_Taboo Thoughts

_Taboo Thoughts _Taboo Thoughts

Status: Finished

Genre: True Confessions

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: True Confessions

Summary

A woman struggles to control her inappropriate thoughts while at a gym.

Summary

A woman struggles to control her inappropriate thoughts while at a gym.

Content

Submitted: November 08, 2015

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Content

Submitted: November 08, 2015

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There he is again, eye-fucking me from across the gym.  If he wasn’t so sexy, I’d tell him off, for sure.  But goddamn.  Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin tone, perfect amount of facial hair, tattoos on those brawny arms…

The incline adjusts on the treadmill and I look down to see how much I need to adjust my stride.  It was a small adjustment, just enough for me to feel new muscles being activated.  I look back towards the free weights section to find my current fixation.  He’s looked away, busy lifting.  Good, I can stare more hopefully without him noticing.

The problem is he knows he’s sexy.  He knows he’s been my eye candy for the past few months.  I hate to feed an already over-inflated ego, so I have to take measures.  Some days I let him catch me looking, some days I give him the tiniest smile as I walk past, some days he gets nothing.  It’s awful to admit, but I love the game.  I haven’t defined all of the rules yet, but the idea of it is to make sure he knows you want him, but be completely hard to get.  Never make the first move. 

I know he has a girlfriend and/or babymama.  I know little about her: she’s not ugly, not stupid and not fond of the gym.  I also know that he doesn’t make the first move; however, if he were approached, he would absolutely go with it.  Whatever “it” might be.  Anything... 

But he’s only one.  He’s my tatted egomaniac: Mr. Ego.  There’s also Mr. Army.  Sexy as hell but opposite Mr. Ego.  Army boy is blond with the classic military cut, blue eyes and a seriousness about him.  Definitely likes to be in control.  He could take control of me any day, I think dreamily.  But he wouldn’t; he seems fiercely loyal.  No eye contact, no checking out the girls in an obvious way.  Probably loves his perfect little wife at home.  Ugh.  I can’t compete with that, nor would I want to interfere with a  happy home.  I’m sure he fucks her weekly or even every couple of days.  Lucky bitch.

I’ve hit the ten minute mark: time to up the pace.  I increase the speed to 6.5 and give myself a minute to settle in.  Once my muscles acclimate and my breathing steadies, I allow myself to return to my lustful thoughts.

And I have one last favorite: Mr. Sexy Daddy.  He is short, maybe 5’7, tattoos everywhere but not obnoxious.  He’s very fit but not ‘roided out, which makes him even sexier.  He’s also older, maybe around 40.  He has a quiet confidence and a sweet, unassuming personality.  I could blow his fucking mind and make him obsessed with me inside of twenty minutes.  But would he let me?  I’m not sure.

I see Mr. Ego looking at me through my peripheral vision, so I purposely avoid that section of the gym with my gaze.  I find Mr. Sexy and his son—or, at least some teenage kid that has a relatively strong resemblance to him.  The scrawny son had suddenly transformed into a lean but muscular teen over the past few weeks.  All the working out was doing him good.  He looked eager to interact and growing in confidence.  Oh, the things I could do with both of them. 

Yes, it’s a sick fantasy.  But I feel confident I could handle them both.  I smirk mid-run while letting my mind wonder.

I’d approach Mr. Sexy to say “hi” and innocently request his help with the locker: it’s stuck!  He’s such a sweetheart that he would, of course, come to help me.  His son follows.  Once in the locker room, he easily opens it as I lean on the locker next to him.  He looks at me puzzled, trying to figure out if I was incompetent or just dishonest in my intentions.  He sees it in my eyes as I smile shyly and look down.  As he realizes the situation and tries to assess it, I step closer to him, touch one of his perfectly toned arms and lean in to kiss him.  He hesitates at first, unsure, still deciding, but then gives in.  His hands find my waist and he pulls me close as the kiss heats up.  I turn and lean my back against the lockers, keeping him close to me, not leaving the kiss.  His son is just a foot away now, dumbfounded at what’s happening in front of him.  My left arm stays wrapped around Sexy Daddy’s shoulders, but my right arm extends towards the son.  I grab his shirt and pull him close to me. 

I break out of our passionate kiss and give my neck as compensation.  He takes it.  I lock eyes with the son, pull him closer then let my hand slide down his torso to his bulge.  Sexy Daddy has left my neck and found my breasts as I stroke the son, enjoying the disbelief playing across his face.  I pull the son in for a kiss as his father travels down, to between my thighs, pulling my shorts down.  As he begins to devour me, I continue to kiss the son and reach down to stroke his strong erection...

I didn’t bring my foot up high enough and the front of my sneaker dragged on the treadmill belt: I tripped.  Thankfully, I recovered quickly and didn’t completely lose my balance.  Well, that’s what I get for getting too deep into my fantasy while running.  I look around and see a few people had glanced, but no one of interest had continued to stare.  How pathetic would it have been had I fallen?  I shouldn’t be thinking about such ridiculous, taboo fantasies anyways.  Serves me right.

My face gets hot from embarrassment and I turn angry. No, that’s what he gets for not fucking me.  I’m not ugly, not disagreeable, not neglectful.  I keep fit, I’m always horny, and I am desperate to explore sexually but all he wants to do is cuddle.  I shouldn’t have to daydream about strangers; we’re four years into our relationship and one year into our marriage.  We should still be uncomfortable for people to be around because the sexual energy is that apparent.  What happened to our “honeymoon phase?”  Instead, there’s only an obligatory event once a month to quell the wife.  Always the same positions, even always on the same day: Sunday.  Who on earth can fathom a weekday fuck?  Utter nonsense.

I haven’t hit the twenty minute mark yet, but I increase the pace to 7.0mph anyways.  If I run fast enough, maybe I won’t be able to fantasize.  If I run on this hamster wheel long enough, maybe I can outrun the urges.  If I run hard enough, I might be able to achieve runner’s high and that will be the best rush obtainable on a Tuesday in my world.

I look to the left of the free weights section and catch Mr. Ego’s eye.  He smirks and licks his lips, never breaking eye contact.  And just like that, I’m lost in my thoughts again.


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