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Olympian Laughs to Conquer
The warm, humid air of the pool inside Your Local Gym was heavy with chlorine, but since she had not gotten in yet, she smelled of apples and was dry in her one piece Speedeo, here to improve her freestyle stroke from me–the aquatics guy. We were both 20 something, me well-muscled but slim, she—Jill I learned—though not heavily endowed, with appealing breasts which would easily fit in my hands. Her large nipples were impossible to miss–especially by me, an always-horny guy. And, dang if my first thought wasn’t: “Are they erect?”
When she signed up for the swimming lessons, my boss, Terry, said, “Oh, I know Jill Anderson! She’s a friend of Carol’s my roommate’s. About your age. Really cute, quiet, a little on the preppy side. But you’re lucky–she’s fun AND I heard she recently broke up with her boyfriend.”
Terry knows she isn’t supposed to encourage relationships between staff and members; but she also knows how down in the dumps I’ve been since my former girlfriend Tate ditched me. And to a certain extent, I’m sure, she is tired of hearing me complain about my sucky social life.
“But, hey,” Terry always tells me when I’m down. “This is a fun place to work, you are the most popular swimming instructor for adults, and your students pay AND tip you well.”
Of course Terry’s right. Great boss. Although just 29, she has lots of practical, sound insight and advice. I really need her in my life as a steadying influence.
So, that was my first introduction to preppy Jill Anderson. And I was secretly happy she was a) 20 something; and b) cute; and c) did have erect nipples.
I needed the boost because tonight happened to coincide with the 20th week anniversary of breaking up with my long term girlfriend, Tate. But who’s counting? Obviously, I am counting. Tate wanted “to get serious,” and I did not know what I wanted. Go to dental school? Get my PhD in microbiology? Stay here at YLG?
I guess that the fact that Jill signed up for a swim lesson at 6:30 pm on a Saturday said something about her. And the fact that I volunteered to work tonight since I had been requested by name for a swim lesson—I guess that says something about me, too. Agreeing to work on a Saturday night.
It’s been a long 20 weeks!
When she walked out of the women’s locker room, I immediately knew it must be her. Somehow, even in a one piece Speedeo, she looked preppy. There was a vague familiarity about her face, but she was a YLG member so I must have seen her around
“Hi, I’m Jason,” I said as I approached her. “You must be Jill?”
“Yes! I knew that was you, Jason,” Jill said, speaking rapidly as if a bit anxious. “You’re quite popular. Also my friend Carol told me to look for a slim guy with short brown hair who obviously works out. But, really, you’re the only guy here, so who else could you be? Oh, there’s Terry! She’s Carol’s roommate—or you probably know that.”
Jill waved to Terry who waved back, then returned to doing paperwork
“Yeah, Terry told me that you were Carol’s friend; she had nice things to say about you, so that made being here at 6:30 on a Saturday worth it!”
Jill was pleased with that statement. Obviously a bit nervous, what I said seemed to relax her.
She had long auburn hair just past her shoulders, pulled back into a ponytail—which she just now curled onto her head so that she could put on her swim cap. Her eyes were nearly emerald green. Her appearance was a bit reserved—Speedeo bathing suit? Long hair?—so her sudden chattering hinted at her anxiety, especially since Terry said she was quiet.
“Well, now for formal introductions, then!” I said with mock formality. “I’m Jason Williams, Jill, nice to meet you. I will be your swim instructor.” I bowed at the waist.
“Jill Anderson,” she said with equally mocking formality “and I will be your student.” Instead of bowing, she reached out her hand and shook mine—firm grip, solid eye contact, set jaw.
She tried a bit unsuccessfully not to be too obvious sizing me up, her eyes lingering first on my six pack abs then about a foot south of there where a bulge was already obvious. It happened that I had just gotten out of the pool myself—hence no tee shirt—and was in my Speedeo swim shorts. I hated the “tighty-whitey” type Speedeo briefs: too skimpy, too revealing. Especially if I got a hard on—which often happened when I was around cute women in swimsuits.
Like this one right in front of me.
Her eyes lingered there, down south. She saw that I noticed her staring, and suddenly blushed from her sternum to under her lower jaw and up to her ears. The redness on her chest was splotchy.
It was the exact same kind of blush which erupted on Tate with orgasm—and my mind went there for a few moments, my bulge twerking a bit.
From behind, I could see the red flush of her ears, and sweat beading up on her back like rain on a freshly waxed car.
“Jason! Oh, Jason! Oh! Bostancı Escort Dear! God! JASON!” Tate screamed, her words in sync with my thrusts, echoing throughout the wide, dark empty pool, spectator stands, bouncing off the walls to the ceiling, ricocheting around the natatorium.
We were kneeling on the rubber mat exactly where Jill was now standing, probably around midnight 21 weeks ago. It was the last time Tate and I fucked, a week before we broke up.
“Yes! Yes! Hard like that, fuck me hard. Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes, AHHEEEEEEEE, EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Fuck me just like that, God Dammit! Deeper! Deeper!
I fucked harder, deeper, faster. She was on all fours in front of me, doggy style, and I watched cock slam pussy, disappearing, slapping her butt cheeks against my abs. Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! We slapped together, like whales slapping fins on the water.
Deep and hard, deep and hard—I saw her tight pussy lips stretch over and grip my cock as I pulled out, disappear when I dove in, only to stretch and grip coming out again.
“I’m there Tate!”
“Spurt in me NOW, you fucking stud, squirt that hot cum in my tight wet cunt! Lube my pussy’s lips with your thick hot baby oil!”
That did it—sent me over the edge.
“YEAH, YEAAAHHH! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I’M CUMMING! GOD! I’m squirting, Tate! Dear GOD! Oh fuck, fuck, Tate, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! YESSSSSSS!!!!!!”
I felt the electrical bolts of each spurting spasm, that sudden shock when your perineal muscle becomes uncontrollable as if in a grand mal seizure. BAM! BAM! BAM! Brain blasts detonated over and over in my mind, and with each explosion from my cock, flashes of blue dots appeared in my visual field—like clichéd fireworks on the proverbial Fourth of July.
“OH, GOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDD!” I screamed so loud I startled myself, worrying anyone outside could have heard it—one last scream, one last huge slug of cum, one last thrust so deep I could feel her cervix.
Her cunt was in tonic spasm around my hard pulsing cock.
“Ohhh… fuuuck…. Jaaaasson…” Tate said slowly, whimpering, quivering, and slumping forward on her elbows, forehead planting on her open palms. Slowly she said “Ohhhh fuck, Ohhhh fuck, Ohhhh fuck, it’s gripping my pussy!” Tate’s entire body shook beneath me, all except, incredibly, her tight cunt which squeezed my turgid cock like a vise that wouldn’t let go. Then she fell completely forward, exhausted, gasping for air just like I was, her constricted cunt making a wet squelching sound as it broke suction with my cock, her swollen pussy lips instantly snapping back into place like rubber bands.
Despite being good at both butterfly sprints and freestyle miles, I was so winded that I was guzzling air, as if downing a cold beer at peak thirst.
I stayed on my knees for another minute as both of us caught our breath.
“Shit, …Jason,… I have… never…cum… that hard… before…never…ever!” Tate said, in distinct words separated by staccato gasps.
“Me either,” I panted, “That was incredible.”
She lay down and I spooned behind her naked form. She was half curled up, I remember, and facing the water. We stayed like that for maybe 10 or even 20 minutes. Neither of us said anything.
There was a lot that could be said, a lot that needed to be said.
Her arms were bent with her hands folded under her head—the right side of her head, I recalled. Her left ear faced the ceiling and was still beet red, her upper chest visible from behind was splotched in crimson, and sweat ran down her upper pecs and back. From behind she really did have an hourglass figure; and her wide hips caused her smooth left buttocks to rise much higher than the left edge of my narrow pelvis.
“I better clean up. And lock up,” I finally said.
Jill’s suit was royal blue with a diagonal yellow swath starting at her right shoulder, diving between her breasts, and ending at her left hip as a seatbelt would do.
Her aforementioned breasts, while not huge, did have some jiggle when she turned or walked. And at this instant, her nipples were larger than when she first walked in; harder, pushing up a higher tent of royal blue atop what would be her areolas; atop—I decided—really attractive breasts.
I looked up at Jill and noticed that she noticed what I just noticed. But she smiled at me, radiantly.
“So, uh, how can I help you Jill?” I asked, trying to recover from my embarrassment. “Your signup sheet mentioned you wanted to work on freestyle?”
“Yes, I have been swimming all my life including on our county rec league and my high school’s team. This is my high school suit, our school colors. I can’t do any other kind of cardio except stationary bike because I was born with a mild left hip defect, which hurts if I run or walk for a long time. Doesn’t affect how I walk, so most people don’t notice. But exercise has to be either the pool Ümraniye Escort or the bike here at YLG—and the only bike available when I come to work out is the older one, which I don’t like.”
I didn’t like that one either. It was old; and it was in front of the Fox News Channel. With tiny subtitles.
I preferred the ESPN bike.
“So, here I am—I want to improve my freestyle to maximize my workouts.”
I suddenly looked at Jill in a different light. Her legs and calves although reasonably muscular were relatively thin compared to her arms and shoulders. And she was right, I didn’t notice a limp when she walked. But if you looked carefully, there was an indentation along the upper outer side of her left hip as if certain muscles had not developed growing up.
“Great! Freestyle is my favorite stroke, and I teach it the most. How about you stand, shut your eyes, and move your arms as if you were swimming your regular freestyle stroke. It will give me a place to start. Let’s get closer to the pool.”
We moved next to the deep end. Jill nonchalantly adjusted her swimsuit, pulling on the leg openings, making her pussy lips press even tighter against the fabric. There was clearly something blossoming bigger between her outer lips; and a dark wet spot had appeared. Did she do that on purpose?
“Okay, here I go,” she said, closing her eyes.
I told her to keep her eyes closed and move her arms as if she is swimming. If you watch yourself, I told her, you will unconsciously adjust your stroke.
“Do I turn my head to breathe?” She asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” I replied, “but if that would make it more realistic to you, sure.”
Silently, Jill moved her arms like a windmill, approximating the same motions she would use in the water. I watched her for several minutes while she did this. I was looking at how her hands entered the water, came down under her body, exitted and completed the circuit coming forward.
“You were coached well,” I told her. “Your stroke is beautiful.”
“Thanks,” she said, “my rec league coach was kind of a hard ass, pardon my French. Stickler for stroke perfection.”
She had nearly flawless form. I thought: “I-want-to-improve-my-freestyle,” my ass!
Of course, I was watching two “forms”—her stroke’s and that of her female body. The slit between her camel toe was now wider and her inner genitalia had definitely pushed through—an indefinite nub at the front, a hint of a ridge germinating from the nub backwards—how far I could not tell since she was standing. I began walking circles around her scrutinizing her stroke.
After another minute, I had an idea.
“Just a little longer, Jill, I want to see from behind if there is symmetry. Bend forward.”
I walked behind her. Bending forward, she widened her feet’s stance for balance.
In terms of her swim stroke, the symmetry was perfect.
So was her pussy. It seemed like the inner labia peeked even further out, stretching the swim suit into more of a ridge between the two ridges of her outer lips. From behind, the ridge of her swollen inner labia was large enough now to obscure my rear view of her clitoris. But with the gap between her thighs widened from her new stance, I could see more fabric and noticed that the wet spot had also widened, which held the fabric even tighter against her cunt.
I suddenly felt bad about staring so lewdly at her, and came back around front to watch her stroke from that direction. I couldn’t resist one more look—the wet spot had definitely grown within even the past few seconds. Surely she had not squirted—she would have shown other signs, like a river down her leg.
My better angel prevailed and I said, “Okay, you can stop.”
She stood up straight, and her upper chest was flushed red, extending onto her ears. Again, just like Tate’s big O’s.
I pretended not to notice and described what I saw. Of her stroke, I mean.
“From what I saw, you need to angle your hands a bit more when they go into the water. Do you mind if I get behind you and guide your hands?”
“No, not at all,” she said.
Standing behind her, consciously not getting too close, I said “Okay, now put your right arm up like you are about to stroke into the water.”
She did as she was told, and imperceptibly moved backwards towards me.
Holding her right hand with mine, still behind her, I demonstrated what she should do.
“Okay. Angle your hand this way” I said as I turned her hand to the correct angle.
“Got that?” I asked.
“Yes,” and this time she took an obvious half step back towards me, her beautiful round ass now brushing against my totally bulging cock. She swayed her hips slightly left then right, and adjusted her stance such that my raging bull was about to gore her cheeks
My cock surged with an involuntary squeeze from my perineal muscles, flooding with a huge gush of blood. I looked down between us. The surge of Ataşehir Escort blood made my cock shift positions such that it was awkwardly bulging forward and to the right. The pressure was so hard, it indented her swimsuit and the skin of her right butt cheek. She twerked her ass, acknowledging our erotic contact.
I tried to gain my composure, but had to step forward slightly to show her the next step.
“When your hand goes into the water at this angle, you can see that your palm is more like a paddle and will push more water.”
Still holding her right hand, I guided her right arm through the entire stroke slowly, so she would pick up on the new path her hand needed to travel. At the exact level of her mons, she paused, then slowed the stroke down.
Again, I assumed the teacher role. “This will allow your arms to have more power with your palms facing backward more when you push underneath yourself like this,” I demonstrated, completing the entire stroke. “That will put more force on your arms and more power to your stroke. You’ll swim faster, but I guess more important to you is that your work out will be harder.”
“Thanks!” she said, “no one has ever pointed that out to me.”
“Let me guide both hands so you can feel the new course.”
I held both hands at the new angle, and showed her the new path her hands and arms would now go. We did this for several strokes, when, pulling my hands forward, she caused me to wedge my swollen cock decidedly into her crack.
I really did not want Terry to see this, so letting go of her hands, I came around front and said, “Great, now dive into lane one and start swimming. I will walk beside you to watch how you swim in the water. Don’t make any changes yet.”
By now my cock was at full staff, hoisted upward and curving toward the ceiling. Luckily, Terry was on the office phone facing the other direction, and no one else was in the pool since we closed at 7:00 on Saturdays.
As I spoke, she kept her gaze on my tent pole, looking thirsty AF. If I had a mirror, I bet would now be the one with a splotchy chest and red ears!
To break her gaze, I said
“Okay, now show me. Don’t make changes at first.”
Diving in, even though I had asked her not to make changes, she did—whether consciously or unconsciously. Her stroke was now powerful and flawless; she incorporated my instruction perfectly. And she was FAST! At the far end of the pool she stopped.
“Keep going?” she asked.
“Yes. You did great putting into practice what I recommended!”
“Yeah, sorry. I thought that since you already taught that to me, I should try it.” I wondered at that moment if she altered her air-swimming hand positions for me to correct when I was “coaching” her earlier.
Clearly this woman needed no “coaching!”
She swam a few more laps, with perfect form and crisp splashless flip turns.
“Alright, pool’s closing soon,” I yelled as she took a breath, her face turned in my direction.
I saw Terry hang up the phone, look at her watch, and take the keys out of her pocket.
Terry locked the men’s locker room door and was about to lock the women’s but stopped, probably realizing that Jill would have to go back in and change.
Jill stopped when she reached the deep end again. Terry was picking up all the scattered equipment used during the day—obviously, doing MY JOB, allowing me to continue with the swim lesson and studiously avoiding looking at us.
“Actually, Jill, Terry is doing the closing; so you can swim some more laps if you want. That way you can practice your new stroke and get a longer workout. “
“Great!” she said. And she turned toward the shallow end and kept swimming.
I yelled to Terry to let me finish closing down, but she yelled back, “Almost done, just lock the women’s door. I’ll flip the front doors’ latch so they will lock upon shutting as you leave.”
And within about 45 seconds, Terry turned off the bank of lights over the office side of the pool, leaving the lights illuminating our side of the pool and spectator seats behind me. I faced the water again and watched Jill swim. Her stroke was so fast and flawless that watching her was as delightful as watching any superb athlete making what they do seem effortless.
I decided to jump into lane three and finish my work out which I had stopped early for my 6:30 swim lesson. THIS swim lesson. I almost convinced myself that I did not want to swim directly next to her in lane two so as not to promote competition between teacher and pupil.
In truth, she was a faster swimmer than I was, and I didn’t want to see her from lane two lapping me, pupil passing teacher.
We both continued swimming for about 15 minutes when I pulled myself out of the pool and walked to the pool’s edge parallel to lane one. Time to finish the lesson. I shouted for her to stop when she took a breath and her left ear turned up toward the ceiling as she breathed to her left side.
Her left ear was now mostly covered by her swim cap, but I remembered how red it turned just a little while ago when she realized I knew she was checking out my equipment.
A beet red ear and a splotchy red chest like a woman during orgasm
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