Umph, umph!
The punches came. Fast, one after another.
Umph, umph, umph!
Always bringing his fists back to his face, keeping his guard up and quickly spotting his next target. His breath was starting to pick up as he bobbed lightly on the balls of his feet.
It was warm enough that morning for him to remove his shirt. His well-muscled core was dotted with perspiration, his toned legs covered with a pair of gray soccer shorts.
Two jabs at eye level, left knee up, elbow strike. The canvas bag swung radically but he never let it get away from him. Each strike was designed to manipulate his environment, bringing maximum destruction while sending the apparatus back toward his target area.
He was intent on his workout, focused on perfecting his technique and speed.
She crossed her arms and leaned back against the garage wall, squeezing her legs together. No longer the boy from his father's stories, her stepson had developed into an impressive young man. At eighteen, he was already 6'3" and was well built for the military career he planned on after high school.
Umph, umph! Strike and down. Block, elbow, knee. Every thud of his fist caused her pussy to clench as he continued to manipulate the bag.
Her mental timer went off and she glanced at the clock above the door.
"Rotate," she called out, just loud enough to break through his concentration.
He immediately dropped his fists and stepped to the weight bench. As he lay down and reached for the bar, she moved behind his head to spot him. As always, his erection was unmistakable through the thin mesh shorts. With a look of deep concentration, he began his set with the 220 pound weights. Keeping her fingers lightly against the cool metal, she began to count.
"One, two, three." His face slowly turned red from the exertion. "Four, five." He began to puff as his arms reached the apex of each extension. "Six, seven." His hips lifted off the padded seat as he struggled to raise the bar. "Eight. Keep 'em down. Nine. One more!" His eyes closed and a grimace spread across his young, handsome face. "Ten and up."
She helped him lift the bar to rest on the brackets and contemplated him as he shook out his arms. She was sure he could smell her wetness as she waited for him to regain his composure. He took deep breaths through his nose, exhaling slowly through his mouth.
"You're improving," she encouraged him, "but you have to keep your hips down. Straining like that isn't helping as much as you think and you'll end up pulling a muscle."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, pulling one arm and then the other across his chest for a deep stretch.
She smiled briefly at the "ma'am." At thirty-one years of age, she felt far too young to be hearing that term so frequently. Even after two children, she made a point to stay fit and dress well. She kept her hair dyed a rich, natural brunette to cover any errant grays. But she had to admit that, although she hated it when the bagboy or a waiter ma'am-ed her, she loved the sound of it coming from this young man's mouth.
She squeezed her legs again and tapped her lips. "Why don't we drop it to 200 for the next set and see if you can stay put?"
He nodded and she motioned for him to stay put as she adjusted the weight. Moving back into position, her fingers grazed his as the bar began to move again. With a shiver, she bent her knees slightly in case he faltered.
