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I’d been going the gym for one hell of a long time. I was only 26 but had been banging away at the heavy stuff, so to speak, for over 10 years. Not surprisingly I had developed some serious musculature. Looking at myself in the gym mirrors, my warm-up completed, I admired the swathes of thick, tanned flesh that clothed me from head to toe. Like armor, I thought, powerful, impenetrable and intimidating.
Machine-like, I started cranking out curls with 90-pound dumbbells, veins swelling through my skin like baby tentacles. As I let the weights crash to the floor after eight nasty reps, I noticed a chick and her boyfriend enter the gym. The guy was maybe 20 years old, a pasty-skinned dweeb whose sloppy physique could’ve qualified him as a Cabbage Patch Kid. What a loser. His woman was in her late teens, wearing a sky-blue t-shirt and dark-blue Adidas shorts, displaying what one might kindly have described as a robust figure. They both looked like they would have been right at home diggin’ up taters in Ireland, ready to whack back a few pints of Guinness at the end of the day. The girl, at least, had the decided benefit of possessing an easy set of eryamandaki escortlar D-cups.
As they wandered over to my corner of the gym, looking around in the aimless fashion of tourists, I started into another set of curls. Only 7 reps this time, but the fact that the floor shook when I dumped the dumbbells seemed to impress them some. Especially the chick who, after whispering something in Fat-Boy’s ear, kept staring at me as though I were some celebrity she’d accidentally run into with her shopping trolley.
While I rested, I sneaked a few further peeks at the girl. Yep, definitely not a looker. A young ‘un destined to look like a blunt-featured hausfrau in 10 years time. That said, now that she was closer, I could see that she wasn’t really fat. Stocky yes, sturdy – absolutely no doubt. But not fat.
For the next 45 minutes, as I worked out and they diddled around trying to figure out how various machines were operated, my glances were often met and held by the girl. Fat-Boy was totally oblivious to these proceedings. And 5 minutes later, it was with a tiny flush of triumph that I overheard him telling her he’d had enough, etimesgut bayan escort and was going to have a sauna.
To cut a long story short, the girl – whose name I still don’t know – ended up with me in the fitness-testing room behind a locked door. She was goggle-eyed with disbelief when I took my shirt off, offering no resistance whatsoever when I hoisted her off the floor to a good kissing height. With perhaps only 10 minutes in hand, we soon dispensed with the preliminaries. She scrambled out of her own shirt, pleading with me to leave her bra on as I roughly scooped her tits from the cups. Extravagantly large and soft, I paused momentarily to admire how completely they spilled over and eclipsed the twin underwires.
Telling her how pretty they were, but not touching them, I backed her up and sat her on the edge of a desk in one corner of the room. I soon had her shorts off, planting a light kiss – through her panties – smack on her pussy. Still wearing my trackpants, I moved to stand between her legs, drawing her close, kissing her softly. She bit her lower lip, eyes shutting tight, as ankara escort I bent and nuzzled one puffy, marshmallow nipple, then the other. Her eyes were still closed as I started kissing her mouth again, one hand reaching around to cup her arse, the other surreptitiously freeing my cock. Pumping iron was, after all, my specialist subject. She groaned through gritted teeth as I pulled the crotch of her panties aside, my index finger quickly discovering that she was as ready as she was going to be.
She really should’ve opened her eyes to see what as coming. And open they did – real wide – as with a snap of my hips I crammed the first 7 inches of my cock into her. She swallowed compulsively a couple of times, looking quite bewildered. Not giving her a chance to recover her composure, I choked in the remaining 3 inches, tugging brutally on both her butt cheeks to get the job done. I then paused, kissing her once softly on the forehead, and whispering in her ear that everything would be alright. She whimpered a little as I fucked her unforgivingly for the next few minutes, but the fact that she left her breasts uncovered communicated everything I needed to know. And when I came, she seemed curiously satisfied that I’d done so inside her, not pushing me away as the last pulses of my orgasm died away.
We got dressed without talking, anonymous strangers now. She left the gym not long after, Fat-Boy in tow, with not even a backward look.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
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