Havana and the Sprinter’s Starting Block Technique

He holds four different coloured elastic training bands in his grip, dangling to the floor from his left hand; red, blue, yellow, green. I’ve seen these types of long, durable rubber strips before at the gym, used for resistance and flexibility training. And after all this young, blonde gentleman that stands before me is a Commonwealth Games Athlete, a 100 metre sprinter, an elite competitor here on the Gold Coast in preparation for the 10 day event only weeks away in April. 

I introduce myself as we stand together in the soft, mood lighting that emanates from the ceiling in the introduction area of Le Penthouse Suite, the Glitter Strip’s finest bordello and longest established pleasure palace in our City of the Gold Coast. 

“I’m Havana,” I smile warmly and accentuate the tilt of my slender hips, fully revealed by a tight, white lace G-string with a transparent crotch that only partially conceals my tight, hairless pussy. I hope he notices this as well, and the uplift of my sweet, dusky breasts as they press their already stiff and firm nipples against the matching white fabric of the lace brassiere I’m wearing. 

“My goodness,” He smiles broadly back at me, takes my delicate hand and places a gentleman’s kiss on it, “You’re so exotic and exquisitely beautiful.” It is that moment that captures me; he has me now, all of me, like a tiny bird caught in the palm of a predatory huntsman. 

“Let’s go,” And I lead him past reception, where our lovely manageress Hayley glances over at the two of us, looking away from the computer screen to give us a warm smile and a thumbs up. 

We ascend the staircase, making our way to Suite One, the deluxe penthouse room, with marble spa bath, king-sized double, luxury shower stall and dancing-pole podium. We say nothing to each other as we walk up the carpeted flight of steps but just for a moment our hands touch on the railing, and I glance over my shoulder at him, close behind me, and I see such a look of lustful voraciousness in his green eyes that I wonder what he wants to do with those elastic training bands. 

We move down the hallway to our chosen boudoir, his breath quickening and still not a word between us, and once inside the room, once the door closes behind us, I am all his, totally at his mercy and thrills of trepidation course through my petite body as I glance again at the elastic training bands. However, he stands there, a golden boy, smiling, and starts to undress. 

I move over to the king-sized double bed and start tucking in clean, blue sheets into the firm mattress; a preparation all the girls do before the love-session begins. Most clients love this little domestic tease and can’t resist the temptation to interrupt the ‘maid service’.  

And sure enough, Mr Sprinter moves out of the starting block, entranced by the sway of my slender hips, the young swell of my sweet buttocks, the erotic promise my revealing lingerie holds for this rendezvous of lust. 

He holds me in a strong grasp, from behind, tasting the perfume on the nape of my neck, sucking and kissing the flesh, while nuzzling his face into my dark hair, inhaling deeply. One arm is slinked around my waist, his naked forearm pressed hard against the flesh of my lower stomach, the pulse of his throbbing erection pressed hard against the bare flesh of my upper buttocks, fitting itself under the sling of my G-string, finding the groove of my ass-cheeks, for he is naked now, having fully disrobed as I made the bed, and he is undeniable. 

I realize he is still holding the four resistance bands in his fingers while he positions that arm across my upper body, rubbing the forearm so that it sets askew my brassiere, exposing my dark nipples, and all the while he keeps kissing and sucking and licking my neck and the side of my face so intensely, that I respond with small gasps and little murmurs of pleasure. 

I struggle out of his strong grip, and say to him, “we must use a condom,” but he is persistent, and now that I’m facing him he rubs his throbbing, pulsing erection hard against my pussy, managing to set askew the transparent crotch of my G-string and make contact with the moist lips of my sex, just for a moment with his bare hard-on before I push him back a step and say firmly, “Condom.” 

I smile though, and grab a condom packet from the bedside table, and tear it open with my teeth, then quickly but securely fit the prophylactic onto his blue-steel erection, finishing the roll with my mouth and securing it nearly to the base of his thick manhood. I suggest fellatio with a suck but he has other ideas and moves me across the room, towards the dancing pole and podium, backlit by the reflected light in the mirror set behind. 

I begin to see he has a purpose for the resistance bands, and a wicked smile plays across his lips as he says, “I want to practice my starting block push off, it’s all about explosive power when you’re a 100 metre sprinter.” 

He starts by raising my slender arms high above my head, and tying them to the golden brass pole with the red elastic band, but not so tight as to cut off circulation, but tight enough to keep my arms elevated. I realize that this is light bondage and discipline and I’m a virgin when it comes to submission and dominance. It’s not one of my listed specialties but it is too late now, he has me enthralled, captured by his charm and good looks, a prisoner of lust captured by his athletic physique and aggressive manliness. 

He then lifts my left leg and says, “You seem pretty flexible,” lifts it higher and then loops the blue elastic band under the back of my knee, and ties both ends to the pole just below where my hands are positioned. My knee is hitched up to nearly to the height of my ears, my brassier has been left behind on the carpet, my back is pressed against the cool metal of the dancing pole, and my breasts are fully exposed so he takes a moment to suck and taste my nipples while I am in such a vulnerable position. I moan a little and then he begins to tie my right ankle firmly to the base of the pole with the yellow elastic training band.  

And while he is crouched low, he decides to suck on my tight wet pussy lips, exposed now because the G-string is set wildly askew. His cunnilingus on my sex is forceful, and urgent and terrible as he sucks and licks the clean moist flesh, and makes the tightest circles around my clitoris so that I’m arching my neck and moaning into the ceiling above. 

He rises, and now ties the green resistance band around the pole, my waist, and around his waist, so that we are joined together. 

He strokes the engorged head of his erection along the groove of my pussy, up and down, up and down, then finds the entry, and with a tight pop penetrates my sex. He pushes upwards and inwards, deep, then a little deeper, until he finds the perfect position and begins his explosive starting block technique.  

Pounding once, pounding again, pushing off the podium floor and slamming me into the dancing pole. He continues to pound his length deep into me like he’s just heard the starting gun, and his face is nuzzled against my hair, and I can feel the heat of his breath, and he keeps pounding me deep, deeper, and when the rhythm of his upthrusts becomes more frantic, I feel him punch through into my G-spot and my internal sugar walls involuntarily clamp so hard around his throbbing manhood that I experience a mini-orgasm. 

His urgency is overwhelming now, and we ride this erotic dance like eternal lovers, against the golden brass pole, a rising wave that finally crests and climaxes with three short explosive thrusts that find Mr Sprinter groaning like a bull, and myself orgasming again in a flood of sex juice that cascades out of my tight and penetrated pussy. 

“Let’s try it from behind,” he says through panting, sweat-sodden gasps of breath, and he begins to untie the elastic training bands