Breathe - Sex Stories

Breathe

... cracks of his fists and his stern grunts as he tore into his workout. This was his way in the office as well, tearing through it, brandishing an air of angry confidence. His "scorched earth" methods took him very far in the company. He charged around the board rooms, challenged and dared everyone, and when he locked his sights on a client or a project, he was unstoppable. It earned him the notoriety and title of “The Bull” -- dark, powerful, and driven. As of late however, “The Bull” was feeling as if he had lost some of his vigor. His tactics and persona had seemed to be wearing thin… so he thought, anyway. To everyone else, the change was barely noticeable, if at all, but that meant squat to him. To Tyrone, it gnawed at him like maggots. His recent workouts reflected his work. He was flailing, off balance and unfocused. His punches, though powerful, were ineffective, like hitting the bag with the handle of the hammer instead of the head. The more frustrated he grew, the less command he held, the less effective he became -- a vicious cycle. Tyrone erupted with a rampage of fists punctuated by a raging shout. He stepped back, huffing and puffing, sweat streaming down his face and along the deep lines of his rugged muscles, his dark mocha flesh glistening. His tank top was damp and stretched with perspiration. He scowled at the bag as if it was taunting him to blast through it. He shook his head as he stripped off his gloves and tape. Not good. Pounding a bag didn’t help. ...

... Grabbing his bottle of water, he turned towards the windows of the gym’s studio. Normally, he wouldn’t have given the studio classes a second glance; they weren’t his style. Today however, as he guzzled the water, it caught his attention. He thought to himself for a long moment, then smirked and shook his head again. "Yoga,” he muttered. “Right." Tyrone walked towards the studio. *** Now... Jenna often slipped into a mild trance as she sat in her meditative pose. The world could rattle around her yet she would remain floating in her own pocket of ease. Not that she was oblivious to her surroundings. She was just attuned to what her body and mind needed at the moment to remain balanced. Today though, she couldn’t quite find that balance. There was a miniscule waver in her breath, her heartbeat off by a microsecond. Like a pin drop on a perfect sheet of ice, a tiny chip scarred her pristine sense of balance. Eyes still closed, she heard the door of the studio open, heavy footsteps, and the thump of a gym bag on the floor. The scent of luxurious cologne wafted up her nose and fill her lungs. Most noticeably, she felt the energy swell around her, shove at her like a stiff breeze. It was a demanding presence. “He’s here.” She opened and rolled her eyes upward along the lengthy, solid body of Tyrone. He stood before her, the light from outside painting the muscles along his dark, mocha skin with strips of silvery-white. He was an imposing figure. “Hey, Jenna,” he said, speaking through ...