I got an older man as my workout partner [F21/M50s] [gym] [groping] [oral] [sex]

I’m not a slut, I swear. I’ve only ever had sex with two guys, both which were my boyfriends at the time. So what I did tonight is … well, not reflective of my character. I need to properly explain — I need to start at the beginning.

I’m a regular at this gym that’s got this boring name — Bob’s Gym isn’t the name, but it’s what I’m going to call it. It’s in an industrial part of town, in an unassuming office park, with a quite that give them more space than they know what to do with. Beyond the large main gym area, it’s got rooms stretching back into the building full of workout machines, dance studios, additional weight-training gear, and I don’t know what else. Most of the regulars are office workers, which makes sense given the location, and I’m one of the few college-age girls I see there. I get the occasional glance from a guy — who doesn’t? — but the people there mostly keep to themselves and stay respectful.

I try to go at the same times every week, sticking strictly to my routine, but when the new semester comes around I have to change up my workout to fit my new class schedule. So a few weeks ago when I switched to Wednesdays at 3pm, there was a new batch of regulars for me to get used to.

Including this one man, I don’t know his name, but in my mind I’ve labeled him “Mister X.”

Altogether, Mister X isn’t that different than most of the businessmen I see in the gym. But he’s a little more trim, a little more handsome, despite that he’s graying, probably old enough to be my dad.

I’d catch him stealing a look here or there — not staring, that would’ve pissed me off. But every once in a while, I’d come up from stretching or lifting or running and scan the gym floor, and our eyes would meet.

Most guys, that happens, they feel caught. A young, athletic woman like me? I’m in my tanktop and sportsbra and workout pants and I know they’re imagining me naked, and they look away in shame.

But Mister X? He’d hold my gaze, grin at me, give me a little nod. He was blatant in his admiration. If he’d have been creepy, it would’ve been off-putting. But he was charming, and a few weeks ago I don’t know what came over me, but I smiled back.

It was an invitation, but I was too naive to realize it. So I was surprised when, a few minutes later, I stood up from my shoulder press and saw Mister X standing near me, waiting.

I tensed, bracing myself.

Yet his words were banal. “Hey, I need a spotter on the bench press. Wanna help?”

“Uh…” He smelled good. “Sure.”

We walked over and he prepared the bar. “You’ve got great form,” he said, “What’s your sport?”

“Tennis,” I said, “I’m on a scholarship, actually.”

“And they don’t have a gym at the school for you to use?”

“They do,” I explained, “But this one’s closer to where I live.”

“Huh,” he said, laying down, “I see.” And then I spotted him lifting.

Then he nodded at the bench. “Your turn.”

I don’t normally do bench press, but… what the hell, this is what I agreed to, right? So I changed the weights and took my spot on the seat, and Mister X stood over me, arms ready. I hoisted the bar into the air, let it drop to my chest. That’s when I realized two things. One, how being a spotter basically gives you license to ogle your partner, like he was doing to me now. And two, that as I looked up at him from the height of his knees, he was sporting what I could only describe as a massive bulge in his crotch.

I pumped the bar up, but I was distracted. Was his penis erect? Was he getting a boner staring at me? What the hell was going on in there? Our eyes met and he grinned knowingly.

Afterwards, I made my excuses and slipped away.

That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about what was the situation underneath his shorts that would cause them to take that shape. It’s stupid, how pervy my brain was being, but the image just wouldn’t leave my head. The image of his bulging shorts, my hand reaching for it, rubbing it, squeezing it.

A week later, Mister X was there again, and this time he was waiting for me. “Oh great,” he said, “I was hoping we could work out together.”

My eyes flicked down. Sure enough, there was his bulge, even bigger than I dared remember. So either he was well hung and limp, or he was always erect. I’m not sure which fascinated me more. “Sure,” I found myself saying.

And so we worked out together, mutually checking each other out. It went fine, teasing one another with our gazes. So we did the same again last week, and, enjoying his attention, if I’d dressed a little more provocatively, my clothes a little bit tighter, a little bit more revealing, well, it was just to keep things interesting, right? And then today…

Well, today. I got there first, and when Mister X came in late, he was fuming mad.

I was in a quiet corner, over by the free weights. He slid through the space, bee-lining for me past the crowded ellipticals and bicycles and cardio. “Everything ok?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, chewing his lip, “It’s not you. Difficult time at work, is all. Let’s get started.”

“Ok,” I said, “Here, sit with me, let’s do upper body.”

I was straddling a low bench, resting my elbow on my knee, lifting my arm. Mister X sat opposite from me, mirroring my form. His legs were spread, bulge on full display in his tight shorts. He was still mad, and his anger was making me wet as I imagined him fucking out his frustration.

He wasn’t paying me much attention today. He was busy talking, muttering to himself.

I pouted.

“Excuse me,” he shook his head, “I just need to funnel my energy, you know? Turn my aggression into focus.”

I bit my lip. “What do you do? For work, I mean?”

“Enterprise sales. B to B,” he shook his head distractedly, “It’s not important.” His eyes found mine. “I came here to forget about all that. This sitting is too tame, I really want to wear myself out right now, and this isn’t doing it.”

My chest flushed and heaved. My head swam with heat. “I know what will distract you,” I found myself saying, sliding forward across the bench. I brought my face up against his, close enough to kiss, not that we were. But with my hand, I’d grabbed his crotch, rubbed his bulge. With my fingers I pressed into the fabric of his shorts, pinched in, found his cock.

He gasped, froze, eyes wide. He grabbed my sides, pushed me back. “I… I can’t. You– you’re beautiful, but I can’t.”

Rejection stung. I tried to keep it off my face.

“No, it’s not like that,” he meant to console me, “It’s not you. I wish I could…”

I thought that was going to be the end of it, and for a bit it was. But I’d crossed some line, and despite his rejection, there was no going back.

It started small, him holding my arm to guide my form as I did some lift, or his hands lingering on my thighs as he held my legs for crunches. We did balance work, and his hand rubbed my flat belly. We did upper body, and his fingers stroked my arms. We did lower body, and he cupped my ass. I needed more, and I pushed my butt into him, into his grip.

He pulled his hand away, and I grimaced with the new denial. But then his arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me into him, my ass into his crotch, my ass into his fat bulge. My response was automatic. Groaning and grinding my ass into his lap, twerking and swinging and bouncing it, moving like the slut I swear I’m not. I got him hard, right there in between the rows of barbells and plates. His shorts stretched to their limit, his cock yearning for my ass. I rubbed it against his shaft and felt his every twitch and shudder. His arms wrapped around me, and I sucked in a breath, looking to see who was watching me get felt up.

Nobody was looking. But he didn’t grab my tits. No, instead his powerful and deliberate grip slid around my thighs, pushed up into my pussy. His touch was electric, and I gritted my teeth, doubling over as I moaned. He pulled me into him, pushing his cock between my ass cheeks. The fabric between us seemed so unnecessary.

I muttered, “When are you going to fuck me?” not caring who could hear.

His fingers stroked my sex. “Meet me in the men’s showers in five minutes. I’ll be in the big stall at the end.”

“Five minutes?!” I complained.

“Two minutes.”

I bit my lip, groaned me need at him, “Ok.”

The showers are in the locker rooms. One’s for men, the other for women, but it’s not like they police it. I waited for a quiet moment, then slipped inside.

Mister X was where he said he’d be, standing under the steaming water, stroking a massive erection, his fist casually wrapped around the thickest cock I have ever seen. I closed the stall door behind me, eyes wide, not believing I was really doing what I was doing, having an affair with an older man.

I would’ve stared all day, but he instructed, “Take your clothes off.”

I folded them neatly on the small bench to the side as he watched. I stood before him and let him grope me as the shower sprayed over us. I did the same to him, playing with his huge erection while his hands wandered all over, driving me wild. They ended up on my shoulders, guiding me down.

I dropped to my knees, goggling at the massive cock in my face. I started by licking down the underside of his shaft, taking his balls in my mouth. He liked it, and liked it even more when I grabbed the head of his shaft in my fist and stroked him. But soon, he grabbed my pony tail and pushed his dick in my mouth. Lips stretched wide, I licked up his cock as he fucked my face, using my tongue as his sex toy.

He seemed like he was really liking it, getting close to cumming. But every time I thought he was about to, that I geared myself up to take his cum, he didn’t. He’d instead just grit his teeth and pump his dick into my face even harder.

When he did pull me off him, I gasped down air, spit trailing from my lips to his dick. The shower washed it away, and he pulled me back up to him, wrapping his arms around me and kissing me. It was as intimate as it was unexpected, and then it was over.

He pushed me back against the wall, the board rattling as my eyes went wide. He brought his cock between my legs, rubbed it against my pussy.

“Fuck me,” I muttered.

He pinched my nipples, hard, making me yelp at the same moment his cock slid inside me. I doubled over from the surprise, and he shoved me back against the wall, pinning me in place as he impaled me with his massive dick. I was completely overwhelmed with sensation, and my limbs shuddered and knees buckled. But he took my weight easily, driving himself inside me deeper and deeper.

I stared in disbelief, watching this bull of a man ride my pussy, watching his powerful shaft disappear inside me. As he pumped and pumped, I never wanted it to end, but I wondered how he hadn’t cum yet. Sex had never lasted this long before, and certainly not sex this intense.

I squeezed his balls. “Cum in me,” I demanded, “Fill me with your cum.”

“Turn around,” he instructed.

I faced the wall, looking at him over my shoulder. I stood on my tip-toes and pushed my ass out, watching as his dick bounced against my butt. He grabbed his shaft and found the angle, sliding himself to the hilt into my pussy. It was an explosion of pleasure inside me, and I would’ve fallen to the ground if he didn’t wrap his arm around me, grab my tit, pull me to his chest. His other hand found my clit, and when he petted it, I screamed and nearly blacked out.

He bucked into me, and finally, finally I felt his hot sticky cum spreading inside me. His grip on me was iron as he groaned, muttering into my ear, “My fucking little tennis slut,” over and over.

When he finally let me go, he dropped to the bench, exhausted, cock hanging half-limp between his legs. I followed him down, kneeling between his thighs and rubbing him clean.

“Fuck,” he said, “You’re fantastic.”

I smiled up at him.

We didn’t talk much after that, he seemed kind of guilty, actually. But he gave me a little peck on the cheek before leaving, and I’m hoping he’ll be there again next week. My slutty little top I’m happy with, but my pants, I’ll swap those for a tennis skirt. I think he’ll like that.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/zmzlkc/i_got_an_older_man_as_my_workout_partner_f21m50s