She trembles. Her fingers flick back and forth over her clitoris, first rubbing outside, then dragging along her labia before entering deep within and pulling back out. Her legs moistened by the sight of him as he goes through his daily routine. Today he lifts weights, his sweat glistened chest pushing the weight up and down in succession. These days are her favorite to watch. He lies on his bench naked save his underwear. On these days she imagines.
She approaches him from the behind his bench, careful to remain silent and unseen. His head is slightly raised as he pumps the bar-bell. He muscles ripple as he thrusts the bar up. They strain as he lowers the bar down. Up, down, up, down. Today he is working at his maximum weight. Up, down. Silently she steps forward, preparing her timing. Up, down. She watches his muscles as she prepares to make her move. Up, down, up, down, up, DOWN. She moves in, placing her hands outside of his, pressing down against the bar. He notices the extra weight first. His gaze flicks back and he sees her. Her hair cascades down around her face framing her simple beauty. From her face he is drawn to her neck, her shoulders, then her breasts. She wears a unitard, the kind that reminds him of a single piece bathing suit. Her breasts push against the fabric, pulsing with each short breath she takes. She is pushing against the bar.
He is trapped.
Her gaze flits briefly down the length of his body, noticing the slight bulge which has already appeared. She knows he cannot take her full measure from where he is lying. He can see her chest and head but not her crotch, hips or thighs. She is saving the best for last. His mouth opens to speak but closes again with a single look from her. He is hers now. She will determine the timing. She will determine the outcome. She leans back, removing the extra weight and allowing him to rest the bar in its brackets.
As he starts to shift into a sitting position her hands come down once more. She rests her weight on his shoulders. He could easily end this now by resisting her weight and sitting anyway, instead he relaxes back against the bench. She smiles slightly as his head shifts in a feeble attempt to see more of her. She smiles as she shakes her head and gently uses a hand to direct his focus once more forward. The bulge is growing.
She crouches down behind him and runs her fingers through his hair. Her nails scrape lightly against his scalp sending a slight, but visible, shudder through his body. The bulge pulses once. She drifts her nails down his neck digging in slightly as she messages the muscles in the side of his neck. She watches the bulge pulse once more. Her nails slide along his shoulders before shifting angle and running down his chest. As she passes across his nipples he shudders, his hands gripping the center legs of the bench.
His eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. The bulge begins to resemble a tent, many inches long and rising inches above his legs. She feels a drop of moisture slowly wandering down her inner thigh. A warm pressure builds deep within her.