Workout - My Entry in the Smut Olympics

Today the indefatigable Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse are hosting the Smut Olympics, to celebrate the opening of the real Olympic Games in London. They've  invited all her friends and co-conspirators to post salacious excerpts with a sports, exercise or other active theme. I just couldn't resist. 

Below you'll find a snippet from Ruby's Rules. I'm in the process of revising this lust-drenched novel for a new publisher, but meanwhile, I found a part that fits today's topic quite nicely!

There are lots of prizes up for grabs - I'll join in by offering a copy of the M/M anthology Gaymes to one lucky person who comments. Don't forget to leave your email address. And note that some of the prizes are based on the length or quality of your comments - so be creative!

For more fun, head over to the Smut Olympics main page: http://smutinthecity.co.uk/smutlympics/

You'll find the list of prizes at: http://smutinthecity.co.uk/smutlympics/prizes.html

****

The gym is even darker than the corridor. Like Rick’s office, it has only small windows set high in the wall. I grope for the light switch, turning on the track lights overhead. Experimenting, I find that I can dim them down to a more pleasant, less blinding level.

I start with some stretches at the bar, watching myself in the mirror opposite me. I don’t normally spend much time gazing at myself. I know that I’m beautiful. But the woman I see reflected back at me tonight seems a stranger. Her petite frame, her small breasts, her delicate ankles, make her seem fragile. With my hair pulled back loosely, I look young. Innocent. Vulnerable.

I have to laugh at this fancy. I know that I am strong and full of power. I shift to one of the stationary weight machines, working my triceps and biceps until they burn. I’ve stopped watching myself. Next I turn my attention to my quads and adductors, pushing the weights apart as I open my thighs, working against their force to pull my legs back together again.

I work hard, trying to burn my arousal away into exhaustion. Somehow, it’s not happening. Every time I spread my thighs apart, I’m acutely aware of my throbbing, swollen clit, hidden in my soaked shorts. I increase the force and pace of my repetitions, determined to be the mistress of my body and my urges. It’s almost as though I’m climbing the slope to orgasm. The harder and faster I work, the more excited I become.

Finally, I have to stop. I lie back in the apparatus, panting. The room smells of musk and sweat. With a pang, I recognize the odor not only of my perspiration, but of his. Rick’s. Damn. I close my eyes wearily, willing my body to relax. Damn, damn, damn.

There’s a sound. My eyes fly open. I am no longer alone. For the briefest instant, I think that it’s Rick, and my heart accelerates as though I were still working the machine. Then, with an inner smile, I realize my error. Raoul.

“Ruby!” he says in that soft Latin voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I had no idea that there was anyone here.”

He has obviously come for his own workout. He wears a loose pair of shorts, nothing else. My eyes trace the curlicues of hair on his muscled chest. I smile. He smiles, sniffs, strolls over to stand between my spread thighs.

“I was having trouble sleeping,” I tell him, knowing that he’s reading other messages in my body, in the air. “Exercise is usually a good way for me to get rid of tension.”

“Maybe I can help,” he says, almost whispering. His hands on the tops of my thighs, he leans over and kisses me full on the lips. It’s a simple, uncalculated kiss, no hidden agendas, no power trips, just texture, wetness, warmth. It’s an invitation.

I accept. As he bends over me, I raise my legs and clasp them around his waist. I can feel his delicious hardness, pressing against me through our clothing. He gives a soft laugh, pulls up my bra and takes my nipple in his mouth. Lovely, to feel that texture, warmth, wetness against that sensitive flesh.

He’s generous, gives me long minutes of bliss. When he stops, my nipples are round and rigid as ceramic beads. “Let me go for a moment,” he says, and I release the clutch of my legs.

He stands and with a grace I find in few men, removes his shorts. I can’t help but marvel at his beauty. Muscles that swell rather than bulge, curves that flow under his bronzed skin and lush fur. His cock juts proudly from a jet tangle at his groin. I have a sudden, uncharacteristic impulse to kneel at his feet and take him reverently into my mouth.

Before I can evaluate or act on this impulse, though, he seats himself on a recumbent stationary bicycle and leans back against the seat, one bare foot in each stirrup. His cock stands straight up, swaying a bit as he moves. It’s simultaneously silly and wonderfully lewd.

He grins up at me. “Care to come for a ride, Ruby?”

I don’t hesitate for more than a few seconds. It takes only a few more to remove my damp cotton garments and cross over to stand beside him.

“Climb on,” he says. His eyes are bright with lust, his lips parted. I swing my leg over the bike, straddling him, hovering above him. My pussy looms an inch or two above his waving erection, teasing. “Come on, Ruby. Don’t play games.” He grasps my shoulders and pulls me down onto his rod.

Oh, it’s so glorious to be filled this way! He’s hard as granite, thick, long, perfect. This, this is what I’ve needed all day. What I needed out there on Mulholland Drive, a cock stretching me and stroking me. Oh, yes.

For the most part, he lies still, giving me control. My feet reach to the floor, so I can piston myself up and down on his shaft, writhe and twist and grind myself against him anyway I wish. He does arch to meet my downward stabs, burying himself ever more deeply in my pulsing cunt. As I speed up, coming closer to my goal, he begins to play with my clit, delicate initially, then increasingly roughly. Oh, just the way I like, such a lovely generous man...

My climax slithers over me, smooth and polished as satin, rippling from my belly out to my limbs. Not the strongest come I’ve ever had. But such a relief after the evening’s tension! I lie on top of Raoul, catching my breath. His hardness is inside me still. He tightens his muscles and moves inside me, setting up lovely echoes of my spasms. I take my feet off the floor and hook my feet around his ankles, allowing all my weight to rest on his strength.

He doesn’t object. His cock twitches a bit as I move on him, readjusting. When I’m stable, he surprises me. He sits up a bit on the bike, and begins to pedal.