Diary of a bottom -- Kiptoo
The second the water hit my face, I exhaled like I had just crossed some kind of finish line. The heat soaked into my skin, rolling down over my forehead, cheeks, and jaw, and I just stood there, letting it happen. Letting it strip away the heaviness in my limbs, the knot of tension in my back, the dried sweat clinging to my collar.
I'm not the athletic type. Never have been. But this year -- New Year's Day, full of big talk and half-believed promises -- I told myself I'd hit the gym at least once a week. And so far, I had stuck to it. Barely. Every session left me sore in muscles I didn't know I had. Every time I went, I wanted to quit halfway through. If it weren't for him, I probably would have quit after the first month.
The shower got almost too hot, and I loved it. The heat poured over me, washing away the weight, the fatigue, everything that had been clinging to me. In this moment, under the steady hum of the water, I wasn't thinking about anything -- I just felt the calm settle in. Spent, yes -- but in a good way. As the steam rose around me, fogging the mirror and softening the world outside, I let myself sink into this quiet, peaceful feeling.
I didn't hear the bathroom door open -- just felt the change in the air, the subtle shift behind me. Then powerful hands slid gently around my waist, the calluses scratching my skin. I smiled, not needing to turn to now who had joined me in the shower.
"Congratulations on surviving today," Kiptoo murmured against my shoulder, his voice low and soft.
"Almost didn't make it during the lunges," I said, leaning back into him. "You're a sadist."
Feeling his flaccid cock weighting against my ass, I nonchalantly hinged further back, trying to pin it between my cheeks.
"You're the one who asked me to train you," Kiptoo chuckled.
That was true. He had been patient, more than I deserved. Writing my program, correcting my form, pushing me just hard enough without ever making me feel weak for struggling... and, most importantly, showing me how to perform the exercises. To be honest, I'd have happily paid the gym membership just to watch him work out. I can't put into words how much I loved watching him sweat under the bar.
The way his body moved with effortless power, every muscle shifting and straining, glistening with sweat... it was like he'd be putting on a show just for me. I could have watched him for hours, pretending to catch my breath when really I'm just admiring the view. Just thinking about it was enough to get me hard... although feeling his warmth pressed against my backside was probably also partially to blame.
Kiptoo got closer to me, stepping fully into the stream of the shower, his skin slick against mine. For a moment, we just stood like that, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder, the water cascading down over both of us, my dick throbbing with anticipation.
"You're starting to get leaner," Kiptoo said, his fingers trailing across my sides.
"I've been following your diet very carefully."
I inhaled deeply, my heartbeat rising as his fingers slide down my waist to my hips. Surprisingly, I didn't lie. I had been working hard to get results, to make him proud, to make myself worthy of his attention.
He didn't say it, but I knew it to be true: he could do better than me. He was the kind of guy who could be with someone who fitted into his world, someone who challenged him, kept up with him. I knew I was just some distraction, a break between whatever else he was pursuing. But I was fine with that. I wasn't looking for anything more than this, really. I'm just glad I was allowed to get on his ride for a while.
"That's good. Keep working hard and you'll reap the benefits in no time."
"I'm already reaping them," I interjected, leaning into him more heavily, rubbing my hips against his cock. I was slightly disappointed he didn't even have a chubby going on while I was already rock hard.
"You did hit a new PR on your squat today," Kiptoo said, voice all innocent as his fingers traced slow circles around my hips.
He was even gracious enough to not remind me that my PR was his warm-up set.
"Was that the first time you managed to squat more than your bodyweight?"
"I don't know, you're the number cruncher. I just get under the bar and look pretty."
"Well, doesn't matter anyways!" Kiptoo said, suddenly slapping my butt. "Since you managed to hit a new PR, you've earned the right to wash my back today!"
Pushing me gently to the side, he walked past me and leaned against the wall under the showerhead, hands pressed flat against the cool surface, legs spread slightly apart. He looked like he was getting ready for a frisk.
His back was wide and muscular. The water running down his v-taper made his rippling muscles glisten beautifully. Resisting the urge to touch myself, I grabbed the soap and worked it into my hands, focusing on the foam bubbling up between my fingers instead of the living sculpture exposing himself to me.
I felt awkward when I stepped behind him. Usually, our positions were reversed. Trying to ignore my dick throbbing desperately, I placed my hands on his middle-back. The muscles beneath my palms were firm and round, a beautiful blend of strength and grace.
I began to wash him, my fingers tracing the contours of his body with care, working the soap into the curves of his shoulders and down his spine. Each stroke felt intimate, like I was mapping out every inch of him, feeling the soft, smooth skin beneath the soapy lather. I let my hands linger over each muscles, savouring the sensation of his body shifting and responding to my touch. Rather than washing another human being, it felt like I was polishing a perfect sculpture of black marble.
I licked my lips, feeling my desire grow. My chest and my throat tightened, barely able to contain my excitement. It wasn't enough to just touch it. I wanted more. I needed more. My face bursting with heat, I kissed him, right on the back of the neck.
My hands gripping his triceps, I let my lips run across his body, kissing each muscle in turn--from his swollen traps to his boulder-like deltoids, pausing over the rhomboids before sliding down to his lower traps
"You're finally starting to get calluses too," Kiptoo remarked. "That's very good."
He spoke so casually, I couldn't tell if he even noticed how charged the moment was--or if it was just me. Feeling a bit hurt, I only managed a vague, wordless groan.
Resting my forehead against the middle of his back, I give his triceps one final squeeze before sliding my hands down to stroke his lats, marvelling at their width, savouring their density. A soft sound of pleasure slipped from my parted lips this time. My fingers were reaping the fruits of years of hard work and relentless discipline. Following the line of his spine, my lips brushed each defined striation of his powerful erectors as I slowly sank to my knees.
His ass was a work of art--round, high, and firm, radiating sheer strength. Again, I caught my tongue drifting across my lips. Forgiving him instantly for his mishap, I seized it almost feverishly, my fingers digging into the dense muscle like talons. The power beneath my hands was staggering. My erection throbbed, angry and insistent, as my chest rose with a surge of jealousy and raw, aching desire.
Wrapping my arms around his legs, I closed my eyes and mouthed the curve of his right cheek, my lips tracing the smooth skin in slow, deliberate movements--savouring every inch, delivering a silent promise of more.
Most men have disappointing asses, but his--his were hypnotic, as captivating as a woman's, balancing strength and grace. I fought the urge to move closer to the crease, no matter how much I ached to slide my tongue down that inviting line, to gently part those perfect cheeks and taste the hidden wonders beyond. I knew where his limits lay. Instead, I slid my hands up his thighs, reaching for his cock.
A pang of disappointment hit me when I found it--he wasn't hard yet. Trying to quiet the whimper of my ego, I wrapped my fingers around him and began stroking gently. Even soft, his cock was longer and thicker than mine at full erection. It felt even bigger now, when the only thing guiding my imagination was the feedback through my hands. I felt his body begin to respond--his legs shifting, muscles tightening under the combined assaults of my mouth and hands.
