Steamed Milk

She did, in fact, squirt it in his face.

With the renewed scent of Rachel's come in the air, Monica could hold back no longer, and released herself into Max's ass. He felt burning hot come filling him until he swore it was percolating behind his eyeballs.

And with that, Max came himself, his small wad covered multiple times by the emissions planted on his stomach by Monica, pulling out and decorating his unimpressive abs with streaks of white stuff.

The workout complete, Monica panted and slid against the tile until she was next to Max, bringing his head against her breasts. Rachel got behind Max and held Monica's back, making a Max sandwich between them.

"So..." Monica scratched Max's wet scalp with one hand. "I don't think it'll be that hard to get you to the gym after this, huh?"

-

Max stood from his bench, wiped his machine down, grabbed his water bottle and marched across the path to the two beautiful women under the pull-up rack.

"Hi..." He said. "I'm Max."

"Hello." Said Monica. "What can we do for you?"

Max inhaled deeply, ready to project out some compliment on their athletic prowess, or their beauty, or perhaps even the nice shape of their packages. Anything was better than the dead air he was broadcasting right now. He exhaled with great force and took in a new breath, hoping that one would be filled with the letters that he could make words with.

Nope, that breath was just as useless as the last one. He stammered, "I just thought... you two were really impressive with those pull-ups, chin-ups, whatever they're called."

"Thank you." Monica nodded. "We work very hard."

"Well, she does, I don't." Said Rachel.

Max laughed, probably too hard. "Um..." He continued. "You uh... you're here a lot?"

Oh, no. Max had just used the 'come here often?' line. Max looked around the huge gym for a rock to crawl under. He'd seen large boulders in strongman competitions; maybe they had one on hand.

"Yeah, three or four times a week, depending on my work schedule." Monica said.

"Yeah, I'm starting with once a week, hoping to work up from there." He coughed involuntarily. "I hope you don't mind my saying, but... I didn't expect you to be so..."

Max paused. "And that's not to say that strong women can't be very... And it's not that I expected anything different because of your different... bodies..."

Both women were now grinning at him.

"But it's not that I was looking, or not meaning to... or judging you based on it... or jealous of it. Well, OK, I can't even pretend that I'm not. I'd take it even if it was black. Not that you're... necessarily black. Maybe you are, maybe not, I don't know. I don't..."

It had all gone so smoothly in his head, right down to the sodomy. But when faced with these two lovely women, the script had been dropped in mud and all the words scrambled and translated into French. What was he doing? He wasn't exactly smooth at picking up ladies on the best of days, and here was was trying to pick up two, two women with packages prominently presented in a way that basically advertised that they didn't need any man. What interest would they have in satisfying his curiosity?

The fantasy he had indulged in for that glorious few seconds... that's what it was. It was folly to think that he'd be chosen out of all the potential mates here, even if he agreed to everything they wanted. But that's all it was: a fantasy. He would not be drinking their sweet jisms today, certainly not together.

"You were right." Monica said softly, to her friend, whose name probably wasn't Rachel, either. That was the stupid name Max had come up with in two seconds because he'd fallen asleep to a rerun of Friends last night. "The spandex doesn't keep ALL the men away."

If Max were smaller and more pathetic, maybe they'd grind him under their running shoes like a cigarette butt and give him the scorn he was craving. If he was more assertive, they might be threatened enough to reach for the mace, or just bop him with their obvious superior strength. But here... all they were was amused. They just smiled politely and let him chatter himself more rope that he could hang himself with. He was a curiosity, surely one of many confused men who had become enchanted at their first time imagining the sexual appetites these women must have, when probably the only thing they wanted was to finish their workout.

Max felt himself flushing, somehow convinced he could still talk his way out of this. He stumbled forward like a waiter overloaded with foods marching forward to keep the tray from spilling. "I really don't want to intrude on your workout routines, I just had to express my admiration for you both and I really think that you-"

'Rachel' put up one finger. Max started as though she'd raised a fist at him.

"You are so thirsty right now." She said through a huge grin.

Max blinked. Could this still be in the cards? Had he somehow managed to pull it off?

He played it cool, or as cool as he could manage. "Yeah, I'm pretty parched right now."

'Rachel' whispered to 'Monica,' inaudible to Max. Monica looked through her gym bag and retrieved a card, passing it to Rachel to pass to him.

"Here." Said Rachel. "Come visit us at work sometime."

And the pair walked off.

Once they were barely out of sight, Max pumped his fist. "Score!" He cried.

A gym rat tangled in some unidentifiable exercise machine looked over to Max, having seen the embarrassing spectacle from a distance, but unsure about the twist ending. "Did you really just get their numbah?" He asked.

Max put his eyes on him, having not looked at the card yet. "Maybe?" He said, still excited. He turned the card over in his hands. "Well, sort of. It's a business card. Maybe they run a business?"

"What kind ah business?" The gym rat asked.

Max looked to the business card. It was all pink, with an address and phone number, some combination of the male and female gender symbols...

And a mug of coffee.

Aloud, Max asked nobody in particular, "What the hell is the Futa Brew?"