The Norwegian Made Me Do It

"You're shitting me!" Audrey was in shock. Lucas just shook his head. I was wondering about something important.

"How big was he?" I hoped I didn't sound too urgent, but Gina knew me well. She gave me a look of appraisal, then a cool half-smile.

"Big enough," she said sweetly. "I was so impressed with him that I patted his ass. Just once, though; we were in public. But I squeezed his back a few times, just so he'd know I appreciated it." She shrugged one more time. "And that was it. The song ended, I hugged him, and off he went to take care of the problem I'd given him."

"Well." I ruminated. The bell was about to ring. "He chose the right date for that, at least."

"No shit. Aimee probably got herself laid good and proper that night, and it was all thanks to me." She wiped her sandwich off her hands and got her garbage together. She didn't seem to think her story had been inappropriate, but the rest of us were reacting differently. Audrey's lips were pursed in disapproval; Lucas was sighing and shaking her head. As for me, still a bit muddy from the disappointment of last evening?

I was horny as shit.

* * *

Of course I went to the gym. The lifestyle change had happened at 28, the calories no longer sloughing off as they had when I'd been playing field hockey. I'd joined a gym, started dating a trainer, and gotten myself under control: I'd been at 155 pounds before, through sheer will, I'd pared away forty pounds in six months and, for six years now, kept them off. But it took a commitment: daily fitness, period. No breaks. Legitimate illness was an excuse not to wipe myself completely out at the gym, but I'd still do yoga or something on those days. It was about calories, I'd learned from the trainer: in, out, and they needed to be in balance to maintain weight.

And, along with weight maintenance would, necessarily, come fitness. I was now doing 5Ks, crossfit, and those crazy obstacle course races you see on late afternoon weekend TV, opposite the NBA playoffs. I was a fitness machine at 1100 calories per day.

So of course, despite my sluggishness, I headed into my gym with the sort of steely resolve I was always able to summon. It was sparse in there today; the weather was hot, which meant high humidity in the machine room and, in turn, me looking like I'd been sprayed with a firehose. I always enjoyed that kind of drenching; it reminded me I was working hard.

Today I'd set myself a lofty goal of 30 situps, 45 jumpropes, 40 crunches, and 25 flutter kicks: three sets in ten minutes. And then the cardio on the stair-stepper, and last the machines. I would work legs today.

From the start, I was distracted as I seldom was. My focus was off, and it didn't take me long to realize my mind was on my swampy vagina. There were two guys doing what seemed to be a parallel workout with me; they were both there while I was doing my three sets, panting in my own puddle, then one of them disappeared just as I was finishing.

The other was a young kid, over ten years younger than me easily, hot as fuck in a sleek, muscular way. He was tall and fit and nicely tapered all around, his hair long and dark and sweaty and his face Ken doll gorgeous. I'd seen him in the gym before, but my impression was that he spent most of his time in the weight room. But now he was here, and I sure as hell noticed. He had on loose running shorts, and I wondered what was beneath.

As importantly, he had noticed me. This did nothing useful for my focus. He was not bold, instead camouflaging his frequent glances at me by pretending he was looking aimlessly around. It did not fool me. He changed his position in the room as I went through my sets, always keeping an eye on me; he seemed to like my legs, as most of his staring happened while I was flutter-kicking.

I predicted he'd come do cardio when I did, and that he'd position himself on the treadmill right behind the row of stair-steppers. He did just that, and I started to regret wearing the black spandex: the grey showed me off better, and right then I felt like showing off for The Kid.

Every woman on every stair-stepper the world over knows exactly what is happening while she's up there: the guys are all staring, and you either make your peace with that or find some other apparatus. Tonight, with The Kid behind me, I had more than made my peace with it: I grabbed the handrails unnecessarily, shoving my ass right back in the air so that he could watch. I didn't bother turning to catch him looking: unnecessary.

I knew he was, despite the ring on his finger.

So I programmed the stepper and did my work, maintaining a focus different than I usually did, feeling the sweat flick off the steps as I moved. My mind went blank; I was busy listening to the entirety of New Order's Substance album (disc 1), and as soon as I hit my 1100 cals I slowed right down and spread my legs wide for The Kid, letting the machine power down while I adjusted the ponytail and let him admire the way my back muscles moved.

I'd done this a time or two before, usually just after Leon left, getting some poor sap all worked up in the gym; men had sometimes done it to me, too, so I figured fair was fair. But tonight was different. I sat there messing with my hair, my crotch on fire with sweat running everywhere, and I felt his eyes on my body as surely as if they were laser beams, and I turned very deliberately to let him know I knew.

To his great credit, The Kid had found his boldness: he stared right up at me as I caught sight of him, long and loose on the treadmill, clearly a longtime runner. I grimaced and sniffed, gymlike, then mopped some sweat off my forehead and flicked it to the ground between us. Then I slunk off the stairs and ignored him as I wiped down the machine.

But at the end, before I headed over for my leg work, I gave him the Look. Every man knows the Look: when a woman sends it your way, you know she's open for business. I wasn't even thinking about Leon, that was for sure; The Kid replied with an arched eyebrow, and I broke the moment as I swayed toward the equipment room. I had a plan.

When The Kid came in, he would see me on the thigh-spreader machine, that seductive apparatus with the weighted pads that you squeeze with your thighs while you sit on a saddle. I've never cared what it's called, merely thinking of it as the "sex machine" because that's what it reminds everybody of. For some reason, every gym sets up the machine so that women using it are showing the world not their bunched rear ends, but instead their wide-open vaginas.

For my purposes with The Kid, that suited me fine.

I settled in awkwardly, the machine needing me to mount from the side, but before long I had the weight adjusted and was slowly cranking out the reps. My legs opened, closed, opened, closed, opened...

The Kid followed me before too terribly long; as he came in, his eyes went right to my groin. It thrilled me; even though I knew he couldn't see anything through the thick black spandex, I needed the attention tonight. As soon as I'd noticed him I'd shut my eyes; I gave it a few seconds, then opened them slowly, my legs easing open, and stared at The Kid.

This time he gave a smile, easy and confident, and even a slight wave. I replied with a slow smile that oozed what I thought of as lust, but which probably just made me look constipated. I wasn't much good at this game, truth to tell, but from the way The Kid was looking at me I didn't reckon I had to be.

And now the hard part: I had to figure out what I was up to. It seldom ceased to amaze me: seduction had never been so easy in my early 20s, when I'd been more than available. Now that I wasn't really doing much seducing, opportunities were thick on the ground. It seemed unfair. I did enjoy it, though, even though I almost never acted on it.

But I wanted to today. I was hornier than I'd been in months, and I had done nothing but masturbate for weeks. My only vibrator had gone missing after Leon's last trip, and I hadn't gotten around to replacing it. How easy it would be to let The Kid take me home, or even to do something with him in the locker rooms; I knew this, suddenly, with absolute certainty. But did I want it?

He certainly did. I'd caught him adjusting himself, and now he was doing the frat-boy head-jerk thing, complete with the lopsided grin, where they're trying to get your attention so that they can take you in the back and fuck you. I kept staring, not about to make up my mind before I'd finished my set, and as my thighs began to burn and I kept on staring, I decided.

The weights descended with a clang. Knowing just what I was doing, I held his grinning gaze and licked the sweat off my upper lip. He was about five feet away, and I lifted my hand and gestured him closer. He came on with 23-year-old swagger, his grin widening, and he stood over me, staring down as I sat with my legs spread wide, sweating and heaving. I could see his dick firming within his shorts, and my mouth went dry.

What the hell.

I stretched out my hand, starting my own slow smile. "Help me up?"

* * *

In the end, we went to my house. The Kid was, of course, married, so his house was out of the question. I didn't want to do anything at the gym, really; I'd been going there for awhile and I wanted to keep going there, so I finally just told him to follow me for the five minute trip to my place. He must have been surprised when we stopped halfway at a drugstore, until he saw me come back out with a cheery wave and a cold sports drink for him. He didn't see the box of condoms I had behind my back; no way was I going to let this child fuck me bareback. On the drive home, I opened the box and stuffed one of the packets into my shoe; I had nowhere else to put it. I'd gotten the kind with lube, though God knew why. My pussy was already a river.

I knew he'd need to get home before wifey asked questions; this was not my first married man, and I knew the score. The act itself would be fast and vicious, completely impersonal; I usually needed to like the guys I slept with, but this evening was a special case. This evening, I just needed my hole filled. I hadn't felt that way in many, many years, but you know how it is: when you need it, you need it.

The Kid was eager, almost too eager; he would be useless to me if he came too soon, so I tried to calm him down after I let him in the side door. Our house is meticulous and spare; I dislike cleaning, but it's easier to keep it clean than it is to make it clean, so I tried to put in a good half-hour each night tidying. My mother had trained me well. The Kid was nervous and impressed, clearly overwhelmed at being in the home of such a self-assured lady; he had no idea.

I was deciding how to fuck him when he began to make the decision for me; he'd followed me into the house, and as I squatted automatically down near the front door to pick up the mail, he made his move. I was just picking up a letter from my sister when I saw his damp shorts come sailing past my head to bounce off the front door. I suppressed a grin; The Kid was behind me, getting naked already. His shirt followed, and I stayed facing the door with a smile.

I knew what I'd see when I turned around: a hard body, symmetrical, with oily peaks and humid valleys everywhere. He'd be well-groomed, with little body hair; he would be standing with his legs parted, his penis surging toward me over a pair of shiny young balls. He'd probably be expecting head, but I'd watched him sweat at the gym and had no interest in that; my intent was just to plunk a rubber on him, then lie down someplace and let him bang me as long as he lasted.

I stood slowly, still with my back to him, and decided he'd had a good idea. I stripped right there, in my foyer, the drenched clothes slapping hard against my wood floors. He'd be getting a good look at my long, generous thighs, my tight rounded little ass, my excellent posture as I straightened my sweaty back. As I finished up by dropping the ponytail, I glanced down to see how my boobs were doing; red and chafed from the brutal sports bra, they sported a pair of nipples as hard and long as I'd ever seen them. Oh, I was ready for him; no doubt at all. I'd never been so juiced up.

A too-casual glance over my shoulder let him see half my face, while I got an eyeful of his young collegiate body. It was even better than I'd guessed, the cock very long and painfully erect. I stirred and looked at his face. No cocky grin there: all I saw was hard, cruel lust as he took in my body. The Kid wanted nothing but me; in that moment, I was his whole world, and his glassy eyes said he'd do anything to get himself inside me.

So I took my lead from there, dropping to my knees at once. I was still facing away from him, my eyes fixed on my mail slot in the front door; I reached into my discarded shoe and retrieved the condom, then took a deep breath as I held it up next to my head. I wasn't going to look at him again; he could come do whatever he wanted to my body, right there on the floor of the foyer. I heard his bare feet approaching, kicking the mail aside; my sister's letter went flying off under the breakfast bar, and I got goosebumps on my arms from how nasty this was.

His fingers moved surely, taking the prophylactic from my trembling hand; I could hear my own labored breathing. The package tore behind me as I slowly got my hands down onto the floor, presenting my ass for him; I could hear the rubber-band noise of his dick going into the condom, and I hoped I'd picked the right size. He was sighing now, various slick noises letting me know he was getting himself prepared; neither of us had said a word since he'd thanked me for the sports drink, out in the car. For a moment, I worried I was sending the wrong message; maybe he thought I wanted anal. I was about to twist around and tell him I was exit-only, but he beat me to the punch.

I felt his magnificent body as it knelt behind me; the hands on my sweaty back were insistent, shoving me down. I wasn't sure what he was after, but to be honest as long as there was dick coming my way, I didn't much care. He'd put on the rubber, so he plainly intended to fuck me; that was all I was after. So I went down on my belly among the mail, panting hard, my eyes darting around in excitement spiced with a little fear; this was not typical behavior from me at all, and I had no real idea what was about to happen.

The moment my shoulders hit the floor I felt him on my legs. For a moment, I wasn't sure what was going on, but within just a few seconds it became obvious: I was getting a rimjob. I caught my breath. Guys had been back there, messing lightly with my anus, but generally it had always been playful and fun; this was a voracious and shocking intrusion, his tongue smacking at my filthy, sweaty butthole while his face buried itself in my crack.

I gasped and shook slightly; this felt fucking amazing. He was in a frenzy, his hands clasping my cheeks as though he was afraid they'd break off and fly away, his saliva dribbling freely into my crack to sluice out across my waiting vag. I gasped, getting my elbows down and propping my head up; I probably moaned a few times, because I was definitely into this. "You dirty bastard," I groaned, my eyes wide as they stayed on my front door. I could see the crack between the door and the threshold, and for some reason I focused there.

One thing was certain: after this performance, The Kid was not going to get any kisses from me. I had no idea why he was into this. I mean, everyone has their own kinks, but the idea that a hot young guy would want to shove his face into the dirty, sweaty, post-workout asshole of a strange woman whose name he didn't even know made no sense to me. I couldn't figure out what he'd get out of this.

Not that it mattered. I giggled as his tongue undoubtedly got sore; he'd been down there awhile, and he had to be getting antsy. Just as I suspected; he trailed his tongue out of my ass, letting the spit stay in there, and I waited for what I hoped was next.

He grabbed my hips and pulled up, but he didn't want me on my knees. This would be new; I'd never been taken prone, but Gina had told me it was great as long as the guy knew what he was doing. The Kid certainly seemed confident, his strong hands helping me arch back to stick my butt high. I felt immediate, delicious soreness at the bottom of my back as my body stretched. One of his hands came off the side of my ass and dug matter-of-factly between my parted legs. I gasped and shivered as I felt his fingers enter me in a businesslike way, and then depart; he was checking for moisture, and I knew then that he must be very, very experienced at casual sex. "Fucking soaked," I heard him say, his voice deeper than I'd thought it would be. It intimidated me a tad, but I got over it as soon as I felt his legs brace themselves ominously outside mine.

Here it came; both his hands were off me now, probably forcing that flexible young dick downward to get into the gap between my thighs. I looked sideways, trying to resist the temptation to glance around at him; judging from his breathing, he was focusing on his job. I was content to be surprised. The hot, latexed hardness of his penis soon found my slot, his body contorting above me as he positioned himself, and I let his hands move my legs until he had them in the right place. And then he was there, his spongy round head poking at the top of my slit, and it was immediately clear why Gina liked this position. With The Kid's length, and at this angle, I was in for nothing but clit contact, period. I'd need to make Leon do this; I'd tell him I read about it in a magazine, of course.

I shivered with anticipation, my breath hissing out as he fed his long cock into my drenched pussy; I cried out once as I felt his tip brush against my g-spot, already making me shake. "Damn, girl," he grunted, his six-pack finally resting against my butt. "You are fucking desperate for this dick, ain't ya?"

"Shut up, kid," I muttered. "You're wasting time. Go ahead and start fucking me."

"Kid?" He sounded a little confused, but since he obeyed I didn't waste effort thinking about it. He reared up, his dick retreating, and then I cried out again as he came back down. Holy shit, but this was great. Just what I needed. His firm body mostly kept contact with my ass, his strong legs and hard butt driving him easily into and out of me, his long fingers still working my buttcheeks; he seemed obsessed by those, and I certainly wasn't complaining.

I was riding high; even though I hadn't exactly cum yet, I was moving quickly in that direction. And, like with all good sex, the journey was proving to be as good as the destination. His cock was plunging straight downward into me with all his muscular power behind each short thrust. I soon found I was able to shake myself against him, pushing myself back to scrunch against the hard wall of his groin while his penis kept invading me. I felt his saliva hitting my back as he grunted and hissed, the slippery squelching sounds from under our bodies turning me on almost as much as his pistoning cock was.

He was moving fast now, staccato strokes plowing at me, and I bore down to get ready for my orgasm; it couldn't be more than a minute away, tops. I arched my back even more, pushing my ass as tight against him as I could, my clit aching...

...and then he gasped hard, a whispered "Motherfucker!" in my ear as his body trembled, telling me I wasn't going to finally get there. Shit. He'd just dumped his load, and I now discovered the great drawback of prone sex: with my elbows propping me up and my belly soldered to the floor, I couldn't get a hand down to my clit to finish myself off. Not without offending The Kid, anyway. He was panting hard right next to my shoulderblades, his hands still buried in the flesh of my ass. That would leave marks. I squirmed in vain, trying to get myself off, but it wasn't happening; my fist hit the floor in frustration.