This story is, oddly enough, a love letter to my gym.
It’s located in a posh enclave of my city, an affluent neighborhood with beautiful amenities to match, where nannies and twenty-dollar salads abound. The gym itself is located in a nondescript building, and it’s gorgeous. It has views for days, clean, modern equipment, and always smells like eucalyptus. Naturally, it’s quite terrifying on a social level. Tall, blonde and toned is the norm. Or petite, brunette and toned. I suppose there are also a few average, redhead and toned.
You get the idea.
The women here all prance around in expensive outfits, working out at a level of intensity I could never achieve, and always manage to look as if they never released a single droplet of sweat.
I am one of the few curvy members, and by their standards, my BMI is totally unforgivable. But I like working out here because it’s close to my job, and makes me feel a little fancy. Thankfully one of the perks at my job is that they subsidize my membership.
Another one of the perks is Alex, my trainer.
He’s one of the only black men in this white-washed neighborhood, but that’s not the reason he stands out. He’s tall and drop-dead handsome; a quintessential strong but silent type. I can tell that all the women at the gym pay extra attention to him. In any given group training session, I’ll catch them twirling their hair while staring up at him, or stretch suggestively with their asses facing in his general direction. But he never seems to care. If he notices, he never shows it.
However, none of the really rich socialites train with him. The gazelles who dominate the gym typically prefer Kira, a lithe, toned, androgynous woman with a reputation for making you sweat more than anyone else. She keeps their bodies strong and appetites suppressed with a tight regime, and if you don’t follow it, you’re out. If you’re anybody at all, you train with Kira.
I train with Alex on occasion. It’s an indulgence I allow myself from time to time, partially because I like the individual attention but mostly because he is so fucking yummy. It’s enjoyable to watch him work with his clients while I schlep my thirty extra pounds of junk around the weight room, but it's even better to have him up close and personal. He’s quite reserved, but also laidback and funny. Over time, we’ve become a little friendly. Sometimes he even waves at me in passing at the water cooler. He knows I can’t afford his personal sessions too often, but he’s generous with his time whenever we cross paths in the main gym. I won’t lie, containing my curiosity is not easy. I ask him about his life, his social activities, his family. We joke around a little. Sometimes, when I feel bold, I make offhand remarks about my sex life, my fetish-y interests, in passing:
“Don’t be nice to me, Alex. I need to be told what to do here.”
“Love those leggings on her, they’re a bit bondage-y.”
He raises his eyebrows and smiles at me but nothing more. Nothing shocks him and I wonder why.
His wide back. The way his t-shirt hugs his arms and chest. He dresses well too, probably a necessity in this glam space. I even have a secret nickname for him now — 'gym daddy'. He has a caring demeanor, and that combined with his size and gentle tone of voice just makes the nickname fit.
When I’m there on my own and I see him around, I try to perform for him in an attempt to impress him, displaying myself on the off chance that I’m in his line of vision. Usually, this involves my ass up in the air while I’m in my stretchy pants. Last week, I definitely caught his eyes graze my curves while in my cat-cow stretch. It felt heavenly.
Over time, he has even encouraged me to ask for tips when I need them. “Core tight,” he reminds me as I deadlift. I like when he touches my hips to adjust my stance. Sometimes I imagine that he enjoys it, that he touches me one nanosecond longer than needed.
Don’t get me wrong, I know that it’s completely platonic, as it should be. (Life rule #1: don’t fuck the trainer. Thanks, Mom.)
In spite of coming off like your average nice guy, something tells me there is more than meets the eye. It could be the way he seems so unperturbed by the showy atmosphere of the gym. Or how he looks at me when we pass each other at the water fountain, his eye contact unwavering while mine is downcast. Whatever it is, I want to know what’s behind the wall.
All of this was in the back of my mind yesterday when I got a text message after I left the gym for work.
Hey Ella, it’s Alex from the gym. Got your number from your file. Quick question for ya...
No problem at all, what’s up?
Are you busy tonight? 65 York Ave. 7:30pm. There’s something I think you might want to see.
Um...yeah I can make that happen. Why, what’s going on?
Wear long sleeves. Don’t be late. See you then.
"Oh la la, this is interesting," I think as I type my final response: See you then :)
I spend the rest of the day biding time. I go home and clean my floors to distract myself. When it’s time to head out, I wear black skinny jeans, a black long sleeve t-shirt and chucks. It’s early summer so hopefully, I won’t need more layers than that. My excitement level is high just because I’ve fantasized about him so many times. In so many ways. He’s been my little private toy, the one I turn to when I can’t sleep and my fingers begin to roam.
It’s dusk when I arrive. The summer air is sweet and humid. As I approach the house, my phone buzzes again. A new text from Alex.
Good girl. I like that you showed up on time. Now, go around to the back of the house. Find the basement window and get on your hands and knees. Get comfy.
Good girl? Get on my hands and knees??
Now, Ella.
Sigh. I don’t want to disappoint him. I like pleasing my gym daddy; it makes me feel good. So, I make my way through the dark toward the back of the house. There are bugs and prickly things catching my shirt. Following a stone path to the backyard, it feels like I might have just walked face-first into a spider web. I shudder and spit. Not happy. In the clearing of the backyard, there’s a deck with patio furniture I can sort of make out. The whole space is dark except for lights coming from underground. I see the basement window. It’s not huge but he’s right that if I get on my hands and knees, I should be able to get a look at what’s going on inside through the screen. It’s muddy and gravelly on my knees and palms. Still not happy and to be honest, now I’m getting a little nervous.
What am I doing here? What does he want me to see?
My heart beats quickly. My breath is shallow. I’m quiet as a mouse. I start when my phone buzzes in my palm. I look down. It’s him.
Ready?
Despite my nerves, I don't hesitate with my answer: Yes Alex…
I peer into the basement, which isn’t easy because the screen is kinda dirty but I can make out most of what’s happening. I see a dimly lit space with some equipment around the room. Benches. Hooks. Cabinetry. It looks something like a home gym… but not like one I’ve ever seen before. There is a soft hum coming from the far corner of the basement. A few women are gathered there, talking quietly amongst themselves. I recognize them as three of the most prominent gym gazelles. They’re wearing workout clothes. I imagine they are here for some private group training, but I’m not sure why they would come to Alex’s basement instead of the glamorous workout space at their disposal.
Just then, Alex enters through some other door and my hips instinctively rise as I’m on my hands and knees. He’s wearing very low slung sweats and no shirt. I’ve never seen him without his shirt before and his skin is breathtaking. It’s brown and smooth, with beautiful definition. Through the dirty screen, the dim lighting, this view from above, you could see how much work he puts into his physique. The outline of his lower abs disappears into the soft fabric at his waistline. My eyes trail lower and my fingers want to roam.
The three gazelles are all dressed in tight black tanks and very, very short black shorts. No shoes. They’re all wearing a similar necklace. Upon Alex entering the room, they stop talking and stand in a line.
He stands in front of them and nods. Then, the trio kneels as a group in their line, heads down. As they kneel, the shorts go up so high it’s as if they’re only wearing panties. Ass and thighs on full display. I imagine this is by design.
“Good evening, girls.”
They raise their heads and look at him, commanding in his calm and reassuring authority. It’s a beautiful scene. If Alex knows I’m watching, he doesn’t let on. He never looks over to my window to check on me. I crouch lower and get comfy, taking a closer look at the gazelles. I see they each have shiny red manicures, their nails perfectly done. I imagine this is also by design. Suddenly, I remember noticing their nails in the past. Their shiny red manicures, all of them. Like they were in some little club. I didn’t understand until now...
He begins to address them individually. Instead of calling them by their names, he refers to them as A, B, and C. No one complains. I can tell they like it. It’s A’s turn first. When Alex nods in her direction, she stands up, walks over to the space at his feet, kneels again, and kisses his hand. The same ritual repeats for B, and C. When they are back to kneeling on the line together, he takes a seat on a weight bench, legs spread wide apart, comfortable and casual. No big deal.
“A. I saw you at the gym at least three times this week. You pushed yourself in my circuit classes, and I saw you really work up a sweat. Your homework this week was doing your stretches with your ass facing me, like I told you. You looked beautiful, presenting yourself to me in front of all of your stuck-up friends. Such a good girl. Come here for your reward.”
She rises and walks over to Alex who doesn’t stand. She sits on his lap, facing away from him so that she is looking at the other two women. Alex takes one hand and grabs her tits, rubbing them and stroking her nipples. His other hand circles around her waist and goes inside her shorts. He leans back a bit, allowing her to recline on him and I see his hand in her shorts begin to move in slow circles. I am shocked watching this, he’s playing with her pussy in front of the two other princessews, and she’s not the least bit inhibited. She keeps one hand on his roving arm, the other on her thigh. I see her moving around her hips a little, in rhythm with his strokes. The other two women watch, entranced, but they don’t move. He makes her cum, quickly and roughly. She barely makes a sound. Then he sends her back to the line.
“B. Babygirl. You were late for my classes on Tuesday and Thursday. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but this pattern of lateness is a problem. Even tonight, you were supposed to be here at 7:25 and I saw you walk in at 7:28. Three minutes late, for me, is unacceptable. If you continue to ignore the rules, I’m gonna have to let you go. Remember why you want to be here and use that to motivate yourself. I’d much rather be upstairs on my couch watching football but instead I’m down here with YOU, supporting your progress. You gotta learn to be on time. Come up here. Now.”
Again, Alex stays seated on the bench. B gets up in steaming hot shame, walks to him and lies face down across his lap. Her head and arms rest on the weight bench. Alex places his hand on her ass and rubs her all over, warming her up. Then he spanks her five times, in quick succession, bam bam bam bam bam. He stops to let her breathe. She gently lifts up in her hips response. “Atta girl. You’re gonna do great next time, I know it,” he says, and massages her to relieve the sting. I can hear her exhale from here. He rubs her ass again and pats her head. “Back to the line.”
“C. You’re last, baby.” His tone changes with C. She seems to be his favourite pet. She walks to him and kneels at his feet. “You’re working on being more giving with your husband.”
She nods, something the other two haven’t attempted yet.
“What’s going on at home these days? You’re supposed to be giving your husband head at least three times a week. Otherwise you know he’s gonna pull your shoe allowance. You also said you were gonna try to finger his ass a little. So, show me on your hand how many times you went down on your husband.”
C blushes and lowers her head. She put up her right hand with two raised red polished fingers.
“Tsk” says Alex. “It’s just sucking cock, baby. We all know what a good slut you normally are. You don’t want to be buying your shoes at Payless, do you? Keep your eye on the prize, babygirl. Don’t be a motherfucking princess.”
When he tilts her face up to his and runs his thumb over her cheekbone, I can feel a tenderness between them.
“How was your week otherwise? Is he treating you well?”
She nods.
“Good. Don’t forget to suck his cock. Net time I want video.”
Alex walks back to his weight bench and addresses the group.
“Girls. I want to thank you again for coming tonight to check in. None of us in this room are perfect, but the three of you are working towards making yourselves better people and it is my privilege to be a part of the journey. You have your homework, now you’re free to go. See you next week. Wait for the text.”
With that, Alex leaves the room. A, B and C get up, throw on their jackets and leave.
The basement goes dark. I sit there, stunned. I hear the sounds of cars pulling away.
The porch light turns on. I hear a screen door slide.
“You there?”
“Fuck,” I say to myself. I pause, unsure if I want to confront Alex about what I just witnessed. I feel like a voyeur, although I acknowledge that I was invited and had every opportunity to leave... and didn’t. The truth is that I liked what I saw. What I don’t yet understand is how. Or why.
“Come in,” he says. “Let’s talk about it”
I face the split-second decision to stay or leave. But I’m frozen in place by the idea of Alex running his fingers through my hair. Me kissing his hand and hearing him call me “good girl”. Him reducing me to a letter, and growing me through care and discipline.
I want that.
Dusting the gravel and dirt off of my hands, I get up off my hands and knees. I realize that I had not left this position since he ordered me into it. I walk toward the sliding door, which has been left open for me. Without looking back, I walk into the dark house and slide it shut behind me.
-For J.
Ella Lee is a writer and perv with an interest in the softer side of kink.