Manhandled by My Personal Trainer (BBW, BDSM, Curvy, Deflowering, Spanking Erotica) (3 page)

> Hey, haven’t heard from you in a while.
It’s about an hour before the shoot, are you on your way? Hope you
didn’t forget.

Two missed calls and thirty minutes later my
phone buzzed with yet another helpless plea.

> Hey is everything alright, Melanie? The
photographer’s ready to go, but there’s no sign of you. Are you
going to make it? Please let me know.

And at this point I actually broke into
tears. What had I done? Why couldn’t I stop myself form hurting
this person that had been nothing but kind and helpful to me for
years? These were the thinking points of the evening as I sat in my
room refusing to budge.

Two hours after the photo shoot meeting was
supposed to take place I heard a knock on my door from my
mother.

“
Mel? Kevin Campbell is on
the phone. He wants to know if you’re ok. What’s this about? What
should I tell him?” I sighed the type of sigh that only comes out
from having realized you’re the worst human being on the
planet.

“
I’m fine. Tell him I’m
fine,” I whimpered from my locked bedroom.

It took me about a week to finally come out
of my awkward social paralysis and accept what I had done. By not
responding to Kevin I had only fucked things up even worse. He
would have been mildly upset with me if I simply told him I had
fucked up with my diet in Italy. He would have felt like I maybe
wasn’t reliable person, but he wouldn’t have interpreted it as a
personal assault as he did now.

When I finally built the courage to own up to
Kevin face to face I decided I would try to find him at the gym. I
was his only appointment from 7:30 to 8:15, so I knew I would catch
him during his downtime. But when I entered the gym I didn’t see
him sitting in the lobby reading one of his fitness magazines the
way he always had. Did Kevin stop going to this gym while I had
been away? Was it because of me? Kevin’s absence felt so bizarre
that the gym somehow felt completely empty, even though prime
attendance hours were still in full swing.

I nearly gave up hope on looking for him, but
I decided it was worth checking the first floor dumb-bell room that
he spent most of his time at on bicep days. Though not where I
expected, I found Kevin along the way. He was standing in front of
a young red-haired girl who looked a few years older than me. She
was doing leg curls on a machine that propped her ass up in the air
while she counted out her reps in a forcefully squeaky baby cute
voice.

“
Is my form ok?” she cooed.
Once again, the sight took my breath away. I wanted to walk over
and throw the girl off the machine by her hair. I was a loyal to
Kevin for years and that’s how he repays my patronage?

Just then Kevin looked up and realized what I
had just witnessed. At first he seemed shocked, like I had jumped
out from a corner and frightened him. But before he would let me
savor his surprise his face relaxed back to his default
cooler-than-thou expression, as if to say ‘So what? Why should you
care?’

“
You’re doing great,” he
told the redhead after a brief pause of silence.

I thought about saying something bitchy to
him or his new pupil. I wanted nothing more than to make both of
them feel horrible before I strutted out of the gym but I was
reminded by the humility that brought me in in the first place that
I was also out of line here. I raised my eyebrows respectfully to
Kevin, as if to give him my best of luck, and I left.

I fought back tears every time I re-imagined
what I saw in the gym that day. I was a spiraling column of
hellfire fury one minute and a blathering emo-teen whining about
her crush the next. Add this on top of the fact that I still hadn’t
lost all of my vacation weight, if anything my spare tire was still
gradually getting larger. Another week went by and I still hadn’t
even broken a sweat. Finally after seeing my body continue to
regress one morning in the mirror, I decided this was enough. It
might still be too emotionally taxing to run into Kevin, or anyone
that might be his new client, but there were dead hours at the gym
that even he was away for.

For the next two weeks I started going into
the gym from 11pm to 1am. It wasn’t totally deserted, but I could
find some space if I needed to. That hour at the gym is usually
dominated by introverts anyway. People that don’t want to run into
anyone they know, they just want to finish their sets and leave. At
last I was able to climb back onto the treadmills I felt missed me
just as much in my absence. The first two days were a rough
reminder of what I was like as a teen, but once my reinvigorated
energy returned to me I was able to put in longer and faster
running logs than I felt in months.

By the end of the first week I felt confident
enough to begin light weight training again to tone the backs of my
arms. The bench-press barbell is one of the most intimidating
stations in the entire gym. Your lifting weight on that is one of
the first things weight trainers ask each other when assessing
strength and endurance. But it’s also one of the riskiest exercises
you can attempt. Splay your shoulders too far out and you’re bound
pull a muscle in your shoulder that will keep you out of the gym
for weeks. Don’t go down low enough and you’ll fail to get the full
effect. Of course, this is also the station you most frequently
need a spotter for.

If you fail-out on the bench-press you could
potentially die once you’re smothered underneath the weight. This,
among other reasons is why good spotter should never be
under-appreciated.

I’ve been going to the gym by myself for a
month now. The late hours were tough to adjust to at first, but the
isolation is the only comforting thought I have left to get me out
the door. I step into the gym and immediately put in my headphones.
Weirdly enough, most of the people I’ve met at this hour have been
surgeons who work some part of the a.m. rotation at one of the city
hospitals. They’re a nice tribe, but they typically keep their
headphones in as well to deliberately avoid small talk.

I step onto my favorite treadmill, one of the
sleeker, newer black models that’s normally always taken during
prime evening hours. I definitely have come to love a lot about the
gym late at night. The way the crisp air actually smells sterile,
rather than odorous. The way the sounds of a single weight machine
can echo throughout the building as if communicating the gradual
weariness of the person on it. All things I had been missing out on
during my training with Kevin.

I climb off the treadmill and wipe my
forehead down when I spot a familiar face I haven’t seen in a
while.

“
Melanie? I didn’t know you
came here.” I haven’t seen Paul since our brief hangouts in Italy,
if it even qualified as a ‘hangout’.

“
Paul!” I feigned
excitement, though I don’t think he can tell. I really don’t want
to be mean to him, I just don’t go to the gym prepared to talk to
anyone anymore. “It’s great to see you again.”

“
You have no idea. I thought
about you in France for the rest of my trip,” Uh-huh, thanks Paul.
It looks like he’s thrilled to see my tits have swollen as well. In
between sentences he keeps glancing down at my body, as if I
wouldn’t catch him. He’s partially responsible for tempting me into
the disaster I’m in now. “Hey listen, if you’re not doing anything
after this, would you want to get a drink somewhere?” It ‘s sweet
of him to ask, but I see where this is going and I’m in no
mood.

“
Thanks, Paul. That sounds
great, really, but maybe another time? I’m just unthinkably busy
since I’ve gotten back in the states.” If Paul is actually let
down, he does a successful job at masking it. Outside of the gym I
would be thrilled for such an invitation. But here and now, I’m all
business.

“
Yeah, that’s ok. Another
time then,” I tell Paul I’ll see him later and I continue to the
third floor women’s weight room. It’s hard for me to believe that
I’m now seeking the same room that my mother and Kevin retreated to
so many years ago. It only feels weird when you think about it, so
I don’t. That’s the last thing I need on my mind before I
bench-press.

A lot of girls are discouraged from the
bench-press, which is really a shame. So many girls I know complain
about flab on the back of their arms, but they have some sort of
superstitious fear that if they bench-press once every two weeks
they’ll turn into a she-hulk.

Today I’m feeling energetic yet frustrated,
and I’m ready to unleash all I’ve got on something. I stack on the
twenty-five pound plates that I’ve capped myself on and blow
through ten reps without a sweat. This is too easy. There’s a light
twinge in my arms as the push the weight above my chest. But barely
more than that. Right now I want the weight to slice through the
excess flab hanging off my arms. I want to push so hard that my
arms reshape now. I don’t need anyone to tell me how to go further,
because at this moment I am insatiable.

I set the barbell back on the rack and sit
up. I stare into mirror at the girl who’s begun to slim up slightly
but who’s arms still sag with loose fat. Arms that sag with the
weakness of will that made me abandon someone I cared about when
they needed me. They’re the embodiment of everything I want to
shed. And if I can cut them off tonight from this barbell, then
that’s exactly what I’m about to do.

I stand up and without a moment’s hesitation
I grab two more twenty-five pound plates and lower myself beneath
the bar to go further than I’ve ever gone before. I feel a new
powerful force exerting down on me that unlike anything I’ve known.
The rear muscles in my arms start to pump with heat as I slowly let
the weight down before putting everything I have into pushing it
back up again. By my fourth rep my arms began to plea for mercy,
violently shaking as if they could fail-out at any second. The
feeling is exhilarating. I’ve just lifted almost twice as much as I
ever had with Kevin. Tonight I am unstoppable. I catch my breath
and stare back into the mirror. The girl I see now has focus and
determination, and it’s coming out from within.

When I catch my breath I stare back down at
the weight rack and start to challenge myself for more. Just one
more push that will make tonight truly the pinnacle of self
determination that I’ll never forget. I pick up two more ten-pound
weights and stack them onto the rest. If I can just get one pump
with this weight, one complete rep, then I’ll have lifted more than
any female client of Kevin’s ever has. The confidence I’ve gained
while working out alone and the thrill of my success tonight tells
me I can do anything I want. One rep.

I lay beneath the barbell and push the weight
three inches up so that my arms lock out, supporting the record
breaking gravitational mammoth above me. The force I feel pressing
down on me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt, but I refuse to let
that intimidate me. One rep, is all I’m here for. Slowly I allow my
elbows to bend outward, and immediately I feel the pumping
white-hot pain sear across my arms. For a second I feel in control
of bar, feel in control of this gargantuan force in my arms, but no
sooner does my left elbow fail-out for a fraction of a second. The
shock is jolting, and I nearly exhale completely trying to regain
control, but I stop the bar from dropping any further. Panicked, I
try to lift the bar back up and reset it on the bench, and to my
sudden horror my arms refuse to budge. This is when the inevitable
sets in. There’s nothing I can do to get this weight off me, and in
a matter of seconds it’s going to collapse onto me when my arms
finally give out.

Half of my brain remains focused and
collected, trying to find away to position myself away from the
barbell before it’s too late. But the other half is having a level
nine melt-down of terror and self-loathing. How could I have been
so stupid to have tried this? What the hell had gotten into me?
Before these humiliating thoughts are able to bring me to tears
under the wrath of the barbell my rational brain comes up with a
plan, sort of.

With what’s left of my breath I let out a
strained but somewhat vocal call.

“
P-haul!” my lungs empty and
the barbell drops another two inches further on me before I can
inhale and push back against it. There’s not much time now, as the
weight still continues to drop steadily and is only about four
inches from my ribs. Another panicked chill sweeps over me as I
imagine what will happen then as barbell would pin me there and
slowly squeezes my last breath out of me.

NO. My determination kicks in for a much
needed second wind. I won’t let this happen.

“
PAUL!” I bellow. This time
I don’t let the barbell sink any further. I can tell that it might
have been effective this time as I hear my panicked cry echo in the
empty weight room, hopefully some of that distressed cry was able
to leak out the door to find Paul wherever he was in the gym. A
desperate hope, I know, but it’s all I have left. A few more
seconds tick by before the weight finally makes contact with my
lower chest, it’s over now. The self-hating thoughts stop now, only
because they’d feel pointless to be my last. This is it, there’s
nothing left in me to push. I close my eyes, and accept what’s to
come.

“
You’ve got this, Melanie.
Don’t give in yet,” the familiar masculine voice calls out. My eyes
shoot open and like an angel, there’s Kevin standing over me now.
I’m unable to tell if he’s furious or simply focused, but again
he’s looking at me with his eyes that force my body to comply. Of
course there’s really no energy in me to push back time, so Kevin
places two open hands beneath the weight and lightly begins raising
it up so that my arms still do most of the work and I get my
complete rep.