Throwing Weight Around

"Throwing Weight Around"

27...28...29....30! The bench press bar surrenders with an unceremonious clang. Not that there are other tenants in the spartan fitness center, midday on a wintry Wednesday. Arms ache from exertion, but it's minor compared to the throb in my core that's been raging since last weekend's whirlpool shenanigans. Despite the streams I've released in draw-out showers; into an old, crusted sock; into Linda's shorn bush as I fucked her sideways Saturday night and into Sunday morning, there persists a pent up longing for my naughty little neighbor.

Peeling my torso from the bench, I add 20 lb. plates to the bar. Strenuous lifting is the only viable avenue through which my appetite is marginally satiated. I learned this technique when I was a horny high schooler, only slightly older than my son, Tyler, managing my hormones by filling my free time gripping either weights or my pubescent penis with my father's pilfered Playboys.

"1...2...3..." I begin again, focusing my breath to beat the burn. I'm struggling through the 20s when an icy gust cools my sweating body. Without wavering my gaze from the ceiling, I know that she's entered, the stale air suddenly infused with her intoxicating aroma.

Finally I sit up and lock eyes with her in the doorway. She hesitates for an instant before turning towards the treadmills without acknowledging my presence. Our paths haven't crossed since steamy dawn waters last Sunday. With her blatant disregard, it's as if it never happened. Which is perhaps how she'd prefer it, I tell myself while moving to the leg press. Still, I can't help but notice her bubble butt bouncing in magenta leggings. That perfectly plump ass had rubbed against me so hungrily. And what had I done? Turned it down.

Anger at my foolishness propels me through extra reps. This lithe beauty with soft curves, strong limbs, and a penchant for sexy lingerie had presented herself to me on a silver platter. And I'd balked in confusion and insecurity. She's too young, my logical side had hissed, recognizing that Shay, with her 20-something years, is closer in age to teenage Tyler than my greying age.

It's a ploy, a paranoia persisted, certain that there was a hidden camera; that her boyfriend was voyeuristically spying; that Linda had concocted an elaborate tableau to catch me cheating. My girlfriend, in her late 30s, was an agreeable beauty and companionable presence in my life. We'd met through a dating app for single parents about a year ago and enjoyed consistent, consensual sex and the occasional date while our offspring spent weekends away. I have, however, caught her eyes narrowed upon my phone as I respond to my ex-wife, confirming a drop-off time for Tyler. Suddenly (but not so subtly), the conversation with Linda soured into an inquisition about other women in my life. I insisted that there aren't any others. Last weekend proved otherwise; though Shay is barely a woman. She's more of the nice neighbor girl who always say hello in the mailroom.

And thus, the worst voice of all during our hot tub encounter was that of my critic snarling, You're too old for her. Amidst these conflicting desires, I'd settled on finger fucking her, and evidently screwing my chances of ever delving further into her again.

Seeing her sweat drip on the treadmill spikes my pining to taste the tartness that she'd gushed upon my hand, spurring a familiar nag in my gym shorts. Instead I goad my body beyond its limits. Limbs like jelly, I yank a hoodie over my silvery soaked temples, foregoing my cool down stretches as the workout has backfired, vexing my sex drive. Shay's energy in the cramped space has pushed my pulse to southern arousal, and I need my condo's privacy for release.

"Will you spot me?" she asks, interrupting my course for the exit. I turn; see her straddling the bench press with wide-splayed knees.

Her acknowledgement of my presence is thrilling, but I opt for a casual air. "Sure," I say, crossing back to the weights, and positioning behind her reclined posture. I focus on the rise and fall of the bar, rather than her bound globules in a v-cut tank, inciting moist rivulets in that fleshy valley. How buttery supple they'd felt in the water, especially against rigid nipples that I'd longed to trap between hungry teeth. Her grunting effort vibrates against my groin, mere inches from her furrowed face. My hands, supporting the bar, are unable to adjust my swelling phallus.

Finally she finishes her set, sits up and smiles, "Thanks Dustin."

"Anytime," I shrug, though cherish the sound of my name on her impish lips. Neither of us pushes more small talk, yet I find myself stewing in the sensuality exuding from our encounter. Better get going, Logic urges, but it's pushed aside by a stronger drive, entranced by her ass as she sashays to the mat after 10 measly reps.

"Well in that case," she starts, grabbing a yoga ball, "will you hold down my feet?" She rocks her pelvis upon the inflated surface, legs spread like her wry smile. "Please?" she adds, eyes twinkling like rippling grass in the summer sun.

"My pleasure," I oblige, and meet her on the mat. At least she's asking for what she wants, I note. A half-baked fantasy of wicked words and dirty descriptions pouring from her innocent mouth flashes in my rampant imagination. Though my hands press on her pink sneakers as her torso crunches upward, I maintain space between us. I couldn't bear the torture of bringing my mouth closer without feasting on her sex, wet with sweat. So I grip her ankles and absentmindedly massage fingers into her Achilles.

"Mmm," she murmurs through a forceful exhalation, and it's all the encouragement I need to make my way up her calves, kneading muscles. She demands, "Rub my thighs," before reclining back on the ball.

I oblige, working the blood up her legs, pushing my palms along her inner thigh, my face hovering just inches from her apex. "Like this?" I prompt.

"Yes. Keep going," she moans.

My hands languidly trace the same routes, careful to avoid her lower lips, though they widen and advance towards my mouth. When I exhale a hot breath directly onto her covered clit, she shudders and looks me directly in the eye. "Come," she husks, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the Bowflex machine against the mirror. My cock obliges, springing as she kneels in front, releasing it from my shorts.

Mr. Logic, however, glancing towards the frosty windows and blinking security camera sputters, "Someone could see."

Ignoring my protest, her eyes wide on my package she gasps, "That is the thickest dick I've ever seen." I know she's not exaggerating. It's not the first time a partner has commented on my shocking width, even earning the nickname "Flagpole" from one girlfriend. Dutifully the fat shaft and juicing head engorges as she traces a finger along the length.

"Wait," I say, but my protest fizzles as her hands begin pumping.

Staring up at me she whispers, "I want your cock."

"You have it," I point out, my visage reflecting a wicked grin in the mirror.

"I want to taste it. Want to feel you in my mouth," she continues, bringing her lips millimeters from my pulsing tip.

"Someone could walk in," I try, but she opens and takes my head. Groans mesh with slurps as she ventures further upon my breadth. With slow, teasing sucks she warms up her mouth, preparing for a vigorous workout ahead. In my intrinsic need, I clutch the sides of her head and slide her lips close to my pubes. But she releases my moist member with a gag. You blew it...before you could actually blow it, Logic and Critic scold of my carnal desire. Intense attraction to my hot little neighbor, plus the past experiences of all the willing women who'd surrendered their attempts of fellatio upon my too wide, too-often-unsucked cock overwhelmed any iota of reason.

Shay coughs, a tear pooling in her eye. I am about to shamefully shove my hardness back into the shorts when she retrieves an errant dumbbell nearby. Placing it beneath her, she says, "I want you to cum in my mouth." There's no time to register shock as one hand grasps my base; the other cupping full balls. In the mirror, her thick ass apart as she guides me lower so she can straddle the dumbbell. "Tell me what you want," she commands, feeding me a spoonful of my own medicine.

"I want you to fuck my cock with your mouth. Up and down on my dick, sucking me deeper, and begging for my cum," I state without missing a beat.

Shay refastens her mouth and begins bobbing, taking my girth inch by inch. I support my quaking quads by grasping the machine's handle straps, lowering us so she can work her clit over the hand weight, matching the thrusting of her mouth. Her moans vibrate along my dick. Linda has given up on giving me head; her last attempt at which ended with puking sushi. I haven't been sucked in a long, long time, and never with such novel zeal. "That's a good girl," I breathe, to which she responds with increased vigor, cupping my balls with a light squeeze. "You like this thick man cock?" I ask, and she mumbles assent.

I try to bring a hand to the back of her head, to really nestle in her throat, but lose my balance on drained legs. She has complete control over the speed, which she varies, slowing as I nearly climax not once but twice, ferociously gripping the handles. Her own clit, I notice, humps the hard metal bar. "Do you want me to cum?" I ask.

She nods.

"Tell me," I grunt.

Shay gulps air and with wild eyes looks at me. "I want you to cum. I want that cum filling my mouth," she parrots. Past her frenzied expression, I notice her fingers working spirals around her clit.

"You're a dirty little girl," I murmur.

"I want you to cum in my dirty mouth. Wash it out with your salty seed," Shay whimpers, bringing my staff to the brink of explosion. I see a single trickle of pre-cum glistening in the fluorescent lights before her mouth engulfs me again. She increases her tempo, slurping saliva and sliding her wet leggings along the weight. I thrust into her mouth, spit spilling across her face.

"Oh fuck," I curse. "I'm gonna cum."

"Mhmm," she judders. Pressing her fingers into my throbbing taint, I pour a pent up torrent into her throat as she releases both of us with rapid thrusts. Her vibrating moans spur me to keep shooting into her wet interior. She releases my cock, still sputtering sticky juice over her face. With one hand still clutching my base, she spreads cum around her flushed cheeks.

"Oh God," I groan, and her hands guide me to a bench. As the stars subside, I see my essence drying on her satiated face. "Here," I offer, extending a towel.

Shay shakes her head. "I like feeling you dry on my face."

The entrance opens admitting fresh air to our sex stench and an elderly neighbor. "Hello Mrs. Maron!" greets Shay as I pull my shorts over my manhood.

"Hello dear!" croaks the dame. "You certainly worked up a sweat!" she squints at Shay and settles into a stationary bike and tabloid.

Lowering both her tone and torso towards me, allowing me a shot of her pendulous chest, Shay proposes, "Maybe next time we can play in the privacy of your place?"

"I'd like that very much," I agree.