The Housewives Of Coxville County Part 3 free porn video

Pushing Deep - Sammy's Story

Samantha Spitzmen began her morning in much the same fashion she had
every day for about a long as she could remember. She slipped and stumbled
out of bed and onto the carpet of her spacious bedroom with dull thud in a
burst of cheerful fervor. Her leg somehow always managed to become tangled
in the silk sheets, and had tugged her backwards as she attempted hopping
from her king sized bed. The fall and subsequent noise hadn't so much as
stirred a brow in Sammy's husband Steven, who had been lying next to her
with his head buried in two of their four white pillows. He continued to
snore, a deep near guttural bellow of inhaled and exhaled air, and did not
churn or make the slightest motion as the covers slid away from him during
Sammy's fall. He simply continued his foray of catching Z's, his deep
breaths making him resemble a bear in midst of hibernation.

"Ouch! Darn it" uttered Sammy as she pulled herself up and headed
towards her bathroom.

It was a quarter to six in the morning, and her bright green eyes beamed
with a breed of glow that would have seemed inconceivable to most others
upon waking so early in the hours of the day. To anyone unfamiliar with
the redhead, such energy at this hour without the assistance of caffeine
would have either been classified as wholly preposterous, or attributed to
the use of some otherworldly d**g. Samantha, "Sammy" to her friends and
family, strode to her bathroom in a spirited glide, stubbing her toe
however against the threshold of the bathroom door as she entered.

"Ouch, dang it!" she said.

She went about her daily routine of brushing her teeth and washing her
face, and dressing herself in a simple pair of thigh high shorts and a
plain white-t shirt that was fitted to her slender frame, but cut off just
above her belly-button. What with it being so early in the morning, she
only lightly went through her short red hair in the mirror, and spent only
a minimal amount of time appraising herself in the mirror.

Sammy was a modest girl when it came to her looks. A modest girl though
Sammy was, she couldn't often help but feel a fair bit impressed by the
woman who composed her reflection. Sammy was short, all of five feet and
an added three inches, and was considered to be the smallest amongst her
group of friends and family. This fact never seemed to bother her much
however, as the counterbalance to her impish height came in spades when
analyzing the rest of her body. Her big, bright green pupils shown like
twin jade jewels encased in the surrounding milk color of the rest her
eyes. They struck many as dazzling, being noted as almost catlike in
appearance when they were taken in with the image of her smallish facial
features. She had tiny button nose and a shapely mouth that held ever so
slightly plumped lips that seemed to complete as well as water down her
complexion. The sides of her lips curved at a slightest upward angle, a
facial feature said to hail from her Scottish ancestry, and what many in
her family jokingly called a "natural Glasgow smile".

At twenty-six she maintained a facial appearance of a girl not a day
older than twenty or so. This was often speculated to be the case upon
meeting those who were not privy to her actual age. Her fiery red hair
hung in full wavy curls that hovered at the middle point of her neck when
she'd let it down. In ways of body, Sammy Spitzmen did not have an ounce
of excess or unnecessary fat on her figure. While many other women her age
often began to puff and fill out in the mid section and other areas, Sammy
maintained a lean, lithe, and curvy frame. Well defined, yet strikingly
effeminate muscle laced the entirety of her body. Her shoulders were sharp
and angular, and sculpted just enough that there was the slightest lift in
her deltoids, which linked to a set of slim, though even more defined arms.
Her torso was a slim pillar of white that shaped inward on her twenty-three
inch waist, just before it curved outwards towards her hips, which remained
full and curvaceous. Strewn about Sammy's stomach was a series of tight
upper and lower abdominals that were punctuated with a full and sharp V
shape that started just below her pelvis, and traveled outwards. Her legs
and thighs were even more impressive, as they were smooth and equally
defined. Small lines along the meaty portions of her upper thighs could
visibly be seen when Sammy wore a skirt, shorts, or tight enough fitting
pants. Her lower legs and ankles were sharp and straight, and enhanced the
look of her strong calves, which shifted into a heart shape of muscle if
one paid attention to her putting pressure on the area.

While Sammy was trim, the more effeminate parts of her still were
visible and more than fairly bountiful. Sammy had full round breasts. She
was a solid C-cup that was just shy of a full D, which proved to be a bit
of an obstacle containing during her vigorous workouts, but one that she
was not so irksome that she allowed it to discourage from engaging in them.
They shifted upward slightly, and peaked at her matching pair of deep pink
nipples, which had always been incredibly sensitive for some reason. It
was a bit of a contrast to the rest of her smallish features.

While her sister Bobbie Sue was tall and long limbed, Sammy was rather
on the boney side when they were young. It had shocked her somewhat when
she they had begun to grow and fill out (almost overnight it seemed) in her
later years. The roundness and perky angle of them she found them to be
(at times) off putting compared to her frame. The same situation applied
to Sammy's rear as well. While not as large by the comparison to her
friend's posteriors - which were all shapely and sizable and very beautiful
as far as she was concerned - it carried a remarkable amount of cushion and
roundness as well. It was a plump heart-shaped posterior that many
individuals in Coxville would have agreed was "athletically perfect if
petite". Sammy's ass had grown in around the same time as her breasts had,
and it had baffled her much in the way when she noticed how much it
actually stuck out in outfits. Not to the degree that Sammy's good friend
Bianca's ass had to be sure, but certain silk dresses, high cut shorts, and
tight fitting pair stretch pants greatly emphasized its shape. Her
workouts hadn't trimmed it down so much as slightly elevate it, and shift
its softness into a slightly more muscular mass. All the same, she still
found it to be very impressive, and it was one of the parts of her that
Steve would quite often enjoy (when he was up for it that is). He wouldn't
hesitate to give it a playful pinch or smack simply to see the bit of
softness it did have jiggle and the subsequent giggle that would squeak out
of Sammy as a result.

Sammy's fruits of physical diligence had proven to be well worth the
amounts of sweat and she'd shed daily, with an added benefit - she later
discovered - of a natural glow that beamed from her skin in a light sheen.
Her skin was a shade of white meshed with healthy pinkish tones that would
always appear to be amplified after a particularly intense workout, which
then cooled to an amber-like hue after she got out of a shower. Heavy
emphasis on personal hygiene and diet had made her skin appear to be made
of fine marble. Many men (and quite a few women) in town had gone so far
as to say that Sammy had a perfect body. And while the gorgeous little
redhead was taught at a very young age that modesty was the greatest means
to convey ones assets, indeed, all things considered, Sammy considered
herself to be one sweet looking number if she didn't say so on her own
behalf. So much that it almost offset how much of klutz she was.

After giving herself one last approving glance to her stomach and hips,
she smiled at her reflection, and headed from her bedroom, and downstairs
into the kitchen. Not before however slipping onto her behind half way
down the steps.

"Ow!" she squeaked as she landed on the step.

When she got to her wide open kitchen however, her clumsiness altogether
vanished. Immediately she began cooking, preparing the breakfast that her
beloved husband Steve would undoubtedly consume with a ravenous and
unrelenting pace after waking up. She knew him well enough by now that
while the noises of her activities wouldn't be the slightest bit effective
in stirring him from deep bear-like slumber, the robust smell of bacon,
eggs, and homemade waffles would most definitely awaken him quicker than
smelling salts ever could. In stark contrast to her accident prone nature,
Sammy moved about the kitchen with a grace that almost seemed to be out of
a long practiced ballet, all the while humming to herself as she battered,
cracked, flipped, poured, and maneuvered around the wide open space
kitchen. The smell of the meat cooking, sure enough, summoned Steve within
moments. For the strangest of reasons - ones to which not even Sammy had
the foggiest clue- her clumsiness seemed to dissipate when she was involved
in two things: the first being any and all household chores that engaged
in.

She figured it must have been some sort of trigger in her brain that
flipped whenever she was in the process of cooking or cleaning that caused
her turn instantly from being all thumbs and left feet as her grandmother
would say, to a wafting, swaying being of grace and precision. Of all the
scuffs, sc****s, bumps, and bruises Sammy had accumulated over the years,
not one was acquired while she was in the process of cleaning a room, or
creating a meal. Not a single one.

Steve Spitzmen, Sammy's husband of a solid year now, lumbered down the
steps soon after Sammy neared the final stages of her cooking. Steve was a
broad man, tall and barrel chested, with a tuft of straight strawberry
blonde hair that was thinning in certain areas. Steve had a bit of a gut,
which Sammy didn't find particularly appealing, but did not find it
appalling to the degree she felt it merited voicing protest. As he ended
his path down the stairs he stretched and yawned in his white silk morning
robe, both his big hairy arms raised in a V.

"Mornin sugar" formed from Steve's yawn as he leaned in over Sammy's
shoulder. "How's my little rosebud doin this morning?", he nuzzled her
with his lips, his chin hairs brushing against Sammy's cheek and neck and
making her giggle.

"Steeeve, stop it that tickles", Sammy giggled, her heavy southern
accent seeping out in a falsetto pitch.

"I know, I just like doin it to hear you make that noise."

Steve playfully smacked her bottom and it wobbled accordingly.

"I didn't hear you come home last night", Sammy said.

"Yeah, we were at the site way longer than expected. Swear the god
they're tryin to work us to the bone on this one.

"How'd your book thing go last night?"

Sammy had been in mid flip of turning an egg sunny side up when she
heard Steve's question, and hearing it had caused her to fumble the egg
sloppily onto the skillet, folding it into a mess of yellow and white.
Blunders like that never occurred while Sammy cooked, ever.

"Uh-it was..." the memory causing the rest of whatever she was about to
say to trail off into some obscure mumble.

Amazin, totally incredible, the most intense night of my life, she
thought in rapid succession. None of those words would have been
appropriate to describe her feelings on what she had taken part of the
previous night at Jenny Summer's house, and even less appropriate to say to
her husband. Steve, who was (often enough) attentative to what she had to
say would want to know all about why her verdict for the night was such a
fond one. Why was it so awe inspiring, incredible, and so thoroughly
intense? Sammy knew she most certainly couldn't explain it, much less go
into any semblance of detail. Most of what had occurred a meager handful
of hours ago she still barely believed herself. The sights, sounds,
tastes, and so forth that filled and overloaded her senses that night
existed in Sammy's mind now as a distant, though incredibly vivid dream.
She could hardly explain it herself, let alone make sense of how she
herself behaved.

"Sugar?" came Steve's voice from a seemingly far distance from Sammy's
perspective.

"It was...great" she said.

Great was the perfect word to use. Not too grandiose to merit further
description or explanation, and not too watered down to allude of anything
being kept from him, a perfect middle ground that would undoubtedly leave
Steve satisfied. Sammy had then gotten back into the rhythm of preparing
Steve his breakfast. She assembled the last few pieces of the meal, poured
him a tall glass of orange juice (no pulp of course), placed the piece of
wheat toast on the plate, and placed it on the kitchen table in one
seamlessly elegant motion.

"Enjoy", she said with a smile.

Steve immediately dug into the plate without a word, filling his face
with a spoon full of egg. Still chewing Steve then said,

"Thanks babe, perfect as always", a goop of egg flying from his mouth
with the word babe.

Sammy just eyed him, adoringly, though she couldn't shake the slightest
bit of annoyance towards his table manners. Steve was rather tactless when
it came to certain things, and his attempt to check them in public or in
the presence of others was a lax one at best. Sammy had always figured
this was simply a part of what it meant to be married, learning to accept
and manage the flaws found in the person you've promised to share the rest
of your life with. She had certainly put forth a strong effort to check
her own bad habits in his presence, and it wasn't too much of a stretch to
say that she had done a more than decent job of containing them. However,
on the polar end it seemed her efforts went, for the most part, unnoticed
by Steve. He'd give affection when it seemed appropriate, gave mention to
and thanks when Sammy labored for him, but, it seemed with an increasing
regularity, that Steve's appreciation seemed to peak at the bare minimum.
Sammy knew it was an absurd idea to be so bent out of shape over so small a
gesture as food falling from one's mouth while eating, but still...a part
of Sammy, for the briefest of moments, really really soaked in the urge of
just then wanting to slap Steve right in the back of the head, and tell
him, in the same tone and pitch that her mother used to use when scolding
her as a c***d,

Only piglets and poppers talk with their mouths full!

However, despite this spark of inner frustration, Sammy pushed the
feeling down, and continued watching her husband eat in silence.

"Where's your plate?" Steve asked. "Aren't you eating too?"

"No dear, I had a protein bar and a glass of OJ earlier. You know I
don't like to take in too many calories in the morning before I go to the
gym."

Steve nodded his head up and down as if remembering, but remained silent
and kept chewing, fearing she'd bring up (again) a desire for him to join
her the next time she went

"Right..." he eventually said.

A moment of silence, and Sammy continued to watch him eat from across
the table.

"Any chance you'll get off work early tonight?" she asked in attempt to
break the awkward silence.

In response Steve sighed.

"Doubt it, they've been workin us harder than a hundred black mules
fresh outta Mexico. And what with Jackson filling in right now, things
have slowed down to near molasses speed."

"Jackson?" Sammy asked, keeping the tempo of conversation.

"Yeah, he's acting as foreman while Smith is out with a busted leg. I
told you this a couple weeks ago."

"Ah, right" Sammy lied, not remembering him saying anything at all
during the few conversations they'd actually had time to have over the last
month or so.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, he's a good worker, just..."

"Just what?" Sammy asked curiously.

"He's black, so you know...he moves slower than most of us would like."

Sammy remained silent, and after another bite of toast and hefty swig of
orange juice Steve continued.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, that's not because I think he's any less
smart than anyone on the crew or anything. It's just that the guy takes
way too much time organizing and reorganizing everything. Every single
detail he goes over with a fine comb. I know he's got a lot riding on this
job, lord knows we all do, but jeez, when is careful too careful you know?

Sammy just listened, nodding her head.

Steve finished the last few bites of his meal and washed it down with
the remaining ounce of his orange juice.

"It's like he's trying to be on his best behavior to impress everyone.
Like the guy has something to prove. It's making everything move at less
than half speed. Gets on your nerves after a while's all I'm sayin."

Sammy continued to nod, but thought critically to herself. Well, did
you stop to think that maybe Jackson is just being sure he doesn't repeat
the mistake your other boss made before he broke his leg? She kept this
thought buried however, not wanting to rock the boat or start conflict over
something so trivial so early in the day. Sammy just smiled, and after
Steve had finally finished eating she cleared the plate and its remains off
the table. She washed the dishes and continued her morning cleaning
routine, while Steve showered and dressed. Twenty minutes later he
strolled downstairs in his workmen's clothes, and kissed his lovely
redheaded wife as she handed him a neatly arranged lunch inside a small
handheld cooler. As Steve walked through the door, he gave Sammy his
signature wink and reminder that he'd be home late. Standing at the open
front door of their two story suburban home, Sammy watched Steve as he
climbed into his truck, and marked his departure with a goodbye wave. This
had been the steady flow of their relationship for the past month. A
larger version of playing house that Sammy had, for a time, thought to be
fun.

As Sammy went back inside and continued what chores she now had left,
she noticed a strange emptiness. The large, wide open rooms and corridors
of their home hinted of no life, aside from the fainting scratching and
thin bumping noises as she moved furniture and wiped dirt from furnishings.
All the while Sammy couldn't help but feel lately as though, despite having
what to many of her family and peers considered to be the perfect life,
there was something missing. A deep seeded chore that had yet to be
completed.

Is that why I did it? Sammy asked herself as she cleaned. Is that why
I .Within an hour the energetic redhead had gone from top to bottom of her
two story house. She'd cleaned the kitchen, bedroom, living room, dinning
room, hallways, and both bathrooms at a speed that almost would seem
superhuman to casual observer. Sammy had gone through the entire house
without even conveying so much as a hefty sigh to portray fatigue. The
house was left sparkling, and without even a speck of dirt or grime
showing. It was after surveying the immaculate household that Sammy then
spoke to herself.

"Alright...now for the real work" she said, a sudden gleam in her eyes
showing from anticipation.



In exactly two minutes Sammy had stripped down from her morning outfit,
and put on in its place a pair of thick white running socks, a pair of
black and red trainers, a pair of tight fitting black spandex shorts that
showed the entire structure and layout of her hips and taught ass. The
final pieces were her fitted black sports bra that she wore under a tight
white t shirt that was cut off at the stomach to show her sculpted abs. On
the shirt in bold black lettering were the words "push it" etched proudly
on the chest area, which were pursued up a fair bit from Sammy's perky
breasts. Sammy grabbed her signature cotton sweat headband, and clasped it
onto with a light snap. She grabbed her workout bag, which contained a
large and small towel, a book, and a large bottle of ice cold water from
the refrigerator, and in another second was out the door and into her car,
not before however taking a near tumble down the small set of stairs on her
front door.

"Ouch! Darn it!" yelped Sammy as she stumbled down the final two steps
after her foot somehow managed to brush incorrectly on the first, throwing
off her balance and almost causing trip into the driveway face first.

After she collected herself, she climbed into her car, started the
engine, and pulled out of the driveway, Sammy had already pushed the
ominous thoughts out of her entirely, and was only focused, excited, and
mentally prepared for the task that was ahead.

...



The Olympian Gym was a ten minute drive from Sammy's house. Sammy had
sang aloud the whole way to the country tunes of the Dixie Chicks that had
been playing on her Ipod, which was set up the sound system of the car.
After arriving at the gym, a huge establishment located in the most
expensive part of Coxville, she walked in through the large glass double
doors with a cold blast from the air conditioning. The gym was all black
and white marble, with white and silver walls, all smooth edges and open
space. The main lobby held several cushy couches, fit with health
magazines and brochures found on the glass table. To the right of the
lobby was the front reception desk, which was manned by a tall, blonde and
skinny young man whom Sammy knew as Dale Walton. Upon noticing her
arrival, Dale immediately smiled as Sammy walked through the door.

"Mornin Dale", said Sammy with her signature pearly white smile and
thick southern drawl.

"H-Hey Mrs. Spitzmen" replied Dale, doing his best to keep his
composure, despite the increasing redness in his face totally giving him
away. Sammy sighed.

"How many times am I gonna have to tell you Dale, call me Sammy. Mrs.
Spitzmen makes me sound like I belong in that dang water aerobics class for
the old folks."

"Sorry Mrs-I mean, Sammy."

Coming out of Dale's mouth the name sounded odd, far too forced
impersonal, even though it had only been a small pinch of years since he
had called her as such.

"Just messin ya about Dale, relax. Jeez, you never used to be this much
of a stiff when I'd baby sit you."

Face still blushing, Dale shook his head.

"I know. It's just that I'm still considered the new guy here. The
boss is really pushing the idea of us greeting everyone that comes in all,
you know? Bein professional but extra friendly to all the members."

That and the fact I can't get over how hot you always look in your
workout clothes, Dale thought.

"I get ya. Well relax, you're doing just fine", Sammy said, reaching a
hand over the counter and placing it gently on Dale's shoulder.

The touch made Dale feel like he was on the verge of melting. For the
longest time, as far back as Dale could remember, Sammy Spitzmen had always
been the living definition of beauty, vibrant health, and an almost
palpable sexual energy. She was only about five years his senior, but in
his eyes she might as well have been an elder goddess in front of his
feeble twenty-one years. So much that he simply couldn't keep a straight
face or maintain his composure when in her presence. And in the off chance
she gave him any sort of kindly caress or made any form of playful physical
contact, he felt his entire body tense and then relax in ecstasy in what
were near -sometimes full on- orgasms. He couldn't imagine what it must
have felt like to be her husband Steve - known more commonly in Dale's mind
as that unbelievably lucky prick - and to have the right to touch her back,
kiss her luscious pouty lips, explore her flawlessly toned body, and
indulge in other such erotic endeavors which Dale dared not imagine out of
mercy of keeping his pants clean.

The moment soon passed however when Sammy abruptly pulled her hand away
to reach for the falling sign in sheet that Sammy had knocked over with her
bag.

"Oh my gosh!" Sammy squealed as she kneeled over and picked at the
falling pieces of paper.

Dale rushed from around the counter and kneeled down next to her to help
clear the mess.

"I'm soooo sorry about that Dale" Sammy said. "My grandma always says
I'm all thumbs and left feet."

"Oh it's no problem Sammy" said Dale dismissively, forcing himself to
leave out the Mrs.

Dale was well aware of Sammy's clumsiness, and had always actually found
it to be a rather adorable trait in the older woman. Her bumbling ways to
him held a sort of abstract majesty in his eyes, a breed of innocence that
none of the other girls he knew in town seemed to possess. After they
completed gathering the pieces of paper, they both rose.

"Dang Dale", Sammy said with a slight start.

"You grow another couple inches or what?"

"Wha-What?"

"You got taller didn't you?"

"Oh...right", stammered Dale, pushing down how sexually loaded Sammy's
question had sounded coming from her lips. He laughed nervously.

"Nah...not really".

Not unless you're talking about what's in my pants, he then thought.

"No, I think you did. You're what, 6'1" now?" She said, standing closer
to him and comparing their height.

Sammy being so close to the young man, feeling her the outline traces of
her body brushing lightly against his caused him to stiffen and tense.

"6'1 and 1/2" corrected Dale.

"Wow...really? Dang, I remember when you barely came up to my waist.
You must have the girls fighting over you left and right."

Dale's face went another shade of red.

"Ha-ha, nah." He said coyly.

"My mama always says modesty's the best way to show off your best sides,
but come on. Tall good lookin fella like you, they must be lining up."

Sammy giggled that sweet, high pitched signature laugh of hers and she
playfully punched at his stomach.

"Well..." Dale then said, trying to maintain some semblance confidence
in front of the redhead. He knew confidence went a long way with women,
especially sexy ones like Sammy.

"I reckon there's maybe one or two girls at school that's slid me a
letter in class here and there."

"Well there you go then, I knew it."

"I mean, it's nothing serious. Besides, I'm not really that interested
in any of the girls at my school."

"Really?" said Sammy, her green eyes widening a bit with curiosity.
"Why's that?"

Dale timidly placed a hand behind his trimmed blonde head, his ocean
blue eyes forcing themselves to maintain eye contact with her green ones.
Dale had always found it difficult to look Sammy straight on, her green
eyes being entirely too bright and entrancing for him to face directly.

"Well...I'm more into...older girls", he said, his blush betraying his
attempt to water down the statement.

"Oh really?" said Sammy with a hint of genuine wonder.

"Yeah..." said Dale nervously.

Dale didn't know how to proceed. He wanted to add older, sexier, more
elegant girls like you Sammy Spitzmen, but his mouth and cautious nature
would not allow him to be so bold. He was just about to revert to another
plan of attack, the much safer yeah, older girls like you always seemed way
more attractive to me line, however the words died on his lips the moment
he heard someone behind Sammy yell.

"Yo Slim D!" came deep silky voice from far end of the gym lobby.

Dale was slapped out of his trance, and he looked up and ahead at the
same time that Sammy turned her back to him and towards the source of the
intruding voice. Seven feet ahead of them in the lobby stood a tall, deep
brown skinned black man of a solid 6'4". He was wearing a very tight
fitting plain white t shirt and an equally tight pair of vintage 1970s
style basketball shorts. The shorts cut off at the upper leg, exposing the
man's long and immaculately muscled legs from a little higher than the half
way point. He wore high white socks that had a dark blue stripe running
down the sides, and a pair of black and white trainers that were marked by
a signature wing design etched onto the back portion of the heel. The man
was lean, but from head to toe was fitted with nothing but hardened muscle.
His deep brown complexion granted an additional bit of gloss, a healthy
natural glow that reflected from his nearly hairless physique. He had
close cut jet black hair that lined his perfectly sculptured head, and
setup well his strong jaw line and powerfully masculine facial features.
His face was clean shaven, and age wise he appeared to be anywhere in his
mid to late twenties, though he could have been a bit younger.

"Have you seen Mr. Dupree come in today?" boomed the black man from
across the lobby hall. He didn't have any hint of a southern accent, his
inflections on particular syllables holding more of a Californian lilt.
"He was supposed to be here round twenty minutes ago for his session."

"Ye-yeah" came Dale nervously. "He actually called in and said he
couldn't make it today, had a dentist's appointment or something like
that."

"Oh" came the black man. "Oh well, guess I'll get an extra hour to
myself to lift then. Ha-ha".

The black man laughed, glad to be free of his duties. He then turned
and began to walk off in the opposite direction to the other side of the
gym, towards the treadmill and free weights zone. Sammy's presence wasn't
overlooked by the tall ebony skinned male however. Not in the slightest.
As he turned, his deep brown eyes stopped and appraised her thoroughly as
she stood there silent in the gym lobby. She stared back at him almost
with as much fascination as he did to her, like a surprised doe in the face
of an oncoming truck, and the two of them spent a long silent moment frozen
in eye contact.

This mutual exchange was not overlooked by Dale, who had lowered his
head to what would have been Sammy's line of sight and immediately tapped
her on the shoulder. Sammy didn't respond to the first tap, and Dale had
to repeat the motion several more times, each tap with increasing pressure
until she finally shook her head upon feeling Dale's hand on her skin,
jumping slightly before coming back to her senses. She turned back to face
the tall lanky blonde.

"So..." Dale began, unsure of how to continue, but definitely wanting to
move passed what he thought he just saw in Sammy's eyes. "You planning on
living in here or what? You're in here about twice a day now-"

"Dale..." Sammy interrupted. "Who was that?"

Dale gritted his teeth behind a tightly closed mouth.

"Who?" he asked with an obvious bit of sarcasm and a pinch of bitterness
in his tone. He let a second or two go by, letting Sammy stew for a moment
in waiting for his answer. "Oh, that's just Dwayne. He's some new
hot-shot trainer from out of town, moved here about a week ago."

"Really?" said Sammy with a hint of genuine wonder on her face. Her
eyebrows lifted. "I certainly haven't seen him around here before."

"Yeah", said Dale, "That's what pretty much everyone has been saying.
Kind of came as a shock to folks when he first got here."

"I'll bet", said Sammy, not catching the open venom packaged in Dale's
previous comment.

Despite Dale's deep shade of sour resentment towards Sammy's sudden
(frankly odd) interest in the black man, he was grateful the redhead hadn't
asked him the meaning behind him referring to Dale as "Slim D". Explaining
the nickname would have required him to go into the highly embarrassing,
totally damning yarn of how the following week, while he and a number of
other gym patrons had been dressing in the men's locker room after a
rigorous game of basketball, several of the men had made a reference to
Dale's penis size as she stripped out of his shorts. While considered to
be the normal size in length (perhaps a bit longer than average at more
than six inches), Dale's penis was noted as being particularly thin in
girth. Being equivalent perhaps to a few rolls of dimes clumped together
by a rubber band. Dwayne, along with one of his friends (another black
male) had taken note of this, and had proceeded to chide and roast the
young blond. Advising him never to attempt having a go with the mechanical
penis sharpeners.

The ordeal ultimately led to Dale being dubbed "Slim-D" by the men, and
with Dale holding a palpable hatred for the black man ever since. This
hatred was only fueled with the added jealousy which spawned from spying a
glimpse of Dwayne's own member, which was (by Dale's silent memory) so
massive that Dale had attempted to convince himself for days after that the
image was merely some trick of the light, or confabulation of his already
rattled self-esteem. All the same, it had caused Dale to despise Dwayne,
and he'd not made it a point to engage in basketball or kindly banter with
the negro ever since.

"And between us", started Dale, leaning in closer to Sammy and holding
up the back of his hand to near his mouth like a barricade, "that was the
real reason Mr. Dupree didn't show up today. Said that he wasn't gonna
have a muscle bound nigger tellin him what to do during his workout."

To that Sammy didn't react, for she didn't quite know how to honestly.
Growing up in Coxville, in the further area of the suburbs no less, she had
always been taught to stay away from the people of color, or at the very
least to be as brief and taciturn with them as possible. Sammy felt no
inner malice towards blacks, or anyone really for that matter. She'd grown
up around them her entire life, and had found it difficult to carry the
seemingly boundless torch of malice that her family and many of her friends
appeared to have towards them. Outward animosity and genuine hate towards
others never held any real significance to the bubbly redhead, yet she
ultimately felt that in order to keep her family and friends happy and
approving of her, she'd heed their counsel and stay clear of them, assuming
that her elders knew better. On some u*********s level however, she
supposed she could understand a small portion of their logic in the sheer
physical response she herself often got from being around blacks. When in
their company, passing them on the street, or being in any place where they
were near, she'd always felt a faint alertness overtake her body. An
automatic reaction similar to the fight or flight response, or -by Sammy's
understanding- the surge of adrenaline one gets before an intense workout,
a slight pang of nervousness. Because of this feeling, this faint
apprehension, Sammy had steered clear of those of the darker caste.

That was back then however, back before she'd gained a deeper...insight
on black people, black men to be precise. Sammy's good friend Jenny
Summers had showed her something the previous week, something incredible.
It was an odd chain of events that Sammy still didn't altogether comprehend
the details of, but remembered vividly and recalled that it ultimately had
led to what must have been the most incredible night of the young redhead's
life. She'd learned that Jenny Summers, one of her best friends and elder
sister figure, a married mother, and fellow member of their town book club,
had been having herself an affair with -from what she described- a fair
number of other men in town. Not even just men she discovered, but black
men. The revelation had completely astounded them all to say the least.

Sammy and the other girls had seen the proof for themselves in a video
that somehow found its way into Jenny's DVD player during the following
week's book club meeting, instead of the period piece film that was
supposed to be viewed that night. Words couldn't describe Sammy's verdict
on the scene. It had been the most shocking, paralyzing, scandalous,
sensual, and sexually aggressive thing she'd ever seen. It winded her,
leaving her speechless (or as speechless as Sammy would ever be), like
watching a lion chase down a gazelle in the wild, or seeing a lavish
fireworks display for the first time. The memory of it had sent pangs of
adrenaline down her neck and to the other regions of her body, very similar
to the ones she'd experience before going to the gym she oddly understood.

"Well..." Sammy began, pushing down the thought and collecting herself
once again. "His loss I guess. Guy looks like he could carry bull on his
back like it was nothing." Sammy decided to play off her own initial
appraisal of Dwayne, though the effect he had on her could still be felt
slightly between her legs.

"Meh steroids most likely", Dale shrugged.

"Nah...I don't think so, he didn't have any of the signs."

"Signs, what signs?" replied Dale.

"Signs that he's using steroids. You know, bad acne, jitters, uneven
muscle mass, overly sweaty, that kind of stuff."

"Oh come on, how would you know, you're not a doctor."

"No, I'm not, but I read a lot of interesting stuff in my health
magazines. He didn't show any of the signs I came across, and his muscle
seemed all natural."

Dale just stood there for a moment, slack jawed without a response.

"Yeah well... I work with him directly, and let me tell ya, he's not
THAT strong. I mean...yeah the guy does lift some pretty serious iron from
time to time, and he does have the gym record for most sit ups in five
minutes, and he did kind of lap me twice the other day on the
track...and...", Dale trailed off, not wanting to damn himself any further.


"Where's he from?" asked Sammy.

"Somewhere in California I reckon. Says he was some sort of fighter
before he moved here. You know, that MMA stuff."

"Where those guys kick and punch each other upside the head and roll
around on the ground?" asked Sammy.

"Yeah...something like that." Sniffed Dale. He really didn't like
Sammy's interest in Dwayne. "Looks pretty gay if you ask me, but hey,
different strokes for different folks."

"Does he have any openings? I've actually been looking for a new
trainer to give me a few pointers."

"Pointers?!" came Dale with a start.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately Sammy, you're flawless. And you're
here so often most the members think you're a dang trainer. What could you
possibly have to learn from him?" The disdain in Dale's voice now painfully
obvious in his tone.

"Oh, you never know Dale", said Sammy. "A real professional is always
good for teaching someone something new."

And with that, Sammy turned away and headed for the treadmill and weight
lifting zone.

"Anyhow, I'll see ya later Dale. Tell your mom and dad I said hi next
time you see them."

"Yeah...see ya later Sammy", came Dale.

A look of confusion and stark disappointed crossed Dale's face as he
watched her walk away, his eyes following the rhythmic rocking of her
shapely hips and firm ass with each step, before falling to the meager bump
of his erection as it frustratingly brushed against the inside of his
pants. Watching the display made him almost instantly forget the emotional
pang of anger that he felt whenever he thought of his nickname "Slim-D".

...

Sammy's workout generally lasted for about three hours give or take.
Ten to fifteen minutes were dedicated to a thorough stretch and warming of
the limbs. Another ten to fifteen minutes were spent on some light yoga
stretches she'd learned from her friend Anya to further prepare herself.
She took her time, extending and curling her body in the seated twist,
lifting and pulling her lower back in the forwards and backwards-bend
position, sun salutations, and ending with a moderate stint of upward and
downward dog, all the while engaging in deep controlled breaths while
keeping her core tight and centered. Mondays were aimed at her upper body,
so Sammy would then spend the first hour doing light but continuous reps on
her shoulders, arms, upper and lower back, before going into a solid hour
of intense cardio on the treadmill, before moving on to a solid twenty to
thirty minutes on the stationary bike, and lastly cooling herself down with
a thoroughly post workout stretch.

She'd sweat, pant, inhale, exhale and push her body to its limit and
then go a bit more for good measure. Shooting to top the number of reps
from her previous workout, but not rushing herself to the point they threw
off her form of made it sloppy. Her face and body gradually took on a deep
shade of pink as her temperature rose and the blood inside her pumped
through her, keeping her going as she pressed the furthest boundaries of
her physical limits. When the bulk of the exercises were over, she'd
exhale with satisfaction, an almost instant natural high attained from her
labors.

The second thing Sammy's natural clumsiness seemed to fall dormant for
-strangely- was when she was in the midst of physical activity. Not Sammy,
nor her family and friends could ever make any real sense of the nature of
it. While Sammy was, as her grandmother worded all thumbs and left feet
ninety percent of the time for almost every other task, when physically in
motion with sports, weight lifting, or any other intense physical effort,
Sammy was precision and grace on two legs. Her form and endurance went to
such a degree that many of the gyms patrons often came to the conclusion
that she was either a professional trainer, or a well versed professional
athlete who was in training for some grand event. Many of the men would
stagger and stumble on their treadmills, lose the footing on their
stationary bikes, and forget the number and form of their rep entirely
whilst enjoying the show of her heavy breaths and motions and the
subsequent effect they'd have on her chest as she heaved in and out.

They'd gaze at the perfect curves of her body as they stretched and
flexed with each squat, dip, lunge, and hip lift. Many of the women
present would look on in venomous jealously at her effeminate grace as she
moved to and fro in perfect form, all of them taking mental notes whilst
trying to mimic her motions. Sammy's friend Ivana Swallows would often
join her at the Olympian, and had ultimately decided following Sammy's lead
and mimicking her workout regimen and motions beat any sort of exercise
program that was offered in Coxville.

So, it struck many of the regulars in attendance as quite a shock when
they saw the fit, curvy, picturesque redhead tumble leg over leg onto her
knees and off the platform of the treadmill at a near sprinting speed with
a loud thwack and squeak of shoe sole upon rotating rubber. She slid and
flew back abruptly as the portion of the machine made for walking and
running hurled her backwards and off onto the cold hard floor.

"Ouch!" She yelped after landing flat on her behind. "Dang it!"

Sammy could hardly believe it herself. She'd fallen like a total klutz
near a dozen times this morning before and after cleaning the house, that
was commonplace for her, but never had she fallen off of the treadmill,
ever. Her confusion was soon quashed however, considering her focus hadn't
entirely been on her breathing, pace, or running direction, but had in fact
been placed on...other areas in the gym. Her lack of focus hadn't even
been realized until she felt the abrupt jerk of her right leg as stopped on
the hard unmoving surface of the black running track of the machine.

Oh my goodness, Sammy thought to herself. I can't believe I just fell
off the treadmill. I never do that.

Everyone in the gym abruptly stopped whatever they were doing to look at
the fallen redhead, her sitting there flat on her bottom, both legs up and
bent at the knee in front her, a wholly confused and shocked look painted
on her reddened face.

I'm so embarrassed, she thought. So much that for a brief moment she
considered getting up and racing out of the room and fleeing into one of
the nearby bathroom stalls. Sammy didn't do that however. She instead
looked down at her chest, at the phrase push it in bold etched upside down
in bold on the tight cotton fabric. To most people it was simply a t-shirt
with two words that -to some inclined to such thoughts- would perhaps carry
a bit of innuendo. To Sammy however, it much worlds more. To her these
two simple words encompassed her entire outlook on persistence, and
enduring through the most seemingly insurmountable obstacles. It drove her
to push far past the threshold where everyone else would collapse in defeat
and exhaustion. Sammy Spitzmen was many things, but a quicker, she was
not. And running the entire diatribe through her head, the words and their
meaning burning fresh in her mind, she rose to her feet after taking two
more long deep breaths.

"Oh my god, Sammy are you alright?" came a voice from behind her.

Sammy turned to see Dale racing up behind her towel, water, and cell
phone in hand as if ready to call 911.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine Dale."

"Oh my god, oh my god, are you sure? Here drink this. Sit down-I
mean-well-stay seated, are you dizzy? Should I call your husband, how bad
does it hurt on a scale from one to ten?"

Dale shoved his blue water bottle towards her as he tried to guide her
to one of the nearby benches, though Sammy went motioned the opposite way.

"Dang it Dale I said I'm fine, just a little stumble's all. Jeez, I'm
not made of glass you know."

Dale was taken aback at the biting tone in Sammy's voice.

"But I", was all Dale managed to choke before Sammy cut in again, with a
breathing bit of laughter this time as the mood lightened.

"You see this", Sammy said, pointing to her shirt.

Dale looked down at Sammy's chest, his face instantly turning red upon
realizing he was staring at Sammy's round sweaty chest heaving lightly
inside her shirt.

"Uh, yeah."

"It means when you fall, ya get back up. You don't lay down and sob
like a toddler when ya fall down."

Dale realized that Sammy was talking about the slogan on her shirt.
He'd always noticed it to be her favorite thing to wear during her
workouts, notably from the effect of how tightly it clung to her skin
before and (especially) after she had spent hours of physical exertion into
it.

"I take tumbles every single day", she continued. "I'm all left feet
and thumbs for just about everythin else except cookin, cleanin...and
this."

Her voice took on an oddly defiant tone with the remark, teetering
between motivational and reprimanding towards Dale's attempt at playing
white knight.

"And I'll be butched if I let one little fall mess up the rest of my
workout."

Dale couldn't think up an intelligent response. What could he say? He
knew that Sammy's physical ability surpassed that of basically everyone
else he knew. Unsure of how to continue, Dale simply nodded, straightened
himself up, and said,

"You're right. Just...just making sure you're alright is all. Wouldn't
want you getting hurt on my watch."

Sammy smiled at the sight of Dale puffing his chest, erecting himself
upward in an attempt at showy protective masculinity.

"You're such a goof Dale", she said, nudging him lightly in the stomach
with her elbow.

Immediately Dale's manly fascade dropped back into his boyish red
colored smile.

"If you need anything, just holler." He said.

"Sure thing", said Sammy as she turned away and back to the treadmill.

Dale simply watched the view of her body as she strolled back upon the
mill, and resumed her workout. As Sammy brought herself back up to a
steady run, her glance slowly shifted to the right side of the gym, where
it rested on the new trainer, Dwayne, lifting what looked like twice -no-
three times her weight in iron on the squat machine. The angle of it made
the user face away from Sammy, so that when the person on the machine would
squat down for a repetition, their backside would slowly come into full
view. As Dwayne went down in motion of the exercise, Sammy got another
full view of his butt, thick legs, taught back, and -most notably- the
gigantic bulge that hung just between his legs as he went down. Sammy had
neglected to mention the true reason of what caused her fall to Dale, that
seeing the full mass of a penis easily the size of her arm sitting inside
Dwayne's pants had distracted her to the point she lost her footing on the
treadmill, and tumbled as a result.

Good lord, the redhead thought to herself, keeping her composure this
time and not moving out of step with the machine's tracks. That thing is
enormous. Dwayne hadn't noticed her blunder, he was too transfixed on his
own workout. Sammy was grateful for this, as she didn't wish to give the
new trainer an impression that she was clumsy inside as well as outside the
gym. Upon seeing the trainer Sammy had been greatly impressed and -to a
lesser degree- intimidated by the large black man.

The members of the Olympian weren't anywhere in spitting distance as
defined, chisled, and in shape as he was. Hell, not even any of the other
trainers came even close. It impressed her indeed, seeing someone that
took their health and exercise as seriously as she did, and showing almost
as seemingly boundless a devotion to their workouts as she did. And now
added to the list of pros found in this new, hip, extremely fit trainer was
the fact that he possessed -as far as her angle of the gym could present-
the hugest member she had ever seen in her life. Though she had done her
absolute best to press the memory of the last book club meeting down, it
still often bubbled up to the fore of her mind with how incredibly hung
(and fit) the black men she had been seeing lately were.

Recently, Sammy, along with her dear friends Anya White, Bianca
Blackwood, Ivana Swallows, and Jenny Summers, had gathered for their weekly
Coxville book club gathering. It was supposed to be a movie night, however
what was featured was a far cry away from what she'd expected. Sammy had
discovered, to her initial shock, that Jenny -one of her best friends, an
elder sister figure really- had somehow been caught on video engaging in
the most intense of sexual activities with a another man. And not just any
other man, a black man to boot. The footage had somehow accidentally been
played before the group, and it had left them all speechless, wide eyed,
and thoroughly amazed. They spent the entire night talking to Jenny about
her experiences, and what it was like for her getting (what Jenny adamantly
described as) "Big Black Cock". The tales of Jenny's adventures entranced
the beautiful redhead, had entrance them all really, and aroused her in
ways she'd never thought feasible via the simple oral recanting of Jenny's
stories. Sammy realized only later how deeply that night had imprinted
itself on her. Despite her strict deep southern upbringing, and her
guarded c***dhood, Sammy had always (to some degree or another) been
curious about men of the darker complexion. Prior to that night Sammy had
only be subconsciously aware of how black men around town would often look
at her, appraise and smile at her as she'd walk down the halls of her high
school. The gesture hadn't meant anything outside of the norm for her
until that night, when, in a moment of what she now could only articulate
as a moment of pure madness, had taken to a young black man by the name of
Samson West. She had taken to him in ways she'd never outwardly thought
possible, and to the degree that she herself decided to join in on Jenny's
"training session" on how to properly engage black men.

In short, Sammy had marveled at the young negro's naked, flawless,
muscle riddled frame, and had taken a particular fancy to (at least to the
best of her ability) the young man's penis that was cradled deep into her
mouth. Its length, girth, and degree of hardness had finally gotten the
message and meaning behind the appraising glances and somewhat sinister
grins. The experience was something that Sammy could not describe with
tangible words or speech. It was every wonderful meal she'd ever had all
at once. It was the hot shower she'd take right after her rigorous workout
and the following relaxing lounge in the steam room that would follow. It
was that occasional chocolate bar that she would give herself after
reaching a new physical goal of lifting more weight or gaining an extra cut
or curve on her already astounding frame. It was all of those things
wrapped into one dark, velvety, twelve inch package, and Sammy had loved
every moment it, a part of her secretly confessed. Now she found herself
here, stupefied and equally (if not more so) astounded by this new, hip,
incredibly good looking, remarkably in shape black trainer California. The
last thing she wanted was for him to think of her as some clumsy redheaded
bimbo who didn't know how to put one foot in front of the other. The
reason? She asked herself. She didn't want Dwayne to reject her, deny her
of

Sammy almost missed another step on the treadmill, but caught herself
before she slipped again. Luckily no one had noticed the near blunder, and
everyone continued with their moderately engaging workout. Get a grip
girl, Sammy thought to herself. Sammy then straightened herself up, forced
her face forward, away from Dwayne and his immense member, and continued
with her workout.

...

Two hours later Sammy had finished her workout. To her great relief the
remainder of it went without a repeated incident of her earlier tumble. As
she walked into the women's locker room and undressed from her tight sweaty
garments of spandex and soaked cotton to take a much needed shower, she
briefly mulled over the checklist of lingering errands she had left to run
in her day. There weren't many, as Sammy often made it a point to take
care of such chores early in the day, so as not to have to worry about them
later, and to have the freedom to get more routines into her already
rigorous regimen. Ivana would often join her for evening session, which
was just as intense as her morning one, but was given a somewhat less
serious tone what with Sammy giving the competitive brunette tips on form
and proper pacing of energy exertion. Sammy lathered her warm, now amber
colored body with deep gobs of liquid soap, and gently rubbed herself from
head to toe. This was one of the moments she relished most about her
workouts.

The soothing hot water beading on her body. Her cleansing and
relaxation process always placed her in an almost Zen-like state of mind.
Also, Sammy had noticed, her efforts often made her feel satisfied in other
physical ways as well. In keeping with her elder's teachings of prudent
taciturnity, Sammy would remain tight lipped about voicing this little
truth aloud, but more often than not she perceived the physical
satisfaction found in her exercises to be akin to -if not greater than- the
act of having sex. At the very least it was an effective deterrent to her
current problem at home. The problem being that Sammy had not had an
orgasm in almost six weeks. It was a fact that remained unknown to
virtually everyone who knew Sammy as the prim, optimistic, and socially
gilded redhead, and a secret that remained sealed in even the most free and
loose lipped of conversations. The "proper bred" Coxville beauty however,
despite all appearances, secretly loved the deed.

After their wedding day, she would often attempt to engage her husband
in a proposed bout of bedroom ruckus. Steve was an adequate lover, her
first and only, and all that she thought she'd ever need. He was
attentive, fairly passionate, gave excellent oral, and was in possession of
a none-too-unimpressive member. Though she would have had to confess that
it was the only member she'd ever had to compare it to any other, that
is...until recently. Steve's work schedule over the last few months
however had made things grow rather stagnant in their bedroom. Stagnant
being a generous choice of words, more like non-existent, thought the
redhead. Steve had been exhausted over the previous weeks. So exhausted
from working such late hours that he hadn't been up for the task.

And even when he was, Sammy thought, I always end up wearing him out
before I even get started. Sammy's energetic nature indeed applied to all
things. Her natural hyperactivity, along with the physical fruits of her
strength and endurance training at the gym had made her into a seemingly
insatiable woman in bed. Many a night Steve Spitzmen would gasp, grunt and
groan fiercely as Sammy rode atop him. Her hips and ass working in concert
with one another, bounding up and down with unnatural speed and force,
making him climax -in the longest of bouts- within forty-five seconds. His
pace and sexual appetites simply couldn't keep up with scarlet haired minx,
and in one finalizing burst of breath, Steve would spasm and jerk, his body
tensing in a ten second release of motion punctuated with a snarling,

"Oh my gawd, I'm comin!"

Sammy would only be nearing the crest of her own orgasm by the time she
would look down to see Steve lulled into a nigh comatose sleep, his bearish
features relaxed and sunken deep in the land of Nod. Silently frustrated,
Sammy would then roll off of her husband and proceed to quietly pleasure
herself until she reached her own finish, a satisfying but far less active
orgasm than she would have hoped.

For weeks now this had been the pattern, and Sammy's only recourse was
to work her frustrations out on the gym equipment that she now used on a
daily basis. Wiping and rubbing herself down now in the shower had
reaffirmed the looming truth that while her workouts had done wonders for
her health and mental standing, she longed to be touched. Her urges to be
sexually satisfied -no- leveled if not thoroughly dominated had been only
been lessened from a broil to an increasing simmer with her diversionary
tactic. Thoroughly leveled like how Jenny was in that video, she thought.
Dominated like how she knew in her gut Samson West could based on how
overwhelmed she was while sucking him off and how strong he stood before
her. Sammy hadn't even noticed she'd slipped her right middle finger into
herself until she heard her own gentle moans under the steady current of
the hot steaming water.

The simple memory of having Samson, big and heavy and rippling was
muscle in her mouth had her incredibly moist. She found it simply
irresistible when a man took care of his body. The shape and feel of toned
skin had always been a hot button for her. She used her middle finger to
probe gently into herself, the soap lather rubbing against her wet and
sensitive clit, sending light tingles up her spine, while her other finger
rubbed at the soft flesh and nipple of her breast before brushing to her
firm abs. Bet that boy Samson knows how to give a girl a workout, she
thought. She had seen it for herself that night in the living room while
Jenny rode him in the white reclining chair, had observed his power and
force as he pumped his dark foot of meat like a piston up into Jenny's deep
pink pussy. Samson knew how a woman liked it on top. She'd held the image
in her mind for a long moment, letting it coast her warming parts towards a
sweet release of ecstasy. Jenny's deep but effeminate grunts matched with
Samson manly groans composed the soundtrack nearing her orgasm. Until, to
Sammy's great dismay, the memory was abruptly brushed aside with the
entrance of several other voices. A band of older women entered the
showering area. Five of them, gaggling and gossiping over this and that.

Sammy jumped slightly, almost slipping on the wet tile and removed her
finger from sweetening gash with a swift jerk that left her feeling empty
and a fair bit beyond annoyed with the old ladies' intrusion. Gathering
her senses back, Sammy then quickly finished her shower, and raced out of
the room after washing the soap from her skin and hair.

...

In the locker room, Sammy dried herself off with a large towel, her mind
and body now in an even state (though still coming down from her near
climax in the shower). I've got to get a grip, she thought. After she
finished drying off she wrapped herself in the mid sized towel she'd
brought from home around her body. She was totally naked underneath, but
the towel was wrapped firmly enough around her torso and bound tightly
enough around her vast chest that she didn't worry too much about it coming
undone. The towel (perhaps) gave a view of her legs and thighs than would
have been deemed a bit more than generous to some, but Sammy didn't pay it
too much mind. She wasn't planning on being very social for the next while
anyway. She set her bag back inside the locker, and walked out of the room
and into the long hallway. She stepped out into the empty corridor and
walked at a ginger pace towards a large brown doo