Work Out Knock Out

Troy fights me on instinct. I don't blame him. Louise has had her fun, but she wasn't built for this part. He's had his fun by himself, but it's never the same as with another. To my credit, I take it slow. I keep riding and pushing and working as slowly as I can while still sating my needs. He parts and opens as I keep the work I need. I shift my legs and find some leverage on the floor. I push and he opens and he winces and groans. Everything else I do isn't quite as sublime as this. My tip is in and he takes it well. Louise has done her job and it has all worked out as planned. Shame she couldn't be here to see the work come to fruition. My legs clench and I am a bit deeper.

Troy still struggles, but he's learning to relax. That's what Louise always tells him. And that's what he always does he has to go through the motions and come out the other side.

"You're insane, Rachel," he moans, "How do they take this every day?"

"They just do," I sigh, "And I think you're in the rotation now. You're doing so good for me."

I don't think that's the answer he wants, but it's the answer he gets. He doesn't like prose, for whatever reason. He wants silence and work. He wants moans and grunts and something more primal than empty sentimental words can carry. He gets a huff and that's something he likes. There is another inch of me in and he grunts for me. Deep and primal and something so far gone. He grins again and starts rolling his hips. Weakly, but it's a start. We're still working me in and that's always the first step.

"Halfway," I murmur.

"Bullshit," he groans. I get another dep grunt and slide a bit more in. He's tight and stretching.

"You're right. Maybe a third. Maybe a fourth."

He looks at me in wide eyed awe. I take it in and I finally get a beautiful, amazing songbird moan from him. And he never finds the lie. The mind is too far gone. I find the spot in him. A thick strand pours from his tip across his chest as I press and slide beyond it. The moan is now a gasp.

"Why is it so different now?" he huffs. I just shrug. I am. This is what I do. This is how people work around me. This is what we become and it is so much better than anything else we could be. Everything falls away. I push and he slides and he rolls and he moans and I grunt and we all just keep working down through each other.

I hilt in him and everything is glorious. It is all beautiful. It is all completely as it should be. My hands sit on his shoulders as he pushes against my chest. He rolls my breasts and grips a bit too hard. I love it. There's something like pain in me and I can't even imagine all he feels.

"I knew that wasn't halfway," he groans. He takes one deep breath and starts to calm down. We are still. He is full. We are joined and another long, thick strand of seed spills from him. I shift and move and lean down to lick his chest. His bitter salt fills my mouth and takes a hand to my chin. He tilts me and moves me and there are his lips on mine again. He's loose and smooth and desperate to find more of me. There is more of me. One hand to my back, one to my chest, first one to my neck, second to my stomach, his legs move and drape over me. All of him is shaking and trembling. He breaks for a moment and catches his breath. All the pain, all the wounds, all the bruises, all of the aches, they simply disappear in the moment. He's overwhelmed and now he's not. He just has the moment and the mountain to conquer. One step at a time and everyone can take one step at a time.

I start withdrawing and we are in the act in full. His hands leave mine and he seeks the couch for support. He has his structure and I am moving. Slow and careful and strong. I take long, long strikes through his body, passing through every single sensitive spot in him. He keeps pulsing and flowing on his stomach. It pools in his abs and starts overflowing in thick pools. I keep moving and pulsing and thirsting. My arms tense and flex. My thighs keep pumping. My legs move and I get my knee up. That gets me in deeper and harder and I start moving faster.

He can keep the pace. He can keep it well. The initial hump was terrible and scary and there's fire in his eyes now. The sharp grin is back. It shines and challenges me to go harder. So, I do. My muscles burn and a thin sheet of sweat coats my brow. It's wonderful. It's perfect. He's moving against me now, trying to make the motions deeper and longer and harder. I start going faster. He never stops leaking thick preseed from his tip. Poor thing must have been pent up. He only has me to work with. He needs more than our shared sessions taking care of our morning wood with a shared toy. Poor things tend to snap and break. Then Louise jumps in and tries to calm us both down and then someone has to go to work. Always such a terrible ending to a wonderful story.

Troy then gets a wonderful glint in his eyes as I hit the apex of my withdrawal. He's quick, so incredibly quick and before I can react, he pulls away from a bit more, almost to the point where I'm out. He turns and spins and I am staring down his back, on his knees, spine arched and arms long. Then he has to take a moment to untangle his legs from mine. He tries to make it smooth, but it just can't be done.

"That was supposed to be so much cooler," he chuckles. Then he moans a bit as he starts to put more in him.

"I'm impressed. I'm very impressed. Did Louise teach you that?" I say. I'm back to moving and it's hard for him to get the words out. They're not that important, but I feel like they should have a part in all this.

"No," he moans, "Just thought of that like five minutes ago. Just waiting for my time to try it."

My hands move to his hips. They are forged for my hands. It fits and moves and simply works. He gets himself in the proper position. The spine is back to the perfect form, legs spread and open, face down into the couch. His hair is nice and shaggy, just enough to lay down his neck and drape down his cheek. I rise up and give us endless fields of space.

I saw into him again. He fights and aids it and I thrust and pump. The world moves around us and I move into him. I keep pulling the moans from him and his embrace gets the same from me. I thrust and push and spread and open and everything is as it should be. I'm getting sore. My legs burn and sing and it's all what I should be. I am what I should be. The world turns and the birds fly on the wind and fuck Troy's tight ass.

He's firmer than the others. Saoirse has her obvious points of softness to go to. Louise is more petite, but there are still points on her that round and curve and spring. Troy is solid. Troy is rock. There is so little give in him and I make him give. I work and hammer everything he has and he takes it in stride. I go harder. I thrust deeper. His legs shake and rattle and I refuse to give him relief. He will be pulverized into rust. He will be ground into sparks. He will crumble down into his base stardust and struggle to stand in the aftermath. A moment will pass and he will come to stand, bloodied and bruise and smiling an exhausted smile. My stomach clenches and tightens. So does his.

We have no words. We both know. All the prelude is over and it's just the tumble down to the moment. The mechanisms have stalled and shot and we are just waiting for the moment. I hilt one last time and he slowly rolls his hips in a circle, just to get that last bit of sensation flowing through us both.

I feel his release travel through his body in long, languid pulses. His entire body rocks and shakes in time. It takes a bit more for me to cross that line, but I am pulsing with him. Long, heavy shots deep within him, echoing the sound of his seed pooling on the cushions. His hands scramble and grab. His legs shake. I pant and heave as my release slowly forces me out. He lets me go, reluctantly. Another minute of release and I am outside, still painting him in thick ropes across his back. They land in his hair, shoot past his head and still there is more. Another deep tremor from him and the seed overflows onto the floor.

My legs give out and I collapse back. He has enough structure underneath him to keep him moistly upright. My seed stains his legs and I feel his creep across to me. It's warm. It's heavy. It's already cooling and steaming and we're down another episode. We'll keep it for tomorrow. My hand strokes my length. With shakes and tremors, Troy turns over and collapses. Then his hand does the same thing to him. Soft, barely, sore and bruised and so ecstatically exhausted. I could go again. He could too. Probably. Defiantly a gentler round than what we just did. The remnants flow from him and lay on his stomach. He looks so beautiful covered in sweat and work and seed.

I watch said seed drip and spread over the floor. I sigh as I look into the future.

"You cum way too much," I say.

"Oh, don't even start. I feel like a water balloon," he groans with a hand on his stomach. I shrug. His problem now, but I can certainly help.

He's half hard but fully done. The limbs don't work like they should. The mind can't keep track of everything going on. He's complete lost to the dull warm glow of after care. I slowly lay myself back down on him, kiss his lips and get a kiss back. A forearm wipes his brow and a hand tucks my hair behind my ear.

"And now you're back to adorable Rachel," he chuckles, "Just like that."

"Just like that," I agree.

It's a bit of a struggle, but I get him in my arms and get me up to standing. I carry him to the shower and let the warm water rinse us clean. We can deal with the rest in the morning.

---

I wake up alone to a snow-covered street out the window. I like the snow part. I don't like the alone part. The bed's cold and stained and I don't have any partner to help me take care of a furious erection that's gone a whole night without any love. There's even one of our toys sitting on the nightstand, already stretched enough for me and Troy. But the Troy part's missing. And my urges have certainly left a mark on the sheets. I grumble and yawn and move myself back into my clothes. I have to find Troy, if only for selfish desires of my body. Any affection I have is merely a side effect.

I bunch up our sheets and the pillowcases and our heavy blankets. I trundle off down the stairs and I hear something in the kitchen. There's Troy. That little knot of anxiety is gone and everything is safe. Except Louise and Saoirse. They should be getting back this evening, assuming that the planes are flying. I put the laundry in the machine and let it all take its course. Troy's making noise in the kitchen.

"I've been a failure. I've been a success.

I'm like a diamond. I shine under pressure.

Life's been trying me. I learned all my lessons.

I realized I gotta count all my blessings," says the noise as I sidle into the kitchen and sneak my arms around his waist. He's wearing the apron again. Other things too, but I like his apron.

"Louise has been infecting you again," I purr into his ear. My hands creep down and find his bulge. He's hard now that he's felt me. But he's also hungry. Hard choice.

"Morning, baby," he says, "And she has. I'm sorry you never set in. They just put out their sixth album last month."

I kiss his neck and rock my hips into the small of his back. He feels me. He pushes back and feels more. So strong to seek more so soon. I press my palm into his shaft and roll and knead and beg for more.

"After breakfast," he says, "For last night, you get steak and eggs."

That perks me up. I can certainly go for some of that. I also see that he just set the steaks in the oven. I do some math and come up with a very fun conclusion.

"Then there is enough time for me to make waffles," I say. He considers it a moment and nods. It's a good conclusion. Sex can wait if we're doing that in the meantime.

"I already put the sheets and stuff in the washer," I say as I dig through our pantry.

"Good," he sighs, "But man, between that and the cleanup showers, our water bill's going to be insane."

"If the answer is having less sex, that's not happening."

He concedes the point. He's puttering about getting the coffee ready. I have my own tasks to take care of. Mostly mixing things and pulling other things into sockets.

"Would rain barrels help at all," I ask. He gives me a somewhat quizzical look.

"Like the ones your dad has?" he says, "No clue. Not sure how we would hook those up to the plumbing. And doesn't he just use that for his garden?"

"Yeah, but the sky gives out free water. That seems like something to take."

"Fair enough."

"I'll start a garden. Dad already promised some of his tomato seeds. Kirillova tomatoes."

"Then that's the plan. New place, we all become tomato farmers, live off rainwater, and start a compound. And once we start using the word compound, I think that's when we get a knock on the door from the feds."

I nod. The waffle iron's warmed up and I start the final steps. He's back to the steak and eggs and coffee. Not quite fair, but then again, I did the laundry. If anything, Louise and Saoirse are the lazy ones with their professional obligations. Granted, a business conference seems much more professional than a streaming convention. But I'm getting too into the nitty gritty world of fake numbers with gives and takes that don't need to add up. Troy checks the temperature of the meat and gives a thumbs up. It will all work out in the end.