‘I Want To See You Sweat’

A fantasy about getting hot and bothered

“I wish you belonged to my gym,” he said to me one day.

“Why,” I asked? “So you can see my ass in yoga pants? You can do that any time you want.”

“No, it’s not that — or at least it’s not just that. I really want to see you work up a sweat. I’d like to watch you work out and see your forehead start to glisten and the back of your neck get damp. I want to hear you grunt as you push your muscles to do another 10 reps or to squat just a little bit lower, but mostly I just want to watch you sweat.”

“Well, that’s a pretty specific desire,” I’d tease him. “Good thing for you, I’m a first-class sweater. I never workout without a towel because otherwise, my face would be too wet for me to see straight.”

“First we’d take a run,” he said, conjuring up the fantasy. “There are some good trails nearby. I’d put you out a few steps ahead of me so I could chase you like a rabbit for motivation.”

“And when you finally caught me?” I’d chuckle. He’s a regular runner and I’m not so it would definitely make me really sweaty to do that and probably not take very long to catch me.

“I’d back you up against a tree and bury my nose in the cleft between your breasts. I’d inhale your scent and taste the rivulets of salty water there. I’d probe with my tongue as far as the confines of your sports bra would allow, bathing the edges of your breasts in hungry laps. I’d sample the sweat running down your neck like it was the finest nectar. And then I’d kiss you deep and long, running my hands across the damp muscles of your back and sliding my fingers into the waistband of your leggings.

“Mmm, that sounds incredible,” I’d respond, really beginning to get into this fantasy.

“Then I’d curse all that Spandex,” he’d wink, “because it doesn’t move out of the way or give very easily — and I’d also curse the fact that those trails get a fair amount of traffic. We wouldn’t have much privacy there, and I’d definitely want to get you alone.”

“Well, we’d better forget going back to the gym then,” I’d say, “and find someplace a little bit more private — because at this point I’d be dying to have your tongue and your hands everywhere.”

When at last we’d close the door behind us, I’d be sweating some more, but this time from anticipation and sheer lust. I’d kick off my shoes and wiggle out of my workout clothes, watching him intently while he did the same. “Want to get in the shower,” I’d say.

“Soon,” he’d answer, “but not just yet. I want to taste you some more first.”

He’d turn me around and massage my shoulders with his strong hands while his mouth caressed my back and kissed down my spine. He’d suck and lick the side of my neck until I tell him that he’d better not give me a hickey, although to be honest, I’d be in heaven — the scratch of his beard a sensory juxtaposition against the smoothness of his lips.

“You taste so good though,” he’d say as his hands would come around and cup my breasts from behind. “I just want to eat you up!”

I’d arch my back to meet his hands and try to turn around and kiss him, but he would just keep me pressed against the wall with his body, allowing me just enough mobility to turn my head to the side, our kisses all the more frantic for not being able to get to each other’s mouths very easily.

Then he’d start in with his tongue bath again, filling the hollows above my hips with kisses and slurps, before moving to the small of my back and gripping my ass in his hands to firmly knead those muscles that were working so hard a few minutes ago. By now, I’d also be getting very wet, wishing he would fuck me or at least finger me, but also not wanting this to stop just yet. I’d be lost in the sensations washing over my whole body and the delicious anticipation of what is yet to come.

After being thoroughly devoured from behind, at last he’d lead me over to the bed. “Got any tequila,” I’d quip as I lay down on my back on the neatly arranged coverlet.

“That would be fun,” he’d say, “but I don’t even care about booze right now. Your liquor is what I want.” Then he’d straddle my body with his, kissing me again before sucking and licking each nipple in turn and then running his tongue along the undersides of my breasts, a spot that gets very sweaty indeed. I’d try to reach for him, but he’d just scoot out of the way, proceeding with his wandering tongue and hands further down my body until at last, I spread my legs to welcome his face.

“So delicious” he’d say, diving in to kiss and lick my pussy, honing in at last to feast on my clit. As I’ve been thoroughly eaten and am about to come, I’d think to myself that I’d never heard a more sensual compliment from a man.

“Now let’s see if we can work up another good sweat together” he’d say, “and then we can see about that shower and get dirty all over again.”

And I’d tell him that I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.

© Copyright Elle Beau 2021 Elle Beau writes on Medium about sex, life, relationships, society, anthropology, spirituality, and love. If this story is appearing anywhere other than Medium.com, it appears without my consent and has been stolen.