Personal Trainer

It was my first job out of college. I was a faceless wheel in the cog of Capitalism. The office I shared with a handful of other slackers was separated from the rest company by both attitude and distance as we were about half a block away from the rest of the offices. The only thing that united us was the crappy intranet site we logged into each morning. It was a repository of corny jokes, Dilbert comics, and the occasional missive from upper management.

The one thing I enjoyed about that site was the section for swapping. People traded books, CDs, lawnmowers and other, less tangible, goods. I came upon the idea one day while walking around the parking lot at lunch that I could really do for a walking partner. I needed to loose those extra pounds that I had gained at college and missed human interaction. When I returned to the office I placed a two line ad on the intranet.

No one beat down my door, of course. Most people spent their lunch hour loitering in the dank corners of the office park, dragging on cigarettes and gossiping about the people that weren't there. Yet, a week later, a reply did arrive.

"BEEN WATCHING YOU. THINK I CAN HELP. LET'S MEET AT LUNCH."

I expected to meet another overweight twentysomething but, instead, the person waiting for me in the parking lot that day looked more like he had just graduated from boot camp. He smirked when he saw me. Something about him scared me. It could be that he looked more like a bully who was there to punish me for some unforgivable crime against the pecking order than someone who was intent on helping me.

"How much do you want to lose?" he asked, jumping right over introductions and small talk.

"I dunno," I shrugged. "Maybe 20 pounds?"

"Not enough. You could lose 50 easy and still use some work. You need toning and a lot of cardio," he said, looking at me more like a piece of meat than a coworker or walking partner. I was a bit put off, to say the least.

"Come on. Let's walk," he said, starting out. I didn't want to be rude so I fell in step with him as best I could. He was walking so fast that I started gasping for breath after a block. "You really are out of shape," he sneered. "I can help you. Do you want that?"

"Yes," I said, gulping for air.

He handed me a card. "Meet me here after work tonight. No excuses." And with that, he was off and running (well, jogging), down the block, opening a distance between us.

At first, I thought that he was some kind of Gym recruiter. But, when I got to the address on the card, I was surprised to find that it was a residence. The garage door was open and there was a large, opaque screen in front of it. Unsure, I walked up to it and called out, "Hello?" I realized that I didn't even know the name of this guy.

"Open up the screen from the side and come in," he said. I was amazed. The inside of this rather innocuous garage looked like some kind of twisted version of Gold's Gym. Benches, weights, and other odd implements of exercise filled the room. He lay on one of the benches, lifting a large barbell overhead. After a few reps he put down the weight and sat up, dabbing his sweaty forehead with a towel.

He looked me up and down, the corners of his mouth moving south with distaste. "You expect to work out in that?" he asked, scoffing. I had dressed in what I thought were workout clothes -- sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Go into the house. All the way down the hall is my bedroom. Third drawer down on the left in the tall dresser are some better clothes for you. Go on. Hurry up. I haven't got all night."

I felt like a spy, going into a stranger's house while he wasn't around. I could hear his grunts and the clang of metal as he continued to workout in the garage. I tried to avert my gaze and just walk down the hall but was too much of a snoop for that. I checked out his living room -- austere and neat -- and look around his bedroom a bit as well before looking in the chest of drawers. His bedroom was also immaculate. There were a few pictures on the top of his dresser of he and a very well-built woman. The looked to be at some kind of auditorium and both were smiling from ear to ear. The one item that looked completely out of place in the room was some device hanging from the ceiling. It looked to be ropes and pulleys and I imagined it to be either some kind of decoration or an exercise device.

The clothes he had wanted me to wear were much more skimpy than I should have liked. Tight Lycra shorts and a mesh shirt. I was amazed when they fit (just barely) and very self conscious when I came back to his garage, my own clothes bundled under my arms as to not let them get too far from me.

He introduced me to a rather strenuous workout regimen and didn't hesitate from pushing me past my limits. The next day at work I was sore as hell. I saw him while walking at lunch but he either didn't see me or chose to ignore me. I had agreed to meet him three nights a week and, the next night, our routine was very much the same. I changed in his bedroom and came out to workout with him for an hour before retreating, worn out, back home.

This became our routine. He never seemed to enjoy my company or even looking at me. He treated me with contempt every time I saw him. This went on for months. Gradually, I noticed the pounds coming off and the soreness abetting in its intensity.

Weeks turned to months and I kept up with the program religiously. We never had a conversation, though I tried my best to engage him. Getting any kind of positive reaction out of him became something of a challenge. I worked harder, trying to please him with my determination.

A few more weeks passed and I found myself buying some new pants and feeling a lot better about myself. Still, he remained as dour. But I did notice one small thing. As I worked out, I noticed him moving closer to me than he had been before. I thought that I was imagining this but I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick up as I worked with him behind me, his breath on me.

I continued to strive, pushing myself harder and asking if we could add more difficulty to the routines. With that, I noticed him moving even closer. He was starting to invade my personal space but I didn't really mind it. If anything, I liked it. I took it as a sign of approval and I hoped for more.

My routine got harder and it also changed to include some very uncomfortable and unusual exercises. More than simple weight training or aerobics, I was now doing some severe stretching. To that end, my dour instructor helped to twist, push, and pull me into some awkward if not slightly embarrassing positions. All for my own good, he assured. Was I imagining a smile on his face as he was bent over me, my legs stretched up above my head? It was here that I was really glad for the one-way screen that covered the mouth of his garage. What would the neighbors think?

It was six months to the day that I had first visited his home. I came in through the screen, greeted him and took the long walk down his hallway to go change in his bedroom. He still provided workout clothes for me. He had changed the sizes of these clothes three times since I had "enrolled" in his program. Either it was wishful thinking or he liked seeing me in tighter clothes as each subsequent set was more snug than the last, despite the amount of weight I lost.

I finished changing and went back to the garage where he was waiting. We started by doing the stretching. I stood in the middle of the mat and he helped by pulling my arms up into my usual, awkward position. But then, something snapped. I couldn't tell what the noise was I heard but when I went to lower my arms, I realized that they couldn't be taken down. I looked up to see a long chain coming down from the rafters with manacles on the end. These were secured around my wrists. I twisted to look at him and ask what was going on. When I went to face him, he grabbed my mouth and filled it with a gag that he got over my head with lightning speed.

I started protesting and he simply put his finger to his mouth to shush me. "None of that," he said simply. From his back pocket he produced a utility blade. I thought that he was going to cut me open and gut me like a deer there in his garage. My eyesight started dimming, as if I was going to faint, and he slapped me out of it. "No harm will come to you," he said and cut away my workout shirt. From there he moved down and cut away the shorts and underpants beneath them.

I was now without a stitch of clothing apart from my shoes and socks. He left these on as he secured two more cuffs around each ankle which were attached to chains on either side of the garage. I was faced out, looking outside of the garage seeing the picture perfect suburban summer evening while naked and bound.

He stepped in front of me and touched my face. "You have done well," he said, moving his hand down to my chest. "You've done all that I have required and remade yourself from a fat slob to a lean and well-toned machine. Are you ready to make the transformation complete? To be completely what I want?"

I had no idea what he was talking about. His hand went over my stomach and I got butterflies. His fingers found my cock. He looked down and spit. His spittle landed on my cock and he used this to lubricate his hand as he started masturbating me to erection.

He wrapped a thick rubber band around my balls and the base of my cock. "To keep you hard," he said before walking out of the garage into his house. It was a few minutes later that a car pulled into the driveway, stopping just inches from the screen that separated me from my exposure to the outside world. Out of the car stepped the blonde woman I had seen for months. She was in the photograph in his bedroom. This whole time she hadn't been around but now, here she was. I could see her and study her as she got out and walked across the path to the front door.

After what seemed like an eternity, he came back out to the garage with her right behind him. They didn't say a word. She walked over to me and looked me over like I was a piece of meat in a butcher shop window. She looked from me to him and nodded before she went across the garage and pulled up a lawn chair to sit on. She nodded again at him and I felt something cold and wet on my asshole.

She spoke, "I've been gone for some time. I told my husband that when I got back he was to have a new slave for us. Someone he could mold into the perfect little bitch. He's shown me the progress of your body on the tapes from our bedroom. He also says that he's manipulated you to do whatever he wants in here as long as you get praise. Is that true?"

There wasn't anything false in what she said. While this isn't what I had in mind by trying to please him, I had done anything and everything he commanded in order to get a positive response. I wanted to articulate this but all that I did was nod my head.

"Perfect," she said. "He's going to fuck you for me and then release you. We're going to then see if you come back for more at your regularly appointed time. We hope you don't disappoint us." She nodded again and the cold on my asshole was quickly heated. There was pressure there as well. And then... a grunt of effort and my asshole was opened to him.

I wanted to scream and flail but, instead, I tried to hold my feet on the ground as he pushed into me, taking me, raping me, making me his. Opening me with his cock. He put his hands on my hips and started pulling me into him. I realized that this was exactly like part of our routine and I got into the rhythm. The difference was that during our routine he never had his cock inside of me. In and out, he rode me hard and I began to find pleasure in the sensations. I found myself pushing back to meet his thrusts and push him deeper into me. My eyes were closed until I felt the stare of his wife on me and I met her gaze as her husband plowed my back forty.

She had one hand in her pants, masturbating, as she watching me getting fucked. I felt him getting faster and more desperate. He was grunting like an animal and I was in heaven. I felt him push and jerk and could tell that he was cumming in me. Without a touch, I felt my own cock spraying its load as well almost as if he were cumming through me.

He held onto my hips for a few last thrusts before pulling out. I felt so empty without him in me and, suddenly, I realized that I would now do anything he asked in order to feel that sensation again. His wife left the garage and he undid the cuffs that kept me aloft and bound. Without a word, he left me there. I went back into their house and changed into my street clothes and left as she was starting dinner.

I replayed the previous six months in my head as I drove home, feeling the sticky lubrication under me. I thought about it when I got home and showered, masturbating under the hot spray and imagining the feel of him in me. I couldn't get it out of my mind that night or the next day at work.

The next evening, I was back at his house at my appointed time. Ready for anything.