Probably the one place where having tiny boobs is an advantage is Gym Club. It is difficult for a girl to appear graceful when she has two huge melons hitting her under the chin. I always felt that my body was designed for gymnastics with my slim, supple form and just the right amount of curve in my lithe legs. My bum is probably a little bit too big but even that added to the effect when I touched down after a vault, landing on my feet and standing there with my back arched backwards, my pussy thrust outwards and my generous buttocks curving nicely in the rear. To be honest, although I would never say this out loud, part of the fun of gym was to perform in my skin tight red leotard so my shape was on show as if I were naked but with just enough covering to keep males from salivating over the bits which decency demands I keep covered.
It was because I know I am good at gym that I kept it up, so to speak, after many girls drop it and, even at eighteen, when I was living at home doing A levels, I would be at Gym Club every Thursday evening. The club was led by Terry whom we knew thoroughly enjoyed the sight of a hall full of teenaged girls wearing the bare minimum. He was always on hand to offer words of advice.
"Keep your tummy in and your bum out like this," and his hand would gently press us into the right position. When he advised us to pose after mat work with our hands above our heads he would direct us to keep our legs apart so that we were standing firmly and not wobbling and his hands would press the inside of our thighs to push our legs apart. Sometimes when he did this the top of his hand would accidentally brush the underneath of our leotard as he withdrew it. He never hurt us but there was the slight tingle of excitement as you felt him touch where no-one is ever supposed to touch us. Between ourselves we giggled that he had a peephole into the changing room so that he could watch us in there but there was never any evidence of that. None of us ever breathed a word about Terry to our parents because we were afraid that they would stop us coming to the club.
Anyway this story began one Thursday night after club as we made our way out of the hall to get changed. Terry asked if I would pop back into the hall when I was changed for a quick word. I assumed it was about some aspect of the moves I had been doing and did not think anything of it.
When I went back into the hall Terry was sitting on a pile of gym mats; he was sitting on one side of the top mat with a very obvious space beside him so I sat down. I was now in tight jeans, trainers and a black sweatshirt. Terry began by talking about nothing in particular, just general chat about how I was getting on, was I happy in the club, did I have any suggestions about new things we could do? I realise now that he was wasting time to allow the other girls to leave so we would be alone. Then he came to the point.
"Julie, I was on the internet this week and I found these stories about an eighteen year old living in Bournemouth with her parents and her sister called Gemma. Her dad works in a bank. Does that remind you of anyone?"
My mind short-circuited and for what seemed like a very long time I could not think of a reply. I know what you are thinking -- why did I not invent a character called Susan who lived in Newcastle but they were MY stories and I wanted to be in them. I wanted to somehow experience the things I wrote and that would not work if they were about someone else. I had reckoned that there are seven billion people in the world and hardly any of them have heard of me so the odds against someone I knew reading them were huge. I finally put together an answer although it sounded very weak.
"It can't say it's me. How many girls called Julie are there in the world?"
He slipped his hand under my arm and around my back and the other hand rested on my thigh.
"You see the problem I have is that now I know about this I should tell your parents. What do you think your dad would say after what you wrote that he did? And what would your mum say?"
To my horror the hand had moved from my thigh to the zip of my jeans and the hand behind me had gripped my upper arm on the opposite side of me from where he sat so my arms were now pinioned behind me and I was being pulled backwards. We were alone in the building and it sounded very quiet and lonely. He was speaking again.
"I have read your stories so I know how you think. I know what you like and what you want."
He had unzipped my jeans and his hand had slipped inside and was dragging my brief panties to one side as I tried to sit up but he was too strong for me.
"Look Terry. I, Um..look ah..."
Two fingers had found my most sensitive spot and he was rubbing gently at first and then building up the pressure. He had done this before and I wondered how many other girls had sat where I was sitting. I could not keep my bum still and I was feeling very hot.
"You have a wonderful imagination Julie but the thing is that, as you are able to make up such convincing stories, who is going to believe a word you say?"
He was very clearly making the point that he could do whatever he liked to me and I could not tell anyone about it. I had written about my dad and me.....well about us..and it was not true but I had put it on the internet and Daddy must never ever see it. It would just be too unbearable. If Terry told him about the stories...well I just could not think about that..it MUST never happen.
Those two fingers were rubbing hard now and I was gasping out loud and wriggling about all over the place and then he began to slip just the tips of his fingers inside me where I was already quite moist. I knew that I was already out of control; speaking was impossible and the volume of my involuntary cries was rising. He no longer needed to hold onto my arms to control me and that hand had slipped up my sweatshirt, slid up my bare belly and found my little bra which it had roughly shoved upwards so he could massage my left nipple adding to my sexual tension.
In between my moans I was trying to stop him. It is important that you know that. I DID try to stop him.
"No..please,,Terry, don't. Please..let me go..aagh..please Terry."
Those questing fingers were now being shoved deep inside me and withdrawn and pushed in again with increasing rapidity and my legs were all over the place. Somehow I found myself flat on my back on the mat with my knees bent and him leaning over me. His head came down over mine and his tongue rammed into my mouth silencing me apart from a lot of panting and gasping for air. His tongue filled my mouth as he slobbered all over my face and his hands continued to maul me and it was inevitable that I would finally tip over the brink. My back arched, my head went backwards and I howled like a vixen on heat with my shriek of orgiastic release echoing off the steel girders in the roof.
When I sank, spent, back onto the mat with my boobs going up and down I realised that he had left me alone and he was propped up on his arm looking down at me. I felt like a whore; I had performed for him even though I did not want to do so. He had known exactly what buttons to press and I had done nothing to stop him. For goodness sake whose body was it? Why didn't I knee him in the groin? Why didn't I just get up and run for it? I had been a weak stupid little kid and let him do whatever he wanted. He was speaking gently and quietly but also very firmly.
