Indulge - Chapter 1

INDULGE

Chapter 1

I remember the first time I saw her.  I had  been going to the same gym for almost four years.  It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was a place to release the day’s stresses and improve my fitness some.  It wasn’t always easy to find time to work out my regular four day s a week, but as life piled on more stressors, my priority became to make time for the gym. 

So I’d make the twenty-minute drive.  It was often a drive filled with loud, angry, cuss-filled music from my teenage years.  But on other treks, I wouldn’t even mess with syncing up my phone.  I would just listen to hum of the engine and try to think about as little as possible.

The gym was one of those local places.  Despite that, it was situated just off of one of the major interstates that provided plenty of commerce and also plenty of headaches during the morning Monday thru Friday commute.  But a short, twenty-minute drive with only a couple miles on the interstate provided me with just enough time to prepare myself for the physical punishment I often subjected my body to. 

I had a rather set routine, and I seldom allowed anything to alter that.  Some evenings, cardio had to be cut short to make it home in time to finish my responsibilities there and crawl into my side of the bed at a reasonable hour.  I tried to maintain that routine, even on the night I first saw her.

Usually after 8:30 or so, the gym is rather quiet.  Most of the commuters had ventured home, especially on a Friday evening when the gym typically closed at 6:00 for all of those without 24/7 access to the gym.  For a guy looking to avoid people and the stress that often comes with them, a Friday night at the gym is the perfect scenario.  On most Fridays, I would have the gym entirely to myself.  And this is exactly what I expected the first time I saw her.

I was just started my sets on the rowing machine when I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye.  Not thinking anything of it, I proceeded with my reps.  However, between the 2nd and 3rd set, I looked into the mirrors that lined the walls from about knee-high to the ceiling.  She was stunning.  She had positioned herself on a basic bench with one knee on the bench and her other leg straightened, as if to do some dumbbell rows.  In the mirror, I caught a glimpse of her ass through her rather tight yoga pants.  To spare you the details, her pants accentuated all of the finer features of her ass. 

There was a slight stirring within me, but I ignored it and finished my last set on that machine. 

When I finished, I still found myself distracted, and I felt it best to get a drink from the fountain.  Perhaps I was thirsty.  Perhaps I just wanted a closer look.  I hadn’t yet seen her face.  But if her ass and her toned legs were any indication, I knew she would be nothing short of stunning.  And completely out of my league.

I stood up and for the first time, our eyes made contact.  I was looking in the mirror at her.  She was looking in the mirror at me.  She was still bent over.  I took in her blonde hair in a long pony tail probably half-way down her back, and her low-cut pink tank top that more belonged on a beach than at the gym.  It was obvious that her sports bra was too small, especially when she was bent over. 

It was only a momentary glance.  I didn’t want to be that guy at the gym who thinks he owns the show and can hit on whoever he wants.  Besides, although I had been a member of the gym for several years, my body had not made the progress I had hoped for.  Most of that could be attributed  to my late-night snacking and my utter refusal to change my eating habits.  Regardless, she had purpose in being at the gym.  And so did I. 

I turned left down the hallway to the other machine room and made a right.  The water fountain was up against the stairwell leading to the cardio area.  I made sure to take my time.  I refilled my water bottle.  I caught my breath.  And I hoped that when I returned to complete my incline bench press sets, she would have moved on to another part of the free weight area. 

I knew it wasn’t cheating to merely catch a glance.  I knew that I had committed no sin against my wife in any way.  But I also remembered that slight stirring within I had felt when I hadn’t immediately looked away from her ass in the mirror. 

When I returned to the main weight room, she was no longer at the free weight bench.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  It was a momentary sigh of relief.  I heard another machine working, but it was around the corner.  I paused.  I knew I shouldn’t look; I already had a feeling what machine she would be on.  But I couldn’t resist. 

As one who is inexperienced in the art of stealing may do, I slowly peeked around the corner to find her on the adductor machine.  For those less experienced in a gym, the adductor machine is the one that works the inner thighs because it requires the repeated pulling together of one’s legs. 

She had to know I was looking.  Why would she tease me so?  We were clearly the only two people in the entire gym.  First, her ass.  Then, her tits practically falling out of her tank top.  Now, her legs moving together and apart.  The stirring intensified.

I turned away.  It was time to continue my work out.  I went to an incline bench to do some leg raises and work my lower abs.  It was a futile attempt to take my mind off of what I had seen.  Each time I raised my legs toward my head, an image flashed before my eyes. 

Her tight black yoga pants.  One.  No panty line.  Two.  Her boobs hanging there.  Three.  Her blonde pony tail.  Four.  Her legs apart.  Five. 

I stopped.  Five.  Only five.  It was too much.  I felt I had wronged my wife.  My wife.  The one to whom I had dedicated my love and my life.  My wife.  The one who had dinner ready when I arrived home after working late.  My wife.  The one.

I’m not sure why I did it, but I had to steal one more glance.  I was going upstairs for a brisk walk on the treadmill.  I had to clear my head.  Perhaps checking my e-mail or re-reading a favorite book would help.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t important enough for me to avoid looking one last time. 

I could hear her counting aloud, and straining herself a bit.  She had clearly added more weight.  I’m not sure why, but the first thing I noticed was how tight her hands were gripping the bars beneath the seat of the machine.  Her arm muscles were tight.  Toned and tight.  Following her arms up, I saw what I thought were her yoga pants hanging on the nearby machine.  Surely not.  Surely she hadn’t removed them.  It was then that I looked past that nearby machine and into the mirror.  Why they have mirrors in front of the adductor machine, I don’t know.  It seems inappropriate, sexually inappropriate.  I looked into the mirror, and in the reflection I saw her legs opening and closing very slowly.  Her leg muscles were tight under the strain, but still she managed to keep counting. “Eleven,” she counted.  I ignored everything else going on around us and watched as she slowly allowed the weights on the machine to spread her legs farther and farther open.  Her pubic hair was trimmed very short.  She had a small strip of hair just above her lips, but no hair on the lips themselves.  Her pussy was a delicate pink, but it looked slightly swollen.  Perhaps the work out was increasing the blood flow to that area.  As she allowed the machine to fully open her legs, I got a glimpse of her entire pussy.  Her tank top was still on.  And just as she began to pull her legs together, I looked at her face.  Beautiful.  Striking.  Eyes closed.  “Twelve.”

Thank God.  She hadn’t seen me looking at her.  I ducked away and practically sprinted to the tread mill.  I am glad it was just the two of us at the gym; the bulge in my gym shorts was rather uncomfortable, but glaringly obvious.  Without even considering my ear buds, I hopped onto the nearest machine, set the timer and speed, and began walking.  It was several minutes, and a rising pain in my calf, before I realized I had set the speed well above my normal routine.  I backed it down and let out a long exhale.  I had seen enough.  No, too much.  Should I tell my wife?  How would I explain?  Why did I not look away immediately?  Would it have been appropriate to explain how indecent she was being?  And why would she take off her pants?  On the adductor machine of all machines!  Did she know I was watching?  Was it intentional?

More questions pounded my head.  I had to stop thinking about it.  Find a book, my mind told me.  Just find a book and forget it happened. 

It was no use.  Attempting to read a book was not distracting me.  I went to my backup plan: music.  Certainly I could find some loud, aggressive tune to take my mind off of what I had just seen.  I mean, I couldn’t complain about the work out I was getting, but walking on a treadmill with an erection in tight-fitting work shorts covered by basketball shorts was not enjoyable.  Something angry, loud, and distracting.  Finally, the world around me was silenced as drums beat and guitars blared.  Thoughts of her and her soft, pink, inviting pussy were fa…Who was I kidding?! 

Images flashed again.  Tight arms.  Slightly glistened legs.  Sweat.  Her lips opening farther and farther.  Her eyes closed as she enjoyed the strain.  The moisture of her pussy begging for my mouth.

Wait.  Too far.  I had simply gone too far.  I had to leave.  I had to go to the locker room, shower—a nice, long cold shower I might add—and return home. 

I wiped down the treadmill screen, took a long drink from the nearby fountain to cool myself, and began walking back downstairs. 

I had removed my ear buds as I prepared to turn right and go to the locker room, but instead a noise caught my attention from the left, the main weight room.  The place where I last saw her half naked. 

At first I thought I was mistaken.  The noise sounded like one from my past.  It sounded like panting.  Was she still working out?  How long would she last?  From my perspective she looked pretty damn good from top to bottom.  Who was she kidding?  That body didn’t need any work.  But the next sound resembled a grunt.  A man’s grunt.  It was the next moan—from her—that turned my mind to another type of work out. 

I had to be imagining.  Sure, it was after hours and few people rarely visit the gym this late on a Friday evening.  But no one would be doing that, not at a public gym with windows, mirrors, and no doors.  I shook my head, turned back right, and began walking toward the showers.  It had to be my imagination.  I had already seen too much.  It had to be my mind playing tricks on me.  It was the combination of her spreading legs, my desire.  No, my lust.  And the heat from the work out that were combining to play tricks on me. 

Just as I reached the locker room door, I heard convincing evidence that I was not imagining.  I heard what sounded like a smack, followed by a female exclamation of “YES!”  It echoed throughout the gym.  It sent chills down my legs, and blood rushing to crotch. 

Fucking?  Is she fucking someone in the weight room?  Better yet, Who was she fucking?  I was too curious, and I will admit it, too aroused, to not check. 

I tip-toed down the hallway and past the stairs.  As I approached the doorway, there was no mistaking that she was, indeed, fucking someone in the weight room.  The smell of sweat mixed with sex was already lingering in the air.  I heard heaving breathing.  I heard a man grunting and breathing through his teeth.  I heard people fucking.

I peeked around the corner of the doorway just enough to use the mirrors across the room to see what was taking place.  She was back to the free weight bench.  She was clutching the end of the bench with one knee firmly planted into it and one leg extended to the floor.  Her clothes were tossed about and her tits bounced with each of his thrusts.  He was the model of muscular.  His arms were the size of my thighs.  His skin was tight, tanned, and nothing less than ripped.  It was no surprise.  The details were too stereotypical to even repeat them all.  But my focus was on her.

Her tits continued to bounce around as he continued to thrust from behind.  It was same position she had just been in.  Why hadn’t I seen the obvious signs of her preference for doggystyle?  How had I missed that detail?  But clearly it wasn’t my detail to notice, or to take advantage of.  Not that I would have.  Having the notion that one has the chance is often all that a person needs.  In this case, I was out-matched in every way.  Which is exactly why my erection was pinned up in my shorts, and his erection was balls-deep in her wet and aching pussy. 

I knew to turn away.  I knew to turn back, take my cold shower, and return home.  But I did not move.  I continued to watch.  Was I taking notes?  Was I dreaming of a second chance?  Or was I merely a pervert? 

His thrusts quickened.  Her tits bounced more.  She clutched the bench tighter.  It was obvious he was building to a climax. 

“Come on.  Give it to me,” she exhaled. 

His thrusts slowed, but became more deliberate.  Each of his hands gripped a hip as he slammed into her.  The first couple slams nearly caused her to lose her grip, but she adjusted her hands and further braced with her legs.  She was skilled.  She had taken a pounding like this before.  It was obvious.  I understood now why she needed that adductor machine.  She needed her legs to be as tight and as muscular as possible to handle all that he was giving her.  Thankfully, from the way they were positioned I could not see his cock.  I’m sure I would have failed to compare in length and girth.  If I looked into the mirror, I could see her: tits bouncing, lip bitten when not moaning, hands and arms bracing for each deliberate thrust.  If I looked around the corner, all I saw was his muscular backside.  And still I knew I shouldn’t be watching, but the tightness in my shorts urged me on. 

“Arrrgh!” The muscular man yelled out.

“Yes.  Keep going!  Pound me!” She echoed in return.  “Give it to me!”

I had to turn away.  It was becoming too much.  And just as I went to turn away, I’m not sure exactly what it was.  Perhaps some was reflective on my clothing.  Perhaps it was me turning to leave.  But as I turned, her head lifted up, her eyes opened, and for a very brief moment we made eye contact.  She saw me.  I panicked.

I quickly made my way back down the hallway as quietly but as fast as I possibly could.  Just as I reached the common area, I heard him yell, “I’m cumming!  Take it all!”  And she gave a huge exhale of pleasure.

I didn’t know what to do.  Do I just leave the gym and shower at home?  My wife would ask why I changed my routine.  Do I take a long enough shower in hopes that they would be gone by the time I left?  What happened if he came in to shower?  Would she reveal to him my eavesdropping?  What if they both came in for an after-a-good-fuck shower…together?  Shit.  I was in high-anxiety mode. 

Still, my cock was rock hard.  I had just watched two people fuck in front of me.  I had already seen her pussy opening and closing on the adductor machine.  And now I saw her take a true pounding and not wincing or crying in pain.  And it had ended with her seeing that I had seen her.  Would they flip out and assume I would tell the owner?  Would they come into the locker room and wish to discuss what I had seen?  Question upon question ran through my mind.  I wasn’t scared.  I was terrified. 

Finally, my mind settled on seeing if they were still there.  Like a child on the night before Christmas, I slowly opened the locker room door and peaked out.  Just as I did, I saw her naked ass walking away from my direction and into the ladies locker room.  Surely the man would be coming into the locker room to shower, especially if she was going to her respective locker room.  But I heard no footsteps.  Instead, I heard what must have been the main door to the gym slowly closing.  I heard a car door shut and an engine fire.  He had left.  He had come to the gym, fucked her, and left.  Quite a work out.  I’m sure a few calories were burned in the process.

I went back into the locker room and breathed a sigh of relief.  I could shower knowing that nothing would come of my voyeuristic moment. 

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