I glance at you as the wolf-whistle fades, heaving the weights I've been working with to one side. There's a mischief in your eyes as I stand, a challenge in the way you pose with naught but a silk scarf wrapped around your hips. My growl is deep with lust as I step towards you, my love for you as strong as it was when we first met. You skip back with a teasing laugh, moving out of my little gym and closer to your larger dance studio. I follow, enticed as much by the reflection of your firm ass in the mirrors on the studio's far wall as your perky tits. You briefly stoop to pick up a pair of identical metal rods, throwing one to me, and then plant yourself in the middle of the studio.
I give the metal rod a few testing swings while watching you. The walls and ceiling of the room are covered by mirrors, giving me a nearly complete view of your lithe beauty from every angle. You're limbering up, the metal rod you holding whistling as it cuts through the air, and a smirk appears on your face. I've been in my gym for nearly three hours, keeping myself at peak, and you've merely been waiting.
"You've never beaten me in sword-play before."
There's more teasing laughter as you move through a routine I remember from your days as a professional gymnast.
"I've never prepared the battlefield like this before either."
A moment passes before you're lunging forward, metal rod held high for an overhead strike. I skitter to the left as you land, your rod thudding against the padded floor, and thrust my own at you. A clang fills the studio as you deflect my jab, lifting it just enough that it goes over your head, and I stumble as you lash out with a leg, painfully catching my right knee.
You back off and begin circling, foolishly letting me regain my feet. I spin as I hear you moving, the breath leaving you when my metal rod meets the side of your toned stomach, and I sidestep your stagger, lightly patting you on the back as you pass. You glare, although it lacks any real heat, and then try your own backwards jab, only a swift twist preventing it from making contact. You huff as you straighten, blowing a thick strand of gold-coloured hair from your eyes, and our gazes connect in the mirror. Your eyes flick to the left, your bronzed form tensing, and I dive forward as you burst into motion. Your rod sweeps through empty space, we've sparred too many times for me to fall to such a simple misdirection, and you hiss as my metal rod smacks the back of your knees.
The duel goes back and forth, making use of the whole studio, but you were right at its start. I'm already tired from my training, drawn here without respite, and I'm slowing, both attacks and defence less potent. After ten minutes my arms are aching, the shock as our rods clash vibrating through exhausted muscles, and a second strike against my right leg has me kneeling. You put more power into your blows, move around to strike from different angles. When I only just block a assault on my head, locked-together rods inches above my skull, I tap out, the sound seeming impossibly loud in the quiet room.
You step back and then jab me in the chest, smugness written across your beautiful features. I let myself fall backwards, heels digging into the flesh of my ass, and you dart in to pull my shorts down, removing your scarf with a flick of your fingers. The sight of you gloriously nude and looming over me has me fully erect, and you sigh as you sink onto my length. I try to remain still, under the rules we play I'm dead, but you're riding me so well, velvet sheath snug around my cock. You gasp as I grasp your hips, adding my own movement to your fevered rocking. You shudder through orgasm, juices oozing from around my cock, and I groan as your pussy clamps down. I feel cum boil out, shooting deep into your innermost space, and sit upright, wrapping my arms around you and pressing you against my chest.
"I love you."
I can feel your smirk as you nuzzle my neck.
"I know honey. I know."
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