Speaker 1: The glass doors of Aegis Fitness shimmered with a promise
I couldn't yet name everything about the place, whispered exclusivity.
The frosted windows, the single keycard entry pad, glowing amber
against brushed steel, the faint citrus and eucalyptus scent drifting
through the seam of the door. Before I'd even pushed
it open, I'd found the membership card in my mailbox
three days ago. No return address, no branding, just a
matte black rectangle with my name Embosston, Silver, Mara Ellison
and a time Monday, seven pm, the ultimate workout the
back red come alone. My curiosity had been chewing at
me ever since my boredom too three years at a
corporate desk had left my body feeling like borrowed furniture,
and my last relationship had ended with the words You're
just not that adventurous. That stung more than I wanted
to admit. So here I was wearing brand new leggings
and a cropped tank, holding the card against the reader
until it beeped green. The lobby was empty, soft lighting,
no front desk, no chipper receptionist, no wall of protein
powder for sale, just a corridor that curved out of sight,
its walls lined with some kind of dark acoustic paneling
that swallowed sound. At the end of the corridor a door,
and behind the door movement I pushed through. The room
was larger than I expected, maybe forty feet across, with
Matt blae black flooring that had the slight give of
rubberized gym tile. The lighting was warm and directional, pooling
In the center of the space, where a single padded
bench sat like an altar, and around it in a
loose semicircle, stood ten men, not trainers, not in any
official capacity anyway. Their ages ranged mid twenties to maybe
early fifties. Some lean, some thick, with the kind of
muscle that comes from manual labor rather than sculpted gym routines.
They wore gray joggers, black shorts, track pants, simple anonymous
clothes that made them seem less like individuals and more
like a collective, a unit. One of them, a tall
man with close cropped silver hair and calm brown eyes,
stepped forward. Mara. He said, not a question, you came,
I yes. My voice came out smaller than I wanted.
The card said ultimate workout. I wasn't sure what that meant,
he smiled, and it wasn't unkind. It means whatever you
want it to mean. We have one rule here. You
say the word read and everything stops immediately, no questions,
no hesitation. Do you understand. My throat tightened. I understood perfectly.
Say it, he prompted, read good. He gestured to the bench.
You can leave your clothes on for now. They won't
survive the hour, but you might want them for the
first few minutes. I should have felt fear. What I
felt instead was a sharp electric current running from my
sternum to the base of my spine, a sensation so
unfamiliar it took me a moment to identify it as anticipation.
I walked to the bench. My sneakers made soft sounds
against the flooring behind me. The men adjusted their positions,
closing the semicircle into something more intimate, something with no exit.
The first hands that touched me belonged to a man
with a trimmed beard and calloused palms. He didn't speak,
just slid his fingers under the hem of my tank
and lifted and I raised my arms without deciding to
letting him peel the fabric away. Cool air hit my
nipples before his mouth did, warm and wet tongue circling
with the patience that made my knees unlock. Another man
knelt behind me. His hands hooked into the waistband of
my leggings and tugged downward, and the sound of the
fabric ripping along one's seam made me gasp. These things
are never built to last, he murmured against my lower back.
I laugh, actually laughed, a breathless little sound that turned
into a moan as the kneeling man's tongue traced the
ridge of my spine, while the first man sucked harder,
teeth grazing now. And a third man, younger blonde, with
the kind of mouth that probably got him in trouble,
knelt in front of me and pressed his lips to
the inside of my thigh. My leggings were gone, My
underwear was a damp scrap that someone's thumb hooked aside
with practiced efficiency. The blonde's tongue found my clit without preamble,
flat and steady, and my hands flew to his hair
on instinct. She's ready, someone said, and the voice came
from everywhere, and nowhere, the silver haired man appeared at
my right side. His joggers were gone. His cock was thick,
curved slightly upward, and he guided my chin toward it
with two fingers open I did. The taste was salt
and skin and something muskier beneath. And he didn't thrust
so much as press, slow, insistent, letting my jaw stretch
around him, while the blonde kept working between my legs,
and the man at my back bit the curve of
my shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. Then the
room became a rhythm. A man I hadn't even seen yet,
broad shoulders, a full sleeve of ink down his left arm,
positioned himself at my hip while I sucked and licked
and gagged softly around the cock in my mouth. His
fingers probed between my legs, finding me slick and swollen
and ready. When he pushed inside, two knuckles deep, my
back arched so violently the man in my mouth had
to steady my head easy, The silver haired man said,
stroking my cheek, We have all night, But his hips
didn't stop moving. The fingers withdrew, something thicker replaced them.
The broad shouldered man had shifted the head of his
cock pressing against my entrance, and my body opened for
him the way a door opens in a dream, one
slow inch, then another, until he was buried to the hilt,
and I was making sounds i'd never made before, muffled
and desperate around the flesh in my mouth. Time blurred.
They moved me from the bench to the floor, from
my back to my hands and knees, from one man
to two men to three at once. Someone tore the
remains of my leggings away entirely. Someone else's hand tangled
in my hair and tilted my head back for a kiss,
deep and bruising, and I tasted myself on his tongue
before realizing he'd been the one eating me out minutes ago.
Now kiss me like you mean it. He growled against
my lips, and the filth of it detonated something in
my chest. I kissed him like I meant it. I
kissed him until another man pulled my head away and
fed me his length, and I choked, coughed, gasped, and
took it anyway. My cunt was full, my mouth was full,
and when a pair of slick, insistent fingers found my ass,
prepped me with something cool and viscous that smelled faintly
of coconut. My whole body went taut. Breathe, the silver
haired man said from somewhere above me, still calm, still watching.
I breathed. The stretch was impossible, Then it wasn't. He
pushed past the ring of muscle, and I screamed, the
sound swallowed by the cock in my throat. And then
he was fucking my ass in slow, shallow thrusts, while
the man in my cunt matched his pace, and the
man in my mouth pulled out just long enough to
paint my lips and chin before pushing back in. I
lost count of orgasms of men, of the number of
times my body clenched and spasmed and released. Someone came
in my mouth and I swallowed reflexively, the bitter salt
of it, coding my tongue until I coughed, and a
thin strand of white trailed down my chin. Someone else
emptied inside my cunt, and I felt the heat of it,
the wet rush when he withdrew and another man took
his place. Before I could catch my breath, the blonde
returned to kiss me, while another man's load still dripped
from my lips. Taste him on you, He whispered and
licked into my mouth like he was savoring a meal.
My thighs were slick, My hair was a tangled mess,
plastered to my forehead and neck. The gym floor beneath
me was a canvas of smeared lubricant and spilled fluids.
And somewhere in the back of my mind I registered
that my tank top had been reduced to a torn
scrap hanging off one shoulder. The silver haired man was
the last. He lifted me like I weighed nothing, and
settled me onto his cock while I wrapped my legs
around his waist and my arms around his neck. He
fucked me, standing slow and deep, his forehead pressed to mine.
You'd come back, he said, quietly, wouldn't you. It wasn't
a question. I nodded, my voice erect, whisper yes. When
he came. He stayed inside me for a long, pulsing moment,
and then he lowered me to the bench with a
gentleness that contrasted sharply with everything that had come before.
One by one, the men dressed, Some touched my hair
or my shoulder before they left. The blonde kissed my forehead.
The door clicked shut behind the last of them, and
I lay there breathing, my body a symphony of aches
and fluids and the kind of satisfaction that hollowed me
out and filled me up simultaneously. The cleanup took twenty minutes.
The shower in the locker room was hot and endless.
I found a spare set of clothes in a locker
with my name on it, soft cotton shorts, a simple tank,
both in black. Someone had planned for this. I didn't
sleep that night. I relived every touch, every stretch, every shameful,
glorious moment. By Wednesday, I was checking the mail. The
second card arrived on Friday, same black rectangle, same silver embossing,
Mara Ellison, Monday, seven pm. But when I held it
up to the light, I noticed something I'd missed the
first time. A small symbol in the corner, a circle
bisected by a vertical line a mirror. I wore the
clothes they'd left me. Arrived at six fifty five, pressed
the card to the reader, walked the curved corridor with
my heart hammering in a rhythm that felt less like
fear and more like hunger. The door swung open. The
room was the same matte, black flooring, pooled light, padded
bench at its center, But the semi circle waiting for
me was not Ten women, black leather corsets and pants.
Some held coiled whips, others wore gloves that laced all
the way to their elms. Their lips glistened, some glossy red,
some wet with the telltale sheen of fresh arousal. Behind them,
straps and harnesses caught the light. A Saint Andrew's cross
stood where a rack of weights might have been. The
bench had been fitted with velvet cuffs. A woman with
a severe black bob and eyes the color of bourbon,
stepped forward the same way the silver haired man had
done a week ago. Mara, she said, drawing out the vowels.
We were hoping you'd come. Her tongue traced the edge
of her teeth. The women moved as one, closing in,
and I felt the first flick of a leather against
my ass. My lips parted. The air tasted like ozone
and peppermint looks like its workout time, I said. I
hoped you enjoyed today's sexy story. If you love this podcast,
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