The gym was a place of sadism and masochistic torture. Terrible endurances and even more horrifying echoes, cries of pain amidst squeaking floors and muscles.

Sandie gave a shudder as she tip-toed into the empty chamber, long distant memories of school physical education now vivid once more. No, not quite empty. The stale smell of sweat, the clammy humidity of bodies still clung to the air, to her, like a choking invisible fog. She was late for her 1-2-1 with Tyler, the fitness trainer, and everyone had gone. Almost. A colourful blur, behind a large metal frame that looked like it could inflict all the torments of Hell, told her she wasn't quite alone.

"Hello?" she called.

The blur froze, distilling into a tall, firm, fit bod of a guy in a deep, desirable red unitard and trainers. His hair was blond and spiky, the eyes a piercing cat shade of green. A stubbled chin as firm and jutting as his physique. A smile to melt butter.

Sandie hadn't even started a workout but her heart had just run a marathon in the three seconds it took him to say a breathless 'Hi!' back. She felt a dribble of perspiration tickle down her back. Another maybe somewhere else. This guy was hot, physically, emotionally, sensually. Don't look down... don't look down... damn! Looked. He's huge. Another firm jut to match the rest.

Her brain said, "I've come for my one-to-one with Tyler." But her tongue swooned, mumbled vaguely before passing out completely in her mouth, to lie hanging out, drooling.

"Ah, you must be Sandra!" he boomed, hand thrust out to shake hers, offered in return limply. He gripped and squeezed it, with an awesome gentleness when he could have crushed it into dust. With the effort of Atlas holding up the world, Sandie dragged her senseless tongue back in, and the corners of her mouth attempted a push-up of a smile. Just.

Sandie's knees went weak as the vision who must be Tyler grabbed a towel, slipped the straps of his unitard from his shoulders and mopped the sweat from his broad chest and six pack. Sweat, which took on the musty sweetness of honey. Something to be savoured, fresh and dripping, not hours old and dead.

Her eyes tried even harder not to look, staring at each other briefly before burning back at the half-naked Adonis. Please God, she offered a silent prayer, please don't let him strip completely. Then she retracted the supplication. In triplicate.

"So, Sandra..." Tyler restrapped himself, tossing the towel over a nearly machine. She resisted the temptation to rush over, bury her face in it and take in his wildly over-powering scent. "What exactly did you want to firm up?"

Sandra's lip ached with being gnawed. Vision of that firm jut stretching up in exercises of its own. Up, down, up down, updown, faster... "M-my... my... "Go for the burn! " ...boobs?"

Tyler drifted over and, with the dispassionate consideration of a doctor, placed a hand under each boob, hitched them up and together like a superhuman WonderBra, let them fall... bounce... wobble. Busted! They deflated a cup size in dejection. Her nips, perked in anticipation, flattened and sulked.

Tyler rested his firm chin in his hand. "Yes," he nodded, "Not that they're very nice as they are... " Sandie's boobs inflated and nips perked gleefully again under her thin white blouse. "But I can see room for improvement." Oh. If her boobs could look at each other, like her eyes, shrugging, "What the fuck does that mean?” they would.

And so, after a few minutes in the changing room, squeezing into her own unitard - which she filled just a bit more and less well defined than Tyler - Sandie re-emerged into gym hell. Well okay, she admitted to her self, filling it a lot more, and a sack of potatoes would probably win Miss England compared to her lumpy bumpiness. Thank god for Lycra. It tugged her back into a vaguely womanly shape. Though she can hear the elastane wincing, "One at a time please."

With as much firmness as her body, and the struggling unitard, would permit, Sandie stood next to Tyler as he checked the recline bench. Scent of honey musk again. If it wasn't for the Lycra holding her up, she would probably have melted into a puddle of desire.

"Lie on this, head down." Tyler instructed. The bench tilted down so Sandie's knees were higher than her head, feet anchored under levered weights so she could lift them and exercise her legs. If she wanted. Her boobs, already out of breath, flattened and started to sag under each armpit. The trusty unitard caught and hammocked them before they hit the floor. Save!

Once more, Tyler's hands were under - well, more around as they wobbled like flat jellies doing a balancing act - Sandie's boobs. "The breasts themselves have no muscles." He told her, "You have to firm the muscles that support them, here and here." He tapped where her bra straps would usually be, above and each side. Made sense.

The bench had weights levered either side under Sandie's shoulders, and Tyler pinned her elbows under bars so she could lift them up and together. In theory. Instead, her arms twitched uselessly under their heaviness.

"Maybe a little less weight?" Tyler suggested, lifting one off each side with what only seemed an index finger. Show off. "Okay," he continued, as Sandra's arms still trembled with motionless effort, "Perhaps a few more." The remaining weights inched up... well, about an inch. Result! And down again.

Lying there prostrate, arms twitching their inch up and down - hey, it was a start! - Sandie felt slightly intimidated and vulnerable as Tyler leant over her. His green eyes considered every inch. Like a cow in a slaughterhouse, being sized up for which parts had the most meat. Without warning, he slapped a thigh. "Ow!" Sandie objected, peering up her body, which now rippled like a jelly. Tyler nodded, "Those need work sometime." Oh, well thank you so very much, Sandie sighed inwardly, waiting for the custard skin waves to settle down before lifting the weights up two inches. Anger can be a wonderful stimulant.

Again, unprompted, Tyler's hands gripped her thighs and parted them as much as her weighted feet will allow. "Do you mind!?" Sandie eeked down her bod at him. But the trainer was a man on a mission; his grip massaged her thighs roughly, almost but not quite where it really mattered, thumbs in the inner flabbiness. "I'm toning. You'll thank me later." Three and a half inches. Bang down! And up.

"Do you kegel?" he asked calmly, as if that intimate question was as innocent as 'sugar in your tea?’ Stare fixed on overhead fluorescent light, Sandie's eyes widened. Did he just ask...? Tyler's thumbs slowly worked up her thighs, to where they stopped being thighs and something more intimate. Ten minutes ago, when they first met and he intoxicated her by just existing, Sandie would have parted her thighs willingly. Now, in mid-workout, she felt at cross-purposes. The weights reached five inches, as his thumbs reached the crotch of her unitard and kept moving, and stayed up.

"Kegel." He says. It was an instruction, and ordered so directly Sandie clenched inwardly without thinking. The thumbs pushed inwards, felt the twitch. "Again." Squeeze. The weights stayed, defying gravity, unlike her boobs. As if massaging achingly tight muscles, which isn't far wrong, Tyler's thumbs rubbed more vigorously as Sandie began kegelling in earnest. In time with the weights. Bang down, rub, huuh up, squeeze, bang down, rub, huh-uh-uh up, squeeze... Perspiration stained her. Wetness within soaked Tyler's thumbs through the stretched Lycra. He must be inching in... well, a first inch too. Sandie was suddenly aware her feet have unhitched themselves, and are slung over Tyler's shoulders as he sat on the raised end of the bench between her widened thighs.

As if thumbing a game control, Tyler's deep massage suddenly brought Sandie to the edge. Huh-uh-fucking-UP! The weights banged high and stayed there as she clenched, squeezed, gripped through the Lycra something awesome and intimate. Back arched and toes curled in her trainers, there's an explosion of sensation at the core of her being that rippled out like a stone thrown into water. With an 'OOOooooh' that died into silence, the weights banged down once more, finally, climatically, and Sandie went limp.

By the time her senses returned, Sandie had been swivelled so her head was once more higher then her shaking knees. Tyler was sitting her up, apologetically offering her a plastic cup of cool water. Between her thighs, a party was going on still. All streamers and whistles. A conga was being danced inside her muff.

"What the fuck did you do?" she gasped quietly.

Tyler actually looked shamefully coy, a fallen god. "It's a special exercise for the tum and thighs, centred on the kegel muscles. Stimulate those and all get worked together. But I got carried away, and having your head lower meant all the blood rushed there and you passed out. Sorry."

He was aware she could report him for a violation but the awesomely fulfilling orgasm didn't even die into a warm afterglow. The vibrant tingle made her feel like she would have another if she so much as moved. It was not even satisfaction. It was intimately incandescent, like the sun.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Tyler asked. Sandie considered. This most perfectly sculpted of men, this unreachable vision of maleness, was at her mercy. She wondered if she should show it. She could demand what she wanted of him, but that would make her just as bad, wouldn't it? A sip of the water brought cold clarity to her mind.

"Do you think I'm attractive?" she asked quietly, "Bar the extra weight?" He slid to sit on the bench beside her, propping her up. His firm strong frame was exciting and real.

"Oh, of course." He replied, taking Sandie's hand, sounding sincere. "It's almost frightening seeing how thin some women are, and trying to tone that." He had his hand on her trembling thigh again, the touch almost electric. "With you I don't see fat, I just see potential... something which can be honed and trimmed to real sensuality." Sandie looked slightly crest-fallen. "Not that you not quite sensual already, that is!" Tyler added quickly, "After all, you knew how to kegel like an expert."

Sitting beside her dream guy, Sandie gnawed her lip again. It may be a one and only chance of a fantasy, drop-dead gorge, available and vulnerable. Frightened to say it out loud, she cupped his ear and whispered. And he nodded, willingly.

Standing, Tyler unstrapped his unitard and this time peeled it all off. Kicked away the trainers. Gloriously naked. So was Sandie's returning desire, the lust she felt when first seeing him. His was apparent too, rising to massive, stiff and gut-churning proportions. She had never seen a man so wonderful in all her twenty-eight years. And he wasn't all looks either. That he had proved without a shadow.

She beckoned him close, and took his erection in her palm. It felt amazing, vibrant and alive like no other cock had. It had been exercised and made fit like his body. There was no part of him, from toes to face, that wasn't honed and firm and tanned either. He must sunbathe in the nude, Sandie pondered. Lucky neighbours.

She needed to taste him, his musk on her lips and tongue, and took it in her mouth, savouring the taut texture and divine sweetness he offered. His hands stroked her hair gently, and she let him slip deeper in. The straps of her unitard were slowly peeled from her shoulders, and he lay her back on the bench again. Arching her back, Sandie let him ease the tightly fitting garment off, suddenly feeling a flush of panic at being flabbily unbound. Lycra-less.

Tyler didn't seem to care. His eyes indicated her nakedness was as perfect as his, as she blushed under him. With infinite patience and expertise, he slowly parted her thighs, placed her feet sole-to-sole so her legs made a diamond, and rested himself softly on her, then in her. The party inside held its breath as the guest of honour made his entrance, then cheered and continued. His own weight was heavenly, and she could hardly wait for him to start doing push-ups...

He did it with a twist. Elbows to his hips, his hands gripped her knees, and eased himself up. His pushing on her legs could have, should have, been painful, so wide was her willingness, yet it was blissfully pleasing. He twisted his head to suck on her nips, and then let his tongue trace a path to her neck, chin, lips... And they kissed. The most sensual, erotic, terrific kiss ever. Even his tongue seemed fit to perfection. She wondered if he'd consider going down on her. It almost seemed greedy after his cock fitted so well, touching and arousing just where she needed.

Sandie had already had one amazingly unexpected orgasm, and after long minutes - or was it hours? - of being so softly, gradually, teasingly pleasured, as if Tyler was aware his skill had made her as trigger-sensitive as himself, he finally allowed her to have another. His climax was as pure and flawless as a snowflake, almost soothing in its consummation. This time, there was no rush, no wild animalistic thrusting to finish, just a dream realised. He filled her, fulfilled her, satisfied her, with a gentle inner warmth like early summer sunlight. Bathing her soul in it.

As he finished, she stretched under him, feeling lithe and supple like a kitten. She eased her feet from under his knees and wrapped her legs round him in an appreciation of his skill. Held his face in her hands and smooched him as a thank you. He was still hard within her, and his eyes questioned whether she wanted him again, if he had been what she wanted. How can you beat perfection like that first time? She smiled he had, and shook her head, not as rejection but because he didn't need to prove anything more. At least not tonight.

They dressed in silence beside each other, him in jeans and T-shirt over his unitard, her back in blouse and skirt. As she turned to go, he called after her, "Same time next week?"

Sandie paused, considering. She felt wonderfully fit herself now, limbered up in ways she couldn't explain. Tyler's workout had been miraculous. She had got want she wanted. Did she need more?

Silly question.

She turned and looked him right in those big, green cat eyes. "Only if you want me to." The butter-melting smile returned. And Sandie's heart puddled into soft liquid, dripping down inside, too.

Breathless, she turned to go, and flicked out a diary from her shoulder bag. At the door, she looked back once more, and bit her lip coyly.

"I'll see if I can fit you in... again."

© Copyright SandieQ June 2009

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