Mind Fucked In the Gym - Vivienne Wynter

Eriq slides up to the squat rack and lays his line on Vivienne’s fat, round ass. She smiles like she’s been waiting for this exact idiot. A small black box clipped to her waistband clicks once. Heat rolls off her skin in waves—thick, sweet, heavy. His eyes go glassy before the second breath. She doesn’t have to say much. A nod, and he drops to his knees like the floor just got yanked out. She plants one sneaker on his chest, peels it off, and shoves her bare foot under his nose. Toes flex; the smell is sharp, warm, real. He drags his tongue from heel to sole without a sound, breathing like he’ll drown if she moves it away. Vivienne laughs low. She turns, peels the spandex down, and backs up until that 40-inch backside swallows his whole face. The fabric is still damp from her workout. She grinds slow, smothering him with sweat-slick heat until his hands claw the mat just to stay upright. Every inhale drags her scent deeper. She lets him up only to straddle his chest again and drop her ass right back down. Next comes the pits. She peels the sports bra, lifts an arm, and pulls his mouth to the damp hollow. He licks like he’s starving for the salt. She watches his cock twitch in his shorts and presses harder, making sure he tastes every drop. When she’s bored of standing, she sits on his back and rides him around the empty gym floor—bare heels digging into his ribs, one hand fisted in his hair like reins. Every time he slows, she squeezes her thighs, smothering his face again with the same heavy cheeks until he speeds up, shaking. She keeps the device humming the whole time. Every order lands like a whip crack. By the end he’s trembling on all fours, face shiny, eyes empty, waiting for the next command. Vivienne stretches, clicks the box off, and walks out like nothing happened.