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When we got to the gym, Lo wanted to start in the weight room. Our gym is co-ed, obviously, and in the weight room there are lots of big, burly men who love to look at themselves in the full-length mirrors that surround the room on all the walls. Lots of mirrors. There are, of course, some women who, truth be told, also like to look at themselves in the mirrors. They just don’t make as big a show of it as the guys do.

Lo likes looking at everybody, including herself, and, this particular morning, I found out in the worst of ways, she liked to be looked at as well. She went right for the bench press and, asking me to spot her, she got on her back under the bar, her feet flat on the floor, her legs spread, and she asked with great deference, for my advice on lifting the twenty pounds (plus the weight of the bar, of course).

I gave her a few pointers and then stood behind her head, my hands cupped under the bar just in case she needed a little boost. She looked up from the bench where her head was perched perfectly between my legs. Had we been alone at home, she would have had a perfect angle for some fun play. Her tongue ran across her sparkling white teeth and she mouthed the words, “Oh, Daddy!” as her eyes roamed to my crotch.

I rolled my eyes, but soon saw that some of the guys in the gym were stealing glances our way. “Lo, try to get it up, will you?” I honestly didn’t mean to say that. I was talking about the bar, but it just came out that way.

“I’ve been trying all week,” she said. “I think that with this good, hard, steel rod, I can make some progress.” She went to lift the bar and lower it to her chest. With a controlled exhale, she pushed the bar back up. “That was good, right?!” She was very excited by her accomplishment.

“Excellent!” I said, trying to be encouraging. I looked up and noticed more guys’ eyes looking at her. Was it that her legs were spread? Was it that her face was down by my crotch? Was it her breasts heaving as she lay flat on the bench? I couldn’t tell what the interest was, but across the room the guys doing curls with free-weights, causing their already large biceps to bulge, were looking right at Lo. It seemed like she was giving them inspiration.

After bench pressing, we did a few other strength exercises and we didn’t exact quite as much attention. She told me that at the top of the hour a yoga class was starting and she encouraged me to join her in it. “Yoga will be good for you. It’s known to reduce depression.” Reluctantly, I agreed.

In the yoga studio, the mats were arranged in five rows of four deep. People gradually entered and chose their spots and began stretching out. Lola took the front-center mat in the room and told me to take the spot behind her. I did so. I tried stretching. Touching my toes was a challenge. When the room was full, the instructor came in and she stood right in front of Lo. We began easily enough and all was fine, until “Downward Dog.” That’s when I figured out what the guys in the gym were looking at — Lo wasn’t wearing any panties! Here little green yoga shorts were loose-fitting enough for her pussy to peek out when doing the bench press and now at yoga. She looked over her shoulder at me when she came out of the pose and she knew that I knew what a bad girl she was. Needless to say, part of my body was not as limber as it should be for yoga after that. I think that I wasn’t the only one to notice my little slut’s slutty ways. I played it off like I wasn’t with Lo. Who? Her? That one in the front row showing her joie de vivre to the class? Nope, don’t know her at all. I’m just right behind her for the best view.

When the hour was over, Lo made it clear to the class that I was her man and she was my hotwife by grabbing my arm and congratulating me on getting through the entire class. She looked down at the protrusion in my sweatpants and said, “I think you need to walk that off.”

[Excerpt from the story, “Fuck Noir,” from the blog:]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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