My Boxing Partner's Stocking Cock

The gym stank of sweat and old leather, the heavy bags still swaying from the last round of abuse. Alex’s fists throbbed inside the wraps, knuckles raw where the tape had bitten deep. He’d been sparring with Jordan for three solid months now, ever since she’d walked into the late-night open sessions looking like pure trouble in those painted-on compression shorts and a sports bra that barely contained the soft swell of her chest. Twenty-six, sharp jaw, hips that rolled when she moved, and a right hook that had dropped him more times than he liked to admit. He was twenty-eight, lean muscle carved from skipping rope and endless pad work, and he’d been hard for her since the first time she grinned and told him to keep his guard up.

Tonight the place was empty. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in that cheap blue-white glare. They’d gone twelve rounds on the mitts, then body work until both of them were dripping. Jordan’s dark hair stuck to her neck in wet strands. Every time she pivoted, those tight black shorts rode up the curve of her ass, and Alex’s cock twitched in his own trunks like it had a fucking mind of its own. He kept telling himself it was just the sparring high, the way her thighs flexed, the low laugh she gave when she slipped his jab. Bullshit. He’d jerked off thinking about her mouth three nights running.

“Hit the showers,” Jordan called, voice rough from exertion. She peeled off her gloves and tossed them toward her bag. “I need five minutes to cool down before I peel this shit off.”

Alex nodded, still breathing hard, and headed for the locker room first. He stripped, rinsed the salt off his skin under the lukewarm spray, towelled quick, and yanked on fresh shorts and a loose tank. His mind kept circling back to the way Jordan’s cock had pressed against the front of her compression shorts during clinches—thick, heavy outline he’d pretended not to notice every single time. She never hid it. Just let it sit there, proud, while she danced around him on the balls of her feet. He’d catch himself staring and force his eyes back to her face, only to find her already watching him with that knowing little smirk.

He stepped back into the main gym to grab his water bottle and nearly walked straight into her.

Jordan stood by the heavy bag, mid-change. She’d already shucked the sports bra; small, perfect tits jiggled as she bent to shove the compression shorts down her hips. Underneath she wore sheer black stockings—thigh-highs, the kind with the wide lace tops that dug into soft flesh. The nylon clung to her long legs like a second skin, shiny under the lights, and nestled between them was her cock. Thick, half-hard already, the dark shaft outlined perfectly against the sheer mesh where the stockings met bare skin above. No panties. Just that heavy meat hanging, balls drawn tight, the tip flushed and glistening with a bead of precome that caught the light.

Alex froze. Water bottle slipped from his fingers and clattered on the mats.

Jordan looked up. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t cover. She just straightened slowly, shorts pooled around one ankle, and let him look. Her cock twitched under his stare, thickening further until it stood out proud against the black nylon, veins visible through the thin fabric stretched across the base.

“Fuck,” Alex breathed. His own dick surged hard so fast it hurt, tenting the front of his shorts without shame.

Jordan’s mouth curved. She kicked the shorts free and stepped closer, stockings whispering. Sweat still sheened her collarbones, trickled between her tits. “You finally decided to stop pretending you weren’t staring every damn session?”

Alex’s throat worked. He could smell her—clean sweat and something warmer, musky, pure cock. “I… yeah. Jesus, Jordan. Those stockings—”

“I wear them under everything.” She closed the last foot of space. Her hand came up, palm flat on his chest, feeling the hammer of his heart. “Makes me feel fucking sexy when I’m beating the shit out of you. You like it?”

He nodded once, sharp. His eyes dropped again to that thick length, the way the sheer black stretched over the head now, transparent enough he could see the slit weeping. “Been wanting to put my hands on you for months. Didn’t know if… if you’d want that.”

Jordan laughed low, raw. She reached down, cupped her own cock through the nylon, gave it a slow stroke so the fabric dragged over the sensitive head. “Wanted your hands on me since the night you almost knocked me on my ass with that left hook. Look at you. All lean muscle and hungry eyes. You hard right now, Alex?”

He didn’t answer with words. Just grabbed her wrist and shoved her palm against the rigid outline in his shorts. She squeezed, and a groan tore out of him. Jordan’s fingers traced the shape, thumb pressing the underside.

“Thick,” she murmured. “Been thinking about this while I jacked off in the showers after you left. Wondering if you’d freak if you saw what I keep tucked away.”

“Not freaking.” Alex’s voice came out rough. He stepped in until their bodies almost touched, until the head of her stocking-covered cock nudged the front of his shorts. Heat rolled off her. “Wanted to drop to my knees half the fucking time you had me in the clinch. Feel it. Taste it.”

Jordan’s breath hitched. She rolled her hips once, deliberate, dragging that thick shaft up the length of his trapped dick. The sheer nylon rasped. Precome smeared a dark spot through the fabric. “Then why the hell are we still talking?”

Alex’s hands found her waist, thumbs stroking the soft skin just above the lace tops of the stockings. He could feel the muscle underneath, the power that had been matching him blow for blow. His fingers slid lower, tracing the edge of the lace where it dug into her thighs, then around to cup the heavy weight of her balls through the mesh. Jordan cursed softly and pushed into the touch.

“Been dying to get these off you,” he said, voice dropping. “Or leave them on. Fuck. Either way.”

She reached between them and shoved his shorts down just far enough to free his cock. It sprang out hard and flushed, the head already slick. Jordan wrapped her fingers around both of them together—his and hers, the nylon of her stockings trapped between the two shafts—and stroked once, slow and filthy. The friction was insane: silk-smooth fabric, hot skin, the wet slide of their combined precome soaking through.

Alex’s hips jerked. “Christ—”

“Feel that?” Jordan’s free hand hooked the back of his neck, pulling his forehead to hers. Their breaths mixed, hot and ragged. “That’s months of me wanting you to catch me just like this. Walk in while I’m peeling down and see exactly what I’ve got for you.”

He thrust into her grip, cock sliding against the thick length of hers. The stockings stretched tighter with every stroke, outlining every ridge and vein. Alex’s hand left her waist and wrapped around both of them too, bigger palm covering hers, squeezing so their dicks were locked together in a tight, slick tunnel of fingers and nylon. They rutted like that, standing in the middle of the empty gym, the only sounds the wet slick of skin and fabric and their harsh breathing.

Jordan’s cock pulsed hard against his. A thick string of precome welled from her tip and dripped down onto his knuckles. “You gonna let me bend you over one of those benches one night? Or you wanna sink into me while I keep these stockings on and feel that lace scrape your thighs?”

Alex’s answer was a growl. He kissed her—messy, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth. She tasted like salt and want. Their hands kept working between them, faster now, chasing the edge without going over. His free hand slid up her side, cupped one small tit, thumb flicking the tight nipple until she moaned into his mouth.

When they broke apart she was panting, pupils blown wide. Her cock throbbed in their shared grip, the head an angry purple through the soaked sheer black.

“Locker’s empty,” she whispered against his lips. “No cameras back there. You walk in on me again and I might just drop these stockings to my ankles and let you do whatever the fuck you want.”

Alex’s balls drew up tight. He forced his hand to slow, to just hold them both, feeling every heartbeat pulse through the thick shafts pressed together. “Don’t lock the door next time. I want to catch you again. Want to see this—” he squeezed her cock hard through the nylon “—every night after we spar. Want you dripping down your stockings while I get on my knees.”

Jordan’s laugh was pure heat. She gave them both one last long stroke, then let go and stepped back just enough that their cocks bobbed free, shiny and desperate. The front of her stockings was wrecked—translucent, clinging, soaked. A fresh bead of precome slid down the underside of her shaft and disappeared into the lace.

She bent, scooped up her shorts, but didn’t put them on. Just held them loose in one hand, standing there in nothing but the sheer black thigh-highs and that thick, aching cock on full display.

“Tomorrow night,” she said, voice low and sure. “Same time. I’ll be peeling down right here again. You walk in, and we stop pretending this is just sparring.”

Alex tucked himself away with difficulty, shorts tented obscenely. His mouth watered. The image of her bent over the bench, stockings stretched tight, that heavy cock hanging heavy between her thighs, burned behind his eyes.

“I’ll be here early,” he managed.

Jordan smiled—slow, filthy, full of promise—and turned toward the lockers, hips swaying, the lace tops of her stockings framing the perfect curve of her ass and the thick root of her cock still half-visible from behind.

Alex stood frozen on the mats long after she disappeared, heart hammering, cock leaking steadily into his shorts. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

Alex showed up twenty minutes early the next night, the gym already locked to the public, lights humming the same cheap blue. His wraps were on, gloves dangling from one hand, but he didn’t bother warming up. He pushed through the door to the main floor and stopped dead.

Jordan was exactly where she’d promised—by the heavy bag, back to him, peeling the compression shorts down her hips in one slow roll. The sheer black thigh-highs gleamed under the fluorescents, lace tops biting into soft thigh meat. Her cock sprang free already hard, thick and dark, the sheer nylon stretched tight over the swollen head so every ridge and vein showed through the mesh. A fat bead of precome darkened the fabric right at the slit.

She heard his boots on the mat and glanced over her shoulder, that knowing smirk already curling her mouth. She didn’t rush. Just hooked her thumbs in the waistband and pushed the shorts the rest of the way down, stepping out of them deliberate as hell so her cock bounced heavy against her belly. Fully revealed now, stocking-clad and aching, it jutted straight out, balls tight and shiny beneath the lace.

“There he is,” she said, voice low and rough. “Right on time to stare.”

Alex’s throat locked. His own cock surged so hard it strained the front of his trunks, leaking instantly. He couldn’t look away—didn’t want to. The way the nylon hugged every inch of her, translucent and wet already, made his mouth water. He took one step closer, then another, gloves forgotten on the floor.

Jordan turned fully to face him, hips cocked, one hand drifting down to cup her shaft through the sheer black. She stroked once, slow, dragging the fabric over the sensitive head until more precome soaked through. “Go on. Look all you fucking want. I wore them for you.”

“I’ve been thinking about this every second since last night,” Alex admitted, the words scraping out raw. “Fantasized about you just like this for weeks—months. Catching you mid-change, that thick cock outlined in sheer stockings, dripping while you make me watch. I’d jack off in the shower after every session picturing my tongue on that lace, tasting you through it. Wanted to drop to my knees right here on the mats and choke on it while you still had gloves on.”

The hunger in his voice hit her like a body shot. Jordan’s cock twitched hard, a fresh string of precome stretching from the tip to the floor. She stepped in close, closed the last space between them until the hot nylon-covered head nudged the rigid line of his dick through his shorts. Her free hand came up, cupped his face, thumb stroking the sweat-damp stubble along his jaw. Her eyes locked on his, dark and open.

“You want to worship this exactly as it is?” she asked, quiet but filthy, no teasing left. “Stockings on, cock hard and leaking for you, no hiding what I’ve got? You want me just like this—trans, packing, and fucking aching for your mouth?”

“Yes,” Alex answered without a second’s pause, voice thick with need. “Fuck yes. Exactly as you are. Want every inch.”

That was all it took. Jordan’s fingers slid from his cheek into his hair, gripping just tight enough to tip his head. She rolled her hips, dragging that thick stocking-clad cock up the length of his trapped shaft, the sheer fabric rasping, precome smearing a dark wet stripe across his shorts. Alex groaned and grabbed her waist, thumbs digging into the soft give above the lace tops.

He dropped to his knees right there on the mats, the impact jarring up through him. Jordan’s cock bobbed in front of his face, heavy and flushed purple through the soaked nylon, the head shiny and weeping. He nuzzled in first, breathing her in—musk and clean sweat and the faint scent of whatever lotion she used on her skin. His tongue dragged up the underside through the mesh, tasting salt and heat, the fabric rough and slick under his mouth.

Jordan cursed soft and filthy, hips punching forward so the head smeared across his lips. “That’s it. Open up. Worship it.”

Alex did. He sucked the nylon-covered tip into his mouth, tongue working the slit through the sheer black, sucking hard enough that more precome flooded over his taste buds. The stockings stretched tight over her shaft as he took more, cheeks hollowing, nose pressing into the soft skin above the root. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs, fingers tracing the lace edges, then cupped her balls, rolling them gentle while he bobbed deeper.

She was thick enough that the head nudged the back of his throat even with the fabric barrier. He gagged wetly, eyes watering, but didn’t pull off—just swallowed around her and moaned, the vibration making her thighs shake. Jordan’s hand stayed in his hair, guiding without forcing, letting him set the pace while she watched every filthy second.

“Look at you,” she panted. “My sparring partner on his knees, drooling all over my stocking cock like he’s been starving for it. Been wanting this every time you clinched me, huh? Feeling it press against your stomach and wishing it was in your mouth instead.”

Alex pulled off just long enough to rasp, “Every goddamn time,” before diving back in. He licked long stripes up the shaft, teeth gently scraping the lace, then sucked one heavy ball into his mouth through the nylon, tongue swirling. Her cock slapped wet against his cheek, leaving shiny trails. He wrapped one hand around the base and stroked in time with his mouth, twisting on the upstroke so the soaked fabric dragged over every sensitive vein.

Jordan’s hips started fucking his face in short, controlled thrusts, the wet sounds of spit and precome echoing in the empty gym. Sweat dripped from her collarbones onto his forehead. Alex’s free hand shoved his own shorts down, freeing his cock so he could fist it hard and fast, matching her rhythm. Precome drooled over his knuckles as he stared up at her—small tits heaving, abs tight, that powerful body still dressed only in the ruined thigh-highs while he worshipped every inch of her.

She tugged his hair, pulling him off with a wet pop. Strings of spit connected his swollen lips to her glistening cockhead. “Stand up. Touch me properly.”

Alex rose on shaky legs. Their mouths crashed together, tongues sliding, tasting her own salt on him. Jordan shoved his tank up and off, palms roaming the hard planes of his chest, pinching a nipple until he hissed. He returned the favor, cupping her tits, thumbs flicking the tight peaks while their cocks ground together—his bare and leaking, hers still trapped in sheer black, the friction filthy and perfect.

His hand dropped between them, wrapping both shafts again the way they had last night. The nylon was soaked through now, translucent and clinging, every pulse of her heartbeat visible. He stroked them together, slow and tight, smearing their combined slick until it dripped onto the mats. Jordan moaned into his mouth and reached back to grab his ass, hauling him closer so they rutted dirty and desperate.

“Wanna feel you inside these stockings later,” she breathed against his lips. “Wanna bend over that bench and let you fuck me while I stay hard in the nylon. Or maybe I’ll keep them on and sink into you first. You choose. Just don’t stop touching me.”

Alex’s grip tightened, twisting harder on the upstroke. “Both. Fuck—both. I want your cock in my ass while these lace tops scrape my thighs. Want to come with you buried in me, still dressed like this. Then flip you over and take you while you stroke yourself through the mesh.”

Jordan’s laugh was pure raw need. She bit his lower lip, then kissed down his jaw to his throat, sucking a mark there while their hands kept working between them. Her free fingers slipped lower, behind his balls, pressing the sensitive skin there until his hips bucked wildly.

They stayed locked like that, grinding and stroking in the middle of the gym floor, sweat-slick bodies sliding, the only light the harsh fluorescents turning every wet gleam pornographic. Alex’s balls drew up tight. He was so close already—had been since the second he walked in and saw her peeling those shorts down. But he forced himself to slow, to just hold her cock in his fist and feel it throb, thick and alive and exactly what he’d fantasized about for weeks.

Jordan pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen. Her hand covered his on their joined shafts, guiding a few more lazy strokes. “Locker room. Now. I want you on your back on the bench with your mouth open while I feed you this stocking cock until you can’t breathe anything but me.”

Alex nodded, dazed with lust, and let her lead him by the cock toward the back. The lace tops of her stockings brushed his legs with every step, her heavy shaft still bobbing wet and hard, leaving a shiny trail of precome on the mats as they went. Tomorrow night had finally arrived, and neither of them was done taking what they wanted.

They shoved through the locker-room door in a tangle of hands and wet skin, the heavy fire door swinging shut behind them with a dull clang that sealed the empty space. Fluorescent tubes flickered over the scarred wooden benches and rows of dented lockers. Jordan spun Alex the second they cleared the threshold, shoved him hard enough that his thighs slammed the edge of the nearest bench, and bent him double over it. The rough wood bit into his hips. She ripped his shorts down in one vicious yank; the fabric tore at the seam and puddled around his ankles, freeing his cock so it slapped heavy against the underside of the bench.

“Stay the fuck there,” she growled, voice raw with the same hunger that had been building since the mats. She spit into her palm, slicked the thick head of her stocking-sheathed cock, and lined up. The sheer nylon was still soaked from his earlier mouth, translucent and shiny, the lace tops digging into her thighs as she pressed forward. The blunt head nudged his hole, stretched him, then punched inside in one deep, relentless slide. Alex’s shout bounced off the metal lockers. She was thick, hotter than he’d imagined, the silk mesh dragging over every nerve as she bottomed out and held there, hips flush to his ass, balls tight against him.

“Jesus—Jordan—” He braced both hands on the far side of the bench, knuckles white. She didn’t give him time to adjust. She pulled back until just the head stretched him and slammed home again, setting a brutal, pounding rhythm that shook the bench legs against the tile. Each stroke drove the air from his lungs; the nylon rasped inside him, a filthy second skin that made every thrust feel rougher, wetter. Sweat flew from her collarbones and landed hot on his back.

Alex reached between his own spread thighs, fingers searching until they closed around the thick, silk-covered shaft pistoning into him. He could feel every ridge and vein through the mesh, the way her cock pulsed and swelled as she fucked him raw. He stroked her in time with her hips, twisting his fist on the upstroke so the fabric dragged over her sensitive underside while the rest of her length kept splitting him open. The dual sensation made her snarl and drive harder.

“That’s it—milk it while I wreck this ass,” she panted, one hand fisting his hair, yanking his head back so his spine arched. “Feel how hard you make me? Been dreaming about burying this cock in you every night I walked out of here dripping.” Her free hand cracked across his ass cheek, then gripped the flesh hard enough to bruise as she hammered deeper. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the locker room, undercut by the wet squelch of her precome soaking the stockings and leaking out around her shaft to drip down his balls. Alex’s own cock swung untouched beneath the bench, leaking a steady string onto the floor. Every thrust shoved him forward; every stroke of his hand on her silk-sheathed length pulled her deeper into the spiral.

She fucked him like that until his thighs trembled and his hole clenched greedily around every inch. Then she wrenched free with a wet pop that left him gaping and empty. “On your knees. Now.”

Alex dropped, legs unsteady, shorts still tangled at his ankles. Jordan sat heavily on the bench he’d just been bent over, thighs spread wide, that thick stocking-covered cock jutting up glistening and angry-purple at the tip. Spit and precome had turned the sheer black into a shiny second skin. He dove on it without being told, mouth stretching wide around the mesh-wrapped head, tongue working the slit through the fabric until more salt flooded him. He took her deep, messy, cheeks hollowing, spit pouring down the shaft and soaking the lace tops. She fucked up into his throat in short punches, one hand planted on the back of his skull, the other bracing on the bench.

“Sloppy fucking boy,” she hissed, hips rolling. “Look at the mess you’re making on my stockings. Been waiting months to watch you choke on this.” Alex gagged wetly, eyes streaming, but he stayed down, bobbing faster, one hand rolling her balls through the nylon while the other jerked his own neglected cock. The stocking tasted of her musk and his own spit; every ridge dragged over his tongue. He pulled off only long enough to gasp air and lick long filthy stripes from base to tip before swallowing her again, throat fluttering around the head.

Jordan’s thighs started to shake. She shoved him back by the hair, stood, and pushed him onto his back across the bench. The wood was cool against his sweat-slick spine. She straddled him reverse-cowgirl in one smooth motion, facing his feet, the lace tops of her stockings brushing his hips as she reached back, gripped his cock, and sank down onto it. Her ass was tight, hot, gripping him inch by inch until she was fully seated, the weight of her grinding his hips into the bench. Her own cock stood stiff and dripping above his stomach, still trapped in the ruined sheer black.

She started to ride—hard, grinding circles that dragged her hole up and down his shaft while the heavy weight of her stocking cock slapped against his abs. Alex’s hands flew to her hips, then around to fist her silk-sheathed length. He stroked her in time with every bounce, twisting the soaked fabric over the swollen head, smearing precome down the shaft until his fist shone. The reverse angle let him watch everything: the way her ass flexed as she took him deep, the lace digging into soft thigh meat, the thick cock jumping in his grip with every grind.

“Fuck—harder, stroke me through it,” she demanded, voice cracking. She leaned forward, hands braced on his knees, slamming her ass down so the bench creaked in protest. Every drop seated him to the root and made her cock throb violently in his pumping fist. Sweat ran down the groove of her spine; her small tits bounced with the force. Alex’s balls drew tight, the wet heat of her gripping him like a fist, but he held off, focused on the slick drag of nylon under his palm, the way her tip flared and leaked thicker every time he thumbed the slit through the mesh.

Jordan’s rhythm turned frantic, thighs quivering, ass clenching around him in fluttering pulses. “Gonna paint us—don’t you fucking stop—” Her back arched hard. A raw cry tore out of her as her cock erupted in thick, heavy ropes. The first jet striped across the sheer black stockings coating her own shaft, soaking the fabric darker; the next lashed across Alex’s chest in hot, sticky lines that ran down his pecs and into the hollow of his throat. She kept grinding through it, milking every pulse while he jerked her mercilessly, wringing out more spurts that splattered her lace tops and his stomach until both of them were glazed and dripping.

She didn’t stop moving even as the last tremors shook her. Her hole still fluttered greedily around his cock, and her spent length twitched in his fist, oversensitive and shiny with her own load. Alex’s hips punched up helplessly, chasing the edge she’d denied him, the smell of sex and cum thick in the humid air. Jordan glanced back over her shoulder, eyes dark, lips parted, and rolled her hips in a slow, filthy circle that promised she wasn’t finished taking him apart.

Jordan’s hips rolled in that slow, filthy circle, her tight hole milking every inch of Alex’s cock while her spent shaft twitched in his fist, still leaking the last pearly drops onto his abs. The reverse-cowgirl angle let him watch the lace tops of her stockings dig deeper into her thighs with every grind, the sheer black now a ruined, cum-glazed mess clinging to her thick length. He thrust up hard, burying himself to the root, and she gasped, glancing back over her shoulder with those dark, blown pupils.

“That’s it—fill me,” she growled, voice raw. “Been aching for your load since you first got hard staring at my cock.” Her ass clenched around him in deliberate pulses, the wet heat sucking at his shaft as she bounced harder, the bench creaking under their combined weight. Sweat slicked the groove of her spine; her small tits bounced with the force. Alex’s hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, then slid around to stroke her oversensitive cock through the soaked nylon again, twisting the fabric over the flared head until she whimpered and slammed down harder.

He couldn’t hold back. The sight of her—trans, packing, stockings wrecked and shiny with her own cum, riding him like she owned every inch—shoved him over. His balls drew up tight and he came with a guttural shout, hips punching up as thick ropes flooded her ass. Pulse after pulse pumped deep inside her, the wet heat of it making her hole flutter greedily around him. Jordan kept grinding through it, milking every spurt, her own cock jumping in his fist as fresh precome beaded at the tip. “Fuck yes—feel that? So fucking full of you.”

They stayed locked like that, her seated fully on his cock, both of them panting, the humid locker-room air thick with the scent of sweat, musk, and cum. Alex’s hands roamed up her sides, cupping her tits from behind, thumbs flicking her tight nipples while he still throbbed inside her. Jordan leaned back against his chest, the lace of her stockings brushing his thighs, and reached down to smear their combined mess over her own shaft. She stroked slowly, the cum-soaked mesh dragging over every ridge, then twisted at the waist until she could capture his mouth in a deep, filthy kiss—tongues sliding, tasting salt and want, her spit-slick lips claiming his while she clenched around his spent cock to keep him buried.

Alex groaned into her mouth, still half-hard inside her fluttering heat. He thrust up lazily, feeling his own cum squelch out around his shaft and drip down his balls onto the bench. Jordan’s hand never stopped working her cock through the nylon; she was thickening again already, the sheer black stretched translucent over the swelling head. “Not done,” she murmured against his lips. “Wanna feel you hard again while I stay full of your load.”

She lifted off just enough to let him slip free—his cock shiny and slick with her insides—then spun around to face him, straddling his hips properly this time. The wood was slick under them now. She gripped his shaft, lined it back up, and sank down in one smooth drop, taking him to the hilt again while her own thick cock slapped wet against his stomach. The lace tops scraped his skin as she started riding once more, slower now, deeper, grinding so every inch dragged through her cum-filled hole. Alex’s hands cupped her ass, spreading her wider, thumbs brushing the stretched rim where he disappeared into her.

“Look at us,” she panted, forehead pressed to his, breaths mingling hot. “My stocking cock leaking all over your abs while you wreck me from below. You like feeling your cum slosh inside me every time I bounce?” She rolled her hips in a filthy figure-eight, the mesh-covered head of her cock smearing precome across his pecs. Alex answered by surging up, fucking into her with short, hard thrusts that made her tits jiggle and her shaft bob heavily between them. He wrapped a fist around it again, stroking in time, the soaked fabric squelching under his palm.

Jordan’s head fell back, dark hair sticking to her neck. “Gonna come again—stroke it harder. Want to paint your face while you fill me a second time.” Alex’s free hand slid up to fist her hair, yanking her down into another messy kiss as he pounded up into her. The bench rocked. Her hole clenched rhythmically around him, and when her cock erupted again it was in thick, arcing ropes that striped his chest, chin, and lips—hot, sticky jets that she smeared across his mouth with the head while she rode out the orgasm. The taste of her flooded him; he licked it off, sucking the nylon-covered tip clean even as his own balls tightened once more.

He came with her still grinding down, flooding her deeper, the excess bubbling out around his shaft to soak the lace tops pressed against his thighs. They collapsed together, still joined, her full weight on him, both breathing hard in ragged sync. Cum dripped between them, cooling on their skin. Jordan’s cock softened slowly against his stomach, still nestled in the ruined sheer black, twitching with aftershocks.

For a long minute they just stayed like that—his cock softening inside her wet heat, her body draped over his, hearts hammering. Then she lifted her head and kissed him slow and filthy, tongues lazy, tasting herself on him. Without breaking the kiss she reached down, peeled one cum-soaked stocking off her leg in a long, deliberate roll. The nylon came free with a wet whisper, shiny with their mixed loads, the lace top sticky. She wrapped it around his spent cock like a trophy, winding the sheer black tight so it hugged every softening inch, the fabric clinging translucent and filthy.

Alex’s laugh was rough, satisfied. He thrust once into the makeshift wrap, feeling the cool slide of the cum-soaked mesh. “I want this again,” he said against her mouth, voice low and sure. “After every future training session. You peeling down in those stockings, that thick cock hard for me, and me getting on my knees or bending over whatever the fuck you want. Every night. No more pretending it’s just sparring.”

Jordan smiled into the kiss, hips giving one last slow roll that kept him nestled deep. “Deal,” she murmured. Already her mind was turning over the drawer at home—the new pair of white thigh-highs with the deeper lace, the ones that would cling even tighter when soaked. She’d wear them just for him next time, the sheer mesh ready to stretch over her cock the second she shucked her shorts by the heavy bag.

They stayed joined and breathing hard on the scarred bench, the trophy stocking snug around him, the empty locker room humming with the afterglow. Jordan’s fingers traced lazy circles on his chest through the cooling stripes of her cum, and deep in the quiet of her head she held the one secret he didn’t know: tomorrow night wasn’t just the next session—she’d already slipped the gym key to the night janitor with a quiet word that the place would be “occupied late,” ensuring no interruptions while she planned to keep Alex right here until dawn, locked inside her until neither of them could walk straight.