tagNovels and NovellasThe Personal Trainee Ch. 02

The Personal Trainee Ch. 02


"God damn, girl. Hold still, will ya?" Bria grunted through sneering, pierced lips. "Don't be such a friggin' baby. It's just a tattoo."

Squintingly, she repositioned the needle and resumed tracing the stencil on Janelle's forearm. Being squeamish, Janelle kept her eyes closed as the ink seeped into her agitated flesh.

Although the sensation was tolerable, every so often she couldn't help but wince or jerk a little. One particular prick made her jump and open her eyes. Bria kept her hand steady, but sighed loudly in annoyance.

"I-I'm sorry," Janelle peeped over the rhythmic din blaring out of the stereo. It was moments like these that she had difficulty curbing her impulse to apologize.

"You sure say sorry a lot," Bria noted with a probing smirk.

"Sorry...uh. I try not to. It just slips out sometimes," Janelle said, averting her gaze.

"Mm kay. Whatever," Bria concluded, tapping the needle a few times before wiping an antiseptic cloth over Janelle's nascent body art. "Looks like we're done. Take a look."

Janelle stood up, fixing her dense specs over her baby-doll nose, and then slowly turned her head to looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.

Her eyes suddenly widened. Immediately she fell in love with the small but sharply-rendered microchip design on her upper arm.

"Whoa, it's awesome, Bria!" she exclaimed, her face aglow. "Thank you!"

"Eh. No prob," her roommate said as she walked over to the sink to wash up.

"Not my best work, but it's halfway decent I guess. Kinda dorky, but that suits you. I'll just make sure to give you a few shots of whiskey next time so you're not so jumpy."

"Haha, maybe," Janelle replied distractedly, still smilingly admiring the patterns flowing across her still-burning skin. She was relived that she'd picked such a clean and minimal design, given that the black ink didn't contrast very strongly with her own complexion.

Bria handed her some sanitary napkins and mercifully turned the stereo down to a less abrasive volume. She then went over to the kitchen sink to clean up.

"By the way. You look like a fuckin' zombie," Bria said.

"Oh. I just had some trouble sleeping last night," Janelle replied. "Y'know, just worried about my studies and all..."

"Ah. I guess that's what keeps dorks up at night," Bria said. She returned to the living room with wet fistfuls of gear, then bagged and zipped them up with aggressive swings of her arms.

"And you were gone when I woke up, too. Off dorking it up somewhere till dawn?" she added with slight suspicion.

"Um...sorta, yeah. I went out just to get some fresh air, take my mind off things. Actually, I'm feeling pretty zonked right now. I should probably take a nap," Janelle replied, flopping down on her bed with a nervous smile on her face.

Bria seemed to perceive something peculiar about Janelle's words, but they didn't appear to interest her, so she simply disengaged Janelle with an incredulous grunt.

To avoid aggravating her arm, Janelle rolled sideways over her lumpy sheets. Her thoughts returned to that mysterious trainer at the gym. Should she chicken out of it?

It did all seem kind of crazy, especially when she recited the woman's simple presage: "We'll do a free consultation down at the gym tonight."

At a quarter to midnight? Really? Who does that? Still, Janelle couldn't deny her curiosity. She'd make the decision when she woke up; she had about five hours.

Her cell phone alarm was set and then placed it next to her pillow. With droopy eyes, she watched her roommate walk to the window for a smoke.

For a second Janelle watched Bria hunch over the sill, puffing like a chimney. She couldn't help but notice how inconspicuous the girl's bottom was compared to her own; it was compact and flat, it barely even seemed to meet the fabric of her jeans. The contrast between the two of them couldn't be more stark in that regard, and Janelle felt a spike of envy.

However, Bria was not particularly fetching. Her front teeth were slightly crooked; her clothing was crumpled and drab; Her nose was shaped like a bell pepper; her eyes squinty and prematurely sunken. A big labret piercing ran through her prominent underbite, and her unruly eyebrows were similarly adorned with metal studs.

Despite all this, Janelle fell asleep wishing she could trade places with her roommate, if only for a while...

10:00 pm arrived with the bleating of a distorted ringtone and the sting of a fresh tattoo. When Janelle opened her eyes, she was somewhat relieved to find that Bria was out.

Just one less thing to explain, she thought to herself as she groggily rose out of bed, making sure not to let anything touch her still-tender arm.

Wobbling slightly, she lingered by the bathroom door for a moment. "If I'm gonna go through with this, I better get ready," she whispered to herself.

She hesitated a second more, humming tunelessly, and then finally concluded: "Okay. I'll just go and check it out. And if it's creepy, I'm out of there, pronto."

She yanked her clothes off, averting her eyes from the cruel mirror as she stepped in the shower.

The bus ride back to the gym that night was quiet and peaceful, though as she pulled into Tye-Hanson Plaza, she found that it was no less forbidding at night time; although the bedraggled park denizens were mostly absent now, the quiet emptiness of the plaza suggested neglect rather than calm.

She moved quickly towards her shuttered destination the minute she stepped onto the sidewalk.

She checked the time; it was 11:43. She walked to the end of the gym, turning to find the side gate. It faced a deserted parking lot. The gym looked closed.

She rapped upon the gate, trying to peer through its dusty slats to be able to see if she could spot this "Marjam Vera."

A single light appeared to be on, which was encouraging, but at first there was no reply.

Janelle's concern grew as she stood for a whole minute without hearing anything, and she couldn't see much through the cracks, either.

Suddenly, the gate rose up about halfway. She saw a pair of well-formed shins closely encircled by the tight shiny cloth of track pants, leading down into a pair of clean black Nikes.

"Who is it," she heard spoken by that now-familiar dry voice on the other side.

"Oh hi! Is this Maj...ram?" Janelle stuttered, immediately wincing in the realization that she'd made a blunder. "Oh, sorry, I meant—"

"Marjam," the woman corrected her.

"Yes, oh duh! I swear I had it right in my head, haha..." Janelle's weak laughter trailed off into an awkward silence.

"Name," the voice behind the gate intoned.

"Sorry, umm. My name is Janelle Madison, you told me to come back tonight for training or like, aerobic, um, help?"

"Oh. Yes. You're the young girl with the box braids and the glasses."

Hearing this, Janelle clamped her tongue between her teeth. At least she didn't say she was the girl with the gigantic butt.

"Oh...yeah, that's me!" she replied, immediately regretting her spastically misgauged level of chirpiness.

"You were two minutes early. It's now 11:45. Come inside."

She heard the front door being opened from behind the gate. Janelle ducked under quickly and stepped into the darkened gym. The gate descended behind her the minute she was inside.

The woman was as effortlessly commanding as ever. She fixed Janelle with her smoldering gaze for a moment, and immediately the young girl felt like an insect under a looking glass.

Silently, the trim sylph turned away from Janelle and began walking up the stairs to the unlit second floor.

Janelle followed, clinging to the hand rail awkwardly. She wasn't sure what she was being led to, but she assumed it was not far away.

Now almost in pitch blackness, she reached the second floor to find the woman waiting for her at the top. All around them, the large silhouettes of aerobics machines stretched out across the floor in neat rows.

The panoramic view of downtown offered the only semblance of a light source here, tiny wiggling specks of light like spotted wallpaper along the expanse of the window.

"Spit out your gum."

Janelle flinched.

Wait, what? Why was she being spoken to this way? The woman sounded almost like one of her school teachers.

Still, she complied, removing the sticky wad from her mouth and tossing it carefully in the small wastebasket near the stairs. She spotted what looked like a suitcase on the floor next to it, but she didn't have much time to ponder its purpose.

The woman lead her into to a round doorless enclosure with paint-spattered concrete walls. Janelle figured that it was some kind of consultation room, as she could see file cabinets and charts scattered about, as well as a weight scale and several computers.

The woman took one step closer to her, and eyed her wardrobe for a second.

"Take your shoes and sweatshirt off, empty your pockets, and step on the scale, dear."

...Dear? Something felt odd to Janelle about this woman's tone. What was going on?

The sheer peculiarity of the situation kept threatening to creep into her consciousness, but each time the woman stared at her, she felt her thoughts cloud and her body swell with that inexplicable desire to remain obedient.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she slipped out of her hoodie and then began peeling away her red converse until they popped off of her tiny feet.

She placed her keys and cell phone on the corner of a nearby desk. Then she turned and looked reluctantly at the scale sitting in a small nearby enclosure.

Protesting was not an option, it seemed, especially when her orders were so clear. Stepping on the scale, she felt it buckle slightly.

She shut her eyes, not wanting to be reminded of her weight—numbers being tallied by a cold machine beneath her, defining her within seconds. It was every bit as bad as looking in the mirror, she thought, and maybe worse.

"161 lbs," the woman said, squinting as she balanced the beam.

Janelle groaned under her breath, then looked at her feet. "I know...I'm sorry..."

"Yes. Now be quiet until I'm done."

Janelle's heart was beating a mile a minute now. Being spoken to like this bothered her on one level, yet she could not for any reason figure why it inspired within her a conflicting rush of arousal, her soft clitoris and nipples privately inflamed.

A tape measure was brought out. First she was measured from head to foot.

"5 ft. 8." Janelle merely nodded, her eyes still shut.

"How old are you, Janelle."


"Hmm," Ms. Vera uttered, eyeing the young girl cautiously. "Let's make sure that's in writing," she said, opening the bottom drawer of a corner file cabinet. "Tell me your last name again."

"Madison," Janelle replied.

Her trainer rifled through the documents for a moment. "Macarthur, Maddox, Madera... Madison. I see. You just turned 18 last week, it says. I wish you a belated happy birthday, then," the woman said, looking back at the girl with a raised eyebrow. "Did you celebrate yet?"

"Oh, Thanks! Uh, yeah, I guess. My parents took me out to dinner," Janelle said.

Ms. Vera's face went blank again as she placed Janelle's registration form back in the drawer and closed it.

"Well, Janelle. In any case, you have the heart rate of someone well over twice your age. We'll have to get that up."

The confused young girl merely nodded. Suddenly she felt arrested by the warm sensation of Ms. Vera's hands about her, wrapping the measuring tape around her waist. With their arrival, she felt another strange electric tingle that radiated to her crotch and nipples.

"Your waist, 31 inches."

Janelle looked at the floor in shame. Her waistline was one thing, but she knew the worst part was just about to be revealed.

"Now your hips," Ms. Vera said as she hovered just an inch from Janelle's body.

The measuring tape was slowly lowered, tickling Janelle's thighs as it slackened and expanded to encircle the whole of her rear end.

She shut her eyes tight, waiting for her inevitable embarrassment. Knowing that her problem would be there in plain digits for her to never forget.

"Interesting," she heard Ms. Vera say with vague amusement now coloring her normally dry voice.

The word interesting skewered Janelle's ears like a hot poker, and she knew that what was immediately to come was going to be even worse.

"Your hips...56 inches."

Janelle's heart sunk. There it was, her "interesting" figure in plain numbers. She felt a rush of inexplicable shame well within her.

"I know, I'm so sorry. Oh! I'm sorry—uh, I mean,"

"Shush," she heard again, this time spoken in a forceful manner that legitimately scared her. The tape fell from the peak of her bottom and dangled in the woman's hand.

"Sit down there," Ms. Vera instructed, pointing at the floor with a stiff index finger.

Holding her breath to stifle another apology, the young girl obeyed without another word, sitting Indian-style on the hard rubber mattress.

At this point, Janelle felt the urge to flee. The woman was freaking her out a bit now, and as undeniably beautiful as she was, there seemed to be something positively strange about the way she acted and talked.

"Why did you come here," the woman asked.

"Um," she said as she looked at the floor again, "...because you asked me to?"

"No. I'm asking you why you came to this gym. The first time."

"Oh...I uh, I don't like my butt..." Janelle mumbled, blood rushing to her face as she shut her eyes.

"Interesting," she heard in her ears again. "Elaborate on that."

"It's just...too big, you know? One doctor told me he thought it might be this thing called 'lipedema,' but he wasn't sure. Nobody's really been able to help..."

Ms. Vera's hot, fresh breath now beat down upon her shoulders as she leaned in more closely.

"Your overall body weight is correctible with some work. But for individual body parts, spot-treating fat is extremely difficult."

"Oh..." Janelle could only reply, worrying now that she was being set up for disappointment.

"However," Ms. Vera continued, "while fat allocation is largely inherited, there are environmental factors that contribute to it as well. And we can modify your relationship to those factors."

Janelle began to smile weakly and managed to look up at the woman.

"Oh! So, that's good, right? I mean. Okay, so I may never be a runway model, I can at least look normal," she blurted, rubbing her thick knees together to stop her from yammering further.

Her eyes descended to Ms. Vera's chin. The woman merely stared down at her. That vast silence she employed seemed to crush Janelle's words into so much blather.

"...Uh, I mean...right?" Janelle whinnied as her heartbeat reached a crescendo. Ms. Vera smirked and stood up straight, her warmth lingering about the girl's shoulders.

"Get up."

Janelle briefly paused in a moment of further disbelief, then scrambled to her feet.

"Pull your pants down," she heard spoken from out of the darkness.

Now her entire body shook as if shocked by some invisible current of electricity.

Did she just hear what she thought she heard? Janelle gasped and stumbled back, almost tripping. Reaching out behind her, she felt a cold wall reach her palms. She pressed her body against it, feeling how solid it was, her heart pulsing like mad.

"What?" she said, her ears trying to follow the direction of the breathing.

"Pull your pants down," she heard Ms. Vera repeat in the same dry tone.

"But, M-Marjam, why—"

"You have ten seconds."

"What?!" Janelle said, panicking. "Maybe I should go," she added, sliding her arms outward against the wall to try and locate the stairway.

"One. Two."

The young girl immediately considered running, but then she realized that the gate was locked, and she didn't know how to open it. Besides...

"Three. Four."

That voice. It was so all-encompassing. Ms. Vera spoke as if she could already see the future, and knew that Janelle would do nothing but comply.

"Five. Six. Seven..."

With trembling fingers, Janelle quickly reached for her belt buckle, peeling the leather away from the metal nib. She felt her soft waist expand slightly from the decreasing pressure as her pants slackened.

She pawed at her front button, popping it free and then pulling down her zipper. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she thought to herself, but her hands kept working as if possessed.


The young girl suddenly tugged her pants down around her curvy thighs. She felt her enormous butt spill out, now covered only by her thin cotton underwear.

As she stood there with her pants around her red converse hi-tops, she began to feel deeply ashamed for being so oddly excited by this.

Blood rushed again to her crotch and nipples, and then to her face, her cheeks warming over, feeling herself flush red in the blackness around her.


Janelle shut her eyes tight and held her breath.

To be continued...

Report Story

byEmbers_X© 1 comments/ 3451 views/ 1 favorites

Share the love

Also in this series

Tags For This Story

Report a Bug

1 Pages:1

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: