Dom Fitness

by Brianna Hale

  Brianna Hale

  Working out has never been so hardcore…

  Dominic Weston, Dom for short, has a crazy-ass idea: a gym run entirely by BDSM dominants. Whether members crave praise or humiliation, his trainers provide all the motivation needed for the perfect workout. Every flavor of sub is welcome at Dom Fitness, but bratty little girls are Daddy Dom’s specialty.

  Amelia Tate has never so much as breathed near an exercise bike, and yet her editor wants her to write a feature on Dom Fitness. The only problem? They won’t let her inside to interview the trainers unless she becomes a member herself. Fine! She’ll join. And then she’ll tell the world just how dumb Dom Fitness is.

  To Amelia’s shock, being dominated by Dom isn’t horrible. In fact, it feels amazing, and she starts to crave him both inside the gym and out, even though that’s definitely against club rules. Pfft, rules? It’s not just Amelia that’s about to get bendy. Daddy Dom doesn’t call her his naughty brat for nothing.

  Author's Note: Dom Fitness is a novella of 17,000 words and was previously published in the Dirty Daddies Anthology.

  DOM FITNESS by BRIANNA HALE

  Copyright © 2020 Brianna Hale

  | All Rights Reserved |

  Cover design by Maria @ Steamy Reads

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except brief quotations for reviews. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any similarities between persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

  For Lily. Girl, I wish I could sign us up at Dom Fitness! Here’s the next best thing.

  Prologue

  Dom

  Dom Fitness: Just Say Yes (Sir)

  I stare at the social media ad with my arms folded. The subhead reads, You do the work, we do the worrying. Pure results. It went live ten minutes ago. We went live ten minutes ago. Us. The gym, Dom Fitness. My crazy-ass venture that’s going to see us all plummet into bankruptcy and become the laughingstock of the city. Who the hell is going to want a six-feet-tall BDSM dominant riding their ass while they’re trying to work out? What was I thinking?

  Joshua slaps my shoulder. “You worried, man?”

  We’re standing together behind the reception desk in the foyer at Dom Fitness. Everything around us is sparkly new and ready for our clients. It looks like an ordinary gym rather than a BDSM dungeon. I was very clear about that with the designer. No actual sex or sexual punishment goes on here. It’s all about the mental dynamic between trainer and trainee.

  But are people going to get that? Are people going to sign up and pay for that? I’m only risking all my savings and the employment of a dozen staff without knowing the answers. Why would I be worried?

  I open my mouth to answer, but the glass doors suddenly slide open, and in steps a young woman in a pastel pink dress with her hair in a ponytail and a gym bag over her shoulder.

  She greets us with a huge smile. “Hi! Um, I saw the poster outside last week and I’ve been counting down the days until you opened. I’m not too late, am I? You still have memberships available, right?”

  Joshua and I stare at her, and her face falls. “Oh, no. You’re full, aren’t you? I knew I should have come earlier.” Her lower lip juts in a sad pout and her shoulders sag.

  Joshua recovers first and slides a questionnaire across the counter toward her. “Not yet, but you arrived just in time. Sit over there and fill this out, and then head on through and get changed. The trainer you match with will meet you in the free weights area.”

  She grins at us and picks up the clipboard. “Awesome! This is going to be the best thing that ever happened to me, I just know it. Thanks so much, guys. Um, I mean, sirs?”

  “You can call us Joshua and Dom,” Joshua tells her with a wink. “Save the sir for your trainer.”

  “Okay, Joshua!” A pink blush joins her smile. Flustered but happy, she goes over to the row of seats and begins filling out her answers to the questions.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Our first customer, and she gets it. I think we’re going to be okay.

  Joshua punches me on the arm. “Hey, you were worried.”

  I grin back. “Who, me? I’ll leave you to it. Keep sending them through.”

  I swipe through the barriers and head into the gym itself, admiring all the shiny new workout machines and rows of weights.

  It is going to work. Fitness is all about routine and structure, and no one understands routine and structure like a dominant. The men and women I’ve employed are going to give this city’s submissives the motivation they’re craving. The babies, the littles, the princes and princesses, subs, slaves, kittens, and, of course, the brats.

  I smile wickedly to myself and crack my knuckles, thinking of all the naughty boys and girls who’ll find the structure and authority they need in here that will level out their moods. We’ll give them all the boundaries they’re craving in order to feel safe, and then we’ll send them back out into the world again, happy and calm. It’s the best feeling in the world when I can do that for someone.

  This place is for everyone, but in my heart, it’s especially for the brats.

  The questionnaire we have each new member fill out will match each sub with exactly the right trainer. I’m one of the trainers, too, and I can’t wait to see who I’ll be paired with first.

  Chapter One

  Amelia

  I stare at the sign in disbelief. Dom Fitness. It’s emblazoned over the door in black, foot-high letters. Below them, slightly smaller, is the phrase, Because we said so.

  So it’s not a joke then? This place is real?

  Through the glass doors in the reception area, a huge man is standing behind the front desk, scanning membership cards and handing out towels. He’s working hard, because this place is busy. A dozen people have gone inside while I’ve been standing out here.

  Dom Fitness is a gym run entirely by dominants. BDSM dominants, or doms for short. It’s the first of its kind and brand new as of a week ago, and my editor, Suzanna, just had to get a story about it. I, the donut-eating, exercise-allergic junior features writer, was asked to “volunteer” for the job.

  The sexually inexperienced junior features writer.

  Okay, I’m technically not a virgin, but I can hardly call myself a sexual sophisticate when I lost it at fourteen at a party and he only lasted two pumps. Two pumps that did nothing for me. Less than nothing, actually, because it kind of felt yucky. Now I’m twenty and I haven’t felt like repeating such an anti-climactic—bad, awful pun—experience.

  But is Dom Fitness even about sex? I was too afraid to ask anyone at the office what they thought, because maybe that’s something I should know already, and they’d only laugh at me even more. I already floated the idea of researching Dom Fitness from afar. I could do a phone interview with one of the trainers. Read the material on their website. But oh, no. Suzanna grinned from ear to ear as she gave the office frigid the assignment. “Amelia, you need the full, hands-on experience. Now, off you go.”

  Everyone calls me the office frigid just because I didn’t know what a blowjob was. Apparently, it’s not “blowing gently on a man’s genitals.” My answer to that dumb online quiz went around the office so fast it broke the land speed record.

  I glance nervously at the muscular receptionist.
Everything looks normal from here, but are there whips, paddles and handcuffs festooning the workout areas? Are people going to be actually having sex on the workout equipment? Shuddering, I push through the front doors and go inside. If I chicken out, I’ll never live it down at the office, and my three-month review is coming up. Suzanna has already told me several times she needs me to be more adventurous. I need this job. This job keeps me in art supplies, and painting is the only thing that I really want to do with my life. It doesn’t pay the bills yet, but hopefully one day it will. The only thing is, my motivation to paint has gone AWOL since the incident.

  But I can’t think about that now or I’ll cry, scream, or both.

  Inside Dom Fitness, the décor’s not too bad. It’s not aggressively masculine or a brightly-colored assault on the senses like some gyms I’ve seen. Dom Fitness is minimal and modern in shades of white and silver, and it smells good, too. Clean and fresh rather than ripe with the odor of stale sweat and disinfectant. There’s a cute smoothie bar, where several well-dressed gym-goers are sipping protein shakes. Normal so far.

  Across the front desk is written, No judgment. Only results.

  I wrinkle my nose a little at that. Oh, I’m going to be judging. Even if it’s all in my head, I’m going to be judging the hell out of this place. Combining BDSM and fitness sounds like a terrible idea to me.

  My best bet to get in and out of here quickly is to charm the receptionist into letting me take a quick look around the premises, and then I’ll high-tail it back to the office.

  “Hi!” I say brightly to the huge man. I see from his name tag he’s called Joshua. “Joshua. Lovely to meet you.”

  Joshua’s gaze is steely, and doesn’t return my smile. “Good morning. May I help you?”

  I hesitate. Aren’t receptionists supposed to be friendly? Slightly disconcerted, I hurry on. “I’m Amelia from Hotbed and I’m here to do a piece on the gym. My editor said she’d been in contact with the owner. Maybe you heard I was coming…? Um. Anyway, I don’t want to be a bother. If you could just swipe me through, I’ll take a look around and get out of your hair.”

  Joshua passes me a clipboard and pen. “All new members are to fill out the questionnaire and agree to the rules.”

  I hold up my hands in protest. “Uh—no. I’m not applying for membership. I just want to take a look around.”

  Joshua’s eyes narrow. “Due to the nature of the activities at Dom Fitness, nobody gets in unless they’re a member and have agreed to the rules. Please fill out the questionnaire.”

  I glance at the questions. They’re all statements that you can rate on a scale of one to ten.

  I admire and respond to authority figures.

  Being humiliated is motivation to improve myself.

  I feel myself choke, and I look up at Joshua in panic. “Look, I’m a professional, and I’m here to do a story. Can I please just meet some of your trainers and maybe talk to one or two of your clients, if they’re willing? Then I’ll be on my way.”

  Joshua regards me in silence, raking me from my high ponytail to the tips of my sneakers. “Oh, you’re a special case, are you?”

  There’s barely any inflection in his tone, but I don’t like the way he says that. “Well… I don’t want a fuss made, but maybe I am a special case? I’m not a real client, after all.”

  Joshua nods slowly. “I see. If you’re special, then I should get Dom for you.”

  “Dom?” I asked, confused.

  “What was your name?”

  “Amelia Tate, but…”

  Joshua smiles wickedly and reaches for the phone. I swallow, feeling a strange urge to beg him to put the phone down. Joshua talks for a moment, exchanges a dark laugh with the person on the other end of the line, and then he hangs up.

  “Dom will be your trainer. He says you’re to meet him in the free weights area, but you’re not to begin your workout.”

  He presses a button and the barriers into the gym slide open. I just stare at them, horrified by the sight even though it’s exactly what I said I wanted. “What happened to ‘no one gets in unless they’re a member’?”

  Joshua just grins at me. “Dom must agree with you. You are a special case.”

  I don’t like the way he keeps saying special. I wish I’d just gone along with Joshua and filled out the form in the first place.

  Crap. Too late now.

  I go through the barriers, find the changing rooms and store my things in a locker, and then head out into the gym in my leggings and a sweatshirt. The free weights section is easy enough to find. Most people are working out by themselves, earbuds in, focused on themselves and their reps. No latex fetish gear. No bare bottoms being paddled. No woman in thigh-high leather boots wielding a whip.

  It seems… normal. Wow. After psyching myself up so much, I’m kind of disappointed.

  “I said, what are you?”

  The sudden yell makes me jump.

  “I can’t hear you, Kevin. What are you?”

  A woman’s shrill voice is coming from among the workout machines on the far side of the room. I take a few steps sideways and see a tiny woman in a black Dom Fitness hoodie and black leggings standing with her hands on hips. At her feet is an enormous muscled man in a singlet and shorts. His body is shiny with perspiration, making his muscles stand out. He looks like a professional body builder except for the fact that he’s cowering at this woman’s feet like a frightened puppy.

  The trainer barks, “Everyone! Tell him how pathetic and weak he is.”

  Everyone nearby jeers and shouts. “Pathetic! Weak!”

  The man on the ground puts his arms over his head and groans, as if he can’t bear it. How can he allow himself to be subjected to such treatment? I don’t understand why he doesn’t grab his towel and leave.

  “You couldn’t lift a kitten with those noodle arms, could you?” the woman barks.

  Kevin shakes his head rapidly. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t. I’m so pathetic.”

  The trainer draws herself up to her full height, which isn’t very high, and folds her arms. “If you make it to thirty pull ups, mistress might decide that you’re not a complete pathetic waste of space.”

  The man gulps with sudden gratitude and scrambles up. As fast as his prodigious muscles can manage, he begins doing pull ups.

  “Thirty!” the trainer exclaims a few minutes later. “You may get down now. Kneel.” She points to the spot between her feet, her expression still severe. The man obeys her slavishly, gazing up adoringly at her as he sits between her feet. She maintains her ferocity for a moment longer, and then breaks into a smile.

  “Well done, Kevin.”

  Kevin beams like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, thank you, mistress, thank you.”

  The trainer looks up sharply and sees me staring at them, and snarls, “What are you looking at?”

  I turn quickly away and grab a barbell, doing a few bicep curls while my mind races. What the hell did I just witness? Kevin actually pays for that pint-sized firecracker to talk to him that way?

  I’m still lost in thought and doing reps when a wall of man enters the room. He’s six feet four or five, with enormous shoulders and a chest so broad you could use him as a surfboard. His sweatpants cling to his muscular thighs and I can see the tracings of his abs through his tight black T-shirt. Across the front of the T-shirt is printed DOM in tall white letters.

  He’s holding the clipboard I refused to fill out on the front desk. I swallow.

  Dom scans the gym, sees me, sees the barbell in my hand, and his eyes narrow. I quickly put the weight back and then turn to him innocently, as if I wasn’t doing anything but waiting for him like I was told to. As Dom strides closer, I see that his brown eyes are flecked with gold. His hair is thick and short, and he has a close-cropped dark beard. His mouth is firm, and his jaw looks like it’s been hammered out by Vulcan.

  Dom stops in front of me and just stares at me for a long time, like he’s never seen such a sorry excu
se for a trainee in his life.

  Not a word said to me, and yet I want to start gabbling apologies at him. I don’t, though, because unlike Kevin, I actually have some backbone.

  “Were you touching that equipment?” Dom asks. His voice is deep and rich and vibrates through me, blocking all other noise out. The gym fades into the background.

  I glance nervously at the barbell. Is that a trick question? He saw me with the weight in my hand. “Um… yes?”

  He folds his arms, leveling his smoldering gaze at me. “Are you being smart with me?”

  “What? No!”

  “I’ll ask you again. Were you touching that equipment when I specifically requested that you not begin your workout without me?”

  Somebody walks past us but slows right down when they hear what Dom has said to me. Is Dom about to invite everyone nearby to tell me I’m weak and pathetic? If he does, I’ll leave. That’s verbal abuse and I won’t stand for it from Dom for the sake of a lousy article.

  I draw myself up and fold my arms as well, mirroring his overbearing stance. It’s not quite so impressive from me, though, as I’m five feet six and I definitely have noodle arms. “Yes, I was. So what?”

  “I’m severely displeased with you already, Miss Tate.” He doesn’t shout, but he enunciates carefully and I’m sure every word is carrying to those around us. I can almost feel their glee at my dressing-down. “You’re disobedient, and I will have no more of this behavior from you.”

  My arms loosen in shock. Is he serious? I haven’t been talked to this way since I was a child and I wrote all over the walls in crayon.

  Dom brandishes the clipboard. “Joshua tells me you wouldn’t fill out the membership form. Why?”

  “Well, I, um…” I fumble over my words. I feel an insane impulse to run my fingers though the ends of my ponytail and plead for mercy. “I’m only here to write a story on the gym. Filling it out would be pointless.”