The recumbent exercise bike

(This is a smut chapter.)

You scout the room for your preferred exercise device, and it isn’t too hard to find. The only machine you’ve ever been able to tolerate using: the exercise bike. And not one of those stupid stand-up bikes, either. It has a big seat with a cushioned back, and it’s low to the ground, providing maximum comfiness while you pedal away. This is the obvious choice for those who are cultured.

“I pick that one!” you declare.

“Ah, the recumbent bike? That one’s pretty easy, so I guess it’s a good choice.”

You both walk over to a set of bikes and situate yourselves. Charlotte tells you to set the machine to low tension at a slight incline. The first to pedal one mile is the winner. One mile? Please, that’s easy. You used to pedal over a mile no problem, just by lazily moving your legs at the gym. During the, like, five times you’ve ever gone to the gym.

You set things up as instructed, but nothing could prepare you for the terrible surprise waiting for you as soon as you hit the Start button. A metal brace stretches out of the seat, wrapping around your stomach and effectively strapping you in. You panic, but it’s quickly overwritten with an even greater panic as a dildo suddenly pops out of the seat and stows itself in your unsuspecting pussy, left unprotected by an unfortunate shifting of your shorts when you sat down. You barely stifle a cry, but you can’t stay quiet when the dildo slides back out, and a second one drives itself into your **** rectum.

“*KYA!* Charlotte, w-what’s going on!?”

“You have to pedal. The faster you pedal, the more it slows down the machine.”

That’s all you had to hear. You move your legs like lightning, pedaling with all your strength to avoid any more unpleasant surprises. While the toys don’t stop moving entirely, like you’d hoped, they slow down a lot. The leisurely pace at which the toys slide in and out of your holes is, unfortunately, still enjoyable, coaxing love juices out of you like a patient lover. N-Not! Like you’d ever feel good from a stupid machine. Classy ladies are difficult to impress. Something so simple and repetitive could never do the trick.

“Charlotte! Why… are… there… dildos!?” you pant amidst your intense exercise.

“It’s Master Kim’s idea to make us resistant against sexual harassment.”

What’s wrong with that woman! This is a terrible idea! You keep pedaling, determined to protect your sanctity from any more surprise dildoing than is absolutely necessary. Despite that, the ribbed phalluses slide pleasantly in and out, making your body more receptive to this degenerate “training”. At the same time, sweat starts forming on your skin, giving you that glistening look of a girl hard at work. But then, something awful happens. Your legs get tired.

“OH FUCK!” you cry.

Your legs won’t move at all! It feels like there are ten ton weights attached. Did you really wear yourself out that fast? You still have .7 miles to go! And more importantly, these dildos have wasted no time going back to full speed, pistoning into you without mercy! Already slick from your reactive body, the invasive members grind their ridges against your entrances, making you smile with satisfaction. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you’re getting pretty close to orgasm. But you’d never do something so disgraceful during an exercise competition. …R-Right, the competition. You lift your feet onto the pedals, but they slip out immediately, still too tired to do anything.

You tilt your head back, resting it against the seat, and close your eyes. Beads of sweat continue to slide down your sides, ironically indicating your heat and nervousness from getting both your holes plowed, rather than the physical exercise you should be doing. In and out, the phalluses pump into you, constantly demanding your attention as they fill you up and slide right back out. Your breathing is ragged, your nipples are stiff, and your whole pelvis is shaking with the **** of the rubber toys slamming themselves home. You make one more attempt to start pedaling, which involves nothing more than fluttering your legs, failing to find purchase on the pedals. With your body being so forcefully driven past its limit, there’s only one thing you can do.

“CUM!” you shout with resignation. Love juices get everywhere as the bike continues pumping your holes full of fake cock, drilling the importance of stamina into both your mind, and your nethers. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!” you mewl, your helplessness sounding loud and clear in your voice. “How do I turn this thing off?”

“You *ahh* don’t. You have to go further now, because *OH!* you orgasmed.”

Your eyes are drawn to the display, reading ‘ORGASM DETECTED. ONE MILE ADDED. Distance Remaining: 1.7 miles’

“I can’t! Oh god, get me out of this thing!”

“O-Once I’m out, I can turn it *OFF!*”

Now that you know the danger of cumming, giving up seems a lot less appealing. You drag your feet up onto the pedals, even as your pussy keeps contributing to the puddle of girlcum on your seat. They say slow and steady wins the race, but it doesn’t win a moment’s rest for your weary, sensitive inner walls. At this speed, the rubber rods are still plugging your holes back and forth, making you moan desperately as you focus on completing the exercise. With your competitive spirit still barely alight, you glance at Charlotte to see how she’s faring.

She’s keeping a better pace than you are, but she’s completely awash in sweat. The previously white top now perfectly matches her skin color, like it’s nothing more than a piece of cling wrap. Her breathing’s just as ragged as yours, and you can see her mouthing the words, “Don’t cum, don’t cum…” over and over. As taboo as it is, you find yourself wondering what it would look like if the bike overcame her purity and made her cum all over it.

As your thoughts gets away from you, the arousal becomes too much to take. Your eyelids flutter. You bite your bottom lip, and rock your hips as much as you can in your restraints. Before you realize it, you’ve fallen into lust, letting out moans that sound more and more whorish by the second. All you can think about is the pleasant rubber, pushing past your asshole and rubbing each of those exquisite ribs against the tight, sensitive walls of your asshole. Then the other one pushing its way into your cunt and sliding through your sopping, oversexed tunnel to greet your cervix. Subconsciously, you must still realize that cumming is bad, since you start pedaling faster as if to outrun your impending climax. In the end, though…

“*FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!*” you shriek, clenching every muscle in your body as your orgasm brings you to a screeching halt. Your feet slip out of the pedals as your body faulters, subjecting yourself again to the full-speed fucking during your moment of weakness. The pounding quickly depletes any energy you had left, so your body goes completely. You just sit idly and get your holes pounded by the equipment, offering no more resistance at all. “Too tired, too tired…” you ramble, sweat and girlcum pouring off of you endlessly. The dildos just keep drilling you into exhaustion as the display flashes, ‘ORGASM DETECTED, ONE MILE ADDED. Distance Remaining: 2.5 miles’ It’s hopeless. You’ll be cumming in this chair for the rest of your life. “Heeeeeeelp…” you drone.

“Emilia…” Charlotte moans pathetically.

“Y-Y-Yeah?”

“I’m also… *HAH-* S-SorryYYYAAAAAHHH!”

Charlotte creases her forehead and struggles against the pleasure, but in just a few seconds, she joins you in falling victim to a helpless climax. Her legs fall still with the realization that her angelic purity has proven inadequate for overcoming this depraved trial. Just like you, she raises her sweet voice to the heavens as her tunnels get plowed by rubber cocks. Her body rattles from head to toe, even within the confines of the bike’s bindings. As times goes on, her moans sound less like a pure noblewoman being defiled, and more like a sex-starved whore finally getting her fix. That is, exactly like you.

“I can still gggghhhhh… finish…” she gasps with desperation.

That’s good, because you just started cumming again. If she doesn’t get you out soon, you’re done for. You’d cheer her on, if not for all the slutty noises being **** out of you instead. Eventually, the dildos become too much for you, and you pass out atop the bike. Your sanity, your sensitivity, and your holes’ elasticity, are all in Charlotte’s hands.