“you’re doing so well, love.” you encourage him from your proud perch on his cock. it’s after hours, the gym is empty. perfect for the two of you to train in privacy. simon grunts as he benches the impressive weights on the barbell, pushing it away from his pumped barrel chest until his arms are straight above him.
your hands are resting on his soft tummy, slightly strained beneath your fingers whilst he uses his strenuous might to complete the set. his meaty thighs flex against your arse causing your cunt to flutter around his width and you twitch, fingers curling into his sweat-drenched hoodie. “a few more then you can rest before your last round.” the double entendre is absolutely intended and you feel him swell within the sleeve of your cervix.
you’re aware the circular plates on either side of the bar probably total to double your weight, and still, you could comfortably assume the bar itself weighs at least a quarter of that alone. so you know it can’t be easy on him, working his muscles so intensely all the while one ‘muscle’ in particular slots inside of you — plugging you on its stiff strain. you can feel him pulsating against your spongy sheath, the blood and adrenaline pumping to more regions of his body than one.
simon grits his teeth, jaws locked beneath the fabric of his mask as he makes his final push. and he tenses beneath you, his legs shifting which inevitably readjusts you on his cock. you both groan and he almost drops the bar onto his chest, but he regathers his composure and you position your hands so you can catch it should it fall — not that you trust yourself to be able to hold such weight.
when he finishes the set he drops the bar somewhere behind him, exhausted arms dropping so his callused hands can fall to find purchase on your spread thighs, feet dangling above the floor from his sturdy lap. “well fuckin’ done, my love.” you smile, leaning forward so you’re chest-to-chest. his throbbing dick follows your reposition, ultimately bulging in your belly due to the deepened angle.
simon smirks, peeling one palm from the skin of your thigh to collide it with the curve of your arse. you jolt, his cock hitting that gummy spot perfectly as a result. “c’mon then, dove. gimme my reward ‘fore my next set, yeah?”
