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Message-ID: <36699asstr$1023181803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "K" <karinthiarose@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Thoughts at the gym Part 1 and 2 {Femdom, oral his and hers, cbt}
Date: Tue,  4 Jun 2002 05:10:03 -0400
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This belongs to Karinthia. Do not post it anywhere without permission.

karinthiarose@yahoo.com

---
I go to an all women's gym. It's comfortable for me. No need to worry about
taking too long on a machine, what I wear or being ogled. I can "glow" and
not think anything of the sweat stain between my breasts or under my arms
(lovely image <g>)

I usually go in something very comfy and loose: sweats and old shirts is
usually the norm for me.  For some reason today, I wore the whole
stereotypical gym ladies wear. Spandex cut offs, shirt that stops at the
mid-rift, a bra guaranteed NOT to let you move an inch and hair up in a pony
to keep it out of my eyes.

I did my forty minutes on the treadmill and had the privilege of "people
watching" the repairman. He doesn't normally come inside to work on the
equipment during normal peak hours, but with so many of the machines down, I
figured it must be classified an emergency. He walked from one broken
machine to the next, head down, not ogling the women at all. He was being
very respectful in fact. He was trying to become as small as he could and
blend into the background. I guess watching a bunch of women beat up
punching bags during a kickboxing aerobics class will humble a man <g>.

 I have to confess, I'm not sure if I what I did next was with evil
intentions or if fate just landed on my side for the first time since I
needed to go to the gym and work out <g>. He was fixing one of the machines
for the upper body (don't
ask me which, because it quite escapes me now) and I got on the machine
directly behind him. It is a machine that works on your inner thighs. You
set the weights to your preference (I am a wimp, mine is set on fifty),
climb in, hook your feet in the stirrups and show the world exactly how many
dimples
your pussy has. That is how exposed this machine makes you. You attempt to
bring your legs together from a very vulgar starting position of "out".

I noticed as soon as I sat, I was very subtlety being eyed. I would look up,
he would look down. I (naturally) slowed down to keep my entertainment
going. Doing three sets of ten normally takes me NO time at all.

He was kneeling, head cocked to one side, wrench in his hand quite forgotten
as I got into a rhythm of in and out. I must admit, I milked this for all I
was worth. I stretched during a break in my set, arched my back so hard my
butt cleared the seat. You know those type; show off every muscle, puff your
chest out and sigh as deeply as you know how. Definite
getting someone's attention maneuver. All I could hear was his wrench
clatter. When I glanced quickly at him, he was fumbling around on the
ground, on his knees. Oh, lovely image that. When he finally had recovered
himself, he stood up and turned to look at me. One boyish got caught look on
his face.

With him standing there facing me, I got a chance to have myself a looksee.
Tall, lean, wearing a pair of jeans and one of those cheap, dark shaded
t-shirts that comes 3 to a package. They normally look ratty, but on him?
You would never know it. He FILLED it out. Muscles here and there and the
material around his biceps nicely stretched. Looking down, that is not the
only thing nicely stretched. I think that handyman must of been sporting
something not seen since high school days.

I must confess that I teased this guy. He was trying so hard to do his work
and be a "good lad" and I was leading him on with dimples aplenty <g>.

Now, the one thing that made this unique to me is that as happens for no
reason at all, everyone finished what they were doing and the place was
clearing out. Ladies were laughing as they walked out the door and some were
busy pushing the standing punching bags back into the corner.

I finished my set of three (bout time, don't you agree?), stood up and with
arms pointed loosely to the sky, stretched out my routine one last time on
tiptoe. My eyes were on his the whole time. Catching him, making him look at
me without blushing, without any subtlety at all. Making him show me that he
was indeed ogling.

This whole time, besides the teasing, I had been a lady. Not showing by word
or by deed just how wet my spandex was getting. That changed the minute I
saw him lick his lips. Not in a lusty, cocky cowboy sort of way, but in an
absentminded, I can't think of anything but that big drink of water. (Just
in case you don't see the connection <g>, to him I'm a tall glass of ice tea
in a sea of desert).

I walked up so him with a soft little saunter. Put my hand on his chest and
looked up into the bluest eyes I've ever seen. This guy was wet dream
material to the umpteenth degree. At this point, I hungered. I wanted to
feel that dry little tongue moisten ME.  How to get what I wanted? That is
always the hard part, isn't it? My fist in his shirt, I simply walked him to
the dressing room.  At that point, the only thing running thru my mind was
that little  ditty about leading a horse to water..

Part 2
Then I pushed him to his knees and grabbed him by the hair. Two seconds
later, his face was nuzzling all of my dimples. Arms like bands wrapped
round my legs, holding his face pressed to the v of my legs. He certainly
was a thirsty thing, wasn't he?? That suckling and nuzzling sure was making
things
alot more heated, so I tightened my fingers in his hair and started moving.
I rubbed the scent of my sweat and my desire right in his face. The ridge of
his nose caught most of my attention, so I spread my legs and let his arms
keep me steady. I came riding him like that. Pretty amazing, hmm? That I
didn't even need to take my pants off to get that kind of randy. It's just
that when a man is kneeling at your feet, with his face pressed in to your
pussy and he starts to mewling.. Well, the very least I could do was give
him a little something..

Two seconds later, his fingers were at the back of my waistband, pulling
that spandex down to my knees. My thighs hit the edge of the bench and I
found arms cradling me down till I lay along its length with my cutoffs
stripped off.  The only thing I felt was the rush of air as he quickly knelt
between my thighs and fastened his mouth to me. Lapping and sucking like a
newborn, I soaked his face. If that handyman could of found a way to bury
himself in that set of dimples, I think he would of. His shoulders were
bunched underneath the flat of my ass with my legs draped across his broad
back. His arms wrapped round my thighs and I had never felt such a ravenous
hunger. He ate at me with such a single-minded determination that a clawing
beast raging at his back would not have deterred him. Or maybe that was the
very thing egging him on?

His big thumbs flattened me wide open and his tongue plundered. Flicking and
diving so deeply that my hips started bucking. I lifted up and ground myself
in his face.  I came in slow motion, with such intensity of emotion that it
left my nose numb.  He continued to lick at me, so slowly and tenderly, till
I couldn't stand any more and pushed at his shoulders.

Ghod, the look on his face when he lifted his head. Caught. Possessed by
need. Slumberous. Well-fed and still starving. His lips were puffy from use,
I dripped from his chin and still I hungered for more

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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