Trainer, The: A Dream Fulfilled

Friday, 4 pm. The Interview


By Musclebuff

Like many of my stories, this has an autobiographical root.

"What do you expect to get out of this?" he asked, glowering at me from those piercing green eyes, under those black eyebrows set squarely on that noble, shaved head with the cleft jaw, glowering at me from behind his desk in our gym where he sat like a chiselled Colossus. I'd chosen him from among several other personal trainers advertising on the gym's bulletin board, partly because of what he looked like in a tanktop and shorts really got to me, partly because he seemed to have degrees in chemistry and physiology coming out of his ears.

"I'm a busy man, my schedule is full, and I don't have time to waste on wimps who just want to get a thrill from working out with a big guy like me." Wimp? I'm five foot eleven and weigh 180 pounds. I have a "swimmer's build" but I'm certainly not a wimp. I've been struggling for months to build up my physique, taken all the supplements GNC can sell me, swallowed all those protein drinks and bars, but seemingly to little purpose.

"I know it's probably impossible, but I want to have your body, to be as big as you, or at least as big as all those huge contest guys I see submitting to you every day in the gym." These much-to-be-envied physiques go silently through their workouts, never uttering a word between sets, suffering the harangue of their trainer, drinking copious amounts of water (or whatever). They seem to get bigger by the week and their trainer seems to swell in ratio with them, always ahead of them, always inciting them to further effort.

His deep laugh scoffed at me: "Your first mistake! You don't know what you can achieve until you subject yourself to the right disciplines."

"I know that, and that's why I'm so frustrated - nothing I do, no effort seems enough to make the kind of improvements I want. I've seen you with those guys and I want what they get from you." I went on to tell him what I had observed - he seemed to get more interested in what I had to say. Maybe I wasn't such a wimp after all.

"Well, maybe you're not such a hopeless case," he said, "You may not realise it, but I've been watching your efforts in the gym, amazed that anyone could get so little result out of all the intensity you put into your workouts." I realised it all right: I'd caught those piercing green-eyed glances in my direction more than once and always thought he was looking at me more with pity than contempt. But now he was beginning to rile me. He sat there, grinning. His shoulders were wider than any man should be allowed, and he was wearing a donkey-brown jump suit made out of some man-made velours-like fabric that clung to every great muscle underneath. You've never seen anything sexier, more aggravating than this huge guy as he went on grinning at this "wimp".

"Look," I said, "there's nothing I won't subject myself to, nothing I won't take or swallow, if I can have your body! If you're not prepared to help me, I'm just wasting my time sitting here gabbing with you!" I got to my feet as he started to roar with lion-like laughter.

"Sit down, Mr. 'Wimp'! and let's see just how literally you mean all that. I've not finished with you yet."

I sank back into my seat, rather pleased, yet apprehensive, that my show of temper had apparently caused some positive action from this muscle god. He got to his feet and towered over me, all six feet two of donkey-brown velour-covered muscle. "If you really mean what you say, I'll consider taking you on. But I warn you that I expect complete obedience - you've seen how my other clients behave in the gym - they seem to benefit from their treatment and I'd expect nothing less from you. Now, are you prepared to take me seriously?"

We seemed to be dealing with double meanings here. I got to my feet and said " I'll take anything from you that you care to give me."

"Good!" he said, now warmer and more encouraging than intimidating. "Today's Friday - I'm prepared to give you a weekend's trial run if you can make yourself totally free - clear yourself from any and every other activity. Is that a deal?"

"Hey," I said, "I don't like to do this, but we have to talk terms. I'm not a rich guy, and if you're going to charge me an arm and a leg I'm going to have to make some extreme sacrifices - "

"That's exactly what I like to hear! Though the 'sacrifices' may not always be the kind I think you're talking about. We can deal with all that after the weekend and you can begin to see what you're in for. OK?"

"OK." I thought, at least I'll get the weekend with this guy. Little did I know what was in store for me for months to come.

"Now," he said, reaching into a drawer, "I want you to take these three tablets right here and now - "

"What are they?" I sked dubiously.

"That's just the kind of question I expect you not to ask in the future. They are an extreme form of amino acids I have developed to give you a foundation for muscle-building. I want you to take them now so that you'll be ready for me tomorrow morning. You'll be here at 7 am sharp, keep the rest of the day free, and report back to this office again at 4 pm. Then we'll discuss Sunday. Got it?"

He produced a beaker of what looked like OJ - but had a different kind of kick - and fed me the three tablets. After a moment or two I felt slightly dizzy, even nauseous.

"Hold up - that'll pass in a second."

It did and my whole body was slowly suffused with a warmth that seemed to course through my blood into every muscle. I also got extremely horny and started to tent my workout shorts in a most embarassing way.

"Don't worry about that either - it's quite natural - even necessary." And he gave my vital parts a squeeze that nearly caused a volcanic eruption. Letting go he said sternly "Enough of all that! Pull yourself together!" That was asking a lot but somehow I managed.

"Now, while you can still feel that warmth, I want you to make a physical pact with me - even if we never meet again after this weekend, it's necessary for me to bond with you for the next two days."

He unzipped the donkey suit down to his navel and pulled it open, exposing massive slabs of pecs and an eight-pack undreamed of by the best. "Pull your tank off, put your right hand on my left pec and squeeze."

Unhesitatingly I did what he commanded. God! to feel that huge set of muscles flexing under my hand was almost more than I could take, but he did the same to me, squeezing hard and twisting my nip at the same time. His other hand pulled the small of my back hard into him so that our dicks were mashed against each other. I could feel he was as horny as me! My free hand gripped a mighty, swollen, flexed, velour-covered bicep. Then he pushed that to-die-for head forward and sank his tongue deep into my mouth. I responded willingly. Even with our mouths locked in a muscle-kiss he somehow managed to say "Whatever you do, don't cum! All that has to be saved up for 48 hours." He pulled his mouth off mine and astounded me by saying. "Believe it or not, I've been wanting to do that for weeks. But this is your first test. No sexual activity whatever until Sunday night! And believe me, I'll know if you fail!"

"I bet you would!" I muttered as we separated. "And it would all be your fault!" Letting go, I felt, was a tremendous effort - it certainly was for me. He on the other hand reverted to his original surly self.

He zipped up and returned to his desk."Now get out of here - and don't be late tomorrow morning! I've got another client at nine. Can't waste my whole day on you!" I couldn't cum, so I went. •

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