I went to the gym, not for a casual session, but to try the weights for the first time as Druski Hart. As Jake Morris, gym had been part of my everyday life—a daily ritual. Now, I doubted that Druski Hart had ever lifted anything heavier than a six-pack of beer.
Maya was there, already behind the desk, and she welcomed me with a warm smile. Beautiful as ever, her breasts were big as ever, held proudly inside a white, athletic top.
I hoped she could let me fuck her tits someday. Something I mentally filed on my growing to-do list.
The entire weight room was a sensory assault. There were many other girls here—sexy, toned bodies in impossibly tight outfits that made my cock throb against my shorts just by watching them work out.
But my mind was already fighting a losing battle. The thought of Sasha couldn't leave my head. The softness of her breasts, the dramatic curve of her hips, the wetness of her pussy, and the way she had ridden me, expertly milking the hardness of my cock. My shorts were already tight, and the last thing I needed was to be caught staring at a random girl.
I looked away from the pulsing line of women doing lunges, focusing on the equipment.
But directly across from me, on the main cardio deck, was a woman who forced all my attention. She was running at a blistering pace on a treadmill, her headphones blocking out the world. She wore tiny, neon pink shorts that seemed to have been painted onto her.
Her ass was a work of art. A high, round shelf of taut muscle that defied gravity. As she ran, it shook with a mesmerizing, rhythmic oscillation, a perfect, athletic vibration with every stride. It was breathtaking.
Instantly, my mind was flooded with raw, explicit images of me having her. Sliding my cock slowly into her tight asshole, smacking her perfect cheeks until they were pink, just to hear her gasp. I felt my face flush.
I immediately looked away, fighting the intense erection, and focused on the weights. I needed to do something physical, anything, to prove the Swagger point I'd just earned.
I decided to try the flat bench press which was an ego lift, even for a beginner. I loaded the bar with what I remembered as my minimum warm-up weight. I lowered it slowly, but when I tried to push it back up, my arms shook violently. I managed two pathetic, grinding repetitions before the bar stalled on my chest. I gave up, humiliated, and tried lighter weights, eventually settling for a weight even my grandmother could have lifted.
As I struggled through a final, pathetic set, I noticed the rhythmic sound of the treadmill had stopped.
The woman was standing still, watching me. Our eyes met, and she didn't look away. Instead she gave me a smile. The kind that melts the brain. She stepped off the treadmill and began walking right towards me, her sweat glistening, the pink shorts hugging her tightly.
Oh shit, what the fuck do I do now?
She was fucking hot, and she was headed straight for the scrawny guy who just failed at the baby weights. My Swagger was about to be put to the ultimate test.
She stopped right over me, leaning down slightly, her breath smelling faintly of mint and exertion.
"Rough start, huh?" she asked, her voice low and husky, entirely without judgment. "You look completely new to the weights."
I felt my cheeks flush, embarrassed by my pathetic performance. "Yeah, first time trying to lift serious weight," I admitted, standing up and trying to look taller than I felt.
She gave me that knowing smile again. "I'm Jess. And I actually coach here sometimes. You're trying to build mass, right? Bench press is great, but your form is off, and you're wasting energy."
"Druski," I replied, forcing my hand out. Her handshake was firm and dry, conveying powerful strength. "And yeah, build mass. And maybe fix my 'scrawny' reputation."
She laughed, a short, sharp sound that made her shoulders and the generous swell of her chest bounce slightly beneath the thin fabric. "Well, Druski, I can definitely help with the 'scrawny' part. Since you're paying for a membership, let's make sure you get your money's worth."
Jess, the hot fitness coach, was offering to fix me. I had to accept.
"I accept," I confirmed immediately.
Jess took over, and the next hour was agony masked as instruction. She didn't let me use the bench again. Instead, she put me through a grueling, technical circuit designed to activate my stabilizing muscles, focusing on movements that demanded precision and endurance.
Every movement became an unbearable sensory trial.
As she demonstrated proper form for a squat, her back was to me, and those neon pink shorts were pulled tight across her sculpted ass. With every controlled dip, the perfect curve of her glutes tightened and swelled. The motion was hypnotic, and the forbidden imagery of sliding my cock into herasshole flared up again, making my shorts tighter with desperate lust.
When correcting my form, she was relentless, putting her hands on me without hesitation—cupping her warm, strong hand just beneath my lower back to enforce proper arch, or resting her palm on my chest to ensure I wasn't letting my shoulders roll forward. Each casual touch sent a tremor of pure animal desire through me.
Even when she was simply talking, every breath and shift of weight caused the perfect, defined curves of her body to move. Her breasts, though athletic, shook with a captivating rhythm that my eyes couldn't escape.
I was simultaneously failing at every exercise she gave me, yet succeeding wildly at fueling my desire. The focus I needed for the workout was being hijacked by my rampant lust.
By the end of the session, I was drenched in sweat and shaking, but my muscles felt fundamentally different and properly targeted.
"Alright, that's enough for today, Druski," Jess said, grabbing her water bottle. "You pushed hard. Same time tomorrow?"
"Absolutely," I managed, trying not to pant.
"Good. We'll start hitting those lats and traps tomorrow. We need to widen that upper body for the camera," she said, giving me a final, professional nod.
She turned and headed toward the water fountain, her perfect, muscular legs carrying her away.
I was left alone, physically exhausted but mentally wired. Sasha was locked in for tomorrow night, but now I had Jess, a professional coach who was going to sculpt the body I needed. My motivation to hit the gym had just become overwhelming.