5. Physical Training Room 1 (1)
"Hmm...."
Guess I really do need to start exercising. A dull ache throbs every time I move my arms or legs. Yesterday it was just my abs that hurt, but today there's not a single spot that doesn't—arms, legs, everything. It felt good and all, but if it's like this every day, it'll be too much. I should probably get some proper exercise in. I spotted that Physical Training Room last time, so I ought to check it out.
Thinking I'd just work out and come straight back, I layered on all my freshly washed underwear and clothes. It felt nice slipping into clean stuff after so long. Sure, going completely naked is one thing, but constantly wearing those damp, dried-out filthy ones? Kinda gross.
The training room I'd scoped out before was at the end of the terrace, past the hallways and elevator. Three sides were all glass, so you could peer right in from outside—except the entrance. But the glass was caked in thick dust from weathering storms when no one was around, making it hard to see inside. At best, maybe silhouettes. Perfect, since having people gawk at me working out from outside would be awkward.
Luckily, the glass door wasn't locked. No desk or attendant in sight—probably never staffed. Workout machines crammed right up to the door. Bigger than it looked from outside. At least the size of two rooms? Five treadmills lined up against the glass wall, and all the familiar gear seemed to be there. No maintenance over break, apparently—rust spots here and there, light dust everywhere—but nothing unusable. Pretty surprising for a podunk regional uni that's not even a sports college.
Once inside, the bright sunlight poured in through the glass walls, offering an unobstructed view outside. One side filled with dense trees on the mountain; the other, thanks to the elevated spot, stretched out to a distant sprawl of packed buildings. A bit of exaggeration, but it felt like I could see to the horizon.
Wow, this school really is up high.
Time to warm up. I hopped on a treadmill, brushed off the dust with my hand, and mashed the buttons. I matched my steps to the slowly accelerating belt. Started with a slow jog, gradually picking up speed. Once I outpaced the wind-shaken leaves, sweat started beading. Stretching it out as a warmup, I pushed just to the edge of discomfort, no more.
Body heated up fast, thickening the air around me. Breathing felt unpleasant in the muggy warmth. With three glass walls, it was defenseless against the incoming sun.
"Hoo...."
Too damn hot. Gotta turn on the AC. I'd seen the controller by the door when I came in. Still running at full tilt, I hopped off and dashed over. Tapped the power button—nothing. Jammed it with my fingertip—still dead.
"Ah... they must have it shut off for now."
Makes sense; semester hasn't started. Annoying, but understandable. So what now about the heat? The glass walls had steel grid frames for support, but no actual windows. Leaving the door open wouldn't help— no vents on the opposite side for airflow....
With heat fogging my head, a natural solution popped up. No people around, air's scorching—only way to cool off is me, right? Sweat soaking my hard-washed clothes feels wrong anyway. Surveyed the area—no sign of anyone coming. Same as last time; no one's showing up this time either.
...Even if someone does, it's fine. Silhouettes only from outside; I can hide quick.
Cautiously, I rest my hands on my waist. Tug the drawstring loose. My hips sway side to side without thinking. Phone weighs down my pocket, so with no belt holding them, my pants slide effortlessly to my ankles.
"Haa... feels so cool and good."
Stripping here, of all places. I'm such a total pervert.
The hallway thing felt like a light thrill at my door; laundry room's kinda like an extension of home if you squint. But this? No excuse—this is straight-up public space. The setup screams shared facility for anyone: machines, decor, all of it. The forbidden thrill tightens my chest, head spinning. And that feeling? It turns me on.
Sorry I'm a pervert. But just this once, forgive me. It was too hot.
The air didn't feel hot anymore. My exhales burned hotter.
"Haa...."
I craved running more. On the treadmill by the window. Carefully step up. My pussy quivers. That sensation feels so good, I just stand there atop it.
From inside, the outside looks refreshingly vast. Swaying branches, empty lots. The whole neighborhood view on the other side. No pants to hide my panties; T-shirt's too short anyway. I could yank the hem down to cover, but... I don't.
Because... it feels good, and I need to exercise. Can't run comfortably like that.
Hit the treadmill buttons again. Legs part slowly, then cross quick. Start speed's just walking pace—useless for workout, but effective in other ways.
Walking in panties only. Exposing them in a place I shouldn't. From behind, my ass shake's gotta be fully visible. Bare legs? Anyone'd notice instantly.
Moisture builds past dampness; panties start soaking through. Gradually up the speed. Unlike before, I push till breath catches. Lungs burn quick to my throat, but each leg pump rubs thighs slick against my wet pussy—feels amazing. Air whips cooler as legs churn. Glass right ahead makes it feel like outdoor running. Sprinting breathless in an empty field. Loving this? Total pervert, no doubt.
"Haa, haa, haa."
Even if it feels great, stamina hits limit fast. Dial back to walking. Sweat drips from my forehead; down my legs, lewd juices trickle.
Looks similar from afar, but I know: it's mixed with more than sweat. Never felt running this good before. I know to keep going without stopping for real gains, but I step off again anyway.
Something else I wanna do. Fish phone from discarded pants, prop it on another machine facing the treadmill. Screen fills with pale skin. Loose-bottoms look straight out of a bedroom. Panties peek from under short T-shirt hem.
Filming like this? Shouldn't. But... curious how it'd look to eyes on me. Machine gaze less scary than human, so... I just do it.
Ding—chills race up my spine. Pussy clenches tight.
Back on treadmill, walking pace resumes. Just a machine, yet feels like intense staring. Back view nags; can't calm down. Instinctively smooth my clothes. Just neatens panty lines, nothing more....
Speed up again. "Hoo, hoo." Short breaths match pace. Hips sway side to side as legs keep moving. That sticky gaze clings no matter how fast. Always fixed on my ass, however quick I go.
After that earlier sprint, limit crashes sooner. "Hoo...."
Belt ejects me off; I turn to the phone. Screen captures my heaving body full-frame. Too sweaty. Normally wouldn't sweat this much....
Cautiously grip T-shirt hem, lift slow. Cool skin greets each inch of rising damp fabric. Screen flesh expands. Up past underboob now. Bra hides soft tits, but underwear's obvious.
Yank hem to dab forehead sweat beads. Drop it—crumpled, falls short of original spot. Panties fully exposed now. Sluttier than before.
"Haha...."
A soft laugh slips out. Simple machine, yet spine-tingling thrill from its "gaze," stifled breath, hazy mind—all perfect.