Through the archway a short corridor curves sharply to the right. Quickly the pool and Alessa's resting body are out of sight and the changing room opens out through another archway in front of you.
It turns out it's a perfectly normal looking locker room. Big, slatted wooden benches are arranged in rows in the middle of the room while standard looking lockers run around the entire room. The only major difference you see between this place and the locker room at your own suburban gym is that this place doesn't reek of old sweat and industrial strength cleaning agent. Instead it has a feminine, almost perfumed smell.
Next to you, a small cabinet holds big, luxurious looking towels and you help yourself. There's no-one around, and the only other entrance seems to be another arch in the far corner. You'd guess that leads to more doors or something, but even with the replenishing effect of the drugs you're on you're still feeling pretty lethargic and post-coital. So you drop your clothes on a bench, slip out of the borrowed trunks and dry yourself off.
She must have slipped in when you were toweling your hair, you realize afterwards, because when you bring the towel down off your head there's a rubbery tapping sound and there she is, leaning back against the lockers opposite you.
"Hey," she says.
Another sportswoman, it looks like. She's tall and slim, like Alessa, but while she's sporting a similar, if lighter, tan, she has platinum blond hair instead. It's pulled back into a ponytail, and you can clearly see her pretty features, and how they're a little softer than the swimmer's. She's wearing a tight, white cotton polo shirt that (of course) seems fitted to her every curve, and white skirt so short that at first you think it might just be the hem of her shirt.
She has one foot raised and she's casually bouncing the strings of her tennis racket off the heel of her gleaming tennis shoes. You use your massive intellect to deduce - she's a tennis player. Shit. You're awful at tennis.
"Nice cock," she tells you with a smirk and you hurriedly drop your towel to cover your groin. |