Squats, lunges, pushups, jogging—all of the exercises that really get those secretions flowing, that’s what I focused on for a week, repeating the grueling repertoire in the same workout clothing. After those first seven days I could barely stand putting them on due to the smell, but I continued anyway. I wouldn’t dare let myself wash them. When it was over I went ahead and pushed it to two weeks. Every time I peeled that soured, sweat soaked spandex off in the home stretch I envisioned the look on your face as I made you run your tongue up my underarm. You said you liked a woman’s natural odor, didn’t you? Remember how red your face grew when you admitted it? I bet you didn’t think I’d go to those lengths to exploit that fetish, did you? You should have known better.
Two weeks, I was ready. The last three days of those two weeks I didn’t shower. Thursday I went to work directly after my workout, hair in a greasy ponytail, no deodorant, tight clothing to ensure the summer heat would overtake me at some point and I’d add more saturation to the stint. By Friday I was getting looks. “Everything ok? You look rough.” My closest coworkers went a step further. “Hey, look, I just wanted you to know because, you know, it’s me — you kind of, well, you smell terrible.” I played it off — they’d never know. “Started a new morning workout routine but realized I didn’t have enough time to shower before coming in. I’ll have to get up earlier I guess.” A reassuring smile and friendly laugh later, no one questioned me again.
Saturday came and I dressed in three layers of clothes before cutting off the A/C knowing the high was 89°. I spent the next six hours scrubbing my house until I had worked up such a sweat I felt as if heat exhaustion would claim me any second. When I stripped myself that evening I could smell the pungence wafting out from the folds of my underarms, and with the smallest parting of my legs the primal musk rising up from between my slicked thighs was well evident. I picked up the phone and dialed your number. It rang a countless amount of times but I knew you’d answer. You finally did. “Tomorrow. Noon. I have a surprise for you.” You love surprises. Even without the smallest of hints I knew you wouldn’t be able to withstand that invitation, and you didn’t.
The next day I arrived at your house an hour early and let myself into the garage with the spare opener you forgot you’d given me. You weren’t yet home. Today’s high was a blistering 96° but I dressed as if it were February. I stood sweating, purging, soaking in the shadows, building up every natural aroma I could until there were trails of sweat covering me almost entirely. It ran down my neckline and the sides of my face, dripping from my chin and pooling at my collarbone. It trickled between my shoulder blades, over my spine, across the dip in my lower back then disappeared into the crease of my ass. It collected at my armpits, creating large circles that spread out onto my sweatshirt from beneath and dripped down the interior sides of my torso. By the time I went inside I was saturated.
My appearance was probably what caught you off guard the most. At least, that’s what I remember thinking when seeing your reaction. You expected me to show up clean, presentable, ‘cute’ as you’re used to, but not today. Today I was sodden and sloppy. Jeans, a t-shirt, hoodie, sneakers. If my disheveled, dampened state wasn’t enough to confuse you, what you gleaned from my eyes made up for it.
I’d been able to smell myself since two days prior. I knew it would only take a few minutes within range before you could do the same. With that knowledge I cleared distance until I was close, tits to chest. No pleasantries, which was out of character for me, but you’re a clever boy, you filled in the blanks. “I’m hot. Be a good boy and take this hoodie off of me.” And it didn’t take you long, those needy fingers swiftly at work to strip it away, grabbing the sides and pulling it over my head, discarding it after. My shirt stuck against me halfway up my body but it only took another quick motion before you had it off as well. Down to just jeans and bra which was visibly a shade darker from perspiration. Sweat glistened across my pale skin creating a sheen, collecting in my belly button before trailing down beneath the hem of my waistband. I thought if you could yet smell me, my underarms exposed anew.
“Now, on your knees.”
Your obedience didn’t procrastinate, already down like a wanton dog, knees aside, resting on your calves, hands on either thigh, doing your best to withstand moving that right hand onto your cock as you so obliviously often did — the pathetic, incessant, horny boy you are. “Very good. Remember what you told me?” The distress in your expression was enjoyable, watching you sift through your own mind like a Rolodex of perversion to identify what terrible thing you previously relayed. With one action I would remind you. My hand moved to your face, cupping your chin and tilting it upward toward me. I extended my other arm out above my head and leaned down over you, pushing the concave cup of my underarm in front of your face, stopping just inches from your nose and mouth.
“And tell me, how do I smell? Even more importantly, how do I taste?”
NSFW: yes
