Personal Trainer

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One freezing, drizzly morning, Donovan Maclean was in the park, stretching his muscles out before a workout, when a small, lycra-clad woman popped up out of nowhere, all cheekbone and smirk and short black hair. With her hands on her hips, he might have mistaken her for an unusually pretty boy if it wasn’t for her feminine curves. He did his best to ignore her.

“Jesus, look at the size of you,” she said in a husky Irish lilt, then began copying his stretches.

Even accounting for Don’s over-scaled figure, she was petite, yet the way she bit the inside of that fat grin, and let her stare run all over him, had his balls shrinking back into his body.

He sighed. Don was sick of only seeing the worst in people. After three years in the army, five in the police and eight with Gemma – before she cheated on him – all he wanted was to run, work out and read books. Alone.

He had nothing to say to this annoying woman. “Ma’am,” he said, and jogged away.

She burst a laugh, and bounced up alongside him. “Ma’am? Seriously?”

He pulled up his hoodie.

Living off his meagre savings, Don’s vow of solitude meant spending most of his daylight hours between the park’s public gym and the library. Even his lunches were free, courtesy of the dinner-ladies at the primary school where he odd-jobbed. Where the kids called him ‘Sad-Hulk’ and tried to make him laugh with corny gags that always cracked him up, eventually, because anything said in their little-duck voices was funny. Kids didn’t count in his solitude rule. Kids made his days. And it would probably be as close as he ever got to being a Dad.

“I’ll train with you, if you don’t mind,” the annoying woman said. She was slim but her soft edges suggested she wasn’t nearly as fit as she thought she was.

He shrugged. After the last few weeks, exhausting himself so he could sleep at night, he was in the best physical shape of his life. “You can try,” He rumbled.

The woman’s thick eyebrows arched half way up her dollish forehead. “What do you mean by that?”

He raised his palms.

She wouldn’t take the hint, running alongside him three times round the park, two strides for each of his and her fists clenched. Whatever she lacked in fitness, she made up for in determination. Don sprinted to the pull-up bars.

Last night had been particularly bad. Haunted by Gemma’s face: unable to hide a self-absorbed, lascivious smile when he’d confronted her about her secret meetings. Then, worse, by her uncharacteristic vitriol as she walked out. His innocent, demur girlfriend hissing, “My cunt came so hard!”

So, this morning he punished himself, and this annoying woman. She was impressive, too, almost matching him set for set, push ups, pull ups, sit ups. Only half way through some squats, did she roll back on the damp grass, clutching her calf.

“Ouch. Cramp. Motherfucker.”

Don considered leaving her to it, but couldn’t, feeling indirectly responsible for her pain. He settled at her feet, unsure what to do. She dropped back on her elbows and thrust her leg at him, face clenched. He tentatively rubbed at the pink skin beneath her pedal pushers. He was no physio, but there didn’t appear to be anything tensed in her muscle at all. He rolled her calf, studying its impossible smoothness in his leathery palms. A good few steamy breaths passed before he noticed the almost absorbent silence.

Her big, dark eyes were glittering slits, her cheeks mottled crimson. She slid the rain-plastered fringe from her forehead. “You do extras?” she whispered. Again, the smirk.

She must have mistaken his dumbfounded gawp for incomprehension, because she underlined her bombshell with a lingering glance down at her hips. He let her go. Her blunt proposal hung between them, throbbing. He squirmed. She was utterly unconcerned with his awkwardness. If anything, she seemed to relish it. She sat up.

“See that house?” She nodded at one of the fancy white stucco buildings overlooking the park. Actually, the fanciest, whitest one. “That’s mine.” She cleared her throat. “I… watch you out here every morning.”

Why did that sound like the dirtiest thing Don had ever heard? He hadn’t even touched himself since Gemma. Whenever he tried he was filled with nightmarish porn of his ex and her lover. Now he had a lurid flash of this woman watching him from her window. Naked below the sill—

“Sorry, Love,” he said.


“Pearl. It’s really flattering, but I’m just not—”

“You’re not gay. I saw you checking out my bum.”

He did? Don stood up. He willed his feet to run. The woman stayed put, blatting massive eyelashes at him. This was why he preferred to be alone. Now he was going to have to upset her.

“It’s nothing personal.” He clutched his hands in front of his shorts. “I just want some time off from… people.”

“No.” She rolled to her feet.


“No. You don’t want that. You want to hear about your new job. While you rub me down. Come on.”

She eryaman bayan escort trotted toward her house.

All he had to do was walk off in the other direction. Or just stand his ground. But his legs, and a familiar warmth spreading between them, had very different ideas.

Her house was bigger inside than out. An expensively pared-back, open-plan sweep of smooth black granite, bespoke from sunken lounge to minimalist dining area, to a kitchen so elegant he had to look twice to recognise it. Even the grey daylight — from an entire wall of glass — was filtered cool by her verdant, private garden.

“Help yourself.” Pearl kicked open a door, revealing a marble shower-room bigger than his bedsit. “I’ll put the coffee on.”

He showered quickly and vigorously, the hot water fuelling a rising irritation. Who did this entitled little cow think she was? He would have coffee, listen to her ‘job proposal’, then bugger off.

He towelled himself dry, his manhood pathetically happy for a buffing; hardening as if it hadn’t got the message. He was an idiot for taking the offer of a shower. He knew enough about the selfishness of people to see this would not end well. Someone would get hurt and — given the powerful presence of this little woman — it was bound to be him. He reached for his clothes where he’d left them, on a fancy chair by the door.

They had, of course, gone.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, strapping his dumb erection tight back to his belly, and strode out to the kitchen. His heart sank at the sound of a washing machine. Then sank again at the sight of Pearl, also wrapped in a towel.

“Look at you.” She bit her lip.

He clenched his teeth.

“Twenty minutes,” she said, nodding at the washing machine, and stepping too close to him. Warm lavender rolled off her wet hair. Again, with that unfettered stare, this time bouncing around the pumped-up bundles of his torso and arms. She shook her head. “You are by far the tensest bloke I’ve ever seen.”

Her gaze swung up at him with a contrived coquettishness that flipped his stomach. He gripped his towel where it was starting to loosen. She grabbed hers, too, and removed it with a flourish.

She pirouetted and padded off, rolling her bare bottom and tittering. She knew exactly where his eyes had locked. He stifled a growl. Pearl had the kind of slim waisted bubble-booty he could never resist, just like Gemma’s, right down to that three-finger thigh gap. It was like the universe taunted him with an alternate version of his ex. The sex-toy version.

She billowed her bath sheet over the huge hunk of oak that was the dining table, then climbed onto it. She lay out on her front in the cool light, a rude sweep of creamy skin, blushed from cheeks to neck, kicking her feet in the air. Only the washing machine dared disturb the awed silence as it stretched between them.

She clicked her fingers at a flowery-patterned bottle of oil on the kitchen island, making him jump.

“My muscles are wobbly,” she said quietly, as if to a skittish kitten. “That’s your fault.”

Don’s senses fled. This pocket powerhouse wanted him. No, she insisted on him. Really, he had no choice. In a bedazzled blink the fragrant bottle was in his hand, and he was at her stretched out, stark-naked side. He told himself he would get her off, then go and toss himself unconscious. No personal vows broken. He would prove to himself, and Gemma, what self-control meant.

He squirted a line of oil down the dip of her spine, from neck to bottom. She sighed croakily and dropped her head into her elbows. He slid his hands in firm circles along the sinuous curve of her back and shoulders. The first woman he’d touched since Gemma.

“Lordy you’ve got strong fingers.” She writhed at the firm press of his thumbs. Pearl was a packhorse compared to his ex – even Gemma’s bones seemed soft and pliable – but this woman responded like a Jaguar. In every sense of the word.

She growled, reached out and grasped his towel. He let her unwrap him. If that’s what she needed, it was fine by him.

“F-fuck.” Pearl’s jaw dropped as, his cock released, he nodded fully hard under her widened eyes. Gemma was a virgin when they met, so she took his manhood as normal, he supposed she’d never seen any others; but previous girlfriends had loved that he was larger than most men. He’d forgotten how much he missed that reaction.

He moved his hips away from Pearl’s hot breath, sliding his fingers up and down her spine while she arched against them like an excited cat. Each of her soft whimpers unfastened another button on his self-control. His heart rammed more blood into his already flushed flesh, the entire surface of his skin pulsed. He hoped she couldn’t feel the tremble in his fingers.

“Is this -” He cleared his throat as his voice came out in a strangled falsetto. “Is this my new job, then?” He squeezed her ribs from waist to armpits.

“I wish,” she wheezed like an accordion.

She jiggled escort sincan her bottom as he stalked around her and he enjoyed her impatience, while he considered what to choose at her buffet. She sparkled at him, face pressed to the backs of her hands. She seemed to like being teased. He found a better vantage point at the foot of the table and poured oil over the globes of her rear and down each leg. The thick perfumed liquid dribbled away deep into her nooks and crannies, taking his imagination – and resolve – with it.

“I’m a personal trainer…” She caught a breath as he smoothed oil up the backs of her legs. “… a specialist.”

“What sport?” He could rub both her feet at once, they were so small.

“Sex,” she said. “I train professionals in sexual technique. Oh don’t stop there.”

He had paused at the backs of her knees.

“You train prostitutes?”

“No. Well. Yes. Only the best, though. Career girls. Men, too. Porn stars— Good, there, there!”

Don took each thigh in turn. Easing her squat-tightened muscles. She cleared her throat. “An ‘A-star’ from me can open doors. A ‘distinction’ can double their rate…”

She dissolved into throaty giggles as Don worked the cheeks of her bottom in both hands like bun dough, relishing cheeky glimpses of secret knots, creases and crinkles. As if reading his mind – which he realised, now, she would pride herself in – Pearl pigeon-toed her feet, sagging her legs slightly apart to let his contemplation deeper.

“I’ll do civilians too. Rich ones.” She propped up on her elbows and twisted to watch him over her shoulder. “Anyone who wants to get to the next level.” She clearly relished his admiring gaze, wriggling her hips at the buck of his cock, which she seemed to be attempting to mesmerise like a snake charmer.

He took the opportunity of her arched-up torso to tease Pearl again. Leaving her bottom for the head of the table, he planted his hips square in front of her face. Her eyes widened; big black disks riveted to his manhood like a cat with a titbit.

She toyed with a breast, and bit her lip. She had perky, pert little boobs but he was diverted most by those sensuous lips. Gemma’s mum described her daughter’s mouth as: “a bee-stung-rosebud” and Pearl’s was similarly curly, but wider, more generous.

Don liked how Pearl blushed easily, and her cheeks and ears blazed now. She flutter-blinked up at him for a moment, then watched her knuckles graze his underside. The soft fingertips of both her hands wandered over him, testing him in a light grip, unsheathing him.

“Rock hard,” she husked. “When did you last cum?”

Don didn’t answer. He squeezed oil into his palms to try and distract himself. Pearl shook her head.

“What a beauty,” she breathed. “I can hardly get my fingers round it.” She stacked her fists up his length. “Three hands high! Or two hands and a…” She leant toward him, her lips parting.

He laughed – hopefully not too nervously – and stepped back to smooth his freshly oiled hands over her tipped up breasts. In an instant her nipples turned to hard nubs amidst slippery, plump pliancy. Pearl’s eyelids drooped and a dreamy smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Gemma hated him touching her breasts. Or rather liked it too much. It gave her the giggles. When Don massaged Pearl’s, she rocked her hips at the table top, almost hungrily, as if breasts and hips were bound. He congratulated himself at getting her into such a state. At least until she muttered, “That’s it. Good boy.”

Only then did he realise he’d just been picking up her clues: The snake charmer eyes, teasing her own breast. Pearl was leading him around her body like he was a sexual moron. She gasped nasally, sagged back down and, as if to prove the point, dangled her feet over the sides of the table, opening her legs in a narrow Y.

“You missed a bit,” she said.

But even Don had already guessed where she wanted him. He let himself get reeled in, back to the other end so he could massage the cheeky cleft where her bottom met her thighs. His thumbs did as they were bid, too, digging between and under to gently massage the hairless folds around her sex.

Don was old-school. He didn’t mind pubic hair at all. He adored his red-head ex’s vibrant ‘ginger-minge’ – and even felt a sting of longing, now, recalling it – but there was something about Pearl’s neat black bush, and the smoothness beneath. It begged you to look and to touch. To play.

He wanted to move deeper into her, but held back, figuring that waiting for the go-ahead of an experienced sex-trainer might not be a bad idea. Gemma had never said anything directly, but now he wondered if he had often confused passion for rushing to his own climax. Once, when he’d cum before her yet again, he thought he caught her wiping a tear on the pillow. With an implosion of shame, and then hopelessness, he realised he probably still had a lot to learn about his ex.

He sighed at the mesmerising dewiness elvankent escort bayan bubbling between Pearl’s thick labia as they blossomed with his rubbing, and idly wondered if all “bee-stung” women were similarly florid down below. Then, for a moment, he saw them both from a distance. A bulky great bloke stood naked and monstrously erect, working between the legs of a naked and comely beauty. This was not how imagined today going. How did he get here?

“You said you need me for some job.” His mouth watered as a droplet rolled from her dim, pink depths into the light.

“Oh yes. I collect men…” Her voice quavered as he opened her up completely, seeking Pearl’s pearl. “For the exams…” She trailed off, tipping her hips up a little for more.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He slid oily thumb pads around her ample clitoral hood, rolling it slipperily between them. She whined, shivered and slid her knees to the table edges, splaying, then curling her hips up to expose herself completely to his feeding thumbs and eyes.

Then the day changed direction again.

“Katya!” she shouted, jolting him from his explicit reverie. “Quick!”

A supermodel loped into the room like she owned it. A tall, sleek brunette who might have been dressed for a garden-party – in flowing white – also wore the sullen pout of someone so utterly comfortable with sex that she was almost bored. She stood by the table, arms folded and tapping her foot.

Pearl nudged needy hips at Don’s dumbfoundedly frozen thumbs and Katya dipped her head to peer at Pearl’s spread. She frowned at it. Then at Don.

“What have you done?” Her voice was deep and heavily accented. “My Madame, she is dripping. She never drips. Not for man.”

Don blinked.

Pearl peered over her shoulder and fluttered a hand at him. “Come here, sweetie,” she cooed, as if he was a kid in front of a lion, not a six-foot-six brick shithouse. But then she was probably talking to his cock anyway, as she grabbed it by the base and balls the second he lurched within reach. She hauled him toward her face.

Katya took a seat at the foot of the table, crossing her legs. “But Madame, he must finish you off. Do not empty him. Is my exam.”

Pearl nuzzled Don’s blunt, veined club against her smooth cheeks. If she was listening to Katya, she didn’t show it. She nestled his taut bulb on the pads of her lips and swivelled both glittery black barrels at him. “Depends.” Her murmur brushed his super-sensitive underside. “Who cums first.”

Closing her eyes, Pearl pressed a plump, tender kiss to his end, calming and revving him at the same time. Then she launched, sliding her hand up and down and covering his shaft in more plucked kisses, leaving wet butterflies behind them. His legs wobbled.

Almost in self-defence, he curled a hand under her bottom and cupped her mound, trying not to reveal his shock at her arousal. Aware of Katya’s scrutiny, he nodded approvingly, as if this happened all the time. As if he was that good. Katya wouldn’t know that he’d never got Gemma so appallingly, appealingly, slimy; and that Pearl’s excitement was probably her own achievement.

Pearl’s clitoris was already slick with her own warm spillage, so all Don had to do was stir his fingers and she quaked in his palm. Or so he thought. As she rubbed and kissed his cock, her free fingers materialised on top of his. They deftly arranged him beneath her, guiding his middle finger in an itching motion at her clit, pushing his thumb into her hole.

To cope with the play of Pearl’s lips and her tug on his straining meat, he focussed on her hips, which seemed as expressive as a tail. He quickened his pace when they moved at his hand, slowing again when they eased off. He started to sense the dip and build of her orgasm, and settled into step with it. Even Katya’s sighs seem involved, and worth paying attention to, as she kicked off her sandals and sat on her hands, wringing her feet together.

Pearl shuddered and sent the flat of her tongue around his hard-on like a reward. He rubbed faster. In moments, she seemed to unhinge. “Y-yes…” She mumbled to his cock. “Th-that’s— oh!” She dropped over his end, engulfing him with warm moans and shaking hard. Her head and hand struggled to slide him in and out of her mouth while her cries of orgasm vibrated through him, so powerful they leaked from his own lips. He clenched hard on a series of quick warning spasms under his balls, breathing deep until they passed.

Pearl lifted her hips off his hand and her grunting bubbled into cock-muffled laughter. He withdrew his tremoring member and she gasped for air, hands curled over her mound, stirring her hips. Cackling.

“Yesss,” she hissed, deflating.

Job done, Don figured, sucking Pearl’s saltiness off his thumb. He turned to the end of the table, where Katya sat on his towel. He pointed but the woman only glowered. Her aloof contemplation flickered down to his shining erection, then back to Pearl. “So, this one. Is ok?”

Pearl turned shakily over onto her back. “Mm… hmm,” she said, stretching out as slinky as a cat in front of a fire.

With all his willpower, Don bunched his fists and turned away from the women. Now he would get his clothes and leave.

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