I think I am about to die. I sweat while those around me glow. For the past forty-five minutes I have managed to keep pace with the rigorous aerobic workout, but now I am ready to drop. If hell is worse than this I’d be surprised. Still, I carry on – as I always do – driven by the dream that one day I too will be in as perfect condition as the young, pretty instructress Sandi. I know my expectations are unrealistic. I have put myself through this self-induced torture for over six months and haven’t lost any weight of significance. It is time to face the truth. I will always remain on the plump side no matter how hard I work, how much I wish otherwise. The health club subscription has been a waste of money. I’d have been better off buying some magic knickers.
By the time Sandi finally calls a halt to the carnage I feel so exhausted that I vow never again. There was a time when a woman’s curves were appreciated. Sadly times have changed. It isn’t as if I’m unhappy with my body. Until recently I had been more than comfortable with the way I look. It was only when I met Roger that I started to have doubts. Not that Roger says anything directly, but the odd derogatory comment has crept into his conversation. Little things that undermined my self-confidence and with everything on the high street geared towards the ridiculously emaciated, I decided to give aerobics a try. Hence the torture. The pain. All for a man. Good God, what on earth am I doing, trying to buy into an image I don’t believe in? Well enough is enough! If Roger doesn’t like the way I look, then tough. There are other things about me other than my body which are pretty wonderful.
Standing under the shower, I let my mind float away in the misty warmth. Soon, the hot burning needles start to soothe my aching muscles, but as the pain fades so does my resolve. Roger is a good catch – handsome in a rugged sort of way and fairly successful at his job. I know Roger has his faults but it isn’t as if suitable replacements have been queuing to usurp him. I could do far worse. With soap in one hand and a soft terry cloth in the other, I scrub away at my underlying feeling of discontent. I summon an image of Roger in my mind and try to invoke a sense of belief. As the shampoo suds drain from my body, I softly caress my soapy breasts; dutifully wash between my legs – perhaps paying a little more attention than strictly necessary. I have no idea why I feel starved of affection, yet I am elated when I touch myself. I quickly check I am alone. Hot steam fills the white-tiled room, obscuring my errant hand, hiding my hideous body.
To ease my sense of guilt, I imagine Roger slipping into the shower with me. I take his cock in my hand, guiding the head between my bloated lips. He slips easily into me from behind, burying his hardness deep inside as I lean against the wall, the water spraying in between us, on my back, on his front. Roger thrusting, me accepting, my breasts swaying as he thrusts hard, taking me deep and fast. Roger always takes me from behind – without fail. I appreciate this makes it easy for him to think of someone else. I try not to be upset by his transgression. It is not a crime for him to imagine I am someone beautiful, but once – just once – I wish I could look into his eyes to see if the love he professes is real.
A sound breaks my reverie. Startled, I open my eyes to be confronted with the beautiful smile of my blonde instructress. Sandi has removed her headband; her long straight hair hangs delicately over her shoulders and breasts. A pink nipple peaks impertinently through the wet strands. From this distance her youthful face looks more like that of a twelve-year-old. I explore her lovely, shapely body with envious eyes – marvel at how perfect she seems to me, how exactly she is what I desire to be. For a moment I find myself blatantly gaping at Sandi’s naked body. Her small up-turned breasts resemble those of a young teenager, though her best physical feature is, without a doubt, her firm, round bottom. I have been transfixed by those firm buttocks on many occasions. Yet, what draws my attention is Sandi’s smoothly shaved pubis. I don’t know why this should be; after all, shaving is hardly uncommon. Still, my eye is drawn to her sex as the young woman soaps herself without inhibition, running a finger deftly between youthful pouting lips. Her eyes are closed under the spray of water, but I’m certain I don’t imagine the wry smile. I tear my eyes away when I realise my fingers are still moving – only to notice another woman has been observing my interest in Sandi. She watches me as intently as I had watched the young instructress.
The woman’s presence takes me completely unawares. I have seen her in the gym before, yet we have never spoken. The woman is incredibly muscular, and obviously works out in the weight room. Her body looks magnificent, almost Amazonian in physique. She is almost the opposite in every respect to the petite Sandi, yet in her own way is uniquely beautiful. Naked in the shower with these two women I become incredibly self-conscious of my size, of my lack of dedication. My body is no temple. Shame-faced I turn away. I want to rinse off quickly and get dressed, want to hide within layers of baggy material, to run away from prying eyes.
“Need someone to wash your back?” Before I can think of anything to say, I sense someone close behind, then feel the unmistakable nudge of erect nipples against my back. I freeze beneath the hot water. “It’s Julia, isn’t it? There’s no need to hide from me.” Strong hands circle my waist; turn me slowly until I reluctantly face the dark-haired Amazon. I am immediately struck by the intensity of the woman’s eyes – as wide and as blue as a clear Mediterranean sky. I can see my own startled face shrinking away in the reflection. The woman has washed away her make-up and her short wet hair lays plastered against her head. Her features are striking – she is more beautiful, more youthful than I first thought. The Amazon’s voice remains low, almost husky as she whispers close to my ear, “I just love big tits.” She reaches out to caress my left breast. Stunned by her boldness, I look around in alarm. Sandi has departed. There is no one to help me. “Don’t worry, there’s only us two …”
“That’s hardly the point!”
“You prefer your girls boyish, like that waif Sandi?”
The young woman had obviously formed the wrong impression. She thought me a lesbian, but even if I were so inclined I’m not the sort of woman who is into public displays. I live a safe, boring life, munching chocolate with one hand, while with the other I switch channels with the TV remote – searching for answers. “It’s not that…”
“What then?”
“I hardly know you …” I realise how feeble my protest sounds, especially as the muscular brunette already has one of my nipples between her lips. I stifle a moan as the young woman draws the hard pebble deeper into her hot mouth then proceeds to nip excitedly. The hot water coupled with the girl’s ministrations has a profound effect on me. I should never have touched myself! I am already aroused and when she takes hold of my hand and places it on the back of her head; I draw the girl to me. The Amazon lets out a muffled moan and snakes her hand along my thigh. At first, as foreign fingers draw close to my sex I recoil, then finding myself pressed against the cubical wall I put up token resistance while the woman’s fingers persist. They search my hairy muff. I can’t remember being so wet, so excited. I wrap my hand in the young woman’s hair and lift her head onto my other nipple. She moans and sucks on it greedily.
Suddenly, she pulls away. Her eyes are shining, full of mischief. “Here, let me.” Her strong hands are already caressing my shoulders, my arms. Reaching past me, she grasps the hanging tube of soap and begins to lather her own body, concentrating on her breasts, her tummy, her pubis, her thighs. I watch transfixed as the water runs in rivulets through her soft pubic hair to cascade off her pussy. Covered in lather, she smiles slyly, replaces the soap and turns me to face the wall. I feel her lean against me, feel the firmness of her youthful body against mine, feel her soapy breasts rub against my back. Her hands reach around to cup my breasts with her soap-filled hands, squeezing them, cleansing them, tweaking the nipples until they are erect and impossibly hard. I feel so stunned I don’t resist as she manhandles me. I do nothing – say nothing – as her insistent hands venture to my tummy, briefly lower …
Quickly turning me around, she continues to rub her soapy body against mine, driving me almost mad with passion. Not knowing what to do, I raise my hands and put them on top of her head, working lather into her scalp. She lets me know she likes this, immediately fondling my soapy breasts, lightly pinching and squeezing my hardened nipples in response. She takes the bottle of gel, squeezes a blob onto her palm, then cups my pussy and works the lather into my hair with the heel of her hand. The Amazon takes her time, stroking me gently through my curly bush with her fingertips. It doesn’t take long for her expert fingers to locate my burning clitoris. One touch and I know I am too far gone to resist whatever she intends next or to even care who walks in and catches us. I close my eyes as the Amazon’s fingers work their magic, occasionally they dart from my throbbing bud to delve into the depths of my quivering vagina. After a time, she takes one of my hands in hers and guides it between her legs.
We remain so engaged for some time, standing face to face, each gently soaping the other, neither saying a word. I continue to wash until the girl moans and starts to hump against my soapy hand. The Amazon, slightly taller looks into my eyes. I can only imagine what she is thinking, can only guess why she is attracted to me of all people. Yet she obviously is. My own mind is a ball of confusion. Why am I doing this? Besides the obvious pleasure I feel in having the young woman’s fingers coax my clitoris into the open? She smiles as if reading my thoughts, steps closer and draws me into her strong arms. Once again I feel her soft, soapy skin slide over mine, feel her breasts flatten against my heavier chest, feel her firm abdomen against my belly, feel the tickle of her wet thatch of pubic hair as she squeezes against my thigh. The Amazon starts to move, making small gyrations to ensure the transfer of suds from one body to the other. She rocks gently from side to side, pressing tit-to-tit, rocks back and forth against my thigh. I join her, mimicking her sensual movements.
As the warm water cascades over us she covers my mouth with hers, holding my head in her hands. She tastes of mint. Her tongue thrusts into my mouth and I suck on it hungrily. Instinctively, my hands find the perfect globes of her bottom and I pull her tight against me, lifting her onto my thigh. After a few minutes sliding her wet, soap-slippery body against mine, her fingers spread my bottom cheeks and she pushes a digit against my rear hole. The sudden incursion has me squirming away. The Amazon puts more soap on her hands, rubs my crotch in a long arc from the top of my pubic hair back between my legs to the cleft between my buttocks. She deliberately presses her finger a little harder each time she skirts my anus. I feel more comfortable with her probing now. I know I am clean. She touches the hole gently with the tip of her finger and I feel my muscles clench. Yet, the soap makes her finger so slippery that when I relax the tip of the digit enters – just a fraction of an inch. She keeps her finger in the centre of me and wriggles, her other hand gently soaping my pussy, fingers sliding between the swollen folds. Amazingly, I begin to push back against the invading finger, encouraging, forcing a little more inside. The finger slips inside to the first knuckle. I tense again and squeeze, but the Amazon resists the pressure. Her finger remains lodged, edges deeper. I enjoy the sensation, turned on by her resolve, by her forcefulness.
She slips a thumb inside my pussy. I moan contentedly, begin to move my hips in a slow, circular motion. The woman responds, wriggling both her thumb and the finger in my bottom. Just when I think it is too much she somehow manages to rub my clit. I feel inner muscles tighten around the thumb; feel my sphincter clench so tightly I am afraid I will snap off her finger. I begin to tremble, recognising the signs. She recognises it too. Suddenly, the young woman pulls the finger out of my arse. The sudden loss sends me over the edge. I come violently, clamping my thighs together and trapping the girl’s soapy hand with her thumb still buried deep inside me.
The Amazon isn’t satisfied and after a few minutes of continuous worming, nor am I. Her undiluted enthusiasm drives my arousal to a new high and as another orgasm nears I cry out in encouragement. In response, the young woman slips two fingers inside my pussy and sets to work in earnest. I brace one hand on the cold tiles of the shower as she holds my hip and pumps into me. I am taken by surprise with the ferocity of the woman’s frigging. It verges on viciousness and at times I feel as if the strength of the girl’s fingers literally lifts me off the floor. I feel powerless to resist and something about the woman’s unbridled strength fuels my excitement. As the frigging gains pace my orgasm builds until I feel my legs wobble. I have to hold on to stop myself from falling.
“Oh, God,” I moan softly, the sound barely audible above the spray of water and the echo of slapping fingers. Now, her frigging is almost brutal. Her fingers move with me, move against me. I drive my hips backward as she pushes forward, urging her to fuck me – harder, faster, deeper. My heavy breasts swing fiercely, slapping together with each powerful thrust. “Oh my God!” I repeat, my entire body shaking as orgasm sweeps through me. This time my legs buckle, but the Amazon holds on tight, keeping me upright as she pounds into me a little longer for her own gratification. When I eventually open my eyes her face is inches from my own. The eyes are intense, yet they are smiling. I can find no malice there.
I pull the Amazon to me, shoving her against the cold shower wall, and press my exhausted body to hers. She gasps in surprise as her flushed skin touches the cold tiles, but I quickly place my mouth over hers, stifling any protest. Now, I am searching, probing. I want to give in return but have little idea what she wants. My fingers find her softness and I insert two soapy fingers into her. The woman begins to breathe harder as my fingers set to work. I am hungry now. I want to devour her. Like something possessed I finger her, all the while keeping her pinned against the shower wall with the weight of my body. I feel her shake as she approaches orgasm, wiggling and squirming against me as if trying to escape. I won’t let her. In a moment of inspiration I remove my fingers, take the showerhead off the wall and aim the spray directly towards her crotch. The Amazon gasps and opens her eyes wide as the hard jets of water catch her full on her most sensitive spot. She raises herself up on to her toes to meet the onslaught. Her eyes meet mine as the sensation overwhelms her. I soak up her look of adoration. For the first time in my life, I feel I am doing the fucking and not simply getting fucked. I like the feeling. I like it a lot. Even after she is spent I am reluctant to let the feeling go.
The Amazon’s name is Helen. I decline her offer for a night of wanton debauchery. I’m not sure I’m ready for a lesbian lifestyle. As exciting as the encounter was, I crave cock too much. To change now would be a bit of a culture shock. I don’t hate men, I just hate the way they treat me sometimes. Helen smiles ruefully. I recognise the smile for what it truly is. She too is used to disappointment. I think of Roger who will be waiting for me, scales in hand, of his look of disappointment. This stunning young woman on the other hand had not judged me and it felt so good to be held like a person and not an object. Helen had also given me a bloody good workout. I think I’d expended more calories in the last hour than I had in the last six months. I am tempted to change my mind and go with her. I know I should be wracked with feelings of guilt for even considering Helen’s outrageous proposition. Surprisingly, I’m not.