The Gym Manager
The return trip to our newly acquired company in Tampa was unanticipated. My right hand man in our original company, who'd graciously agreed to relocate to Tampa for at least three months, probably twice that long, at least, to run the company through the transition had come down with pneumonia. And tried to hide it and fight it . . . or ignore it, more like.
We'd had a phone conversation Tuesday midmorning, and he'd sounded so terrible that I had our company medic FaceTime Rhett to check him out as well as he could via videocall, and I called Rhett's husband, Erik. Erik confirmed that Rhett was being a stubborn ass, hadn't seen a doctor and had been sick through the weekend, their third in Tampa. I'd apparently missed that when Rhett and I talked the day before. By the time I got to the medic's suite to tell him, he was finishing ordering a chest xray with a lab there.
The walk to our medic's suite hadn't been wasted – I needed to move around to burn some nervous aggravation and think. When I stalked back into my area, I told my assistant unenthusiastically but determinedly to make the arrangements and to punch holes in my schedule for the flight and throughout the next day at least so that I would have time to attend to the Tampa business as well as our own.
Tuesday night and Wednesday early morning my husband Jim and I did our best to get enough of eachother to last for the coming days apart. We can never get enough of eachother – one of the many things we have in common is our insatiably piggish sexual appetites. And, lucky for me, my movie star handsome stud husband's appetite was ALL for ME. He could do so much better than an old, broken down Marine, but I wasn't arguing with his choice. As much as I hoped the trip would be quick, it was looking like I'd likely be in Tampa through Friday.
By the end of my first day there, I was amped to the max after going full tilt all day. Rhett's assistant had reminded me that the company there had deal with a chain gym, in case I preferred a full gym to the hotel's gym. In fairness, the hotel's gym was lavish, but it lacked the usual wafting mansweat . . . and the variety of equipment that a commercial gym usually has. It wasn't an intuitive suggestion, and I could see why Rhett had kept the prior CEO's assistant there when he'd taken over. He'd already called the gym closest to the hotel where I would be staying and handed me the address on a post it note after I'd declined his offer to get a car to take me there.
The gym wasn't bad – for the nationwide chain it was. I had to "get activated" with a guest membership, and I suggested they attend to that while I changed. But, to add to my annoyances of the day, that wasn't acceptable, and I had to talk to the manager. I fumed while the receptionist called and then while I waited "just a bit" . . . until a hunky guy approached, full of energy, CSL's forming a big grin, with a muscled and corded arm and big, strong hand extended.
"General Cate, sorry to keep you waiting. And thanks—" They were obviously waiting for me.
I stopped him in midsentence. "Just call me Cate. Or Billy." But I had my hand out, exchanging a VERY firm grip and holding eye contact.
"Certainly," he said, keeping the handshake going . . . already longer than necessary.
Then he looked me up and down and squeezed my hand a big harder as he grinned a bit wider. "And you are?" I asked, smirking just a bit.
We were still standing in the entry desk area, members bustling in and around us, and we were still joined in our handshake. "I'm flattered . . . but married," I finally responded, holding up my left hand to show my wedding ring after I gently withdrew my right from our grasp.
He affected a pout, then broke into a smile again. "Well, you didn't punch me out, so either you're open minded or he's a very lucky man . . . your husband."
"Or both," I replied, my smile turning sly.
That confused him. When I didn't offer any clarification, he finally suggested we go to his desk, so that he could get me "activated". "Oh, you have me activated," I toyed with him as I followed him, causing him to stumble over his own trendy buckskin shoes. I hadn’t planned that, but I took the opportunity to reach out and firmly grab him by his left biceps to steady him, and he shivered in my grip.
Jesus, this was better than a workout to get my aggravation pushed out – an early thirties studmuffin coming on to me. Hmmm, I thought to myself. Bet he's even more appealing when he IS cumming! STOP IT! I reprimanded myself, because if the crotch of my slacks got any tighter, the test load on the zipper and seams might be exceeded!
When the manager turned around across a desk we'd stopped at, I could see he was experiencing a similar problem as he quickly sat down and motioned to the chair across for me. "Both open minded and gay," I told him.
"Both–?" he looked up from his computer, where he had been punching keys.
I let him think for a minute before helping him. His hands were still, and his eager eyes were locked with mine. "Your speculation was two for two, not one OF two," I told him.
It took him a moment, but then his grin broke out again. He was cute, there was no denying that. And BUILT. AND young, not that much older than my stepson. That took me down a notch. His black hair was perfectly gelled and trendily cut, with a hard part along the top of a nearly shaved side. It was becoming on him around tanned or naturally olive skin – I couldn't really tell. His blue eyes were nowhere near as brilliant as Jim's . . . but whose are? And those cocksucking lips . . .
STOP IT! I again admonished myself.
In an attempt to regain myself and control of the interaction, I pointed out, "At the risk of repeating myself, "And you are? Other than Pleased and hopeful, I mean. And likely to be disappointed."
His grin widened, and he stood and put out his hand, grimaced, looked down at his very tented crotch, then sat again abruptly. "Seth Parker," he told me, holding his hand out just above the desk.
"Maybe we should skip repeating the handshake, Seth," I told him with a smirk. "Because I'm barely back to – uh – normal from the first one."
"Well, you can't blame a guy for trying," he said, going back to his keyboard. And as he typed, "And I handle disappointment well."
I just smiled, and that enabled him to get the keying in done and told me I should have an email with a barcode in it that would be my pass to use the club whenever I wanted. "Want me to show you around?" he offered when I'd confirmed the email on my phone.
"As enjoyable as that might be, I think I know my way around a gym and locker room."
"I wouldn't bet against you showing me a thing or two. You'll forgive me if I don't get up?" He added the last with a devilish grin.
"Maybe I should insist on that tour . . . so I don't miss the main attraction," I retorted.
With a dirty grin, he stood up . . . proudly. And the tent in his pants was much bigger than before . . . and appealing.
"Do a turn and show me the REAL attraction," I told him recklessly.
And the fucker did – right then and there, showing the same bubble butt, even more tightly constrained in his stylishly tight slacks. "It's even better in motion," he said through a filthy grin as he slowed the last ninety degrees of the turn.
I made my decision right then and there. The complication was that our teenage son was staying with my husband in DC while I was away. Jim was recovering from shoulder surgery and had to keep his shoulder completely immobile for six more weeks. So I couldn't just get studly Seth to leave right then and take him back to my hotel to be fucked while we FaceTimed with Jim until several hours later. Reprieve . . . in the form of a delay to facilitate saner thoughts.
Between the membership area and the locker room at the far end of the big gym, I got my own crotch under control, and I changed into my gym clothes without making a spectacle of myself. Not to say I didn't get a few looks when I got down to my rank, filthy jockstrap I was wearing under my suit and continued to wear for my workout. And there was plenty of eye candy in the locker room around me. But I got out of there quickly and got my head into my workout.
I was killing it actually – the minor endorphin rush from the high octane flirting with the horny young stud fueled my efforts, and I was drenched in sweat by the time I was almost through. I'd saved squats until last and was headed to the squat cage when Seth turned a corner and for the second time looked me from head to toe. "DAMN, Bill Cate! You're killin' it!" he gushed and put his fist out to bump.
I don't bump . . . unless it's my son, whom I have not yet found a way to resist. Instead, I just looked at his fist and then back at him – and his tenting crotch, which I freely admit was a huge ego boost. "You realize i'm nearly twice your age, right?"
"And I bet there's a ton of experience and . . . talent that's come from those years. What I do know," he said, lower, coming in closer, "Is that it looks DAMN good on you, daddy!" I couldn't stifle the moan, which I'm pretty sure started in my nuts. Even the dreaded "daddy" was of no help in the wake of my prospect of an empty hotel room, away from my husband. "And DAMN, you smell GOOOOOOOD!" he added, his chest nearly touching mine, he was so close as he'd leaned in.
"You already know I'm at the Grand Hyatt, and you've got my cell phone number. Call me at twenty – two hundred and be prepared to be there at twenty – two thirty. And I DO mean PREPARED." I turned and walked away to curb the growth in my reeking jockstrap.
The Uber driver was a Marine, and we started that line of discussion before he'd even moved the shiny, new looking American pickup he picked me up in. And before we'd gone two blocks, it was apparent from some wild flirting that former Private Reynoso was another candidate to abate the doldrums of my stay in Tampa. I had a couple of hours before I could get Jimmy on FaceTime after the son unit was asleep, and I had at least one detail to attend to.
I was sitting on my bath towel I hadn't used at the gym to keep from soiling his immaculate seats with my sweat. "So . . . Private, you offered ANY help you could be?"
We were stopping for a red light, and when we had, he turned to me with a big smile that was clearly an invitation. "Sure thing, sir! ANYthing you want." He emphasized the first two syllables in the word, as he had when he made the offer the first time, a few blocks earlier in the surprisingly slow Tampa traffic.
"Stop at a Walgreens or CVS or somewhere like that you have here, go in for me so I don't scare the locals," I paused to pull my sweatsoaked muscleshirt from my chest before continuing, "And buy me some of the biggest condoms they have."
"The biggest, huh?" he smirked briefly, before turning his eyes back to the road after the light went green.
"Biggest," I assured him. "And when you do, take a couple out and keep them . . . in case I call you before I leave. For ANYthing," I mocked, adjusting myself for emphasis . . . not entirely without necessity.
Jim had been enthusiastic when I called him, and he'd promised to text me when our son helped him to get ready for bed. When he did, that gave me time to call Seth and tell him his ETA and my room number.
When Seth showed up, I'd taken a long sprint on the treadmill downstairs to renew my sweat, and he was appreciative of my bare, sweaty, furry torso, and the rest of me, based on his long look. He came in the door, and he took my right arm, the one that hadn't been holding the door open, pulled it up and dove in face first to my sweaty, hairy pit. “MMMMMMFFFFPPHHHHHHHHHH,” he moaned. “Fucking GOOOOOOD,” he snuffed into my sweaty pitfur. “You smell so fucking good!” he continued. “And taste so fucking good,” he added, diving in again, slathering piggishly.
I let the door go shut and then reached around behind him, got my hand under his exposed shirttail and inside the waist of his slacks and found his already wet hole, tight but inviting. It was his turn to not stifle a long moan. He gyrated backward without losing his tongue's place in my pit. My fat middle finger breached him, causing him to moan louder that time.
"He's an eager bitch, isn't he?" Jim's voice came from my iPhone, which I'd propped against the edge of the TV, leaving our FaceTime session open, just before Seth had knocked.
Jimmy's voice startled the gymstud out of feasting on my ripe pit, and he looked around. "Easy, boy," I told him. Pointing to the iPhone propped in view of the door from a table at the end of my suite’s hallway, I told him, "That's just my lonely husband, joining us virtually.
Seth’s look went from confusion for a few beats longer than could betray his complication in comprehension to, finally, one of lascivious expectation. “Damn, dude! He looks HOT. Mind if I take a closer look at what I’ll be missing out on?”
Without waiting for permission, he started to head toward the phone, but I grabbed him by his collar and yanked him back. “You’ll WAIT FOR PERMISSION before you act on a request!” I told him sternly.
The bitch’s body had tensed when I first yanked him back, but he let the tension go when we were eye to eye – or, rather, eyes down (me) to eyes up (him) – and he affected a solicitous grin. “It’s okay – what I’ve got here,” he said, reaching out and rubbing my sweaty fur down from the cleft between my pecs down along my treasure trail to my covered, but obviously aroused, crotch, where he stopped his descent, leaving his fingertips to trace the long, hard, thick length of me. “Goddamn!” was all he said, leaving the sentence unfinished.
“You’ll be screaming that and more before long,” Jimmy chimed in from across the expanse, “When that baseball bat he calls a cock gets shoved up your cunt!”
Undeterred, the gymstud gave a long, low moan, as his fingers concentrated on the wet spot on my silkies just under the waistband, where the tip of my cock had pushed the shorts out and well away from my hip. Looking down, with an audible inhalation, then up again, he grinned. “You didn’t say I HAD to ask permission, just that IF I did, I had to wait for permission.” And with that he slipped his hand inside the waistband and ran his fingers along the length of me to my pubes and then back to my head, where he spent long enough to get his fingers slicked with my pre. Then he brought them to his lips and licked them lasciviously and then sucked them languidly until he pulled them out. “GODDAMN!” was all he said, having maintained that grin the entire time.
The bitch then traced me down my length again, this time his hand arced around my girth, not entirely enclosing it. When he got to the root he gave it a squeeze, which I knew caused a large dollop of precum to spurt out of my tip. “Don’t waste the prejizz you’re generating,” I told him, with as much blasé composure as I could muster, given the overwhelming sensuality of his restrained exploration of me.
“C’mon, Billy, get the bitch into the bedroom and put him to use. He’s eager enough!” Jimmy encouraged from the sidelines.
By then Seth was again licking his fingers of an ample amount of precum from his second pass, but he’d added his other hand in my shorts, fondling my very swollen nuts. “You heard the boss,” he chided playfully.
Jimmy and I both chuckled at that. In situations like this – our threeways once removed, as we liked to call them – Jimmy was definitely the boss. “We both have our orders,” I confirmed, and I leaned slightly into the grip he had on my cumtanks, indicating that we could move into the suite whenever he was ready.
As we passed nearer to the iPhone, Jimmy said, “Show me how you’re holding that monster cock of his.”
We both stopped, and I stood still. Hesitating, and waiting, the gymbitch’s brain finally engaged, and he turned me just enough and leaned down to check the local frame on the screen to see that my shorts were fully in the view. Then he carefully pulled my silkies out and down, freeing my cock completely, and displaying his hand wrapped around my sac. “Couldn’t get a grip on that fat cock of your husband’s,” he explained.
“Those bull balls of his are one of the wonders of the modern world, boy. Treat them well, and you’ll remember this night the rest of your life!” Jim proclaimed dramatically.
At that, the bitchboy dropped to his knees and, making sure his head was to the side so as not to impede the phone’s cam, began slathering his tongue all over my sweat nutsack. It wasn’t just a short swipe – he really got into it, shoving his nose and tongue up under and behind, sucking first one then the other, rubbing my slicked nuts on his face, moaning like a bitch in heat louder and louder.
“That’s it, boy. Those balls deserve your worship.”
Breathily, he exclaimed, “FUCKYEAH! Fucking taste SO GOOOOOOOOOOD!”
As much as I enjoyed his tongue job, the sight of a large blob of precum falling onto the gymbitch’s neck was what finally made me moan myself. “Enjoy it, Billy. Let this bitch do what I should be doing for you but can’t right now,” Jimmy encouraged both of us.
I finally collected myself enough to suggest, “Let’s take this to the sofa, where I can get comfortable, and you can make a meal of me?” The bitch was going to town, and he didn’t react until I got my fingers in his hair and pulled him out of his pigfeasting. “Sofa!” I repeated, more sharply, and then I moved away, enjoying the coolness of the air on my saliva-soaked junk.
Without turning I called back, “Oh, and get the phone, so we can make sure Jimmy can enjoy us in here. And NOW you may have your look at him, if you choose.” I proceeded into the room, and I kicked off my silkies and running shoes and flopped back in the alcove overlooking the lights of Tampa Bay. Not particularly impressive, but it didn’t suck. Hopefully my guest bitch did.
“May I talk to you, remote husband?” the bitch was asking into the phone when he got into the living room. And then, looking at me, he said, simply, “Jesus!”
“Not even close,” I joked, and I added, “Please DO talk to poor Jimmy, with only what’s on screen and his right hand to comfort him. AND he’s left handed, poor guy!” I laughed at that, and the gymbunny looked again confused, looking from me to the screen and trying to figure it out.
“Strip!” Jimmy said. “Put the phone where we can all see each other, do as I told you, and then ask me anything you like.” I didn’t particularly mind my husband countermanding my orders.
The bitch’s face lit up suddenly. “Oh, the sling on his – your – arm! Now I get it.”
“If you don’t do as you’re told, you won’t be getting anything you want,” I reprimanded him. “You were told to DO as you were told and THEN you could speak to my husband.” And then, when our bitch had gone to compliance mode but was obviously challenged as to where to put the phone, I gave him explicit instructions about a sideboard across the room, the ice bucket behind it and the proper angle, so that we could get this show on the road! Orders he could follow, if explicit, I found.
To say his body was magnificent would be an understatement. As he removed his tight, company logo polo shirt, his thick bi’s and tri’s rippled along with his pecs, delts, traps, abs and lats, and that alone would have been invigorating enough for Jimmy and me to have had a rousing FaceTime jackoff session. He’d moved to the foot of the sofa, where both of us could watch the show, but his eye contact was all with me as he made the show last. “Looks like you like what you see,” he teased, looking down at my cock, drooling a puddle onto my abs.
“If I hadn’t liked what I saw, you wouldn’t be here,” I told him, tamping down his impertinence, and he did look a bit more chagrined than I’d intended. But he continued.
The bottom half was as good, as most of it provided continued undulation of his stunning, smooth upper body musculature while he got his shoes and socks off, neatly placing them with his folded shirt, then unbuckled his stylish buck colored belt and slithering out of his tight slacks. I’d known from the trendy tight fit of his slacks that his quads, hams and glutes were proportioned to impress, but the sight of them was even better. So was the sight of his boring black CK boxer briefs, now tented and soaked at the point of that tent with a wet spot about fist-sized. “Looks like you like what you’ve seen here, too,” I retorted.
He laughed, as he finished folding his slacks and stood, placing his hands on his hips and proudly displaying his arousal. “And tasted,” he added, with a devilish smirk.
“Good point,” Jimmy called from the phone on the credenza. “But you’re not done. Get those briefs off and show us what we’re working with!” he added more sternly.
“YES SIR!” the bitch replied at once, sporting a smirk and mocking a salute. That answered that – he’d never been in the military, with that salute!
He didn’t waste any time, and he had the briefs off, folded and was again standing with his hands on his hips, where both of us could take in the sight.
“Nobody cares about your dicklet, BOY!” Jimmy snapped. “Show us what WE will be working with!” To be fair, it WAS a dicklet. MAYBE five inches fully raging hard and dripping, and what was even more obvious was it wasn’t any thicker than an average index finger – pencil dicklet, as it were. Highly disappointing nuts, too – a bit more than pea sized, but not much. Steroids? Maybe.
Although I clearly enjoy horsehung bottom bitches – to with, as my husband says, his ten plus incher – I don’t discriminate, if the cunt makes up for it, and the bitch is eager. This bitch was eager, no question – ‘nad stokingly eager. And this bitch’s cunt had yet to be proven, but from his bubble butt, I was guessing grade A prime! When Seth hesitated, I said, with a mocked attempt at a stage whisper, “He means your fuckhole.”
“OH! Right!” Seth said, snapping to and turning around, gently twerking a fabulously developed bubble butt for us. Then he bent over, touched his toes while waving that beautiful booty at us, and finally he reached back, pulled his cheeks apart and, still waving it around, exposed what appeared to be a VERY tight pink hole for us.
When neither of us reacted verbally, he looked up at me through his legs, hole still pulled well visible, and asked, “Meet with your approval?”
“Finger yourself!” Jim snapped.
“May I lube my fingers?”
“Who said anything about fingers in the plural?” I laughed. “Sure – spit lube your fingerS,” I said, emphasizing the plural.
Seth loosed his hold on his right buttcheek, sucked his fingers purposefully, which is to say without any theatrics and with plenty of urgency, then had them back at his pink pucker, pushing his middle finger in very slowly but surely to his first knuckle. Neither of us had to say anything, as he worked it in farther, a combination of fingerwork and ass gryrations, until he was fully inside himself and moaning. “I can do a lot better with lube,” he assured us, a bit breathlessly. And then he began working his middle finger out and returned with his index finger, his moans louder.
It was likewise obvious that he was clean and self-lubricating as the promise of being buttfucked came closer to reality. “Looks like you’re enjoying three fingers. Can you take a fist?” I asked.
Seth’s head snapped a bit at that, but his locked gaze back through his legs didn’t break. Then he strained to look up at my horsecock, and he said, “Looks like we’re gonna find out by proxy!”
The bitch was really going at his hole, and the brief discourse hadn’t dampened his enthusiasm based on his moans and gyrations. “Billy, I think you might just need to FUCK that bitch and give him what he obviously wants!” I didn’t know until later that Jimmy’s urgency was born out of time sensitivity and the desire to have one to one time with me after we’d used the bitch.
“OH GOD, PLEASE!” our gymbitch begged.
I make it a practice to deny Jimmy nothing, as does he . . . deny himself nothing, I mean. LOL Seriously, he well surpasses not denying me – he indulges me. But my point is that Jimmy’s encouragement was more a request to me, and I got off the sofa and got my face between the bitch’s cheeks and went in tongue first, ultimately causing him to remove his fingers and lick them while I ate him out.
Clean as a whistle and complete with a minty aftertaste. I couldn’t remember the first time I’d ever tasted a cunt that had been douched in mouthwash, but I remember thinking what a shame it was to waste the manscent and masculine taste of a good, clean mancunt. I had the same reaction, but I was not deterred in my task, and when the bitch was begging to be fucked I went to the next level.
Grabbing one of the foil packets, I went to tear it open, but Seth spoke up. “I’m clean, if you are. And I’m on PrEP.”
“You make it a habit to take random men’s bare loads, boy?” Jimmy snapped. And then he added, “And when were you tested last?”
I unconsciously began rubbing my big, precum slimy cockhead against the targeted hole as he answered, and he worked his cuntpucker on my tip more aggressively as he spoke.
His short sentences were delivered staccato, punctuated by moans and groans as he attempted to impale himself on my cock. “No. Rarely. But not never. Understand if you prefer safe. Last tested Christmas week. Totally clean.” I’d kept myself from entering him, nor from even spreading that pucker . . . much.
“Then—“ Jimmy started, but I was already taking him by his waist and pushing HARD into him, fighting the unyielding cuntring for entry.
“OHMYFUCKINGHELLYESSSSSSSSSSS!” he cried out, and he pushed back, and suddenly, with a loud cry and prolonged gasp, he succeeded in opening to me and taking a few inches of me. “CHRIST! FUCKING CHRIST you’re fucking BIG! JESUS!” he swore, panting, gasping, and alternately moaning and growling as he did.
“Too big for you, boy?” I taunted him. As he was trying to push back more, I was holding him at bay with a strong grip on his waist. He was remarkably wet, and not just from my spit – a born bitch, apparently, as Jimmy said about himself after we fucked the first time, the day we met.
“You fucker! Just FUCK ME, dammit. Fucking GIVE IT TO ME!” he snarled, in a surprising burst of bravado and alpha bottoming.
“DO IT!” Jimmy chimed in, himself a bit breathless by then.
And I didn’t have to be told twice . . . or actually a third time, given both of them were urging me to give it to the bitch. So I pushed in hard to fight the clench of that tighter than tight cunt of our gymbitch, and I kept pushing as he groaned and moaned until my pubes were jammed into his crack. “Like that?” I asked.
“I. Can. Take. It.” he managed through gasps, now grasping the arm of the sofa in a deathgrip, his back and arm muscles straining like his neck, with veins popping, and his quads and glutes veritably undulating as he struggled to maintain his stance. “I can fucking take it. I AM taking it!” he growled, and as if to prove it, he pushed back into me, and although he moaned when I breached him another quarter inch or so and he moaned LOUD, he began to move himself back and forth by quarter inches until he was fucking himself on me, albeit only about an inch of travel.
“Fuck him, Billy. I want to see that monster fuckpole of yours fully reaming him.”
“I. Wish. I. Could. See. It.” the bitch joked through gasps, working more of me in and out. Points for humor, always.
“Stop moving and let me until you’re able to better,” I told him.
I steadied him at his waist, then gently pushed downward on his lower back to arch him more and began pumping slowly out then in, adding a half inch every few strokes. As I continued, my efforts were rewarded with alternations of “OHFUCKYEAH” and “OHGOD” repeatedly from him, and Jimmy was urging us on with his own “JUST like that!” and “Like nothing you’ve ever felt, is it, boy?” exclamations. I could see he was rubbing the formidable length of himself with his two hands as he enjoyed the show and cheered us on.
When my first out stroke caused my cockhead to clear our bitchboy’s prostate and then shove into it and passed along it as I went in again with my continued rhythmic strokes, he cried out. “OHHOLYFUCKNSHIT! WHAT THE—“ but his words turned to a growled snarl as I pushed in HARD that time, all the way and immediately pulled out again, causing my big flanged head to again knock his pleasure button and then slam it again on the way in. “HOLYFUCK! OHMYGODI’MGONNA” and on the third full-bore thrust cycle, he broke into a scream, spasming climax that had ham spraying his cum with such force and quantity that it not only audibly splatted against the sofa but ran in streams down the side and over the cushion. A ton of fucking cum from that unimpressive equipment of his.
The force of his convulsions caused his cuntring to clench so tight around my cock that I almost thought I wasn’t going to be able to continue pistoning into and out of him. Of course, somehow I persevered, with only a single yelp from me at the unexpected pain, and then I got back to business entirely. “That’s it. Let yourself go with it. You’re a bitch made for cock – that’s all there is – my MANcock and your cunt. Go with it.”
For his part, the gym bunny was gasping, swearing, panting and generally lost in the throes, his cries and moans not subsiding and becoming more plaintiff as his clench on my cock continued to be painful. I’d had worse pain, and I continued my work, enjoying when he slammed his hand hard on the sofa arm a few times and then let out a LOUD roar and began matching my thrusts. “AAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!” he almost screamed, but it was low and could have passed to the untrained as a roar of aggression instead of the cry of desperation it was.
I’m a slow cummer, and usually it takes triggers more than what I had there to push me over the edge. Jimmy knows EXACTLY how to get me to cum – as if he’s a magician and my cock is his . . . well, certainly a wand, but also the subject he mesmerizes or object he pulls out of his hat inexplicably. It took him no time to master my responses . . . and I thank god every day that he can do that. This bitch had none of that talent and had developed none of those skills, yet his plaintiff cry and what I knew had to be agony because his cuntmuscles were clenched like some bitch’s do after they cum and I wasn’t relenting.
Somehow, though, that combination, as Seth toughed it out, had my nuts stoked and had me ready. Jim knows every sign of my impending release, and he almost yelled, panting himself, “DO IT, BILLY! FILL HIM!”
My body tensed to a painful rigidity, as it does, and then I was breaking, exploding and, also, imploding. I was lost in it, fading out of the hotel room and into the bliss of draining my nuts and all the ecstasy that goes along with it, fading out on Seth’s strangled screams of, “HOLYFUCK it feels like bullets of seed being shot in my . . . “
When I regained some control, Seth was slumped over the arm of the sofa, his body veritably limp under me, and I was slumped over him. I could feel my sweaty chest and groin against his slick sweaty back and butt, and the reek of cum and mansweat was thick in the living room of my hotel suite. We were both heaving for breath, though mine was because I was coming down, while his was probably my weight on top of him. I stole a glance at the phone and saw Jimmy grinning and miming clapping.
“FUCK! That was intense! I’ve never—“ the bitch under me had started talking, but I shushed him. “I’m just,” he started again, and that time I put my hand over his mouth.
“When MEN fuck and are finished, they don’t have to talk.” I slowly removed my hand, clearly signaling that I was testing to see if he got the message. He did, apparently.
I continued myself. “Now this is going to hurt,” I told him, and I put my hands on his waist again and began my withdrawal. I never go soft after cumming if I’m still in a hole unless it’s my third time or so cumming in a session. And I was raging inside of this tight cunt, though he was not clenched until I began to pull out, when his cuntring and fuckchute muscles all clenched involuntarily again.
Seth cried out. No attempt to hold back at first as my inches ran through him. When he was growling again and sucking air through his teeth, my flared head was behind the tight grip of his cuntring, and I knew he wasn’t prepared. “Try to relax AND push out, or this is going to feel like something worst of all so far, Seth,” I told him.
I felt his panting increase, and I did feel just the slightest relaxation and push, and I yanked my engorged knob free of him, causing him to YELP loud enough that I wouldn’t have been surprised to have had hotel security show up at the door. Again he was slumped over the arm of the sofa panting, his fuckhole gaping and my seed running out of his swollen cuntlips.
I was off the bitch and heading to the iPhone before Jimmy had to remind me. I took it and went back to the limp, used bitch, and I took a few great shots of his sore, stretched hole to text to Jim. Then I went back to FaceTime, and I saw that Jim had splattered his own load all over himself, some of it in his hair and running down his face. He’s such a shooter!
“Look at the pleasure you gave my husband,” I told the bitch, reaching around and holding the phone screen in front of his face.
“HOT!” was all he said. Then he took a long breath and rotated his head around to where he was looking back at me with nothing short of admiration and gratitude. “This was all SO hot, sir!”
Jim laughed at that, and we both looked to the phone. “Call him ‘sir’ again, and you’ll get another dicking!” Jim laughed. “He loves that shit. Spent his whole life in the service hearing that from hot young bitches like you.”
“Seriously, you were in the military?” I could see from the renewed glint in his eyes that having been fucked by a military Alpha was adding to what he’d enjoyed that evening, albeit in retrospect. When I just nodded, moving back, away from him and stretching – god knows what Jimmy was seeing! – he said, with reverence, “Thank you for your service. I mean it.”
It was too much, so I smacked his ass HARD, getting a yelp and a jump up, and I retorted, “I love to service a hot willing bitch. Now I need to catch some time with my husband before we both need to get some sleep so we’re not wrecked tomorrow.”
I’d made myself clear, but Seth surprised me. “Would you mind if I take a shower? I’d prefer to make my walk of shame without stinking of sex. Then again, I hate to think of washing us off me, too. I don’t suppose . . . “ He stopped, and then looked very hesitant, but when I just held his gaze, both of us there, naked and with each other all over us and the aroma of our sex in the room, he asked, “Can I taste you? I only sucked your hot fuckn sweaty balls, and I’d like to taste that huge dick of yours.”
“Awwwww, Billy,” Jim teased from the iPhone. “He’s a romantic. But the mouth on him!”
“Wish I could show you firsthand, like I have your husband, just how good this mouth is,” Seth said cockily, missing Jimmy’s point entirely.
We all three laughed at that, though Seth didn’t realize we were laughing at his less than stellar intellect. I motioned to my still half hard cock as if to say, “Here you go.”
The gym bitch went to town, not able to swallow it whole, but savoring every square inch of surface and cubic inch of volume as well as he could. His slurping sounds and moans could have easily led to another round if I hadn’t glanced at my Apple Watch and seen the time, remembering my breakfast meeting. I gave Seth’s sweaty hair a rub or two, letting my hand stray to the side of his head and his neck, and he nuzzled into it. Then, as if knowing what I was thinking, he withdrew slowly, kissed my fat cockhead and stood up. “I don’t suppose . . . “ he asked, alternating his gaze between my lips and eyes.
I playfully swiped his head and gave his handsome face a squeeze with my hand. “You don’t,” I confirmed. “And you’re welcome to shower, if you like,” I said, turning and walking away with the phone into the bedroom. Over my shoulder I told him, “I’ve got to piss, but I’ll be drained in a moment.”
“FUCK – I want it!”
That caused me to stop short and turn around, to find Seth close on my heels. “Billy, you definitely can pick them,” Jimmy told me from the phone, anticipation in his affirmation.
“Get on your knees in the shower!” I told the bitch I apparently hadn’t finished with yet.
“I won’t spill one drop!” he told me, throwing back the glass shower door and scrambling to his knees facing out toward me.
“Less talk, more . . . “ I didn’t need to finish, because I’d grabbed his head and flopped my cock into it and began to let my stream flow.
“Mmmmmmmm,” he growled, beginning to gulp.
His gulping was fast and frenzied as I let my heavy piss stream flow freely, and then, suddenly he choked and fell back, my piss drenching him. As he coughed and sputtered, my piss drenched him. He put his head back directly into the stream and made as if he was showering in it, moaning and laughing and taking gulps as if from a hose. When I was done I shook it off and turned to the sink to wash my hands.
“Now that shower for you isn’t a question. I’m going to the bedroom for some quality time with my husband,” I said, snatching up my phone off the counter and heading to the door.
“Keep my number?” he called as I left the bathroom, and I just gave him thumbs up without turning. It was my husband’s and my time to give eachother a proper goodnight!
I hope you readers have enjoyed this latest installment of our sexcapades - hope you enjoyed this half as much as we enjoyed it! LOL
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