Sydian: Working Outbysydian©
Sydian/Working Out/ Ch. 1
Work and working out were as much a way of life for Sydd as fucking and getting fucked. She was a partner in a prestigious firm; her professional life was secure and private. She had no fear that anything she did privately might jeopardize it. It was an accepted fact that she was brilliant, intensely skilled, and transgendered….and that she took no shit or prisoners. In fact, it had been her case that signaled the sea change in the professional acceptability of folk like her; and her skill and brilliance that brought clients to the firm for her counsel and litigation. Straight, gay, in between, it made no difference; they all knew she was a winner—in large part, because she ‘lived’ there….she was professional. And, she was private….they hardly mixed except with her very deliberate intention…she always held the upper hand. Probably because of her brutal honesty—with her you always knew what you got….literally and figuratively. She always found the appropriate venue—the right time, space, and words—to let all concerned know that ‘Yes. She was a fine, black bitch….with a huge cock and big balls to boot.’ Figuratively in the professional setting; the literal was reserved for intimates.
She took the steps two at a time; the tight, white spandex leggings sleek and translucent against the sculpted black marble of her hard calves and thighs, and that full, supple ass. A short, midriff baring, half t, just barely getting over the distended nipples and the rounded fullness of her tits was covered by an over-sized black sweat shirt, the wrists pushed up to the muscular forearms, promising more form and power above. Her other ‘muscle’ was discretely tucked—she didn’t want to ‘start’ anything before she got into the gym—she had a technique that made the tucking give the ‘uninitiated’ the impression that she had a very large mons venus—lips swollen and provocatively protruding. Then again, maybe Sydd meant ‘trouble’ wherever she went—trouble in the best of ways. In any case, the tuck always got looks from those who didn’t know—some hostile; a good, good number just damn lustful….
6 a.m. is a wonderful time for a workout. Springtime; up with the sun, the streets not quite empty, and the gym—wonderfully—virtually vacant. ‘Vacant’….a thought that causes Sydd to muse about the possibilities of ‘sneaking’ a quick shower in one of the private stalls without causing too much of a disturbance. Maybe even a sauna might be empty….
‘Virtually vacant.’ The intrusion of cyber-space; the illusion of space and emptiness at 6 a.m. All the young ‘wanna-get-aheads’ are here. Well, at least what seems an inordinate amount if you didn’t know this culture. The pursuit of perfect bodies and perfect positions could be literally aligned here, and not necessarily by doing pilates, either. In the perfection of bodies and positions in the hours commencing at 6 a.m. and moving onwards, more than once Sydd had come across sweat induced by carnal activity other than contact with free-weights, or the nautilus. While the ‘jerking’ she had witnessed was not necessarily ‘clean’, o, it was stimulating! It did, like at good workout, cause the blood to rush—hers, as well as those she stumbled upon….‘Working out’—terminology of so many meanings and nuances….
Perfect bodies and perfect positions. Aside from the physical ones that could be encountered in the nooks and crannies of the gym, there were those that related to career. When the physical and career orientations were taken together, Ms. Sydd was almost iconic. It was not that she is ‘intimately’ known here. She had no friends, and no lovers—as yet—in this space. It was her carriage, and its almost mythic proportions that stimulated interest when she pushed either in or out of the gym’s doors on those early mornings.
Picture this: living within walking distance of her gym, Sydd is an easily identifiable entity within and without: in sweats; the tailored business suit; or, her ‘preferred’ evening wear—the always stylish, always tight, always short; yet, always tasteful, if slightly kinky. But those are the clothes…..
The element that is most arresting is the body—her sheer physicality. Again the picture becomes the metaphor. Again, is she a ‘small’ ‘woman’? 5’6-7; 135; solid, ‘cut.’ Compared to other ‘girls,’ she is a little one. So, in many ways, it is ‘carriage’ that stops traffic. That 5’6, 135 pound frame seems cut from polished onyx—if onyx can be polished. The color is sometimes the subject of ridicule—anonymously, usually by unsuccessful cyber assassins—quite possibly because of its power and her pride of possession. She works onyx. She works obsidian—all to her advantage. She magnifies contrast: as surely as spring will give way to summer, the winter-wheat twists have given way to an even shorter, and if at all possible, even blonder, nappy cut—a celebration of African kink. The cobalt lenses still blaze from that perfect black face, able to cut through ice….and bullshit.
The body—‘iconic’—5’6, 135, a ‘modest’ pair of 38s—‘the best that money can buy,’ she laughs, whenever they are ‘encountered’—a tight 30 inch waist, and a muscular, bubbled, 36 inch ass and hips, attached to thighs and calves that Olympic runners covet. The eye-popping, traffic-stopping, iconic, and arresting Sydian is just that because she is also 50+….She’s seen half a century and more. She is all the boys and girls hope to be, wish to be, work out to be, and more, through their 6 a.m. forays to the gym. For some, she is silently their living role model….and for a great many more, the imagined object of their lust. Upwardly mobile, all the boys and girls. Thrust together, now…..
Sydian/Working Out/ Ch. 2/Sweat
Sweat. It runs in rivulets. From her forehead down her face, finding the channel between her breasts and condensing around her balls and the serpentine stricture of her cock. On the backside, sweat has collected at the nape and across the shoulders. It rolls across the shoulder blades, converges at the small of the back. It then finds its way between the cheeks of that marvelous ass—who or what wouldn’t? Two distinct streams have found their ways to the tops of those cheeks and cascade over and down them, leaving a sheen as they slick the back of her thighs and calves. It has been a good workout….
It is fairly quiet, fairly empty, as she makes her way back to her locker. It is almost as she anticipated; her desires are almost met. There are very few people this morning. She turns on to her row and there are two black women there, chatting. They look up and catch her eye. She nods and flashes a ‘shy’ smile of acknowledgement. Their response is hard to decipher….a begrudged nod? A catty flit of the eyes between the two?
Sydd works the latch on the locker. Pulls the t over her head. She can feel the heat of their eyes on her silhouette as the cool air assaults her tits and nipples as they make their own expressions of freedom. Intent on her own business, she turns her back to them, steps from her shorts, her thong intact—no need to reveal any more than she already has. She wraps the huge white towel under her arm pits and pivots toward the sauna….
She settles in. She has a corner on the high bank. The sweat room is timed. She closes the eyes to muse and the two of them insinuate themselves into her meditations….They were quite attractive—the two of them—athletic in all their proportions. One about Sydd’s height; tight, compact body, but by comparison, almost breast-less—sort of flat-chested—not quite; boyish and beautiful. Chestnut colored; hair, an asymmetrical, ‘oriental’ cut—terribly straight—yet again, in the most beautiful way, and so black that it held a cast of blue….
The taller one, gingered and buxom; hips that most women pray for. The sheets of red mane have been pulled back for her work out into a thick French roll. Good friends. Sharing secrets and gossip….
In her heavy lidded musing Sydd is only too aware of the way in which her thong is being strained. Beneath the towel, the weight of terry-cloth and steam frame a serpentine form that ‘sleeps’ now, across her thigh….‘Those two, young bitches….’ She smiles to herself….
The sweat the sauna produces is nothing like the rivulets that cascade from a hard workout. In here, sweat is a fine mist. She’s been gently sprayed. Hmmmmm….she muses, sexually…. ‘spraying’…. ‘cat-sex’…..a slight twitch in her groin….
She almost misses it. The door parts silently. Through hooded lids, lashes heavy with sweat, she sees the slender, compact figure glide in. Chestnut girl. Sydd does not fully open her eyes; makes no acknowledgement, but she is fully focused. The Chestnut passes her hand behind her. A deft sliding move, accompanied by the soft sound of polished metal fucking…the door is bolted. More annoyed than alarmed, Sydd’s only thought: ‘Now why hadn’t I noticed that? The lock….’
Eyes still hooded; pulse unnoticeably elevated, Sydd waits….all this morning’s muscle slightly coiled….wary. And aware, as the Chestnut watches her. More than a few questions….
Then, it happens….Ms. Chestnut drops her towel—‘hell-o!’ Sydd’s mind snaps—and the tight, slim boyish body teeters there in a pair of 6 inch, metal-heeled, black patent, stilettos. In a sauna….
The Chestnut woman drops a hand, two fingers extended, to very puffy pussy lips that hardly hide a thick, and what seems to be, rapidly growing clit—the thickness of a little finger and still swelling….Sydd has the impression that there’s been play well before this entrance. What once ‘slept,’ stirs and leaks across Sydd’s thigh. Sydd has always found it difficult to resist beauty, in any form—difficult, but not impossible…
The two fingers frame the clit as the two long legs spread themselves—almost imperceptibly, but shamelessly, wide. The fingers pull on the clit, tugging, making it distend, grow fuller and longer. Then they disappear into what appears to be a deep, honey-well….they are lost in the imagined sound of hot wetness….
All the while, the Chestnut’s wide eyes smolder on Sydd. The 6 inch heels and the smell of pussy rising in the steam force Sydd’s eyes open as the two cunt-soaked, slick digits slide from pussy to mouth. The heels click across the floor, slow, languid strides….hips working towards her….a serious sucking of fingers….one, last, serious plunge into that hot honey-pot, before the offering is made….
A knee on the second bank, the patent heel on the first….the door bolted and window steamed…..Fingers at Sydd’s thick, luscious lips…. ‘Taste me, Babi….’
Sydian/Working Out/ Ch. 3/Tent
Tent. The tent her cock had made should be quite obvious…the upper portion of her towel has fallen away from those perfectly sculpted breasts—‘too good of a job,’ Sydd sometimes mutters….Before she can accept the fingers, Sydd forces a hoarse whisper: ‘There’s something you need to know before you start this….I may be a bit more than you’ve bargained for…’With that, Sydd’s eyes fell to the tent whose shape was being further defined by the heavy leak of pre-cum her ‘assailant’s’ fragrance and form prompted….
The Chestnut’s eyes fell to the tent, a full ten inches high by now.....her mouth formed an 0 as if a string of 0’s would follow….her free hand grazed the top of Sydd’s ‘tent’ snagging it between to perfectly lacquered nails….she raised the towel to nostrils to catch its perfume, then looked down and smiled on the rage of Sydd’s pretty black cock. She let her free hand slide down the already slick pole, and watched Sydd’s plush lips contort and open in their pleasure as she slid the two pussy-flavored digits through to the back of Sydd’s mouth. Sydd’s reaction was involuntary and automatic: her hips jumped to the fingers round her member; her lips sucked feverishly at the two-digit cock in her mouth. She moaned….very, very loud when Ms. Chestnut’s lips and then teeth found her huge nipple….But in a locked sauna, who was there to hear?
The boyishly-built Chestnut heard. Sydd’s moaning became her ‘beat.’ She finger-fucked Sydd’s mouth, sucked Sydd’s nipple, and handled Sydd’s cock to the rhythm of Sydd’s moan—Sydd’s rap…. ‘Unh! Unh! Unhhhhhhhh!’ Deep and guttural—throaty….a groan…the wail couldn’t pass the fingers that gagged her. The sound built in her chest, rose and resonated over and again, up that powerful and beautifully sculpted ebony neck, and forced itself from an engorged throat. It came as a hot exhalation that scorched the fingers Ms. Chestnut stroked between those beautiful, full lips. The heat of Sydd’s voice, the molten liquid of her mouth, and the slickness of those full, coated lips streaked and super-charged those fingers. They had their effect on the woman who wore six-inch heels into the sauna…..
Reluctantly, the Chestnut’s lips snapped from Sydd’s nipple. As she whipped her head upward, the ends of that dangerous, straight, asymmetrical, blue-black cut stung the other nipple. Sydd winced—in pleasure—hips jumped again, rhythm change, sucking and fist-fucking renewed….
Chestnut leaned up to Sydd’s ear as her fingers slowly and sensuously pistoned the pretty mouth….She whispered hotly: ‘You are such a hot bitch….we had no idea….” Sydd’s response: a deeper moan and more and more pre-cum….
Cock in a full fist, eyes blazing, the Chestnut used her powerful elbow to force Sydd’s thighs even further apart. The spreading, the thickness of Sydd’s cock, and the persistence of the slender one’s pumping, caused the feeble thread of the already over-taxed thong to snap. The remainder of the thong fell to the other leg, the momentum freeing it to gap even more.
Ms. Chestnut, retracted the two slick, lipstick coated fingers—even in the swoon, Sydd mused on this: she had thought it interesting that ‘Ms. Slim-Goodi’ here had worn six-inch stilettos into the sauna, but what the hell was she—Sydd—anticipating, wearing full lip gloss into the steamroom? They were right she concluded, she was a bitch; a very hot, nasty bitch, getting exactly what she deserved. The conclusion was punctuated by those same two fingers slamming her asshole up to the knuckles of the fist….
Punctuated. Sydd almost lost it. She fought for control as she felt her cock swell even more in the supremely skilled hand. It was clear that her ‘assailant’ knew her way around this organ, male or shemale….
‘Oooooooo….shit, girl! How much bigger can you get?’, Goodi hissed. Pre-cum oozed from the cock-slit, the head bright purple. The Chestnut licked her lips but restrained herself. In a situation where most might have picked up speed, she re-doubled her concentration. She focused all her efforts on that beautiful head; that beautiful, swollen, purpled head….
Sliding her slick hand below the slickened head to the crown, and massaging up, she cooed. ‘Cum on, Babi. Give the little bitch the cream. All the sweet cream, Mami….’
Sydd’s asshole had come online as well. The slick digits had opened her up. The internal slickness of that hell-hot hole lubricated their slide. Her muscular ass moved in sync to hand working her cock….rhythmic, musical, symphonic. The conductor was working her baton….
Sydd’s sphincter contracted around the fingers. ‘Damn, bitch! You’ve probably broken off more than a few brothers’ cock’s,’ Chestnut winced. Then she twisted her fingers up in that ass-pussy; rotated counter on Sydd’s cock-head…. ‘Cum on, bitch….give it up’…..it was hoarse….almost a whisper….her breathing was taxed by her own excitement….A wide, slick streak from the lips of her pussy to the arch of her stiletto, showed and renewed itself…..It showed her need…..
But she remained focused. Technique. Technique. ‘Chinese water-torture’ and sex. She worked the head of that cock almost as if it were her own. She massaged Sydd’s asshole in a way that could only be known to one who had experienced it herself….she cooed, and cooed….And in the end, she only brought her pretty mouth close enough for Sydd to feel the heat of her breath….
Scalded, Sydd erupted….Into one of the prettiest faces, over a finely manicured hand. Across its back, all along the slender digits; white cream streaking the red lacquer of the nails….The wail was in a locked sauna. Thick, sweet, hot cream kept cascading; forced from ladened balls by fingers and a fist that would not quit…
‘Yes, pretty bitch, give it to me….give it all to me’….It was a moan, then a shudder, as the slender one’s thighs foamed of their own accord….she jerked, slightly; used the hand on Sydd’s still swollen cock and the fingers in that ass-pussy to steady herself. Then she settled back against the bench, sighed as fingers slipped from the grip of the rose-ring….
Lifting the creamed hand to her mouth, she scooped the white caviar onto her tongue—a huge globule—savored it. Licked what remained from perfect lips. The eyes fluttered open and fixed on Sydd…. ‘We will see you again….’ Less a question than a statement…..
Sydian/Working Out/ Ch. 4/Shower
More amazed than anything else, Sydd watched the slender, navy-blue haired bitch rise gracefully on her taloned feet, and just as gracefully cross the room, unlatch the door and disappear through it….All that effort, all that exertion, and so little evidence of it in her exit….and so much evidence remaining in that closed, hot, steamed room….hotter and steamier because of it….
Some of it—the evidence—remained on Sydd’s thigh. She scooped, brought it to her lips and sucked hard….If, as she had been known to remark, she was the bitch who excited her most, then she was also the one who tasted the best….she cleaned the last traces from her thighs and cock….It was sweet cream….
She pulled the big towel round her; wondered about the time….her first appointment was for two; needed to be in the office by noon. This ‘workout’ had ‘officially’ started at six, as usual….there was still time for a shower, if she could sneak one….Hell! She damn sure needed one…
Loosing time….lost in time….loosing track of time….The fact that the locker room was still uncommonly quiet helped Sydd to get her moorings. It was still quite early. It was the intensity of the morning’s encounter that had dazed her—left her in that glorious, but semi-catatonic, sexual fog; a fog that would have ‘doomed’ lesser women, or men, or folks of her own particular gender. She would not be ‘bed-ridden’—least not til evening. She did not stagger or limp or drag her way to her locker. There was a glide of sorts, somewhat somnambulistic—she ‘floated.’
She tossed the shred of a thong into her locker, hoisted the towel over her 36 C’s and charted the most unobtrusive path to the showers. The quiet told her that she might still be able to pull this off: luxuriate in a very hot—stingingly hot—shower, in a very public place, after so much serious physical exertion.
Stealth. There were booths near the rear of the showers—frosted glass and all. She listened—not the faintest trickle of water; not a voice. She chose the very end, caressed the knobs, saw the steam rise, breathed it, smiled, and stepped in. She closed her eyes and let the hot, hot water roll over her from head to foot; a cascade of liquid, heat, steam….
She turned to face the jet, angled her black face up and let the hot water kiss her head-on. It rushed passed her ears, stung her nipples, forcing them to stand even more, and nettled her cock….The water was so blissful that the soaping of her ass just seemed like another part of a long, morning dream….she was ‘sleep-walking’ again….
The soapy hands started at the very top of her powerful thighs and creamed their way over her buttocks to the small of her back….There they lingered, massaging….kneading muscles of her lower torso before ascending mid-back and then gripping and foam sculpting the scapula. Only when those strong hands reached her nape and fanned out along the trapezius did Sydd force herself to break the reverie. She forced her eyes apart in the stinging rain of the shower and leaned her head back from the jet. Almost immediately her mouth was covered full by the warm sweetness of parted, plush lips and a strong, forceful tongue. At one and the same time, tongue and lips probed and sucked…. Sydd felt her cock stiffen….tremendously….