The Work Out

I feel nervous and frightened. With you in the driver's seat and me sitting along side, I fear someone might look in through the window. I worry they might see me as we drive down the road.

I feel naked, and I practically am. The meager clothing around my waist makes me feel uncomfortable. The even slimmer clothing over my chest makes me feel exposed. I feel naughty and humiliated, yet I have to admit that it also gives me a thrill - just like you said it would. It is like when you sneaked me into the movie theater as a kid. I was still underage, only a freshman, but you worked at the theater and sneaked me in through the delivery door in back. I was always so afraid over getting caught. I feared someone might see me-just like I fear now.

I have ample reason to be afraid. Around my body I wear your gift for my 21st birthday. It is a white bikini - a very small white bikini. It is one of those tiny white bikinis that I guess you would call a string bikini. The top leaves little to the imagination, and the panty rides high on my thighs to hide my short frame.

A semi truck pulls along side. Out the corner of my eye I see a man sitting in the cab, and he looks right down on me. He sits at the perfect angle to look in.

"Look at those knockers!" I imagine him say.

"Wow! What a rack!" I see another, his partner, lean over from the passenger's side.

I make the mistake of glancing up. In response, they pucker their lips. I cannot hear through the closed window, but I know they give me a whistle.

The red light finally changes and I breathe a sigh of relief.

It feels extra embarrassing for me because I have little experience showing off my big chest. I always purchased one-piece swimsuits as a teenager. My parents never allowed me to wear anything else, plus I always assumed big-chested girls were supposed to wear one-pieces. Little did I know until you taught me.

I hear the roar of the truck engine as the men attempt to accelerate along side. They want to look at me again, I know, because I have a lot for them to look at. I think the bikini is too small. The top looks as though it was designed for a girl with half my cup size. My double-Ds fill it to overflowing.

The men keep up with us for only a few feet. It is a lucky thing I sit in a 911. A semi tractor has no chance against a Porsche.

You were the first to talk me into buying a two-piece swimsuit soon after we ran away and moved to California. I can still remember when I wore it to the beach for the first time. It felt both embarrassing and thrilling at the same time-a lot like it feels now. The embarrassment came from exposing my tummy, thighs, and heavy cleavage. The thrill came from knowing how I affected the men when they saw me. By the look in their eyes, I knew. I easily imagined them getting hard-ons beneath their swimming trunks. On a few men, I thought I could even see it for myself. And it wasn't just the young men either. The nasty old men looked too, the ones in there 40s and 50s. They should have felt ashamed to look at an underaged girl of 17 like they did, but they still looked.

This particular bikini is a lot smaller than the first one I wore on the beach. It is, in fact, smaller than anything I have ever worn before. It looks to be a great deal smaller than any bra I own, even the small demi bras. It is even tinier than the latest nightie you gave me for Valentines' day. My double-Ds look as though they are about to spill out, and the rear thong allows my buns to stick to the leather seat beneath me.

We drive for a long time, about 20-minutes. Most of it is on the freeway, thank goodness, where few people pay attention to the passengers in the cars around them. No one else sees me, or at least no one else that I notice.

We finally exit near the place where you work. I want to ask where we are going, but I know better. You told me long ago that I will find out only when we get there.

I briefly worry your plan might be to take me into work and show me off to your buddies, but instead we turn into the parking lot of what I recognize as your gym. This is where you go three nights a week to work out and tone your fabulous muscles. You are a tall, handsome man, 6-foot-2, three years my elder with a body that makes all my girlfriends rave with jealousy.

A sparsely populated parking lot tells me the gym isn't very popular at this time of night. We drive past two, maybe three- dozen cars. A large majority are Mercedes and Lexis automobiles, I notice, which tells me something about those inside. This must be an exclusive club for professionals. I figure they must come to the gym to relax after a long day at the office, just like you do, although today you first came home to bring me along.

"We're here," You announce as you park at the back of the lot, away from all the other cars. We stop at the rear of the building, as far away from the front entrance as possible. This worries me, for I think about the people who might see me when we walk around. The sun has just set, but the sky continues to glow in light. One of the high overhead lights in the parking lot turns on, but it does not yet produce sufficient light to be of any practical value.

"What are we doing here?" I ask with curiosity.

"We're going to work out, of course," You tell me. "What else would you do at a gym?" You let out a slight laugh, but I do not laugh along with you. "Oh, don't worry Lisa, it will be fun. Just do what I say, and you'll have a great time."

I am afraid to step out of the car, scared some elderly lady might see me. I can almost picture someone walking past me now, giving me a rude look or calling me a tramp. But all is clear. No one is within sight. I get out of the car and quickly follow you a step behind. Much to my relief, we do not walk around to the front of the building. You open a back delivery door with a key and wave me inside, just like you once did at the theater.

At first it is okay. It feels weird walking in a strange place with so little clothing, but no one is there to see me. We walk down a short hallway, past some storage rooms and some offices. No one seems to be working at this time at night, but then we walk through a fire door into the main workout area of the gym.

I see people all over. Some lift fee weights. Others walk on treadmills. Several joggers circle on an elevated track. A few of the bigger guys do specialty work-outs on machines, like leg presses, curls, and all those other exercises I hear you talk about. I suddenly feel very exposed, almost naked. I turn to hide back behind the door, but it has already locked behind me.

"Don't be shy," You tell me. "Follow me. I need to check you in."

You take me by the arm, and we walk through the gym. It is like walking down a public sidewalk. I feel the eyes of a dozen men upon me. I suspect a dozen more glare at my ass after we pass. It feels very embarrassing, even humiliating, although I have to admit there exists a strange erotic element too.

We walk past the treadmills, and then past the weight stations. I do not look back at the men when they look at me. I hold my head down and act shy. I walk amongst them almost as if in a dream.

"She's a friend of mine," You tell the receptionist as you hand her your membership card.

She gives me an unfriendly glare. "You know this is men's night!" She first wants to refuse my entrance, but then thinks better of it. "Although I guess it's all right for you. At least I know none of the men will complain about your workout attire."

The receptionist gives me a friendly smile as she hands you back your membership card.

It is then when I notice. The receptionist is female, and she looks to be the only female in the place. Glancing over my shoulder and quickly taking a look around, I can't see another woman in the entire gym. The receptionist and me are the only representatives of the female sex, and I do a superb job at showing mine off. It feels uncomfortable but erotic.

"Let's start you on something simple," You suggest as you take my hand and walk me to one of the machines. "This is set up to do chest presses."

You show me how it works. You lie back against a pad that extends up at about a 45-degree angle, and then you take hold of two bicycle-like handlebars, and push up. I mostly notice the way your chest pushes out at the bottom of each press, which makes me realize it will be especially embarrassing for me.

The cool leather sticks to my ass cheeks when I take your place. I take hold, push the handlebars forward against the resistance of the machine, and then relax it again at my side. I push once, twice, three times. Each time I feel my chest stick out when I relax my arms. Even worse, I notice the machine faces towards the rest of the gym. All are free to look at me, although few of them do. I feel some take quick glances, but most of the men continue to work out as though nothing is unusual about a big breasted, half naked young female working out along side them. This leaves me with a very erotic conclusion. I wonder if the evening might all be somehow planned. The men treat me like I am just another man, even though they clearly see I am not.

We do not stay long at the first machine before we move on to the next. I hardly have time to work up a sweat. Next, you take me over to the weight benches.

The thick rubber of the bench feels good against my naked backside when I lay down. Again, I feel it most distinctly against my bare buns, which reminds me of all the men who just admired my ass after I passed by them. A bar supported by two stands is positioned above me with weights on both ends. For this exercise, we need a spotter, and you pick what must be the biggest, most sparsely clad man in the room.

"Hey Bubba," You call him over. "Would you mind helping me spot for Lisa?"

"No problem," He walks over wearing a tight bikini brief with a well-pronounced budge in front. I can't help but notice it as he stands along side me. The guy is well over 6-feet tall, strong, muscular, and shirtless. He looks like a linebacker for a professional football team. His bulge looks especially big.

He stands behind me and lightly grips the bar with his hands. His crouch is positioned almost directly over my head. As I push up the weight, I look directly at it. I can almost see the outline of his nuts.

"Very good," He says as he looks down on me. "You're doing a very good job Lisa. That looks nice."

I know he compliments more than my weightlifting ability. I feel his eyes roam all over me, at my nudity, admiring my tits as I lay in front of him. I know because I start to see his bulge expand. I see a clear indication of a growing shaft up one side. This only serves to increase my arousal still further. My heart begins to race faster, and not due to the weight on the bar.

We work on this bench much longer than the first. I start to pant. My arms grow tired.

"Why don't you trade positions?" James suggests. "The polite thing to do is to trade and change positions."

Bubba helps me place the bar back on the overhead rack, and then he takes my place and lies on the bench.

"Go ahead and spot for Bubba," You tell me.

This is ridiculous, of course. There is no way I will be able to lift the bar with the two additional disks you help him place on each side, but I say nothing. I am useless as his spotter, but the position gives me the perfect viewing angle.

I let out a yelp when I see it. It is in his bikini briefs. The elastic lifts above his waist from the growing organ beneath it. It lifts high enough for me to see inside to the tip of his cock.

"Are you all right Lisa?" You ask me.

"Fine," I answer with a high-pitched squeal, louder than what I intend. "I'm just fine. No problem!"

It's been awhile since I've seen another man's cock, and I can tell this one is big. In fact, this guy is really big! Bubba is clearly a very well endowed young man. His boner lays at an angle and points to the side. I am blessed with a side profile of its furthest reaches. And not only that, but I can see he is uncircumcised and has a thick mushroom on the tip. It is just the way I like it, long and thick. I stair for several minutes and practically ignore the weights.

We work out the legs next. I must sadly leave Bubba behind, but then we walk up to two more studs laying on their backs and pushing down with their legs. I notice they are well musculared and young like Bubba. Both are also shirtless and wear the same style of bikini briefs. I can tell they have been working out for a long time, for their bodies drip in a tick layer of sweat that makes them look sexy. I can't help but wonder if either of them might be as well endowed as Bubba.

"I'll let you go first," You interrupt my admiration of the bigger of the two bulges. "I'll help you get started."

Lucky for me - or perhaps by plan - the weight bench between the two men remains empty. I lay down on it, rubber, of course, while you adjust the weights. The bigger of the two men lies to my right. A big, burly beard covers most his face. The other is clean-shaven and blond.

Like the rest of the men, they continue to work out do not appear to notice my sparsely clad body when I lie down. I, however, notice theirs. I take advantage of the opportunity to admire the bulges made by their biceps, quads, and especially by their dicks. As I press forward with my feet, my eyes roam back and forth to the tight mounds that appear as small hills to either side of me. Like Bubba, I think I see the bigger of the two start to grow even bigger, but then I figure it only the side effect of my horny imagination.

"Hi," A voice speaks to me. "How much are you doing?"

I am taken by surprise. The words come from my left and I do not know what they mean at first, but then I realize he refers to the weights.

"I'm afraid I have no idea," I answer honestly to the blond. "My boyfriend set the weights, and I'm kind-of new to this sort of thing."

He stops for a moment to look. While I continue doing leg presses, he gets up and looks at the side of the machine.

"One twenty," He concludes. "That's pretty good for someone of your stature."

He turns, and I see it. I see it is not my imagination. I clearly see the outline of a long pole pointing up and to one side of his briefs. And I was right! He looks to be another well endowed young man.

"My name's John," Blondie introduces himself as he gets back on the bench and starts up again.

"I'm Lisa," I say half out of breath. By this time, I am tired. My legs start to ache. I want to quit this little bench-pressing exercise, but then I am rewarded with a renewed source of energy.

It happens quickly. He does only two or maybe three leg presses after he lays back down, and then I see it. It breaks free. Suddenly, I am left with the sight of my second mushroom cock- head of the evening.

Unlike Bubba, this one shows more. The action of his feet and thighs allow it to escape completely. Instead of looking at it inside his briefs, it pokes out. A good three or four inches of male flesh springs out from the top of his bikini briefs. He does nothing about it and simply ignores the thing.

Like Bubba, he is clearly a very well endowed young man. His cock is thick with a very substantial diameter. I know it is long too, but that is more difficult to gauge. I can't help but wonder how many more inches remain covered under his briefs.

I notice the weights do not feel nearly as heavy when I have him to look at, but they soon make my legs tired never the less.

"Lets do a little running," You suddenly appear from behind me.

I do not want to leave, but I rise anyway. I notice both men are hard now. Blondie - or John - continues to expose his. The bearded man looks as though his might even be bigger, but it remains firmly locked inside his briefs. I don't know where you went while I did the leg presses, but I really don't care. The two men provided ample entertainment.

"Please," I beg as soon as I see where you take me. "Not those!"

I see a group of about a dozen treadmills standing against the wall. Well-conditioned men jog in place on three of them. I realize you want me to jog along with them, and then I think about how much my boobs will bounce in a run. My bikini offers almost no support. I know my tits will bounce and move all over the place in a jog, possibly even bounce right out of the bikini.

"Please!" I try to beg as you set the controls on my machine. "I can't run in this!"

You ignore my pleads. The treadmill starts up. I am forced to start walking as you step onto the treadmill next to me and begin jogging.

"Well," You question. "Are you coming or not?"

I suspect your words have a double meaning. I do not cum yet, but I know I soon will be. The treadmill starts to move faster, and I am forced to keep up.

I can't believe I am doing this! It's not bad at first, but then the treadmill begins to move faster and faster. It looks as though you programmed it with your own personal program to start slow and accelerate faster. I try my best to run level and not bounce my body around too much. I try to be careful, but it becomes impossible after only a short while. My legs already feel tired from the leg press exercise. My body aches. I start to get out of breath. And all the while the treadmill keeps up its ever-present acceleration to higher and higher speeds.

My boobs start to bounce, and then they start to bounce some more. Making it worse, my legs begin to grow numb. It is unnatural to run without allowing your body to travel up and down, and I think this makes my legs grow even more tired.

I feel my tits really start to fly. They swing up in one direction and then back over to the other. The best I can do is to keep them from flying out. Some of the men have a hard time ignoring me. I think they try to ignore me, but they can't help but look. I see the eyes of several of them locked on my chest. Although humiliating, it also feels thrilling. I feel like such a slut. I start to feel wet.

The treadmill accelerates to an even faster pace. My legs hurt more. My tits bounce with increased violence, so much so that they start to hurt. Glancing down, I see my worse fears come true. My bikini still covers my tits, but it looks as though it is on the verge of flying apart. The straps of the bikini start to chaff the skin at the side of my chest and behind my neck. I realize my heavy tits mist be placing tremendous stress on the fabric of the straps. I fear one of them might snap and expose my tits fully.

Looking around the room, I see the eyes of additional men locked on me. It feels exhilarating. It feels erotic. Secretly, I want the bikini to tear apart and my tits to break free. I think about what I will look like in a run with no top at all. The thought gives me an extra burst of strength, but soon I must stop. I pant heavy with exhaustion. I cannot go on and jump off the still running treadmill.

I stop not because of my boobs, but because of my legs and because of my lungs. I am out of breath, panting with exhaustion. My body is covered in sweat. I notice my hair is wet. I am at the point of near collapse.

I see you continue to jog at my side. I have to give you credit. Your body is obviously in much better physical condition than my own. I am not accustomed to working out like this. You also seem to look unusually sexy. This exercise in voyeurism fills me with desire. I can't wait to get you into bed tonight.

"Have enough of a workout?" You question, still running at a good pace but hardly out of breath.

I am bent over, with my hands on my knees, still panting with exhaustion.

"I think so," I say between breaths.

"Good, then time for your reward," You stop. "It's time to hit the showers."

You take me by the hand and we head towards the back of the gym. I wonder what you mean by "reward" as I see two doors. One says "Women," and the other is labeled "Men." I start to head for the Women's locker room but your hand still holds my own.