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Personal Training Session

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He inhaled a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly in a heavy, mournful sigh. He did not want to be here. He slid a hand down his torso and over the soft start of a belly. At 29, there was no denying that his body needed some help in maintaining the slim trim build of his youth. He was by no means fat, or even really overweight, and many guys his age would have been delighted to be as thin as he was, but not him. He felt the slight bulge of his stomach, the faded blue jeans that fit just a bit too snugly now.

He gazed with loathing at the vile building before him. A fitness centre! Of all the things, he had succumbed to this cruel manipulation of the media. His hands closed into fists, his knuckles white as he steeled himself for the descent into the bright sodium hell which lay just before those metallic swinging doors. He did not need this! That was the problem and he knew it, he was no longer as active as he once was, he also admitted that a membership here would be money well wasted unless he broke down and splurged on a personal trainer. His commitment to working out would evaporate before the ink was dry on his membership form without a personal trainer. Closing his eyes, he strode with rigid back towards the metallic, mocking doors.

Inside the fitness centre was laid out exactly as he feared it would be; big central raised platform with two fit, attractive, hyper-energetic people in a lycra-spandex combination to dazzle and blind behind the entrance desk, clear glass windows showing row upon row of workout machines or freeweights or pools, people in various stages of shape and sweat trudging through predetermine routes to work the abs, blast the quads or sculpt the buttocks. Like an automoton Bill headed to the entrance desk.

The peppy welcome he received from both the man and the woman nearly made him turn about on his heel and flee the place, but instead he disconnected his ears and informed them of his desire to join their gym. Within minutes of their chirpy happy greeting of him, his picture and money had been taken, and a laminated membership card pressed into his nerveless hand.

Bill gave his head a shake.

“Pardon?” he asked.

“Doyouwantthegrandetournoworatalaterdate?” the perpetually peppy desk girl asked him.

“Definitely later. Also, I need to sign up for a personal trainer.”

“Ohsurenoproblemdoyouhaveanyspecificareaofyourbodyyouwanttofocuson?”

He wanted to ask her how she managed to speak that quickly and that long without breathing. Instead he shook his head. “Just a general firming and toning of my body.”

“OkgreatIknowjustthetrainerforyou,Ryan,nextopeningis… wow… tonightat10pmisthatok?”

Wow was right, you actually paused for breath mid-sentence. He wanted to comment on this too, instead he just nodded his head. “That’s fine.” He worked at home, he could set his own hours. “Isn’t that a bit late?”

“Thenextavailablespotafterthatisinsixdaysyoucantakethatoneifyouwant.”

“No, no, tonight will be fine.”

He turned to leave as the cute, lycra-spandex clad, bubbly, bursting, pony-tailed blonde smiled a full, white, dazzling smile at him, he cringed. She was too… everything. He guaranteed that most straight males under that sort of onslaught would be putty, gooey putty, in her hands. Still, he wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating cookies. Bleck! How had that thought sprung into his head? Must be the lighting. He bet her name was Tiffany, or Britney, or Chelsey, definitely something ending in the letter “y.”

The day passed sluggishly like the morning after a big bender. It was with worried fingers he flipped open his wallet and saw to his shock the shiny white laminated fitness centre member’s card, he groaned into his hands realizing he had an appointment with Ryan, the personal trainer today at 10pm. He seriously contemplated cancelling his membership or reporting his credit card stolen so that he could prevent his upcoming humiliation. The image of Ryan popped fully formed into his head, a blonde Greek Adonis with a barrel chest, pecs with independant motion and abs that could be used to fry eggs on. He stood at least 6’2, towering over poor Bill, each muscle cut and defined and oiled up to a mirror shine. His blonde hair closely cropped to his head, was it possible to see his frontal lobe flexing? The shorts were too tight and too short and the muscle shirt could only barely qualified as a shirt at all, it looked more like a sleeveless evening gown gone horribly awry! A mantra began in Bill’s mind “Hate Ryan. Hate Ryan. Hate Ryan.” over and over and over. It was with surly displeasure he packed his tattered gym bag and threw it into the back of his car, he didn’t even bother to look at himself in the mirror, it would serve Ryan right! Bill would show the arrogant lothario what he thought of good looking pretty boys. He angrily started the engine and threw it into drive, his hands clenching the wheel in grim determination as he returned to that damned fitness centre.

Bubbles no longer bounced behind the ankara eryaman escortlar reception desk. In her place was a near carbon copy, only this time a brunette with brown eyes, slightly shorter with slightly larger breasts. Do they have a farm where they grow fitness centre receptionists or was there a lab where teams of German scientists cloned them? It had to be German scientists, if there were a lab, it just had to be!

“I’m here for a meeting…? workout…? …session? with Ryan at 10pm.”

“Ohrightsureit’swrittenrightherejustgothroughthosedoorstotheroommarkedst udioAandRyanjustcalledandisrunningabitlate.”

“Thanks.” Bill figured BubblesBrunette must be a newer version of BubblesBlonde as she appeared to be able to talk longer on a single breath of air. Bill wandered down the hall, looking for Studio A, he had no idea where it might be, but asking BubblesBrunette for directions was completely out of the question. He was early, Ryan would be late, so time wasn’t an issue, besides, Bill liked exploring.

As he wandered down the well lit, but mostly empty, corridors his mind drifted from thought to thought. How could a fitness centre turn a profit being open 24-hours a day, seven days a week? What was the 3am Tuesday fitness crowd like? Maybe if the next Bubbles Version came with a mute option. Ack! Damn libido. Unfortunately, despite the size of the centre, handy, informative signs dotted the walls at far too regular intervals, meaning Bill found Studio A in less than four minutes. With a roll of his eyes he pushed open the doors and inspected the studio, it wasn’t quite what he expected. A bright hardwood floor, a couple of black vinyl benches, but not too many weights, lay stacked in neat piles, giving room to move or dance, or in his case attempt to flee. He guessed it must be a multipurpose room, good for individual workout sessions and small group classes. He found a small change room at the back, and quietly changed into his workout gear, a pair of loose, long, navy blue shorts and a plain, old t-shirt, his sneakers were relatively new though.

He ambled through the multipurpose room, and found nothing more exciting than one sad discarded holey greying sock. After 5 mind-numbing minutes passed, he stuck his head into the hall and looked around for any signs of that Adonis Ryan. He ducked his head back in the room when he heard the high-pitched chirping of one of the Bubbles Brigade. A few tense moments later, sensing the coast was clear, he snuck down the hall, intent on escaping the psychological interrogation centre that others foolished called a gym. Still, his curiousity pestered at him until he found himself perversely intrigued as to what implements of torment might be hidden behind these other doors. Pressing his ear to each heavy door to check for sounds, he peered in first one, then another, most rooms on this wing fell into the multipurpose rooms, with the final room containing a sauna and whirlpool. He refused to guess as to what tortures went on in that last room! He was very nearly free and clear of the center when he realized with a groan that his gym bag, shoes, clothes and wallet were nicely stuffed in a cubby hole in Studio A. He retraced his steps on silent, swift feet, slipped into the Studio and had just grabbed his bag when he froze in place as he heard the unmistakably sound of the door to Studio A swing open.

A chorus of “Hate Ryan” echoed through his skull.

A glance at his watch told him Ryan was over 10 minutes late.

A scathing insult sprung to his lips, ready to be leveled at the over inflated ego of Ryan the Bronzed MuscleHead.

He strode purposefully from out of the change rooms, his lip curled up in a derisive sneer. The scatching insult died a quick and painless death upon his lips, perhaps it got lost en route from his brain to his mouth, but rather than a sharp, cutting verbal slap, all Bill managed was something akin to ‘gah.’

Ryan, was a woman!

Not only a woman, but a damn fine looking woman!

She kicked the door closed as Bill scrambled to get his brain up and thinking again, but dammit, Ryan did not make things easy. Very nearly his height with a distinctively firmed, fit and toned body, flashing hazel eyes, sensuous smile and short flaming, flirty hair. As she slung her gym bag into the corner, Bill felt a few synapses in his brain finally fire. He actually had to give his head a quick shake to keep his brain from stalling out.

“Hi, sorry I’m late. You must be Mr. Walters.” she stated.

“Puh-please, call me Bill.” he replied.

“Sure thing. This is your first time in a sports club, isn’t it?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“In a word, yes.”

Bill doubted it was the new surroundings that made him look like a deer caught in the headlights, he suspected the blame should be placed clearly on this delightful woman with the misleading name of Ryan.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Probably not. But lets get this torture over with.” Bill said with mock enthusiasm.

Ryan escort etimesgut tilted her head back and laughed, a full healthy laugh. Was there anything about this woman that didn’t scream in shape?

“That’s the spirit.” she chuckled.

Bill felt something when Ryan bent over and dragged a large blue mat into the centre of the studio, but he it wasn’t spirit. The stirring in his loins started the moment she bent over and took ahold of the mat, her black shorts pulled tight across her ass and her legs flexed as he manuevered the awkward mat into position. Her movements were effortless and sinuous. The jade green tank top fit snugly to her delectable curves, her breasts suited her body perfectly, perky, pert and obviously firm. Knowing that her profession was as a personal trainer, he hazarded a fairly safe wager that she wore a sports bra.

Bill blushed inwardly when he realized he was sucking in his gut when Ryan turned to face him.

“On your back.” she commanded.

‘Right words, wrong context’ he thought as he sprawled on the mats.

The next 30 minutes passed in a blur of red-hued pain and strain as Ryan mercilessly abuseded him through his first personal workout session. His smart-assed stream of commentary ended after the first 120 seconds. He surprised himself by lasting that long. Joints popped. Muscles twanged. Ligaments stretched. Tendons snapped. Ryan laughed. Bill wrestled with consciousness. Finally Ryan called a break to the torture. Sweat streamed off of Bill, while a soft sheen of it appeard to have been spritzed across Ryan’s forehead. A large mass of Bill-shaped jello existed where once a man strove to regain his youthful form. Herr Ryan recommended deep shallow breaths and plenty of water. Jello-Bill wondered how to drink water when he swore he blew out his throat muscles 25 minutes ago.

More laughing courtesy of Ryan.

Eventually, the jello mass formerly known as Bill regained some semblance of humanity. Managing even to stand very nearly upright.

“Ready for the second half of the session?” Ryan asked with far too much pleasure, Bill thought.

“What second half?”

“You paid for a full hour with a personal trainer.”

“I’ll pay you double for you to let me crawl out of here.”

“I couldn’t do that, I have my ethics.”

“Oh god! You’re not bound by the Hippocratic Oath or by client-doctor confidentiallity. C’mon. I’ve paid for this already, now, I think I’ve got $40 in my wallet and, AND, 8 stamps on my Coffee Customer Card. All that can be yours if you let me slink out the door right this second!”

“Tempting but,” she started, then hooked his ankles and dumped him neatly onto his back, “no. Time to feel the burn.”

“What the hell do you think I’ve been feeling for the last half an hour? All the fuel for burning has been, well, burnt up!”

Sprawled on his back he was quite charming really. Certainly he didn’t fit any of her regular criteria, that was for damn sure. Still, she couldn’t deny his certain charm, and she didn’t know if she should be flattered or offended at the offer of a Coffee Card as a bribe.

Bill very nearly left that second, god knows his body screamed for him to do just that. Run, flee, tail tucked, hunched over, crawl. Whatever! Just get the fuck outta dodge, but something clicked over in his mind. The stubborn fool that refused to quit reared his ugly head, and guess what, Bill found a groove. Oh, things still hurt, burned, protested and considered informing the United Nations of cruel and unusual punishment, but he gritted through it all. At some point, something clicked and he decided he could do this and would do it and prove this flirty flame-haired firebrand that he could handle any excerise her twisted mind could devise.

In fact, the last three minutes were very like the first two minutes as Bill started to taunt and tease and flirt with Ryan as he lunged and bent, blasted and flexed his body. Ryan smirked as Bill discovered his second wind and his original tongue. He fit none of her preconceived notions of clients. Neither a muscle-bound workout freak or an out-of-shape weekend warrior trying to re-capture his lost youth. Here grumbled someone different, she’d caught his glances that lasted just a moment or two too long, and found she enjoyed his attentions. Hell she preferred by far to the ham-handed pick up lines of the knuckle dragging Cro-Magnons that frequented the weight rooms or to the sloppy, confrontational requests from slimy, ill kept and unkempt weasels in the bars who rarely looked above the low point of her cleavage. Her mouth automatically gave the orders for the final cool down exercises, leaving her brain to mull over thoughts she rarely entertained. He certainly offered something different than any of her normal dates or friends. And, he didn’t look too bad, if sweaty. Nothing a good hot shower couldn’t fix. The image of Bill naked and lathered up in a hot shower brought a quick lick of her lips. Her reverie snapped to batıkent escort an end when she found Bill staring back at her, an mischievious smirk upon his face, as though he’d been watching her watch him for longer than she wanted to admit. Ryan cursed under her breath and blushed slightly, hoped her she could pass the blush off as mere exertion from the workout. Damn alabaster skin. She ran her fingers through her damp hair, bent over and shook her arm and leg muscles in an exaggerated manner to give herself time to recover.

“Are we done?” Bill asked with just a hint of amusement.

Ryan smiled her sweetest smile, “Yup. All done. You did well. Same time next week?” she now wanted to escape, her thoughts a confused muddle.

Bill’s libido spiked into the upper levels when Ryan leveled him with her dazzling smile. “Thanks. Next week should work fine. Oh, one more thing, where are the showers?”

“Oh, yah, right.” Ryan giggled. “This way.” ‘Mmm, why not?’ One side gained a definite advantage as she wrestled with herself.

“Can I at least grab my towel?”

“Oh, if you haaave to.”

Bill detected a lilt there that couldn’t be denied. He opted not to grab his towel, just to see how this played out. She wiggled her way to the door, which Bill didn’t fail to notice either. His internal lust barometer jumped a few more notches northwards.

He followed her out of the studio and down the hall towards the showers he had found during his earlier wanderings, but even with the helpful signs hung upon the walls, Ryan somehow missed the main shower rooms. She stuck her head into a door marked ‘Staff only,’ then pushed the door open and slipped inside. Bill didn’t mind one bit, as the extended walk gave him a great chance to admire her backside and sculpted limber legs.

“Is this the grand tour?” he whispered. He didn’t know why he whispered, but he did. He entered the darkened room and heard… bubbling?

“Shhh,” responded Ryan. A dainty hand slid into his own palm and tugged him off to the left. The source of the bubbling soon revealed itself to be a low-lit hot tub, gurgling away in the corner of the small room. One lone bulb lit the room, a far cry from the blazing halogen of the rest of the fitness facility. He blinked his eyes a few times, trying to adapt to the low level lighting. The rest of his senses seemed more than happy to compensate for his lack of vision. The first thing he noticed was her scent, a healthy mixture of youth and vitality and caused his blood to race. The pads of her fingers traced small circles on the back of his hand, without thinking he pulled her to him, unquestioningly lowered his head slightly to press a long and hungry kiss to her lips that his body knew he craved, even if his mind never made that leap of logic. Ryan responded in kind, molding her lithe body to his torso and leaning towards his lips with matching desire.

One hand slid down her back, slipping into the space between her tank top and shorts caressing the soft, moist skin of the small of her back. His other hand glided up to the back of her neck, pulling her deeper into their suddenly steamy kiss. Ryan clawed as his shirt, eager to taste and to feel him. As she pushed him back up against the wall, she gave him a full body grind, she smiled into the kiss at her discovery.

Pinning him to the wall, her tongue invaded his mouth. Control was an action she was well accustomed to. She didn’t expect his response though. He encircled her waist and rolled her, now it was her turn to be pinned to the wall, his full masculine form pleasurably crushing her to the wall. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and then the breath from her lungs, then held the kiss a few seconds longer.

He broke the kiss finally, a devilish smirk upon his lips.

“Mmm. Damn!” murmured Ryan.

She crossed her arms and in a fluid motion lifted her jade green tank top up and over her head, dropping it to the floor. The navy blue sports bra hugged and lifted her perky, firm breasts. Bill’s eyes glanced down at the bra, noticing immediately that her nipples protruded just a bit. Unconsciously he licked his lips. Without prompting Bill removed his shirt.

Ryan stepped in close to him once more, trailing her fingers slowly over his chest and through the sparse chest hair she found. She moaned without opening her mouth as her eyes roamed over the expanse of man-flesh before her.

Slowly, she sank to her knees.

She peered up at him as her eyes drew level with the waistband of his shorts. Her flashing hazel eyes remained locked on his deep brown eyes as she slid his shorts and boxer-briefs down as one.

His cock, full and erect, uncoiled in the warm room, very nearly striking the underside of Ryan’s chin. He groaned as he stepped out of his now unneeded shorts. Ryan bit her lower lip as she lowered her gaze to examine the swaying piece of manhood before her eyes.

With a sigh she parted her lips and delivered a lusty kiss to the tip of Bill’s cock. Ryan ran her tongue down the length of his swelling member and then back up the opposite side. She wrapped the fingers of her left hand around his veiny tool and gave a few pumps, marvelling at the sluttish power she felt, glancing upwards and seeing his eyes half-closed, a smile of the utmost pleasure upon his face.

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