SORE - Core

[Chronicler]

Your soft core is still sore, so beaten and abused after such an intense workout, that you struggle with the simplest things. Getting out of bed, moving off from your seat, bending over to put on your shoes, even standing during your daily commute.

 

It leaves you so gutted that you just wanna lie down and do nothing all day. But we can't have that, can we?

 

I came over to administer the only cure I know how: good old-fashioned tender loving care through a nice massage. You're like there, hands behind your head, letting me work my medicine.

 

Running my hands over your belly, I knead those knots out as you gasp a little under what delicate fingers applying a firm grip. It offers you relief.

 

"Better?" I asked. You nodded.

 

"Let's go a little harder, then," I said, applying more pressure.

 

You gasped louder. You never knew what tension could be relieved under the right touch. Yet we both feel a different sort of tension building up beneath your surface.

 

While I pressed down onto your core, it jiggled less and less with each push. They tightened as though my hands were mighty elastic bands, a training belt that closes in. My fingers feel each bump hidden away under a fold of flesh, being slowly uncovered as though sculpted out by a master artist.

 

First, the outlines came to the eyes before they could be prodded by my curious fingers, then hastening from a 4 to a 6 pack. They serrated into blocks, then smoothed out, details added with each vein and striation webbing intricately. From model, to swimsuit, to fitness, to physique.

 

Just as I thought they couldn't get any better, you let out a loud grunt as 2 more packs came into being, no longer wanting to be denied existence. You had the most breathtaking Adonis belt I ever seen, perhaps putting to shame the namesake's origin.

 

You nudged my hands out of the way, pushing down your pants as your dick flops out, already oozing. I couldn't help but join you, as I pulled mine out, leaking too.

 

We both turned to each other, our faces flushed. A shared gaze of acknowledged heat paints our face, as we subtly nodded.

 

Jizz simultaneously roped out just as we placed our hands on each other's dicks, dripping over that masterpiece. That white paint, however, did nothing to hide it. They only glisten, enhancing the luscious nature of those abs as it begs to be tributed with more.

 

"Well," I began, letting my free hand smear the pool of liquids over precious rocks, laying my head down on that sticky, hard but warm bed, looking at your relieved but still hungry face.

 

"Let me help out with your soreness."