What Happened When I Closed the Gym with the Owner

My name is Camila, I’m twenty-four years old, and I’m from Mendoza. Medium build, dark brown shoulder-length hair, green eyes. I’m not the kind of girl who draws attention when she walks into a place, but I know how to move so that attention comes to me on its own.

I started at that gym three weeks ago because the previous one had bored me completely. Too many twenty-year-old guys staring at themselves in the mirror, and far too little worth looking at. The new one had better equipment and a more serious vibe, although at first it didn’t promise much either.

Until the Polaco showed up one Tuesday.

That’s what everyone calls him. I don’t know whether he has any real Polish background or whether it’s just a nickname that stuck because of the accent with which he pronounces certain words, but the fact is that he owns the gym, is in his early forties, stands nearly six-foot-two, and has the body of someone who never stopped training. Broad shoulders, arms that show beneath any T-shirt, a serious face. No beard, no mustache, with the kind of jaw that makes it hard not to look twice.

The first time I saw him, I was on the treadmill. He walked into the gym like he was walking into his home, because it literally was his home, slapped two instructors on the shoulder in greeting, and started lifting weights without warming up, as if his body needed no preparation for anything. I watched him longer than was reasonable. It was obvious he noticed that too.

When our eyes finally met, he didn’t look away. He held my gaze for a few seconds, just a slight gesture of recognition, and went on with what he was doing. I lowered my eyes to the treadmill and increased the speed so I’d have something to concentrate on. But I was already wet. With just one look from that man, I could already feel the dampness sticking to the seam of my leggings.

***

The following Saturday, I was doing my leg routine, reclining on the extension machine with twenty kilos, when I felt him coming closer. I didn’t see him arrive. I sensed him, which is different.

—Add ten more kilos —he said, without saying hello, as if he’d been following my workouts for weeks—. Your form is good, but you’re working below your capacity.

I stayed still for a second before answering.

—And how would you know what my capacity is?

He smiled faintly, without the smile quite reaching his eyes.

—Because I’ve been watching you for three weeks.

It was exactly what I’d been doing with him, so I couldn’t get angry. I asked him to raise the weight, and he did without saying anything else. From there, the conversation flowed by itself: names, where we were from, how long we’d been training. At some point we reached the inevitable subject.

—Boyfriend? —he asked bluntly.

—Not my thing —I replied with the same directness—. They complicate my schedule.

—Smart. And older men?

—Older men know what they’re doing —I said—. That interests me.

He didn’t answer. He only lowered his gaze for a second to where my leggings ended and my hip began, then looked back into my eyes with that expression that promised nothing in particular and everything at once. When he went off toward another section of the gym, I stayed on the machine for another five minutes without moving, wondering when I had decided this was going to happen. And also thinking about the way his bulge showed through his shorts when he turned around. It wasn’t my imagination. That man had a cock you could make out through his clothes.

***

On Monday I arrived earlier than usual. Tuesdays and Thursdays were the busiest days, but on Monday mornings the gym was almost empty. There were three other guys there when I walked in, and the Polaco was already there, wearing a gray T-shirt that clung to his torso as if it had been designed specifically for that body.

I took off my jacket and left it on a bench. I was wearing a cropped tank top, tight athletic shorts, and underneath, underwear I had chosen that morning fully aware that at some point someone else was going to see it. A black lace set, the thong so thin it was practically a thread between my buttocks.

I got on the stationary bike and began pedaling slowly. It took him no more than ten minutes to come over.

—What are you working today?

—Shoulders and back.

—Good. I’ll show you a dumbbell variation you aren’t doing.

I got off the bike and followed him to the free-weights area. He explained the exercise from behind, adjusting my elbows with his hands, and when he did, his chest brushed my back for a second longer than necessary. He didn’t apologize. I didn’t ask him to move away either. I completed the set feeling his presence inches behind me, and when I finished and looked at him over my shoulder, his eyes were fixed on me.

The three guys who remained left one by one. None of them said goodbye with any particular ceremony. By the time I realized it, there were only the two of us.

The Polaco took me by the waist from behind, slowly, without hurry, as if he were completely sure I wasn’t going to move. He rested his nose against the nape of my neck and breathed in. That was all. The gesture was so deliberate it tightened something in my chest. And it tightened between my legs too: suddenly I felt my cunt throbbing, dampness staining my shorts.

—Private training? —I asked, shifting my hips just slightly backward to feel what I already knew was there.

And it was. Hard. Enormous. I felt his cock outlined against my ass through the fabric of his sweatpants, thick and hot, pressing between my cheeks as if it were looking for a place to settle there.

—The hardest you’ve ever had —he said, and gently bit my earlobe.

Without another word, he took me to the back of the gym, to a room that served as both storage area and office. There was a long sofa, a heavy wooden desk, and a gaming chair that looked out of place. The light was dim, almost yellow. He locked the door.

***

He didn’t wait. He leaned in to kiss me and did it with the same authority he’d used when correcting my posture: firm, without asking, without hesitation. His tongue entered my mouth without permission, and I welcomed it, sucking and biting it, answering with the same hunger he brought. He lifted me and sat me on the desk, stepped between my legs, and started taking off my tank top. When he pulled it off and saw what I had underneath, he took a second to look at me. Just one second.

He lowered his mouth and licked my cleavage, ran his lips over my tits through the sports bra, then ripped it open and left them bare. He squeezed them with both hands, digging his fingers into the flesh, and lowered his head to bite my left nipple. I moaned. He looked up without releasing what he had between his teeth and held my gaze while he sucked the whole thing, long and hard, until I felt my nipple reach the back of his mouth.

—Are you going to be noisy? —he asked, my nipple still shiny with saliva.

—Depends what you do.

—Good —he said, and lowered his mouth to the other side.

He sucked, licked, and bit. He ran his whole tongue from my sternum to my right nipple and sucked it with the same intensity, until I started moving on the desk, seeking friction between my legs. His hand traveled down my belly, slipped inside my shorts, and when he found my soaked cunt, he stayed there without moving, simply feeling how wet I was.

—Look at you —he said, pulling his fingers out gleaming with my wetness. He brought them to his mouth and sucked them slowly, looking into my eyes—. All mine.

His hands were enormous. When he wrapped them around my waist, his thumbs nearly touched in the middle. He lifted me off the desk as if I weighed nothing and pressed me against him, and that was when I felt him fully against my hip, hard and substantial. I reached for his cock over his pants and felt it from top to bottom. It was thick, long, and so hard it seemed to hurt him.

This is going to hurt, I thought. And I wanted it to hurt.

He told me he had somewhere better. The afternoon instructor’s shift would be starting at any moment. I asked him, just to provoke him, whether he didn’t want the instructor to join us.

—This body is mine —he said, with a calmness more exciting to me than anything he could have shouted—. Mine alone. I’m going to fuck this cunt, and no one else.

I straightened my clothes and we left. We got on his motorcycle. He lived eight blocks from the gym. On the way, I held on to his back and slipped my hand around the front, between his legs, feeling him get hard again beneath his pants. He pressed my hand against his cock and didn’t let go until we arrived.

***

Our clothes started falling along the way from the door to the living room. By the time we reached the center of the room, I was wearing only my panties and he was shirtless, and that torso I’d been watching from the treadmill for weeks was there, ten inches from my face.

I knelt.

I didn’t do it because he asked me to. I did it because I wanted to, because I’d been thinking about it since the previous Saturday and had no intention of putting it off any longer. I wanted to suck him. I wanted to feel that cock in my mouth, in my throat; I wanted to taste the flavor of a man I’d been imagining for days.

What I found when I yanked down his pants and boxers in one motion was exactly what his body had promised: big, thick, with the kind of presence that intimidates you before you realize intimidation can be exciting too. It sprang forward, hard, a thick vein standing out along its length, the reddened head already showing a clear drop at the tip. It had to be more than eight inches long and thick enough that it wasn’t going to fit comfortably anywhere. My mouth watered just looking at it.

I took it in my right hand, barely able to wrap my fingers around it, and felt its weight, its heat, the flesh throbbing against my palm. I ran my thumb over the head, gathered the clear drop, and brought it to my tongue. Salty, dense, with that unmistakably masculine taste that made me squeeze my thighs.

I looked up at him. His eyes were fixed on me, jaw tense, hands still at his sides.

I opened my mouth.

I ran my tongue from the base to the tip, flat and slow, coating its entire length with saliva. Then I went back down the other side. I licked his balls, took one and then the other into my mouth, sucking them slowly while stroking his cock with my hand. He released his first real growl, one that rose from his chest.

I moved back up and put him in my mouth. I started slowly, exploring his size, letting the head reach the back of my palate, finding the rhythm that worked, and when I found it, he let out his first genuine sound: a low, restrained gasp, as if he didn’t want to allow himself to moan just yet. I put more effort into it. My left hand at the base, my mouth working as much as it could, my tongue rubbing against the frenulum on every upward stroke, my eyes raised to watch his reaction. His fingers began tangling in my hair. Gently at first. Then more forcefully.

He pushed it deeper inside me. I felt it enter my throat, touch the back, and had to breathe through my nose so I wouldn’t choke. I endured it. He held my head there for a couple of seconds, looking down at me, and when he released me, I pulled his cock from my mouth with a long strand of saliva hanging between my lips and the tip.

—Again —he said.

I put it back in all the way. And again. And again. I began to increase the pace, sucking hungrily, spitting on it to keep it wet, using both hands now: one at the base, the other massaging his balls. The sounds coming from my mouth were obscene, that wet slapping of saliva and flesh mixed with his increasingly deep growls.

He pushed my head toward him until I coughed, and he laughed. Not cruelly, but with that masculine satisfaction I find impossible to ignore.

—More —he said. One word.

Saliva ran down my chin, onto my breasts, gathering at my jaw. My eyes watered a little from the effort and my makeup was running. I didn’t care about either thing. What mattered was hearing him lose control little by little, gasp by gasp. The way his cock grew harder each time, the way the taste changed, the way pre-cum filled my tongue.

—Enough —he said suddenly, gently pulling my hair back—. I’m going to come, and not yet.

He pulled his cock from my mouth, and a thick strand of saliva hung from the tip to my lower lip. I wiped myself with the back of my hand, smiling up at him.

***

He lifted me by my hair, slowly but without hesitation, and took me to the sofa. He positioned me on my knees facing the backrest and stood behind me. There was a large mirror on the far wall. That wasn’t accidental.

He yanked down my panties. I heard them fall to the floor, and the skin of my ass prickled when it felt the air.

He knelt behind me. He spread my buttocks with both hands and ran his whole tongue over me, from bottom to top, from my clitoris to my other hole. I screamed. I screamed into the sofa’s backrest, unable to hold it in, because I hadn’t expected it and because no one had ever eaten my cunt that way. He did it again. And again. He pushed his tongue inside me, pulled it out, sucked my lips, took them between his teeth, found my clitoris, and sucked it the way he’d sucked my nipple half an hour earlier: whole, hungry, not letting me breathe. He inserted two fingers and moved them in a hook while he kept sucking. My knees buckled on the sofa.

—I’m going to come —I said, and it wasn’t a warning; it was almost a plea.

He stood up.

—Not yet.

Bastard. He left me on the edge and stopped. He ran his fingers over the place where I was most tense, checking what he found, and when he confirmed the state he himself had left me in, he let out something like a deep, approving sound. He gripped his cock and ran it over my cunt’s lips without entering, up and down, smearing my wetness all over the head.

—I had you in my sights from the moment you walked into the gym —he said, rubbing himself against me without entering yet—. From the very first day.

—I know —I replied, pushing my ass backward in search of it.

—And you were deliberately provoking me?

—What do you think?

He laughed and slammed it into me.

In one single thrust, all the way to the bottom. The sound I made wasn’t exactly a moan. It was a sharp exhalation, something that came out on its own, without passing through any filter, almost a muffled scream. I gripped the backrest with both hands, and he waited for a second, just one second, letting me feel all of him inside, his cock stretching me, the head pressed against the deepest point, before he began to move.

It wasn’t gentle. He hadn’t been gentle at any point that afternoon, and he wasn’t about to start now. He took my hips in both hands and began fucking me hard, rhythmically, without stopping. Each thrust made my body jolt forward, and I pushed back to meet him halfway. The sound we made, his hips striking mine, the wet slapping of my soaked cunt swallowing that entire cock, was so concrete and indecent that I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning too loudly. I felt his balls striking my clitoris with every thrust.

In the mirror I could see myself: loose, tousled hair, flushed face, parted lips, tits swaying with every thrust. Him behind me, twice my size, the muscles of his torso defined by the effort, his cock sliding in and out, gleaming with my wetness. The image was so direct that I had to look away for a moment.

—Look —he said, without stopping—. Don’t look away. Watch me fuck you.

I turned my eyes back to the mirror and kept them there. I watched it disappear inside me, come out shiny and red, then enter again up to the balls. He ran a finger over my mouth and made me suck it, and I sucked it while watching him in the reflection.

He gripped my neck with one hand, not cutting off my air, only making it clear that he was there, that he was the one in control of every inch of the situation. With the other hand he held my hip and increased the pace. I began moaning for real, not caring how loud I was. “Oh, fuck, more, like that, harder,” all of it came out jumbled and broken by every thrust.

—You want more? —he asked, as if the answer weren’t obvious.

—Yes —I said, the word coming out broken.

—How do you ask?

—Please. Please fuck me harder.

—Good —he said, and gave me everything.

He drove into me with all his strength, all the way in, again and again, so deep that I began to feel the impact in my belly. He slapped my ass hard, leaving my left cheek burning, then the other one. He gripped my hair in a fist and pulled my head back while he kept fucking me from behind. I was a bundle of lit-up nerve endings, barely able to hold myself up with my arms.

***

I came without warning, all at once, with a contraction that folded me forward. I felt my cunt squeeze around his cock in spasms that went through my entire body, rising up my stomach and reaching my throat. I let out a long, animal scream against the sofa’s backrest. He felt it because he grunted and held me tighter, supporting me while I finished trembling. He didn’t stop. He kept moving through it, driving into me while I was still convulsing around him, carrying me to the other side, and when my body tried to relax, he didn’t let it.

He changed positions: on my back on the sofa, my legs over his shoulders. He grabbed my ankles and spread me wider. He looked at my open cunt, still throbbing, gleaming all the way to my thighs.

—Like this —he said, more to himself than to me—. Look at how you look.

He spat into his hand, ran it over his cock even though it didn’t need it, and pushed it into me again. It entered, and the angle was different, deeper, and the fullness I already knew became something more intense and insistent. He reached places he hadn’t before, pressed against my cervix, and every thrust tore a sound from me that I didn’t even recognize. I dug my fingers into the sofa cushions and let him do whatever he wanted.

He bent down and sucked one of my tits while continuing to move. Then the other. He bit my nipples and I screamed, because they were hypersensitive after the first orgasm and every touch was too much. He lowered one hand to my clitoris and began rubbing it quickly with his thumb while continuing to fuck me all the way in.

—Again —he said—. You’re going to come again for me.

He panted over me, the weight of his arms on either side of my head whenever he leaned down again, the cadence of his movements becoming more urgent. I watched him lose some of the control he had maintained perfectly throughout the afternoon. His neck tensed, the muscles in his chest stood out more sharply, and he began panting with his mouth open. And that was what brought me to my second orgasm: seeing him reach the limit. I dug my nails into his back, scratched him from his shoulders to his waist, and came again, screaming in his face. He said nothing, only sped up.

—I’m going to come —he growled—. I’m going to come inside you.

—Yes —I said, my voice wrecked—. Inside. All of it inside.

He gave three or four final, brutal thrusts, all the way in, and I felt his cock swell inside me a second before he began to come. A long, hot spurt filled me inside. Then another. And another. He growled through clenched teeth, eyes closed, jaw tense, emptying himself completely inside me. I squeezed around that cock to milk every last drop from him, feeling every beat, every pulse of semen staying inside.

He came inside me. He hadn’t asked, and we hadn’t negotiated it. I didn’t mind.

He stayed still for a moment without pulling out, still hard, catching his breath, and I stayed still too, feeling him throb. When he finally withdrew, I felt semen trickle between my buttocks onto the sofa. He ran two fingers over my cunt, gathered some of his cum mixed with my wetness, and brought them to my mouth. I sucked them without hesitation. The living room ceiling had wooden beams. I counted them while I waited for my body to stop trembling.

***

Later, still on the sofa, he offered me water. I accepted. We sat for a while in a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, the kind of silence that exists between two people who have just understood one another perfectly without needing many words.

—Second session Wednesday —he said eventually. It wasn’t a question.

I looked at him.

—What time does the gym open?

—Eight. But you’ll get there at seven-thirty.

I nodded. I finished my water. I dressed slowly, with the calm that comes over the body when it has been thoroughly used and is in no hurry to return to reality. I could still feel the Polaco’s semen trickling inside me when I put my panties back on.

When I went outside, the sun was already beginning to set, and I could still feel every muscle in my body in a way that had nothing to do with exercise. Or perhaps it did, depending on how you looked at it.

My mature man from the gym turned out to be exactly what I had imagined from the first time I saw him walk through that door. And for what I had come looking for, that was more than enough.

This is only the first part. The second one is worth it.