Julian was, objectively, a star. Nine ITU world championship series and three Ironman series titles in 2016 and 2017 alone, and an Olympic gold medal in Rio for good measure. At twenty-five he was a millionaire, dominating a sport that while not the planet’s most popular, was one that with excellence came hyperbolic accolades such as “world’s greatest athlete.” At 6’2” and 170 pounds he was wiry but built. Every muscle on his frame was chiseled and defined, many of them painted by the dozen or so tattoos that covered his arms, legs, chest, and abs.
As such, Julian was, objectively hot. But he was also nursing an injury. He had come to the Toronto physio clinic in 2018 with a back issue that had flared up during a race in Hamburg. It could be a mild disc herniation, or it could be just the wear and tear of training six hours a day and traveling all over the world to swim, bike, and run.
Naomi was star-struck the moment he came into the clinic, and her heart skipped a beat when she was assigned to be his physiotherapist. An amateur triathlete herself, she paid attention to the elite competitors of that universe. She had been competing for about six years. She took it up to keep weight off after the birth of her child, and it had worked. A thirty-five-year-old brunette, she could pass for a decade younger and had a tight, athletic body with barely an ounce of fat on her.
When they started their sessions, Naomi basically played fangirl by asking Julian to regale her with tales of the triathlon circuit. Working on his lean legs and lower back didn’t necessarily arouse anything else, because working on people’s bodies was her job. It was only when he flipped on his back and she could see his gorgeous green eyes and longer, rock-star-like hair – as well as the noticeable package inside his shorts – that her mind went elsewhere.
Julian knew it, too. It was clear there was a mutual attraction, and he made it his goal to bed her. He knew from their conversations that she was married, but that only served to encourage him further. As a hot young man and elite athlete, he’d never had problems getting laid. He had had sex with almost a hundred women; but the married or otherwise attached ones were his favorite, because the thrill factor was intense and there was often little commitment required.
He began following Naomi on Instagram, knowing that would provide her with a glimpse into the world he knew she was tempted by, while also giving them a private communications channel when needed. It worked like charm. Naomi became one of his 30,000-plus followers and quickly found herself scrolling through his feed, leering at photos of Julian in action, podium finishes, and exotic locales.
Soon enough, she was looking at her husband through a critical lens. Whereas she was in shape and took care of herself, he had steadily been gaining weight for a decade. She had never cheated on him in nine years of marriage, but it dawned on her that might have been because there had never been a true opportunity to do so.
Julian had responded well to three months of physio treatment and planned to make his return to competition at that fall’s Ironman in Hawaii. An MRI by Naomi’s clinic had found no disc herniation. With Labor Day weekend approaching, Naomi let it slip to Julian that her husband and son were heading out of town for a t-ball tournament.
“We should meet up,” he suggested.
Suddenly she realized that fantasy could become reality, and she was nervous. She battled over the possibilities in her head for days.
On the Saturday of the long weekend, her husband and son left. She almost messaged Julian twice before stopping herself. The following afternoon, however, something changed. It was particularly hot and humid; the kind of weather that usually made her horny. She also had nothing to do and was bored.
“What r u up to today?” she messaged Julian via Instagram DM.
He replied that he had no plans other than to play soccer with some friends at a certain park. “You’re welcome to meet up,” he messaged back.
Naomi quickly felt a strange sensation of freedom. With the house to herself, she drew a bath. Using a disposable razor, she shaved her legs and cleaned up her area, shaping a landing strip. When she was finished, she put on a pair of torn jean shorts and a tight black polo crop top.
An hour and a half later, she was sitting in her Jeep Wrangler watching Julian play soccer on the field in front of her. He had his shirt off, and the heat seemed to have no effect on him as he dominated play, scoring two goals. As the game was wrapping up, Naomi went to the sideline.
“Your back seems fine,” she said, as he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
“You look fine,” he said.
Julian suggested they go for a drink and something to eat somewhere, but with the caveat that he had to “stop at my place to change” first.
Naomi felt a surge of nervous energy, but agreed.
She followed him to his condo complex, where she got a look at his house for the first time. It was stunning; a glass-walled corner unit with a beautiful view of the city, and a kitchen area with two leather-backed stools at the counter. She perched herself on one as Julian disappeared into the bedroom.
When he re-emerged he was pulling on a deep-V henley, and he asked her if she wanted a drink.
“I thought we were going out for a drink,” she replied, half-jokingly.
“We could,” he replied seductively. “Or we could work out here.”
With that, he leaned in and kissed her deeply on the lips.
Naomi’s head started spinning, but it didn’t stop her from kissing him back hard. Within seconds, they were both tugging at each other’s clothes, and the henley was back off. She began running her hands up and down his chest and torso, while he slid his hand up her crop top.
Instinctively, she reached into his shorts to feel his rapidly swelling manhood. When he dropped his shorts, it snapped up off his belly button. It was the longest, thickest cock Naomi had ever seen, and it was rock hard. She licked her hand and started pumping it, working the uncircumcised tip with her thumb.
“I wanna fuck you right now,” Julian blurted out.
They were in a frenzy and there would be little foreplay. He undid her belt and pulled off her shorts as she lifted her legs up, still sitting on the stool. As he rubbed her pussy from outside her panties, they became more engorged with her moisture.
“You’re so wet,” he gasped, pulling them off too.
Naomi kept her legs raised and sat back a bit on the stool. She was still wearing her top, but started rubbing her own nipples through it as Julian stood over her and slid his cock inside her.
“Oh fuck!” she moaned as he began fucking her with slow, languid strokes, his entire manhood not yet inside her. But his cadence increased with each thrust, and soon she was completely filled. The condo echoed with her moans, his groans, and the slapping of skin. Pushing her legs up higher, he fucked her harder.
“Oh my god, fuck!” she screamed over and over again as Julian’s cock went into jackhammer mode. Naomi came quickly, her whole body shivering as she tried to buck up harder into him. When Julian pulled out, it sounded an audible pop, and a flood of her juices covered the leather seat. He then shot a thick rope of come all over her bare torso, her black top, and even some on her neck.
“Ahhh fuck!” he exhaled loudly.
Using one hand to try and jerk off every last drop out of him, she absentmindedly used her other hand to rub his essence all over her stomach. Julian started laughing and they fell into a kiss.
Their explosive first encounter had barely lasted ten minutes, but now they had kind of an embarrassing problem – Naomi’s black shirt was covered in his semen.
“You can wash it here if you want,” he offered.
Throwing the top in the washing machine, Julian rolled a joint.
“This is like the only unhealthy thing I do,” he said. “It helps with the stress of competition.”
Both naked on the couch, they relaxed and smoked it together. Within a few minutes, the weed had almost put Naomi in an erotic trance. She studied Julian’s lithe body, and started running her fingers all over it. His cock quickly stood at attention again. She began masturbating him, but soon took his manhood in her mouth. Gagging as she tried to deep-throat him, Julian ran his hands through her short brown hair.
“I can’t wait to fuck you again,” he whispered.
Wasting little time, Naomi straddled him, lowering herself onto his column. Her squeals of delight intensified into moans as he filled her once again. She arched her back in response to the tremendous fucking she was getting. Throwing her head skyward as she picked up the pace, her pert tits bounced in rhythm. Julian cupped them, gently pinching and twisting each nipple until they looked like long, erect wine corks.
Naomi was coming over and over again, her pussy contracting with each bounce. Julian felt his orgasm building and suddenly lifted her up and pushed her backwards onto the large leather ottoman. Back on top, he fucked her again with jackhammer strokes until he came hard inside her. She was in total ecstasy as he ran his tongue all over her upper body, and flush from her powerful orgasms, her entire body turned a bright shade of pink.
They showered together after, having sex again on the bathroom floor. They never did make it out for that drink; with her shirt clean and dry later, Naomi ultimately went home at 11 p.m. – some twelve hours before her husband and son would return.
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Postscript: That hot September day was in 2018. Today, Julian is still a world-class triathlete although the pandemic cost almost two years of competition and his primary focus is now the Ironman circuit. Naomi is divorced, and operates her own private physiotherapy business from her townhouse. Her main clients are Julian and many of his fellow triathletes. They are in an open relationship and she accompanies him sometimes to races around the world.