Stunned after my encounter with Brock, I laid low for a couple of days. I remember slipping out of his apartment around 3 or 4 AM, exhausted and reeking of his seed. I'd lost count of the number of times he had fed me another load of semen or bathed my face with his ejaculate. I could feel his DNA drying on my face, in my hair, and could taste it in my mouth, could feel it congealing in my belly. It had invaded my mind, as well, and I sure as hell didn't want anyone to see it.
Too afraid to be caught in the elevator, I conducted my walk of shame toward the stairwell and down the couple of floors to my modest apartment. I went straight to bed and, too numb for anything else, curled up in a ball under the covers. About an hour later I woke up with the realization that, while I'd been present for half a dozen or more of his orgasms, I hadn't had one of my own.
Still hidden in the secret fortress under my covers, the ever-present scent of his cum still surrounding me, I pictured his cock and masturbated furiously, coming within a few seconds. I'd never even thought of eating my own cum before, but there under the covers, I didn't even think twice while slurping down my own semen. I was disappointed by the flavor -- I fell back asleep ashamed of what I'd just done, and fell asleep with the terrifying thought -
Brock's cum tasted much, much better.
For the next few days, I avoided the elevators and public areas as much as possible -- not because I didn't want to see him, but because I knew in my heart-of-hearts what my reaction would be. While I was ashamed and humiliated to be so thoroughly encrusted by his essence, deep down inside I knew that if I was to see him, it was highly probably that I'd be a willing participant in repeating the whole process again.
I proved myself right about that -- as the days passed, the embarrassment of sneaking out of his apartment crusted in his drying seed faded, but the thrill and arousal of our encounter grew bolder and bolder in my mind. I realized it was silly to use the stairs all the time and returned to using the elevator. I hadn't seen Brock in all this time, but my thoughts constantly drifted towards the time we'd spent together. By the time a week had passed, I was steeling myself to return to the gym. Well -- my cock was becoming steely thinking about it, anyway.
Apparently, my mind was adjusting too. I absent-mindedly found myself browsing for new athletic wear -- but nothing like what I was used to wearing. I found myself ordering a cut-off shirt in the wife-beater style, with matching hip-hugging shorts. I didn't quite have the confidence to select pink, my cowardice and/or fear making me chicken-out. I choose a red-orange color instead. When they arrived, I immediately tried them on, parading in front of the mirror for an hour, with my brain returning over and over again to the same singularly-focused thought... "Will
HE
like them?"
There was only one way to find out.
Dressed in street clothes and desperately clutching my workout bag, I finally found myself doing the most difficult exercise ever -- opening the door to our community gym. Inside, like the proverbial potted plants, were the same two old biddies I'd seen the last time I was here, yapping away while pretending to use the treadmills. I ignored the smirks on their all-knowing faces as I passed by them to the changing room. One of them picked up her phone as I passed by, probably checking the time to see if "Wheel" had started yet. Ignoring them, I went to the locker room and quickly changed into my fancy new workout clothes, while hopelessly trying to will my boner to go away. I looked at myself in the changing-room mirror -- these clothes were a better idea when I was alone in my apartment, but wearing them here made me feel so...
For the first time since our night together, the name
"Frannie"
flashed through my mind. I hadn't thought that, not even once, while mincing around my apartment - but here in the gym, the name washed over me like a tidal wave.
I tried to ignore that thought, and everything that went with it, going straight to the free-weights room to work out. I needed the distraction of physical exertion to quash my thoughts.
It didn't help
. I intentionally used the 5-pound dumbbells again, I didn't want to over-do it, but I tried to get into the zone anyway.
After a few minutes, the twilight realm of my own secret thoughts was disturbed by the opening of the door, and that deep baritone voice. "Hey, Mary, Eleanor, how's it 'goin?" I froze, a chill running down my spine. I didn't have to turn and look.
It was Brock.
He made a tiny bit of chit-chat with the ladies, then I saw him head toward the changing room out of the corner of my eye. I had to force myself not to look as he went by. It was hard.
So was I.
The next minute or so was a bit of a blur. A big part of me was terrified. I wanted to run, to get out of there, to be somewhere -- anywhere -- else, but I rationalized that I'd have to go get my street clothes and keys out of the locker room, so my brain just froze while my hands idly worked the weights. I could feel myself begin to sweat, not because of exertion... but fear. Fear.... Or was it anticipation?
All too soon the door opened, and Brock emerged. Same desert-tan military-style shirt, same simple red shorts. I tried so hard not to look but I could see the curve of his manhood pushing against the right leg of the thin nylon fabric. A shock of adrenaline rushed through me as I recognized his cock hanging to the right, and it seemed to be at least at half-staff already. I didn't have to look to know I'd find nothing under those red shorts besides his ample member.
"Hey Frank, how's it 'goin?"
I tried to be cool. "Hey, Brock, what's up?" It was a stupid question, but I was amazed and taken off guard by the movement in his shorts. My question made his cock flutter, as if to show me exactly what was "
up
". The tenting of his right leg became even more obvious. "Same as always, ya know." He smiled, confidently picking up the 30-pound dumbbells and working them like they were marshmallows.
I was distracted by noise and movement from the machine-room. The older ladies were dismounting the treadmills, and, confident to roam the hallways in their Lula Roes, headed to the gym exit. One of them turned and called out to Brock. "Have fun, Sweetie." He looked over his shoulder and called back to her as the door began to close. "Don't worry, hun... I will." The door closed with an ominously loud click.
We were alone.
I didn't know what to do. When he turned his head, nervous and scared, I set down the 5-pounders and slipped over to the weight bench. The barbells didn't look very heavy, so I tried to do a few bench presses. Brock was somewhat ignoring me while he worked the dumbbells, but after a few reps it was obvious that I was over my head. He lowered his weights and came over to the bench. "Let me spot you, Frannie, ya don't want to get hurt." I noticed it didn't take long for him to use the new name he'd made for me.
I realize I'd set myself up for this, but it happened so fast! Before I knew it, he was standing above me, his hands on the weights, him looking down at me. The ripple in his shorts had grown rather obvious as if his cock was remembering the time I'd spent working on it and was anticipating further joy. As I pretended to work the weights, he pretended to spot me, almost casually shifting his left foot back and his right foot forward so that his increasingly erect cock was completely in my view.
He let the weights down and I struggled to work them up. When I bothered to take my eyes off his penis, I could see his upside-down face smiling at me. "New outfit, Frannie? Kinda sexy." On the next downward rep, he let the weights gently rest against my chest, while sliding his right leg --
and his cock
-- closer to my face. The tip of his dick brushed my cheek, leaving a streak of wetness when I turned my head. He smiled and lifted the weights a bit, at the same time lowering his wet cockhead so it pushed against my cheek again. "Someone misses you," he said in a low, sultry voice. I could feel his cockhead pulsing lightly, its warmth against my cheek. "
Say Hello.
