I couldn't resist eating her sweaty pussy after our workout

My focus was supposed to be on my client, Chloe, on counting her reps, checking her form, being a professional. But my professional resolve was crumbling with every single squat.

Her leggings were second-skin tight, and a sheen of sweat made the fabric cling to every curve, every dip and swell of her powerful thighs and the incredible curve of her ass. God, she was a masterpiece in motion. And then I saw it. As she descended into another deep squat, the material pulled taut, and for a breathtaking second, the clear, unmistakable outline of her pussy was pressed against the fabric. It was right there. A perfect, intimate detail I was never meant to see.

My own body reacted instantly, a bolt of pure, undiluted lust shooting through me. My cock hardened so fast and so fiercely behind the thin fabric of my training shorts that I actually gasped, the sharp intake of air making Chloe pause at the top of her rep.

“Everything okay, Coach?” she asked, her voice a little breathless from exertion.

“Perfect,” I managed to choke out, my own voice strained. “Form is… perfect. Keep going.”

I shifted my weight, subtly trying to adjust myself, pulling the hem of my loose tank top down to create a pathetic little curtain. It was useless. My mind was a feedback loop of that image, burned onto the back of my eyelids. Every time she bent over for a deadlift, every lunge, every stretch, it was a fresh, agonizing tease. A silent, devastating provocation she was utterly unaware of. I found myself pressing the heel of my hand against the bulging fabric of my shorts, just for a second, just to relieve the unbearable pressure. I was losing my goddamn mind.

When we finally moved to the cool-down stretches, I thought I was safe. The worst was over. I could get through some hamstring stretches and then retreat to the cold shower that was calling my name.

Chloe lowered herself onto the mat, lying on her back and bringing one knee toward her chest. I knelt beside her, a professional distance away, placing a gentle hand on her bent knee to guide the stretch. But then she twisted, her eyes drifting lazily down my body. They lingered.

And then she smirked.

It was a small, knowing tilt of her lips that sent a jolt of panic straight through me. She knows.

“Someone’s hard,” she murmured, her voice dropping from its usual gym-bright tone into something lower, honeyed, and dangerous.

My face burned. I fumbled, trying to angle my body away, a flustered apology already forming on my lips. “Chloe, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

She cut me off, her smirk widening into a full, devastating smile. She tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Don’t apologize. It’s flattering. But tell me… why are you so hard?”

The question hung in the air, direct and terrifying. I could have lied. I should have lied. But my brain was too scrambled for anything but the humiliating, turned-on truth. I hesitated, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“It’s… your leggings,” I finally breathed out, the confession feeling both illicit and a relief. “When you move… I can see… the outline of you. It’s driving me crazy.”

She raised her eyebrows in a perfect pantomime of surprise, but that wicked smirk never left her lips. “Oh… uhm… thanks?” she teased, the words dripping with playful sarcasm. Then she pushed herself up on her elbows, leaning closer. The clean, salty scent of her sweat filled the space between us. Her voice dropped to a whisper, a sound that went straight to my already-throbbing cock. “All that tension can’t be good for you. Why don’t I help you stretch that stiffness out of your shorts?”

I was ready to combust. Right there on the yoga mat. My entire world had narrowed to her lips, her eyes, the promise in her whisper. But just as I leaned in, she pulled back, her expression shifting to something utterly naughty.

“But first…” she whispered, the words a hushed command. “Why don’t you clean my pussy using your tongue? You’ve been staring at it for a while now. Seems only fair you get a closer look.”

Before my stunned brain could even form a response, she was moving. In one fluid motion, she turned onto her hands and knees, her back to me. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of those infuriating, incredible leggings, and she peeled them down just far enough. The swell of her perfect, round ass was unveiled, and below it, the glistening, swollen lips of her pussy, damp with her sweat. The sight was so potent, so raw and offered so freely, that my dick gave another painful, demanding twitch.

I was moving without conscious thought. I dropped to my knees behind her as if pulled by a string. The air was filled with her musk, the potent, intoxicating aroma of a hard workout and her own feminine arousal. It wasn’t a perfumed, clean scent; it was primal, real. It was the most erotic thing I had ever smelled. She glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes dark with desire.

“Well? Don’t make me wait.”

I didn’t need a second invitation. I closed the last inch between us and pressed my open mouth against her. My tongue slid through her damp folds, a flat, firm stroke from bottom to top. The taste was intensely salty, musky, and utterly her. A low, ragged groan ripped from my throat as the flavor exploded on my tongue, fueling a desperate hunger in me.

She gasped, a sharp, pleasure-filled sound, and her hands flew back to grasp my head, her fingers tangling in my hair. She didn’t just hold me there; she ground herself against my face, setting a rhythm, showing me exactly what she wanted.

Then, she abruptly shifted, rolling onto her back and pulling me with her. She looked up at me, her chest heaving. "I wanna see you," she panted, her voice thick. "I wanna watch how you eat my pussy."

I was lost in her, a slave to her command. I buried my face between her thighs again, my tongue finding its way back to her core. I licked her slowly, then faster, tracing circles and lines I hoped would unravel her. I focused on her clit, sucking it gently into my mouth, flicking my tongue over the sensitive nub.

Her back arched off the mat. “Fuck! Don’t stop…” she moaned, her hands tightening in my hair, pulling me deeper, harder against her.

Her thighs began to tremble around my head, a telltale sign I knew well. I doubled my efforts, sucking and licking, drinking her in. Her breath hitched, her whole body tensed for a glorious second, and then she cried out, a raw, unfiltered sound of release as her climax washed over her. Her hips bucked against my mouth and she pulsed around my tongue, her essence flooding my senses.

I kept going, gentle now, lapping at her softly as she shuddered through the aftershocks, until her grip on my hair loosened and she gently pushed my head back, her body going limp against the mat, completely spent and breathless.

After a moment, she sat up, a look of profound satisfaction on her flushed face. She pulled her leggings back up slowly, the smirk returning to her lips as her eyes drifted down to the very obvious, very desperate bulge still straining in my shorts.

“Good workout,” she purred, her voice dripping with a power that made me ache. She got to her feet, grabbed her water bottle, and gave me one last, smoldering look over her shoulder before she turned.