Confuscius, he say "Find a job you love, and you'll never work a day in your life."
Being a fitness instructor is the perfect job for a sadist. Where else, outside of a whorehouse, does a man spend his days ordering women to do painful and demeaning tasks?
Most of my colleagues (the very few straight ones) go for the stunning blonde twenty somethings. Me, I much prefer the older woman. They need me MUCH more than I need them and I can treat them accordingly. Plus they tend to be better able to afford my ludicrous fees.
Press-ups are my favorites - it's genuinely a good exercise for the woman, but I get a thrill out of watching the woman drop and push their pampered faces close to the ground at my command. I insist on perfect form and I insist the nose actually touches the ground. If not, they are likely to get a gentle push from my boot to the back of their heads. After the fifth time, even the stupidest woman catches on. Better yet is where I've taken them to the park for their session. Face down into the mud - the temptation is to push on too hard. And all in public, where the friends of the pampered lady might see her sweating and panting in the dirt.
When they become more proficient, I get them to pause and hold the position, nose just touching the floor. If they fail to hold until I give the word, they get a shouted and very direct lecture in their faces on how lazy and weak-willed they are.
Oh yes, I'm allowed to be very rude to my clients. Certain women seek me out because of it. Some desperately need to get in shape and they like my uncompromising style, but one or two quite clearly enjoy the abuse way, way too much.
Take Angie, for example. She's something big in the management of a top magazine. She looks to be in her late forties or maybe she's well-preserved and in her early fifties. Expensively dressed, even in the gym. Big beautiful backside and a breathtaking big rack of boobs.
After our second session she waited around and watched me take another woman through her paces. She watched with considerable interest and seemed to enjoy what she saw. She approached me as I was on my way into the changing rooms.
"You're very good."
"Thank you."
"I mean - you really know what you're doing. Can I ask something?"
"Sure."
"How do you know when to stop?"
"Stop?"
