Weekly Poll #25 - OC / Yor Forger {Story 40} (Patreon)

Weekly Poll #25 - OC / Yor Forger {Story 40}

Doc- https://docs.google.com/document/d/1O4iMfDPRxYpgA_zcLfjmq7qoybi75H88_Ey2jhkSaKs/edit?usp=sharing . Also, the Word, PDF, and EPUB files are attached below. Thank you for the Support!

Yor Forger had always known she was stronger than most people. In her real work that strength was useful. Necessary, even. But outside of it—especially when she tried to do normal things like sports—it kept causing problems she never quite understood.

She had joined a small community centre tennis class three weeks ago because Loid had mentioned it might be good for her to have a hobby that wasn’t related to “housekeeping.” Yor had taken the suggestion seriously. She showed up early, wore the proper clothes, and listened carefully when the instructor explained the rules. She even smiled and nodded at the other women in the group.

Then the first practice match started.

Yor had only meant to return the ball. She swung the racket the way the instructor had shown her. The ball left her racket so fast it punched a clean hole through the opposite fence and kept going into the parking lot. The instructor’s whistle froze in his mouth. One of the other women dropped her own racket.

Yor lowered her arm and looked at the smoking hole in the fence.

“Oh,” she said. “Was that… too hard?”

The second incident happened during a friendly doubles game. Her partner had called for a soft lob. Yor tried to hit it gently. The ball still travelled so fast it knocked the opposing player’s glasses clean off her face and left a red welt across her forehead. The woman sat down hard on the court and didn’t get up for several minutes.

After that, the instructor started assigning Yor to practice against the ball machine instead of real people. Even the machine eventually stopped working. One of the automatic arms hung at a strange angle after Yor’s backhand.

The final straw came during a casual sparring session in the centre’s small martial-arts room. Yor had been careful. She really had. She pulled her punches. She kept her kicks soft. She even apologised every time she made contact. Somehow she still managed to crack two of her partner’s ribs and leave a permanent fist-shaped dent in the heavy bag that hung in the corner. The bag had been rated for professional fighters. The instructor stared at the dent for a long time before turning to her with a tight, nervous smile.

“Miss Forger,” he said carefully, “I think you might need someone who can… keep up with you.”

Yor blinked. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No. Not exactly. You’re just—” He searched for a polite word and failed. “You’re a lot stronger than the average person who comes here. Most of our coaches aren’t equipped for that. There’s a private athletic club on the edge of the city. More specialised trainers. Quieter. More expensive. I can give you the address if you’d like.”

Yor accepted the small card he offered and thanked him politely. She left the community centre that afternoon feeling faintly confused. She had been trying so hard to be normal. Apparently normal still wasn’t enough.

The private club sat behind a high wall and a locked gate. Inside, the grounds were cleaner and quieter than any public facility Yor had seen. The main building smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive rubber mats. Soft music played from hidden speakers. Most of the people moving through the open training areas were women—many of them older, well-dressed even in workout clothes, with the kind of quiet confidence that came from money and free time.

Yor stood near the entrance for a moment, taking it in. She noticed almost immediately that a large number of the women seemed to spend more time stretching, chatting, and adjusting their form under a coach’s hands than actually lifting heavy weights or running. Several of them glanced toward one particular man whenever he walked past.

The whispers followed him.

Yor caught fragments as she waited near the reception desk.

“—booked for the next two weeks—”

“—my hips still feel it from Thursday—”

“—don’t care what it costs, just get me on his schedule again—”

A silver-haired woman in expensive leggings laughed softly to her friend. “Volkmar could tell me to hold a plank for an hour and I’d thank him afterward.”

Her friend smirked. “That’s not all you’d thank him for.”

Yor tilted her head slightly, listening without meaning to. The name kept coming up. Volkmar. Volkmar Gisbert. Apparently he was the reason half the older women in the club kept renewing their memberships. His methods were “unorthodox.” His results left people walking carefully the next day and smiling about it. No one said anything outright inappropriate in public, but the looks they gave his back when he passed were far from innocent.

Yor watched him for a long moment from across the floor.

He was tall and solidly built, broad through the shoulders and chest, dark hair going silver at the temples. He moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent years correcting other people’s bodies and knew exactly how much pressure each one could take. At the moment he was adjusting a woman’s stance on a resistance machine. One hand rested low on her back, the other guiding her elbow into proper alignment. The woman looked flushed and oddly pleased by the simple correction, her breathing a little too quick for the light work she was doing.

Yor looked down at the small card the community-centre instructor had given her. She had come here because she needed someone who wouldn’t break when she swung too hard or stepped too heavily. If the whispers circulating through the club were any indication, this Volkmar Gisbert was the one people trusted with difficult clients—especially the ones who left regular trainers nervous.

She straightened her shoulders, adjusted the strap of her sports bag, and started walking toward the main training floor.

She would ask for him specifically.

Yor waited until the woman he was coaching finally stepped away, red-faced and breathing hard. Volkmar was wiping his hands on a towel when she stopped directly in front of him.

“I want you as my coach,” she said without preamble.

He looked her up and down once, slow and assessing. Black sports bra stretched tight across heavy tits that shifted when she breathed, tight leggings clinging to thick thighs and a round ass that moved when she shifted her weight. Pale skin, black hair pulled into a high ponytail, that slightly awkward but very determined expression she always seemed to wear.

“I’m fully booked,” he said.

Yor stepped closer. She was used to people underestimating her. “I’ll pay double. And I don’t break.”

Something in the way she said it made him pause. His eyes moved over her again, more carefully this time—the dense muscle under the soft-looking thighs, the soft give of her belly just above the waistband of her leggings, the way her tits rose and fell with every breath. Most women her size weren’t built like that. Yor felt dense. Like she could take more than she looked capable of.

“What kind of training are you looking for?” he asked.

“Whatever keeps me from accidentally hurting people,” Yor answered honestly. “I try to be careful. It doesn’t always work.”

Volkmar studied her face for another second, then nodded once.

“Tomorrow morning. Six a.m. Private side room. Don’t be late.”

The private side room was small and windowless, mirrored on two walls, thick mats covering most of the floor. A few benches and resistance machines had been pushed against the far wall. The air already smelled faintly of rubber and clean sweat.

Yor arrived five minutes early wearing the same black sports bra and leggings. Volkmar was already there, black compression shirt stretched across his chest and arms, shorts sitting low on his hips.

“Warm-up first,” he said. “Show me how you move.”

She went through a simple sequence without complaint—bodyweight squats, reverse lunges, push-ups. Every squat sent her thick ass dropping low and spreading under the tight fabric. Every lunge made her thighs flex and the soft flesh of her legs jiggle slightly with the effort. When she dropped into push-ups her heavy tits swung forward and hung, the weight of them pulling against the sports bra, nipples already half-hard from the cool air in the room.

Volkmar watched without comment for a long time.

“Again,” he said eventually. “Slower. Feel the stretch in your hips and glutes. Don’t rush it.”

She did as told. This time when she squatted he stepped behind her, hands hovering near her hips without quite touching.

“Chest up. Push your ass back more. Load the heels.”

Yor pushed her hips back. The soft curve of her ass brushed the front of his shorts. He didn’t move away. The brief contact sent a low, unexpected heat through her. She had never been this aware of another person’s body during training before.

“Again.”

She dropped lower on the next rep. This time the soft give of her ass cheeks pressed fully against him for a second. Something thick and half-hard twitched against her through the thin layers of fabric.

Yor’s breath caught. She stayed down a beat longer than necessary, feeling the heat of him, the solid shape of him, against her. Her face felt warm.

“Good,” he murmured near her ear. His voice had dropped. “You feel that? Your body wants to push back into the contact. Don’t fight it. Use it.”

She stood and turned to face him. Her cheeks were flushed. “Is this part of the training?”

“Everything is part of the training.” His eyes dropped briefly to the way her sports bra was already damp between her heavy tits. “You came here because you’re too strong for regular coaches. I’m going to use that strength until you’re shaking. If that’s a problem, you can leave now.”

Yor stayed where she was.

***

They moved to resistance-band work next. He had her face the mirror with the band under her feet, pulling upward in controlled rows. Every time she raised her arms her tits lifted and swayed with the motion. Volkmar stood behind her again, closer this time, correcting her form with both hands on her waist.

His thumbs brushed the soft skin just above the waistband of her leggings. Yor’s stomach fluttered. She could already feel herself getting wet, the fabric of her leggings beginning to cling uncomfortably between her legs.

“You’re holding tension in your hips,” he said. “Breathe out and drop a little lower. Soften the knees.”

She did. The band stretched. Her ass pressed back against the growing bulge in his shorts again. This time she didn’t pretend it was an accident. She ground back once, slow and deliberate, feeling the thick shape of him nestle between her cheeks.

Volkmar’s hands tightened on her waist.

“Careful,” he said, voice lower now. “You’re not ready for that yet.”

“I can handle it,” Yor answered. Her voice came out steadier than she expected.

“We’ll see.”

He stepped away and pointed to one of the padded benches. “Sit. Spread your knees.”

She sat. He crouched between her open thighs and placed his hands on the soft inner flesh of her legs, pushing them wider. The position forced her thick thighs to strain against the tight leggings. Her pussy was already soaked enough that a dark patch had formed at the crotch.

Volkmar looked at it without any shame.

“You’re already leaking through your clothes.” His thumbs stroked slowly along the soft inner flesh of her thighs. “Most women take two or three sessions before they get this wet from simple mobility work. You’re special.”

Yor’s face burned, but she didn’t close her legs. “Is that a problem?”

“No. It’s useful.” He stood. The front of his shorts was tented hard now, the thick outline unmistakable. “On your hands and knees. We’re doing hip mobility.”

She dropped down onto the mats. The position made her ass push up and out, the thick cheeks spreading slightly under the stretched fabric of her leggings. Volkmar moved behind her. One hand settled on the small of her back. The other rested heavily on her right ass cheek.

“Arch. Push back into my hand.”

Yor arched her back and pushed. Her ass pressed firmly into his palm. He squeezed once, testing the soft give of the flesh, then gave it a firm, open-handed slap. The sound cracked through the small room. Yor’s body jerked forward and a soft, surprised sound left her throat.

“Again,” he said. “Harder this time. Use that strength of yours.”

She pushed back harder. He slapped the other cheek. The flesh rippled under his hand. A second slap landed lower, closer to the soft join of ass and thigh. Yor’s arms trembled. She could feel her pussy clenching around nothing, empty and aching.

“You’re dripping,” he observed calmly. “I can smell you from here.”

Yor’s face was hot. She kept her eyes on the mat. “What do you want me to do?”

“Stay exactly like this.”

He stepped closer until the hard length of his cock pressed firmly against the cleft of her ass through both layers of clothing. One hand stayed on her hip, holding her in place. The other slid under her sports bra from behind, cupping one heavy tit and lifting the soft weight of it. His thumb found the stiff nipple and rolled it slowly, then pinched.

Yor’s breath hitched hard. Her arms almost gave out under her.

“Sensitive,” he murmured against her ear. “Good.” He squeezed the soft flesh roughly, mauling it while his hips pressed forward, grinding the thick bulge against her. The friction dragged over her clit through the soaked fabric of her leggings and made her thighs tremble. “You came here because you were afraid of breaking people. I’m not going to break. I’m going to use every bit of that strength until you’re begging me to fill you.”

Yor pushed back against him harder, shameless now. The thick shape of him nestled between her cheeks, hot even through the clothes. Every slow grind sent another pulse of heat through her core. Her pussy clenched around nothing, already aching.

“Please,” she whispered, voice unsteady. “I… I need more than this.”

“Not yet.” He released her tit and stepped back. Cool air hit the wet fabric between her legs. “Stand up. Take the leggings off.”

She obeyed without hesitation. Her fingers hooked into the waistband and peeled the tight, damp fabric down her thick thighs. She had to work it over the soft curve of her ass and the dense muscle of her legs. When she finally stepped out of them, her pussy was flushed deep pink and glistening, a thin string of wetness connecting her inner lips before it broke. The sports bra came off next. She pulled it up and over her head. Her heavy tits spilled free—pale, full, and soft, nipples dark pink and tightly peaked.

Volkmar looked at her for a long moment, eyes moving over the soft weight of her breasts, the slight give of her belly, the thick thighs and the wet mess between them. Then he reached down and pushed his shorts and underwear low enough to free his cock. It was thick and long, the head already shiny with precum. The sight of it made Yor’s mouth go dry.

“On your knees.”

She dropped. The mat was cool against her bare shins and the soft flesh of her ass. He stepped closer until the heavy length of him rested against her cheek. The clean, slightly musky scent of his skin filled her nose. She could feel the heat of him, the weight.

“Open.”

Yor opened her mouth. He fed the fat head past her lips slowly. She sealed around it and sucked, tongue pressing up under the ridge, tasting clean skin and the faint salt of precum. She took more, cheeks hollowing, working her way down until the head bumped the back of her throat. She gagged once, wet and soft. Spit ran over her bottom lip and down her chin, dripping onto the upper slopes of her tits.

Volkmar’s hand settled in her black hair, not pulling yet—just resting there, heavy and controlling. “Deeper. Use that strength in your throat. You can take more than you think.”

She pushed forward. Her throat bulged around the thick shaft. Wet, messy sounds filled the small room—gluck, gluck, gluck—as she forced herself down until her nose pressed against his stomach. Spit poured down her chin in thick strands, coating her heavy tits and making the pale skin shiny. Her eyes watered. She stayed there, throat working around him, until he pulled her back by the hair.

A long, glossy string of spit connected her swollen lips to the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” she panted, voice already rough. “It’s so thick. I can feel it stretching my throat open.”

“Again.”

She dove back down without being told twice. This time she bobbed faster, one hand sliding between her own legs to rub her swollen clit in tight circles. The wet sounds of her throat working his cock mixed with the soft squelch of her fingers in her pussy. Her heavy tits swayed and jiggled with every movement of her head, spit flying from her chin and landing across the soft flesh.

Volkmar’s grip tightened in her hair. He started fucking her face in short, controlled thrusts, the fat head popping in and out of her throat with wet, filthy noises. Tears pricked the corners of Yor’s eyes but she kept taking him, moaning around the thick shaft, spit running freely down her neck and between her tits.

When he finally pulled her off she was gasping, face flushed, spit and precum running down her chin and dripping from her nipples.

“On the bench,” he ordered. “Ass up.”

She scrambled onto the padded bench on shaky legs, chest down, knees on the mat, thick ass raised high. The position spread her open. Volkmar stepped behind her. One hand gripped a soft cheek and spread her wider; the other guided the fat, spit-slick head of his cock to her soaked entrance.

He pushed in slow.

The stretch was intense. Yor’s mouth fell open in a long, broken moan as inch after thick inch forced her open. Her pussy clenched around him, wet and hot, trying to pull him deeper. When he finally bottomed out, his hips pressed flush against the soft give of her ass and she could feel every pulse of his cock inside her.

“Fuck… so full,” she gasped. “I’ve never—ah—never taken anything this big. It feels like you’re splitting me open.”

He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. The wet slap of his hips meeting her thick ass echoed through the room. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. Her heavy tits dragged across the leather of the bench with every thrust, nipples scraping. The soft flesh of her ass rippled under the impact.

Volkmar’s hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks, then slid under her to maul her swinging tits from underneath. He squeezed and lifted the soft weight while he fucked her, thumbs rubbing over the stiff nipples.

“Look at you,” he growled. “Taking every inch like your body was built for it. Your pussy’s already trying to milk me. So fucking wet and tight.”

Yor pushed back to meet every thrust, ass bouncing and jiggling against him. Her face was pressed sideways against the bench—eyes half-lidded, mouth open, tongue slightly out as broken, needy moans spilled out of her with every deep stroke.

“Harder—please—use me,” she begged. “I can take it. I need it deeper. Don’t hold back. Fuck me like you mean to ruin me.”

He gave her exactly what she asked for. The pace turned brutal. The wet, filthy sounds of her pussy taking him filled the air—squelch, PLAP, squelch, PLAP. Spit and her own juices ran down her thick thighs. The smell of sex and clean sweat grew heavy in the small room.

Yor came hard, body locking up, pussy pulsing and gushing around his cock. “Cumming—fuck, I’m cumming—” Her voice broke into a high, helpless cry as the orgasm tore through her. Her arms shook. Her thick thighs trembled. Volkmar kept pounding through it without slowing, driving her straight into a second, sharper climax that left her thighs shaking and her voice gone to nothing but broken gasps.

Only then did he bury himself to the hilt and unload. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded her womb in heavy pulses. He stayed buried deep, grinding in tight circles, forcing every drop as far as it would go until it began to leak out around his cock in creamy white trails down the soft insides of her thighs.

Yor’s body trembled under him, still clenching weakly around the thick shaft, milking the last pulses without conscious thought. Her arms shook. Her thick thighs quivered. A broken, satisfied sound left her throat.

He pulled out slowly. A thick stream of cum followed, running down the soft flesh of her inner thighs and dripping onto the mat in heavy drops that soaked into the rubber.

Yor stayed bent over the bench, breathing hard, ass still raised high, cum leaking from her well-fucked pussy in slow, thick trails. Her black hair was a mess, strands stuck to her flushed face and neck. Sweat and spit made her skin shiny. Her heavy tits hung beneath her, still swaying slightly with every shaky breath.

Volkmar ran a broad hand over the red marks his fingers had left on her ass and hips, feeling the heat in the soft flesh.

“We’re not finished,” he said, voice low and steady. “You wanted the best coach in the club. You’re going to get everything that comes with it.”

Yor looked back at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were glassy, pupils wide, but already hungry again. A thin strand of spit still clung to the corner of her mouth.

“Good,” she whispered, voice rough. “Don’t hold back.”

Volkmar didn’t give her long to recover. He wrapped a hand in her black hair, pulled her up off the bench, and spun her around. In two steps he had her back pressed against the mirrored wall. The cool glass shocked her sweaty skin. Her heavy tits flattened slightly against it, soft flesh spreading. He hooked one of her thick thighs high over his arm, opening her wide, and slammed back inside her in one hard thrust.

Yor’s head fell back against the mirror with a soft thud. A long, broken moan tore out of her throat. The new angle drove him even deeper than before. Every time he bottomed out she could feel the fat head of his cock pressing hard against something sensitive deep inside her.

“Fuck—yes—” she gasped, voice already wrecked again. “So deep like this. I can feel every thick inch stretching me open. Your cock feels so good inside me—don’t stop.”

Volkmar fucked her hard against the mirror. The wet slap of his hips meeting the soft flesh of her thighs and ass filled the small room. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. Her free leg trembled, toes barely touching the mat. Her heavy tits bounced and swayed with every impact, pale flesh rippling, nipples dragging across the cool glass. He leaned in and sucked one stiff nipple into his mouth, biting down just hard enough to make her cry out, while his free hand mauled the other tit—squeezing, lifting, and roughly handling the soft weight.

Yor’s face was pure need against the mirror—eyes half-lidded, mouth open, tongue slightly out as she moaned with every deep thrust. Her breath fogged the glass.

“Harder,” she begged. “Use me. I can take it. I need you pounding this pussy until I can’t stand. Fill me again—please—”

He gave it to her. The pace turned brutal. Her thick ass and thighs jiggled with every slam. Cum from the first load was forced out around his cock with each thrust, running down her inner thigh in thick white streaks that dripped onto the mat. The smell of sex was heavy now—sweat, her wetness, the sharp scent of fresh cum.

Yor came hard again, pussy clamping down and gushing around him. Her whole body shook against the mirror. She would have collapsed if he hadn’t been holding her up by the thigh and hip. Volkmar kept thrusting through it without slowing, driving her straight into another sharp orgasm that left her voice cracking into high, helpless sounds. Her free hand scrabbled against the glass, leaving sweaty prints.

Only then did he pull out. Cum poured out of her in a thick stream, running down the soft flesh of her leg and dripping onto the mat in heavy drops. Yor’s chest heaved. Her face was flushed dark and shiny with sweat. Her heavy tits rose and fell rapidly.

“On the floor,” he ordered. “On your back.”

She dropped onto the thick mats without hesitation, legs still trembling. Volkmar knelt between her spread thighs, pushed her legs up and open until her knees nearly touched her shoulders, and drove back inside her in one smooth thrust. The folded position let him hit even deeper. Every stroke forced a wet, filthy squelch out of her cum-filled pussy.

Yor’s hands clawed at the mat. Her massive tits bounced wildly between them with every powerful thrust. “Yes—fuck me like this and ruin me. Your cock looks so good stretching my pussy. I love feeling you this deep. Pound me harder—I want to feel it in my stomach. Don’t hold anything back.”

He fucked her with long, powerful strokes. The wet slap of his body meeting hers was constant and loud. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. Her thick thighs trembled in his grip. He leaned down and kissed her messily, tongues sliding together while he railed her. One hand stayed under her ass, lifting her hips so he could drive even deeper. The other mauled one heavy tit, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, pinching and tugging the stiff nipple until she whimpered into his mouth.

Yor’s face was completely gone—eyes rolling back, mouth open against his, broken moans spilling out with every thrust. “I’m such a filthy slut for this cock. Keep using me. Fill me again. I need another load deep inside. I can feel you throbbing—fuck—don’t stop. Cum in me again.”

She came hard, squirting around his cock as her body locked up and shook. Her pussy pulsed and clenched, trying to milk him. Volkmar kept pounding through it, then buried himself to the hilt and unloaded a second thick load straight into her womb. He stayed deep, grinding in tight circles, forcing every drop as far as it would go until it started leaking out around his shaft in creamy trails that soaked the mat beneath her.

When he finally pulled out, a heavy stream of mixed cum followed, pouring from her open pussy and soaking the mat. Yor stayed spread open, breathing hard, thighs still held wide, pussy twitching and leaking in thick pulses.

She wasn’t done.

She pushed herself up on shaky arms, still dripping, and shoved him onto his back on the mats with surprising strength. Then she straddled him, thick thighs bracketing his hips, and reached down to line him up. She sank down onto his still-hard cock in one smooth motion. The wet squelch as she took him again was loud and filthy.

“Fuck… still so big,” she moaned, eyes fluttering. “I can feel every inch stretching me. Your cock feels perfect inside me. So full again.”

She started riding him hard. Her heavy tits bounced and swayed with every slam down, pale flesh rippling. The wet slap of her thick ass meeting his lap filled the room. PLAP. PLAP. PLAP. Volkmar’s hands gripped her wide hips hard, then slid up to maul her swinging tits—squeezing, lifting, and roughly handling the soft weight while she bounced on him.

Yor leaned forward, shoving her tits into his face. He sucked one nipple hard, tongue flicking and teeth grazing, while his hands slid down to spread her ass cheeks so he could feel every inch of her taking him. She moaned louder, grinding down deep and rolling her hips in filthy, deliberate circles.

“Suck my tits while I ride this monster,” she panted. “I’m such a filthy whore for your cock. I’ve never been this full. Keep your hands on my ass—spank it. Make it ripple for you.”

He gave her a firm, open-handed slap on one cheek. The soft flesh rippled under the impact. Another slap landed on the other side, harder. Yor’s pussy clenched hard around him. She bounced faster, tits jiggling wildly in his face, spit and sweat making everything slick and shiny. The wet sounds of her cum-filled pussy taking him mixed with the sharp slap of skin on skin.

She came again, grinding down hard as her pussy pulsed and gushed around his cock. “Cumming—fuck, I’m cumming on your cock—” Her voice broke into a high, helpless cry. Her thick thighs shook violently. Volkmar thrust up into her through it, hands still mauling the soft flesh of her ass and the heavy weight of her tits, until she collapsed forward onto his chest, still twitching and clenching around him, breath hot and uneven against his neck.

He didn’t let her rest. He rolled them over without pulling out, hooked her legs high over his shoulders, and started pounding her deep from above. The new angle forced a louder, wetter sound from her with every thrust. Her heavy tits bounced hard between them. Cum from the previous loads was forced out around his cock in thick white streaks that ran down her ass and soaked into the mat beneath them.

“Harder,” she begged, nails digging into the solid muscle of his back. “Use this pussy. Fill me again. I need to feel you cumming inside me. I’m your dirty little cumdump now—don’t stop until I’m leaking everywhere. Please—”

Volkmar’s pace turned brutal. The wet, filthy sounds of her soaked, cum-filled pussy taking every thick inch filled the air. Squelch. PLAP. Squelch. PLAP. Yor’s face was pure bliss—eyes rolled back, mouth open, tongue slightly out as she moaned shamelessly with every deep thrust. Sweat ran down her temples. Her black hair stuck to her flushed cheeks.

She came again, body shaking hard, pussy clamping down around him in tight, rhythmic pulses. The force of it made her thighs tremble against his shoulders. Volkmar kept driving into her through it, then buried himself to the hilt and pumped a third thick load deep into her womb. He stayed buried, grinding in slow, deliberate circles, until every drop was forced as far as it would go. When he finally pulled out, a heavy river of cum poured out of her open pussy, soaking the mats in a widening dark patch.

Yor lay there gasping, thighs still spread wide, pussy twitching and leaking in slow pulses. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat, red handprints, and streaks of cum that ran down her soft belly and inner thighs. The room smelled thick with sex—sweat, her wetness, the heavy scent of fresh cum.

Volkmar stood over her. His cock was still hard, shiny with their mixed mess, the head flushed and leaking a final bead.

“Up,” he said. “We’re not finished. There’s more of the club to use.”

Yor’s eyes were glassy but still hungry. She pushed herself up on shaky arms. Her thick thighs trembled as she got to her feet, cum running down the soft insides of her legs with every step. She followed him out of the private side room and deeper into the main training area of the club.

It was still early enough that the place was completely empty. The long row of mirrors along one wall, the heavy bags, the rows of weight benches, and the open mat space were all theirs. The air was cooler out here, carrying the faint scent of rubber and metal.

Volkmar didn’t waste time. He spun Yor around by the hips, bent her over a low weight bench, and pushed her thick thighs farther apart with his knee. One broad hand pressed between her shoulder blades, keeping her chest down against the cool padding. The other guided his cock—still hard, still slick with her—back to her dripping, cum-filled entrance.

He slammed in to the hilt in one thrust.

Yor’s mouth fell open in a loud, broken moan that echoed slightly in the open space. Her heavy tits flattened against the bench and spilled out the sides, soft flesh spreading. Every hard thrust made them drag and jiggle across the leather. The wet slap of his hips meeting the soft, thick curve of her ass filled the empty club.

PLAP. PLAP. PLAP.

“Fuck—yes—” she gasped, voice hoarse and raw. “So deep from behind. I can feel every thick inch stretching me open again. Your cock feels so good wrecking this pussy. Don’t stop—”

Volkmar fucked her hard and steady. One hand stayed planted on her lower back, holding her in place. The other reached under her to maul one swinging tit, squeezing and lifting the soft weight while he pounded her. Her ass rippled with every impact, the pale flesh jiggling. Cum from the earlier loads was forced out around his cock in creamy white streaks that ran down her inner thighs and dripped onto the floor.

Yor’s face was pressed sideways against the bench—eyes half-lidded, mouth open, tongue slightly out as she moaned with every deep thrust. “Harder. Spank my ass. Make it ripple for you. I’m such a filthy slut for this cock—don’t you dare stop. Use me.”

He gave her a firm, open-handed slap on one cheek. The soft flesh jiggled under the blow. Another slap landed on the other side, harder. Yor’s pussy clenched hard around him. She pushed back to meet every thrust, thick thighs trembling, feet barely flat on the floor.

She came with a high, shaky cry, body locking up, pussy pulsing and gushing around his cock in wet spasms. Volkmar kept pounding through it without slowing. The wet, filthy sounds of her soaked, cum-filled pussy taking him were loud in the empty club—squelch, PLAP, squelch, PLAP.

When the worst of her orgasm started to fade he pulled out, flipped her onto her back on the same bench, and hooked her long legs over his shoulders. He folded her almost in half and drove back in deep. The new angle made her eyes roll back hard.

“Yes—fuck me and use me,” she panted, voice cracking. “I love feeling you this deep. Your cock is stretching me so wide. Pound me until I can’t think straight. Fill me again—I need another load. Please—”

He fucked her with powerful, driving strokes. Her heavy tits bounced wildly between them, pale flesh rippling. He leaned down and kissed her messily, tongues sliding together, while one hand mauled a soft tit, fingers sinking deep into the flesh and pinching the stiff nipple. The wet slap of their bodies meeting was constant and filthy.

Yor’s face was pure need—eyes rolled back, mouth open against his, broken moans spilling out with every thrust. She came again hard, squirting around his cock as her whole body shook. Her thighs clamped tight against his shoulders. Volkmar buried himself deep and unloaded a fourth thick load straight into her womb, grinding in tight circles until every drop was forced as deep as it would go.

When he pulled out, a heavy stream of cum followed, running down the soft curve of her ass and dripping onto the bench in thick white trails.

Yor was still trembling when he pulled her up. He lifted her easily—her thick thighs wrapping around his waist, arms looping around his neck—and carried her a few steps to the open mat space directly in front of the long mirrors. He lined himself up and sank back inside her while standing, hands gripping the soft flesh of her ass and bouncing her on his cock.

The reflection showed everything in sharp detail: her pale, curvy body impaled on his thick cock, heavy tits bouncing and dragging against his chest, ass rippling in his hands with every upward thrust. Cum leaked out around him with every bounce and ran down his thighs.

“Oh my god—fuck—” Yor moaned against his neck, voice high and broken. “So deep like this. I can feel you in my stomach. You’re so strong—just holding me up and using me however you want. Don’t stop. Fuck me harder. I can take it.”

Volkmar bounced her faster. The wet squelch of her cum-filled pussy taking him mixed with the soft, rhythmic slap of her ass against his hands. Her heavy tits jiggled and dragged against his chest with every movement. She could see their reflection clearly—her face slack with pleasure, mouth open, eyes glassy and unfocused, black hair sticking to her sweat-damp cheeks.

She came again, legs locking tight around his waist, pussy clamping down hard as she gushed around him. Her arms tightened around his neck. Volkmar kept fucking her through it, then carried her the last few steps to a flat bench and laid her down without pulling out. He hooked her legs over his shoulders one final time and pounded her deep and hard, the wet sounds of their bodies filling the empty space, until she came again with a broken, high cry that echoed off the mirrors.

Only then did he bury himself to the hilt and pump a final thick load into her. He stayed deep, grinding slowly, until her pussy had milked every last drop. When he finally pulled out, a heavy river of cum poured out of her, soaking the bench and running down the soft insides of her thighs in thick white trails that dripped onto the floor.

Yor lay there gasping, body covered in sweat, red handprints, and streaks of cum. Her heavy tits rose and fell with every ragged breath. Her thick thighs were still spread open, pussy twitching and leaking in slow, heavy pulses.

Volkmar stood over her for a moment, breathing hard, then helped her sit up. Cum continued to leak out of her in thick trails that ran down the bench.

Yor looked up at him, face flushed and shiny, eyes still hazy but deeply satisfied. A small, tired smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“That…” she managed, voice rough and used, “was the best training session I’ve ever had.”

Volkmar gave a low, satisfied sound and ran a hand over the red marks his hands had left on her hips and the soft curve of her ass, feeling the heat still in her skin.

“Same time tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll work on your stamina.”

Yor’s lips curved into a small, filthy smile. She was still leaking onto the bench, thighs sticky, body thoroughly used and marked.

“I’ll be here,” she said. “Don’t hold back next time either.”

He nodded once, already looking at her like he was planning exactly how he would train her again tomorrow.

The empty club was quiet except for their breathing and the soft, steady drip of cum onto the floor.