The hum of the aircon kneaded at the ball of stress that had taken up permanent residence in the abyss of her stomach, while its chill worked at melting it ironically away. The gym was a place to let it all go, and stepping beyond the curtain of crisp, conditioned air at the entrance was the first step.
It was a cleansing process that got you ready, physically and mentally, to get dirty.
Ass, Arms, Thighs, Upper Thighs, Obliques, Abs – each had a special sort of excitement, but Abs was her favorite Day. Long, sensuous lines and subtle curves, the abs were like a gateway drug, a cobblestone pathway to something wonderful.
From the sturdy core pillars at the top of the abdomen to the gentle dips at the sides that turned into hollows and slowly curved downward as they converged into another wonderland, abs had a melting, drawing allure that was seldom matched by any other body part in its subtle enticement. Abs were an essential piece of both the fitness and glamour puzzles, and Abs Day was an important staple.
The machine had one generously-cushioned seat and two weighted levers high above head level. The trick was to force your core to do most of the pulling down and leave your arms out of the picture as much as possible. That was what made the machine an ab crunch machine and not just another shoulder exercise.
She straddled the friendly leather cushion and adjusted her tiny gym shorts. The leather pressed against her with a cool sort of confidence as she stretched her arms upward and closed her hands around the levers. The chilled air filled her lungs as her entire body from her chest to her thighs to her tingling little toes coiled and prepared to clench.
The cobblestone pathway turned inward upon itself as her core tightened and the levers slowly came down. She gingerly relaxed, allowing the lacy-thin veil of pain and gain to sweep through her body; drinking it in. Too much arms. More stomach. More crunch. More pelvis.
The levers came down again and the pain veil inched across her body with the delicate and delicious sting of a whip.
And then she felt it.
Beyond the icy pain was a pinpoint of pleasure like a speck of white and sapphire in the velvet black of the wings of a Polynesian butterfly. Just a seed at first, but seeds sprout.
She crunched harder, deep into her middle, and a skein of a gasp trembled from her lips as suddenly a tiny leaf of golden pleasure sprung up from the seed. The harder she clenched, the deeper it took root.
It set her insides on fire and water at the same time.
She must have cried out because her lungs needed air, and somehow the levers were back in place. Her fingertips were glowing with something that wasn’t quite pins or needles, and the droplets of sweat were weaving a prism tapestry through the threads of hair just at her hairline.
No one was looking.
She thought everyone would be whispering about her but the music was loud and athletes at the gym have one-track minds.
Well, most of them.
A capricious smile wandered mischievously over to the corners of her eyes, tipped its hat, and pulled up a chair: “Am I the only one pondering,” it whispered into her ear, “what sort of roguery one can get up to whilst upon this contraption?”
There was something erotic about the way her fingers closed around the thick levers now, and the smell of leather was suddenly an aphrodisiac. Her toes hugged the soft insides of her fresh socks, dancing and tingling with anticipation.
Her arms were strings attaching her core to the machine and she pressed down hard and released. Clench with everything in you till you are about to burst. Then slowly release as the muscles of your abdomen gasp for air. Clench. Release. Clench. Faster and faster.
The seed shot up and grew into a steamy forest of sweet, ripe, crushing feelings. It was a rainforest. The trickle of gasoline she was throwing on the fire became a guzzle and then a roaring wave of gasoline. The fire leapt menacingly out of control, its fingers holding her down and its tongues licking at her furiously.
Clench. She fought to keep the rhythm as the fire explored every crevice of her body. Release. The fire lapped at her neck and earlobes as the rest of her body was engulfed in flames. Clench. Her eyes rolled backwards in their sockets as her eyelids skipped around, laughing gleefully. Release. The cords in her throat purred and sighed as the air that rushed by strummed them gently.
Clench. Her arms were beginning to go limp but her thighs were pressed so tightly together they may at any second rupture and let the fire loose to gulp down everyone in the building.
Release. They did rupture, and the fire clawed and devoured its way out of her. Cobblestone abs flew in every direction, and the sinews in her thighs unraveled and tore the trunks of her legs apart. The seams of her body ripped open violently, and her gym shorts were the only things holding her together.
The burning pieces of her crackled and shook with searing hot pleasure.
The levers lurched back into place with a loud clang, and suddenly everything was very peaceful. The hum of the aircon bumbled around the room, buzzing into her ears, and collecting pollen from her warm skin. The ashes of what remained of her were swept away in the freezing air.
Her eyelids snapped open.
She swallowed hard, her body frozen but too-quickly thawing. Timidly, guardedly, she looked around the room, but athletes have one-track minds.
She sat up.
No one was looking. She smiled. She would be back next week for her favorite Day.