Private Trainer (Part 2)
It was the first time I'd ever been close enough to him to smell him. The lady at the bar was obviously amused, as she observed us from the corner of her eye, innocently polishing bottles. Nick was slouching over the bar, also smiling — his body angled toward mine. In kind, I had my stool swiveled to face his. Ice tinkled in our scotch.
"So," I started, "guess you don't have much time to clean, what with the café and your training practice, huh?" I couldn't suppress the grin as it took over my face.
Looking into my eyes with utter fascination, Nick blushed. I'd never seen it before. I liked it. He took a nice long swig, never taking his eyes off my face.
"Well, to be honest, it's not really a lack of time."
"Oh, no?" I was in deep flirt mode now. The occasion had blessed it.
"No," he said, and a more serious tone now. He sat up straight, taller than me. Those eyes. He kept seeing straight into mine. It was a lot. But I couldn't look away.
"What is it, then?" I asked, finally, breaking the moment.
"Guess I just have a thing about feather dusters," he chuckled.
I wanted to be alone with him.
"That's a copout," I said.
"You're right," he said.
I shifted in towards him, my knee falling slightly between his legs. Electric.
I breathed, waiting.
"Okay, I'm only telling you this because I've always trusted you for some reason," he said. His legs closed around my knee. I felt taken in. Take that how you want to.
“I’m listening,” I said, moving my knee in further, but not too far. Just enough for that interlocking feel. You know the one I’m talking about.
“It really turns me on when a woman… serves me. Like, cleans for me, cooks for me, does my laundry, massages my feet. I’m not sure if it’s because I spend all day serving coffee, or if I have mommy issues — my mom and I are actually friends, and she doesn’t clean, by the way — or maybe I’m just a misogynist.” He smiled. “But I do know that I want to value that labor… by paying.” His hand fell to my thigh. “And I would only ever want to do this with someone who was equally turned on by it.”
“I’m turned on by your ability to speak words and express yourself,” I said.
“You know, I somehow never actually got your name.”
“Lydia. I like that name. So why did you really answer my ad? You like to be watched while you whistle as you work?” His glimmery green eyes showed their fire, suddenly. It jolted me, seeing it, but I don’t think I would ever have been attracted to him if I hadn’t guessed it was in there somewhere. Lack of fire has always been my major deal breaker.
I laughed. Because it was funny, but also because I was a little nervous. Just a little.
“You want the truth?” I asked, without waiting for an answer. “I’ve had a crush on you ever since I saw you. I fantasize about you. I kind of can’t believe I answered your ad. Must be destiny, right?” I laughed. Nervously.
“Wow. Well, I have to say, I’m really fucking glad you did.” Beneath the counter, his hand was traveling slowly up my thigh now. Ridiculously slowly. On purpose. He was teasing me. “I’ve always thought you were hot, but I guess it’s hard to hit on a customer and do it properly, you know? Thank god for Craigslist.” His hand stopped at the highest point of my inner thigh and rested there. Any higher and…
“And the cleaning thing,” I continued, trying and failing to let on how his touch was affecting me, “the cleaning thing isn’t a particularly arousing thing to me, but being watched in general turns me on… and the thought of cleaning while you specifically watch me definitely turns me on… and the idea of being paid… also turns me on… and of being ordered around, trained to please, that kind of thing… I think I’d probably want to be touched though, too. Just a hunch.” I’ve always been uber honesty-girl.
“Mmm,” his hand curled into a fist between my thighs and gently pushed upward, applying light pressure. He was taken aback at the lack of underwear—no barrier to touch. The softness, the moisture.
“You’ll need non-toxic cleaning products, though,” I said, as his knuckle rubbed up against my bare wetness.
Leaning into me, I could tell that would not be a problem.
“Will that be one bill or two?” The barmaid’s voice broke through, telling us to get a room.
Nick’s apartment, conveniently located just across the street from Spiro’s, was already very clean, and I found it hilarious, soon as I stepped in the door. I was also very aroused by the fact that I wouldn’t have the chance to be turned off by his mess.
“Um, you’ve clearly cleaned already.”
He pushed me against the wall in his hallway, near the shoes, and my purse dropped. Leaning in, he waited for me to respond first. I did, neck craning slightly forward, and we kissed. I’m not gonna lie. That was a kiss. My knees buckled, my heart shook, and the man had to catch me. Which he did. Divine. His kisses were long and deep and strong—the way I always wished more men kissed. But I never seem to land on them, usually.
“I decide how clean I want it in here,” he said. Somewhat of a delayed response to my previous comment.
Taking a wad of cash from his pocket and placing it on the entry-way table, he said, “To be clear, that’s for the cleaning work you’re about to do for me. Nothing else.”
“Take off your clothes. You’re never to enter past this point wearing any clothing.” And with that, he walked in ahead of me, and sat down on the sofa.
Excited, I dropped my skirt, my coat, and my tank top in a heap on his hallway floor and stepped over the threshold and into his world.
“We’ll start with the floor in here,” he said, eyeing me thoroughly. “It’s always sort of dusty, no matter how much I sweep in here, and I’ve never bothered to buy a mop. I think the most effective way to really get it sparkling would be to wash it by hand, with a bucket and rag.” His eyes were glued to me, and had stopped to rest on my bare pussy, vulnerable and exposed. Trusting.
“You are stunning,” he added.
In the middle of the living room floor (it was a hardwood floor, if you wanna visualize), was an empty bucket, a rag, and a bottle of non-toxic lemongrass cleaner. I smiled wildly at this. Without a word, I bent over in front of him and squeezed some cleaner into the bucket. Standing up, I noticed the kitchen was just to our left, so I picked up the bucket and walked naked into Nick’s kitchen. I felt him craning his neck to watch me as I went. He sucked in his breath, and I smiled. Pretty sure he knew.
I ran the hot water in the kitchen sink and filled the bucket halfway. Walking back into the living room, I saw Nick had remained turned around to watch me. Me and my jiggly ass. I hoped he liked what he saw. I smiled at him and he smiled back, his eyes glinting. Placing the bucket back on the floor in front of him, I dunked the rag and squeezed it out.
Pulling something from behind the couch, he handed me a giant pair of kneepads. The kind you wear in hockey.
“Thanks. That’s very thoughtful of you,” I said.
“Here. Let me,” he said. And with that, fully clothed Nick, the personal trainer of my dreams was breathing hotness on the front of my thigh as he leaned in close to secure the straps behind my legs. They were clunky, and awkward, and felt crazy ridiculous to be wearing without anything else on, but I let him do it. Was for my own good, after all. Hardwood is hard wood. Having finished one, he then traversed the space between my thighs with his hot breath as he turned to pick up, place, and fasten kneepad number two. Wet and throbbing a little, I lost balance slightly and began to tilt forward. Lucky for me, Nick was quick, and stopped my fall by catching me with his face… his mouth, to be exact, as he pressed me back to a balanced position with only his lips, and then his teeth, and tongue, opening slowly and hungrily around me. He didn’t bite to hurt, though. Like a dog that bites only to play and never to hurt, even though he could hurt you easily if he chose. Hard not to feel close to that.
The kneepads were on, and I withdrew from his heat, tying my hair up in a sloppy bun.
“Where would you like me to start? Maybe the area that gets the most traffic?” I raised my eyebrows in an extremely cheesy way, and feigned being a professional cleaner.
He tried not to laugh. I watched the corners of his mouth, and suppressed a smile.
“Start right here,” he said, pointing to the space directly at his feet, suddenly serious. Slowly but surely, I managed a successful transition to the kneeling position. I dunked the rag again and began to clean the floor at his feet. His legs were splayed open, and I was kneeling facing him, breasts hanging down as I washed, and ass slightly elevated for his benefit.
He leaned down low to whisper in my ear, reaching all the way out to grasp my ass at the same time. “Be very thorough,” he said. “I want you to make this place shine.” With that, he slapped my ass, and made it bounce.
“Of course, sir,” I said. And then I washed that floor with everything I had. Well, at least the section at my trainer’s feet. As I scrubbed away at the already clean floor, endeavoring to make it shine, Nick batted at my breasts with his hands, kind of like a cat pawing at a toy with moving parts. He caught and seized my nipples a few times, making me groan as I leaned down further. I put my back into it, using both hands to scrub the history clean off that floor.
“I think that’s clean enough,” he said. “Good girl. I may have to hire you back again. Continue.”
With that, I turned around to show him my ass, wiggling it a little as went. I kept my kneepads close together to accentuate the contrast of their width with my slender figure, and make a minor mockery of it all.
I continued to scrub and I could hear his breath getting deeper.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Scrub harder. Show me you’re a professional.”
I have never cared so much about scrubbing something, ladies and gentlemen. My legs opened wide as I brought my chest closer to the floor and ducked down to scrub the hard-to-reach corner before me. I felt the air brush my pussy. I wondered if he could see that my lips were slick with desire.
“Get up,” he breathed.
So I did, dropping the rag into the bucket as I rose.
“Come over here.”
So I walked up to stand in front of him, between his legs where he sat on the couch.
“I think you deserve a break,” he said.
Smiling widely in spite of myself, I looked him in the eye. “Whatever you desire, sir. I’m here to serve you.”
Smiling at me, he reached out then, and picking me up by the waist with both hands, he lifted me up like a baby, and sat me down on his lap, so I was straddling him.