Atalanta

Are you fast enough to keep up?
Atalanta

I often visit the fitness center in our favorite hotel, usually after I’ve had my tryst, given Patrick his debrief, and received a second (or third or fourth) fucking. While Patrick sleeps in his post-coital bliss, I enjoy a few minutes on the treadmill or the elliptical machine, burning off a little of the extra energy that the evening has generated. I can then slide back under the sheets beside Patrick, usually without him even knowing I was gone, and drift into deep and dreamless slumber.

Tonight is a little different, though. True to form, I’ve had my tryst – a delightful fuck in the shower with a handsome fellow passing through town on business – and my debrief – Patrick seemed to really enjoy my description of watching my lover’s jizz swirl down the shower drain after it leaked out of my thoroughly-fucked pussy. Patrick dozed off after riding me to a thunderous climax, and I gave him a gentle peck on the cheek as I slipped from the bed and changed into my workout clothes. So far, so normal.

But I kept a little secret from Patrick, which I seldom do. Tonight I am not only going to work out in the hotel fitness center, I intend to be fucked there by a second lover. And I am all atingle at this deception – it has been a very long time indeed since I cheated on Patrick, though I fuck other men besides my husband on a fairly regular basis.

Our routine is good, but it has grown somewhat stale. At home, Patrick selects two to four men to service me according to his whims roughly once a month. For the hotel, I make the selections on the HotWyf app, with Patrick’s full participation, to the point that he is sometimes impersonating me on the app while engaging in dirty communications with my selected lover. We’re working on some new routines at the lake house that seem to be surfacing things I never knew about Patrick’s desires, but we don’t go there often enough to explore those in great depth. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t appreciate this glorious arrangement that puts me and my insatiable desires at the center; but sometimes I want to color outside the highly unfettered lines I’ve been provided.

So this week, in anticipation of the tryst we planned together, I’ve been dabbling with a different app that Patrick doesn’t know I use. I’m sure you know the one, it claims to be able to discreetly connect libidinous married people and make it easy to cover your tracks both before and after your assignation. Though it ran into some very bad publicity a few years ago, with a serious data breach that leaked a few thousand names to the dark web, lately they’ve done a good job of tightening their security practices while also improving the ways to find a good connection. And I think I found a very good connection indeed.

My intended lover is in town to give a keynote address at a technical conference being held in the hotel across the street. He didn’t use his real name on the app, of course, but it wasn’t hard to figure out who he is – people are generally very poor at operational security, and the clues he left in the app made it easy to identify him. Once I had his identity it was easy to deduce his habits, one of which is a late night visit to the hotel fitness center the day before a big presentation.

Our arranged meeting, however, isn’t supposed to happen until after his presentation; it seems that he wants to celebrate another great achievement and perhaps unwind from the stress with a little skin-on-skin activity. All of which would be fine, except that Patrick has promised to take me to my favorite French restaurant tomorrow night, and after I’ve eaten my weight in mille feuille I am not usually in the mood for love. So I intend to upend the plans a bit.

I get to the top floor of the hotel, where the fitness center, sauna, and pool are situated, a little before ten o’clock. It’s usually deserted at this time of night – the busy times are typically from about four o’clock to six, and then from seven to nine, otherwise it’s quite quiet. I’m happy to see that this is the case tonight – no one is in the fitness center but my intended target, using the shoulder press machine. He has shiny black hair swept back in a wave, nut-brown skin, and sparkling eyes; though he’s wearing a shirt while working on the machine, the musculature of his back is easily discernible, and I watch him for a few moments in silence, enjoying the way his back and shoulders ripple while he pushes against the bar.

I swipe my room key to enter, and stride purposefully toward the treadmills. Arms on my hips, I survey the line of three treadmills, as if deciding which to use. I flex my own shoulder muscles, and then tighten my glutes; I look in the mirrored walls to discern where my target’s eyes are drifting – it’s amazing how few people recognize how much can be seen in those mirrored walls – and note with great satisfaction that his eyes are clearly focused on my ass.

 Making sure to give my ass an extra wiggle, I swing my hips and pivot on one foot to walk toward my target. He quickly glances down, as if I should believe that he’s working on the shoulder press and staring at his feet, certainly not staring at my ass. When I’m standing next to him, I lean down and whisper the screen name that I’ve been using in our chats. He fumbles a lift of the bar, and looks up at me, his eyes wide.

“But – I thought we were meeting tomorrow – ?”

I love the musical lilt of his accent. “Change of plans,” I say. “I’m otherwise engaged tomorrow, so it’s tonight or never.” I cock my hips to one side and give him a playful grin. “What do you say?”

“I –well, I – yes, tonight,” he says, and starts to untangle himself from the machine. “Your room or mine?”

“Neither,” I say, walking toward the treadmills. “Right here, right now, final offer.”

I look back over my shoulder as I climb up onto the treadmill and press the green start button. The belt shudders and begins to churn, and I press the up arrow on the handlebar to increase its speed. By the time my intended lover has started toward me I’m already going at a pretty brisk pace.

“You need to catch me first,” I say, “but I warn you, I’m pretty fleet of foot.”

He smiles and hops up onto the treadmill behind me, apparently catching on to the game. His stride is awkward at first as he goes from standing to sprinting in less than a second, but he pretty quickly adjusts to the pace. I can feel him running behind me, inches away, warm and breathing steadily.

“You know the myth of Atalanta, yes?” I ask over my shoulder, giving the speed button another quick flick to increase the pace.

“Ata – who?”

“Atalanta,” I say, “a princess of Boeotia renowned for her running. She refused to marry any suitor who couldn’t beat her in a footrace.”

“Ah,” he says. “And you, I suppose, will be Atalanta in this retelling?”

“Certainly not,” I say, and increase the speed with my thumb again. “I’m not looking for a suitor, I’m happily married. But I do like a footrace.”

I glance back to see his smile, and I judge that his pace is good for a couple more increases. I press the button again, and then say, “Atalanta was defeated by a suitor who threw golden apples at her feet while she ran. I wonder, do you have anything to throw at me?”

He looks puzzled for a moment, and shakes his head. I grasp my shirt by the hem and toss it over my head with a twisting movement, revealing my black sports bra. With a flick of my thumb I increase the speed another notch.

“So nothing at all you can toss?” I ask, and he catches my not-so-subtle clue at last, pulling off his own shirt. His chest is broad with just the faintest sheen of perspiration making it glisten in the fluorescent lights; his nipples are a darker brown against his skin and look deliciously suckable.

“Very nice,” I say. “It appears that you’ve passed me already, though I think you got a head start.”

I curl my hands behind me and unclasp my bra, tossing it aside as well. Bare-breasted, I increase the speed of the treadmill again; I glance behind and see that my lover is red-faced and breathing hard, and in some danger of stumbling. He reaches toward me, hands going past me as though he’s planning to cup my breasts; I push the button again, increasing the speed just a notch, and he has to focus on his running and not my tits.

When I strike the stop button with my palm, he crashes into me, almost stumbling as the belt suddenly slows and then stops. If I hadn’t braced myself against the machine’s handles he would have smashed me against the upright beam; as it is, the force of his impact nearly knocks the breath out of me. He leans into me, breathing hard; I can feel his heart pounding against my back. I press my ass back against him to confirm that I haven’t broken him with this little warm up; he doesn’t have a raging erection yet but his cock is definitely firm inside his loose shorts.

“It seems you’ve caught some of Atalanta’s apples,” I say when he reaches around me to squeeze my breasts. He pants against my neck while he fondles, stroking my nipples to erection with his thumbs. I push my hips harder against him and make a circular motion with my ass, feeling his cock thicken in response. His chest is slick with sweat against my back.

I glance at the clock on the wall above the ellipticals, and see that it is already ten after ten; we have less than an hour to finish this up, so I need to move things along even if he hasn’t quite caught his breath. I turn and drop suddenly to my knees, tugging at his shorts as I kneel. His penis bounces free, a nicely curved specimen, uncut, the cinnamon-colored head peeking from the foreskin. I grasp it in one hand and slide the foreskin along the shaft; it’s slick and musky with his sweat, and when I take it into my mouth it has a rich, earthy taste.

He groans and wraps his fingers in my hair, pulling my face closer. My nose grazes his bristly black pubic hair, and I open my throat to take his shaft until I can touch his heavy balls with the tip of my tongue. Gasping for breath I pull away, and then run my tongue along the underside of his cock. When I plunge my mouth over his cock again he moans and pumps his hips; his scrotum tightens in my hand, and can taste a salty drop of pre-cum on his tip. Our little sprint must have really got the blood flowing.

“Oh my god,” he gasps when I stand up and press myself against him, holding his cock against my belly. I laugh and bite playfully at his nipples; they are indeed quite suckable, hard little pebbles between my lips and salty on my tongue. I lick his chest, mostly smooth with just a tuft of thin hair at his breast bone, and gently scratch his back with my fingernails. His cock pulses between us; I can feel his heartbeat through it against my belly button.

I kick my shoes off and shimmy my shorts down so they fall in a puddle around my ankles. His hands grasp my ass, kneading my glutes, and he angles his head down to kiss me hard, desperate tongue seeking mine. We joust for a bit until I capture his tongue in my mouth and give it a playful bite. He laughs and pulls back, saying, “That’s an important piece of equipment, you don’t want to damage it.”

And suddenly it’s his turn to fall to his knees, that important tongue running a line between my breasts and over my belly and past the narrow strip of hair to my clit, which he swirls gently and then hungrily, sucking my button into his mouth. I gasp, hands holding his head, and pull one foot free of the puddle of my shorts so I can drape it over his shoulder. With full access now to my pussy he laps and hums, gobbling me hungrily with lips and tongue. He brings a finger up beside his tongue and slips it easily inside, my channel lubricated by my sweat and nectar.

“You’re delicious,” he says into my thigh, scraping the sensitive skin with his fingernails and then plunging his tongue into my cunt again. I moan and pull him tighter. I need his cock inside me.

I look around the fitness center for inspiration, and my eyes land on the shoulder press where I had watched my lover’s beautiful back when I entered the room. Using my fingers, I guide his chin up; we’re both a little reluctant for him to leave his feast at my table, but the clock is ticking and we need to move this routine along. When he stands I kiss his lips, tasting my nectar on his face, and I feel my pussy tighten with need. I push him backward. Luckily he had the forethought to finish removing his shoes and shorts while he was eating me or I would surely have tripped him to the floor with my urgent shove; as it is he stumbles a bit as he steps backward off the treadmill, hands on my waist to lift me down.

It seems he wants to stand behind the treadmill and do more kissing, but we don’t have time for that. I keep urging him back, belly tight against his throbbing cock, until the backs of his knees strike the shoulder press bench. I use my hands on his shoulders to guide him to sit, and then I straddle him, my slick pussy against his belly and his raging cock against my ass. I hold his face in my palms and devour him, tongue and lips hungry for his sweat, and I say, “Fuck me, I need to ride your cock.”

He complies, lifting my ass with one hand and guiding his cock to my channel with the other. He enters easily, and I let out a satisfied moan; he’s a little bigger than my first lover of the day, a little narrower but longer than my beloved Patrick, and the tip of his cock easily brushes my cervix; there’s a delicious pressure, slightly painful but entirely arousing, when he reaches his depth. I begin to ride him, slowly and steadily, feet braced on the floor so I can control our fucking completely. He reaches up to grasp the exercise bar above us, pushing against it on my downstroke, pulling on my upstroke; I can hear the iron bars on the pulley behind him clang when our sweat-slick skin connects.

I’ve already been fucked twice today – once by my shower lover, once by Patrick – so I can fuck my evening lover langorously. My lover, though, seems to have been chaste today, and there’s a desperate edge to his carnal need. With a mighty grunt he stands, arms wrapping around my waist, and staggers toward the weight bench behind me. I wrap my legs around him, laughing at our topheavy shuffle, and he lowers me onto the bench. It’s angled a bit so my head is lower than my feet, and my tits fall toward my face. He grasps them in his hands, squeezing, and begins to hammer his hips against me.

His fucking is hard and almost angry, as though all of the days frustrations are pent up between his cock and my pussy. I imagine that there have been some frustrations – a long day of traveling, perhaps, the usual tangles of hotel check-ins and conference paperwork and perhaps a long and exasperating taxi ride from the airport. The app where I found him is almost entirely populated by married men, so perhaps there’s some frustration at home, too – men seldom seek out an anonymous fuck at a hotel if the conjugal bed is entirely satisfying. Whatever it is that fuels his desperate fucking, I am happy to be the recipient of it; his cock stretches my pussy with each thrust, and I can hear the juices frothing as he churns.

“Oh fuck I’m coming!” he shouts, and I use my legs to pull him in tight. He shakes as he erupts inside me, the warmth seeping all through my cunt while his cock throbs. He staggers back, cock falling free, and I hear some of his jizz splash on the floor.

I could feel satisfied at this day – I came in the shower and in Patrick’s arms, and my current lover certainly gave me a solid fucking – but I think I have another climax in me if my lover is up to it. His cock is still hard, though not rigid, so there’s little time to waste.

I stand on unsteady legs and push him back to the bench he was seated on before, my palms against his chest. When he drops onto the bench again I turn my back to him and straddle his knees, wrapping my hand around his sticky-slick cock to keep it firm. Then, balls cupped in one and the base of his cock in the other, I slide him back into my pussy and start to ride.

Looking across the room, I make eye contact with myself in the floor to ceiling mirror on the opposite wall. I am disheveled and flushed, tits swaying as I ride my lover’s cock, a trickle of sweat dripping between my breasts. He has his hands on my waist, fingers dark against my skin, squeezing, helping me to rise and fall on his shaft. I keep one hand on his balls and bring the other to my clit, strumming in time with the rhythm of my fucking.

I love to look at my face when I’m approaching orgasm – my eyes go wide, focus softening, my mouth relaxes, and color rises in my cheeks. I can see the muscles and bones in my neck straining as I rub my clit in tighter and tighter circles, my nipples stiffening. My lover’s cock is starting to fade, but I grip it tightly in my pussy desperate to hold on to its waning girth. Before his erection can dissolve in our mingling juices, I squeeze my thighs and my cunt and let out a roar as a fast, shaking orgasm seizes me. The woman in the mirror shivers, her mouth open and hair sticking to her cheeks with sweat, as she gives her clit one last flick and stands, letting her lover’s flagging prick fall free.

My lover is breathing hard, eyes closed, arms at his sides. His cock gives a little twitch as it melts; it shines in the fluorescent lights. I would like to let him rest, perhaps slumber on this bench like a mighty king on his throne, but the clock on the wall says we have five minutes before the fitness center closes and we risk discovery by the hotel staff locking up for the night.

I gather up my discarded clothes and pull a couple of towels from the shelf by the door. One I use to wipe between my legs, giving me a little post-orgasmic shiver; my pussy is a little tender after a busy day, and the towel is rough from too many washings. The other towel I toss on the lap of my lolling lover.

“Time to wipe down and head out,” I announce.

He shakes his head and opens his eyes, a little disoriented. “Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks.

“No,” I say dreamily, thinking of the champignon parmentier Patrick has promised me, “but thank you for this evening, it was wonderful.”

He rises unsteadily, dabbing at his armpits with the towel. His chest glistens still with sweat. I throw a glance over my shoulder as I leave the fitness room, bundled clothes tucked under my arm, and see him watching my naked ass. I give it a little wiggle to help it stick in his memory and make my way to the elevator, the naughtiness of making this assignation behind Patrick’s back putting an extra bounce in my step.

Discussion

Table of Contents

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Smuthub free erotic sex stories logo
Share
Reddit
Twitter
Facebook
Tumblr
StumbleUpon
Report Story

Please let us know why you are choosing to report this Report story. Review Smuthub’s Submission Standards if you need to.

Reason For Reporting
Violation

URL of stolen work
Optional Details

Upload Your book

Paste full URL to your book (ex: https://www.amazon.com/Fight-Club)
Upload your cover photo
Maximum file size: 1 MB
Recommended Size: 750 x 1200