Chapter 14

"Susie?"

I blinked in disorientation, focusing my eyes on Richard as he leaned over me solicitously.

"I'm sorry, Master," I apologized. "I must have dozed off. What did you say?"

It was late at night, a few days after the dinner party with Arlene and Jack. Richard and I had been sitting in the living room, reading; Richard was reading a stimulating volume called "Proceedings of the 3rd International Conference on Cognitive Modeling," and I was getting a head start on my fall classes by reading "The Faerie Queene." I enjoy reading great literature, really. I just tend to fall asleep while doing it, sometimes. Which is a bit odd, when you think about it, since I have trouble falling asleep when I want to. Oh, well.

"I was just suggesting that we go to the gym," Richard said.

I glanced at the clock. It was eleven thirty. "Isn't it a bit late, Master?" I ventured. I was also thinking of other forms of exercise we might engage in without leaving home, I admit. But then, I'm always thinking about that.

"The gym is open until two, and it'll be less crowded at this hour," Richard said. "And we could both use the exercise."

This was undeniably true. With most of my regular tennis partners gone for the summer, I wasn't getting nearly as much playing done as I usually did. And after a steady diet of Richard's cooking, my ass was threatening to open an additional branch. I'd never realized how much the terrible food in the dining hall had helped me to eat less.

"All right, Master," I agreed, getting up and putting Spenser aside with a sensation of mild relief. "I'll get my gym clothes."

The gym was on campus, only a short walk away from the apartment. It was brightly lit, but practically deserted. The student at the desk waved us by without even looking up from her book. I went to the girls' locker room to change into my exercise clothes -- a pair of shorts and a halter-top, which would hopefully help to keep Richard's pulse properly elevated. Stowing my street clothes in a locker, I wandered upstairs to the weight room, where Richard was already stretching out.

There were two other guys there, lifting weights, but no girls. I started my own stretching routine: hamstrings; thighs; groin; neck; shoulders; upper back.

Richard leaned closer as I was stretching my hands above my head in a futile attempt to reach the ceiling.

"You're giving that guy in the corner a show," he said quietly, with a trace of amusement.

I paused in my stretch, then tried to casually look in that direction. "He's facing the other way."

"He's watching you in the mirror," Richard said. "Keep your eye out."

I repeated the stretch experimentally, feeling my breasts rise beneath the halter-top, and saw that, indeed, the guy's head turned to watch my reflection. He paused in lifting his dumbbells until I relaxed the stretch.

I considered being annoyed, or being flattered, but settled for good-humored acceptance of male foibles. Now that I was aware of him, though, I had some fun making him turn his head in different directions. When one deep bend of mine made him twist his head violently, though, I desisted for fear of injuring him. I straightened up, smiled at him in the mirror, then went and hopped onto the elliptical machine. Got to tame those glutes, before they expand beyond all previous bounds. I picked up the pace, and quickly worked up a mild sweat. Boy, I really was out of shape.

Richard was loading an improbable amount of weight onto the squat machine. To each his own glutes, say I. Certainly I liked the results.

After twenty minutes on the machine I was hot and breathless, but not unpleasantly so. I got down, stretched out a bit more, got a drink of water, then began a quick circuit of the weight machines. Lifting weights is not something that I particularly enjoy, so I try to get through them as efficiently as possible -- one or two sets on each machine, alternating upper and lower body. For tennis you need arm strength and flexibility, but much more you need endurance and explosive power in your legs. Even the best hitters can be worn down by long rallies until they're too tired to get to the ball or too slow to change directions. This was not something that I liked to have happen to me.

Richard finished up a few minutes before I did, and went off to get a shower. One of the other guys had gone while we worked out; only the one who'd been ogling me was still there. I did a five-minute cool-down on the stair-stepper, then did a final stretch before heading off to the locker room myself.

The shower was running when I got there, which I thought was a bit odd, since the only other girl I'd seen in the building was the one on duty at the desk. Still, maybe someone had been in one of the squash courts or something. I stripped quickly out of my exercise clothes, dropping them onto the bench, and hung my towel on the rack before stepping into the shower room myself.

Richard was there, turning his long body under the spray from one of the shower heads. My heart flopped in surprise at seeing him. His muscles stood out like steel from the exercise he'd done. I felt my mouth go dry with the sight of him. He was so beautiful. My desire for him, never far from the front of my mind, sprang immediately up for attention.

"Master!" I said, surprise making my voice come out as a squeak. "What are you doing here? Somebody might come!"

"Other than you, you mean?" Richard said, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully.

I felt myself blushing, which was ridiculous. He was the one in the wrong locker room.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Richard went on after a moment. "Come on in, the water's fine."

I gingerly stepped forward under the spray, the warm water stinging slightly against my flesh. Richard shifted slightly to one side to make room for me. He reached for the soap dispenser and collected a dollop of soap in one palm.

"Turn around," he said. "I'll wash your back."

I obeyed, and he began moving his hands in soapy circles over my skin. I got my own handful of soap and began washing myself as well. The feel of four hands moving over my body was a sensual thrill. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation. Richard's hands descended to my ass, sliding smoothly on my rounded flesh, then lower, as he stooped down to scrub my thighs and calves. A shiver went through me as his hand moved lightly between my legs, his touch casual, and yet also erotic. I got more soap from the dispenser and turned around.

"Here, Master," I said, pressing closer to him. I could see the moisture beading on his skin, the slight roughness of stubble around his jaw. "I can help wash your back, too."

He turned, obligingly, and I ran my hands over the hard muscles of his back and rear. He felt so good; I found myself stroking him far more than simple hygiene required. I was excited by his closeness, the public spot, the continual stimulation of the water cascading down my skin, and it was very clear how aroused he was, as well. He turned to face me again and kissed me, his tongue moving sweetly against my own, my breasts pressed against him.