Work Out Sleep Over

I keep working the bag. One last push, one last round of just working the faux cracked leather with fist and will. My knuckles hurt. I don't care. I just have to go through the last final bit of pain and something will crack. It will not be me. The world will crack before me. I keep laying into it. Such a pitiful thing. It wasn't meant to be for this world, against such an onslaught. I almost feel bad for it. Not nearly enough to stop, or even try and pull my punches. It knows what it signed up for. It just didn't know that I would be on the other end of the agreement.

A series of hooks creak the chain and that does finally get a shard of sympathy from me. The chain did nothing wrong. The chain is not designed for any of this. It just wants to go home and lay on the couch after a hard day's work. I can respect that. The bag gets a series of offhand hooks and one last big straight. Then a headbutt because I feel like it. Just a soft clonk to let it know it can rest. It put up a good fight. It has earned whatever punching bags get as rewards.

And it is on to stretches, taking my body so worked up and hot and winding it down. All the heat slowly slips in between the straining muscle fibers, tearing them just a bit more, just a bit more pain to heal back from. I will be so beautifully sore. Every muscle screaming in ecstasy, endless euphoria, endless bliss of pain and torture as the dull ache settles in and I am made more than what I was.

My phone buzzes and my cooldown is over.

"penguin or otter?" it says. I wipe the sweat from my forehead. Cooling down, back to the simple motions of everyday life. No more destruction, no more ruin, just small taps and a craned neck that will probably end up hurting something fierce in old age.

"Is there a wolf one?" I send back. The bag calls again and it wants me brutal and fierce. I am compromising as best I can.

"there is," my phone tells me, "but I don't think it would fit."

"Get it. It's hard to find stuff for me. Worst case, I rip a hole in it."

"sounds best case to me. louise got a frog one. it's honestly super cute."

My brain is still calling for me to hit and break things, but there is a Louise in a frog suit to think about that that makes everything sugar and spice. It's an odd feeling in my stomach, that mix of iron and cloud. Soft and hard, neither willing to bend to the other, but not quite a full-on clash. Caged beasts that keep circling and taunting in their own way. I punch the bag again just in case it had forgotten where it was.

"Easy there, Rachel," says Ken, "The gym can't afford another bag. You break too many."

"Can't help it buddy," I shout back, "Rob needs to buy better gear."

"Man cuts anymore corners, our ring is going to be an octagon," he laughs.

I like Ken. Old as all hell, portly, but dense, probably enough to take a bullet and keep going like it was a mosquito bite. He bears every mark from every training I can think of, from cauliflower ear to smooth calves to a weird nose that I swear he resets every morning. But he has a good smile, and that does a lot for him. Almost all of it, really.

"You have a funny look on your face," he says, "Man troubles?'

"Not quite."

"Ah, lady troubles. Much worse."

"Also, not quite. Guess I'm nervous. Two of my girlfriends are planning a not-so-secret surprise for me and I don't like the hints they're dropping."

He laughs and that's another point in his good column. Heavy, loud, rattles the damn rafters, it is impossible to avoid infection from that laugh. I crack a smile.

"I do not mean to pry, but I know you're in, what's the phrase, 'an alternative lifestyle,' yes? So does it mean...?"

"I don't think so. I hope not. I don't know. I let something slip out recently and now they've been lording it over me for some reason. I'm overthinking. That's all. Who's your next guy?"

He sighs and shakes his head. His hair is cut so close to the scalp it doesn't even pretend to move.

"Troy."

"Oof. Sorry buddy."

"He will bitch and moan," he shrugs, "But he has only canceled once and I cannot blame him. Always comes back. I can't ask for anything more than that. I should though. I really should."

"Louise should be coming back soon. Work got kind of hectic for a while, but she said it dying down now."

"Good, good. Your little stunt scared the rest of the women away. Except for her. Knocked some sense into her I guess."

I let out a little huff through my nose with a slight smile and turn back to the bag. It's had enough. I've had enough. My phone kept poking me to look at it and poke at it and do all the motions in the world. I have a person right here that I need to talk to. But he is waving me off with a jaunty bounce and a cheerful smile. He had his bit to say and it's all done and over with. No more prying advice from an old man. I pack up and he gets out his pair of gloves for poor, stupid Troy. I catch my bus and start heading to my place, all the work slowly creeping out of my body into that dull tired soreness I adore.

---

Louise attacks me as I come through the door, very gently, very calmly, but I am almost knocked over and sprawled out in her hallway. She is kissing me and I am kissing her and it is just the two of us in a moment stolen from everything else.

"Babe," I say through her lips, "I just came from the gym. I need to shower."

"Don't care," she mumbles, "Happy. I'm happy. So, I'm kissing you. Get used to it."

I do. It's very nice. She is good at kissing me and I am good at kissing her. We can keep doing this forever and I will be complete happy. My hair's a mess and I can't walk quite straight with her in my arms, but we all eventually collapse in a tangle of bodies that somehow equal more than their parts. Louise is on me, pressing into me, and trying desperately to unite every part of our being in glorious celebration.

"I'm excited for tomorrow too," I manage through her lips that taste like a shot of bourbon, "but I think you're taking it a bit too far."

"Not about that," she hums, "Although, yeah, good time all around. No. Hang on."

She pulls away for a moment and straightens everything. She's wearing one of my t-shirts and it seems to disagree with her figure. Not nearly enough of her to cover, so everything is slid out of place. I do not want her to hide again, but she does.

"We just fired Flynn," she says with a beautiful happy laugh and excited tremors. I rise up to kiss her again and she follows me back down.

"Which one is he again?" I ask, "Creepy guy or touchy guy?"

"Neither. He's the one that said, 'you smell like fresh cunt' to one of the interns."

"Oh, that guy."

"He's been there forever and everyone said that he did this all the time, but he pulled in big numbers. But it also turns out he's been sleeping with one of the c-suite's daughters so now he's super-duper fired. No pension, no severance. Nothing."

She kisses me again and I would certainly give up a very nice pension so we can keep doing this forever.

"So is touchy guy or creepy guy next on the list?"

"Touchy guy. I talked with creepy guy and I actually think he's on the spectrum. We should probably stop calling him creepy guy. He's weird, but not like, bad weird. Just doesn't get it. And he is nice. Likes succulents and can name pretty much every species of dragonfly."

"We can call him dragonfly guy."

"He'd like that. But keep doing things I like. I don't care about dragonfly guy anymore."

No offense to the man in question, but I never really cared about him ever. Just a name that came up when she was telling me about her day. Flynn was a big one though, and after a while, he got rolled into the nebulous entity I have assigned for anything that makes Louise feel bad. I do not like this construct at all. I wish it would die.

So, we are touching and holding and kissing everything we can with one another. Writhing tongues and locked lips. I smell terrible. I have to. Sweat and work and bus seats and a desperate need to rest. She does not shy away. She leans into it and I think I should carry her to the shower. She won't let me up. She doesn't want to let me up.

"I really need to get up and rinse off," I hum, as she bites my lip and makes me mumble the words into almost nonsense.

"Is it weird that I kind of like you like this?" she says as I nuzzle into her neck and bite at the sensitive skin.

"Little bit. But we're all kind of weird. I think about sex literally all day and all night. I can't stop. Ever."

"You really don't. But I don't mind. Sex with you is amazing. I think about it a lot too."

She does. Lots of fun surprises given and received. My phone is a constant ticking grenade of nudity. Saoirse is still not quite to that level. I imagine she will be. It's fun. I haven't sent her anything and I definitely will. Once she agrees to it.

Later, I will thing about Saoirse's luscious red hair, smattering of dark freckles and incredible tits later. Perhaps when I am in the shower. I have Louise in my hands and I would be incredibly remiss to leave all of that alone for even a second. Lithe and strong and toned, not quite long enough of a break for anything to fade away. Her joints shift under my hand. I touch her and massage the form she has made. It is light and carved down to simple shapes. Everything is small and compact, every part collapsed to black hole density. Her skin is smooth. The ridge of her muscles and the shift of her joints, it's all become more energetic. It is amazing to see her change. Granted, my first impression of her was kind of shy and on a hospital bed. That doesn't really give me a good baseline. She is up and about and she can't sit still with anything for more than a moment. It's amazing. It's incredible. It's something that can go on forever and ever. An eternal engine continuously combusting and turning pistons.

Her hand goes to my chest and I feel the simple joy of touch and grope. And it draws a giggle from me, so I do the same. Not as large as mine, nowhere near, but they have the shape, the simple joy of playing with another. That's all she needs. She makes fun little whimpers from my hands, rewarding me with more lips to mine, teasing me in her own way, slowing building up the excitement from her day. A capstone to a week that was hellish and cruel that finally paid off. It's time for her to get her fun reward.

She is adoring me with every touch. Such a wonderful thing to be adored. Every little touch she gives carries rivers of reverence up my spine. I am all hers for the moment, fallen from the heavens, risen from hell all to lay there beneath her and gently touch. I am a wonderful prize won from hardship and turmoil, returned from the bitter work steaming and hot for her.

All of this is starting to get me worked up. Just a bit. My excitement rises in my chest, the growing need in my lips, the wonderful ideas that play in my head. It's all the complex motions and positions we can play reduced to something below thought. Instinct on how to bend, how to break and there is no thought to anything at all.

"Question before we really get into it," Louise asks, "Do you want to save something for tomorrow?"

"Considering I'm not supposed to know what tomorrow is, I don't know if I can answer that. That said I'm pretty sure it's- "

"Stop right there. I know Saoirse and I aren't exactly subtle, but still. Let us pretend."

"Apparently you have a frog thing I'm not supposed to know about."

She sighs and it has the unfortunate effect of tickling my neck and making me buck underneath her. A surprised yelp into a soft giggle at all the places her mind goes, and she is back to serious time.

"I told her not to tell you what I got. Why did she even tell you anything?" she whines, moving her hips up and down, almost as a reflex at this point.

"Wanted to know what I wanted. Gave me a choice of otter or penguin. I told her to get a wolf and we'll see if we can make that work. She didn't say what she was getting."

"Of course. Tell my secret to the world, but keep her cards close to her massive chest."

She goes under my shirt and I dutifully lift my arms. That is better. It's even better when she slides off my sports bra and everything is free and loose and bouncing. Her teeth work her bottom lip as I do the same to her. Mesmerizing, she is mesmerizing. Her tone is dark and smooth and hypnotic, drawing me in with deep valleys of ridge muscle. Shame she usually hides all of this away under business professional. The end goal of society is nudity, in my opinion. Free love applied to everything. Given to each's need and taken from each's ability. But mostly so that everyone can be naked in the streets, fucking. Specifically, me. I need to be naked in the streets, fucking.

But I cannot complain when Louise is biting her lips over me in simple admiration of form and physique. I puff my chest and let it fall, watching her eyes widen.

"I think we need to ask if you can wait a day for whatever super-secret special surprise you have in store. If you got me the Spider's cheerleading team, well, I do kind of want to save up for that."

"It's not that. Just don't worry about it. It'll be a fun time. I promise. And there is certainly enough of you to go around."

To drive the point home, she buries herself in my cleavage, warm and nestled and safe from the world and all the things that wish her ill. My hips twitch again and now I don't think I can stop.

"Well then," I whisper, "I did have to cut my cool down short. Do you think you can help me with that?"

She looks up to me with big smirking eyes and nods slowly. It's all perfect. Everything in this world is perfect just for her. Everything she ever wanted and it's all handed to her on a silver platter. I kiss the crown of her head and run my hands down her spine until I get to her waist. Such pesky things, her underwear. Always in the way. Never quite what I want. Always hiding her from me. She shouldn't wear them. But then I couldn't rip them off of her. I get another yelp into a giggle from her and that turns into a satisfied hum as I follow the lines of her body. Even down here, she is toned and sculpted like soft red clay almost ready for the furnace.

Louise is excited and that is so evident. My fingers are slick and she is open and she will never be fully ready for the moment when we are both on the precipice. But she wants to throw herself off the cliff and down into the angry waters below. She hums against my sternum going into the soft laughter and easy moans from my touch. It's so easy with her. And she makes it easy. There are hips moving to get me where I need to go on her. It's all wonderful with her.

I fight to keep her still, but her back is arching and bucking, her lips are moving, and she takes me away from teasing her.

"I love your stomach," she says in between soft tender touches, "It is so hard and defined. I can feel your heartbeat through every part of you."

"Every part of me? I have a lot of parts."

"I know. And that part has been poking me ever since you walked in the door. Now, I want to see it."

And it is a simple act to get everything out and open and free. The elastic of my pants does a good job of keeping it hidden, but it doesn't like to be hidden. Everything is free about me now and Louise is lost in my body, every facet, every nook and cranny and shape. She is smiling. She is smiling with wide eyes and giddy excitement.

"Every time," she sighs, "Every single time. It's wonderful. You need that tattooed on you somewhere. Just to remind everyone of what you have."

"You were drinking a bit, weren't you? You only get this sentimental after a few."

"Just two shots when I came home. Lily and Hank were going to the bars, but I wanted to see you. And do you blame me?"

"Not at all. Liquid courage helps."

"Oh please. I'm not scared of this thing."

She gives it the tiniest peck and the whole length jumps up, almost giving her a black eye. Bob and weave, stick and move, she is darting around the raging want in me.

"That's cute. It's trying," she hums. Her hand catches it and makes it still. And a pulse draws deep from me and rises out. A high arc of murky preseed shoots out and lands on her cheek with another taunting lick. A happy hum of satisfaction.

"That means it likes me," she sighs. Her hand is stroking and pulling more slow pulses from me.

"That also happens when I come back. I get worked up. You know how it is."

"Shut up. Be nice to me. I had a good day and now I am jerking you off. That means be nice to me."

"Fine. Fine. You're doing very well. And it does like you."

She gives the underside a hard kiss and a tickling lick slowly up and down. Another arcing pulse rains down and a harsh growl comes from my chest.

"And that means I like you too," I sigh. She's giggly today. I like giggly Louise. I like pouty Louise. I even like the occasional leave me alone Louise when it's a really bad day. Mostly because that leads back to a cuddly Louise the next morning. That particular manifestation makes a very good argument for staying in bed all day and not doing anything.

"I figured you did. Kind of hard to imagine otherwise," says with her chin on my tip.

I dwarf her in size and she knows it. It is colossal and monumental a testament to humanity's basest desires manifested. And it is mine. Through my ownership, it is hers. Shared, certainly, but this moment, this instant, it is her toy, her treasure.

She opens her mouth and slowly takes me in.

It's always a struggle for her, but she has definably gotten better. Another pulse travels up and through her lips, coating me with sticky slick layer. It helps her take me deeper. It helps her hand move faster. I pour from my depths and that is enough to coax her downward. My hand trails through her hair, her thick braids leaving her scalp exposed and she presses into my hand. More touch, more feeling, more wonderful sensations to pull from me for her endless glutton feast of senses.

Halfway down, she pulls back up and tastes fresh air. Panting, sweating, drool and preseed leaking from her lips, she is simply radiant.

"And done," she sighs, happy, content, serene and one with the world.

The rage that comes from me is an odd thing. So intense, I simply shift to the left of my being, eyeing the response my body gives. Fury, unrestrained fury and hatred and anger at the world for making her do this to me. My length is red and pulsing and twitching and spitting in that same bestial basest feeling. I am shaking. I did not know I could shake like this. Louise looks afraid. She should be. I should be. Everyone should be. I turn my gaze to her and she flinches.

"Ok," she whispers, "Did not expect you to get that into it. You look like you're about to explode or something."

Deep breaths, calming breaths, unclenched jaw and unfurled fists. I am hard and willing and my wonderful, beautiful perfect moment of white scouring release has been denied. There will be more times when I can. Tomorrow. There will be tomorrow and the day after and the day after and forever and ever until the sun grows cold. I am fine. Back down to sanity.

"I'm good," I sigh, "I'm good. I just get a bit worked up. You know that. We're good. Nothing to see. I'm good."

"Are you sure? Playing aside, we can keep going. Tomorrow night's special, but not that special. And like you said, you have more than enough for it."

"No, no. You said you wanted to stop, so we're stopping. I'm done. I'll be fine. Would you get me some water or something?"

She nods and scurries away. I'm not going to hurt her. I'm not going to do anything to her other than look and think and imagine all the ways tomorrow is going to go. I'm going to make it that way.

---

Out of all my thoughts that I can come up with, I am still baffled at the sight before me. I knew it was there. I heard about it. I helped pick it out in a way. I can reach over and touch the soft fabric, promising warmth and comfort and happy times, and I still can't quite believe that it is here. Saoirse is in the other room trying hers on, and Louise is one more over doing the same. One last surprise for all of us and I can't believe it's happening.