Dan pulled back and started to fuck her in a slow, controlled way as she let her eyes wander over every printed line and colour. The new leaves on the maple were a vivid lime green against the background of deeper evergreen shrubs, moss and grey stone. The waterfall wasn't in shot, but her face glistened with moisture.
Louisa pushed back in time to Dan's fucking, urging him deeper and harder. Instead of giving in to her rhythm, he grasped the rope that passed beneath her breasts and pulled her into his own.
"Please," she whimpered. "Harder. Fuck me harder."
Instead of giving in to her demands, he reached for a thick bit gag, stretched down to place it into her mouth and buckled it tight. Louisa sucked on it, trying to swallow, but it wasn't long before the corners of her mouth were wet and the saliva started to drip from her chin. Dan carried on his measured pace. She remembered how he'd stood back to let Jonas take the shots while she concentrated on breathing against the constriction of the rope that was ultimately caused by her own body.
"Point your toes," the photographer had said and now she could see now how it perfected the curve.
Only when Jonas was done had Dan come and teased her. It was the last part of the shoot and he meant to have some fun.
"I'm popping out for an hour," Jonas had said. "When you're done, make yourselves at home. I'll put the coffee on before I leave."
Dan had kissed her. It was difficult to kiss back. Anything but a wide open mouth increased the stretch of her throat and she couldn't move her head at all. She had nothing to leverage any part of her body against. When Dan moved away it left her swinging gently from front to back. He pushed on her shoulder and increased the movement until she almost felt like she could fly and the pressure of the ropes shifted along the length of her body as the forces of gravity and velocity played. He had teased her relentlessly, flicking his tongue into her mouth, squeezing her nipples and raking his fingernails across flesh exposed between the ropes. She found herself struggling to breathe against the ropes as he broke her concentration until she was gasping and tugging at her arms, the only place she had anything to pull against.
When Dan had untied her hair from the steel ring, followed by her ankles and thighs, she'd had a sudden terror that she was going to fall on the sharp rocks without any means of saving herself. He'd had to hold her tight and reassure her. He untethered the ropes at her hips and waist and lowered her feet onto the rocks, but she was barely able to support her own weight and hung limp in the remaining ropes until their bite into her flesh became painful.
In the end, he'd had to support her himself against one shoulder while he reached up to work the knots free from the ring. She'd sunk into him, vaguely frightened that they would both tumble into the waterfall pool but unable to do anything to stop it happening. Now, staring at the picture and remembering, she realised that if he'd untied her arms from behind her back she could have reached the ring to support herself. But he'd been determined that letting her down from the suspension would not free her completely. He'd unwound the six ropes from around her, led her to the stone bench over which he'd spanked her earlier and sat her on its edge.
There, he'd sunk to his knees on the pebbled path, pushed her legs apart and licked her clit until the intensity of the day's experience had exploded from her in an unrestrained, screaming orgasm.
As she gazed at the picture and remembered that orgasm, Dan speeded his pace. Louisa's shoulders were aching from holding herself up, her knees sore against the wooden boards. She welcomed the physical immediacy of the sensations and urged Dan on with her moans. He pounded her harder until she heard his guttural groan of climax and felt his cock swell inside her.
He slid out and moved beneath her, pulling her down onto his face, his tongue finding her clit. His fingers slipped in to replace his cock, knuckles stretching her wider. He flicked the tip of his tongue over her hard and within seconds she felt the jerk and itch of her orgasm building. Somewhere at the back of her mind she knew her saliva was pooling on the ground around the ropes linking her wrists but she no longer cared. She focused on the burning itch, her thigh muscles tensed, and felt the climax ripple through her system.
She collapsed onto the floor, her bound breasts squashed beneath her and her arms tethered above her head. Dan crawled up beside her and cupped his chin in his hands. "So you like your birthday present then?" he asked.
"I guess," she said. "When we can visit Jonas's place again?"
Cross Trainer Number Four
© Lily Harlem
Cross trainer number four, that's me. I'm four machines in from the left and enjoy a highly sought after front row position. I could be more central, that's true, but you have to take what you're given when you have feet but no legs. Besides, what's to complain about when I can watch MTV all day? There's always some bit of totty strutting her stuff, usually a bit skinny and a bit impish, skeletal if I'm honest, but there you go, that seems to be the fashion these days.
Perhaps you think it's odd, my view of waif-like starlets, but most of us here feel the same. Where's the fun in skin and bone? Flesh and curves, ripples and dips, that's what it's all about. We like to feel the people riding us, pounding us, sweating and huffing out their energy on top of us. Makes us feel worthwhile, like we're serving a purpose.
I can see I've shocked you. I don't care, not really. I shock people all the time. How unfit they are. How few calories they've burned. How much it hurts after two weeks in the sun sipping cocktails on the beach. Oh, yeah I like to shock.
I'm made in the UK, you know, not much is these days. But I am, and I wear my Union Jack shield on my control panel with pride. Nothing else in High Speed to Success is made in the UK. The rowing machines are from Japan, the treadmills Norway, and the majority of the weights are USA-made. It gives me a sense of camaraderie it does, to have been crafted by the people I serve.
Oh, here she is, the lovely Carmel Johnson. Without fail every Sunday evening she wanders in here all blonde hair, red lips and tight cerise top. She makes my handles all a flutter, my footplates tense with anticipation. I want her to choose me; come to cross trainer number four, I'm the best, I really am. Just look at my perfect view of the TV and how polished my screen is. Next door at number five there's a scratch across the display panel and number three, no one knows it, but there's a blob of gum beneath the water holder. I saw who did it too, that trollop Nadia Farr, she was grinning at the boys on the weights, as she always does, while merely tickling the machine, when suddenly she popped the disgusting chew out of her mouth and shoved it against the metal. Poor number three, he's quite mortified you know, can't wait for one of the personal trainers to find it and set the cleaners to work.
Oh, oh, oh, is she going to pick me? I hope so. I flash my lights, pray for a good song and hope the hot guy she always catches the eye of, James, starts his session on the bench press—another plus of my advantageous position, a perfect view of the bench press.
I'm in luck, she's heading my way.
James is there.
She sucks on her water bottle, her hips rolling, the swell of her breasts rising from her tight little top, jiggling just a bit. There's not a sports bra on the planet that could keep those babies completely still.
James gawps, as usual, and who can blame him? She's hot, she's pretty, and she's got a smile that lights up a room. Once, I swear, the first time he walked past and said hello to her, the way she lit up, beamed, I thought I was going to short-circuit.
She's coming this way, her eyes on James, they share their usual smile. A little electrical surge tickles my wires. He's cute, if you like the flopping hair, thick, roped muscled type, oh, and if tattoos are your thing, he's your man. With a dragon-themed half sleeve on his right arm James is all about the artwork. He wears these vesty tops for working out and they show off the balls of his shoulders, the set of his neck and the 'v' shape of his torso.
Carmel is so close now, she is, yes, she's going to choose me. Thank goodness, what would
Sunday be without her? Three weeks ago that Nadia was on me when Carmel came in. I sped up a little, well a lot actually, pretended there was a fault in my system hoping she'd get off me. But that plan backfired, Johnny, the head trainer slapped an 'Out of Order' sign on me until maintenance could tweak and fiddle two days later—boring and embarrassing.
But that's history, because I live for the moment and Carmel is climbing on me, every gorgeous, round inch of her. Her weight settles, feet in my plates, her pretty hands with baby pink fingernails grip my handles. I cradle her water bottle in my gum free holder.
She always waits a minute before we get started. She likes to straighten her headphones before she plugs them in to listen to MTV. She doesn't like kinks in the leads but I bet she likes kinks in other parts of her life.
Oh, listen to me, all naughty and silly. My imagination always runs riot when Carmel gets running.
I picture her and James together, away from High Speed to Success, and back at her place, after a date maybe. Lucky beggar, he'd get his hands on her juicy curves, bury his head in her ample bosom, sink his steely rod into her…
Here's me getting carried away and she's setting the speed, starting me up. I like this bit, the first push-pull of her arms, the first forward shove of her weight, it gets me going, riles me up. It's the noise too, the whooshing and whirring. The feel of her muscles working with my pistons, steaming ahead, gaining momentum. Lovely, just lovely.
James is watching her. He's on the bench, pretending to have a rest, wiping his brow. But his attention is on Carmel, every delectable inch of her. Go girl, you're gorgeous, you're more woman than any of the gym bunnies in here who have nothing but grape-sized bums and flat little titties.
James gulps his water then fiddles with the lid, all a ploy I've seen before to spend more time watching her.
He sets the water down, lies back and takes the dumbbells in his hands. I know what comes next, he lifts them up, holds them, sets them out at right angles to his body and counts to ten, working his biceps, triceps and his trapezius. It's impressive, I can't deny it, they're big weights and he holds them perfectly still before touching them together then extending again.
Carmen finds it impressive too. Once she almost fell off me when James was doing this bit. She lost rhythm entirely, her hands mismatching with her feet, it was like she was trying to tie me in knots like a piece of spaghetti. I can't blame her though, it's that flash of armpit that gets her. I know it is. Especially when he's built up a bit of a sweat and the black lick of hair flattens to the deepest part of the groove in his underarm. The hair is so dark, his skin there so pale, it's a secret part of him, a bit she admires from afar.
She's slowing down now, just when she'd got into stride. I understand, she's consumed by him. Oh, when will they get to it and stop all this silly side-stepping, smiling and not getting to the point? They just need to get on with it. Go out together, get naked together then build up a sweat and get a work out of the non-gym variety.
They'd be hot in bed. I can picture it now, her soft, ripe flesh quivering beneath his touch. James in awe of the beauty beside him, hardly able to contain his excitement and his lust, but forcing himself to because he wants to be sure to please her first, then sate his own urges.
And how pleased he will be, rather him than me though, I'd blow a fuse for sure, where as James will just, well, blow I suppose.
Carmel is picking up her pace again. I'm impressed, she handled the armpit moment well. I wonder what else she could handle. I overheard her talking to a friend once, Melanie her name was, she came with Carmel on a Sunday night and rode machine number five like a pro. They were giggling together, talking about some book they'd read, discussing spanking and bondage and nipple clamps.
I almost popped a screw—spanking, bondage and nipple clamps! Just the thought of Carmel's round behind being marked by a big male hand, James' hand, got my voltage flowing dangerously high. I haven't ever seen her bum, of course I haven't, but those little black shorts she wears. My, oh my, when she's finished her session with me and walks away, even a machine with a weak imagination could picture the peachiness of her arse; balloon perfect roundness, a deep groove beneath then voluptuous thighs; strong thighs, thighs that could wrap around James' hips and hold on tight.
Lucky guy.
And bondage and nipple clamps. What were these girls trying to do to a simple cross trainer? Thoughts of her wrists harnessed in leather and her nipples squeezed by cool metal was almost enough to make me overheat.
A thin bimbo with scarlet hair and a nose ring is singing on MTV. Some odd song about wanting to be perfect. A good song, sure, but she's so far from perfect. I can't understand why she's even there, on the TV, strutting her stuff. Now get my Carmel in front of the camera, dancing and singing, then that would show the world how to be perfect.
Oh, my God, James is watching her again. He's hot and sweaty, he's been working out hard. The way he's pushed his hair back, it's sticking up a bit wonky, cute really. Carmel isn't looking though. She fixated on the TV as though trying to build up her speed and rush to a life of skin and bones.
I worry for her, hope she doesn't have any desires to stay anything other than how she is. Beautiful.
James is standing now, rubbing his face with a black hand towel. His cheeks are red. When he reaches for the wipes and cleans down the machine I notice a damp patch of sweat in the centre of his vest top, in the dip of his back.
Carmel is watching him too, admiring his behind. Unlike hers it's taut and tight, no doubt solid to the touch. Is she thinking what he'd be like to grab hold of? Maybe she's imagining him making her cry out in ecstasy as she grabs his behind, squeezes his arse cheeks. Sinks those long nails of hers into his flesh and makes him shout and pant out his release, turning his groan all the more guttural.
Bench press clean, James throws the wipes into the bin; it's getting full, the cleaners should be round soon.
Carmel slows, takes a slug of her water. The skinny girl on MTV is replaced by a rapper with heavy gold jewelry; it's not one of my favorite songs, and probably not one of hers.
But Carmel carries on enthusiastically. I love the way she stomps and slides her legs with the floor plates and how her arms tug at mine. It's like a dance, a fast paced waltz or a repetitive tango, and it's ours, our special move together.
James is coming over. I've seen his purposeful stride and so has Carmel. She's pretending not to notice, but she has. I can sense her tension. Feel her concentration wavering. I keep the pace steady, doing my best to hold things together for her. Because he's getting closer now. He's past the treadmills, the rowing machines and level with cross trainer number ten.
Carmel stares straight ahead, at the TV, as if nothing is happening. But it is. I want to flash my screen, sing my alarm, get her to notice.
"Hi," James says, standing directly between me and MTV.
"Oh, hello," Carmel says, speeding up rather than slowing down.
I want to write on my digital display—what are you doing?
"Are you, er, nearly finished?" James asks, pointing at me. A little rudely, but I'll forgive him. He's a hottie and I so want this to work for my favorite two gym goers. Call me Cupid if you want, I don't mind.
"Yes, five more minutes," she says.
Little liar, I think, you've hardly been on ten, and you always do at least twenty minutes on me, sometimes longer.
"Well, when you've done, would you like to get a coffee?" James asks, fiddling with the towel that is rolled around his neck, boxer style.
"Coffee?"
She sounds a little surprised and I hope she can stay cool. This is her chance, she's admired him from afar the same way he has her. They're going to be so good together, a magnificent couple with more chemistry than the periodic table.
"In the café," James says, his voice competing with the whoosh, whoosh of my metallic limbs and the slide of my internal mechanics.
Mercifully Carmel slows right down, tugs one of
her earphones out. She's riding me one handed and I'm careful to keep it steady, keep the thrusting and pounding as gentle as possible.
"I'm sorry," she says with a smile. "What did you say?"
Oh, she's a minx. I know she heard what he said, she replied the first time he spoke. She's enjoying the moment. The special exchange between man and woman when they communicate verbally for the first time. Plenty has been said in lusty admiring glances over the last few months, but now, finally, they speak.
If I wasn't on such tenterhooks I'd sigh at the sweetness of it.
"I'm James by the way." He wipes his fingertips over his brow, messing up that mop of hair all the more.
"Carmel." She keeps on working out.
"So do you fancy it?"
"What?" She raises her eyebrows. I can't deny it. I like her style; cool, calm, sexy, suggestive, she's got it all.
"A coffee, or maybe you'd rather get something to eat." He shrugs, shifts from one foot to the other and looks down at his Nike trainers. It's adorable really, to see such a big toughie getting nervous about asking a girl out. Makes you realize good old fashioned romance isn't completely dead.
"Well I haven't eaten yet," Carmel says. "I was going to hit Giano's after the gym."
James looks up, smiles. "The Italian on Grove Street? I love it there."
"Me too. Especially the scallops, they get them just right and the creamy sauce is divine."
"I like the gnudi, a protein and carb hit all in one go."
Carmel laughs and the sound vibrates straight through me in a wave of fizzing delight. "Gnudi, that sounds interesting, perhaps I should try it."
She was hardly moving at all now. I'd managed to slow right down without her noticing. She was still shifting a little though, I didn't want James to miss out on the beautiful way her body softened a normally hard workout routine.
"You should, it's a great dish," James says, taking a swig from his water bottle.
Coming Together With Curves Page 2
