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

Last Massage

The last massage towards the end of September when bK returned from the south after a family event was particularly memorable.  We scheduled it for Sunday as usual. Unfortunately it was at the end of a tense week of bickering and largely NON-naked training. 😦 And I didn’t have brunch scheduled afterwards…

I suppose I set the tone by I letting bK and his massage table into the building without saying anything but even getting hello out was difficult and his frosty expression didn’t help. He walks in and heads straight up the stairs to my apartment also in silence.  Apparently we are both feeling the effects of the week.

Once upstairs he puts the massage table to the side and we proceed to the back room so I can warm up on the treadmill. No one is taking their clothes off for today’s workout. Twelve and a half minutes of studying my sneakers and the treadmill floor. How many words can I form with the letters in the word Sole? Lose, Leos, Sloe, Oles (no accent). Meanwhile bK stands two inches away studying his phone, the walls, the window or the treadmill monitor.  I can’t get through this mile fast enough and the pounding of my feet on the treadmill is a welcoming distraction in the otherwise quiet room.

The only time anyone speaks when we move to the other room to workout is when bK tells me what exercise to do and when to switch to it. No demos today, no touching. It’s not that warm but out of habit from the summer I left the A/C on relatively high which just adds to the icy atmosphere. Someone please call 9-1-1. I may as well be doing every exercise in a pool or in sand — it is taking so fucking long and it feels so fucking hard. I almost sprint to the bathroom to take a shower after the last set. In my rush, I forget to help bK move the coffee table out of the way so he can set up the massage table and to put the kettle on the pot so he can warm up my favorite almond oil. I don’t have a microwave oven, sorry.

By the time I emerge from the shower the massage table is set up, the almond oil is warm and in bK’s holster. Unlike the last several massages he is still dressed in his shorts and t-shirt. In keeping with the day. Oh well, no one is in the mood for anything more.

Wrong.

I drop my wrap and lay down on the table. bK does not place the cover sheet on me and it hits me that I didn’t turn off the A/C. Too bad I’m already on the table and we aren’t speaking. He starts at my neck and works his way down my back kneading away the tension. His fingers are strong and the knots start to give way under the pressure of his hands though I won’t comment on whether any of those knots were caused by the current situation. bK works his way down my lower back, skips my ass and goes to work on my calves and feet. All relatively cold and professional. My ass feels slighted by the detour. It is a temporary let down as he works back up to my ass and thighs and the tone of his touch changes – lingering, soft strokes are suddenly mixed in with firmer kneading. A familiar and fucking treacherous tingle start to spread and my clit starts to hum for his touch. I try to remind myself we aren’t speaking.

After about 25 or 30 minutes bK tells me to turn over. Words! I do and he massages my arms, my breasts and stomach. A slight panic starts to set in as he moves down to my thighs. I can’t lose this unspoken battle. His hands slide, firmly massaging here, gently stroking there, up and down my inner thighs, occasionally straying, but only far enough that I could convince myself that it was just my imagination. My legs are spread and even when I close my eyes I can feel his eyes concentrated on my sex. Those eyes are working in tangent with his fingers to draw every bit of moisture they can from my pu—y. Despite my best (reasonably best?) efforts moisture continues to gather between my legs and I’m praying this massage will end before I start dripping on the sheet. That prayer is not exactly answered. As one door closes another opens.

We may not be talking but my swollen and prominent lips offer silent and obvious approval for the direction that the massage has taken. bK’s wandering hands flirt closer and closer along the edge of the increasingly moist haven within those lips with teasing touches. He caresses/massages my inner thighs and mound between for what seems like forever until his hands finally slow down. Just as I am congratulating myself on making it through, he looks at me and then slowly slides two fingers inside me.

Unexpected today. He doesn’t pull them out but instead glides around, exploring my vaginal walls, feeling for my magic spot. I try to remain calm as he strokes the heat and wetness of my p—sy but my hips start rising off the table of their own volition, twisting in his direction to guide him towards the exact pulsing place upon which I want his fingers to focus. Today is not the day for any of this but here we are and it feels too good to say stop. Then his fingers hit upon the right spot. Mental circuit break — I am no longer thinking rationally.

bK’s bent fingers have struck gold and they are flicking, stroking and tap-tap-tapping my g-spot to mindlessness. He combines a gentle drum beat with light circular touches but that tender beat is my undoing. The blood is rushing between my thighs as the pressure builds within me. I feel bK watching me even with my eyes are shut. We make brief eye contact when I open my eyes but it’s hazy since I am only focused on the intense pleasure emanating from inside me where we are connected. I register his excitement but do nothing about it. Selfish mode.  My hips keep rising from the table, doing everything possible to ensure bK’s fingers don’t leave the molten shelter now being offered until the right moment.

He continues to massage my g-spot as the pleasure spreads like wildfire throughout my body. Down to my G-D toes. The only breaks to the silence are the sounds of my moans (and the meditation music that is the soundtrack for these massage sessions). I kind of wish I could stop but my voice has joined the list of body parts no longer interested in listening to my brain.

I am surprised by the intensity of my orgasm under the circumstances.  And even more surprised by the amount of fluid that gushes all over his hand and the table. But it does relieve the tension. 🙂 We maintain a now peaceful silence until he suddenly breaks out in a huge smile and says “I thought you were going to kill me with that A/C.”

As I get dressed he mentions that I didn’t help set up and we start joking about the day. Things are back  to normal. For now.

Massage rating: 10/10. G-spot session. We both felt good about it, possibly for different reasons. Sensual massage series ends on a good note.