The Man at the Gym

Usually at the gym, I'm the one being leered at.

But not today.

There's a sexy, familiar body across the room. He doesn't know me. But I sure as hell know him.

Dan Willow.

The star of my favorite porn video, one that I've masturbated to at least three dozen times.

It starts out ridiculous enough.

Mike delivers pizza to a college girl who can't find her money. His wide, muscular stature towers above her.

She agrees to an alternative payment method that involves stripping naked in her bedroom. And when she does, he looks at her like she's precious. Like he wants to take care of her.

At his command, she strips him, too, then kneels at his feet and circles her innocent little lips around his monster of a cock.

"That's a good girl," he moans, as she rides his boner with her mouth. You can tell his size turns her on.

I always rub my clit at that part, while she rubs hers just as vigorously. Both her labia and mine swell with desire. We need him so fucking badly.

"Stand up," he orders, with a fierceness in his eyes I've never seen before. Then he grabs her young body and tosses her on the bed.

I shove the vibrator against my pussy when he enters her, slowly at first.

Then faster. And harder.

He's a force of nature, rapidly penetrating her hole like it's his for the taking.

Overpowered by his thrusts, she forgets all about the camera and the performance. He pounds into her with all the strength and determination of an earthquake, making her scream in divine pleasure.

Just remembering that scene -- that delicious mess of sweating limbs -- brings a warm tingle between my thighs.

The feeling grows hotter by the sight of him right there across from me.

Not pixelated. Not flat and small on the screen of my laptop.

This is real life, and everything about him is huge.

His hard, round muscles could pin me down. They pulse each time he lifts the weight bar to the height of his broad shoulders. His giant, intimidating frame reminds me just how perverted I really am. It's not very ladylike of me to ogle at a bare chest like this, but how the hell am I supposed to help myself?

My hungry stare drifts from his arms to his nipples, then further down to his sweat-glazed six-pack, all the way to his...

A gasp escapes my lips. Oh my God.

There it is. The outline of his dick, pressing thickly against his tight shorts.

It looks even bigger in person than when I came to the sight of it dominating that lucky bitch.

Eight inches, at least.

I wonder if he wore those shorts on purpose to tease horny girls like me. I want to rip them off -- and his underwear, too, just to taste that salty bulge.

My clit hardens.

I'm two layers of fabric away from touching Dan Willow's irresistible masculinity. My jaw, which dropped long ago, is still wide open.

He puts down the weight rack.

With no warning, his head swivels in my direction. His gaze meets mine.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

The intensity of his redwood eyes is a shot of adrenaline. My pulse races as he walks right up to me. A giant in the flesh.

"Well, hello there," he says with luscious, sultry confidence.

He's so tall that I have to tilt my head up just to look at him.

"Hi," I say back, my voice shaking in disbelief.

"It's not polite to stare at strangers," he admonishes, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

"I -- I'm sorry."

Everything about him -- his voice, his scent, his hot, sweaty body -- is magnetic.

Does he want me as much as I want him? No, that's wishful thinking. There's no way.

He wraps his enormous hand around my shoulder, leans closer, and explains, "I can tell when I'm being recognized."

I could scream.

` Butterflies doesn't even begin to describe it. There's a damn tornado inside me, filling every limb with lustful shivers.

"You need to learn to keep your eyes to yourself," he says sternly. "And I think I'm just the man to teach you that lesson."

I bite my lip. Is this real life?

"Come to think of it, I bought some rope just yesterday. It would be perfect for punishing a horny little perv like you."

Wetness spills into the softness of my athletic thong as his hand migrates from my shoulder to my hand. He holds me tight and leans even closer, no more than a couple millimeters from my ear.

My tits are stiff as pebbles.

His hot breath caresses me, wavering between a deep growl and a delicate whisper. "So why don't you come with me to my car like a good girl?"