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It started as a typical enough Thursday.


We were in port for a long weekend after two weeks underway for whatever exercise du jour was in the cards for our shortened workup cycle. As was our custom when I was in town, Thursday nights meant yoga, or “90 minutes, 26 poses, and 104 degrees of foreplay,” as her roommate referred to it after attending a class with us once. As was our custom, we each had to use every ounce of willpower we possessed to focus on the poses, the breathing, the technique, and find our centers, resisting the animal urges to indulge in the visual smorgasbords that were our bodies.
Even though we both took it seriously, I could feel the distracted energy emanating from her body as strongly as it must have been emitting from my own.

Finally, the class was over and she made a beeline for me as we quietly left the studio, wrapping her long arms around my chest from behind, and leaning in to coyly whisper in my ear,



"Let's hurry up and get out of here. I have some fun ideas for things to do tonight, since you don't have to work tomorrow..."



As I went to put my shirt back on, she stopped me, noticing the bruise on my side that was just starting to turn a dark shade of purple. Her eyes met mine as her fingers lightly traced around the edges of the mark.



"Rugby?" she asked, a vaguely amused look curling the corners of her mouth.



"Rugby." I confirmed, shrugging slightly and bracing for what was coming next.



"You boys and your silly macho games, always trying to show off for each other," she teased, her fingers now lightly tracing over the hard outlines of the muscles in my shoulders, my biceps, my pecs.



I snorted. "...says the girl who's idea of an awesome second date was a Bikram yoga class."



I wrapped an arm around her slender waist, pulling her to me until we were eye to eye.



"And don't even try to tell me that wasn't about showing off."



She batted her big green eyes at me playfully and hooked her hands behind my neck as my other arm naturally fell to also rest around the waist.



"Oh, that absolutely had nothing to do with showing off," she replied, her voice getting husky with seduction. "it was about seeing if you'd be able to keep up with me.'



"Plus," she added, giving me a quick peck on the lips, "I just wanted an excuse to see you without a shirt on."



"And...?"



"And what?"



"Did you like what you saw?" I pressed, squeezing her closer to me. I heard her breath catch in her throat in surprise, and through her thin sports bra and sweat soaked tank top, I could feel her heartbeat accelerating.



"If you get me home quickly enough, you might just find out for yourself," she replied, barely loud enough for me to hear.



Less than a minute later we were heading for the 805 Freeway as fast as I could negotiate my little red Prelude through the twisty canyon roads of eastern San Diego. Even though the temperature would soon begin to drop with the quickly gathering darkness, we had the sun roof open and the windows down, enjoying the unusually warm mid-October evening.



Our on-ramp for the freeway was coming up quickly, and I shot a wolfish grin in her direction. The gaze that met mine veritably combusted as one of her hands went for the door handle, the other went for the armrest, and she stretched those long, long, long, long legs out to brace in the footwell.



Faster than conscious thought I rolled onto the clutch, dove into the brakes, and downshifted to third. With a continuation of those motions, I rolled my heel back onto the throttle and eased off the clutch as I simultaneously cranked the wheel to the right. All 270 painstakingly massaged horsepower pushed us back into our seats as the meticulously tuned suspension bit into the curve. In the seat next to me, she squealed with delight as the little sports car rocketed up the ramp and onto the freeway.



Within a handful of adrenaline-fueled heartbeats I had us at a steady 75 as we picked our way through traffic, her long, dark brown, almost black hair blowing in the wind as we laughed and sang along to everything on the radio. Meanwhile, my right hand had inexplicably found her lap and was deliberately stroking her lean , muscular thigh . At the same time, her left hand had found its way up to the back of my head and was idly playing there, caressing my scalp and ears.



After what felt like an eternity, the exit to her condo came up, and with the same practiced ease I smoothly made the transition from freeway to surface streets.



Her hand found mine atop the gearshift knob.

"Have I mentioned recently how much it turns me on when you drive like that?"



Once again, her voice was dripping with desire and just a touch of urgency.



"Well then, I'll keep driving this way to get us back to your place as quickly as possible," I teased, squeezing her held hand as we jointly eased the transmission into fourth gear for the last bit of the sprint to her complex.



The race to find a parking space, grab our mats, water bottles, and towels, sprint for her condo, and wait for her shaky fingers to fumble for the right key seemed to take even longer than the drive down the 805.



After a brief struggle as our still sweaty bodies fell against the door and each other, her key slid smoothly into the lock, the knob was turned, and our tangle of limbs, lips, and hormones tumbled into the living room.



The two roommates who were home gave exaggerated rolls of their eyes as we continued our tumble through the living room, down the hallway, and to her bedroom.



Before the latch clicked shut she was peeling her skin tight tank top up her long, gently muscled torso, pulling it over her head before frantically throwing her hands around my neck, pulling her to me as hard as she could, and forcing her lips against mine. My own hands dropped to the gentle swell of her hips, then settled onto the firm, perfectly rounded cheeks of her perfectly heart-shaped ass. A soft moan escaped around the edges of her mouth as she forced her tongue between my slightly parted lips. Electric sparks of pure, unadulterated lust shot between us anywhere we touched each other, the room getting hotter with each passing heartbeat of our rapidly rising pulses.



I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, but she broke the kiss long enough shake her head slightly, her green eyes now a roaring inferno.



"Not yet," she teased.



"Shower?" I asked, my arousal sapping my brain of too much blood to allow for any responses more than a single word.



"I'm not ready for us to get clean yet. We're already dirty, and I have a pretty great idea for how we can get even dirtier."



With a sudden burst of strength, she turned us around, and with a hard push to my chest, sent me backwards onto her bed.



"Don't. Move." She ordered tersely, a surprisingly serious look crossing her face.



I knew better than to ignore it.





When she was satisfied I was taking her directions seriously, she sasheyed over to her desk, making sure I was taking in every flawless inch of her long, long, long, long legs.



Two presses on her computer's keyboard, and her favorite sexy time playlist picked up where we'd left off last night.







Throwing an impish glance over her shoulder at me, she rummaged through a drawer, pulling something out that she placed on top of her dresser, obscured behind her back as she turned to face to me. Her eyes locked on to mine and she bit her lip as she crossed her arms and hooked her fingers under her light gray sports bra. She swayed in time to the music, her body finding the rhythm instinctually. My own breath caught in my throat as I soaked in every detail of the impossibly salacious striptease that was beginning before me.
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Tiger In A Cage

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