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“You’re right.” It was a good thing she was there to keep an eye on the crazy in me. It kept trying to surface, find a new, impossible goal to strive toward in an endless quest. Except when I held her there in the warm breezy night, stroking her thighs, listening to the sound of her voice in the dark. Then I felt pretty happy to sit and enjoy.
“What about a rehab center?” I suggested instead, thinking of her expertise. “A center for athletes, with physical therapy and a fitness room.”
“Like a gym, but with an emphasis on rehab?” She seemed to like the idea.
We discussed the pros and cons, who the target audience would be. I liked the idea of a center dedicated to helping others. I’d spent a lot of time looking inward, focused on myself, working on my physical strength, stroke technique and endurance all with the goal of improving my times. It was time to widen my lens. I didn’t know how yet, but I was becoming more and more sure that I wanted to give back.
§
I still hit the pool every day. Old habits died hard. I found a high-caliber facility associated with a local university and worked out harder than anyone in it. Which wasn’t difficult, because most people there were normal. I was the insane one.
Sometimes people would sit on the pool deck and watch me swim. When I got out, they wanted to talk about the Olympics, and how I should do it again. I’d only be 30 years old in the next go-round. I could do it.
I knew they were probably right. I might not match my performance, but I’d probably get close. If I killed myself day in, day out, every day of the next four years, devoting each shred of energy and time to that one goal.
I didn’t want to do it. I felt that with certainty. Even in the void of what next, I knew that wasn’t it. I wanted a fuller life now, a broader umbrella, and I wanted Emma right at the center of it with me.
Later that afternoon, she came home. Her schedule was somewhat erratic, and her office wasn’t too far from our apartment, so we’d meet up when we could.
“How was your swim?” she asked, giving me a kiss. She wore one of her subtly sexy outfits, the little tank top and short skirt revealing her fit and lithe body.
“Fine,” I nodded, hatching an idea. “How long do you have before your next session?”
“My last client cancelled!” She looked at me with excitement.
A whole evening together, uninterrupted. “I think we have some time for a massage,” I declared.
“Is that right?” she asked, cocking her eyebrow.
“I’ll work on you first.” I gave her a heated look and she laughed, teasingly, turning to get herself a glass of water.
“But you’ve just done your swim,” she reminded me, taking a sip. “I don’t want you getting all tense.”
“If you insist,” I agreed, knowing I’d still get to have my way with her. And it wasn’t so bad, receiving a massage. Both options promised a high likelihood of enjoyment.
We had a massage table set up in the living room. Didn’t everyone? Or, at least every serious athlete lucky enough to be hooked up with a professional therapist trained in massage. I was a lucky dawg.
She was no longer working in an official capacity as my physical therapist, of course, but I still reaped the many benefits. No one touched me like Emma. Especially now that there were no rules holding us back.
“Now get undressed and lie down,” she told me, sternly. “I think I’ll really have to use a lot of oil on you today.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she lubed her hands. I stripped down to nothing and lay on my back. She rubbed me, slowly, torturously, all over my chest, my quads, everywhere but where I wanted the most.
“Emma,” I growled in warning. I could take some teasing, but sooner or later I’d get what I wanted.
She giggled, playful with a hint of excitement and maybe even a bit of nerves. I still surprised her sometimes, coming at her raw and dominant when she didn’t expect it. I loved taking her breath away, then hearing it come back in a needy pant and moan.
“You need to let me work,” she chastised, stroking, kneading my muscles. “I have to take care of you.” Wicked temptress, she slid her hands along my hips, at my lower abdomen. As she rubbed and massaged, she could see every inch of me, my swollen cock long and rock hard.
I loved seeing her get caught up in her own lust. At first she was playful, teasing and coy. Then something shifted. She glanced at my cock, a drop of pre-come at the tip. Then she glanced again, her pink tongue darting out, licking her lips.
She liked the taste of me. My cock jerked in response, a little more pre-come leaking out. She moved closer to my middle. She couldn’t take her eyes away.
“I think,” she offered hesitantly. “I think you might need some attention here.”
But before she got her treat, I sat up and turned the tables. Or who lay on the table, anyway. She didn’t get what she wanted, not yet. Not when torturing her was so much fun.
“Strip for me. And lie down on your front. Now,” I ordered. I slathered my hands in warm oil, too, watching her as she complied with my orders, slipping out of her clothes, her panties and bra, too, until she was completely naked, lying there waiting for me. Slick on her skin, my hands kneaded, pulled and pressed into her. I loved seeing her hips start to wiggle and grind into the sheet. As if pushing her clit into the table could give her the kind of release she needed. No, I had what she craved.
“Up on all fours, baby.” I coaxed her, helping her up into the position I liked. Down on her elbows, up on her knees, I got her at exactly the right angle. With her knees spread apart, her ass tilted up, I could get right at so much of what I liked, her round, pink cheeks, her pretty little asshole, her dripping wet pussy.
I stroked and massaged as long as I could. Until her whimpers and pleas got the best of me, too, and I leaned down for a light lick.
“Ah!” she gasped, so sensitive, raising up on her hands and turning around to look at me.
“You need to let me work on you.” I took pleasure in repeating her own words right back at her. With my large hand at the center of her upper back, I pushed her back down into position again. “Stay still or you won’t get what you need.”
With a whine, she did as I said, back down on her elbows, knees even wider apart so I could see her glistening sex. I grabbed her hips, my fingers along her ass cheeks, pulling her apart so I could really get in there. I licked, slowly at first, eating her pussy like the ripest, juiciest fruit I’d ever tasted. I moaned at the succulent sweetness, so turned on by the sounds she made, the way she white-knuckled the sheet.
When she got close, I brought my oiled thumb over to her ass, using some of the arousal dripping down her legs to coat her entrance. Sucking on her clit, I pressed against her tight ring, forcing it open, my thick thumb popping inside.
She screamed, at the brink, tense and quivering as I licked and sucked her pussy, starting to thrust in her ass. She loved it when I claimed her, showed her how good I could make her feel, because she was mine, all mine.
She started bucking, pressing against me, shuddering and groaning and I sucked hard on her clit, pulling it in, giving it a light bite as I pushed into her asshole.
“Yes!” she screamed out, climaxing hard, coming in my mouth as I sucked in her luscious wetness. I stroked her, milking the pleasure out of her, licking every last drop as she quivered and sighed.
Kissing her ass cheek, I praised her. “So fucking sweet, baby.”
“Oh, Chase,” she groaned, sinking down, her face pressed to the side. I gathered her in my arms and carried her into the bedroom. She needed a moment to rest and catch her breath. Too bad I wasn’t going to give it to her.
Pulling her against me, cupping her from behind, I wrapped my hands around her. Grabbing one of her breasts, dipping down into her slick pussy, I held her there, sucking on her throat, licking and whispering in her ear. “You come so pretty, Emma. I need to see it again.”
