My Personal Trainer cliché. Yes, I Know. I turned 30 and had major life changes. I left a happy life with good friends and family to follow my boyfriend to a big city. This year would be my personal development. To change my career, social life, and future, I wanted to get back in shape, live each day to the fullest, further my education, and finally put myself first.

I started dancing at seven, played football until 23, ate well, and exercised with running, pilates, and yoga. Was in a long-term relationship and out of shape, so we stayed in and ordered takeaway while watching Netflix in my late 20s. I never gained weight, but had slacked off and let myself go, and wanted to get back in shape.

Fitness Journey Begins

My new life began with a gym membership and seven free one-hour personal training sessions. On my first day, I was nervous about being judged and realised how much I had let myself go as I struggled to fit into my new tight workout clothes. I booked my trainer at the desk, feeling self-conscious about my curves, and insisted on a female trainer for the seven sessions because I felt more comfortable with her. She checked my bookings and found no female trainers. Can I wait until next month or hire a male trainer? Dermot, a trainer, is available. She claimed he was a nice man with success and testimonials from female members and clients, which I could see.

Meeting Dermot

She gave me a form to fill out and told me to sit after I reluctantly said okay. Dermot was asked to come to the desk over the intercom while I filled out the form. I kept looking up at the desk to see who this Adonis-like meathead was, expecting him to arrogantly put me through my paces, make me feel like shit, and make me want to leave before the free sessions ended and I had to pay for a year.

I glanced at the receptionist again while filling out the form. As the receptionist pointed, this tall, chunky, messy, ginger-haired guy with the widest smile was at the desk. He didn’t look like a physical therapist. We locked eyes, and his massive grin became almost Cheshire cat-like as he walked towards me. Dermot introduced himself with an Irish accent I couldn’t understand and exuded a kind charm that washed away all my preconceived notions with his friendliness, niceness, and charisma. He took my form and we entered his office.

Progress and Support

Dermot reviewed my form and asked me about my goals and where I wanted to be after seven sessions. He liked hearing that I wanted to be fit, toned, and healthier. I had to take a fitness test, which showed how much I had let myself go, but Dermot said we would repeat it on session four and be amazed at how much progress I had made.

I was embarrassed, breathless, and sweating when he took my pulse. For his size and nature, he had big hands and a gentle touch. He said the gym had a new 3D body scanner that could create a complete 3D rendering of my body if I was comfortable, or he could use a measuring tape. Since the scan required me to be in my trousers, he told me to have a female staff member scan me.

I said, no problem. You’ve seen me at my worst as a red, sweaty mess, so a sports bra and knickers won’t shame me. I stripped to my bra and knickers on this machine and felt more vulnerable than ever. Dermot went to this computer and said it would scan in 90 seconds before starting. That ended it. After leaving me to change, he knocked to make sure I was okay. My scan printout and notes were with him. I was then given a two-week workout routine before my next session.

Progress and Support

My second session showed some mild progress; I had energy and enjoyed the gym. Dermot liked my progress and asked you to Whatsapp message me your meals every day so I could see what you’re eating, give nutritional feedback, and get me new machines. So I texted him food photos daily. Two weeks later, I felt fit and toned. Most days, Dermot encouraged me and gave me diet advice. We would chat and joke, and he told me to take weekly progress photos, keep them for myself, and send them to him to track changes. I enjoyed our conversations, and he encouraged me to work harder and follow the plan. Working out was stimulating and helped me reach my goals.

Reaching Milestones

I felt like I had plateaued after six weeks in the gym on my third session with Dermot. He was great at getting me back on track and teaching me a new workout routine he created for me. He told me we’d do a three-month progress check in a month to see how much had improved. I kept working out to impress Dermot, look good for him, please him, and prove him right about his faith in me. When I exercised, I hoped he was on the gym floor and would notice me. I would get giddy when he messaged me because of his wit and humour. I sent him weekly progress photos of me in my trousers or topless but covered. Always hot, beautiful, and stunning, he made me blush.

Gaining Confidence

By session four, my clothes were looser and I’d lost inches, but I needed proof. I understood the definition and tone, but I wanted confirmation. My SO didn’t care about my weight loss journey and only mentioned that nothing had changed.

However, Dermot was impressed by my commitment and progress and suggested rescanning. I wanted to undress in front of him and tried to get his attention while he set up the scan. Luckily, the machine initially didn’t work, and Dermot was below me configuring it to scan. He said this should fix it, so I shouldn’t stand off. His forearms drove me crazy, and his physique and position below me, as he rebooted the machine, turned me on more. I imagined what he could do to my petite frame if he won. He stayed in the room when the machine rebooted. It was obvious he was watching. My pussy throbbed and aroused as I became turned on. After I got off, he hugged me hardest.

Crossing Boundaries

I achieved all my goals, so he was thrilled. His strength and power lifted me like a doll, and all I wanted was for him to take me there immediately. We looked at each other after he put me down. He said, “Well done,” and left me to dress. I sent him an unprotected progress photo that night. For some reason, I wanted to be bold and reckless. I was worried when he viewed it but didn’t respond.

Did I overstep? He replied five minutes later with flame emojis and called me sexy. Another video of me playing with myself was sent. I’d never sexted anyone before, but I enjoyed the thrill of throwing caution to the wind and sending messages to my personal trainer. Really enjoyed it. Something awoke me. After messaging me, he asked what I was doing. He told me to meet him at the gym before closing; I said nothing. Yes, I said.

When I returned to the gym that night, everyone was leaving the changing areas because it was closing. Dermot saw me enter while turning off the TVs, lights, and computers at the desk. He directed me to his office after watching the last gym member leave on CCTV. Not knowing what to expect, I entered the office. Dermot burst in, grabbed me, and kissed me passionately after five minutes. My Personal trainer cliché. Yes, I Know

Never before had I been swept off my feet, but now I was. His gentleness and strength made me think I wanted what he wanted. He stroked my hair and body. His bite on my lower lip gave me butterflies. He kissed my chest and stomach after lifting my dress. I melted. My personal trainer cliché Yes, I know.

A New Chapter

The gentle but assertive man seemed to know my body, my heart was racing, and I had never felt so turned on. My needs and wants. I came immediately when he pulled my pants to one side, rubbed my clit, and fingered me. I felt hot and awake because I hadn’t come like this in a while. His fingering, my pussy throbbing, and increasing momentum and intensity until I was dripping showed he was determined to turn me on more. He threw me on his desk, my legs spread, and licked like a motorized pleasure provider. I lost control and my sense of self; I would have allowed anything he did to me. I returned in 10 minutes. My greedy nature demanded more, and the previous two orgasms felt like long-overdue releases that a man could do so quickly.

I was energised and wanted him to destroy me. He looked up at me and we exchanged primal rage. His massive arms and well-built torso were exposed as he removed his top, trousers, and boxers. The cock was big and hard. Never had I wanted or needed anything so much. He ripped my pants off, flipped me over on the desk, grabbed my hips, and fucked me doggy-style with brutality. The force and impact creaked the desk. Slapping my ass encourages me to fight back. I felt him in my muscles as I tightened them. As he pounded me harder, my pussy lips gripped his cock to feel him. He wanted me as he pounded me with his power and intensity. I was screaming with pleasure, being encouraged to be louder, and completely reborn sexually.My Personal trainer cliché. Yes, I Know was all I could think.

My Personal trainer cliché

There was no focusing, my vision was blurry, my head felt light, and he was making wild animal sounds for what seemed like an eternity. I could feel his hot breath on me, but we continued. My hips were forced to back against him and found a rhythm, wanting him to be the deepest anyone has ever been in me. I think I would have absorbed him if I hadn’t backed out.

My heart was racing, my breathing erratic, and I was overwhelmed again. I was gasping and felt like I was going to explode from a massive release. He felt it too and mumbled about cumming. I said, “Cum in me.” His cum gave me a rush of energy and release, and my body reacted immediately. My head exploded, and I felt like I’d left my body and entered another consciousness. I was brought back to reality by his sweaty body and weight on my back. He hugged me, seemingly the most intimate moment of the night. I said I had to leave after kissing again and realising the time. After saying goodbye, I took an Uber home, feeling elated after the most exciting experience of my life. After that, my pussy throbbed for days. My personal trainer cliché Yes, I know.