Gymnastics Photo Shoot

All characters are over 18

*

I think there were two reasons things got out of hand like they did.

First, I'd had my pussy (and legs) waxed at the mall the day before. We gymnasts (at least the female ones) always kept things trimmed and shaved pretty close down there. Nothing worse than being on national TV and worrying whether some stray hairs are poking out when every dirty old man watching ESPN2 that night is staring at it. But this was the first time I'd gotten it waxed. That hurt like a sonofabitch, but after that it had been hard to keep my fingers off of it -- so soft and smooth.

Second, my stupid roommate (who was also a teammate). She had to say it, right after she'd helped me with my suit and my makeup. I was putting on my warmup suit and about to head over to the athletic complex for the photo shoot when she said, giggling: "You look hot, Robin. Don't let him fuck you."

I think she was just jealous because I was picked to do a photo shoot for an athletic department poster with Larry Clark, one of our football team's best (and biggest) linebackers. I was just a sophomore, but at 5 foot nothing and 99 pounds I was one of the smaller gymnasts on the university's team. They wanted contrast in size, I'm sure. Larry was three times my size. He was 6 feet 5 inches at least, and over 250 pounds of lean muscle.

And while no one at university relations would come out and say it, the contrast in color couldn't have been more obvious. I'm blonde, with pale skin and blue eyes. I was the girl next door, only much more toned and muscular, and provided of course you live in the suburbs. The only perceptible fat on me, then or now, is in my B cup breasts -- not very large, but they stand out on my tiny, lean frame. Larry was black, with a shaved head and a tattoo around his right bicep. I don't think there was any fat anywhere on his body. I'd been doing gymnastics in private programs since I was a little girl; Larry made his way up through inner city youth football programs and a gritty high school program. Or so his bio said in the program; I'd had one class with him but had never really met him.

The photo shoot was to be in a room we did gymnastics workouts in. When I got there, Larry was already there, suited up and ready. A female assistant was working on straightening up his jersey and doing some light meter readings. The room was a little cool, but rapidly warming up from lights they had set up around the area we'd be posing in; I shucked off my warm-ups and hoped my nipples weren't hardening. It's something I'd gotten used to, and knew I couldn't do anything about, but I wished sometimes whoever came up with this shiny, ultra-tight fabric had thought about it -- you can see them from across the room. And sure enough...

The photographer, a guy named Steve Phelps from the university, was staring at my chest as he turned around and greeted me. All the girls thought he looked for shots to take at the moments we have our legs spread and it looked like we were humping the balance beam, or we were leaned back like we were begging for it. Part of me agreed, part of me thought if you're highly introverted and insecure about your body, perhaps gymnastics isn't for you.

So I smiled at him and did a few quick stretches out of habit. "Hi, Mr. Phelps. Hi, Larry," I said as Larry looked me over as well. The assistant came over and touched up my hair and discreetly checked to make sure my suit wasn't riding up my ass. She looked down at my nipples too -- I checked them myself. Yep, the high beams were on. Not much to be done about it. Maybe they'd airbrush them out. Or maybe not. The university did some fairly cheesy things with the posters for the cheerleaders, swim team, and the like. They didn't actually say "Come to school here and meet fuckable girls," but sometimes I thought they might as well have.

Steve asked us to pose together -- me in front of Larry. He told us to look "fierce," so I struck a hands-on-hips pose with my legs slightly apart and one foot up like I was about to start a run, and gave the camera the look I give the other team's girls when they're about to start their routine. There was a mirror on the side of the room behind the camera, so I could see that Larry was giving the camera the death-glare. He was fully suited up except for his helmet, which he was holding by his side. We took three or four shots in similar poses, and I could tell Steve already had his shot -- the university had asked for something fairly specific, and he'd given it to them. Short and tall. Petite and huge. White and black. Fierce, and fiercely cute -- even with my haughty look, I still looked about as threatening as a kitten.

But I could tell he wanted to take a few more pictures while he had the "models." He didn't come out and say he already had the shots he really needed; it was just a nod to the assistant and a smile to us.

"What other poses can you guys think of? Maybe you put on his helmet, Robin?"

"No, sorry," I said, laughing. "No offense, Larry."

Steve looked taken aback, but Larry started laughing. "That's cool. This thing stinks sometimes so bad even I hate to put it on."

I hated feeling like the party pooper. "Larry, do you know any gymnastics routines?" I said it for a joke, but Larry grinned and went over to a pommel horse. As Steve started snapping away, he mounted it and started doing some basic routines -- nothing a high schooler couldn't do, but not bad for someone his size, and wearing shoulder pads at that! His dismount was very basic. He walked over, grinning at us.

"Okay, if he's gonna show me up like that, I guess I've got to do something football-related?" I laughed. Steve didn't say anything -- he was just clicking away now, recording everything we did.

"Line up against me, like we're about to tackle each other when the play starts," Larry said. I assumed a crouching position opposite him. I used the mirror to try to line up my body the way he'd set himself -- and to notice that Steve had positioned himself for the best view of my ass.

No fair, Larry's got a pretty nice ass too, I thought, just before he surprised me by calling some signals and running toward me. For a moment which was both awful and strangely exciting, I thought he was really going to tackle me as the camera shutter snapped in a rapid sequence. But he softly pushed into me; he didn't even knock me down. We were both laughing as we set up again in the same position; this time Steve was shooting from the other side, which made me think he was an equal opportunity perv, at least. Larry started calling signals, laughing, and I sprung from my crouch and pushed myself over on him. He fell off to one side, not trying hard, which was good; I suddenly realized what those pictures would have looked like if I'd landed on top of him.

"No fair! Offsides! Robin, you haven't really done any gymnastics-related stuff. We can't have this all be about football," Larry said.

"Hold your arm out straight. Can you take my weight?"

"I bench my own weight, and more." Larry replied.

I took this as a yes and grabbed his arm like it was the lower of a pair of uneven bars. I couldn't really rotate on them, but I pulled up on him and spread my legs out like the beginning of a routine. The camera really started firing as I did that. And then I did something really strange; I reached over and kissed Larry on the cheek.

That surprised him, but he managed to hold his arm straight long enough for me to get down. Steve spoke up for the first time since we'd started messing around like this: "Larry, can you pick her up like a cheerleader?"

"I've seen them do that, but uh..."

"You just put your hands on my hips and hoist me over your head. Then you hang on to a foot and steady me by my..."

"Ass?"

"I was gonna say 'butt,' but yeah..."

"If you say so..." Larry said, laughing, trying to act shy but with body language like

I can't believe my luck.

Steve was grinning too, the bastard, and I wondered how he got this idea off the ground, so to speak.

But truthfully, I was warming up rapidly for Larry. He was so big he could just break me in half, and even though I could tell his shyness was mostly an act, his gentleness was reassuring. And of course you know what else I was starting to wonder: is everything proportional? It didn't help that the gymnastics team and my coursework was keeping me too busy for much of a sex life. And then there was the fact that a lot of the men at school seemed intimidated by me... The way Larry looked at me made me feel a bit warm between my legs, which I tried to distract myself from. The last thing I needed was a wet spot forming.

"My job is to stay balanced. Yours is to not drop me," I concluded.

"Let me take these pads off," Larry said, and proceeded to take off his jersey and the pads under it, leaving him only in a tight wicking undershirt.

"So that's what you wear under those things," I said.

"Yeah. What do you wear under yours?"

"Pretty much nothing," I said, blushing, and laughing. He had a beautiful body. I'd seen him before in street clothes, but now his outfit was as tight and almost as revealing as mine, top and bottom. I could tell Steve was wanting to get started again. "Okay, ready?"

I stood in front of him, much as we had before. He grabbed me and picked me up as I did a couple of cheerleader-ish moves with my hands. His hand felt like a warm catcher's mitt on my ass, and we held that pose a couple of seconds before he handed me down with surprising grace. I came down facing him in his arms, and I looked up at him. It was a long way up.

There's no way we could kiss and fuck at the same time,

I thought. Where did that come from? I seemed to be getting to him a little, too; he wasn't in any hurry to let me out of his arms.

"That was great," Steve said. "Can you do anything that looks sorta like ballet?"

I'd had some ballet training, but I looked over at Larry and giggled. "What?" he said, mock-angry. "You think a black man can't dance?" We both laughed at that. It was around then that something in my tightly wound, self-controlled, disciplined brain began to turn itself off. Thinking about it now, I believe that was the point at which I decided to let him fuck me.

But for starters, I backed off and danced by him

en pointe

. He took the hint and scooped me up by the waist. His hands felt like they were going to encircle it as he picked me up and spun me around his axis. I surprised him by crossing my legs around, suddenly straddling his waist as he supported me by my back. Somehow I wasn't worried he was going to drop me; I had total confidence in his strength. It occurred to me what this picture was going to look like as the shutter continued to click, but I was caring less and less as a sensation of lust began to take over. I raised myself up until I was face to face with him, and wrapped my legs around his back to take some of the weight off his arms.

I knew by now that Larry was getting into this as much or than I was, so it felt even more natural to kiss him on the lips. The kiss quickly became lustful and passionate. Actually, with his strength and my flexibility, we

could

kiss and fuck at the same time, I realized. I threw my head back and Larry began to kiss down my neck, stopping at the relatively high neck of my outfit.

At some point I realized, thankfully, that the pictures had stopped. "Well, okay, we've got to be getting back. Thanks," the photographer said, gathering his things in record time. My face was flushed with embarassment as the reality of what I'd been doing sunk in. We stood there making small talk as they packed up; I was trying to stop my chest from heaving. And then they were gone. We were alone in a gymnastics workout room, and no one was expected for several hours.

"What was that?" Larry said.

"That was me losing control of myself. You?" I was peeling off my outfit.

"I suppose I could say the same," Larry said, shedding his uniform, laughing nervously.

Once we were both naked, I was suddenly nervous as well.

What the hell was I doing?

I asked myself as Larry stepped toward me. Oh yeah. It was proportional. Larry's penis had been trapped by an athletic supporter and cup, but it was now swinging freely, and growing quickly. I lost sight of it as he knelt down and started sucking one nipple while he fondled another. It was bliss; I could feel my pussy turn into molten pleasure as my nipples flushed and hardened. I put both hands on his shoulders and felt his strong, rippling muscles.

After awhile of this I wanted more. I wanted to see that cock of his. I wanted to touch it. I led him back over to the pommel horse, and he sat up on it while I began to explore. "It's so big," I said, wrapping my fingers around it as far as they would go. I had that same disembodied sensation I'd had when I played doctor with the neighbor boy, a rich brat, blond as I was. It was almost innocent, then. I'd never seen one before. And in all the time since, I'd never seen one this big, or one connected to a man so big, and powerful. That sense of vulnerability returned.

"Oh, wow," Larry said as I placed my hands on his thighs and began to take him into my mouth. It felt like a plum, and as the salty pre-come reached my tongue I realized it was growing yet again in size. I looked up at him to see the effect I was having. Both of our eyes were wide in amazement and pleasure. His thighs were tensing already. I bobbed up and down slowly, fucking him with my mouth, my thighs dampening, the cool air hitting my hairless clit.

I kept this up for a while; I was on fire but I didn't want to break the spell and one little rational place left in my mind knew I coudn't have him inside me. Getting pregnant would end my career, and my scholarship. My WASP parents would never be the same. And I knew that if he got inside me I wouldn't stop riding him until he was coming deep in my cervix. Assuming he didn't split me in two.

So I reached one hand under his balls and another down on my cunt. I was surprised to notice they were both smooth; Larry's pubic hair was short, neat curls but his balls were shaved. My freshly waxed opening was slick with my juices. I rubbed them both in the same rhythm, picking up speed as our thighs clenched. His feet and calves caressed my thighs and he put his hands down on my shoulders - gently pushing on me, using my mouth. We both knew I couldn't take it all; I was starting to gag on half of it. We were both gasping as we went faster and faster.

He came in my mouth suddenly; the hot jizz clogged my throat. I kept swallowing and licking him clean as I started to slowly spasm in my own orgasm, kissing his thighs. "Thank you," he said softly when I looked up at him again. "You are so beautiful."

The tenderness was unexpected; I'd sucked off so many boyfriends who looked away afterwards, or started checking text messages before I could get dressed again. "You are so hot. And gentle," I said, still dazed.

He got down and started stroking my arm. "Could we...?" the question hung in the air.

"Not now," I said, brushing his arm, walking over to my warm up suit on the table before he made me lose what little control I had left. A neat square package lay on it.

He saw it too. "Is that...?"

"It's not mine," I laughed. "One of them must have left it."

"My sweet lord."

"Lay down," I commanded. He got down on a mat, which was chalky and smelled of vinyl.

"Think you can get it up again?" I teased, suddenly in control, or at least trying to act like it, trying not to shake with pent-up frustration. My orgasm had only left me wanting more. His cock was already growing again. I ripped the package open and straddled him across his massive thighs.

"Watch the knees. I nearly tore an ACL earlier this year."

"I'll try not to hurt you, baby," I said, running my wet, sticky hand up and down his cock and balls. It thrust toward my naval. I had to get the condom on him quickly or I would forget all about it. I had to have him inside me, even if it tore me open.

I rolled it down over his cock as he grunted with lust. It barely fit. He reached up and teased my nipples. I thought they were hard before; now they were like rubies, and felt as hard and swollen as his organ. I pointed it toward my opening, still not believing it was going to fit.

The tip was tight. My pussy is proportional too. I looked over in the mirror; I looked like a doll mounting a horse. My breasts swayed as I put my hands on his shoulder for support and raised up. "Go slow," I warned.

"I will, sugar," he promised. I felt like a hot steel rod was slowly entering my body, and another look in the mirror told me there were seven or eight more inches to go. I started moaning with pain and relief. He lay still, afraid to move. He looked me in the eyes and I bent over and kissed him deeply. In doing that, he slid out an inch or two, and I felt empty. I eased back down slowly, my muscular thighs holding my body off of his. He began to fondle my ass, his warm hands opening me.

The pain subsided. Just a notch. Just enough. I started to move. Oh, the train was leaving the station. I remembered the first boy I'd had - my prom date. I thought he was thick. I thought he loved me. I couldn't see Larry any more, because my eyes were rolling up in my head. I heard someone scream, and looked over in the mirror. I realized it was me, grinding down on his balls, home free. I came like a hurricane.

I must have passed out for a moment, because Larry was bending over me. His eyes were concerned, but his shiny latex-clad cock was still hard. "Did you come?" I asked, still in a stupor.

"No, did you?" he laughed, and I joined him, laughing hysterically. He was pulling away, afraid. I spread my legs wide, my body splayed on the mat. "Am I going to hurt you?" he whispered.

"Only if you don't come this time," I sighed, pulling him inside me again. He was still huge, and I was still tight, but I was ready now; more than ready. He thrust into me with tight, controlled strokes; I started to chant "deeper, deeper, deeper," and he was happy to oblige. This time he tensed up and we came together; I had enough presence of mind to pull him out of me quickly and I scooped off the condom, kissing and licking his cock.

We fucked each other the rest of that year - sneaking in and out of dorms, lying down, him standing up and holding me up with his arms, me sitting on his lap and lowering myself down on him, him taking me from behind - he said I was the only girl he'd ever had whom he could fuck as hard as he liked. He transferred to another school to have a better shot at the pros, and it was another year before I could get used to an average dick again.

I still have a copy of the poster they made from that session - the first pose we did. It's framed up on the wall in my office at home. My husband doesn't know I masturbate looking at it.