The Gazelle at the Gym E-Book

Schrizbe

• Herausgeber: Schrizbook
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 43

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

A shower. An overturned can of leather polish. The smell of coffee in the air. A glance that changes everything the beginning of an unexpected romance at the gym. Experience how a budding student has her first sensual experiences with an experienced man first in the steamy shower, then in the gym's hidden massage room.An adventure full of lust, curiosity and thrilling moments awaits you. Get ready for a story that will make your heart beat faster and bring a smile to your lips. And that twice over... told once from the girl's perspective and once from the man's. This offers you double the pleasure and the chance to let your imagination run wild twice. Enjoy!

Leseprobe

Foreword

Dear readers of "The Gazelle at the Gym", I am very pleased that you found and chose this sizzling erotic story.

I have another surprise for you in this story. Below you will find the same story twice, but from two different perspectives and narrators. For me as the author, this is a first ... and for you, it's an opportunity to excite your imagination twice.

I wish you lots of fun with it and a great time.

Yours Schrizbe

The Gazelle at the gym

Part 1 - Perspective: Man

--- --- ---

... I brush her hair aside and see a tear. Oh God ...

"What's wrong?" I ask her

The first tear is followed by a second and a third and I give her a kiss on the nose. "Are you okay?"

She sobs a "Yeah, it's all right, I ... I've never done this before. I'm a bit scared."

--- --- ---

A fictional story.

Maybe.

I've just come out of the shower when I see my son sitting in his playpen. He's playing with the key to the locker and really enjoying himself. He's still so little, he can only just walk, but he's already big enough to pump with the heavy guys at the gym.

I swap the key for one of his toy cars and open the locker. I love the smell of shower gel and wet hair mingling with the smell of sweaty clothes stuffed into the sports bag.

It occurs to me that I've been going to this gym three times a week for over two years. I was one of the first members of the gym and I'm kind of proud of it.

The special thing about this gym is that you can only become a member from the age of eighteen and the wannabe macho boys and pseudo weightlifters are not welcome. Overall, the clientele is a little more upmarket. Not outlandish ... but not €4.95/week fitness-wise either. Just my kind of place.

Incidentally, the ugly "daddy bangs" have also disappeared in recent years. Thanks to the studio. I am now a father of two, a husband and have reached the second half of the average male life expectancy.

Once I'm dressed, I take my little man in my arms and head out of the changing room towards the coffee machine. As we do every time, we treat ourselves to a baby cappuccino and a banana milkshake after exercise. The shake is particularly good here as it is made with ice-cold milk. It is then as incredibly creamy as the baby cappuccino for the little one. Drinks in hand, we walk over to the old couches in the lounge area, sink into them and tuck into our drinks.

But after a short time, the little one's enjoyment is over and the world wants to be conquered again. It's a good thing the lounge area is separate, so he can't disappear while I'm exploring. I take my eyes off him for a moment and read through the chat messages from the last few hours.

I am startled by a loud scream and a crash as something hits the ground.

Ahhh, crap, the kid has fired a girl's re-use coffee cup onto the floor. I roll my eyes, put my cell phone aside and walk over to them.

In the meantime my son cries, of course, first he messes up and then wants to be comforted. We've been there before.

While I'm trying to pull the leg of the person who caused the mess, I take a look at the damage done to the girl. Some coffee has landed on her gray knee-length pants, no big deal. For some reason, she's not wearing shoes. And really nice feet.

I look up at her and see that her skin-tight shirt really shows off her small, perfectly shaped breasts. Without a bra.

I look further up and see long brown hair. She seems to be laughing and looking for something in her bag, which is standing next to her. Suddenly she hands my son a cookie. I wonder where she got it. Is this the "standard equipment" of a woman's handbag?

I shake my head. What an absurd thought.

While I'm still enjoying the cookie for my little ass assin, I make a second attempt to pick him up. But then the look in her eyes hits me like a bolt of lightning. God, those eyes are ... huge. And brown. And beautiful ...

She starts to smile and I stammer something like: "Hey... sorry about the coffee on your trousers."

Her smile widens even more. "It's fine," she says, "kids are kids. How old is he?

I reply that my son is fourteen months old and accompanies me to the studio once a week. "So be on your guard against further attacks."

We laugh at my joke and talk for a while about children, the studio and God and the world. The drinks are empty and I take my bag off the couch and my little one up in my arms and we say goodbye to her.