Asstr Gym

⚡ ALL INFORMATION CLICK HERE 👈🏻👈🏻👈🏻

Asstr Gym


Wintermute X Stories


HOME
UPDATES
CONTACT
FILES
FTP
CREDITS




My Stories

Monstrum
Monstrum Factorum
My Baby Girl
Good Neighbors
Good Neighbors 2
A New Purpose in Life
Sex Ed for Little Girls
Depraved Mom
Alien: Insemination
Club Lolipops
Pet
Upload
Bug Breeding School
Loli Island
Barn Bitches
Beth's Journey


Contributions

Monstrum Tribute


Links


Stories by Xpanther


Child Sex Stories


Nifty Erotic Archive


Tempest Erotica


ASSTR Authors


Tod Naturlich


Forced Nudity


Georgie Porgie


Kristen Archive


Loliwood Studios


Nepi Stories


Piper's Domain


Playful Girls


Renpet's Erotic


Daddy's Girl


StorySam



Mirrors

ASSTR
wintermutexstories.org
wintermutexstories.com



Leotard
Towel
Swimsuit
Bra and panties
Nude

Liked it? Hated it?
Let me know


By WintermuteX
wintermutex.stories@gmail.com
https://www.asstr.org/~Wintermutex/

Tags: Mg, pedo, gym, fetish, oral, exhib
Content: Pedophilia, Rhythmic Gymnastics, Leotard Fetish, Exhibitionism
"Hey Gabriel!" Dan poked his head into my new office, grinning. "Just wanted to stop by and congratulate you on your promotion. Senior Artist is nothing to sneeze at."
"Glad to be here." I smiled back as Dan came the rest of the way in and leaned against my desk.
"I know it comes with a lot of work," I said, "but I'm eager to get started."
"Oh sure, sure, yeah, it's more work." Dan made a pooh-pooh gesture with his hands. "But it's more pay too. A LOT more."
I leaned back in my chair and considered my new boss: a genial man with glasses and salt-and-pepper hair who had to be pushing his early sixties. I wondered how much of a part he had played in my promotion. As the art director for the entire company, he had a great deal of sway.
"When you get a position like this, you know, you owe it to yourself to take it easy and enjoy the fruits of your hard work." He crossed his arms sagely and nodded, as if agreeing with himself. "That's what I always say at least. You have a family, Gabe? Hobbies?"
"Just sports I suppose. Fantasy football. No family. You?"
"Packers fan and happily divorced," he chuckled. "But I've got my side girl, Sasha. She's actually into rhythmic gymnastics. You ever seen it?"
"It's great. Here pull this up on your browser." He rattled off a website and I typed it in. An array of video thumbnails came up.
"Try that one," he said, pointing at the screen. I clicked on the video and it zoomed fullscreen, showing the opening clip of a gymnastics routine. A young girl sprinted across a large mat, bearing a pair of clubs. She hopped and threw them in the air, then somersaulted into a dextrous roll and sprung upwards, hovering on a single toe and catching both clubs as they came down. She spun, her leg arching up and almost touching her head, then threw a club in the air, pivoted through a one-handed cartwheel, tossed the other, and leaped nimbly, one leg kicking out. Both clubs fell into her hands and she flowed with the motion into a full-body flip that ended with her in a kneeling motion on the mat.
"Nice, isn't it?" Dan's eyes were glued to the screen.
"Wow, she's pretty good," I agreed. The girl was tiny and couldn't have been more than 12 or 13, but her talent was apparent. She was just getting started. Her body spun on a graceful axis, shockingly pliant, legs bending into shapely forms. She rolled across the mat, hips bending in elastic motion and posed with a leg arched in the air.
I felt myself blushing. The girl's silver leotard was skin-tight, hugging her body and leaving little to the imagination. She flexed with her groin in the air, twisting in elegant rhythm, then threw a club and dropped into another limber roll.
It was strangely erotic. I had never watched gymnastics and didn't realize what I had been missing. The girl's supple form danced through an array of nimble motions, her exquisite body brimming with athletic vitality.
"Impressive." I felt breathless, blood draining from my brain and rushing elsewhere.
"You like it?" Dan seemed to be studying my flushed expression.
"Yeah. She's...amazing. And that leotard is..." I fumbled for the word, my eyes bobbing, following the girl on the screen and admiring how the garment clung to her. It hugged every curve of her body, shining metallically under the lights.
The video ended as the girl finished. An array of thumbnails popped up. I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, trying to hide my growing erection, but I was sure Dan had noticed.
"She's incredible," I said. "I wouldn't mind seeing more of her."
"Great." He slapped his hand on my desk enthusiastically as if he had made a decision. "Listen, you know this position involves some travel, so let's fly you out to Europe for a few days. Call it a company retreat. There's a place in Amsterdam that a lot of the senior management likes to go to and they have competitions like this. This girl is one of the performers there. I'll bill it as training. We can take it easy and have some fun for a bit, courtesy of the company. Sound good?"
"Sure." I hadn't taken a vacation in years. It sounded like just the thing.
"Perfect. I'll take care of everything." He looked at his watch. "I'm already flying out tonight for other business, but we can meet there at the beginning of next week. I'll email you."
He clapped me on the shoulder and left. A few minutes later I got an email confirming a flight in four days and a hotel booking. I leaned back in my seat with a sigh.
I really did need a vacation, and Dan would be pleasant enough company. What kind of retreat hosted gymnastic competitions though? I guessed I would find out. Intrigued, I clicked to watch a few more videos on the website. Girls of all ages spun through elegant routines, wielding hoops, balls, ribbons, all seamlessly woven into the graceful interplay of their slender bodies. It was alluring, I had to admit, watching the straining leotards and exquisite physiques. For some reason, I had never really paid attention to the sport before.
I looked at the clock. Had it really been an hour already? Traffic was going to be awful. Shaking my head, I closed my laptop and grabbed my coat and briefcase before heading out.
The controlled chaos of the Amsterdam airport terminal bustled around me. Long flights weren't really my thing, I thought, stretching my aching legs as I walked. It had been a long haul and the layover in London had inflicted me with a lethal boredom. I wove my way through the morose crowd of travellers at the baggage claim and found my own suitcase, then headed to the terminal exit. The airport's PA system babbled announcements in a dozen different languages as I walked. I finally found a white-gloved man was standing near the terminal doors, my name written on his sign.
"I'll take that for you sir," he murmured politely, grabbing my baggage. "And this is for your perusal."
He handed me an ivory envelope - opulent, with gold filigree gilding the corners. My name was printed in a stylish font on the front. I followed the driver out of the terminal and was surprised to find a limo waiting. First class, and now this. Dan had sprung for the best, it seemed. I was beginning to appreciate the perks of my new position. I let the driver hold the door as I got in.
The car was chic, a den of sleek black leather much nicer than I was normally used to. I luxuriated in the comfortable seat and eyeballed the minibar. Not bad. I could get used to this. The soft corners of the envelope seemed to caress my fingers as I broke the seal and opened it. A business card spilled out, with an address printed in tasteful script on one side. I turned it over.
Club Lolipops Exhibition Rhythmic Gymnastics Club for Men Exclusive Invitation
The title was printed over a faded background of pink and purple that looked like a young girl with a lollipop stuck seductively in her mouth. I stared, intrigued. This must be where we were going. I had been expecting some humdrum corporate retreat, but I wasn't sure what to make of this. After a few moments, I shrugged and pocketed it. It was hardly the first unusual business card I had received.
I watched the evening sun sink slowly towards the horizon in the distance. Traffic seemed pretty light for this time of day. The highway snaked past the tinted windows and before I knew it, the limo had hummed smoothly down an offramp and we were pulling to a stop in an area just outside of downtown.
"Here we are sir," the driver announced cheerfully, pulling open my door. I got out and adjusted my suit, then looked up in surprise.
We had arrived at what looked like an old English manor, situated squarely between a sleek pair of corporate office buildings. Welcoming yellow light blazed from chandeliers inside the tall, narrow windows. I gaped.
"Your luggage, sir." The driver smiled politely as he handed off my rolling suitcase. I shook my head to clear it and then tipped him. The place had a palatial air, refined and luxurious, like something out of 18th century France. I barely noticed as the limo pulled away.
A wide arch led to the main entry: double doors of impeccably clean glass that blazed with refined light. A doorboy pulled one open and gestured me in with a smile. I smiled back, uncertainly. The hallway was panelled in dark oak, and emptied into a lavish hall with a reception desk at the far end. A man waited behind the gleaming marble counter, smiling politely.
"I'm...I'm not sure if I'm in the right place. I'm looking for...uh..." I fished the card out of my pocket. "Club...Lolipops?"
"Yes sir." The man gave a brief bow as he spoke, his accent thick. I couldn't identify it. "This is the club hotel. May I see your invitation?"
I passed over the card. He held it next to a chip reader and it beeped approvingly.
I shifted my coat and dug in my suit pocket until I was able to get it out and hand it over. The receptionist scrutinized it carefully, comparing my appearance, before typing something into his computer.
"You're expected sir." His grin came back as if it hadn't faltered. "Welcome to Club Lolipops. The main hotel is on the lower level through the elevator, there." He nodded towards the metal doors. "You are in 143. This will get you into your room. Simply hold it next to the handle." He passed back the invitation. "If you have any questions our staff will be happy to assist you."
"Thank you." I hauled my suitcase behind me as I got into the elevator and pressed the button marked "Hotel." The doors whispered closed and the elevator vibrated with a nearly imperceptible hum as it descended.
The darkened hallways here were just as luxurious. Tiny spotlights shone in alcoves of rich wooden panelling, illuminating plants and works of art. I felt like I had stepped into a rich playboy's mansion. Signs overhead pointed the way at each intersection. A pair of drunken businessmen passed me, laughing uproariously and talking in German, clapping each other on the back, as if still reeling from the night of their lives.
Closed doors leered back at me from the dead ends of each hallway I passed, their door handles gleaming with red LEDs. "CLUB. BATHS. GYM." Some of the signs were in multiple languages. I waved my invitation at one experimentally and it buzzed and remained locked. Chastened, I kept following the room numbers until I found my own.
I had scarcely dumped my suitcase on the floor and loosened my tie when my door buzzed again and Dan walked in.
"Hey Buddy!" Dan clapped me on the back affably. "How was the trip?"
"Not bad. Not bad." I sniffed. Dan seemed like he might have had a few already.
"That's great. Ready to have a good time Gabe? This place is fantastic. Let's head to the club."
I followed Dan as he led me back down the hallways to the door marked "CLUB". He waved a grey keycard at the handle and it beeped and turned green. A lushly decorated staircase waited beyond, sloping upwards, with the same moody lighting and heavy wood panelling as the hotel.
Refined orchestral music lingered in the air we climbed. The staircase's gentle ascent was marked with wide landings circled by bannisters, with Victorian arches on the side that let you look down into the hallways that crossed beneath. Chandeliers shone with cheery light and framed art pieces decorated the walls, tastefully lit and hanging with quiet sophistication. I took a closer look at one as we passed.
A shining black border and glass encased a full-size poster: a brilliant photograph of the profile of a gorgeous young girl twirling a ribbon, its spiraling arc filling the frame. Her luscious blond pigtails were frozen in time, captured at the apex of a graceful movement. I took in the orange leotard stretched tightly over her girlish form, hugging her hips, and goggled at the translucent back section that swept from her shoulders all the way down over her butt. The thin black mesh revealed everything, hugging the rear of her waist with seductive ripples and straining where it cupped the perky slopes of her bottom.
"I saw Julie here last year," Dan said, stepping up beside me with a grin. "Show of a lifetime. She's lovely isn't she? This almost doesn't do her justice."
"Beautiful," I breathed heavily. She was. A slender, girlish form brimming with youthful beauty and tender vitality. A tiny plaque provided the caption for the piece:
PIETER GRISMANN Rhythmic Bum Bitch
"Come on." Dan brushed my shoulder. "Plenty more to see. We wouldn't want to miss the show."
The stairway turned at a wide landing bordered by an ornate balustrade, a wide space opening beyond. I looked down to see a lounge, a party of suited men relaxing on the couches and enjoying their drinks as they talked quietly. The stairs ran up under an elaborate archway of carved plaster, with a golden plaque labelled "CLUB SEATING". I followed Dan upwards and through a pair of heavy doors.
The din of conversation washed over us. Dan led us forward into a crowded room, dimly lit, navigating effortlessly between the rows of seats. We were in a pillared, circular theater, with the outer rim full of tables and lavish seating while the center of the room was dominated by a round wooden stage, empty, burnished by white spotlights. A quartet of violinists serenaded us from a balcony. Red velvet curtains and opulent designs decorated the walls with a profusion of elaborate marble carvings scattered between them, filigree and cherubic human figures that would have been right at home in an opera house. Feeling a bit out of place amidst such elegance, I followed Dan to a pair of seats in the front row.
"It's been months since I've been able to get to one of Sasha's shows." Dan rubbed his hands gleefully as he leaned back and luxuriated in the palatial chair. "Christ. You haven't seen anything until you've seen this girl, Gabe. She's amazing. Sponsoring her was the best decision I've ever made. She does this thing with a hoop that...well, just wait until you see it." He shivered with delight. "Talented. Gorgeous too. Just take a look."
He gestured and for the first time I noticed the TVs that hung from the ceiling on invisible cords, angled down to give the patrons a good display. A young girl about the age of 10 was featured on the screen, in a pink leotard, smiling and with her head tilted back and doing the splits. "SASHA SHUBINE" was prominently titled across the top, and a countdown was ticking in one corner with just under 5 minutes left.
"So flexible," Dan murmured, gazing up at the screen as if mesmerized. I could barely tear my eyes away myself. The girl's silky leotard hugged her body in a way that left nothing to the imagination, and her butt was thrust out behind her, the pink fabric straining between a luscious pair of buttcheeks. She smiled coyly at the camera with her back arched, but it was her front that drew my eye: the top half of her leotard was translucent, a thin gossamer almost invisible to the eye, and the delicate pink nubs of her nipples were proudly on display.
"Wow," I breathed. The young girl dripped with sensuality, poised in her gymnastic pose. A heated rush stirred down below, tenting uncomfortably against my suit pants. I shifted my legs on the chair.
"Yup." Dan was smiling with anticipation. "She's something isn't she?"
"I'll say." I shifted again, wondering what I was in for. The rhythmic gymnastics Dan had shown me before were tantalizing enough, but this was on a whole other level.
"She seems pretty young," I ventured. "She's doing this show?"
"Yup. There's a show every night, sometimes more than one."
Dan nodded. "Sure. Balls, hoops, ribbons, clubs, that sort of thing. Ballet, dance sometimes." His smile grew fiendish. "This is just the evening show. They have all kinds. Pretty much whatever you could want."
I leaned back in my chair, considering. It sounded too good to be true.
"Wouldn't a place like this get shut down?" I swallowed, suddenly perspiring. "You know, I mean...because of the girl's ages?"
Dan laughed uproariously and beckoned someone over. A slender form emerged from the darkness, a girl around the age of 13 in a shimmering cocktail dress. I boggled, eyes crawling over the bare shoulders and slender hips. She was a knockout, perfectly made up with dark hair spilling over one shoulder in waves. She blinked in the darkness, smiling prettily.
"Hey there peach," Dan said. "I'll have a Bum Bitch, extra vermouth. My friend will have a Pink Pussy."
"Sure." She flashed us both a tantalizing smile before disappearing again.
"Let me show you something Gabe." Dan turned in his chair and pointed. "You see that man over there?"
I turned with him. A heavyset man was lounging in the middle of a circular couch a ways behind us, with a preteen girl under each arm, both in cocktail dresses similar to our waitress. He tapped his cigar into an ashtray and said something in Dutch, grinning, and both girls tittered approvingly and snuggled closer.
"That's an attorney-general. The club keeps him happy. And do you see that man there?"
I followed his finger, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and spied an elderly man with glasses holding a martini glass with one hand and dandling a little girl in a dress on his leg with the other. He was seated at a small table, talking quietly to a woman across from him.
"He's one of the VPs of the Dutch senate. I think he sponsors more than one girl. Only rich assholes like him could even afford to do that. And that woman he's talking with is an appeals court judge. I don't know if she sponsors any of the girls but she's definitely a VIP anyways. The club accommodates all kinds of tastes."
"Oh." I looked around in the dim light with new understanding. The waitresses were all girls under the age of 14, and there were others too, entertaining the club's clients, sitting with them or hanging onto their arms and smiling, some sitting on laps and knees. Some wore evening dresses, others wore leotards, and a
Huge Areola
Leslita
Big Tits Selfie