by Lana Brazen
THE ATHLETIC TRAINER
A Pure Pleasure Romance
LANA BRAZEN
Copyright © 2020 Laura Dunbar
Writing as Lana Brazen
L.B. Dunbar Writes, Ltd.
https://www.lbdunbar.com/
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
Content edits: Serena McDonald
Line edits: Jenny Simm/Editing4Indies
Final proofreading: Karen Fischer
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Keep in touch with Lana Brazen
Nibble of The Doctor Will See You
About the Author
Dedication
For the readers who read whatever I write.
Thank you.
1
Eric
Eric McCurdy’s ex-wife scores love. Claims it’s a true match.
Not very original, I think as my ex-wife is a tennis pro, and I’m only a pitching coach, reduced to an exercise trainer. I lost my baseball career with a broken hand. Lost my coaching job with an outrageous temper.
I’m fine. I lie to myself, but the truth is, I feel out of sorts lately, as though something just under my skin needs to be released. Maybe it was what I did a few months back with my best friend, Andrew, and his girl, Annette. Things got out of hand that night and went just a little off script. I can’t say I’d do it again, but it worked for sexual fantasy as it’s all I have. I haven’t had sex in too long to count.
I’m working late at the gym tonight. I have a new client coming in, one Andrew sent to me. I don’t trust my best friend’s judgment sometimes, but I see she’s legit when she enters.
“You must be Alene?” Before me stands a dark-haired beauty with serious curves but a little extra weight. I’m assuming she’s here to tighten things up. Her neck gives away her age. She’s pretty, though, with almost violet eyes and a shy smile. She holds out a hand, and we shake.
Instantly, a spark crackles between us.
“Sorry about that?” I say, retracting my hand, stunned by the sensation. She stares down at where we touched and then licks her lips.
“Andrew sent me. He said you’d take care of me.” Her eyes almost plead with mine, but I can’t get a read on what she means, so I just nod. She isn’t my typical client, nor my type of woman, although I don’t know why I’m thinking such things. I go for the athletic build and younger set. My wife was fifteen years younger than me—25 to my 40—and some people say that’s why it didn’t last. But I know it was the loss of money and status that drove her to another man. When I lost my baseball career, she left me.
“Let’s get started,” I suggest, bypassing all my thoughts other than training this woman.
+++
Alene
I’m so nervous. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I mean, I could use the workout, but that isn’t really why Andrew suggested Eric. He recommended him for a workout, although Eric doesn’t hint at anything remotely sexual, and I don’t know how to tell him what I want.
“Let’s start with some basic assessments. Could you please stand on the scale?” I do as he suggests, and it measures my weight, height and BMI. The numbers aren’t exactly pretty, but Eric sure is. He’s beautiful with his salt and pepper hair, thick upper body, and tall stature. He towers over me, and he’s clearly turned off by the numbers he reads.
“Can you tell me what you hope to achieve by being here? What can I help you with?”
Can I be specific? Arousal levels and flexibility. Stamina and longevity. I want something different because my last boyfriend said I was boring, and this might be the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done. I’m preparing myself for another man—whoever he might be. Andrew assured me Eric was the perfect trainer.
“Uhm...Andrew just said you’d give me a satisfying workout.”
Eric chuckles, but he doesn’t take my meaning. Instead, he directs me to a small area off the main gym. We’re the only two here tonight, and it’s quiet. Maybe music would help me relax. I’m on edge waiting for Eric to make a move, but it isn’t happening.
I rotate my arms, jutting my breasts out at him. I lie on my back doing hip thrusts and V-spreads, and still nothing. I squat, hearing myself squeak with anticipation, but there’s not a hint from Eric that he senses my arousal. The sweet scent of sex. The not-so-subtle sound between my thighs. The shallowness in my breath or the pointed nipples evident through my thin shirt. I do push-ups and arm extensions, and then we are finished.
“Your flexibility is good, so what do you think? Want to try again in two days?”
“Sure,” I say slowly, and he watches my face.
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“It isn’t what I expected.” Maybe I’m not what he expected. Still, I decide it’s all good. I could use some tightening up. Maybe exercise will help my confidence. The later evening schedule works best for me as I’m a lab technician with crazy shifts of midmorning to late evening. Plus, it’s nice that no one else is in the gym to see me struggle.
Eric gives me another strange look after we set the date on an electronic calendar, and I decide either Andrew didn’t tell Eric about me, or Eric isn’t interested, just like Stephen wasn’t.
2
Eric
“So whatcha think of Alene?” Andrew asks me over a beer. He’s meeting his girl, Annette, here soon, and I’m reminded of what we did with her. I thought it’d be strange after the threesome we had, and it was...for me. I wanted it again, only on my terms this time. I wanted one for me, and I couldn’t rid the fantasy.
“She was sweet. Shy. Quiet.”
“Quiet?” Andrew chuckles. “Then you weren’t doing it right. Out of practice, old man?” As we’ve reached forty, we tease each other often about our age, but the out of practice bit throws me off.
“Do you mean sex?”
“You can’t be that dense.” Andrew laughs good-naturedly as he lifts his beer to his lips.
“It appears I am.” I’m also a little pissed. He knows our three way is the last sexual experience I’ve had in a while.
“So, Alene. She was there for you to practice on.”
I stare at him. “Did you send me a prostitute?”
Andrew sputters, his beer going everywhere. “Fuck no. I sent you a woman looking to increase her experience.”
“And you know her how?” I don’t need his sexual history. I don’t want it. I might already know a bit too much about my best friend and his sexuality.
“She’s a friend of a friend.” Andrew pauses. “Didn’t she tell you she was there for a satisfying workout?”
She did, but I didn’t know what she meant.
“Eric, man. She wanted you to experiment with her.”
Oh. Oh shit!
“Do you need me to teach you the ropes?” Andrew has experience with threesomes. He used to have a routine and partnered with another guy a few times but gave it up, or at least settled his passion, when he met Annette.
Fuck, I’m an idiot.
“I think I can figure it out for myself.”
I only hope Alene will still be game.
+ + +
Alene
When I return two days later, Eric’s demeanor is different. More formal. More distant.
“It appears I misunderstood the intention of our first meeting. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to try again.”
I agree with a nod and he offers me a small contract.
- I, Alene Sheperd, understand Eric McCurdy is a physical trainer. However, the following sessions will not be conducted in a manner to gain physical strength or lose weight.
The contract continues with an agreement that I may leave the facility at any time I grow uncomfortable and a safe word is presented. Thunder.
It continues to cover my acknowledgment that I have not brought recording devices for sound or video into the facility, that I agree to be alone on this initial visit, and that this visit will be kept confidential. It explains he must follow the rules as well. Then the list begins. The list of things he might do to me.
Stripped. Kissed. Touched.
Fingers. Mouth. Penis.
Vaginal. Anal.
Ass slapping. Dirty words.
And the performance of sex.
It states he will wear a condom, and he’s been rigorously tested and clean of any transmittable diseases.
I agree that I am clean as well and not pregnant.
Scrolling the remainder of the page, I try to make sense of the legalese while trying to make sense of this decision.
Am I really going to let this man do all these things to me?
I hesitate only a second before I sign on the line, and he recommends I wear a certain pair of shorts, more like a tennis skirt, which he holds out for me.
“Please remove your underwear before putting this on.”
Holy. Yes.
I enter a small dressing room and remove my leggings and underwear only to discover the skirt has no lining. No extra pair of panties inside. No shorts. As I enter the lobby after I change, I hold the back of the skirt to my ass. It barely covers me.
“Shall we begin?” He directs me to stand on the scale again. He fumbles with it, and then he walks behind me and sweeps his hands up my body from hips to waist to the sides of my breasts.
“Would you mind removing your shirt?”
I’m wearing a sports bra under my T-shirt and do as he asks. His hands return to my sides, coasting up beneath my arms and then stretching forward to cup each breast.
Oh my.
He squeezes and massages, palming and pressing. His fingers pinch until the nipples peak beneath the cotton.
“Your breasts are very large. Do they ache when you work out?”
“Yes.” I’m breathless in my response as they simply ache under his touch.
“A proper fit for support is imperative. May I examine more closely?” I consent, and he tugs at the low cup, exposing a weighty breast. I purr under the warmth of his fingers in the cold gym and stumble with my balance on the shaky scale. He steps closer somehow, steadying me with only his hand cupping one breast. He tweaks and peaks my nipple, and the tip is stiff enough to hurt—no, actually ache, for more.
Too quickly, he covers the one with the bra and I bite my lip before he moves to the opposite breast, working it in a similar manner of cupping, squeezing, and pinching. Abruptly, he covers me, and I almost fall backward. A warm hand catches me in the middle of my back.
“We’ll start with floor exercises tonight.”
Thankfully, he walks behind me as I’m not ready to meet his eyes. He’s only touched my breasts, but my heart is already racing, and my breaths are coming in pants. A mat already rests on the floor behind a half wall dividing the gym space, and I hold the skirt at my sides as I fold to my knees and awkwardly lay on my back. I straighten the skirt, and Eric comes to stand at my feet.
“We’re going to start with a few activities to assess your flexibility, if you don’t mind.”
He’s a bit reserved and calculated but also direct.
“Okay.”
Standing at my feet, he instructs me. “Could you please lift your legs, keeping them together?”
I do as he asks, and then he catches my ankles in the air. Stepping up to me, he spreads my legs, moving them open and closed, open and closed in this V-position. His eyes narrow in on the space no longer covered by the skirt which has risen with the motion.
My eyes finally seek his, but he’s concentrating, watching my legs spread and retract. I’m not wearing anything underneath, and I’m already wet from his manipulation of my breasts, and with nothing underneath the skirt, my sex vibrates. I catch the scent of myself, aroused and ready for more. I’m so turned on. Can he tell? Does he want me?
Slowly, he kneels, bending my knees so my feet rest on either side of his knees. The skirt rides up to fold over my thighs and rest at my lower belly.
“Excellent,” he states, still watching my center. “How do you feel with the exercises so far?”
“Good.”
“Let’s do better than that.”
“Open wider. Feel the stretch.” He positions my feet farther apart, opening me to him. The skirt is doing nothing to cover me, so I’m fully on display for his assessment. He watches as he spreads my thighs, my body reacting to his stare. I can feel myself dripping under his attention.
He pauses. “How is your body feeling?”
“I’m wet,” I blurt, not knowing how else to respond.
“Hmm. Let’s help you out with that.” His hands rest over my knees, palms large and warm. “Could you place your hands on your inner thighs? Hold yourself open.”
I do as he asks, and he sits back on his heels, his eyes trained on me.
“In exercise, we sometimes need to take risks and push our limits. Can you tell me, do you push yourself?”
“I’m not exactly self-motivating,” I answer as if this is a legitimate question in a legitimate training session.
“Let’s test your limits then. Please touch yourself.”
“I...” He wants me to do what? While he watches?
“I can only help those who want to work, Alene.”
My fingers slip lower on my thighs, and I skim two fingers over my clit. He crosses his arms, clinical, inspecting, assessing my position and performance as I swipe over myself. I watch his eyes brighten. His chest heaves, and I circle harder, stroking deeper. My eyes focus on his as I’m reacting to his intense stare. I drip, and an orgasm is inevitable as the sound of my arousal increases—wet folds kissing each other. I groan.
“Stop.” His tone is sharp, and I still but not without a loud grunt of disapproval. My fingers remain on my soaked center, tempted to ignore his directive and finish myself.
“Let me show you how it should be done.” He positions one hand over my hip, resting it on the mat at my side while his other hand reaches between my thighs. A thick finger easily slides into me.
“Yes,” I moan.
He draws back and outlines my slick folds, tracing around where I want him to enter me. He’s teasing me, taunting me.
“You mention lacking self-motivation, but I see self-stimulation is not an issue.”
It’s not really me, but him. My body is literally melting for him. He doesn’t disappoint as his thick finger re-enters me.
“You have muscles here. Can you tell me how often you use them?” He pauses, and I’m uncertain what he means until he asks, “When was the last time you fucked someone?”
His tone. That word. I almost come out of my skin as the orgasm creeps to the forefront again.
“Not for months.”
He tsks, literally clicking his tongue. “Such a shame. This pussy needs strengthening.” With th
at, he adds another finger, stretching me, gloriously filling me, and my hips thrust upward. His free hand reaches for my inner thigh, pressing me down.
“Adductor exercises are coming soon but not yet.”
What kind of exercises?
“For now, you need to come on my fingers.” It isn’t hard to fulfill his demand as I am on the brink once again. Stilling my hips, I flex from within, squeezing his solid fingers. My head tips back, and I arch into his palm, milking those fingers with all the strength I have. The orgasm rips through me, and I groan once again.
His fingers press forward, as if reaching for something within me, and it triggers something almost instantly. Slight pressure and…
“I... I need to go again.” My head tips upward, my eyes seeking his as I’m surprised at my body’s reaction. I’m going to come again, and so quickly.
“That’s what I like to hear. Someone who doesn’t quit after one time.” He presses again and again with the depth of his fingers, and I clench at the fullness, catching my breath as he taps my G-spot. A heavy exhale fills the otherwise quiet gym as I groan once more, releasing a second wave of pure pleasure. My body is liquid, pouring from my center and pooling over the mat. I’m replete, but he isn’t finished.
“Good,” he encourages, the coach in his tone. “Let’s work some other muscles, shall we? I’d like to discover the strength of your jaw.”
He sits back, slipping his long legs under my spread knees. He reaches his hands forward, intending for me to grab them, and he helps me sit upright. Instantly, I see his body’s response and I bite my lip as I smile to myself. A long, thick erection tents his thin shorts.
“I see we might have an issue before we work your jaw.”
He begins to lie back, tugging at my hands until I almost collapse over him.
“Continue crawling over me please as I see the problem in your position.”
My what? Following his instructions, I hesitantly crawl over him, thinking he wants me to stop at his protruding dick, but as I move upward, he scoots under me.