Manhandled by My Personal Trainer
By Penelope Stone
Book One
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2013
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Adult Reading Material
There's a moment during rush hour at the gym that feel special to anywhere else on the planet. It comes after most people have arrived and are halfway through their workouts. There's a distinct lack of the "Hi, how are you?" chit-chaty bullshit that we feign interest in during our outside lives. It's the moment when the heavy clank of metal weights and the hum of treadmill belts take over. It's when we put on our headphones and pretend to go further into our little heads while our eyes do exactly the opposite.
Our eyes scan the room with a reflexive speed that our conscious mind never notices. It’s when the animalistic parts of our brains emerge to remind us when we're in the same room with a capable mate. All the while we simultaneously analyze and assess those we would consider reproductive competition.
The gym brings this out of us easier than any place else. Let's be honest, without the alcohol or the dimmed lights or the music, the club would be just as uncomfortable as the DMV. But the gym needs none of that. Experienced gym members know it's the only place that feels like a fight or an orgy could break out at any moment. And as much as we'd like to insist our attendance is strictly health focused, there's a part of us that understands and craves the animalistic atmosphere.
That’s why we keep going back. Even if we never realize it on our own.
I first met Kevin when I was sixteen, which was also the same day I started working out. Throughout most of my childhood I was an insecure, chubby, uncoordinated mess and I showed no hope of getting better. I was intimidated by nearly every woman in my life, which especially included my mother, who had the poise and grace of a Greek Goddess. My mother was a tall and striking brunette that looked fifteen years younger than the forty year-old she was. She could walk into a room and not only seize the attention of everyone there, she had the confidence to command the respect of anyone she met. She cast a shadow so large that sometimes I assumed I simply spawned out of it rather than the anonymous sperm donor that was my biological father. Though she prized motherhood, she never found the time to settle into a marriage. Some might say that was her only failing, but I suppose in truth it was the secret to her success.
Her rampant earnings as a tax-attorney and success as a single mother lifted her to the inspirational ‘how did she do it?’ status for every woman in our neighborhood. Her single-status also made her the envy and desire of every possible male (and female) suitor in our suburban town.
Of course, I too envied my mother, but above all I wanted to be her. I prized any time I had alone with her, hoping to absorb whatever secret taught her how attain the public notoriety she had. I would try anything to be less of the chunky, acne-faced dope that I was, and more like her.
“Mel, what are your plans for after school today?” she asked one morning.
“I don’t know, there’s going to be a Jim Carey movie marathon on after school,” I replied between mouthfuls of my sugar-saturated cereal. My mother, very astutely, recognized this as a cry for help.
“Why don’t you come with me to the gym this evening, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Somehow, I agreed. This was despite the fact that up until then I broke a sweat climbing a single flight of stairs. I wanted to see what went on at my mother’s 24-hour gym that granted her such a prized physique.
When I got out of school I rushed home to put on my lightly used workout clothes I received as a gift after I made “seriously start jogging” my New Year’s resolution, but stopped halfway into February. Obviously working out was always something I had wanted to make a regular part of my life, but I always lacked the conviction to keep up with it. For most girls like me the hard part isn’t being aware of my size, it’s being able to do something about it on my own.
When my mother and I passed through the gym’s sliding glass doors, a dark-haired, very well defined man in his late twenties approached us. He was tall was wearing a white tank-top that proudly displayed the width of his gargantuan shoulders. And because my impulse had trained me to get out of the way, I stepped behind my mother as if I were opening his walkway to the door. It was stupid, yes, and I might have stood there awkwardly too, if my mother hadn’t spoken up for me.
“Sweetie, this is Kevin Campbell,” he smiled and nodded at me, ”He’s my new personal trainer. We’ve worked out a deal for him to train you too for thirty minutes after my session three days a week.”
Flushed with embarrassment I stepped around to shake the man’s hand. His face was devastatingly symmetrical, and his voice had an uncanny smoothness to it that was somehow relaxed and yet purposefully intense at the same time. For the first time I noticed how distinctly tall he was, he must have stood around 6’4”, dwarfing even my mother. One could get lost for hours admiring his physical features, which he worked on night and day. It’s obvious that my fluttering crush for Kevin must have began there.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said warmly as he took my hand. He had a contagious sense of confidence about him that had spread to me as he held my hand in his. “Go ahead and start getting warmed up on your own by briskly jogging on one of the treadmills, I’ll be back in forty-five minutes after I’m finished with your mother’s session,” he instructed. And as they rounded the corner into the next room I tried not to melt into a puddle of teenage puppy-love.
I also wasn’t super thrilled to start exercising alone, so I just started stretching in between trips to the water fountain. I dawdled there for about ten minutes there before I accepted I was going to have to climb on the treadmill.
I approached the running machine the way an anxious child approaches a horse. The equipment looked too intense for me, too serious. This was a machine for a serious runner. As my insecurities came out just being in the same room with it made me feel false and hypocritical, like I didn’t deserve to climb up on it.
I stood on top of the modern, sleek treadmill and selected the least physically demanding, slower paced jog option. It’s embarrassing to say, but I was only about two and a half minutes in before I was profusely sweating. My legs began urging me to slow down, not because they burned but because they didn’t want to burn. Quitting before your tired is a shameful attitude to bring into a gym, but I was too shortsighted to believe in physically investing myself in anything.
“Are you tired, already?” I nearly leapt four inches off the ground, I had no idea Kevin was there watching me. He approached the treadmill’s electronic display of my embarrassing two and a half minute attempt. “Your mother’s going to be ending early with a set of lunges and she asked me to check on you.”
“Yeah, I think I need a break.”
“You can absolutely take a break if you want, but I don’t think you’re ready for one yet.” At first I was a little
offended. How did he know I wasn’t as tired as I felt I was? He had a (perhaps deservedly) cocky attitude when it came to his knowledge of the human body and his ability to recognize
“Well ok then, I’ll go at it a little longer,” I was mildly annoyed, but more than anything I wanted to show him how exhausted I could be. I started jogging again and reveled in feeling his watchful gaze. My legs started to burn. ‘Good, I want him to see how exhausted they are,’ I thought. Suddenly the pace of the treadmill was too slow for what I was putting in, and I picked it up to a light run. When sweat started to coat my clothing and drip off of my body it felt like a reward knowing he watched. I loved doing it all for him, even though I knew it was for me. What was initially a taxing endeavor had somehow morphed into pleasure. When the exhaustion was finally too much I stopped the treadmill and leapt off the back, hands bent over onto my knees as I caught my breath.
“Now that’s more like it,” Kevin gleamed “From now on I’ll want you to stop by gradually slowing yourself down, but what you’ve done here today is impressive. You’ve got heart, Melanie. And you have determination.” His complements echoed in my head and lifted my spirits. I was purely elated, and I knew I had earned the right to be when I stood up and looked down at my treadmill stats. Twenty-two minutes. The image burned into my mind and left me astonished. Not by what I had done, but by what Kevin had brought out of me.
Up until that moment I was worried that my time at the gym would be short-lived. It could have been just another flash-in-the-pan ambition I’d give up on in three weeks or less. But I could come back to the gym, if it was to see him. And if it meant pleasing him, I knew I could push myself further and longer than I ever could have before. Kevin gave my workouts purpose, even though I knew I was working out for my personal benefit.
It’d be pointless to try to deny it, there was a part of me that wanted to be his back then. He was a gateway to empowerment through instruction. But that was before I knew who my competition would be in his attention. That was before the day I gave up hope, and started to work out solely for myself. That was the day I walked in on him with my mother.
Though we arrived at the same time, I typically waited in the gym’s lobby until my mother had finished her session first. I had been working out for about eight-months and it was truly showing. Most of my acne had cleared up, and I had lost nearly twenty pounds. I felt healthier, and had gained a newfound confidence that pushed me out of my awkward head enough to expand my social circle.
We arrived at the gym and wordlessly stepped into the routine of my mother stepping away with Kevin to the third floor weight room while I stretched and briskly jogged until it was my turn, since at this point I had more than enough energy left for my private workout.
But on this particular evening I was eager to start toning my triceps, and I began looking for Kevin to ask what was a good starting weight. The 24-hour fitness center has three floors and is sprawling in each direction. There’s an Olympic sized swimming pool, a spa, a daycare, and just about any other facility you can imagine. While it has a number of people in it, it’s very easy find isolation if that’s your personal preference. The third floor women’s weight machine room, as it turned out, was exactly that. I stepped to the small glass pane window to the door of the room and had the air emptied from my lungs by what I saw.
My mother was on her knees, with one hand wrapped around Kevin’s waist while the other splayed across his sculpted six-pack abs. He gripped her pony-tail in a fist and was very deliberately pumping a bulging erection into my mother’s mouth. Though saliva had begun to run down her chin, her eyes told me she how much pleasure she was getting from having her throat claimed by our muscular trainer. He was being heavily forceful with her throat, but her face was in absolute ecstasy.
I turned and tried to return to the gym’s lobby without breaking into tears. I was stupid to have hoped I could have attracted Kevin’s attention through our workouts, I should have known that only perfection like him could be interested in the perfection of my mother. I collapsed on one of the benches on the first floor and internally wept as my teenage crush for Kevin melted from the memory of what I had just witnessed. I could no longer work out for Kevin. If I was going to continue from here on it would have to be solely for me. Months after that evening my mother found a new trainer at a more expensive gym, but by this point I had a car and was capable of getting back to Kevin on my own. It didn’t change any part of how I felt. I was imperfect, and until I could attain perfection I refused to allow myself to hope. And for the next four years, that exactly what I felt. I continued to mature physically and developed into the fittest twenty one year-old college senior on campus. It was thanks to Kevin, but I had done it for me.
I couldn’t have known then what was to come. I had no idea Kevin would bring out a newfound part of myself as he had on that treadmill so many years earlier.
A white-hot searing pain shoots up from my abs and radiates out to my chest on my sixtieth sit-up. The pain is enough to convince me that I'm done, but I know it won't be enough for Kevin Campbell.
"You're doing great, Melanie. Keep exhaling on your way up, we're almost there," he instructs. Kevin has always known when I'm reaching my limit, but his talent and his gift is knowing how to get me to go even further.
He kneels on the floor to keep my feet down, peering down at me from over my knees. I know he can sense my fatigue. He knows my body wants to quit. This is always when he locks onto me with his soft, baby-blue eyes to pull me through the pain.
"That's it. Just five more," he calls out, but I know I’m finished. The fatigue and pain cements itself to my chest as it became nearly impossible to catch my breath.
"I ca-"
"Yes you can. Four more, now," he cuts me off, and his words sprung me back to meet him. Knowing the commanding intensity of his eyes, Kevin pulls me to him. My breath erupts from my mouth on my last rep, and I hit the ground panting harder than I had all night.
"That's good, I think that's a new personal record for you Melanie." The news is comforting, but it's hard to take full credit, I know I would have given in earlier if he had let me.
I stand up, wiping the excess of sweat from my body at the conclusion of our session and stare into the mirror that lines at least one of the walls in every room. There’s only a hint of the same girl I was when I first came in here. Where once there was a dopey, chubby teen there’s now a lean blonde with a flat stomach, like I’ve seen on TV all my life. Sometimes reflecting on how far I’ve come makes me tear up, but now all I can register is a sense of accomplishment and pride. I turn to the massive dark-haired man also in the mirror, smiling with accomplishment towards me as well.
This will be the last session with Kevin for three months while I’ll be on a college graduation trip to Italy with some friends. It’s by far the longest break from the gym that I’ve taken since I’ve started working out, and I have to admit it’s a break I’m looking forward to.
“You’ve done well, Melanie. It’s been an honor to be your trainer. You’ve grown tremendously since we first started our sessions, which is actually something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” Kevin’s face becomes serious and the most vulnerable I’ve yet seen him. “When you get back, I’ve been asked to put together a catalog of my most successful students for my personal training portfolio. The transformation you’ve shown reflects on me as a trainer, and well.. ” I’ve never understood how somebody so tall could appear so humble if needed, but I see that within him now. “I was hoping you could be the cover model for my site. The example of what I my training can give someone when they’re as determined as you are.” There’s really no way around it, the request itself was a flattering compliment. My cheeks flare up and I struggle to find the right words for him now. Once again, it’s like he’s holding me in his eyes to do what he wants.
“Sure, Kevin. That’d be no problem at all. I’m flattered by the request. What day is the shoot?”
“Actually it’s the day after you said you’d get back. I know that might sound a little hectic, I can have it pushed back ‘till later if you’d like.” I wasn’t about to ask that of him. After all we’ve been through together, this is the least I could do.
“Don’t worry about it, that’d be fine.”
“Well I know it’s going to be a long trip. Three months can make an impact on the body, if you’re not careful with how you eat.” It’s polite of him to consider, but I think I can manage it. Just because I’m going on an extended vacation it doesn’t mean I’m going to let the last year or so at the gym go to waste.
“Really, Kevin. It’s fine. I’ll stay on top of everything. There’s no way I’m going to let myself slide backwards while I’m away.” The tension relieves from his face looks genuinely grateful to hear this.
“Thank you, Melanie. I didn’t want you to feel pressured, but you getting back that day gives me enough time to submit a portfolio of my work to a panel of judges at the University. You’d be the front page of the catalog, of course. It’s just.. I don’t want to get too technical, but my career could really launch off after this.” I can’t say how strange it was to hear Kevin speak this way.
Here was a man that for years has only been commanding and instructive. Friendly, yes. Considerate, yes. He’s stayed within his bounds as ‘deservedly arrogant’ when it came to gym matters, never crossing into ‘asshole’ territory. But it feels like he’s outright begging right now. I assure him once more that he can count on me before hug him goodbye and exit the gym, beginning to feel a little redundant.
“Melanie, Actually there’s something else I’d like to talk to you about,” he lets out as I’ve already walked through the sliding doors. I turn around expecting something else about his photo shoot, but I can see in his eyes that it’s not about that. “It can wait, until you get back. Have a safe trip.”
Manhandled by My Personal Trainer (BBW, BDSM, Curvy, Deflowering, Spanking Erotica) Page 1
