Chapter 13: Gym Sweat and Secrets

Chapter 13: Gym Sweat and Secrets

The morning sun filtered through the manor's tall windows, casting golden stripes across the breakfast table. I poked at my porridge, feigning interest while Richard sipped his coffee, his eyes occasionally drifting to my bare legs under the table. I'd chosen a short silk robe that barely skimmed my thighs, the fabric whispering against my skin with every shift. Jake was across from me, scrolling his phone, but I caught him glancing up, his fork pausing mid-air as I crossed my legs, letting the robe part just enough to flash the curve of my hip.

"Plans for today, princess?" Richard asked, his voice casual, but laced with that underlying command. He set his mug down, fingers drumming the wood.

"Gym," I replied sweetly, batting my lashes. "Need to work off some stress from uni. Coach mentioned a private session."

Jake's head snapped up, brow furrowing. "Private? With who?"

"Just the trainer. Marcus. He's helping with my form." I kept my tone light, innocent, but inside, heat pooled at the memory of Marcus's broad shoulders and the way his shorts had tented last week during my squats. I'd bent low, arse pushed out, and sworn I'd seen his cock twitch against the fabric.

Richard nodded slowly, but his jaw tightened. "Be careful. Don't want you getting hurt." His hand reached under the table, squeezing my knee—a warning, a claim. I smiled, pressing my thigh against his palm, feeling the warmth seep through.

After breakfast, I changed into my workout gear: tight leggings that hugged every curve of my arse and pussy lips, a sports bra that left my midriff exposed, nipples faintly visible through the thin material. No knickers—easier access. The drive to the village gym was short, my mind racing with possibilities. Marcus was in his late twenties, built like a rugby player, with dark skin, shaved head, and eyes that stripped you bare. I'd flirted shamelessly before, brushing against him during stretches, but today, I wanted more.

The gym was quiet mid-morning, just a few locals on treadmills. Marcus spotted me immediately, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. "Delilah. Right on time. Ready to sweat?"

His grin was wolfish as he led me to the private room at the back—a mirrored space with mats, weights, and a door that locked. Perfect. "Let's start with warm-ups," he said, demonstrating lunges. I mirrored him, bending deep, my arse flexing under the leggings. His eyes locked on it, lingering.

"Like this?" I asked, holding the pose, arching my back a fraction more.

"Yeah, just... keep that form." His voice roughened. We moved to squats, his hands guiding my hips. His palms were large, calloused, pressing firm against my bones. I pushed back into his touch, feeling the heat of his body close behind. "Good. Deeper now."

I sank low, thighs burning, pussy throbbing as his fingers dug in. On the next rep, I 'slipped,' stumbling back into him. His cock pressed against my arse—hard, thick, unmistakable through his shorts. "Sorry," I gasped, but ground subtly against it.

He steadied me, breath hot on my neck. "No worries. You okay?"

"More than okay." I turned, facing him, chest heaving. Our eyes met, the air thick with tension. Without a word, I reached for his waistband, tugging it down. His cock sprang free—long, girthy, veins pulsing, the head dark and glistening. I dropped to my knees on the mat, the rubber cool under me.

"Fuck, Delilah," he muttered, but didn't stop me. I gripped the base, stroking slow, then leaned in, tongue tracing the underside from balls to tip. Salty sweat mixed with pre-cum as I licked around the crown, then took him in, lips sliding down his length. He filled my mouth, stretching my jaw, and I sucked hard, bobbing with rhythm, hollowing my cheeks.

His hands tangled in my ponytail, guiding me deeper. "That's it, take it all. Your mouth's so fucking hot." I gagged as he hit the back of my throat, tears pricking, but I pushed on, nose burying in his trimmed pubes. Spit trailed down my chin, soaking my bra as I worked him, tongue swirling, hand pumping what I couldn't swallow.

He thrust shallowly, fucking my face, grunts echoing off the mirrors. "Gonna cum—swallow it, yeah?" I nodded around him, sucking tighter. His cock swelled, then erupted, thick jets hitting my tongue, flooding my mouth. I gulped it down, savouring the bitter heat, milking him until he shuddered and pulled out, a string of cum connecting my lips to his tip.

"Your turn," he growled, hauling me up and peeling off my leggings in one yank. My pussy was bare, slick and swollen, clit peeking out. He pushed me against the mirror, the glass cold on my back, and dropped low, spreading my thighs wide. His tongue dove in without preamble, lapping at my folds, broad strokes that made me moan.

"Oh god, yes—lick my pussy." I gripped his head, grinding against his face. He sucked my clit, teeth nipping lightly, then plunged his tongue inside, fucking me with it while his fingers rubbed circles on my nub. Juices smeared his chin, my legs shaking as pleasure built. "Don't stop... I'm cumming!"

Orgasm hit like a wave, pussy clenching, flooding his mouth. He drank me in, humming against my skin, extending the spasms until I sagged against the wall.

But he wasn't done. He stood, cock hard again, and spun me around, hands on my hips. "Bend over. I want that arse." I braced against the mirror, watching our reflection—my tits spilling from the bra, his muscled body behind me. He spat on his hand, slicking his cock, then pressed the head to my arsehole.

No easing in—he thrust forward, breaching me with a burn that made me cry out. "Tight... fuck, so tight." Inch by inch, he filled me, the stretch intense, bordering pain but tipping into ecstasy. Once buried, he paused, letting me adjust, then started pounding, hips snapping, balls slapping my pussy.

I pushed back, meeting each drive, the mirror fogging with my breaths. "Harder, Marcus—fuck my arse deep." His hand snaked around, fingers plunging into my pussy, thumb on my clit. The double filling had me keening, body on fire. "Yes, finger me while you ream my hole."

Sweat dripped down our bodies, the room smelling of sex and effort. His pace quickened, grunts animalistic. "Gonna fill this arse—take my cum." I clenched around him, my own climax crashing, pussy squirting onto his hand as he roared, cock pulsing, hot seed spurting inside me.

We collapsed onto the mat, panting, his cum leaking from my arse. "That was... intense," he said, chuckling breathlessly.

I grinned, wiping sweat from my brow. "Best workout yet. Same time next week?"

He nodded, eyes dark with promise. I dressed quickly, the ache in my arse a delicious reminder as I slipped out, waving to the receptionist like nothing happened.

Back at the manor, I headed straight for the shower, but Jake cornered me in the hallway. "How was the gym? You look... worked out."

His nose twitched, sniffing the air. Paranoia flickered—could he smell Marcus on me? The faint musk of sweat and cum? "Fine," I said, trying to sidestep. "Just sore."

He grabbed my arm, pulling me into the nearest room—the laundry, of all places. The door shut with a click. "Sore where? Let me see."

Before I could protest, he yanked down my leggings, exposing my reddened arse, cum still trickling slightly. His eyes widened, then narrowed. "What the fuck? Who's been in you?"

"Jake, it's nothing—"

He spun me, pinning me against the dryer, his body hard against mine. "Liar. I can see it, feel it. You've been fucking around again." Anger laced his voice, but his cock pressed insistently against my thigh, betraying his arousal.

"Maybe," I whispered, defiant, reaching for his zipper. "Jealous?"

He slapped my hand away, then cracked his palm against my arse—hard, right on the tender spot Marcus had claimed. I yelped, the sting reigniting the burn. "You think you can tease us, play your games?" Another spank, then another, my skin heating under his assault.

Tears welled, but I arched into it, pussy dripping anew. "Punish me then, big brother. Make me yours."

He growled, shoving his shorts down, cock springing out—familiar, thick, ready. He bent me over the washing machine, kicking my legs apart. "This pussy's mine," he said, slamming in without warning. My walls stretched around him, slick from earlier but welcoming.

He fucked me rough, hips pistoning, one hand fisting my hair, yanking my head back. "Feel that? No one else gets this deep." Each thrust bruised my cervix, the machine rumbling under us. I moaned, pushing back, the pain-pleasure mix intoxicating.

"Yes, Jake—fuck me harder. Own this slutty hole." His free hand snaked to my clit, pinching, rubbing. Orgasm built fast, coiling tight. "Cum inside me, mark me."

He did, burying deep with a roar, cock throbbing as ropes of cum painted my insides. I shattered around him, milking every drop, body quaking.

He pulled out, cum oozing down my thighs. "Clean up. And no more secrets, Delilah. Or next time, Dad joins in."

I nodded, breathless, pulling up my leggings as he left. In the shower later, I fingered the mess from my pussy and arse, replaying the double claiming. They suspected, but didn't know the half. Tonight, dinner with the family—time to play innocent again, while plotting my next thrill. Ethan had texted: meet at the pub? The risk was escalating, but so was the fire in my veins.