Manhandled by My Personal Trainer (BBW, BDSM, Curvy, Deflowering, Spanking Erotica)

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.