Getting fit wasn’t going to be easy, and I’ve not been the most disciplined man in the world. No, this was going to take something extra. This time I needed help, and so it was that I talked to the monitor at my gym about finding a personal trainer.
“Very useful if you’re willing to follow the routine, Dave,” Karen said. “If you’re going to cheat, and stop at the Krispy Kreme on the drive home from the gym, then you’re just going to waste a lot of money.”
“A Krispy Kreme has never crossed these lips,” I said to her, lying through my teeth.
And of course she knew it. The extra 10 pounds I was carrying around my 32-year-old midsection wasn’t coming from my overindulgence at the salad bar.
“Well, if you’re going to give it an honest effort, I’ll recommend a few
trainers,” Karen said. “What’s your preference: men or women?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“In trainers, you pervert!” she scolded me, then saw by my grin that she’d
been had.
“Ah, trainers,” I said. “Of course. Men. I don’t want to be embarrassed by
having a woman tie me into a pretzel then leave me a twisted heap in the
gym.”
“Hey,” Karen said, “that’s one of the few fringe benefits of training a man!
I know. I’ve been there.”
She slid a sheet of a half-dozen names across the counter to me. One of
those listed lived only a couple blocks from the gym. No excuses for him to
miss a workout, so I circled his name.
“You’ll like John,” Karen said, seeing my choice. “He’s thorough,
experienced… and he is seriously built.”
I looked up, startled, then noticed it was me who’d been had. Karen was
trying to hide her smirk as she turned back to her work, taking a membership
card of two members who had strolled in.
“John Barnes,” I said to myself. “OK, Mr. Barnes, you might have just gotten
yourself a new client.”
—
We arranged to meet at the gym the following Tuesday evening for a
get-to-know-you session, a casual discussion about my fitness goals as John
took me through each apparatus.
“Did I tell you?” Karen almost whispered as we walked past her control
station. “Seriously built!”
I hadn’t noticed until then, but now I was opening my eyes to him. Karen
didn’t know my leanings, but then, neither did my new trainer.
John took me through the array of machines, pen and notepad in hand.
“I want to drop 10 pounds of flab and add five pounds of muscle, to start,”
I told him. “It’s summer. I want to look better in my Speedo.”
He looked me up and down and said, “Oh, I don’t know. I suspect you look
just fine. But we’ll get you looking finer.”
I smiled, a little lost for words as I felt a slow burn in my cheeks and
gave thanks for the fact he had turned away and was bending down to adjust a
weight stack on the hamstring machine. He was wearing snug athletic shorts
– I figured he wore a support beneath them, given the way he generously
filled them out — and a baggy, sleeveless T-shirt.
He rippled every time he moved, not grotesquely so, but like a man who was
very, very fit. Karen was absolutely right. Seriously built. If she had
designs on him, she’d have to get in line.
“So let’s get to work, Dave,” John said, and for the next 90 minutes he
guided me through exercises I didn’t know existed. And he worked the muscles
I didn’t know existed, either. By the finish I felt like I’d run a marathon
in quicksand.
“Great first day,” John praised me as I dragged my weary body out of the
gym. “You’ve got promise. Listen, I have to schedule a few appointments and
make a few calls. I’ll meet you in the lobby in 15 minutes, OK? I want to
review what we’ve done.”
“If I’m not there,” I said, “send out a search party.”
John laughed, as he had easily and frequently during our session, and turned
into the lobby. I shuffled into the locker room and stripped down, stepping
under the blissful spray of a hot shower. I could have stayed there forever.
My mind wandered as I soaped up, and I couldn’t shake the image of John. He
wore his life well, comfortable and happy in what he did. I had doubted the
idea of hiring a personal trainer, but now I was glad I had. And if I
survived until tomorrow, I was looking forward to working with him again.
It was the sound of two men coming into the locker room that snapped me out
of my daydream, and I quickly turned to face the wall, surprised and even a
little horrified to see that, as I had been thinking about John, I had
become almost fully erect.
—
John was waiting for me in the lobby, making notes in his appointment book,
and stood to greet me.
“Got 10 minutes, Dave?” he asked. “I’m just down the street, and I’ve got a
couple of books on workout technique. You can borrow them until Thursday if
you want.”
“Sure,” I replied. “You just want me to see how miserable my lifting
technique really is.”
We laughed together, and I followed him to his place, a trim townhouse five
minutes from the gym.
“Want a coffee or a juice?” he asked.
“Juice would be good. Do you live here alone?”
“Yeah. I had a roommate for a year or so, but it didn’t work out.”
He studied me to see how I’d react to what he’d say next.
“He kept kicking me in his sleep.”
If John was expecting me to faint, he’d be waiting a long time. Instead, I
considered the remarkable coincidence, and the fantastic news that this guy
liked… guys.
“Same reason I threw out my roomie,” I told him, and he blinked hard at my
words.
“Really.”
Both of us were playing this game well, if in fact it was a game.
John handed me a glass of juice and saw me bending sideways in a weak
stretch, wincing.
“You’ve damn near killed me in one session,” I complained mildly, already
feeling his workout throughout my body.
“Well, you’ll feel sore for a day or so,” he said. “But you’ll come back
stronger. Maybe we’ll get back to it on Friday instead.”
“Oh, no. You’ve got me into this, we’re sticking by the schedule.”
He took a long sip from his glass, paused, and spoke again.
“Dave, listen. I got into training only as a sideline to my massage therapy
business. I’ve got a studio downstairs. If you’re not in a hurry, and if
you’re really hurting…”
“What, you’ll make me hurt some more?”
We laughed again, but I didn’t hesitate to take John up on his offer.
“I can’t remember the last time I had a good massage,” I said. “If you have
the time, I’m all yours.”
“Promises, promises,” he replied, letting the words hang in the air for a
bit. “OK, first door on your left downstairs. On your stomach first. There
are towels in the studio. Drape yourself if you like.”
—
The studio was warm and smelled pleasantly of aromatherapy oils. I stripped
down and turned to see myself in a full-length mirror on the back wall. Not
bad, but I was hoping for better soon. I was determined to see results with
John.
I was thinking about him again — “Promises, promises,” he had said — and
there was no surprise about my erection this time. I climbed up on his table
and lay on my stomach, having forgotten about the towel to drape over myself
when I heard the soft rap on the door.
“Ready for me?”
If John only knew the half of it.
“Uh… kinda. I haven’t draped myself. Is that OK?”
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“Dave, I have seen a naked man once or twice,” he said lightly, moving
behind me. “Glad to have you naked, in fact. It makes my job easier. Nice
ass, by the way. It might need some extra attention tonight.”
I shifted and felt the charge through my swollen cock, and hoped it would
subside, being pressed into the table.
“Another one of your specialties?” I asked as he briskly rubbed some oil
between his palms.
“Never underestimate the powers of a strong pair of hands,” he said,
slapping them onto my shoulders, beginning to knead. “Now tell me about this
former roommate of yours.”
I sighed deeply at John’s touch, feeling him begin to unknot the muscles. As
I relaxed I shifted again, spreading my thighs ever so slightly as I dug my
toes into the the towel on the massage table. There was no question I had
exposed myself further for John, but then, that was the whole point.
“We were close for about two years,” I began. “He moved in with me, but
things just didn’t work out. Then he was transferred to Boston, which made
everything a lot easier.”
My face was buried in the pad at the head of the table, but I knew John had
moved around in front of me, judging by the angle of his hands.
“Too bad,” I heard him say. “But tell me: was he a good lay?”
I froze at his words for an instant, unsure whether he was pulling my chain
or trying to see for certain if I hadn’t been kidding about my kicking
roomie.
I lifted my head, planting my chin into the pad, and now I was staring
directly into John’s crotch as he leaned over me and pushed his hands from
my shoulderblades to the small of my back. He was bulging conspicuously,
straining at his grey athletic shorts.
“He was a fantastic lay, John,” I said, sounding as composed as I could.
“Fantastic.”
I gathered my strength to continue: “But I can guarantee you he wasn’t hung
like you,” and I craned my neck to get as near to his groin as I could. He
didn’t back away, and might have even leaned in a shade. I was so close I
could smell him.
John’s hands stopped on my back.
“And how would you know how I’m hung?”
“For God’s sake, I may be crippled, but I’m not blind. And… say, aren’t
you finding it a little warm in here?”
I heard him exhale, almost nervously, and he agreed.
“You’re right. Either I should turn down the heat, or I should lighten up a
bit here.”
“I vote the latter.”
“Know what?” he said. “So do I,” and he stepped back and peeled off his
T-shirt.
“That’s not enough, my friend,” I insisted. “At least one more item.”
I was loving every minute of this, and I watched wide-eyed as John smiled
then hooked his thumbs in his waistband and pulled his shorts past his hips,
dropping them to the floor. My suspicions were proven right — he was
wearing a white athletic support, and I suddenly gained a new respect for
the strength of nylon. His jockstrap was harnessing an immense package, one
that seemed to be growing before my eyes.
“Yeah, that’s better,” he said, stepping to my side, his palms once more on
my back.
“So what about your roomie, John?” I asked, feeling his oil-slick fingers
push past the base of my spine to my butt. He took my left cheek in both
hands and began to knead strongly, dipping down to the crease at the top of
my hamstring, then slipping provocatively to my inner thigh. As he massaged
my flesh, he was moving to within a half-inch of grazing my balls — and he
knew it.
“Good guy, but he traveled a lot and I guess he found Mr. Right elsewhere,”
he said. “With his stuff gone, I’ve been able to convert this room into my
studio.”
The words “no hard feelings” were barely out of his mouth as he reached in
and felt something very hard. I nearly jumped off the table, and as my hips
came up off the table, I afforded him complete access to what hung loose and
thrust out swollen between my legs.
“Roll over, please,” he said. I did as I was asked, and by now I was putty
in his hands. The way I saw it, there only a bulging athletic support
between us and heaven on earth.
If I hadn’t been able to hide my arousal from John’s mischievously wandering
hand, there was little chance I could disguise it from his eyes as I began
to roll onto my back.
I hadn’t expected to feel his palm beneath me as I lay on my stomach on his
massage table, nor do I suspect he had expected to find me in my engorged
condition.
“You seem to have put me in a rather compromising position,” I said, now
flat on my back. It felt as though every drop of blood in my body was
coursing to my groin, swelling me harder and fuller than I could ever
remember being.
“Is that so? Well, is there anything I could do to give you a little
relief?” John asked, grinning at me.
“Seems to me that you’re the therapist,” I said. “And it seems to me that
you look pretty uncomfortable yourself.”
John had swollen his overmatched athletic support so completely that I
thought it was going to come apart at the seams. He looked down and nodded
in agreement.
“Yeah, I think I’d like it a lot better to be out of this.”
“Please,” I said, my eyes glued on him.
By now the straining was so pronounced that I could see his generous balls
at the side of the pouch, which was pushed forward to its very limits. This
did little to cure my arousal, and everything to increase my heart rate. And
as he began to shift the jockstrap into position to remove it, his fat cock
practically exploded from it, lurching out the side, bouncing heavily into
view.
I had assumed, looking at John in the gym, that he was nicely endowed. But
this… My jaw dropped open as I absorbed what was before me.
“I’m the customer,” I said to him when I found my voice. “And isn’t the
customer always right?”
“That’s what they say,” John said, stepping out of his support.
“Well, here’s what this customer has in mind: I’d like a nice, slick handjob
from you… while you stand here and jerk off for me.”
John’s left hand already was on his shaft, which was greasy with massage
oil, its veins rising off its length. He had peeled his foreskin back
slowly, exposing the meaty pink head, and his balls, full and loose and
smooth, slapped the heel of his hand as he began to stroke. He was an
outrageously arousing sight.
I lay back and sighed, his right hand now wrapping itself around me. The
assault on nearly every sense was indescribable — feeling John working me
up and down, cupping my balls, a finger dipping dangerously low between my
legs, as I watched his cock slide noisily through his fist. It was a
fantastic sound, that of the slurping oil and his shortening breath, the
smell of sex hanging heavily in the studio.
There was no question in my mind that this wasn’t John’s first such
experience. He was too natural, too bloody good at it. I wondered how many
clients he had pleasured like this, and was ecstatic that I was on the list,
no matter how long it was. His hands were in perfect synchronization, and he
was bringing the two of us nearer and nearer to mind-blowing orgasms.
“Tell me when,” he groaned at me. “I want to come with you.”
“Just keep going. Just like that… just like that. I’m going to come all
over us.”
That idea seemed to John right between the eyes. I looked up to him to see
his eyes blinking shut, his head tilting back. Clearly he was less in
control of his lust than he wanted to be, and from deep in his throat I
heard a roar taking shape. I recognized this warning sign, one that was
familiar to me, too.
In two or three strokes, I was there, and my head slumped to the table-pad
as I nearly blacked out.
The first spurt was modest, oozing over John’s hand more than shooting from
my cock. But then I felt the creamy heat splash onto my belly with the
second and third shots. It felt strangely like I was raining down onto my
chest, too, but when I opened my eyes I saw something better: John was
coming now, and he was coming plentifully — beautiful white ropes arcing
out of his purplish head, falling into the hair on my chest, on my nipples,
shoulder, nearly hitting my jaw.
Both of us were fighting for whatever oxygen was left in the studio, and as
John came down from his orbit, his hands found me again, this time slowly
massaging into me what we had emptied onto my skin.
I was spent, physically and emotionally, and squeezed John’s hand as he
stroked my chest.
“Dave… rest,” he said to me. “I’ll draw a bath upstairs. My tub’s big
enough for two.”
He leaned down to me and dragged his tongue slowly and lazily around my
nipple, then planted a gentle kiss on the head of my softening cock. I
shivered at the touch of his lips on my skin.
“You’re welcome to spend the night, if you’d like. I can fix some dinner.
Only healthy stuff.”
I nodded. I wanted to get to know my new therapist better, every inch of his
gorgeous body.
“I don’t kick in bed, John,” I said weakly. “And besides, aren’t we supposed
to review tonight’s workout?”
John smiled. “Which one?”
I awoke near 4 a.m., feeling John spooned into my back. He had plenty of
room to stretch out in his king-size bed, had he so wished, but instead he
was snuggling. I imagined we felt like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle,
perfectly formed, pressed seamlessly together. His breathing was slow and
steady, as was mine.
There was so much to consider now. Here I was, in the bed of the man I had
hired to train me physically. I hadn’t expected last night to yield to the
passions it had, nor did I know just how limitless my inhibitions were to
become.
I tried to lie statue-still, but even just a slight twitch of my
workout-worn muscles caused John to stir. He groaned a little, and his arm
dropped heavily over my hip.
I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. It occurred to me he was still
asleep, and as he pulled himself closer, I felt a wonderful hardness behind
me. Beneath the light cotton sheet I lifted my leg very slowly, giving him
passage. John was in that abstract space between slumber and awareness, and
his body was moving by instinct, following the instructions of his
subconscious.
Surely our relationship was bound for more dramatic things, but I needed
time to digest what had taken place a few hours earlier in his studio
downstairs. That session still tumbled in my thoughts: John’s strong hands
kneading me in a useful then incredibly erotic way, my mind surrendering my
body to him, to his mental and physical touch. And then, the fierce,
blinding climax, responding completely to the master’s touch, and his own
creamy load coating my torso.
No matter that I wasn’t yet prepared to feel him inside me, or to feel
myself deep within him, I knew that John’s gentle insistence at this moment
was again leaving me like putty in his hands. At the angle he was moving, it
became clear he wasn’t going to take me, even if that’s what his dream was
telling him to do.
I welcomed this closeness, needed it, as I lowered my leg, sandwiching his
hard cock between my thighs, squeezing him until I felt him throbbing. He
pushed into me once, then twice, then a half-dozen times, a fucking motion
that swept through me like an electric current. With each thrust, his
hardness pushed over my balls and along the length of my cock, which had
swollen to a ready fullness.
The heat in my body was soaring, and I was both terrified and thrilled by
the prospect of spilling my seed in his bed as John did everything but fuck
me ragged. But as I crept inexorably toward orgasm, he stopped thrusting,
his body relaxing. Sleep had claimed him again, and he began to soften
between my legs. I was left a sweating wreck ravenous for a relief that I
wouldn’t find just yet.
It was like this that I fell asleep again, John’s hand on my hip, his cock
between my legs.
—
The bedside clock read 7:15 when I stirred again, the aroma of coffee
wafting into the bedroom. I was alone in the bed, sprawled out, and as I did
a casual inventory, I was relieved not to be aching in every muscle. John’s
massage had achieved its goal; the next workout wouldn’t be easy, but it
wouldn’t feel like I was on a torture rack, either.
I was lying back, my hands behind my head, the sheet pulled off, as I
re-created the night before in the finest detail. I had enjoyed enormous
pleasure at John’s hands, but had not been in any condition to reciprocate.
He climaxed, yes. I could still feel his fluid heat on my body. But I hadn’t
been sufficiently responsible for it.
Now he had appeared in the doorway, holding a tray: two large glasses of
orange juice, two steaming mugs of coffee, fresh fruit, a couple of muffins.
He was naked, and this much was clear to me: I needed to have his cock in my
mouth, and the sooner the better.
“Good morning, Dave,” he said brightly. “Sleep well?”
“Like a baby, John,” I replied. “You know… I awoke crying every half
hour.”
He laughed at my lame joke.
“Well, I didn’t hear you, or I would have gotten you a bottle.”
“I can think of something other than a bottle I’d prefer to have had in my
mouth.”
He looked at me earnestly for a moment, then approached.
“You know, that could be arranged.”
I pulled myself up higher and stretched. Nothing could compare with this, a
feeling of naked, blissful relaxation. Nothing, perhaps, except seeing the
firm, toned body of your personal trainer serving you a healthy breakfast in
bed, his manhood hanging generously between his legs. I felt my arousal
swelling as I looked at him.
“You sure know how to treat a client,” I said.
“Only the right client,” he replied, smiling as he set down the tray. “Are
you as famished as I am?”
He slipped onto the bed beside me and we ate, voraciously. Within 10 minutes
we had put our empty mugs and plates on the bedtables, the only food left
being the bowl of fruit, cool on John’s stomach. The scene had my head
spinning. By now I suspected that he knew where my thoughts were, and if his
were on the same track, we were destined for a head-on collision.
“John,” I began, “I think you’re trying to lead me astray here.”
“Astray?”
“Yes,” I said, my hand reaching past the berries, sliding down his stomach
and weaving into the mat of pubic hair that was damp in the early morning’s
humid heat.
“How am I going to lose that weight if you’re going to tempt me with
breakfast sausage?”
I loved the look of him flaccid, and I wanted a close view before the
situation changed. I crawled over him, inhaling his musky scent, and eased
my hand beneath his big, loose balls. They were beautiful, though my focus
on them faded as I opened my mouth and tongued a lazy circle around his
cockhead.
If John realized that he had spilled the bowl of berries onto the sheets, he
didn’t seem to care.
Now he was putty in my hands, and even sated by breakfast, I was suddenly
very, very hungry for the delicious meat I was drawing deep into my mouth. I
heard him groan as he slumped back, his entire body softening except for the
one glorious slab I was swallowing for all I was worth.
I pulled my mouth off John’s cock just long enough to let a long ribbon of
saliva drip to his cockhead. It fell directly on the slit, and I watched it
course almost in slow motion beneath his foreskin and then overflow down his
length. I stroked him fully once, twice, three times, loose-fisted, unable
to wrap my fingers fully around his girth, and paused to admire my
handiwork.
I studied him with great, aroused interest: he was thick, swollen,
throbbing, an intricate series of veins crisscrossing his shaft, one more
pronounced than the rest. John was shaved, which accentuated the size of his
magnificent balls, two large, defined orbs in a sac which stored a great
deal; I had learned this the night before, when he had come on me in a milky
flood. Above his cock he was trimmed to a sparse brush, and I knew I would
feel this gentle bristle on my nose only if I could learn to take enough of
him in my mouth. Suddenly, that idea excited me very much.
I leaned in and licked his longest meandering vein, which stood out like a
blue river on a relief map, then opened wide once more and inhaled as much
of his cock as I could. I felt entirely inadequate, managing to take only
half, maybe a shade more. But as I shifted over him, the angle changed and
my throat became more accommodating. I heard John gasp as much more of him
slid between my lips and pushed over my tongue.
I could taste his heat, the radiant warmth that filled my wet mouth. I was
not going to stop short of bringing him, bringing us, complete and unbridled
pleasure, and I flashed back to the night before as I swirled my tongue
around him.
Even with my eyes closed I could picture him vividly from a few hours ago,
standing beside me, jacking himself, his balls slapping the heel of his
hand. He was moaning, then and now.
I let my mouth be my every sense as I began a gentle bobbing up and down,
getting the feel of him pistoning in and out, his hands in my hair,
encouraging me. John’s hips rose and fell from the bed as he began to fuck
my eager face, and I placed one hand beneath his ass to provide him with
help he didn’t need. For each of his groans there was a loud slurp, as I
devoured him in deeper gulps.
I had never sucked a cock in my life and yet I felt like an expert, with a
powerful man squirming to my touch. I was almost dizzy with the sensations,
from the heat and the scent. I might have been hard myself, but I couldn’t
tell, nor did I care. My entire being was focused on the fat, hard cock I
was servicing.
I took John’s balls in my free hand; they were taut, not the free-hanging
sac they were only a minute ago, and I knew he was speeding toward his
climax. I hungered for him, for all of him, and was certain I would gauge
his orgasm and be ready for it.
So much for my expertise. I was not prepared for the first spurt which went
straight to my stomach without touching the sides. It was incredible…
indescribable. I almost leapt back in surprise, and was slack-jawed in
amazement when the second spurt striped my face from my forehead to my lower
lip, down my nose and into my mouth. I gobbled him deep again, my cheeks
hollowing as my suction drained the come from him.
I heard John howling as I continued my oral assault, digging the nails of
one hand into his ass, still squeezing his balls with the other. He kept
throbbing, and I swallowed as much as I could, feeling a little dripping
from the corner of my mouth onto his skin. Slowly, the flow ebbed and I
moved my hand from his balls to his groin, pushing him gently back onto the
bed, easing him down from wherever it was he had flown.
I smiled to myself as his cock softened in my mouth. I took more and more of
it, nursing it between my lips, and now I could feel his pubic hair at my
sticky nose. Soon, I vowed, I would deep-throat him while he was raging
hard. But for the time being this would do, and I gently let him slip from
my mouth and fall spent across his hip. I lay my head on his belly, panting
as heavily as he was, and studied his cock. It seemed much less threatening
now, his foreskin folding itself protectively back over his head.
I was being physically trained in unimaginable ways. Then John rolled over
onto his stomach, pulling one bent leg up. I looked past his gorgeous,
drained balls to his ass to realize what he was presenting me, and I
shivered. He had reached to the night table and then back, handing me a
small foil-wrapped wafer, his body language a wordless invitation that took
my breath away.
I broke the seal and rolled the latex slowly back from my cockhead, looking
to John’s ass as he spread his legs a little wider. It occurred us both
that, very soon, he would be the student — and I would be the trainer.
—————————————————
Copyright by Northern Light