[Thanks to Richar for the edition.]
Freyja had been on the treadmill for an ungodly amount of time. Her voluptuous body trotted with a sensual rhythm, her hips swaying side to side, causing her buttocks to jiggle beneath the tight fabric of her pink leggings. Each stride was a step towards her goals, a testament to her resilience and desire to improve.
It was a Thursday afternoon, and the gym was empty. Soft jazz rap music filtered through the speakers. She had always loved 'The Black Pearl', a black-owned gym in ethnically diverse Detroit. It had more of a speakeasy vibe with its rich brick walls and the multitude of vinyl records lining the walls. It was nestled in the heart of a fashionable district and within walking distance of her rented apartment.
She tried to focus on her breathing and the steady pace of her training. Her body protested and her muscles ached but she ignored the discomfort and kept going. Her determination and commitment were unwavering. Eventually, she slowed to a relaxed walk and took a moment to catch her breath. Her legs felt like they were made of lead and her lungs burned with the effort. But she also felt a surge of pride and saw herself reflected in the mirror. Each step she took made her large breasts --a source of both pride and discomfort-- bounce gently under her stretched white crop top, making a small Thor's hammer pendant jump over their round fullness. Her smooth, alabaster skin, large doe-like, hazel eyes, and delicate features gave her an almost angelic quality. Her full lips were always curved into a gentle smile, and her hair had a soft, silky texture, even now when sweaty and tied back in a ponytail.
She glanced at her smartwatch and saw that it was getting late. It was already dark outside the gym, and it looked like she was the last person workingout. She turned off the treadmill and entered the large area of the gym that held the exercise machines, benches, cable sets, and dumbbells.
The sound of gloves pounding leather drew her towards a door. She peered in through the single glass pane. and saw a solitary figure working on the punching bag, hitting it hard and fast as he danced around the large black bag. It was a very large black man in a black t-shirt, the sleeves of which were cut off, wearing grey shorts. His strong calves and muscled arms were on open display and his biceps glistened with a sheen of sweat as he savagely delivered pounding hit after pounding hit to the vibrating bag.
Spotting a bench nearby, Freyja walked over and took a seat. Feeling the coolness of the metal through her sweat-drenched leggings, she leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment and tried to steady her breathing. The air from the fan was refreshing against her flushed skin as she sat catching her breath. Then after a moment, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. She quickly opened her eyes and looking up saw the black man coming around the corner, wearing a dark hoodie and short grey shorts. Easily six foot three inches tall, his lanky frame was at the same time compact, muscled, and without an ounce of fat. His dark chocolate skin shimmered with sweat.
As he approached Freyja, he slowed down, giving her a friendly nod.
"Good evening," he said with a warm smile. His voice took her by surprise when he spoke. It was deeper than she had imagined, in the baritone range and was pleasant even though it held an underlying power. He was handsome and somewhere in his late-twenties. A scar appeared to slice through his thick lips and his nose looked as though it had been broken a few times. But all in all it gave him a rough charm.
"Good evening," Freyja replied, a bit surprised by her answer but trying to remain composed.
The black man looked penetratingly at the college-aged blonde and gestured to the bench. "Mind if I sit here for a moment?" Unconsciously, he lifted his shirt to use it to wipe away some sweat from his face which revealed his v-shaped hips and a chiseled six-pack.
"No problem. Go ahead," Freyja said, scooting over slightly to make room.
He sat, relaxing beside her while his muscular frame took up a significant portion of the bench. Freyja could feel his dark eyes burning into her, and from peripheral vision, she watched his mouth curl into a sly smile.
"A nice day for the gym, isn't it?" the black man asked, glancing at her sweat-drenched outfit.
"Yeah, especially since I'm trying to get in shape," Freyja said, feeling self-conscious but smiling. She was sitting under a spotlight, causing the droplets of perspiration to glisten on her cleavage, drawing the black male's attention to the deep valley between her full breasts. As she wiped the sweat from her face, her arm brushed against her chest, causing her pale tits to jiggle slightly. She also had a small hoop she had recently added to her tight little belly button.
"I'd say you've got it," the black man quickly replied and Freyja smiled, flattered. Despite her initial hesitation, she enjoyed the black man's presence which she found unexpectedly comforting. He had this easy smile that combined effortlessly with a dominant charm. "My name's Ogun, by the way. Nice to meet you".
"I'm Freyja and it's nice to meet you too." Long light eyelashes framed eyes that were light hazel, green-ringed brown, tracked him with a morbid wonderment. Her hair was that peculiar vivid scarlet threaded with gold, tied in a loose ponytail in the back. Her face was what he always imagined a Norse goddess to be like; high cheekbones, light, arching eyebrows, and skin as smooth and unblemished as a marble statue. A silver piercing adorned her adorable nose.
Ogun leaned forward, close enough that she could feel the blow of his breathing. "You speak really good English, despite your accent. Where are you from?"
"Norway. And you?" Freyja gave him a flashing, charming smile, her dimples deepening. She was in her second year of studying at a medical school and she had enthusiastically embraced American urban culture.
"I was born here, but my parents came from Congo." For a moment, his accent sounded rougher, from the wrong side of Belmont (as if there was even a good side).
After a few moments of comfortable silence, the man stood up and walked over to the soda machine.
"You want anything?" Ogun asked his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her.
"No, thanks. I'm good," she said.
But he got two isotonic drinks anyway and set one on the bench. Freyja could only nod, her cheeks flushed with nervousness.
She shrugged, pressing her chest together, and the Thor's hammer pendant sank between her full breasts. "Thank you." She smiled as her hand reached out and took the can.
"It's hot," he said, staring at her.
