ManHandle

The elliptical trainer gets me going in more ways than one. It's the handles that leave me weak in the knees -- the textured rubber grips, the metal hardness below, the satisfying thickness. The minute I wrap my fingers around them all I can think about is his cock and the things I can't wait to wrap around it. My mouth. My hands. My ass.
My slit.

And when I pull the handles to me, my mind drifts and shifts, and it's his ass cheeks I'm drawing to me, forcing him deeper and harder inside me. I hold my breath, imaging his pelvis grinding into me, and pump my arms even faster. My breath catches, the same gasp he forces from me when he first enters me. The shock of him and the sudden panic I feel because
I'm not sure I can take all of him, not sure I can take the intensity of my need.

Sweat drops from my forehead, just as when he is on top of me, riding me rough. And I reach up to wipe it out of his eyes, or lick it, hungry for the salt of his efforts. I can't help myself, thoughts go immediately to tasting the best of him. To sliding him into my mouth, waiting for him to grab my hair and shove himself down my throat. Fucking my face until he's had enough of me. Until he's ready to fill me with the gluey cucumber taste of his cum, the only cum I've ever swallowed.

And when I finally dismount the elliptical, my legs are as shaky as when he leaves me. Quivering, I barely make it back to the apartment. I strip and drape myself across the chair. Naked skin on leather. Worked out and worked up. I can't touch myself fast enough.