บททั้งหมดของ Fifty Shades of Lust {Short Stories}: บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

The locker room door closed behind us with a soft hydraulic hiss. The sound echoed in the empty space—tile walls, metal lockers, faint steam still hanging from someone’s earlier shower. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh and unflinching. No cameras back here. No windows. Just us.Marcus didn’t speak at first. He just looked at me—eyes dark, unreadable, chest still rising and falling from the leg press set he’d won. Sweat glistened on his collarbone, his forearms corded from gripping the bar. His shorts were tented—obviously hard, obviously ready.I stood there in my sports bra and leggings, sweat cooling on my skin, heart slamming so hard I could feel it in my throat. The bet had been half-joke, half-dare when we made it. Now it felt very real.“Ten minutes,” he said quietly. Voice low, controlled. “No limits. No talking unless I ask you something. You lose, you take it. That was the deal.”I nodded once. My mouth was dry. My pussy was already wet—had been since the moment he s

The gym lights were off except for the emergency strips and the faint glow from the hallway vending machines. It was 1:12 a.m. Saturday morning—technically Sunday now. The front door had been locked from the inside hours ago. Marcus had the spare key from his late-night training shifts. No one else was coming.We hadn’t spoken since the last bet ended three nights ago. No texts. No glances across the weight floor. Just the unspoken agreement that the next time we were both here after closing, the stakes would be higher.I arrived first.Black leggings. No underwear. A cropped hoodie unzipped halfway—sports bra underneath, nipples already stiff against the fabric from the cold and anticipation. Hair in a high ponytail. No makeup. No pretense. Just me.I waited by the squat rack—same one we’d used every time. Loaded four plates a side. Did my warm-up sets alone. The clank of metal on metal echoed in the empty space. My heart rate climbed with every rep.At 1:19 the side door beeped. Ope

The janitor locked the side door at 12:03 a.m.I heard the deadbolt slide home from inside the confessional. The sound was final. Heavy. No going back.I stayed kneeling, blindfold tight, hands still unbound, cum drying on my face and breasts, pussy and throat still throbbing from the first six loads. My breathing was ragged. My knees ached against the wood. My clit felt like a live wire—swollen, untouched, pulsing with every heartbeat.Footsteps returned.More than one set.The curtain rustled again.This time no cocks came through the screen.Hands reached in—multiple pairs—grabbed my upper arms, my waist, my hair. They pulled me forward, out of the booth, into the main nave.I stumbled, blind, bare feet on cold stone. The air changed—bigger space, echoes, faint candle wax and incense. They dragged me a few steps, then pushed me down onto something hard and flat.The altar steps.Cold marble against my back. My arms were pulled above my head. Rope looped around my wrists again—tight

He didn’t speak at first.Just stood there in the doorway, rain still dripping from the ends of his dark hair, soaking into the collar of his black hoodie. The gym bag lay forgotten at his feet like it weighed nothing. His chest rose and fell a little faster than normal—barely noticeable, but I noticed. I noticed everything about him right then.His eyes.They started at my face—wide for half a heartbeat, pupils blown dark—then dragged down. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was cataloguing every filthy detail.My bare thighs spread wide across his sheets.The way his oversized band tee had ridden up, barely covering the tops of my hips.My breasts heaving under the thin cotton, nipples stiff and obvious, pressing against the fabric.His photo frame still clutched between them like a talisman, the glass fogged slightly from my panting breaths.And lower—fuck—his black boxer briefs still mashed against my pussy, the crotch panel dark and soaked through, clinging to my swollen folds. My fingers

He didn’t pull out.Not even close.Ethan stayed buried deep inside me, thick and still mostly hard, every subtle twitch of his cock sending fresh ripples through my oversensitive walls. I could feel the slow, warm leak of his cum—thick pulses that had filled me so completely during his orgasm that it was already escaping in lazy trickles, sliding down between my ass cheeks, soaking into the sheets beneath us. The same sheets I’d ruined with my own desperate grinding for months. Now they carried both our scents, both our messes, layered together like proof.His forearms caged me in on either side of my head, biceps flexed and trembling slightly from holding himself above me. Rainwater still clung to the dark strands of hair falling across his forehead; a cold droplet broke free and landed on my collarbone, making me shiver even as my skin burned where we touched. His chest pressed to mine—heart hammering against heart—our breathing syncing in ragged, uneven pulls that filled the quiet