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

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