Last Training Session – Mid Oct 2013

The day before our last training session bK and I got into an argument ostensibly because I left the A/C on despite the fall weather and he thinks I did it maliciously. I guess it is possible that deep down inside I was hoping he would catch a cold before his wedding but really all I was concerned about was not getting sweaty before we consummate the session properly. At any rate his outburst led to a spat, which led to the team getting redressed and cancellation of the day’s “intimate interlude”. A terrible outcome given our limited remaining time. Shiiiiiit.

Later that evening we went through the same debate via text and ultimately resolved it – a/k/a I apologized for keeping the A/C on after he (allegedly) repeatedly said it was chilly. #sorrynotsorry 😉

On what would be our last training day, bK shows up with a swollen knee and he has trouble making it up the stairs. He does not have trouble taking his clothes off. I suspect it will be our last training day since his wedding is nine days away, but we don’t discuss that topic so I am not yet sure when exactly he will be leaving for the big day. I am sorry that bK’s knee is injured but it puts him at my mercy more than usual throughout the session. I may even have molested him as he limped up the stairs.

I can’t recall clearly what topics we discuss as we engage in a combination of exercise and foreplay. I explore and play with his body without restraint, and he with mine. Sparks of anticipation shoot down my spine as he moves up close, “explaining” some exercise or another while caressing me. The burgeoning lips and increasing dampness between my legs border on uncomfortable as I feel his nipples harden under my grazing fingertips and watch and feel his dick swell, harden and damn near double in size in my grasp. The wetness glistening shortly thereafter at his tip punctuate our impatience with the routine that must be completed before we can let the growing need consume us and ravish each other. Usually at this time of the month, I would skip our sensual forays but today I’m relying on SoftCup (http://softcup.com/about/product-info) and I hope it will be able to take it. SoftCup is the truth for active and clean comfort during exercise etc. and it has held up through squats, lunges and power walking. But today, I need will be asking for much more.

I am brazen in the freedom with which I touch and navigate the contours of bK’s body, lingering everywhere I please. Exercise is less of a priority today. The other drawback is SoftCup, which has me for the first time ill at ease with the boldness of his stroke. bK senses this and after a while incorrectly interprets it as a sign that I am not interested in sex this morning, sighs and gets dressed. What?! No, no, no!! I continue through the last two exercises naked while he watches, dressed and seated on the couch. It feels something like I’d imagine it does to be on stage trying to earn cash for those last couple of credits. Except that there are no bills being showered upon me, just a constant and palpable gaze in a silence that is occasionally broken with an exercise countdown.

As I finish the last exercise I am reflecting on what appears to be a bootleg ending to our experience and I decide to skip the treadmill. bK is amenable to the abbreviated session and he starts to get up from the couch to gather his bags. Without saying anything, I walk over and slide my hands under his shirts and begin to caress his velvety skin, reveling in the steely form of the well-defined muscles sheathed beneath the velvet. I push him back slightly and with his gimpy knee he lands right back on the couch. I straddle him and continue massaging lightly southward along his granite thighs, avoiding for now, the growing bulge increasingly protruding from his sweats. He doesn’t move or say anything other than that his knee won’t be able to support me. I glide my hands further along his thighs, allowing my knuckles to graze his thickness from time to time but no more than that. bK is trying to playing it as cool despite his body’s obvious reaction because he thinks I spurned his touch earlier. Pride. Still his ragged breathing, his nipples threatening to burst through the layers of his shirts and the rigid pole tenting up his sweats to his left tell it all. Watching his body win the battle over his mind turns me on even more. Plus I understand the conflict.

A couple of minutes pass before bK finally grabs me by the hips to place me aside before standing up and quickly stripping. By the time he leans back to me I am already up on the couch urging him on wordlessly. He pulls me toward him and starts to give me something I can feel when we notice a critical item missing – the one time the French ninja letter forgot the gold packet. We pause while he slips a condom on and then he is back, rubbing his tumescence against my cheeks. I can feel the beat of his pulsing cock against my ass. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum against the smooth chocolate skin of my African drums. That’s the sound of the team naked and frothing to connect on a sensual level immediately. He rests against me to support some of his weight as I reach back and wrap fingers around his throbbing dick and guide him inside me. He circles his right hand around one of my breasts and thrusts slowly as deeply as he can.

And the tip of his dick bangs right up on the fucking SoftCup.

We could have paused and I could have explained what it was. But neither of us has time for that. bK uses his hardness to nudge it aside and our slow, deep ride to ecstasy begins. He plays with breasts with one hands and fondles my clit with the other while he pumps with deep and slow precision. My senses are under assault on multiple fronts and it is delicious. I arch back and into him – the source of pleasure curled over and around me, popping back against his groin to the rhythm of his thrusts. Off in the background I hear some idiot sounding like she is trying to recreate those old herbal essences commercials. Wait – that’s me. I wish I would shut up but I can’t stop. The lust is loose and we are in the groove. It would be cruel and unjust for our motion to stop just yet. I reach back with my right hand to caress his balls, rolling one and then the other gently within his soft sac. Gentle globes deserving of my tender touch. bK groans his approval. I slip a little further along the sensitive area underneath as bK continues to deliver stroke after delightful stroke.  With thoughts of nothing but the sensations of our entwined bodies in motion, we take our time, lost in and scaling the heights of passion.

It was a little messy given the displaced SoftCup, but that is fitting.

About a week later he got married and moved and I stopped working out with a personal trainer anymore. Some experiences cannot be duplicated.:)

A little bit of this:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H6syUR_34dw

But more of this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQzGhEkjNJY

 And a forever favorite to round out 2014:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IoP1M3vwnoU

August 2013 – Breaking the Fast

bK and I are getting along fairly well by the time Ramadan ends after the first week of August. Working out dressed and suppressing the urge to act on our mutual attraction has become semi-normal.  It helps that even with religious obstacles removed, I’m not supposed to have sex for a couple of weeks after my egg retrieval procedure.  Maybe the confluence of Ramadan and this limited biological insurance is a sign that I should stop boning my engaged trainer/friend and move on, but six wasted weeks with the b-day rapidly approaching is hard to take.

We get through the first week after Ramadan with appropriate sessions – clothes, conversation, no body appreciation or celebration. The next week temptation is eliminated since bK is out of the country on a security consulting assignment.  My mind is more or less ready to cut the cord, but my flesh is not, but an unpleasant exchange before he leaves for his trip helps tip the balance further in favor of reason.

By the first workout after his trip we still have not cleared the air.  I let him in with minimal conversation and as soon as we get upstairs, I head to the other room to warm-up in silence.  It takes bK a few minutes to head in from the living room, and when he appears I see why… He is buck naked (and nicely lotioned up). Hhhmm. No matter the inner contents, the packaging is beautiful. Principle or pleasure? He still owes a couple of days of training nude so if I choose this can just be a workout with a view. Pleasure or principle? While I consider whether I will join him in the buff or keep my clothes on, we discuss it as though talking about the weather (me – I didn’t do anything to be in the buff, him – I thought we were a team). Principle or pleasure? I take a few more steps as our short and friendly debate ends without resolution. In the end pleasure carelessly crushes principle. I pause the treadmill and strip.

And just like that, we work out in the nude as though the six year week drought never happened. I make him repeatedly show me how to do exercises that I did three weeks ago without speaking to him so I can re-familiarize myself with his body, squeeze those tight buns, feel his balls tighten in my palm as I massage them and generally do whatever I feel like doing with is body in the moment. He returns the favor during each exercise that permits it.

By the second set of exercises I could use his stiff cock as a dumbbell and I am drenched and not with sweat. Just in case, I freshen up[1] when I head to my bedroom before the last set to get my vest for the treadmill. I return and finish the last set with difficulty, trying to ignore what bK is doing to my exposed body while I stretch. The six-week break is back, silent and mocking in the air, stripping us of any pretense of patience with the time it is taking to complete the last set.

I finish the exercise with bK at full attention and raring to go. All conversation, other than our bodies exhorting us to get to it, stops. My vagina’s monologue is on repeat: “f—k now” (in Danny’s redrum voice from the Shining). His rigid dick, with its pronounced veins throbbing to the same furious beat, seems to be calling for the same. If those veins were near his other head, I’d be worried he was about to have an aneurysm. Luckily we are headed for rapture and not rupture this morning.

I want to class it up on the couch today so I put my hand on his chest to pause and we shuffle, bodies pressed against each other, around the coffee table to the couch. I half lay, half crouch on the couch as bK does the same on top of me and, with his chest weighing lightly against my back, he finally slips his c-ck inside me. My body treacherously welcomes his with a tight, hot embrace and we begin to move in sync to a familiar beat. He reaches forward to stroke my clit while I reach back and down to play with his balls, allowing my fingers stray a little further. The catch in his breath and his muted groans get me every time and I’m even more aroused. Aaah, this deep, slow stroke is the right way to start the day.  We put my sofa to the test as we unleash weeks of repressed lust.  If I could, I would have spent the morning with his dick inside me.

I feel energized and ready to take on the day after I come. By contrast, bK seems dazed and worn out after he comes. 🙂 After a few minutes of relaxing in post-coital serenity, I pop up, give bK a light slap on the face to snap him back to reality and head to the treadmill. I realize too late that we did not shut the curtains before landing on the couch. Hopefully my neighbors were too occupied to notice.

Common sense returns later in the morning and I recommit to flushing this out of my system by the end of the month.  Despite that re-commitment, we slip without further discussion back into a routine of training in the buff at least once a week with a mid-workout intimate interlude. No romance, just interesting discussions, exercise and decadent copulation, peppered with the occasional idyllic Sunday afternoon in the park.

No Massage in August. The one day we tentatively scheduled was canceled due to time constraints. We still found time to “connect” on a more primal level and then spend a quiet afternoon in Central Park discussing fidelity and the surname he will give his child(ren). It was nice. But I wanted the massage.

 

 

June 2013 – Part Two (Planks for Pleasure)

I have an easier time getting up on training days now that bK and I have further spiced up the routine. On the wrong days, we are two people bickering over trivial things while exercising in undergarments. On the right days, each set is a combination of exercise and “body appreciation”. Either way it is never boring. If these brick walls could talk they would describe my personal trainer tweaking my nipples and playing with my body while I get these side bends out of the way. If they could laugh, they would chortle at the number of times I ask him to show me how to do simple exercises so I can squeeze his ass and play with other parts of his body. With each set, the struggle to ignore his touch or my body’s response to it increases. I generally don’t sweat below the waist (which will be helpful) but I’m all kinds of moist by the time I have to return to the treadmill at the end of each session.

Around the third week of June, planking becomes very challenging. Not only does the time period increase, but while I plank I have to keep retrieving my thong with one arm as bK repeatedly tries to remove it.  During the alternate exercise between planks we continue to touch and tease. We also ignore the growing bulge in his drawers and discuss current events.   On this day, when I wrap up the other exercise drop into the third plank I don’t bother to retrieve my thong when he slides it down.  When I look down and back, I note that his boxer briefs have joined my thong on the carpet by my feet. The next 30 seconds could not be moving any slower. What do you reward yourself with after a tough workout? Ice-cream? Chocolate? A kale omelet? I think I deserve something more today.

bK’s voice drifts as he reaches the last fifteen seconds of the count. I hear him move to his bag to get a condom. 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 Time! I collapse on the towel that now gets placed on the exercise mat as I feel bK drop to his knees behind me. I pretend like he is not there and start to get up, but he takes a commanding grip on my hips with both hands and suggests that we take a little break…Sure, but I’m going to be lazy with this one – I lean forward and offer up the goods. bK slides home and reaches forward to massage my tingling clit with his left hand. Mmmm – appropriate reward after so many planks. And it feels just right. He rests inside me while his left hand continues to move in a firm circular motion on and around my hot spot. As I heat up from the massage upfront, he begins to pump for gold. Long and measured, this deep slow stroke is the perfect stress buster. Surgeon general approved. I arch back and up to meet each foray and reach back to stroke his balls (we’ve come a long way since that punch and I love the way his body reacts to the touch). Twerking by the weights…

When his lingam and my yoni connect – time stands still and only pleasure matters or registers. I concentrate solely on his member moving inside me, his head massaging my cervix, the length of his swollen manhood brushing up and against my vaginal walls as our hips grind against each other…his movement further emphasizes what I already know about his prodigious dancing skills.  Slick but secure (kegels :-)), I match his rhythm, bouncing back and up to meet each thrust. We’re unwilling to tolerate even a brief break in this link-up prior to release – my hold on his ass is just as urgent as his on mine as we ride wave after wave of pleasure. Slow wind, deep grind, lost mind…While we bone this way, we transcend – floating above random conversation, forgiving (temporarily) slights real and perceived, casting aside silly disputes – for a time we even come upon the solution for peace in the middle east…so strong are the tides of lust rushing through and around us.  Non-verbal communication is best for us.

Just kidding.

We have a nice post-plank romp.   Afterwards we gather ourselves, return to reality and clean-up – then one of us has to continue with a cardio “cool down” on the treadmill.  I regret that I didn’t discover softcup® for another month or we wouldn’t have had to skip a week of these.

Two weeks to the start of Ramadan (and the end?).

 

June 2013 Part One (Breakfast of Champions)

When I decided to stop resisting (and to accept/luxuriate in/applaud..) lust during the last massage session, I planned on a one-time release of the building sexual tension before he gets married.  The best laid plans.

We continue with underwear workouts except for naked days.  We have dropped all pretense about our mutual desire to touch.  My hands roam freely while he demonstrates exercises that I have been doing for almost two years.  He returns the favor while I exercise.  I hate arms work but it is the best chance to feel the contours of his chest, mold the powerful muscles of his back, cup and massage his beautiful ass and, oh yes, play with his d–k.  Just stroke and feel it grow!  My (temporarily) own chia pet.  And what a squeezable ass.  His cheeks are so firm and sculpted – my hands are drawn every time.  I enjoy letting him walk down the stairs ahead of me so I can get my post-workout grope on…

Arms days are also an ideal time for him to touch me since I’m basically just standing there during sets.  He caresses my ass (it’s pretty nice too), plays with my breasts and lets his talented fingers explore all over.  All while standing so close behind me, I can feel his breath…and the changes in his body in response to our extracurricular activities.  I am generally at a disadvantage since it takes longer to do the exercise than it does to demonstrate it but submission feels quite nice. 🙂   Each set blows by (the only thing getting blown under these circumstances — saving the tasting and savoring for the fiancée we do not acknowledge) and the workouts are now so much more pleasurable even when we debate about silly things.

Initially touching and teasing during exercise feels like enough — but after about a week I decide that one more taste would be forgivable.  Just one more…

At the end of the next workout after we are dressed, I start to rub my hands along his thighs, letting my hands graze but never touch his d—k.  bK doesn’t move and we converse about random things while I slide my hands inside his sweats and boxer briefs, cup his balls and begin to massage them gently.  These chocolate caramel nuts don’t melt – they just distend with pleasure and fill my palms.  I want those nuts bouncing rhythmically against me ASAP.  Within minutes, bK’s boner is poking through his sweats and I suggest that I could put him for the team to work to lower my rent.  He asks what I’m going to do for the team.  Lulz. 

Have condom will travel is ready and raring to go and so am I.  In short order our clothes are off again (except for some reason his red tank – the only time he keeps something on besides his socks) and we are having sex on the side of my couch in front of my living room window.  I hope my neighbors have better things to do this morning.  If not, they might be watching bK massaging my clit gently with his left hand while clasping my rumpus with his right and entering me slowly but very fully from the back.  Coordination is so nice.  It’s not carnation but I’m loving it in an instant.  From the moans floating over me, the feeling is mutual.  I guess I’m serving frosted flakes because I brought out the tiger.  It’s gr-r-reat. 🙂  I arch back against him as he moves against me and we rock towards release.  A sweet breakfast treat that won’t give you diabetes.

Afterwards I commit to this being the last time and head to the office in a suspiciously good mood.