Hot Dads: The DILF Anthology

It was Donna who noticed him first, but then she had always treated the gym as her own personal hunting ground. When we first joined, I had expected that we would enjoy a workout a couple of times a week, perhaps do a few leisurely lengths in the pool, then relax in the whirlpool spa. Instead, while I was dutifully slogging away on the rowing machine or cycling 'til my thighs ached, Donna's eyes were scanning the room for the most nicely-toned male torsos on display. She had a type, too. Usually they were barely into their twenties, with rock-hard muscles and a vacuum between their ears. She would bed them a couple of times, then get bored and move on to the next one. She kept telling me I should do the same; after all, it was months since I'd last had sex. But I wanted a man, not a boy, and I didn't think I would find any among the ranks of posers who spent most of their time admiring their reflections in the gym's mirrored walls as they worked on sculpting their six-packs. Though I did have to concede that when Donna pointed this guy out, Donna was right on targer. As he pounded on the treadmill, I couldn't fail to notice the twin globes of his backside, round and deliciously pert. It was the sort of arse you had to admire; frankly, it would have been rude not to. "Come on, turn round," Donna urged him under her breath as she paused to put her water bottle to the lips she had glossed a perfect pink in the locker room. I had never known a woman apply more makeup before embarking on a workout - not that she ever really did enough to sweat it off once it was in place. "Turn round and show me your beautiful face." But he didn't, not that day or on any of the half-dozen occasions on which we saw him over the next few weeks. He was always on the same treadmill, headphones clamped over his ears, obviously a creature of habit. Occasionally he would lift an arm to wipe his face with one of the sweatbands he wore on each wrist or to glance at his watch, but that was as much of him as we ever saw. Donna had a low boredom threshold, and she had usually dragged me off to the spa or for a smoothie in the gym's juice bar long before our faceless mystery man showed any inclination to move on to another piece of equipment. "I really don't understand the obsession with him," I said, as we sipped some apricot-and-mango concoction which was supposed to give us an energy boost. "I mean, you could have anybody in this place if you wanted." And you've proved it enough times, I added silently. "So why this one?" "Because I like to be noticed," Donna replied, slurping up the last of her smoothie. "And he hasn't noticed me yet." "Well, stay where you are, because he just might be about to." I gestured to the counter, where the object of Donna's interest was paying for a glass of carrot juice. He had swapped his usual shorts for a pair of black sweatpants, but they did nothing to disguise the firm arse which we both found so enticing. He turned, looking for a seat in the crowded bar, and made his way in our direction. I could sense Donna's disappointment as she slumped visibly in her seat. However she might have imagined him to look, I was sure it was nothing like the reality. He was in his thirties, with a nose too big for the rest of his face, ears which stuck out slightly and a growth of stubble on his chin just at the messy stage before it became a full-fledged beard. Too old for her taste, and certainly nowhere near handsome enough. But he had beautiful eyes, I decided as he stopped by our table. Beautiful eyes and a sexily engaging grin. I pulled myself up sharply at that last thought. I wasn't the one who was looking to meet a hot man here - was I? "Is this seat free?" he asked. I saw Donna give me an almost imperceptible shake of the head, but I ignored her and replied, "Sure, help yourself." "I've not seen it this busy in here before," he said, half to himself, "but then I've only been coming here for the last few weeks." "Yeah, we've spotted you a couple of times," I said. "You look to be putting some serious work in. Are you training for a marathon or something?" "No. I used to work out at home, mostly, but then my wife and I split up and she kept the treadmill." If the way he looked hadn't already moved him way down in the potential stud stakes as far as Donna was concerned, that last statement certainly had. An ex-wife meant baggage, and baggage was something she had no intention of dealing with. Abruptly, she rose from her seat. "I think it's time I was off," she announced. "Are you coming, Lea?" "No, I think I'll sit here a bit longer and talk to-" "Ollie," our mystery man offered. I looked at his hands where they rested on the table, noticing for the first time the paler band of flesh on the finger where his wedding ring must have been until fairly recently. They were big, capable-looking hands, and I couldn't help wondering what it might be like to feel them moving over my body. "Okay, Lea, I'll see you in the office tomorrow then. Bright and early." "Was it something I said?" Ollie asked, as Donna slung her gym bag over her shoulder and headed for the exit. I laughed. "No, I think she has to be somewhere. You don't mind, do you?" I was gripped with anxiety that Donna might be the reason Ollie had come to join us, and he wouldn't hang around now that she had gone. Suddenly, it seemed really important to me that that wasn't the case. "Not at all," he said, that grin lighting up his face again. "In fact, I'm glad it's just the two of us. I've been trying to find an opportunity to talk to you before now, but it seems that every time I finish my workout, you've already gone." Damn Donna and her low boredom threshold, I thought. "Well, I'm here now." It was hardly witty banter, I knew that, but something about this man had caught me off balance. Where Donna ran away at any sign of responsibility or an attempt to make a commitment, I had to admit I was attracted to it. So what if this man had only recently come back on the market? Who knew what kind of experiences he'd had while he was out of circulation, and what kind of expertise he might have picked up along the way? I hoped my lustful imaginings weren't showing on my face, but when I glanced back at Ollie, the way he was looking at me suggested they very well might be. "Of course," he said, "we could sit here for a while and make small talk. I could tell you all about my two boys, and how my ex and I are trying to sort out an amicable way of making sure I see them on a regular basis, and how I'm really out of practice at the whole dating thing. And you could sit and make sympathetic noises, and reassure me that I've still got it. But what I really want to do - and I think you want it, too - is something a lot more physical." Was this man I barely knew really suggesting that we go somewhere and fuck each other's brains out? And if he was, why wasn't I telling him that we ought to take it slowly - that I really wasn't the sort of girl who was itching to get naked with a stranger? Though I knew the answer to that. He was right. I did want this just as much as he did. "So what do you have in mind?" I asked. "Come with me," he said, holding out one of those big hands. I took it, and he led me out of the juice bar. No one paid us much attention as we made our way down the corridor, past the dance studio where a raucous salsa class was in full swing, and along to what I quickly realized was one of the staff locker rooms. Ollie popped his head round the door, making sure the place was deserted, then ushered me inside. "We can't do this!" I exclaimed. "What if we get caught?" "Don't worry, we won't." As he spoke, he was picking up a yellow 'cleaning in progress' cone on top of a stack by the door. He quickly placed it in the corridor outside. "That should give us enough time." Clever as well as sexy - this man was clearly full of surprises. It was an irresistible combination, and as he put his hands round my waist and pulled me towards him, I didn't resist. We kissed, tentatively at first as we both grew used to the feel and taste of an unfamiliar mouth, but then with more passion. I could feel Ollie's cock through his sweatpants, swelling and hardening as our bodies pressed together. Suddenly, he pulled away. "Strip for me," he said. "I want to look at you." I didn't even think about not doing what he asked. It felt right for him to take control of the situation. As he stood watching, I rapidly took off my T-shirt and jogging bottoms, wishing I had on something more seductive than my functional sports bra and white cotton knickers beneath them. Not that Ollie seemed to mind; his attention was riveted to me, his expression one of undisguised lust as I removed the bra, revealing my small breasts, their nipples already peaking with excitement. I hesitated for a moment, wondering what would happen if someone walked in on us now despite Ollie's attempts to keep them out. Then my fingers reached for the waistband of my knickers and I pulled them down to bare myself for him completely. "Very nice," he said. "Very nice, indeed." There was a low, slatted bench running along one side of the room, beneath a row of lockers. "Sit there and spread your legs, Lea. I want to watch you play with yourself." This was the rudest thing I had ever been asked to do, but in a submissive haze, I rushed to obey. Not fancying the feel of bare, hard wood beneath my bum cheeks, I placed my discarded T-shirt on the bench, then went to sit on it. Without waiting for further instructions, I dropped a hand down between my legs, into the soft, wet folds of my sex. I took one look at Ollie, who had reached into his sweatpants and was slowly stroking his cock, and I closed my eyes as my finger settled on my clit and I began to tease it. Little whimpers escaped my lips as I touched myself in a way which I knew was guaranteed to have me coming within seconds. I was so worked up by everything we'd done until now. Ollie's dominant manner, the threat of being caught - it was all way beyond anything I'd experienced before. But before I could give in to the pleasure beginning to bubble through my body, I felt my hand being pushed out of the way, only to be replaced by Ollie's probing tongue. I'd been licked before, but never by a man who clearly relished the task as much as Ollie did. I felt as though he was worshipping me with his mouth, running the flat of his tongue along the length of my cleft before using the tip to tickle my clit. Just as I'd hoped, he had learned plenty about pleasing a woman, and he seemed determined to prove just how much pleasure he could give me. I could feel the stubble on his cheeks scratching against my thighs, heightening the sensation, and I grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head further into my crotch. I couldn't form the words to urge him on; the thrills I was receiving had rendered me incapable of speaking. I was on the verge of coming on his tongue and he must have known it, for he pulled out of my grasp and stood up. Before I could object, he was peeling off his clothes, giving me my first look at his cock. It stood up proudly from the cloud of dark hair at his groin, and I almost grabbed at it, eager to taste him the way he had tasted me. Instead, he quickly sheathed it with a condom he had pulled from a pocket, and I found myself being scooped up and pulled down into his lap as he took my place on the bench. Beautifully prepared by his tongue, my pussy slid effortlessly down on his hard length, until he was lodged all the way inside me. He buried his face in my breasts as I began to ride him, treating my nipples to the same wicked tongue flicks he had used on my clit. My climax built again, insatiable, unstoppable, and as it hit me, I cried out his name, not caring that it was echoing off the locker room walls. Within moments Ollie was coming with a force that suggested it had been a while for him, too, and we clung on to each other for a long moment as the world slowed to normal around us.