Casanova Falling

Taryn approached me one day and asked for my advice.

"I want to get in shape," she said. "I've never done this before and I have no idea how to go about it." She was a small, plump, pretty girl in baggy sweats, clearly outside of her comfort zone. I appreciated her honesty and directness. We talked for a while about her goals and the commitment she was willing to make. She promptly purchased 15 sessions, almost unheard of at FitZone and probably single-handedly keeping me employed.

Most of my clients are inherently lazy or quickly lose interest when they realize how much work and repetition is involved. I had written Taryn off pretty quickly when I first met her. I was wrong. Taryn was dedicated. She spent nearly two hours a day at the gym, training hard with me and then going through her own extensive routine. She paid very close attention to everything I told her, followed my advice to the letter and asked a hundred questions, constantly challenging me as to whether there was a better way for her to accomplish her goals.

Once I asked her how she stayed so motivated. She said that her boyfriend told her she was fat. She never mentioned her boyfriend again.

Taryn quickly dropped weight and developed muscle tone. She never missed a day, as far as I knew. Before long those baggy sweats were replaced by yoga pants and a tank top. She began getting looks from the guys at FitZone who had paid very little attention before. When I pointed this out, she blushed and denied it but I could tell she was secretly pleased.

To be honest, I was in awe at how invested Taryn was and how hard she was willing to work. As well as being fiercely dedicated, she was also a sweetheart and training her had become the highlight of my otherwise dull and unrewarding job. Working with her made me feel like I was really accomplishing something, rather than just endlessly giving advice to people who weren't going to follow it anyway.

Taryn bought twelve more sessions with me and then we both decided that she was more than capable of keeping her routine going herself. It was tough to admit, but she didn't really need me anymore. In June my work schedule changed and I didn't see her again for half a year.

In December I quit FitZone. The writing was on the wall, memberships had been dropping for almost a year since the Boston Sports Club had opened down the street and I hadn't booked any new training clients for nearly three weeks. I was damned if I was going to give them the satisfaction of laying me off, so I gave my notice on a slow Friday afternoon.

As I was preparing to clean out my locker and hit the road, I caught sight of Taryn from across the gym floor. I hadn't seen her in months. She always came early in the morning and my shift started at 2pm. She looked fantastic in tiny athletic shorts and a sports bra. She was doing pull-ups smoothly and effortlessly, the impressively defined muscles in her back and shoulders working flawlessly together. Her posture was confident and erect; her body toned and strong in every respect. I don't think she realized, but every eye in the place was on her, checking her out, or watching her jealously, wondering what her secret was.

When she saw me, her face lit up, she ran across the stretching mats and threw her arms around me. She only came up to my chest but her grasp was strong and her hair smelled like strawberries.

"You look amazing," I told her. "Whatever you're doing, its working great."

"Couldn't have done it without you," she said.

"I kind of doubt that."

'What hours are you working now?"

"None, any more," I told her. "I just quit."

"Oh!," she exclaimed, trying to read my face. "Is that a good thing, or...?"

"It's okay, no big deal. Should have done it a long time ago."

"I'm so glad I came in late today," she said, then frowned. "You would have just disappeared and I never would have seen you again."

"I didn't know if you were still around. Thought maybe you switched gyms or something."

"Nah, I've got my routine here. Change is hard, y'know?"

"Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure." She smiled at me, but with sad eyes. I'd forgotten just how pretty she was. A natural beauty, I'd never seen her in makeup and she didn't really need any. And her body was on another level -- she could be a fitness competitor if she wanted to be. It felt wrong to stare, but it was difficult not to.

"Are you leaving soon?" she asked.

"Yeah. Just need to clean out my locker." There was an awkward pause in the conversation and I wasn't sure whether she was going to get back to her workout or had something else she wanted to say.

"Will you let me buy you a drink?" she asked. "I never had a chance to properly thank you."

My relationship with Taryn had always been strictly professional. In fact, I'd never seen her outside the gym. But I couldn't say no to her. It was only a drink, after all. And I would probably never see her again.

CHAPTER 4

I was a little apprehensive about seeing Taryn outside the gym. It would get awkward fast if it turned out we had nothing to talk about besides exercise. But I was also curious. It felt like maybe she was looking to hook up, but I couldn't really be sure. A lot of girls are easy to read, but Taryn was not. Of course, the thought had crossed my mind before -- many times, in fact -- but it just seemed unprofessional. Our relationship had been so good and productive that I hadn't wanted to rock the boat and risk ruining all the progress we'd made. Of course, the situation was different now. I would have to see how the night unfolded.

Taryn was already at the bar when I arrived, well into her second mojito. She wore her hair down and a little black dress that showed off her ample curves in a tasteful but undeniably sexy way. Any concerns I'd had about awkwardness were quickly dispelled. Taryn was lively and very charming, although I was never quite sure how much of that was due to the mojitos she kept throwing back-- an impressive number as the evening wore on. We laughed and reminisced and joked about some of the more colorful characters at the gym. Taryn had a lot of stories about getting hit on by male and female gym members in increasingly awkward and bizarre ways.

When Taryn invited herself up to my apartment, it became pretty clear what her intentions were. At this point I was tipsy and also pretty horny after sitting across the table all evening imagining what she looked like under that dress. I decided I would just let things take their natural course, wherever that might lead.

Once she was in my apartment and it became obvious what the agenda was, I began to feel strangely awkward, like I wasn't sure exactly what I was supposed to say to her, or how I should act around her. We sat on the couch and made small talk, but I didn't pour any wine because I felt like more drinks would not improve the situation. She was waiting for me to make a move on her, but something was holding me back.

It made no sense at all. I'd seduced dozens of girls like Taryn without breaking a sweat. For the first time, my usual confidence and swagger had gone missing, and I felt like I couldn't trust my instincts. It was a strange and unsettling feeling. It occurred to me, just for a fleeting moment, that this might be how some guys felt around girls all the time. If so, it was a miserable existence. It got to the point where I had convinced myself that I would only start feeling better if I got her to leave.

Then there was an awkward moment of silence in our conversation. Before I could think of something to say, she leaned in and kissed me on the mouth, gently and tentatively, unsure if I would reciprocate. Which of course, I did. She was a shy and delicate kisser. I followed her lead, then she followed mine, our lips meeting in a sort of graceful, halting rhythm before eventually locking in a more intimate embrace. It felt strange but somehow comfortable and wholesome -- kissing for kissing's sake. I couldn't remember the last time I'd honestly kissed a girl, as opposed to the desperate face-sucking that happens in the heat of passion.

"I wanted to do that all night," she said, "since you first walked into the bar."

"Was it worth the wait?"

"Should have done it a long time ago." Our lips met again, like punctuation at the end of the sentence. Taryn kissed me harder and with more urgency, like she was working up to something. Her face was flushed red and her lips tasted faintly of strawberry candy.

I was starting to feel more like myself again.

One of her hands cradled the back of my head, fingers entwined in my hair. I felt the other hand grasp my inner thigh, her fingers resting nonchalantly against my cock where it lay thick and engorged in my pants.

It was a signal as clear as day. I kissed her hard and my fingers slid up to clasp the lower swell of her breasts.

"Take me to bed," she said, more of a question than a demand, her brown eyes staring earnestly into mine. But yes, I wanted to fuck Taryn -- take her to bed -- however she wanted to phrase it. Any remaining reservations had gone straight out the window.

Had Taryn just put the moves on me? Yes, she had - in her shy, unassuming way.

I stood up and took her hand and led her into the bedroom. When I pulled off my shirt, she ran her hands appreciatively across the muscles in my shoulders and chest. She leaned in close and kissed my pectorals, teasing my nipples with her tongue. Her fingers traced along the contours of my abdominal muscles and then tugged urgently at my belt. Beneath my cock throbbed angrily, fully engaged and desperate to join the party.

I loosened my belt and lowered my zipper so my pants slid to the ground, leaving only my briefs, now bulging obscenely. She stopped to observe this spectacle. With a surgeon's precision, she lowered my briefs, freeing my cock. It did not disappoint. I'd never been so hard in my life.

She regarded it apprehensively for a few moments, then looked up at me.

"It's big," she said. Very matter-of-fact. She could have been describing a burger she just ordered, or a pimple on her chin. I shrugged my shoulders. My dick had elicited a lot of reactions over the years, but this one was new to me.

"You have to be really gentle with me," she said.

"Yes, of course." I kissed her softly and reassuringly.

"I mean it. Will you promise?"

"I promise," I said. She watched me carefully with her big brown eyes and I knew she was assessing the sincerity of my response.

Then she pulled the straps off her shoulders and the little black dress fell away, revealing her curvaceous, perfectly sculpted body, clad only in the thinnest black lingerie. I just stared, stupidly, drinking her in.

She gave a little smile when she saw the effect she was having on me, then reached around her back and her bra fell to the ground. Her breasts were full and firm, symmetrical and perfectly proportioned. After trying so hard to avoid staring at them all night, it was a pleasure now to have them finally revealed, to hold them and feel their weight and their warmth. She had big, brown areolae, perfectly circular, like targets on her chest, and at the center of each a thick brown nipple pointed skyward, stiff and aching with arousal. I teased them with my thumbs, and Taryn moaned and rubbed herself through her panties.

Her legs were a fucking work of art. Shapely, muscular, perfectly proportioned; her tiny panties wholly inadequate for containing her round, drum-tight ass. She had to have superior genetics to get these kinds of results. A hundred girls could do squats every day of their lives and none would end up with a lower body like Taryn's.

She moaned softly as I caressed her thighs with my fingers, and I slid her panties down over the luscious shelf of her ass. My cock stood, rigid and heavy, against my lower belly. Taryn hadn't even touched it yet, and I was about as horny as I could possibly be.

I eased Taryn gently back onto the bed and pushed her thighs apart slowly, opening her wide. Kneeling down, I was at eye level with her trim little pussy, damp with arousal, and crowned with an ample but neatly maintained patch of dark hair. I traced my fingertips along her flared lips and across the concealed pearl of her clit. She sighed, and spread her thighs wide for me.

Eating pussy is just one of those things that a man must do, like changing flat tires, or grilling steaks. There's no point in resisting it. If a man is to properly satisfy a woman, sooner or later he will be expected to eat pussy and he must rise to the challenge. Eat a girl's pussy with love and care, and you're bound to reap the rewards: she'll be as hot as fuck and then the sky's the limit.

Taryn's pussy was already slick and steaming and her inner thighs were beautifully tight and strong, the product of hours upon hours of hard work in the gym. I worked my lips and my tongue in a wide radius, Over those thighs, which trembled ever so slightly to my touch, back across her clit and down to her soft, swollen folds. Her pussy was fresh and sweet, a piece of ripe fruit to be savored. I consumed it voraciously, her juices coating my face, as she shivered and moaned and clutched her breasts against her chest. Eventually I began to focus my attention on her clit, teasing and licking it, sucking it gently between my lips and fluttering tongue, just for a moment, always leaving her wanting more.

My finger slid deep into the slick warmth of her pussy. She tensed up for a moment, but once she'd become accustomed to this new sensation, she relaxed. I began to rub and explore the roof of her canal, looking for that magic spot. I was rewarded when she suddenly gasped and her eyes flew open. My finger went to work, tapping and rubbing that spot. The taste of her was strong on my tongue as it bumped and dragged over her clit, always in motion, teasing and exploring. Darting in to apply a burst of pressure and stimulation, before wandering south to explore the slick, heated contours of her sex.

Taryn was insensible, moaning and gasping and grinding her pelvis into my face.

"Oh god," she exclaimed breathlessly. "Whatever you're doing, just keep doing it. Please." She was clutching the mattress now, her head thrown back and eyes screwed shut, her mouth thrown open as wide as it could go.

Then she went silent and just lay quivering. I felt the powerful muscles in her lower body tensing. She cried out in a high wavering voice as she came. Her pussy spasmed on my finger and her thighs slammed shut on my head like a steel trap before falling limp. When it was over, she lay on the bed clutching her lower belly, her chest rising and falling, staring at me in disbelief.

God, her legs were strong. I was still seeing stars from being squeezed between her thighs, but she clearly had no idea that had happened. Chalk it up to an occupational hazard. Once I had recovered, I raised myself up and leaned over her so we were face to face.

"God, you're the best," she said breathlessly, pulling me toward her, "you make me feel so good." She thrust her tongue in my mouth, no longer the shy and delicate kisser from earlier this evening. We kissed urgently and sloppily, and when our mouths finally separated, a long streamer of drool still connected us. Kind of gross but kind of hot at the same time.

She lay back against the pillows, legs spread, her pussy hot and slick and hungry. Her hand gently grasped my cock, granite and throbbing with anticipation. "Remember, go slow," she said, "be gentle with me." She was really insistent about this. To be honest, I had already forgotten, so it was good to be reminded.

I pushed in slowly, just inside her entrance. She tensed very slightly and drew a breath in between her teeth. She was tight but yielding, taking my cock without too much difficulty. I was a little disappointed. In my fantasies, Taryn had the tightest pussy imaginable. But it seemed like maybe she'd ridden some other stallion around the paddock a couple of times. I let her adjust for a few moments, then slid in another inch. Her hand rested on my thigh anxiously, ready to push me away. A pause, and then another inch. Another. She began to relax as she realized I wasn't going to just shove myself inside her. She sighed; her hand loose against my thigh now, the tension gone from her fingers. I kept pushing, slowly, until eventually I felt myself bottom out inside her. She had taken nearly all of me.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"You're wonderful," she said, smiling up at me, her face glowing. Some girls just need a slow start, some reassurance that you're responsive to them. Taryn didn't want to go from zero to sixty immediately. But she was going to like what I had to give her, I was sure of that.

I rotated my hips, churning my cock slowly inside her so she could feel every inch of it. She gasped and her head dropped back onto the pillow. Moving excruciatingly slowly, I pulled nearly all the way out of her and then pushed back deep, in long, smooth movements. At first it felt fantastic filling her snug little pussy like this, slow and deep, feeling every inch slide into her. But after a while, it started to feel torturous -- like being jerked off slowly with just two fingers.

Most girls would have begun to lose patience at this point and told me to get down to business. Taryn was thoroughly in the moment, eyes screwed shut, head thrown back on the pillow, letting out these little sing-song moans each time I pushed inside her.

I soon discovered that slow motion fucking is far more physically taxing. I was using more muscles, and they were nearly constantly in tension in order to maintain my speed and motion. I was wearing myself out. And I was getting frustrated. What I really wanted to do was grab hold of those wide hips and just pound it into her. But she'd made such a big deal about being gentle. And she'd been so skittish when I put it in her the first time. So I held back. I'd have to be more subtle about it.

After a while, I began to fuck her just a little bit faster. My plan was to ease her into it so she wouldn't notice, and eventually, she wouldn't even care. As soon as Taryn realized what was happening, I felt her hand on my thigh again, gently but firmly resisting me.

"Please go slow," she whispered, "just like before." I slowed my pace and she smiled and sighed softly. I watched her intently for some sign or subtle invitation to ratchet up the intensity, but she just lay there, eyes shut, moaning occasionally with a blissful expression on her face, almost in a trance. It was very odd. Was this really all she wanted?

I was getting increasingly frustrated. I wanted to properly fuck this girl but she was blocking me. Physically she could take it, I was sure of that. She was neither so tight nor so shallow that she wouldn't be able to accommodate me. She just didn't want to be fucked hard. She barely wanted to be fucked at all. This geriatric sex was starting to annoy me. There was no way I was going to blow my load at this rate; I wasn't even close.

Again, I tried increasing the speed of my thrusts, so precisely and imperceptibly that there was no way she would notice. Again, I felt the hand on my thigh.

"Do you want to switch up?" I said. "You on top, maybe? Go at your own pace?"

"Can we keep going?" she asked. "This is just so nice. It's perfect."

I didn't understand why she wouldn't just get on top where she would have complete control over the tempo. I had to remind myself that my mission is to give these girls what they want but can't get anywhere else. What I was doing was clearly what Taryn wanted, and something she wasn't getting elsewhere. Why she wanted this was a mystery. Also, it was turning into kind of an unpleasant chore for me. But she was being so sweet about it that it was hard to object.