No Excuses: Marilyn Johnson and Yinnie DeDom

They spot each other across the empty gym like two knives catching the light. Yinnie’s eyes lock on Marilyn’s ass while she bends into a stretch, those yoga pants stretched tight across every curve. He moves fast. She only half-fights when he grabs her wrists and pins her arms behind her back with a resistance band. The fight dies the second his cock is in her mouth—her lips part, hungry, and she takes him to the root like she’s been waiting for this since the breakup. He holds her hair and fucks her throat until spit drips off her chin. He drags her to the bench press, binds her wrists to the bar above her head, spreads her legs, and buries his tongue in her pussy. She comes once, fast, thighs shaking against his face. He doesn’t give her a second to catch her breath before he stands, lines up, and drives into her. Every thrust makes the bench rattle. She comes again, voice cracking, telling him to fuck her harder. He unties just one leg and hoists it high, ankle strapped to a cable machine. The new angle opens her ass for him. He spits, presses in, and starts pounding her tight hole while she moans like the slut she’s always been for him. When he’s close he pulls out, jerks once, twice, and paints her face—thick ropes across her lips, her lashes, dripping down onto the gym floor. They stay locked in that stare, breathing hard, both already knowing they’ll do it again.