Beautiful boxer

She slips her gloves on. The leather creaks. Training starts quiet, just footwork and tight punches in the mirror. Sweat beads at her hairline, slides down her neck. Blonde strands stick to flushed skin. Her tank clings wetter with every round. Gloves hit the bag, then drop. Her breath comes harder. She peels the gloves off, rolls her shoulders. The ache feels good, but something else builds. She leans back on the bench, legs spread. One hand wanders under her shorts, finds heat. Fingertips move in slow circles. Her ass presses into the wood, round and full. She bites her lip, eyes half-closed. Hips lift to meet her own touch. The room is still except for soft gasps and the wet sound of her fingers working. She arches, thighs tense, and comes with a sharp cry that echoes off the empty gym walls.