Curvy for Him 1

by Winters, Annabelle

  “Language,” I say, keeping my breathing steady and my eyes focused on her. “Losing control of your language is the first sign of defeat. And we do not come here to be defeated, do we, ladies?”

  “No!” comes the response in chorus, and I grin wide and jack up the music—some heavy metal band from Germany. They sound like animals gone wild (the band, not my customers), and I roar in delight as I feel my muscles flex and pump.

  The women howl back in response. They know we’re on the last leg of our class, the final segment, the big burn. I’m going to take them to the edge of their abilities, and then push them over that edge! They’re going to see what they’re capable of doing, what their bodies—fat, thin, and everything in between—are capable of doing!

  “Push it!” I roar as the music ratchets up to its crescendo and the women are screaming in pain as their thighs and calves burn through every last drop of fuel. I know they’ve already burned through all the sugar they’ve pumped into their bodies, and now their bodies are forced to use fat as fuel. They’ll be burning fat the rest of the day, even while watching Netflix! “To the edge, Ladies!”

  The music crashes to an end in an ear-shattering barrage of drums, and I raise my hand to signal that we’re done. The women cheer, and then the room descends into groans as they slide their sweaty asses off the bikes and collapse on the floor-mats, writhing around like they’re having near-death experiences. I hate spinning, but I love this scene. I love seeing people push themselves beyond what they believed they could do. Yeah, I love it. Better than sex.

  I blink as I glance at the women in tights and tank-tops sweating all over my floor. There was a time when I’d have taken my pick from these women—married or not, customers or not. But that time has passed. I haven’t had sex in over a year, and I’m not going to crack now.

  Crack, I think as I try not to stare at one of the women who goes up on her knees and raises her ass in the air, letting out a huge groan that’s most certainly for my benefit. I know how the human body works, and I know that when you get that heartrate up, get that blood pumping, you get everything going.

  “Never yield,” I mutter to myself, looking away from the shameless display of ass on my gym floor. This chick isn’t my type anyway. She’s fit as hell, but too small for me. Tight butt, yeah. But nothing to hold on to. A man needs something to hold on to.

  I feel my cock move in my shorts, and I turn away to grab a towel. In my mind I see her, a woman with curves sculpted in heaven, nice big ass that shudders when I spank it, boobs that burst out of her bra when I rip her top off, nipples as big as saucers, dark red and erect, glistening with my saliva as I suck them until they stand up straight like arrowheads.

  I grin and shake my head. I’m used to these fantasies invading my mind. Thing is, I don’t know who that woman is! It’s not some ex of mine! It’s not some celebrity! It’s just a fantasy-woman that my sex-deprived brain has conjured up! It’s just my balls reminding me that I need to unload them inside a woman who can take me, take all of me!

  I groan as my cock hardens to almost full-mast, pushing against my shorts and forming an obscene peak at the front. I pushed myself pretty hard today, and I’m feeling fitter than ever. When you’re fit, your body wants to do what comes naturally. It wants to do what comes most naturally:

  Put its seed in a woman.

  “You wanna get some, Armand?” says one of the women from behind me, and I blink and look down at myself, wondering if they’ve seen the tent at the front of my shorts.

  “What?” I say without turning, draping the long towel over my shoulder so it covers my erection.

  “Falafel,” comes the reply. “We’re all going to that new Middle-Eastern restaurant at the end of the block. You wanna come get some falafel with us?”

  “I have a meeting,” I say hastily, turning my head sideways and smiling. “See you all on Thursday.”

  “If we’re alive,” one of them says, sighing as she slowly walks to the women’s locker room. “You almost killed us today, Armand. And to think we’re actually paying you to do this to us!”

  I smile as their words hit home in a way I wish they didn’t. Getting paid to kill? You have no fucking idea, lady. No fucking idea.

  A darkness settles over me as I think about the meeting scheduled for this afternoon. It’s a meeting that shouldn’t be happening. I’ve been making my payments, and the deal was I’d be left alone. Left alone to think upon my sins. Left alone to heal. Left alone to put myself back together. To un-break what was broken.

  I wait for my customers to leave, and then I lock the front door and head to the showers. I step out of my shorts, toss my soaked shirt against the wall, slam my palms against the cool tiles and turn on the jets. Cold water. Ice cold. Like the blood in my veins. The cold blood of a killer.

  The doorbell sounds just as I find myself slipping into that dark, desolate place in my mind, the place I’ve been trying to shut down, to escape from. That’s what all of this is for: The legitimate business thing. Doing something that I’m passionate about. Denying myself sex so I can focus on my mind, my goddamn soul!

  “But these motherfuckers won’t leave me alone!” I roar as I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist. The water drips down my massive pectorals in heavy beads as I walk out to the front door. These bastards are early. The goddamn cable guy will make you wait all day, but the mafia shows up early. Fuck my life.

  I yank open the front door, still dripping wet, nothing but a towel around my waist. I considered dressing, but I don’t want anyone else seeing a bunch of Mafioso thugs standing outside my front door. That won’t be good for business.

  “Um, hi!” comes a woman’s voice as I pull the door open so hard it almost smacks me in the face. But one look at her and I feel like I’ve been smacked in the face! Smacked hard! Smacked by fate! By destiny! By the cupids themselves!

  It’s her!

  The woman from my fantasy!

  I swear it’s her!

  “Motherfucker,” I gasp, my eyes going wide as I take in the sight of the woman standing in my doorway. Big brown eyes that feel familiar even though I’ve never looked into them before. Pretty round face that makes me weak in the knees. A bosom that’s bursting through her black, shapeless T-shirt—a shirt that can’t hide her shape! And hips that I just want to slam into, right here, right now! “Motherfu—”

  “Um, language!” she says, blinking in shock even though her voice is steady. I can tell she’s glanced down along my body, and I swear I noticed her do a double-take when she saw the way my towel was peaking at the front. Why didn’t I just jerk myself off in the shower?!

  “Who the hell are you?” I say, my mind swirling as I try my damndest to calm down. This whole abstaining from sex has clearly driven me insane. I’m now imagining that a woman from my dreams has shown up at my door?! You’ve lost it, Armand. You’re beyond rescue.

  “Astrid,” she says, her eyes wide as if she’s trying desperately to stay focused on my face and not my body. I can already sense her heat rising. Not sure how, but I feel it. I fucking smell it!

  “Astrid,” I say, my jaw clenching as the most primal need rips through my body. My cock is throbbing behind that towel, and I breathe deep as I try to control myself. A part of me wants to grab her by the hair, pull her into my gym, toss her down on the floor-mats, and jam my face between her thighs! Actually no. It’s not a part of me that wants to do that. It’s all of me!

  And then it happens. Just as I say her name. Just as I look deep into her eyes. Just as I pick up the scent of her body, inhale that devastating mix of a floral body spray and her clean perspiration, breathe deep of what I swear is the aroma of her sex, it happens.

  I come in my pants.

  Or rather, I come in my towel.

  I stagger as my cock explodes against the thick cotton of the towel, grabbing on to the doorframe as my eyes
roll up in my head and my orgasm hits me like a sledgehammer. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I can’t stop it. I know that holding back from sex and masturbation gets you backed up, and I’ve had a couple of wet dreams over the past year. But coming like this, like a horny schoolboy who sees his first booby-pic? Never happened. Not until now. Not until her!

  “Ohmygod,” she says, gasping as she takes three steps back and covers her mouth. “Oh, my God!”

  “Fuck,” I groan as my balls push out the rest of my load, my cock jerking against the towel like an animal trying to break free. “Astrid.”

  But she’s already halfway down the block, her hand still covering her mouth, her divine ass bouncing as she walks away from me as fast as she can. I stare dumbfounded at the woman from my fantasy walking out of my life, and then I turn sharply to the left as I see my nightmare walking in.

  It’s Gustav’s men. Four of them. All armed. All dangerous.

  “All about to die,” I mutter as I slip back into the gym and race to my office where I keep my gun. I’m almost out of my mind with the shock of what just happened, and I’m close to losing it. I gave it a try, didn’t I? Tried to go straight. But there’s no getting out. No running away from who I am. That woman was just the devil messing with me. Reminding me that I don’t deserve happiness. I’ve taken too many lives. There’s no salvation for me. No hope.

  I’m cocked and loaded by the time I hear Gustav’s men push open the unlocked front door and walk into my gym. My towel has fallen off, but I don’t give a shit. This will all be over in a few seconds, anyway. I can take out two, maybe three of these guys. But four is too many. Today’s the day I die. Makes sense that I saw an angel first, doesn’t it?

  I smile as that image of Astrid comes back to me, and to my surprise I realize that I’m getting hard again even though my cock is still oozing! I stare down at myself, still smiling as I wonder if I’ve lost control of my body. I’m holding a loaded gun, getting ready to fight for my life, and my cock is merrily sticking out like it just wants to—

  “Oh hell, he’s lost it,” comes a voice from in front of me, and I look up to see all four of Gustav’s collectors standing aghast outside my open office door.

  “Fuck, Armand! You gonna shoot us with that thing?” says Number Two.

  “Yeah, put the gun away!” says Number Three.

  “He means that gun, not the one in your hand,” quips Number Four with a grin. “Holy shit, Armand. You crazy, man?! What’re you on?”

  I lower my gun and shake my head. It does feel like I’m on something. The greatest drug of all. A drug that makes men do crazy things. Always has. Always will.

  “Sorry,” I grunt, shaking my head again as I realize this isn’t a hit on me. Hell, these guys had told me they were coming! And I was about to start spraying bullets all over?! What did I expect was gonna happen? Fuck, I really have a death wish, don’t I?

  Number One exhales as I put the gun down on the table. “You were seriously going to pop us off in a business meeting?” he says. “You’ve lost your edge, bro. Too long on the outside.”

  “What’s this about?” I say, regaining my self-control, if not my dignity. Still, I don’t make a move to cover myself. I know it’s making these assholes uncomfortable, and that works in my favor.

  “How ‘bout you cover that schlong first before we get down to business,” says Number One.

  “Nope,” I say without flinching. “This meeting ain’t gonna take long.”

  Number One sighs and shakes his head. He looks me dead in the eye. I remember this guy. We didn’t work together much—hitmen tend to work alone, in the shadows. But he had a reputation. This fucker toyed with his targets. A sadist through and through. I killed for a living, yeah. But I never took pleasure in it the way this guy did.

  “Fine,” says Number One, glancing at his buddies, who spread out towards the exits of my small gym. My heart almost stops as I imagine what might happen if Astrid walks back in! But then I get that sinking feeling when I realize that she isn’t walking back in. Not after my display of . . . of whatever the hell that was!

  And what was that, I wonder, my mind drifting back to Astrid’s brown eyes, her red lips, those smooth round cheeks, her beautiful bosom. Hell, I’m around beautiful women every day, many of whom shamelessly come onto me. But my body’s never reacted like that! That was unreal! Fucking insane!

  My mind is clouding up as I feel arousal rush through my body once again. With a grunt I turn and grab a fresh towel from the stack on the shelf (this is a gym—I keep towels everywhere). I don’t want to push my luck here. Number One might take it personally if I get hard right now.

  “Gustav’s calling in his favor,” says Number One as I finally focus back on the real world. He tosses a brown manila envelope on the desk. Not another word. The message has been delivered.

  My jaw tightens as I stare at the brown envelope. I suspected this day might come, but I had to roll the dice and do it anyway. It was the only shot I had for going straight. You don’t get to make a clean break from the mob unless you disappear, and I didn’t want to spend my life looking over my shoulder. So I bought my way out. That was the deal Gustav put on the table: Pay me to set you free, Soldier!

  And the payment was a promise.

  A promise to do one more job for Gustav.

  I close my eyes as the Gustav’s goons file out of my office. A moment later I’m alone in the gym. Alone again. So fucking alone.

  I feel something in me reach out for her, for Astrid, a woman I don’t even know! Am I so weak that I’m yearning for some chick to come take away the pain, to make me feel less lonely, less alone?!

  “No!” I roar, slamming my fists down on my desk, making that brown envelope jump up like it’s mocking me. This shouldn’t be a big deal—hell, I’ve taken so many lives that one more shouldn’t matter. But it does. For some reason it does. I turned my back on the man I was, and I don’t want to go back there. I want to walk away from my past. I want my future.

  Again a vision of Astrid floats through my mind, and I begin to pace furiously through my gym, shaking my head and muttering like a madman, rubbing my eyes and forehead as I try to calm down. I know that whatever I think I feel for this woman is an illusion. It’s just a reflection of my own weakness, my own fear, my own loneliness. There’s no such thing as love at first sight. No such thing as fate, destiny, or whatever the fuck else this feels like. She’s just another woman, and she’s gone.

  Gone.

  3

  ASTRID

  “Why aren’t you gone, you dumb cow?” I mutter to myself as I stare at Armand’s gym from across the street. I was gone—for a moment, at least. I mean, the guy is a freak! He opens the door half naked, with a boner the size of a caveman’s club! And then . . . then . . . OMG, did he seriously . . .

  I close my eyes and swallow hard, trying desperately to push away that feeling I’d gotten when Armand came right there, right in front of me! It should have felt disgusting, sick, perverted. But it didn’t. It felt innocent. Pure. Perfect.

  It felt like fate.

  “Well, then fate is one sick, twisted creature,” I whisper to myself. I’m smiling even though I don’t want to be smiling. My body is tingling with excitement even though I want to be horrified. My feet are firmly planted on the ground even though common sense tells me I should be far, far away from this man!

  I’m standing near a streetlamp, holding on to the metal pole like I’m hiding. It’s moronic, since I’m way too wide to be hidden by a freakin’ lamp-post! But it makes me feel better. I’m still not sure why I’m not halfway across town by now, and I shake my head as I summon up the will to turn my back and walk away. Why does it feel so hard to turn and walk away?

  In the midst of arguing with myself, I hear voices, and I gasp when I see four men walking into Armand’s gym. These guys aren’t dressed
for a workout. They’re in shiny suits, all of which have suspicious bulges near their shoulders. They look like thugs. Well-paid thugs—not street hoodlums.

  “What the hell?” I mutter as I hear raised voices come through to me. Now I’m scared. Am I about to witness a crime? Is Armand a criminal? Why am I still here?! Why aren’t I gone?!

  But I’m glued to my spot behind the lamp-post, that excitement rising up in me again. The shock of what happened with Armand has faded, leaving me burning with an arousal so fierce it scares me. It’s like my body doesn’t give a rat’s ass about common sense and logic. My body wants to feel Armand’s hands all over it. My body wants to feel Armand inside it. Deep inside. All the way inside.

  I gasp as I feel my eyes glaze over, and a moment later I realize my panties are wet. I want to touch myself, and now I know I’ve lost my mind! Seriously, what am I doing?! I’m a teacher at a girl’s school! I’m a role model for America’s future women! I’m . . . I’m . . . I’m . . . his.

  I’m his.

  Just then the door to Armand’s gym opens again, and the four men walk out of there. A moment later they’ve gotten into a black Range Rover and they’re gone. They’re gone, but I’m still here.

  I can see Armand through the big glass windows of his gym. He’s still half-naked, a towel wrapped around him like a toga. I swear he looks like a Greek god of myth, with pectorals like slabs of granite, ab muscles so ribbed and defined I can count them from across the street, arms thicker than my thighs (well, probably not—but it sure as hell looks that way from here!).

  Armand is muttering to himself, and from the way he’s pacing I can tell he’s upset. I want to go to him. I want to understand him. I want to be there for him.

  “And that’s why you should turn around and walk away,” I tell myself in the sternest teacher-voice I can muster. “You don’t know this man, and there’s no way you’re actually feeling what you think you’re feeling! Love doesn’t work that way! This is just loneliness! Desperation! It takes time to get to know someone! It takes time to fall in love!”