Not One Word

The pounding hit an intensity I had never experienced in my life, the noises emerging from me becoming primal. Loud, guttural groans of pleasure and wanting that only grew heavier. Full forced, straight from my belly. Noises I didn't know I could make. I sounded like a man. His man. A new pressure built in my lower torso, and I suddenly felt like I had to piss. Like I had to piss now. What was happening? He gripped my shoulders and continued with powerful strikes emerging from his huge ass, his moans of pleasure openly aggressive now. I was no longer groaning. I was yelling. One long noise straight from my belly only accented by the percussion of his waist hitting my ass. I had to piss NOW. The feeling grew and the tip of my cock lit like a candle, flaring with pleasure. It had begun to slap against my stomach with each assault, and the flame grew with each pound, rapidly exploding to that of a torch. His deep moans grew to a single extended yell with mine as he peaked, pounding me with the ferocity of an outboard motor. The flame in my cock grew to a bonfire and I screamed, thick shots of cum splattering onto the mirror before me one after the other. Seeing this, he grabbed my hips and thrust in, hard, deep, and yelled like he'd just struck his finger with a hammer. I felt his already thick cock grow even thicker as his first shot pumped into me, each afterward accentuated with another deep thrust and hold, his scratchy grunts continuing with a downward inflection as he spent himself inside me.

Pulling out, my legs collapsed beneath me and I sat down against the mirror. My head was spinning. My ears were ringing, and my thoughts were empty. He smiled at me and chuckled a little, grabbing my shoulder and giving it an affectionate squeeze. This time it was different, his smile was wide and happy, betraying a sense of warmth and familiarity. Winking, he collected his clothes and disappeared up the back staircase. I sat there, panting. Processing. In disbelief. After a few moments, the cum on the mirror began to drip down my back and my senses began to return to me. Glancing at the wall clock, I saw it was now past 3am and, being more spent than I think I had ever been, I could have fallen asleep right there on the floor. I decided to get dressed and head home. I could shower there. And figure out what had just happened to me. I pulled my clothes on headed for the front door, being sure to put away what remained of my weights on the bench press first. Pushing against the exit, it resisted. Stopping myself, I realized I couldn't just disappear, at the very least I should say goodnight and thank him. Glancing around, I noticed a billboard wall to the right of the exit I didn't see on my way in.

Across the top there was a large banner that read "Staff," in large blocky letters, and just below that was a familiar, smiling, bearded face. "Mark Porter - Owner." I heard footsteps coming down the staircase behind me and turned around. Mark was dressed again, and a towel was draped around his shoulders. His headphones were back in. Reaching behind the desk, he produced a small business card and pen. Scribbling for a moment, he handed it to me. His name was in the top left in a professional font, along with the gym name and address. Below that, contact information. Email, business phone, and, in sharp handwritten numbers across the bottom, personal. I smiled. Looking up, he reached his arm around my back. Expecting to kiss him goodnight, I leaned in, but he stopped me, placing his free index finger on my mouth. I heard a mechanical click behind me. He had unlocked the deadbolt behind my back. Smirking, he pecked me on the cheek, turned around, and walked back inside.

That fucking smile.