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

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