I Strayed but It Was so Good

Probably I should start by introducing myself. I'm Catherine, Cat for short. My life is nothing extraordinary, nor am I. Just an average sun deprived English girl, engaged to a guy, hoping to one day have some sprogs and a dog together. Living in South England with Mick, my fiance of Meditterenean origin, we have been doing great, all things concerned.

Hence why it was hard dropping off Mick at the airport. I loved that man, we had spent some of my best moments in life together, in the 3 years we've been together. Now, he was off to an assignment in Germany, meant to last for 5 months. It would be the longest we've ever been separated since our first date.

He wasn't just my man, but also my best friend. Whether we were chilling in the garden chatting away, or riding his hot body in the bedroom, there was always a good time to be had. We spent the night before in bed, both doing our best to please each other. However, I found it impossible to orgasm, since I was so stressed about him going away for so long. It wasn't that he didn't try; he employed his mouth, fingers and sizable dick in an effort to get me off, but in the end I just focused on him, then fell asleep in each other's arms.

One could rightly say that England and Germany are only a short plane flight afar and they would be right. However, my fiance was working for a defence subcontractor, which meant that he had to live within the facilities of an isolated compound in Bavaria, with no visitors allowed. The closest civilisation was a village 45 minutes away, with a small population of farmers and no airports or train stations nearby. Apparently, my fiance's company was outfitting some buildings, allegedly used for electronic warfare. That's all he could tell me. It was supposed to be so secure, that for external comms they were only allowed to use monitored phones with no encrypted messaging. In practice, all he could do in terms of communicating with the outside world that wasn't work related, were text messages through the compound's systems. The notion of even having a mutual masturbation session over video was out of the question, so was any form of sexting, apart from sms which would be read by others, or maybe a call now and then, but it would also be monitored and delayed.

In order to keep myself busy, I devoted more hours to work, catching up with friends and visiting the gym. Though I'd cycle pretty much everywhere, I still felt that the variety afforded by a gym would stave off boredom, get me more fit and work out some of my frustration. At least I had a plan in place, I suppose.

The first couple of weeks went by, managing to squeeze in a couple of brief calls with Mick. It wasn't until I heard his voice that I realised how much I was going to miss him. I mentioned how much I lusted for him and he confirmed that he felt the same. We both knew we'd have to help ourselves at the end, urged both by the lack of sex and each other's urging to do so. Slowly, over time, we became more daring and more desperate, with our texts getting more and more obscene.

By the end of month 1, my collection of toys was starting to see a lot more action. I now regarded my trusted bullet vibrator and dildos as dear as my girlfriends. Originally, I'd use a dildo while daydreaming about Mick, but over time my imagination started running wild. Every time I tried to bring in a new fantasy, or rework one of my favourites. The way I played with myself and used my toys was becoming a lot more intense, often experimenting with new positions and movements. All sessions culminated with my hand rubbing my sensitive clit, which was the only way I could achieve an orgasm. Reaching 30 without experiencing a vaginal orgasm, with various partners and toys, had convinced me that it was a pipe dream.

Apart from wearing down my toys, I had also made progress at the gym. I've managed to get myself up in the mornings regularly, then heading to the gym up to 5 times a week. I could feel that my ass was getting a workout, even though it still retained it's thick status.

Growing up, I had quite the issue with accepting my body, when only the petite, slim girls with a massive rack would be considered attractive. Over the years, I've learned how to take care of myself, how to dress for my body and how to accept who I was. Leaving high school for Uni, then working in London showed me that there are a lot of men out there who'd lust after my type. If you asked me now, if I could change my entire body, I'd still cling on to my b cups, slim waist and chunky butt.

Classes like today's "Squats, butts and abs" only helped with sculpting and enhancing my natural form. Step machines and yoga were also becoming daily favourites, helping getting some flexibility back from sitting day long in an office. Being in the gym often and on my own also meant that guys were becoming bolder in approaching me. I was by no means the gym goddess; some of the girls there looked ready for a magazine photoshoot. But it was undeniable that some of the guys were taking an interest in me and few of them would chat me up. Not going to lie, it felt nice getting complimented and knowing that I still had it. Especially since some of them were hot as hell. Fortunately, none of them were pushy or annoying.

Combining my ever growing fantasy collection and the frequent flirting by gym goers, it was a matter of time until the two combined. I felt bad at first, replacing my fiance in my fantasies, but mixing it up felt liberating and refreshing. One evening, I'd be riding my large 8 inch dildo, pretending it was the dick of a massive bodybuilder, who chatted me up earlier that day. During the next session, I'd use my smaller dildo and my vibrator, visualising another gym fitty slowly fucking me while rubbing my clit.

One Friday evening, after having a few drinks with my girls, I drunkenly cycled my way back. The warm and humid weather had my thick thighs sweating under my summer dress. It didn't help that we've been talking sex, which got me all worked up. Liz had confined how she took on two guys while at uni, something none of us had known of until now. It gave me an idea though for that evening's entertainment.

I didn't miss the opportunity to let my fiance know that I'd be giving my attention to two hard cocks tonight. Our texts became more and more brazen over time. I started joking about my dildos taking my fiance's place and by now, I was referring to them as impersonal dicks at my service, keeping me satiated and well fucked in my man's absence. He'd often reply, calling me an insatiable filthy slut, that he can't wait to give me a good fucking. If those messages were read by a person instead of an AI, we stopped caring. He was probably asleep this time and I received no reply. It would be just the three of us, I thought.

It took me some time to get it right. I kept my dress on, bunched around my waist. They'd fuck me in our one bedroom flat's lounge, not bothering to get me fully naked. My two suction cup dildos were stuck on the side of our sturdy coffee table and I was lubing them up lovingly, as if I was trying to get them harder.

My largest dildo, a thick, veiny 8 incher would have the duty of spreading my pussy, while the tamer 6 incher would take on sliding into my ass. Mick had pulled off double penetrating me a couple of times - me using his hefty cock and a dildo. I never felt more overwhelmed or fulfilled sexually than those times. I still had to get me off by touching myself, but I'd be a liar if I said that it wasn't one of the best fuckings he ever gave me. Overall, I'd say that I'd love getting a dick in my mouth, pussy or ass equally, under the right circumstances.

The two dildos were now stacked and lubed up. The soft carpet was a blessing for my knees, as I was kneeling and guiding them inside me. The 8 incher was the hardest to get in, it's wide head forced me to spread so much, which I doubt I could manage if I wasn't so horny. The other dildo slipped inside my ass effortlessly, the thin barrier pinched between the two dildos. I gently rolled my hips, then worked myself up into a frenzy. Closing my eyes, I thought of Mick ravaging my ass, while my tight pussy was spread wide by one of my gym admirers. I was being such a slut this time, taking on two men at once. It was so good that was cursing at my two lovers, urging them to fuck me harder, as I slammed my horny body against them. Face down, with a hand finding my clit, I was moaning and sighing. Soon, I was cumming and shaking on the two hard members, screaming as I tipped myself over the edge.I don't know how long it took me to catch my breath and slide off them, but I remember barely having the strength to walk to our bedroom and fall into a deep sleep.

It was getting close to 2 months since I was left on my own. That day, I was up particularly eary and the gym was quieter than usual. I was trying to get a second pullup in, failing miserably. I was sweating profusely, thinking that I'm destined to have zero upper body strength for life, when he introduced himself. A tall, well built man approached me and I got ready to politely refuse his advance. Though I've seen him around before, we never talked until now. His name was Marquis and he was one of the personal trainers milling about the gym floor. He looked way younger than his 45 years. Later, he had to show me his ID to believe that he was not in his late 30s. His elastic white top was basically molded around his hard body, a striking contrast to his smooth black skin. Not going to lie, he looked fantastic

Marquis simply enquired about my fitness goals. Apparently he noticed that my exercise regime was all over the place and wanted to pitch me his services. A bit vain I admit, but I was surprised that he was doing a sales pitch and not hitting on me, like other guys did. He was charming though and did manage to slip in a compliment. Apparently I looked fine, but he could help me take my form to the next stage. To convince me, he offered a free 30 minute PT session and if I liked his coaching style, we could discuss a discounted package. Honestly, he was right, I didn't really know anything about exercising with a programme, so I took on his offer. I hate to admit it, but I also accepted because he was a natural charmer, putting me at ease from the get go. The fact that he was hench and easy on the eyes didn't hurt either. The guy's tasty spandex clad ass brought the word "stallion" to mind.

We spent the next 30 minutes together, testing my strength and putting together a plan of action. We got to get to know each other, too. Apparently he grew up in a poor, violent environment, then started dealing, before landing in prison. Getting out he devoted himself to self improvement and helping others through coaching. As for his services, the total package included twice a week 45 minute sessions, for a couple of months. Price wise, it was a bargain, compared to the usual rates of other PTs in London. Maybe I was sold the plan before I even knew it existed, but I felt no hesitation in signing up for his services.

One of the recommendations was to forget the scales and use before/after progress photos. At the start of each week, I was meant to take a full body photo in front of the mirror, always in the same clothes, same pose. I should wear something that was form fitting but not tight enough to hide or move things around. When I asked if I should be sharing those photos with him, he laughed and said that it wasn't required, but it would be good to have. He then added "In more ways than one". Under his natural charm was a hint of flirtation. I wondered how many times he'd used that line, but it didn't matter, my mind was made up.

The night before our first session, I spent too much time thinking of what to wear for my progress photos. Going naked would be the best yardstick, but I couldn't conceive sending nude photos to another man. Yet there was some excitement about showing off myself to someone else, even under the guise of carrying out a professional service. I settled into wearing a two piece bikini. I already had photos in that swimsuit on social media, so I wasn't doing anything inappropriate, I rationalised.

The top was simply two triangular patches held together by strings, doing a decent job of keeping my tits in place, but kept most of my shoulders and back exposed. The bottom was more interesting; A high waist thong, which I only put on in public after Mick's insistence. My asscheeks felt so free and exposed when I was walking down the beach and I was so conscious of wearing it. It also felt liberating and sexy as fuck, evident by the lust in my fiance's eyes. Granted, the photos I posted publicly were from the front only, where the progress photos should cover front, side and rear. I managed to get some decent shots, then nervously sent them to Marquis, noting "I'm ready for tomorrow."

The answer was swift: "You are a fine woman, but with me you will get super fine."

The next couple of weeks were brutal, but I learned so much. I texted my fiance telling him that he might feel something different next time he gets his hands on me and I wasn't lying. I could tell that I was making more progress under Marquis's guidance, than on my own. Two more times I sent him progress photos and our chatting was getting more frequent over time. I noticed that we'd veer off talking only about workouts, with a bit of covert flirting thrown at me. Unashamedly, I reciprocated.

Week three of working with my PT and I was comfortable with him touching me while being spotted. He'd place hands on me depending on the spotting or correction required. It felt electrifying and I wasn't sure if it was because I found him attractive, or because I hadn't touched a man for more than 2 months. He was hard and demanding on me, yet also charming and ever increasingly a flirt. As our relationship progressed, I got the feeling that I had to meet his expectations, both as a client and as a woman. I had to progress and prove him right that I looked better than before. It was me putting on a show and demonstrating that I was a good girl, that somehow I needed his validation. According to a therapist I was seeing when a teenager, this behaviour was the result of my parents' divorce and growing up without a father. I was looking forward to sending my photos and hearing back from him. At the gym, I'd always work hard, while not missing an opportunity to bend or squat in front of him.

My girlfriends and coworkers all commented that I was visibly in better shape than before. Honestly, I felt proud of myself. Even though I advocate for people to love themselves, there is a sense of accomplishment when you look and feel more fit. I've even noticed that more guys would approach me at the gym or when out and about. At the gym, they'd keep their distance while training with Marquis. Maybe it was some jungle alpha male thing men had. All of these made me think I was doing the right thing for me, and by extension, my fiance. I was getting fitter and healthier, so we both could have good times together, right?

One morning, Marquis was spotting me benching, him standing over my head as I pushed the barbell. He has been cheeky and was probably wearing no undies, as his thick cock was outlined, running down his inner thigh. He always had a respectable bulge, but it was never this clear before. I wondered if wearing my thinner yoga pants would yield the same results, if not wearing panties. It was hard to not stare, even when my arms were shaking with fatigue. We'd end the sessions with some stretching and he'd help. He was pressing down on my feet while in the happy baby pose. All I could think was, how perfectly placed I was for him, just drop your knees stud and you will plummet your thick meat inside me. Your balls will smack my tight asshole and your cock will drive straight for my womb.

Fuck, when did I start fantasizing fucking other men in day time? Sure, I fantasised about them when masturbating at home, but never daydreamed of a guy fucking me while he was with me. With his hands on me, his strong muscular arms, connected to that hot body that simply wouldn't quit, as he pounded my wet pussy... Dammit, focus, Cat!

I had to excuse myself that I was running late for an early meeting, then rushed to shower and go to work. My panties were soaked and it wasn't just the sweat. That day was the longest ever, feeling hot and anxious, unable to focus on anything. Early afternoon I called quits, told my manager I felt like having a temperature and left. Reaching the flat, I started rushing out of my clothes, before the door even closed shut. I almost tripped and fell as I was peeling off my trousers, making for the bedroom. Mr 8 incher was brought out of his box and he was soon plunged inside me, getting creamed. Lifting and spreading my legs, I went harder and deeper, crying out for him to fuck me. Almost the entire dildo went inside, not a small feat, and I started squeezing it with my pussy. My other hand found my clit and I started working myself to one of my strongest orgasms ever.

"Oh Marquis, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me oh ahhh!" I screamed and felt my entire pussy spasming like crazy, the dildo pushing against my cervix. I kept working the head of the dildo in and out of me slowly, until the aftershocks of my orgasm subsided. In a moment of clarity, I realised that Marquis had become the only man in my masturbation sessions, outshining everyone else, even my fiance. That can't be good, I thought. Even worse, it felt too good to give up.

The next day, at the office, I was occupied with how I should focus on channeling my thoughts to Mick. I quickly sent him a text, asking how my favourite man and penis were doing and if he was getting any action at the compound. A couple of hours passed until he replied; My fiance explained that he was told off for us spamming their filters with our smut. Apparently this was misuse of company property and a violation, so he was asked to keep it clear or be removed. Although I longed to be with him again, we both knew this was an important piece of work and he couldn't simply walk away. Essentially, any sexy talk with my fiance was out of bounds. My brain quickly rationalised that fantasising of and flirting with Marquis was simply making up for lost time with Mick, so it was healthy. Like, what was I supposed to do, rewire my brain and become a nun? Yes, fat chance of that happening.

Couple of days later and we were having another gruelling training session. My sports bra and high waisted compression shorts were drenched with sweat, as Marquis had me sprinting and jumping around like crazy. The last bit included pullups and pushups. The push ups were first, with me on shaky hands, trying to stay level. I was about to drop to my knees, when Marquis placed one hand under my waist, only barely missing my mount and helped me go upwards and finish the pushups. The push ups were even worse. I could do up to 4 now, but he demanded 10 from me. I did 3 and was about to quit, when he firmly held me by the hips and pushed me upwards. I kept going until I gave him his 10 pullups, his hands on me all the time. His thumbs settled under my cushy mounts, squeezing my butt. It felt like he was putting no effort in lifting me, though at 5'7 and with my build, I wasn't exactly a lightweight. That man was strong and I was impressed.

He gave me a high five and praised me for my hard work. I replied that if it wasn't for him I'd literally be doing fuck all. He laughed and said that all he was giving me was a little nudge, I was doing the work.

"I wonder what would happen if you gave me more than a nudge, then."

His reaction was to gently laugh, then reminded me to send over "his progress pics". He had a busy day with clients, but he was looking forward to seeing them tonight, he was planning on "studying them hard".