Gym Car Park Quickie

The gym at 6 AM was a special kind of hell. Alarm at 5:30, protein shake, drag yourself to lift heavy things before your brain woke up enough to object.

She was always there—same time, same corner, absolutely destroying legs day while I pretended not to watch.

Athletic build, dark ponytail, sports bra and tiny shorts. The kind of fit that said she actually enjoyed this torture.

I'd never spoken to her. Too early, too focused, too chicken.

But today she walked over.

"You've been checking me out for weeks," she said, not accusing. Just stating fact.

"That obvious?"

"Very." She grabbed a towel from the rack next to me. "I'm Bailey."

"Tom."

"Tom. Nice." She wiped her face, watching me. "You're not bad yourself. Good form on the deadlifts."

"Thanks?"

"Observation, not compliment." That seemed to be a theme. "What's your post-gym routine?"

"Shower. Protein. Work."

"Boring." She stepped closer. "Mine's better."

"What's yours?"

"Car park. Ten minutes. You'll see."

She walked away, hips swaying. I followed like a puppy.

Her car was a black BMW—clearly she had a better job than me. She unlocked it, got in the back.

"Coming?"

The back seat of a BMW was significantly nicer than my Focus. Leather, space, tinted windows.

"This is—" I started.

"Insane? Yes." She was already pulling off her sports bra. "Endorphins make me horny. And you're fit. Seemed efficient."

"Efficient."

"Don't overthink it." She kissed me, all sweat and adrenaline. "Just go with it."

She tasted like gym and energy, all hard muscle and soft skin. I explored with my hands—abs, back, the curve of her arse in those tiny shorts.

"Touch me," she demanded. "Properly."

I pushed down her shorts, found her already wet. She moaned as my fingers found their mark.

"Fuck—yes—right there—"

I worked her until she was shaking, then she pushed me back, yanked at my gym shorts.

"Inside me. Now."

She sank down onto me, both of us groaning. The leather seats creaked beneath us.

"Move—hard—don't be gentle—"

I wasn't gentle. I grabbed her hips, thrust up to meet her. She came fast—endorphins really did work differently for her—and kept going.

"Again—make me cum again—"

She came twice more before I finished. We sat there, catching our breath, the car filling with the smell of sweat and sex.

Bailey checked her Fitbit.

"Impressive," she said. "Burned more calories than legs day."

"You tracked it?"

"I track everything." She was already getting dressed. "Same time tomorrow?"

"The gym?"

"The car park." She grinned. "New post-workout routine. Very effective."

I went home, showered, and wondered how I got so lucky.

6 AM alarms suddenly seemed much more appealing.

Best workout of my life.