Personal Trainer - Lydia Trains Zach Ch. 01-04

Not having dressed yet after his shower turned out to be convenient. The thought of Lydia's imagined words — "I did it on purpose . . . it got me hot and wet . . . I loved it" — started the inevitable chain reaction, revving the urge to stroke his cock, which had already begun to plump in anticipation.

Dammit, Lydia Tanner! You've got me acting like I'm eighteen again.

***

Chapter 2

What had caused her to react the way she did, and why was the weigh-in situation with Zach so insanely erotic were questions Lydia tried to answer over the next several days, especially because returning to that fantasy — and naughty variations of it that seemed to spring of their own accord to her mind — continued to dependably cause intensely satisfying orgasms of a kind and addictive nature that were decidedly not the kind of orgasms that occurred with her usual masturbatory fantasies or real-life sex that had thus far happened since her first time with her ex-husband.

Probably just way too long between sessions of good sex with good orgasms, Lydia thought at first. It was a logical answer: it had been several months since her last sexual encounter.

And that one wasn't particularly satisfying, she recalled. It had been James, who was a nice enough guy, but there just wasn't a spark sexually in spite of the many things she liked about him.

Still, even the best sex she'd ever had with the admittedly small number of men (three!) she had slept with in her life, nor the best orgasm she'd ever produced herself with her own fantasies plus fingers and toys, could hold a candle to the orgasms she was giving herself when fantasizing about a naked Zach in his workout room with Lydia enjoying herself immensely as she worked him out in ways that were assuredly not part of what she learned earning her trainer certifications.

But then a thought surprised her: None of the men I've ever been with had bodies nearly as sexy as Zach's.

Lydia was in the middle of a plyometric set at the gym, but the thought made her pause, grab her towel and water bottle for a little focused concentration time as she leaned against the wall to consider what her subconscious had just served up. She took a long drink of water, staring at nothing as the wheels inside her head spun:

Good grief! These deeply satisfying orgasms when I masturbate are because I'm focusing on a scenario of me with a handsome, buffed guy, a guy with a body way hotter than the few men I've seen naked? Lydia, come on!

The idea bothered her. She considered herself beyond the years of judging men just on their looks. At 39, it seemed a fairly wise thing to do — the pool of men aged 40+ with fantastic bodies who would look just amazing naked was not big and was shrinking fast as the pot bellies grew while the hairlines receded.

But it was guys in their 40s she considered her potential dating pool, potential husband material. After struggling through single motherhood with twins — a time when she had sacrificed so many things that a two-earner household would have easily afforded — finding a man established in a career, successful, and earning a good living was attractive for a lot of reasons.

Just let me find some guy who's in halfway decent shape, Lydia often thought as she moved into her fitness training career. Checking herself out in the mirror as part of her own workouts was a necessity, and the years she devoted to toning and firming her body while she worked at the gym paid off. Well, some guy maybe more than halfway in shape, she would think, turning in front of the mirror. This rockin' body deserves an in-shape guy so we can have exhausting, athletic sex! — it was a mantra as she worked herself into better and better shape, and then as she instituted her maintenance routine.

But this crazy, out-of-the-blue, over-the-top reaction to her voyeurism of Zach and his naked body along with that first, intense masturbation-induced climax after that day at his townhouse when Lydia's lustful subconscious served up a scenario that had her toying with him — even controlling him and his luscious body to delay his orgasm — Holy shit! Where had that come from?

Was it really just a plain old sexual fantasy that was inevitable after the arousing circumstances she'd just experienced? Was that fantasy only because he was cute, nude, and had a sexy, toned body?

Her years of "being alert for a nice guy" after her divorce had not included a lot of the visual titillation of looking at naked men. Still, doing so was incredibly easy in the age of online porn, and Lydia had indulged from time to time. She enjoyed it, enjoyed looking at the naked men — all of whom had great bodies and handsome faces (or she quickly found pictures of other men who did!) — and sometimes she'd masturbate as a result, imagining herself in a sexual coupling with one of the nude men on her computer screen who caught her fancy.

Some of those guys were insanely hot and buffed, with sexy erections, pretty smiles, delicious butts. From a purely objective standpoint on whatever rating scale you wanted to use, some of those guys were as good looking as Zach, as scrumptious in the nude as Zach was.

But those orgasms were nothing like the shatteringly intense orgasms she was having when she spun out a Zach scenario in her mind that had him naked with her in control of his nudity, his cock, balls, and ass, and his orgasms. So she felt it wasn't just seeing him naked that steered her post-Zach sexual fantasies toward scenarios mostly new for her and which reliably produced extreme arousal and intense orgasms.

The supercharger in these fantasies was clearly that she was in control and Zach was naked and erect for her, and he was desperate to come.

But his orgasms happened only when she allowed it. That sense of control was intoxicating!

Where had all this come from?

Trying to figure it out took Lydia's ruminations to scenes in a couple romantic comedies she thought of — scenes in which the female protagonist was coyly teasing her gorgeous beau, who was clearly entranced by her and eager to be with her. The woman knew how much the guy wanted her, but she was denying him, maybe to tease herself as much as him.

Those scenes were fun, interesting, and Lydia enjoyed them. Such scenes might even launch a masturbatory fantasy at home after seeing the film, but-

A-ha! thought Lydia triumphantly as she screwed the top back on her water bottle.

Yes! There is something! she realized. Surely it was what had triggered a deeply buried unconscious connection lying in wait for an opportune time to highjack her thinking brain in order to hand control to her more primitive, dormant, yet powerful sex-drive brain.

Keeping him naked for my own pleasure, my own sexual fantasy . . . of course! Now I remember why such a situation would be so incredibly sexy to me!

That one scene in that cheesy film . . .

It had been, what? . . . maybe two years since Lydia had indulged in a particular fantasy while masturbating. This particular fantasy was reliable and dependable among the various stories she could concoct for self-arousal while her fingers or a dildo or that fantastic invention — her magic wand — played across her clit.

Maybe that's the reason, she thought. That scenario had some similarities to the situation with Zach. But as good as the orgasms are that I have when thinking about that scenario, my Zach fantasies blow even them away.

If she determined this one scene was the trigger for why she had paused in Zach's doorway, ogling his body and then orchestrating the rest of the interaction, Lydia knew that she would be — literally! — forced to masturbate to the incredibly sexy scenario that would automatically be launched in her mind.

So Lydia did something she almost never did. She suspended a workout before she was finished with the full set of exercises she had laid out for herself in her workout journal. She was eager to get home and check out something that might explain why she'd acted as she did at Zach's first training session and why masturbating to the memory of the encounter was so addictive.

For the second time in only a few days Lydia found herself charged up and in her workout shorts and top as she drove home. This time it was in the evening, so that made squirming in the driver's seat less noticeable to people in cars in the next lane. The cover of darkness also emboldened her at the really long traffic light at the five-points intersection on the route home.

She snaked one hand down the front of her shorts and into her panties, knowing she would be wet.

This light is at least two minutes long, she thought, sliding one finger between her lips to coat the digit in her wetness. She moved the pad of her finger up to her clit, which was distended in arousal.

Oh, shit! That feels good! she thought, leaning her head against the headrest. No one could see inside her car. Oh, god, that would be so hot with Zach! she thought, daring an imagined scene with him that replicated the action in a movie she'd first seen years earlier.

Maybe some kind of subconscious connection to the memory of that movie was what caused her to do the outlandish things she did with Zach. If so, the instant she caught sight of Zach standing nude on the scale in his workout room, she would have been at the mercy of a sex-driven post-hynotic suggestion.

But that line of reasoning could not stand the onslaught of the masturbatory fantasy Lydia was quickly drifting into. It was so-o-o-o sexy, this fantasy. It was entrancing. It was pit-of-her-stomach intense. It was . . .

She jerked herself back, pulling her hand from her shorts, biting her lip to staunch the frustration, as the light changed to green.

Just as had occurred earlier when she rushed to her bedroom after the encounter at Zach's townhome, she was desperate this time to give herself the satisfaction of an intense orgasm in response to the extreme sexiness of what was going through her mind.

This time, though, before she stripped out of her workout gear, she strode purposefully to the cabinet where she kept the few DVDs of movies she owned.

Where is it? she thought, rummaging through the cases in the drawer. Surely I didn't get rid of it! she worried briefly before finally finding the DVD, pushed as it was all the way back in the drawer.

Damn, Lydia! Chastising herself for her seeming inability to do anything but get off — NOW! — to this particular fantasy, she blew out a breath of exasperation. However, she knew she would be settling in as quickly as possible on her sofa, nude, in front of the flat-screen display, a towel underneath her on the cushion, one hand on the remote to press "Play" and the other hand between her legs as she fast-forwarded to THE SCENE.

And very, very quickly, that was exactly what Lydia was doing.

The film was an R-rated guilty pleasure. It was made for the pure titillation factor around the idea of women luxuriating on a private island where subservient men came to serve them, to do their bidding, and, of course, to service their sexual desires. As a cross between a comedy and a detective caper starring several actors whose names were well enough known, however, what was implied in the movie was way more than what was ever shown on film.

So the actors all did their turns in a wink-wink-nod-nod production that wouldn't have taken a lot of time, wouldn't have been outrageously embarrassing in a worst-movie-of-the-year-award sort of way, and would probably have paid handsomely enough for spending a few days on set in a beautiful location.

Ah, there it is, thought Lydia, having fast-forwarded to the point where THE SCENE awaited her inevitable mental engagement with the scenario. She toggled out of fast-forward mode into "play" mode on the remote, and settled back against the cushion, scooting forward with her butt in the process just a bit to make spreading her legs comfortable as she positioned herself just so.

It was the perfect position to masturbate while watching something sexy on the screen.

"You know how some men like women's legs?" said the actress in the film as THE SCENE started.

Lydia instantly got the familiar tingles in the pit of her stomach, just as she always did when observing the action at this point in the film.

The protagonist, an actor of little note in terms of making a big mark in Hollywood but who had an absolutely luscious, divine, firm, tight, rounded, sexy ass that was displayed in this scene, was standing spread-eagle and naked between two hooks on walls opposite each other with his wrist cuffs tied to ropes that bound him in place. He was completely nude, his legs spread for balance and arms stretched wide in his captivity for the pleasure of the woman who was toying with him.

I would so-o-o-o love to see him from the front in that position, Lydia always thought when watching the movie.

Still, the visual of the guy from the back, nude and powerless to whatever manipulations the lead female character would have him endure was stunning and so very sexy.

For Lydia, it was intensely arousing in its implication.

The leading lady had him at her whim. Had him at her pleasure, able to touch him wherever she wanted. Able to see every inch of him.

Able to toy with him sexually for her pleasure.

". . . some men like women's legs? Some like big breasts?" the actress continued, standing behind him and whispering sexily in his ear as she dragged her fingers and palms across his shoulders and his back. Then — slowly, as the camera tracked her hand moving down his side and back up to his chest as the camera angle cut to the front, framing the action from his waist up — she ramped up the intensely sexual aspect of what she was saying and what she was doing.

It inevitably turned Lydia on. A lot.

". . . big breasts? Some like long hair?"

Lydia knew what was coming. The visual was incredibly exciting. The scenario was outrageously sexy.

As the leading lady slid one hand down his side, the camera followed, inching along, teasing Lydia's gaze with the slow, inexorable path down the man's naked body as the woman in charge asked the loaded question, asked what implied exactly how she would play with the naked man who must surrender to whatever she desired.

"You know what I like, Elliott?" said the actress, her voice smoky and dripping with desire as the camera slid down the side of his body in concert with the motion of her hand.

Lydia drew in a breath, gaze riveted to the screen, fingers playing through the folds of her pussy and across her clit.

". . . what I like, Elliott?" Her hand was at his waist, traveling lower then around to his backside. "I like . . . butts." She laid her palm flat against that glorious, rounded muscle and squeezed it. "Men's . . . beautiful . . . behinds."

Then the camera was again shooting from the front, waist up, as she finished her sexy words, with all their sexy implications, whispered against his ear, her hand still behind him, still fondling and caressing and squeezing his naked ass.

It never failed to push all of Lydia's hot buttons.

"You know what I like to do to gorgeous butts?" the actress continued. "I like to squeeze them . . . pinch them . . . and caress them." The shot framed her hand and that glorious ass as the leading lady did exactly that.

"You know what else I love, Elliott?" the pretty actress asked as she dropped the top of her sheer, floor-length negligee. She was still behind him, and as the camera moved to a shot from the front, his reaction was written clearly on his face as she pressed her taut nipples into his back.

"I like to rub my bare breasts down your back . . ."

To Lydia, the scene at this point was mesmerizing in its eroticism. The camera followed the actress' breasts down Elliott's back, showed one breast nestling into the crack of his ass.

". . . and over your butt."

Again, the camera showed exactly what the leading lady described.

She paused momentarily, lips tantalizingly close to the base of his back, just above the top of his ass-crack, teasing him, herself, and every woman watching whose arousal was anything close to Lydia's. But then the woman toying with Elliott rose, sliding her breasts up his back to replace her lips close to his ear.

"You like that, don't you?"

The reaction on his face made clear his unspoken response.

"But you know what I like the best?" she asked, nuzzling into the hair on the back of his head.

Moving her face to the other side, she continued.

"What I like best . . ." — at this point her voice came quiet and sexy from the back of her throat — ". . . is . . ."

The action hung in the air for a beat, anticipation building.

Quickly the camera cut to frame his ass as she drew back her palm and popped it squarely, quickly, purposefully, firmly. The unexpected smack caused him to jump.

"You like that, don't you?" she asked.

"No!" he answered quickly, hiding in his answer what he didn't want to admit to himself.

"Oh, yessss," she said sexily, contradicting him.

Knowing she was right.

No, things were not explicit. No, there was no gratuitous lingering shots of his naked butt, of the leading lady fondling him (though Lydia always desperately wished there was some director's cut made available somehow in which exactly that kind of action was displayed).

Truth be told, however, no director's cut could have possibly compared to the continuation of this powerfully erotic scene as Lydia spun out her fantasy from this point in the film, masturbating in the process as she transitioned in her mind from the images on the screen of her TV to the fantasy images now running across the mental screen of her mind:

"I like . . . butts," Lydia said in her fantasy, now segued to a scenario involving herself and Zach.

"Mmmm, yes," she whispered close to his ear and in position behind him as the actress in the film had been behind Elliott.

In Lydia's personal movie, Zach was naked, standing roped and stretched, too. "I love a man with a sexy, firm, gorgeous butt," Lydia whispered into Zach's ear, nuzzling into his neck as she slid her hand down his back.

She grabbed Zach's rounded ass.

"I love . . . men's . . . beautiful . . . behinds."

She squeezed his firm glutes.

Reaching around him to find his cock, already hardening in response to the things she was doing, the things she was saying, she closed her fist around it, feeling its warmth.

Pressing herself against him as she held him, helpless to get away from her, yet eagerly enjoying everything, Lydia reveled in the control, the sexy power of a lusty woman teasing a naked man tied spread-eagle in her bedroom and who had surrendered to her desires.

"I like . . . butts."

She grabbed one cheek firmly, her intention clear.

His butt was hers to play with.

"Men's . . . beautiful . . . butts."

He was trapped in her grasp. She had him from behind. She had him in a reach-around in the front.

His cock was pulsing.

Zach was moaning.

Lydia felt the muscles in his butt flex against her grasp.

She loved his moans.

Oh, that sexy sound! she thought, her head back, her eyes closed, now completely abandoned to her own movie playing across the screen of her mind.

She heard the intake of his breath, felt the tremor of his body against hers, knew he was so close to a release.

But . . . no. Not yet.

She backed off, released her grip around his erect shaft.