On My Knees for You When You Came Back from the Gym

It was one of those July days when the heat gets inside the house and won’t leave. I had just gotten home from work, almost four o’clock, with only one idea in my head: eat something and lie down for a while. The kid was in the pool with his friends and didn’t need picking up until night, so the afternoon was ours. Or, better said, it was yours.

Hardly had I finished eating when you called me from the bedroom. I found you dressed in your workout leggings, your cropped top, your sneakers, your ankle socks. All gray, all tight, all in place. I stood in the doorway staring at you without hiding it.

—I’m going to the gym for a couple of hours —you said, gathering your hair into a ponytail—. With this heat, I’d rather sweat there than here.

—Whatever you want, sweetheart.

Then you reached into the laundry basket and threw something at me. I caught it instinctively in midair. It was your panties, a maroon lace brief, still warm, slightly damp. I looked up at you and you held my gaze with a calm that made my skin prickle.

—Put them on —you said—. And do the bathrooms while I’m gone.

Not a single question. An order, and the certainty that I was going to obey.

I undressed in front of you, slowly, feeling you watch me. I left my clothes on the chair and put on your panties. The wet fabric against my skin gave me an immediate, embarrassing erection, impossible to hide under the lace. You saw it and smiled. You enjoyed seeing me like that, trapped and eager at the same time.

You came close, kissed me quickly on the mouth, and ran a finger over my lip.

—I’ll be back in a while. Behave.

***

As soon as you closed the door I shaved and started cleaning. It took me almost an hour to leave both bathrooms exactly the way you like them, spotless, without a single water mark. Then I sat on the sofa with a book, but the words kept slipping off the page. My mind was somewhere else, and the lace reminded me with every movement exactly where it was.

My phone buzzed. “Put some bottles of water in the fridge, make sure they’re nice and cold.” There weren’t any left at home. Sometimes you’re so fussy, I thought, when the tap water is so good. But the thought lasted only as long as it took me to stand up. I put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt over the panties and went down to the corner supermarket.

I bought a dozen little bottles, not knowing how many you’d want. In the checkout line I felt strangely exposed, imagining what the cashier would think if she knew what I was wearing under my pants. Instead of making me entirely ashamed, the idea made me hard again. I took the stairs two at a time and put almost all the bottles in the freezer so they’d get cold fast.

The hours passed. After a little over two and a half hours another message came. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Wait for me in the bedroom.” My heart started racing. I was smiling to myself, not really sure why, though I knew perfectly well.

I took three bottles out of the freezer, already well chilled, and carried them to the bedroom. I pulled the blind down, checked that the window was closed so the heavy heat wouldn’t get in. We had the ceiling fan off; I wasn’t going to turn it on unless you asked. I knelt in the middle of the room, with the bottles at my side, and waited.

The minutes dragged on. One, two, three. Has the water warmed up already? Then I heard the key turn in the lock, one turn, then another. The front door, silence, your footsteps.

***

You came into the bedroom and found me where you wanted to find me. You smiled. You had never asked me to do it, we had never talked about it; kneeling there waiting for you had been my idea, a way of telling you without words that I was entirely at your disposal. And you accepted it as one accepts something that belongs to them.

—Give me one —you said, pointing at the bottles.

I handed you the first. You drank it in one go, without breathing, and asked me for another. You opened it and drank more slowly, looking at me over the plastic.

—Bring me a couple more. I’m going to need them.

I got up and went for four bottles; better to have too many than too few. You looked magnificent. The gym had air conditioning, but you’d worked out enough and, like other times, you’d probably run home through this heat. I always tell you it isn’t good; you always argue with me. Sweat was running down your face, your neck, your arms. The top and leggings clung to your body, darkened by moisture.

I stood up and we kissed. Our tongues found each other without hurry. The air in the room was thick, hot; you didn’t say anything about turning on the fan and I was silently grateful, because that way you would keep sweating.

I started with your face. I kissed your cheeks, your ears, and went down the line of your neck, gathering every drop with my lips. I’ve liked this for a long time, more than I know how to explain. Your sweat turns me on, its salty taste, the way it changes depending on where it comes from. Smelling it, touching it, drinking it is a way of being with you, of showing you that I like absolutely everything about you.

You closed your eyes and let me do it. You sat on the edge of the bed and lifted your right arm. I buried my face in your armpit, smelled it first, slowly, and then kissed it before starting to lick until I left it clean. It’s funny what happens: the strong smell disappears from your skin and stays in my mouth, with me, for hours. I love that idea, carrying you like that through the rest of the day.

You lay back and lifted the other arm. I repeated the same thing, smell, kiss, suck, while your breathing sped up. You liked watching me do it. You felt powerful, and that was half the game.

—Keep going —you murmured, and it wasn’t a suggestion.

I took off your top. Your breasts were bare, wet, shining in the little light that slipped through the blind. I worked my way into the channel between the two, licked the line of sweat running down the center, and circled each breast from below, where the skin held more heat. I rose slowly to the top and took one nipple into my mouth. I sucked it, played with my tongue until it felt hard, and moved on to the other. Meanwhile, with my fingers I pinched the first one and pulled gently. You started letting out small moans, and then I stopped.

I went down toward your stomach, skirting your navel, collecting every drop I found. You don’t like that area very much, you shifted right away and pushed me down with your hand. I obeyed.

***

I reached your sneakers. I untied them and took them off one by one. As soon as I pulled them away from your feet, a burst of smell rose up, intense, from sweat accumulated all afternoon. I took off your right sock and set it aside. You have feet that undo me; I can’t explain it, but they attract me in a way I don’t entirely understand.

I brought your foot to my face and started to smell it. I stuck out my tongue and ran it over the sole, over the arch, lingering between the toes one by one, in every space, every crease. Then I put them in my mouth, all the ones that would fit, and sucked them as if I wanted to do something else to them. I rubbed your sole over my cheek. My whole face smelled like you, and that was enough for me.

I did exactly the same with the other foot. I licked, sucked, kissed, nibbled every inch. When I looked up, your chest was rising and falling fast.

—Turn over —I said, and for once you were the one who obeyed.

I turned you onto your stomach gently. I went back up to your neck, kissed it, gathered the fresh sweat that was beading up again, and started tracing your spine with my tongue, slowly, vertebra by vertebra, down to the base of your ass. I did it several times. Every time I reached the bottom you tensed, waiting. I took off your panties, soaked through, and let them fall to the floor.

I spread your ass cheeks with my hands and let my tongue run along the crease, slowly, tasting until I stopped where you wanted me to stop. You lifted your hips looking for me, pushing, demanding more without saying a word. You were wound up tight.

—Eat me —you finally begged, your voice broken—. Please.

I turned you back over. I went down your stomach, over your groin, tasted the sweat there, and moved through the folds slowly, drinking what was already flowing from you. I put my tongue inside, came back out, found your clit and trapped it between my lips while I worked it. The more time passed, the closer to the edge you got. You gripped my head with both hands.

—Fuck me —you said—. Now.

I straightened up. You pulled me up to your face and kissed me with tongue, biting my lip. I pulled my cock out through the side of the panties, which you wouldn’t let me take off, and rubbed the head against you, up and down, pressing against your clit.

—Put it in —you whispered against my ear.

I entered slowly and stayed still. You lifted your hips, dug your nails into my ass, and pulled me toward you until I sank all the way in. I started moving. Your hands ran over my back and stopped at my nipples. You played with them, squeezed them, harder and harder, stretched them out. A current ran down from my nape to the end of my spine, that mix of pain and pleasure I can’t describe. The harder you squeezed, the harder I pumped.

—Come and clean me up —you panted—. Come now.

I pushed as fast as I could. You pinched my nipples until I couldn’t hold back anymore and I came, the orgasm coursing through me completely, unable to suppress a choked cry that was equal parts pain and pleasure. You let go of the nipples and rubbed them with your palm, and the sharp sting hit exactly with the last spasm. I stayed motionless on top of you, breathing against your neck.

—Clean me —you whispered—. All of it.

I went back down. I started sucking your lips and your entrance, still trembling. You tightened your muscles and let out what I had left inside; I gathered it greedily, drank it, swallowed, left you clean. I kept licking until you pressed my head against you with both hands, very hard, and came with a long cry, your body arched and shaking.

***

We stayed still, panting, wrapped around each other on the rumpled sheets. The whole room smelled of sex and sweat, of us. We kissed slowly, without urgency, recovering little by little.

A long, sleepy while passed in which neither of us said anything. Your hand drew lazy circles on my chest.

—Come on —you said at last, stretching with a half smile—, come to the bathroom with me. I’m not done with you yet.