strains as his hips rock, and I suck his thick girth harder.
Mark me as his? He’s already marked me in ways he’ll never know. I’ll never be the same when our scheduled workouts end,
but I’m not allowed to think of the future. Only now, with his dick deep in my mouth.
He tenderly pulls back, releasing himself from my grasp, and I angle forward, following his retreat, wanting him to shower my throat.
“A man could get used to you being greedy,” he teases. “But we have more to do today.”
He lowers before me and positions the bar at my arms up one notch. It’s too high for me to kneel, but he recognizes this and kneels, slipping his thick thighs under me for support and spreading me wide as I straddle him.
“Look what you do to me.” He holds his coated cock in his fist, stroking up and down the length, and rests it just out of reach of my core. A condom packet made it to the floor, and for the first time, I notice a tube of cream near the base of the metal support. The condom goes on first, and he holds me over him, balancing on the precipice before rushing upward, into me, filling me. I squeak at the intrusion and then still as I settle into the position, sitting on his lap. I haven’t been on top of him yet and the sensation is different. He’s reaching a depth he hasn’t before, and I savor the fullness. With arms stretched, wrists restrained, he reaches for the lube and coats a finger. My chest heaves as I know what this means.
“Just working those muscles. Opening you up a little more.” He slips his hands around my backside, spreading through the crease until one finger is positioned near my hole.
My knees aren’t touching the ground, and my arms strain against the bar. I’m at his mercy, and he takes control, pressing up with his thighs before lowering only a smidge. It’s friction more than flirting as his thick length rocks in and back. He isn’t going to bring me to the edge, not yet, but he’s working me from within. Sliding back and forth, and in and out while the fingertip at my back hole pauses, primed and ready.
“Resistance training,” he hums as my body fights the finger while my channel clenches him. “Relax. Deep breath. You can do this.” His voice converts to coaching mode, and I do as he says, taking in more of his finger as he thrusts forward with his dick, the depth of him hitting me in a spot rarely tapped distracts me from the wedge of his digit in my backside.
His body is like a machine, athletic and fit. His eyes lower for where he enters me while his hands clutch at my ass as his finger spreads a place never spread like this before. His thighs work to thrust upward. His finger slips deeper. The way his dick drags out of my channel and against my clit, the sensation is too much.
“I can’t,” I grunt, on the edge of something big.
“You can.” I hate that he’s right as the familiar tell of an orgasm builds. Only it isn’t familiar. It’s going to be different. It’s going to be like nothing I’ve ever experienced. His finger presses farther. His dick rushes faster, and sensory overload breaks me, shattering me into pieces. I’m only aware of where he’s entering me: my pussy, my ass. The rest of me separates, atoms stretching to their farthest point and then coming back together, slamming into me to rebuild the entirety of my body.
I need to come again.
He pulls out of me.
“No,” I whimper, but he unties my wrists. Reaching for the bar where I was just bound, he lowers it.
“Flip,” he commands, and although I hardly have the strength, I do as he says while he guides me over his thighs. “Arms spread.”
His T-shirt wedges between my chest and the cold bar as protection and as a buffer. It’s a strange sign of his concern for me, and it’s sweet. As my arms hit the length of the bar, he breathlessly asks, “Can I trust you to hold on?”
I nod as my body trembles, anticipating the unknown but already aware I’m going to enjoy it. I’m sitting on his lap, my ass on his thick thighs. His hands palms slide down my back, over my ass, and flip up the edge of my skirt. Returning his hands to my backside, he massages, spreading the cheeks as his thumbs tease between the globes.
He reaches for the lube again, drizzling it down my seam. Then he slips his thick shaft in my pussy, and his thumb teases the other hole. I know the mechanics of his hand. His thumb is meatier than his index finger, and this is going to stretch me. He’s going to work me hard in this position, and I’m ready for it.
Bring it on, I mentally cheer myself.
“With my thumb up this fine ass, it tightens your pussy against my dick. And you’re squeezing me in both acceptance and resistance…” He gasps. “I’m not going to last, but you were ready to go once more, and I don’t want to disappoint.”
His arm curls around my waist while his dick pistons into me, and his thumb presses forward, opening me in ways I’ve never been opened. Our skin slaps together as I clench the bar against my chest, allowing him to pummel into me in a deliciously wild way.
“You’re dripping down my balls,” he mutters, his voice stuttering. “My cock is so deep inside you like this.” His breath falters. “Make that sweet pussy come. I want to feel it around me,” he demands, and I’m falling apart again. Everything clenches, and the release is languid and lush. I’m melting over him, a puddle of spent desire as I’m at his disposal, allowing him to use me in the most pleasing manner. I want to give this to him. I want him to take from me.
Suddenly, he stills, his hand near my belly gripping my skin while his thumb pauses inside me, and his cock pulses. My eyes close as he gives everything to me, and I collapse against the bar, feeling worked over beyond any exercise regime I’ve ever known.
5
Alene
I’m so enjoying my time with Eric, and it’s definitely improved my confidence with sexual expression. Sometimes, I leave the gym and laugh as I drive home, thinking Stephen would be shocked at how far I’ve come. How often I come. How much I’ve done.
Screw him, I then think. His loss. Only I’m not really Eric’s gain. Sometimes, I see the slip in his veneer, but for the most part, his voice remains controlled and professional, encouraging and supportive, but so dirty. He also doesn’t request anything beyond the gym. No suggestions for coffee, a drink, or a shared meal, and I suppose it all makes sense. He’s my personal trainer—sex trainer—not my boyfriend. Not even a friend with benefits, just benefits.
However, I miss companionship, so when Henry Sullivan, a tech supervisor at the lab, asks me out to a baseball game, I say yes. What can I say, I’m a fan?
The game is on a Saturday afternoon, and the day is beautiful. The Florida sunshine is warm and a bit humid but perfect for beer drinking and peanuts. It goes against the diet I’m trying to maintain, but as my exercise program doesn’t dictate a menu, I don’t always follow the plan.
Henry is decent company and a bit nerdish, which isn’t a bad thing, but he’s a little too technical on details and stats, explaining the origin of everything, collecting data on the game and not just appreciating the day. It’s been…interesting…and I’m trying to figure out an excuse to avoid the dinner invitation he just offered when I see a familiar face.
“Eric?” I can’t stop myself from calling out his name although he’s a few feet from me, lingering near the ladies’ room. The concourse is crowded, but I feel like a force moves me closer to him with Henry on my tail.
“Alene?” he says, lifting a brow in surprise before craning his head for the restroom entrance. Is he waiting for someone? “What are you doing here?”
“We’re here to see the game,” Henry says, stating the obvious and waiting on an introduction.
“Oh, Henry Sullivan, Eric…” I can’t remember his last name. This is…terrible. “Eric is my personal trainer.”
Eric tweaks another brow, and his lip curls.
“You have a personal trainer?” Henry questions, raising the hairs on my neck. I turn to him, my hands coming to my hips in defense.
“Yes.”
He swallows. “No wonder you look so physically fit.” Eric coughs to cover a laugh, and I turn to him next. Nice save from Henry, but it was meant as a compliment. Glaring at Eric, I wonder if he’s laughing at me or Henry’s attempt to save himself. Does Eric not think I’m fit en
ough for him?
Henry then blurts, “Aren’t you Eric McCurdy? Former pitcher for Tampa Bay?”
My head turns from Eric to Henry and back. He’s…famous?!
“I was. I mean, I am Eric McCurdy,” he emphasizes the name for my benefit. “But you’re right. I no longer pitch.”
“Yeah, I remember that. You were later the pitching coach of Atlanta until you lost your temper.”
Well, Henry certainly is a wealth of information, and it’s the first time all afternoon I’m interested in the minor details.
“Yeah, well…” Eric nervously scratches at the back of his neck. “We all have our moments.” He pauses again before addressing me. “So, see you Monday?” It’s a dismissal from this awkward conversation but said like a declaration.
“Oh, you work out on Mondays? Maybe I can join you sometime,” Henry suggests, and it’s my turn to cough.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, but Eric narrows his eyes at me.
“It’s a private session,” Eric states, his tone possessive.
“Finally.” A woman laughs, falling against Eric’s arm. Her hand wraps around his bicep. When she looks up at me, Eric and I are locked in a stare down.
“Hello.” Her voice breaks me from my focus on Eric.
“Hi.” That’s it. I don’t know what else to say. He’s glaring at me, but he has a woman literally hanging off his arm, and she’s beautiful. One of those who is probably older than she appears, but her skin is perfect, as is her dark hair and her body. I hate comparing myself to other women, but in comparison, she’s more suitable for a former baseball player than me.
“We were…” I hitch two thumbs over my shoulder, indicating our departure. “I’ll see you Monday,” I say to Eric as I twist and step forward, not paying attention, and collide with a little boy.
“Mom, I just saw Haywood Russell.” Haywood Russell, the centerfielder?
I’m stunned as I spin from the collision, and the sound of the woman’s voice catches me again. “Teddy, apologize.”