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Gym Slut Sessions 4

Penulis: Abby
last update Tanggal publikasi: 2026-04-13 15:58:39

We were still on the bench press my back flat against the padded leather legs hooked over his shoulders while he drove into me slow and deep this time letting me feel every thick inch slide out then slam back home.

My pussy was swollen and sensitive from the last two orgasms but still greedy still clenching around him every time he bottomed out.

Sweat dripped from his chest onto my tits I was moaning low and broken begging him to go harder even though I could barely take it.

Then the door cli
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    The days between sessions felt longer than they should have. I kept catching myself touching the faint marks he’d left on my skin, pressing my fingers against them like I needed proof it had all been real. At night I lay in bed replaying the sound of his voice when he confessed about the woman he once painted. There was so much pain hidden behind those storm-cloud eyes, and some reckless part of me wanted to walk straight into it.When I arrived at the studio on Thursday evening, the light was different. Softer. Golden hour had just begun, pouring through the tall windows and bathing everything in warm amber. Elias had rearranged the space. The platform now had soft ropes attached to discreet hooks at the corners. My stomach tightened at the sight.He was waiting for me, barefoot in a worn black t-shirt and jeans, charcoal already smudged on his fingers.“You’re early,” he said, voice low.“I couldn’t wait,” I admitted.Something flickered across his face surprise, maybe even tendern

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    We stayed like that for a long time, tangled together on the old velvet platform. Elias’s weight pressed me into the cushions, solid and warm, his breath slow against my neck. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, steady but heavy, like he was trying to calm something deeper than just the sex.Eventually, he lifted himself onto his elbows and looked down at me. Those storm-cloud eyes were softer now, but still searching. Always searching.“You’re shaking,” he murmured, brushing damp hair from my forehead with surprising gentleness.“I’m okay,” I whispered. My voice sounded small, even to me. “Just… overwhelmed.”He didn’t smile, but something shifted in his expression. He kissed me slowly this time, not with hunger but with a kind of quiet curiosity, like he was tasting the aftershocks still running through me. When he pulled back, he studied my face again, the same way he studied his canvases.“Stay there,” he said softly.Elias stood and walked across the studio, completely n

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    The studio smelled like turpentine, old wood, and something darker like secrets left to dry on canvas.I stood in the middle of the large loft, my hands clasped tightly in front of me, trying not to fidget. The late afternoon light poured through the tall, dusty windows, cutting sharp golden beams across the floor. Elias Voss was late. Or maybe he was watching me. With him, it was always hard to tell.When he finally appeared from the back room, wiping his hands on a stained rag, my breath caught. He was taller than I remembered from the gallery opening broader, more worn. Early forties, with messy dark hair streaked with premature silver, and eyes the color of storm clouds over the ocean. There was a hardness in his face, like life had carved away everything soft.“You’re late,” he said. His voice was low, rough, like he didn’t use it often.“I’m sorry, Mr. Voss. Traffic was—”“Elias,” he corrected, cutting me off. He circled me slowly, eyes moving over my body the same way they stu

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