From: yourmagic@aol.com (YourMagic) Newsgroups: alt.sex.anal Subject: The Workout (m/f,Nautilus,free wts,tickling,spanking,anal) Date: 14 Jan 1996 16:13:30 -0500 The Workout by YourMagic@aol.com It had been a long time since she had dragged herself out of bed this early. 5:30 a.m. Too early for humans to be up. The birds were still asleep, even. Not a soul on the street as she drove through the dark to the Y. Hardly anyone in the parking lot. But, she was there. It was the only time she could make this work. At night, she was too tired or there were a million other things that required her attention. So, here she was, sliding her membership card through the machine at the front desk, grabbing a small towel and heading toward the workout room. There were people actually in there using the machines. Incredible. Most were middle-aged, a few younger kids, fewer yet hard bodies. All seemed awake and happy to be there. She smiled to herself. Obviously, she was the only one still half asleep and a little put out. She caught a glimpse of herself in the wall-length mirror as she walked toward the bin holding the Nautilus cards. Nice looking woman, for 5:30 in the morning. Tall, strong, long dark hair now pulled up into a funky ponytail banded by a Guatemalan scrunchy, bangs sticking up, sleepy eyes, long red tee over black thong leotard and tights, Walkman hidden, earphones around her neck, red socks, white tennies. She patted her bangs down and swallowed a yawn. The only operable treadmill was occupied so she wrote her name and the time on the blackboard and headed for the bike. Five minutes to warm up, she figured. She started pedaling, then realized every time she raised her right leg, it bumped the Walkman and jiggled Santana. No big deal. Just move it. Right? Somehow, it was a bigger task than it should have been. Blame the hour. For some reason, she didn't stop moving her legs but tried to maintain 80 rpms through the hills and valleys of the program, unclip the Walkman, reclip it at the center of her waistband and keep her balance throughout. Good thing she wasn't chewing gum. She would have fallen off and further embarrassed herself. She looked around. No one seemed to have noticed her flailing. That is, except for a man in the free weight area. She caught his glance just as he was turning away. His silly grin was aimed directly at her. She decided to stay on the bike for awhile longer just so she could keep an eye on him. Fifteen minutes later, after she had watched him out of the corner of her eye bench press what looked like three times her body weight, she had had enough. He was an incredible distraction. Several times, his casual sweeps across the room had lingered on her for just a fraction of a second longer than it did anywhere else. She couldn't tell if the sweat between her breasts was from the exercise or his intent looks. He was gorgeous. No two ways about it. Dark hair and eyes. Hispanic probably, with caramel-colored skin. Tall. Looked over six two. Small feet for his size. Very nice butt. Big but certainly not fat. Long body. Marvelous body. Body that took care of itself. Body that could take care of her, too, no doubt. She shook her head and hopped off the bike. She would feel this tomorrow. Too many hills and valleys. Where were her glasses? The faint pencil markings on her workout card were tough to read this early in the morning. She hadn't been here for a couple of weeks so figured that it was best to recreate the past rather than move ahead anyway. She squinted at the numbers. Looked like sixty pounds on the leg extension machine to her. Or was it eighty? Better try sixty, she thought as she bent down to stick the pin in the weights. Oh, yes, it was certainly sixty. Her thighs told her that. Breathing normally, she counted to two on the exhale as she lifted the weight, then to four as she lowered it on the inhale. Her mind started to relax. Leg curl, forty, squat press, one ten, abductor and adductor, her favorites, seventy. She opened the adductor to its fullest extension, closed her eyes and before she squeezed her thighs shut, thought of the bench press guy again. Oh, boy. Super pullover, fifty, torso arm and then chest fly, forty, decline press, lateral raise, shoulder press, bicep curl and tricep extension, her weakest, thirty pounds. Damn girlness, anyway. She made a note on the card. She'd do forty pounds on each next time. Home stretch now. Abdominal, piece of cake at fifty. Another note on the card. Rotary torso and lower back, both relaxing at sixty. Bet I can do seventy next time, she thought. The treadmill was finally hers. She straddled the belt and punched in the numbers. Three miles an hour at a three percent grade. That seemed about right. The belt started moving and she hopped on, striding with it. God, this felt good. After a few minutes, it wasn't fast enough so she bumped it up to five miles an hour and a four percent grade. Now she was starting to sweat again. She pulled off her tee and then remembered she was wearing the thong leotard. Well, at least she had the tights on over it rather than under it. It would be a good show for the weight room guy, who still seemed to be doing something back there behind her, regardless, because the thong imbedded in her crack was obvious. She could feel his eyes on her, or perhaps she was just hoping he was checking her out. It was a long twenty minutes. "Could I make a suggestion?" His words were muffled since she was in the process of reclaiming her tee on her body. She poked her head out of the neck and looked toward the voice. Her heart thunked. It was Mr. Bench Press. She hadn't heard him coming. He was standing there in black sweats and a ratty shirt with the arms chopped off. His Ivy League haircut belied his choice of clothes. She looked for tattoos. Saw none. "What?" "Could I make a suggestion?" "Uh, sure. What?" "I noticed that you were doing thirty-six reps on the Nautilus. You might want to try doing three sets of twelve instead." This guy's a moron, she thought. Thirty-six is thirty-six, whether you do it all together or break it into three. "Twelve times three is still thirty-six, isn't it? Even this early in the morning?" She realized that she was the one who sounded moronic and, actually, a little testy. She grinned at him. "You're power lifting, silly girl. It's better if you stop for a couple of minutes after each set of twelve so your muscles can recover. You'll get a better workout." She was startled at what sounded like an intimate nickname and lowered her head shyly. "Okay. Thanks. I'll keep that in mind for next time." He smiled at her gently, then turned back to the weights. "Wait," she said as she followed him. "You seem like you know what you're doing. Teach me something about the free weights?" "Sure." He chose a short lightweight bar with disks attached at either end from the rack. "This is for your upper arms and back." He demonstrated the move, then handed her the barbell. She couldn't believe how heavy such a small piece of equipment could be but didn't comment, instead mimicking his move. "Good, but lean this way a little bit more. Good." He touched her back slightly to reposition her. She could feel his hand on her back. Warm. Gentle. Strong. She shivered. He showed her a few more exercises with the weights, always gentle, precise in his movements, strict about hers. She was trying to keep her mind on his words but with every touch, his words faded. She was already under his spell. No one else in the room existed. "Now go and stretch. You do know how to stretch, don't you?" He grinned at her, then. "Of course I know how to stretch. I do yoga, you knucklehead." "Knucklehead?" He raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, knucklehead. Want me to teach you a few things now?" She led the way to the mat, then sat and extended her legs, bowing slightly toward her toes. Opening them, she extended her right arm above her head and lowered her body onto her left thigh, touching her toes, then grasping the sole with both hands. Her face kissed her knee. She relaxed into the stretch. When she sat back up, he was sitting in front of her, smiling slightly. "Can you do that?" "Sure. What else you got?" "The other side." She raised her left arm and repeated the stretch. While her face was resting on her right knee, she realized that her left shoe was being taken off. She had an inkling who might be doing the removing but continued to relax into the stretch anyway. Her sock came off next. The cool air on the warm sole made it tingle. "Hey! What're you doing?" She giggled as she glanced up. He ignored her and instead began tickling the bottom of her foot. She exploded in laughter. "Stop that! You're nuts!" He continued, now running his nail across her arch. He had a good grip on her ankle so she was unable to wiggle much. Her toes flailed. He pulled them back, stretching the sole and continued his merciless, unrelenting attack on her foot. She could feel herself starting to get aroused despite her laughter. "Knucklehead, huh? Knucklehead?" He grinned at her. "Okay, you're not a knucklehead. You're a complete pervert. You like that better?" She grinned back at him. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" "Yes. I believe I'm tickling you." "You're also turning me on more than life itself, so stop it!" "No." He reached for the other foot and untied the laces. Her left foot still tingled and so her giggles continued. "No, please. I'm really very ticklish, as you can tell." "Oh, really? Hadn't noticed." He continued his mission. Now that he knew which buttons to push, he took her to the penthouse. She was hollering now, laughing loudly, near hysteria. And very aroused. "I'll stop on one condition." "What? Anything!" "Take off your tights." "No. Forget it." "Okay, then." He increased the intensity. "Okay, okay." She lay back and lifted her hips, sliding off the tights in one quick movement. He finished pulling them off and then stared directly at her crotch. She pulled her tee over it. "Now take off your t-shirt." "No." "I'll tickle you some more. You want that?" "Well, no." She giggled, then pulled the shirt over her head. He looked her over, noticing her full breasts and almost flat stomach. She sucked it in. "Now lie down on your stomach." "No." "Tickle?" "Okay." She lay back down and then flipped over, not sure what he had in mind but afraid what he did have in mind. He ran his warm hands over her butt, caressing it. "Oh, that feels good," she thought. Then she felt the sting of his hand. "Owwwww! Damn! Why are you hitting me?" "Because you did thirty-six reps." "But... but... I didn't know... " She started to turn over. He firmly pressed her back down. "Besides, who died and made you king of the Y?" "Shut up, bitch." Her heart stopped. Now she was afraid. Just a little. Who was this maniac, anyway? First tickling, then spanking. The early morning fog was clearing. Her brain was working a million miles a minute. Heart beating faster. And she was aroused. Again. Still. "Smack!" The sensation of pain, then pleasure, preceded the sound by a split second. He continued meting out the punishment in measured strokes, stopping in between to caress her reddening butt. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, more. She lost count. All she could concentrate on was her throbbing clit. And increasing wetness. She started to whimper and then moan softly. Finally, he stopped. She lay there, still moaning after his hand failed to meet her butt again and instead felt his fingers probe her crack, then slide into her pussy. "Like this, I see... " he murmured. "Tell me you like it." "I... like... it." She hiccuped once, then lay still. Another moan escaped her. He opened her legs and pulled the thong away from her body so he could get more of his hand into her pussy. She gasped as she felt one finger, then two, exploring inside her. Oh, God, did that feel good. When he pulled his fingers out, she gasped again then moaned loudly as he began circling her swollen clit. She raised her hips slightly so he could have freer access. She was so aroused that all she could feel was her clit and his finger. Nothing else existed. Too soon, he grasped her waist and pulled her up onto her knees. Her arms cradled her head, long hair cascading around it. She arched her back and raised her butt as she felt him move closer to her, touching her. She could feel him move the thong aside again and then felt his hard cock press up against her butt. He lay it on the crack and moved it up and down it before thrusting it inside her pussy in one long, strong movement. She gasped, pushing back against him and feeling his pubic hair tickle her butt. Strong thrusts. Now his low moans mixed with hers. In. Out. Hard and fast, then slow and gentle. No rhythm. No pattern. No predictability. She was very close. He knew it. Before she could explode, he pulled out and kissed her butt gently. "Oh... God... don't... stop," she pleaded with him. "Please don't stop. Please." He reached into her pussy again and drew out the wetness onto her sphincter muscle. Again. And again. She knew what was next on his agenda and started to relax the muscle. He could do anything he wanted with her body, with her mind, with her soul at this point. Anything. And she knew before he entered her that she would love this as much as she had everything else. She was again surprised at how gentle he was. He guided himself carefully into her, caressing her butt, easing himself in. As he did so, he began circling her clit. She couldn't believe the sensation. He was huge. His cock in her pussy fit well, fit tightly. In her asshole, it was enormous. She relaxed more and pushed herself back up against him. He took the cue and started to move in and out, slowly, still circling her clit with his finger. Their concert of moans increased. Incredible sensations. Just incredible. In a dozen thrusts, it was all over. She exploded first and he then could no longer hold back. As she lapsed into semi- consciousness, all that ran through her brain was the Beatles singing, "Come together... " Later, as she walked a little crookedly back to the van, she thought to herself, "I might have to make this early morning workout a priority. Nice way to start the day."