Foundations of the “Scandalous Workout”/Third Massage

New training rules: If bK reschedules within a 24-hour window or loses certain bets, he trains me naked; and if I reschedule within a 24-hour window or lose certain bets, I workout in “essential gear” of socks, sneakers, bandana, sports bra and a thong.  The scandalous workout is born. Level One – look but mostly don’t touch.  I know better, but (Clay Davis voice) shiiiiiiiit.  Who amongst us is not naked under their clothes?

On his nude days, bK uses my treadmill warm-up time to rub lotion all over his body.  I have to fight the urge to offer to help him reach the small of his back.  After all my focus is on improving my physical fitness. 

One memorable occasion, I signed a deal and then negotiated a nude day for him the next morning in celebration.  The next morning, I am doing v-sits while he stands naked by the table watching…quietly counting the reps whenever I think I am almost done.  Over the course of the sets his cock swells until it is thick and engorged – alert and also watching and sporadically twitching.  It is a naked day for him so there is nothing to conceal his arousal.  Not that I can talk, I’m the one doing v-sits with only a thin and increasingly damp film of lace shielding my excitement.  Less than three feet and a centimeter of flimsy fabric separate us from taking the next step we obviously want to.  But with our unspoken competition to maintain composure we may as well on opposite sides of the Mediterranean with only a skiff to cross the sea (and in some ways, just as dangerous).  So we continue to exercise and talk about everything but the fog of restrained lust blanketing the room.  Nothing is acknowledged until the end of the workout when bK tells me I would have gotten a better show if I had opted for a naked massage – and of course, later a text message to remind me that increased “circulation” between my legs was not unnoticed.  Just another workout day…   

Massage Rating:  Set It Off level except no candles, beads or happy ending. 😦  9.95/10.  A combination of massage/ode to my p-ssy/tribute to my ass.  100% a test of how much I can take before I ask for it.  The sheet is drenched by the end and it is impossible to cross my legs comfortably for almost an hour afterwards.  Mind (telling me no) over body (screaming at me yes).  We all have our crosses to bear.

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