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“Of course it is,” I say, leaning over to bite the lobe of his ear. “It’s a muscle like any other.”
Ares grips my hips and thrusts upward into me.
I let go of the rings so I can wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him deeply.
I strip his dress shirt off because I want to see his body. I want to run my hands over the sprawling tattoo across his chest — the script, the skulls and roses. I want to see the muscles standing out on his arms and shoulders as he fucks me.
Ares sits back on one of the upright benches. I climb on top of him, straddling him in front of the mirror.
Our bodies look insane, dually reflected. As I ride him, I can see my abs flexing, and the round globes of my ass clenching. Ares has a pump like he just bench-pressed three hundred pounds, his chest, shoulders, and biceps swollen and throbbing. Veins stand out on his forearms. Sweat gleams on his skin as if he’s been oiled.
I want to fuck him in every position in front of these mirrors. I want to watch us doing what our bodies were made to do—all the exercise and all the training reaching its highest purpose.
I flip around so I’m riding Ares in reverse, my back against his chest, my thighs flexing, and my tits bouncing in the mirror as I pogo on his cock. Ares puts his palm between my shoulder blades, pushing me forward, fucking me hard from behind.
I want more of that.
I stand up, bending over. Ares stands too, grabbing a handful of my hair and wrapping it around his fist. He holds it like the reins of a horse as he enters me again and fucks me hard, his hips slapping against my ass.
Tall as I am, I can’t match his long legs. I need to get just a little higher.
I step into the squat rack, my feet resting on the crossbars. I lean forward, bracing myself against the rack with my hands. Now Ares can stand behind me, my ass raised up to the perfect height for his cock, my legs spread wide. He thrusts into me, pounding me hard, making the whole rack shake.
I can see Ares in the mirror, ripped like a Renaissance sculpture, like Michelangelo’s most fevered dreams brought to life. Every muscle stands out on his long, lean frame, his fingers digging into my hips, his head thrown back, jaw clenched, teeth bared.
I’ve never seen anything so sexy.
I’m starting to cum, his cock pounding relentlessly against that sensitive spot on my inner wall, his thick shaft rubbing the base of my clit.
“Harder,” I beg. “Fuck me harder.”
“I’ll fucking destroy you with this cock,” Ares snarls.
He pounds into me with all his force.
The orgasm detonates inside of me. It blasts through my body, destructive and hot, incinerating my bones, sizzling through my cells.
Ares is cumming too, roaring out loud and pounding me with all his might. His hands twitch, his whole body shakes as he pours cum inside of me, driving it deep with every thrust.
I’m only vaguely aware of this because I’ve lost control of my body, I can’t think or speak or hold myself up, all I can do is feel this climax to end all climaxes, an orgasm that ought to be named like a hurricane.
If I didn’t have the rack to hold me up, I’d fall on my face.
Instead, I collapse backward onto Ares, both of us sweating and shaking on a pile of mats with no clear idea of how we got over there.
“I’d spend a lot more time in the gym if that was the workout,” Ares groans.
“Don’t forget to wipe down that bench,” I tell him.
We both start laughing, helpless and slightly hysterical, clutching abs that are much too sore for any more activity.
23
Ivan Petrov
Present Day
Ipush up from the floor of my cell, the grit of the bare rock digging into my palms. Those palms are harder than iron by now. They’ve endured one thousand push-ups per day for three and a half long years.
