I won’t use the M acronym, but hot women and yoga pants are a blessing to the world. This is the story of how being a good uncle led to unexpected places.
It all started when my older sister wanted a break from her toddler – in theory for some relaxation time but more probably to catch up on laundry. I was happy to take the little one for a few hours to fulfill my duties as an uncle.
She suggested a local play centre to get us out of the house. It was the kind of place I’d have loved as a kid: padded walls, trampolines, plastic balls and a lot of noise. My nephew loved it and I was left well below, sipping a takeaway coffee cup and thinking wrongly that parenting mustn’t be that difficult.
Looking around the gathered parents I quickly realised that the joys of the play centre weren’t just for adolescents. I was one of only two men, and this play centre was apparently a gold mine of attractive but exhausted mums wearing athleisure, sipping keep cups and gossiping.
And some were eyeing me with interest. Maybe I stood out because I glowed with a regular 8 hours sleep. Maybe I stood out because I was probably half a decade younger than most in attendance.
It could even have been the fact that there were only two men aside from the teens cleaning vomit in the ball pit, and the other guy looked as harried as his hair was unkempt. All of these are possibilities but for self-deception’s sake I’ll say it was my raw masculine energy.
Two of these women caught my attention.
One defied the athleisure trend in a floral and summary dress that was cinched about her waste and just short enough to be impractical for kid-wrangling. She was Desi, with smooth dark skin and hooded eyes lit by a glint of mischief. Her legs were long and shapely and I suspect that a few years ago she would’ve had the body of a tennis player. She’d kept the toned arms but acquired a plumpness that accentuated hips and diving cleavage. All this made for a captivating package and she had an air to her that told me she was well aware.
Competing for my attention was a woman who made me want to hunt down whoever invented “athleisure” and personally thank them. This particular sacrifice of modesty to comfort led me to struggle to rein in my staring. She was wearing dark grey tights and a matching top that looked like little more than a long sports bra with her only concession to public decency was a short hoodie that concealed little of what was on display.
And the display was hot as fuck. If her friend was a little plump, she was -thick- with a luscious ass and thighs that she flaunted shamelessly. Her breasts were nearly comically enormous. They may have grown with recollection but even then I wondered how anyone around her could concentrate. She had olive skin, long eyelashes and lips whose slightly severe line gave her face an attractive seriousness that is probably the reason she was able to get away with wearing so little in public.
I quickly found myself in proximity to the woman in the sundress, and she met my effort at nonchalant conversation with a series of probing questions. Her name was Mishti and she told me that she came there often enough to recognise new faces. I managed to establish that I was single and looking after my nephew, a fact that got (probably unwarranted) praise from the gathered moms. Mishti introduced me to the regulars including Anoush (who wore the revealing athleisure and whose ‘friends called “Ani”‘).
Given my position within a sea of stay at home moms if the world was just or generous there would’ve been some kind of porno plot that ended in an orgy. At a minimum I would’ve somehow found myself in a threesome with Mishti and Ani but unfortunately for narrative, and fortunately for my sexual health, I got lucky but not -that- lucky.
It was a strange place to be flirting, with the abundance of female attention undermined by the inescapable living reminders of sex’s potential consequences. As tempted as I was to see how just how business-like Ani would stay while getting fucked, I caught a surreptitious glance of an ornate tattoo on Mishti’s thigh and that sealed the choice in her favour. All that remained was logistics.
She’d mentioned nonchalantly that she was going to be at the play centre until the afternoon when her mother-in-law would babysit so she could “run some errands”. I figured I could fit myself into those plans. Her interest in me was blatant enough almost to read as desperation: ‘accidental’ touches, risque jokes, lingering glances, all no doubt ample fodder for the mom rumour mill.
A joke she made about gossip transitioned into a remark about moms who didn’t have any fun became an invitation for coffee and gossip that afternoon. I was ready to go.
Then her kid chipped their tooth and the plan disintegrated before my eyes.
That would’ve been the end of the story but then I noticed that Ani had slipped a napkin with her number on it into my bag.
The play centre was part of a Mall and, a few hours and messages later, I found myself in a fitting room in a largely empty department store with my cock in between Ani’s tits. Bouncing them up and down with a businesslike determination and a look of concentration and satisfaction on her face.
Determined myself to make her look less serious I led her to her feet and turned her around, pressing my hard on against her yoga pants. We made a nice picture in the thin dressing room mirror. I pulled her tights until they were down around her knees and then, rather than fucking her then and there, I bent her over and got on my knees.
Her pussy wore downy hair and had an intense musk that made my cock throb. I didn’t hesitate and her face was both concentration and pleasure as I licked her pussy eagerly from the back while occasionally glancing at the mirror. It didn’t take long before she was on the brink of cumming, gritting her teeth and pushing her glorious ass back against me.
She stepped across that edge as I ramped up my tempo and spread her ass with my hands. I was rewarded with a rush of sweetness in my mouth and a pussy swollen and tender.
The yoga pants were at this point around her ankles and the view in the mirror was good enough that I saw no reason to change it. She got a moment of respite, sitting on the little wooden slat bench catching her breath, as I wrestled with a newly bought box of condoms.
Sheathed and ready I bent her over again and thrust myself inside her. I watched her get fucked in third person in the mirror, all pretense of sternness gone from her face. She watched too, playing with her clit in defiance of its sensitivity.
I felt the rush as I got close to cumming and pulled one of my favourite tricks: rather than finishing, as her pussy ached from the pounding I was delivering with complete disregard for stealth, I pulled out and returned to my knees to her surprise.
She came harder the second time around, probably in part from the shock of finding my tongue on her clit again.
Then, with the changeroom smelling like sex and Ani looking like she wouldn’t mind a breather, I stood up and thrust inside her again. It wasn’t long before I came, my balls absolutely draining as I bit my lip and my cock pulsed with every release.
We were both thoroughly disheveled by the time we walked out to discover staff had called security. I have zero regrets.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/qlu2k3/i_love_women_in_athleisure_even_if_one_did_almost
!updateme