Authors: Afton Locke
I’m so drenched and swollen I hardly recognize my own body.
My muscles twitch and my knees threaten to give out. Getting pleasure from two
places at once is almost more than I can handle.
He bends over my back, still thrusting into me and out,
pulling my soul out with him each time. His fingers dig into my ribs as if this
is as scary for him as it is for me.
“Thank you for this,” he whispers. “I need this so much. I
need you.”
“I’m yours, Carlos.” As if I have to tell him. I’ve just
given him everything I have to give, including my trust.
“Let’s come together,” he says next. “Can you handle me
going a little faster?”
I nod, clenching a pillow with one hand while I run my
fingers over my hard, slippery clit with the other.
I gasp as he goes deeper than he’s ever gone. My muscles are
relaxed and tense as bowstrings in alternate moments. As I pant, my fingers
work automatically, helping to steer me toward a monstrous orgasm. The
sensation coils deep inside me, a powerful snake just waiting for the right
time to strike.
“Do you trust me?” he demands. Who spoke? Carlos or the
snake?
I moan my assent.
“Say it. I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” I moan. “Yes. Yes. I’ll do anything you want.
Anything.”
At that moment, he cries out as he comes, as if he’d been
waiting to hear my answer. His fingers dig into my hips and he pulls out,
slowly, tortuously, dragging a scream from my throat. As soon as his cock head
slips past my muscle, the snake releases, crushing my entire body with the
largest orgasm of my life. Every muscle inside me contracts and expands to the
tearing point.
Nothing…nothing will be left of me after this. Carlos has
killed me.
I yell into the pillows as I collapse. He falls on top of my
back, his muscular body almost knocking the air out of me.
We lay in silence for a few moments. I wriggle my fingers
and toes, checking to make sure I’m still alive and in one piece. My cunt and
buttocks throb in unison with sweet satiation. Risking trying something new not
only didn’t harm me, it introduced me to new, delicious sensations.
“God, Janice. That was so incredible. Thank you.”
His voice is raw and hoarse with emotion. I’ve never heard
him like this before.
We lie this way until we catch our breaths and then he
slides off me to lie on his back. When I get on my side, he looks away, but not
before I notice the wetness on his face. At first I assume it’s just sweat, but
when I look harder I see most of it is in his eyes, clinging to his dark
lashes.
I made him cry.
When I touch his tears, he freezes.
“Why are you crying, Carlos?” I whisper.
He turns his head and wipes at his eyes. “I’m not. It’s just
sweat.”
I know better but decide not to push it. It probably has something
to do with his difficult past and the incredible day we shared with his family.
His arms tighten around me. “Don’t you ever leave me,
Janice. Not now.”
I finally feel silly for always fearing he’ll dump me. This
hardly sounds like a man who’s about to leave.
“I can’t think of anything that could possibly make me want
to,” I reply.
When I walk into work the next morning, I’m fifteen minutes
late and I desperately need toothpicks to hold my eyes open. After cooking all
day yesterday and having kinky sex with Carlos last night, I could use another
day to recover. When I sit at my desk chair, I realize my butt is sore. Did I
really let him do that to me? He filled me so completely I feel hollow now in
comparison.
Before I can open a file on the computer, I get summoned to
the boss’s office.
Shit.
Couldn’t this wait until I’ve had about ten
cups of coffee? I don’t want her to see me with dark circles under my eyes.
When I walk into Harriet’s office, which smells like damp
wool as usual, Tiffin is already sitting in one of the straight-backed wooden
guest chairs. Her legs are crossed and she swings the top one impatiently.
Double shit.
“Sit down, Janice.” My boss, reminding me of a teacher in
school, gestures toward the other chair.
When I do, flames of shame circle my butt. Do they know what
I did last night? They must know but how? Do I have a big sign on my forehead?
Damn Carlos for luring me into his wild life. The old Janice didn’t wear spike
heels either.
“I wanted to tell you about this first before announcing it
to the entire department.”
I pull my gaze away from the leafless tree out the window
and peer at Harriet. She’s wearing her heather-colored turtleneck, which
usually means she’s in a good mood, and she’s actually smiling.
Oh no.
If Tiffin becomes my boss I’ll fall out of this chair.
“Janice, everyone notices how hard you’ve been working.” She
clucks her tongue. “In fact you look exhausted.”
She’s not going to suggest retirement, is she? I sit
straighter in my chair, trying to appear as young as I possibly can.
“That’s why I’m making you the manager of analysis and
reporting. You can even have the office that just opened up down the hall.”
I lurch in my chair, almost falling out of it. “Y-you are?
I-I can?”
“You’ll have new responsibilities, of course, but you’ll be
able to delegate. Tiffin here is eager to assist you.”
Bracing myself, I turn to Tiffin who looks anything but
eager. Her arms are crossed, her leg is swinging wildly and she’s staring
daggers at me.
“We’ll make the announcement at this morning’s department
meeting.” My boss hands me a stack of files for the latest project. “You can
celebrate at the gala Saturday night.”
With everything going on here and in my love life, I’d
almost forgotten about the company’s formal anniversary event.
“Do bring a date,” Harriet adds.
“If she can find one,” Tiffin mutters under her breath.
I float back to my office in disbelief.
I’ve been
promoted. I’ve been promoted.
No matter how often I repeat the words to
myself I still can’t believe them. After so much time spent unemployed and then
desperately clinging to this job, I finally have job security. I can’t wait to
tell Carlos.
Carlos… Why does he seem a hundred miles away now?
Tiffin had some nerve saying I couldn’t find a date for the
company gala. I feel like telling her I have a drop-dead gorgeous
boyfriend…who’s a hot stripper. I sure can’t say that. If I did, my promotion
would probably disappear as quickly as it arrived. I might lose my job along
with it. The thought almost stalls my heart.
Before I can stop it, a ludicrous vision of him in a tux
with those tear-away pants— accidentally falling off in the buffet line—pops
into my mind. Why am I having such ridiculous thoughts? After meeting his
family, it’s even clearer than ever he’s much more than a stripper. But what if
he talks me into more exhibitionistic sex? Being discovered giving him a
blowjob under a banquet table wouldn’t be cool.
I can’t invite him.
But who else could I take? I can’t stand the thought of dancing
with anyone else. My nails score my palm, deeper and deeper, as my thoughts
pull me in two opposite directions. How can I be so unfair to him? I’m sure
he’d act like a perfect gentleman and there’s nothing I’d like better than to
dress up and dance with him. Part of me wants to show him off and stand on the
rooftop of the nearest skyscraper, announcing we’re a couple to the world.
But my job is the one place I can’t afford to take any
risks—even for him.
He’s bringing me to his gym tonight because, he told me this
morning, he goes there four to five days a week and wants to share everything
with me. I’ll have to decide then.
* * * * *
In the evening, I enter a large building called Goyo’s Gym
with Carlos. The potted palms, humidity and scent of chlorine contrast with the
cold rain outside, forming an oasis of sorts. I’m wearing an old sweat suit
that hasn’t been used for so long it reeks of mothballs. He wears a black sweat
suit and manages to look gorgeous in that too. The thought of watching him pump
iron makes my knees wobbly.
I jump when a hand cups my bottom.
“Sore?” He shows his pass to the front desk.
“Do you have to ask?”
“You were incredible. So tight around my cock.” My spine
tingles when he points to a potted palm in the shadowy corner of the lobby. “I
could take you right now behind that plant.”
It doesn’t appear he’ll grow out of exhibitionism anytime
soon. Muscular people carrying duffel bags pass us and conversation echoes in
the high-ceilinged room, reminding me we’re far from alone.
“It might distract you from your workout,” I insist.
“Right. The women’s locker room is that way.” He faces
tenses up and he drops his gym bag in the middle of the floor. “What’s up,
Janice? There’s something you’re not telling me and it’s going to screw up my
workout.”
Why does he have to be so perceptive? Not only have I not
told him about the gala, I haven’t even mentioned my promotion yet. Why ruin
his workout?
“All right, I sort of got promoted today.” I can’t control
the smile that leaps onto my face.
“Really?” He pulls me into a hug and I feel him smiling
against my cheek. “That’s freaking fantastic. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrug after he lets go of me. “I guess it doesn’t feel
real yet.”
“It’s real now.” He pinches me on the butt and I hear a
giggle from the front desk.
“Carlos, we’re in the public,” I whisper.
“I get it. Now that you’re a big-business executive you’re
suddenly all uptight.”
“I’m not—”
I’m not uptight, damn it. I had anal sex, didn’t I? Maybe I
should say that out loud to embarrass him too, but he’s probably not capable of
being embarrassed.
He points to the locker room. “Meet you inside the gym.”
He’s sure acting weird. Maybe his brain is flooded with
testosterone because he’s about to work out.
When I enter the main workout area, which is lined with
floor-to-ceiling mirrors, he’s already lying on a bench, pressing a very
heavy-looking set of weights. A twentysomething with fake boobs is spotting
him. By the smile on her face, she’s obviously spotting the same thing I
am—rippling tan muscles glistening with sweat and the hint of a delicious male
hump in his bright-blue gym shorts. Not to mention how his tattoos move with a
life of their own from his exertions.
The miniscule piece of pink Lycra she wears makes the ugly
brown sweat suit I have on feel ten times more hideous. Maybe I should just
take it off and work out in my underwear. Now that I’m promoted, I can probably
afford a workout outfit that doesn’t make me look sixty.
When he sees me, he finishes his rep and gets off the bench.
The female employee fades away and the steady pulse of music fills the room,
punctuated by the clink of weights. He shows me a rack of hand weights of
various sizes.
“We’ll start slow.” Carlos hands me the next to the smallest
weight and shows me a couple of arm routines. “Do ten each of those. Slowly.
Let your muscles fully contract.”
Slow is good. For the moment, the big machines—reminding me
of torture devices with their scary-looking levers and pulleys—are at a safe
distance. While I do the weights, I watch him lie on a blue mat and run through
a routine of crunches. His mouth forms a straight line of concentration as he
counts out the reps.
“Obliques,” he announces before performing an equal number
of moves, pulling to one side and then the other. He certainly is methodical
about this. Each time his belly flexes, I get the urge to drop my weights and
put my hand there to feel the relaxation and contraction of his muscles. The
muscles in my cunt, however, are enjoying the view, tightening in tandem with his.
His face glows with sweat and I realize looking as good as
he does requires a lot of work and self-discipline. Although his job isn’t
traditional, I now see it’s as real as any other. I wish he’d brought me here
sooner. Tonight all I can think about is the promotion. It’s as if Carlos has
faded into the clouds. He’s still there but not as close.
Next he takes me to the leg presses. “I usually only work a
couple of my body parts in one day, but I wanted you to see the big picture.”
I smile to myself, realizing I’d probably never get tired of
watching him work his body parts.
He seats me at one of the machines, setting it for a very
low weight.
“Do I really look that weak?” I ask. “Give me more.”
He grins and wipes his forehead. “Oh, I’ll give it to you,
all right. I forget women naturally have strong legs.”
Once the key is a few notches down, I find a lift that’s
challenging enough. He jams the key in his machine several notches lower and
lifts a tall stack of weights.
“Thanks for sharing this with me,” I say as our weights
descend in unison. “Just remember, I’m no athlete.”
In fact my legs, which are used to being parked under a desk
all day, are already burning with protest. Maybe I should have accepted the
lower weight after all.
“You can be if you want to be,” he replies, grimacing from
his own weight. “How much of this you do is up to you.”
The scent of mechanical grease envelopes us. When we lift in
unison, it’s as if we’re part of the machine and each other. He’s shared
everything with me. God, he even put his job on the line that night he messed
with the lights—just to prove his love to me. He made love to me at his
workplace. Why can’t I invite him to one lousy gala?
It’s not as if we’d have sex on the dance floor, although
the image makes me hotter than the leg presses did. Guilt leaches the strength
from my calves, sending the weight down with a clatter.
He glances at me. “Whoa. Go easy on the equipment.”
“Carlos, I—”
He cocks his head, listening, while I clench the seat
cushion.
Damn.
I can’t ask him. At least not yet.
“Never mind. It’s nothing.”
After we’re done with the leg machine, Carlos shows me some
floor exercises I’ll never remember the names of. I think one of them is called
a plank. Meanwhile, he uses a hamstring machine. When his phone, which rests on
a bench near me, rings, he asks me to pick it up.
The person on the other end hangs up after I answer, but a
guy’s name pops on the screen. While trying to get back to the main menu, I
stumble across his contacts instead. My breath stalls at the long list of
names. He has an entire phone book in here. Most of the names are female, but
he does have a large family.
Then a text message pops up from someone named Delilah.
Hey
sexy. Lunch tomorrow?
With shock numbing my arms, I push the phone away.
“Who was it?” he calls out.
“Archie,” I reply. “And Delilah is asking about lunch.
Should I be worried?”
“No. She’s a friend who also brings a lot of regular
business to the club. We have lunch every month.”
“I understand.”
“I guess I should’ve told you,” he added. “I just didn’t
think it mattered.”
It doesn’t matter, I tell myself as I stretch and try
unsuccessfully to touch my toes. Still, I’m glad I got promoted. Gazing at
Carlos as he strains to complete his last rep, I realize the sensation of fear
in the pit of my stomach is gone. It doesn’t look as if he’s going anywhere,
but even if by some odd twist of fate he leaves, I’ll be able to handle it.
After taking turns working our
lats
and
pecs
,
I’m eager to shower, dress and get home. My upper lip tastes saltier than a
pretzel from sweat and my deodorant is about to give out. Muscles I haven’t
used in years tighten in protest and I know I’ll really feel them tomorrow.
Great.
I just got promoted and I’ll be hobbling around the office as though I’m an old
woman.
When we’re done, Carlos grabs a couple of plain, white
towels from a stack. After handing me one, he hangs his around his neck and
takes my hand, steering me toward the male locker room.
“Isn’t the woman’s locker room back that way?”
“You’re showering with me,” he states.
“You must be kidding.” I point to the ceiling. “Those
security cameras are all over the place.”
“I know the guy who monitors them. He agreed to look the
other way just this once.”
Damn him. He’s up to his exhibitionism again. There’s
nothing I’d rather do than rub soap all over his damp, glistening skin right
now but not in public. What if his security connection falls through and we get
caught and arrested?
I put the rough, cottony towel over my head as we walk in.
Luckily there aren’t too many men in here. I avert my eyes, not wanting to see
something I shouldn’t. Across the room, two guys discuss the latest football
game and a blow dryer hums near the sink. As if I could forget, the scents of
male perspiration, aftershave and wet socks remind me I’m in manly territory.
Carlos steers me to a shower stall with a very thin curtain.
Are you kidding me?