[Sadomasochism] Strict Personal Trainer Fantasy

[ycoldwater]

I have a friend who is a very fit and sensual woman who I WhatsApp with a lot. She knows I am a Switch and like being given workout tasks. I’ve also shared a couple of fantasy scenarios with her and I recently came up with this one. I’m wondering whether I should share it or not…it would turn me on a lot to know she had read it though it’s quite similar but more kinky than a previous similar one. There’s a masochistic “good for you” flavour to this…

Personal Trainer


You’ve had me outside working out naked again on a school playing field as part of a strict ongoing training programme you are personally administering. You’ve put me through a very comprehensive full body tabata routine on the cold wet grass, using a stopwatch and whistle to mark each work period for 20 minutes, in 20 seconds work, 10 second rest periods. It’s made me muddy and steaming with sweat. It’s a cold Spring morning with some sunshine and showers which I have felt all over. You were dressed like a 1980s school gym teacher, calling out each exercise like a military sergeant-major and the reps. “One! Two! Three!”

Next you briskly order me back indoors, making me run upstairs to the changing rooms, spanking my bare bottom as I pass. “Up you go - time for your cold shower! ” you say. The old changing room has open windows allowing the cold fresh outdoor air to circulate and a set of communal showers. There is a set of three showerheads on the narrow end of the tiled corridor, one on each side and one set in the narrow end which spring to life jetting strong hissing jets as you turn the tap. “In you get - the water’s as cold and powerful as it will go!” You watch with a smirk, arms crossed, as I gasp under the stingingly powerful ice-cold school shower jets for a full minute, turning under the jets with my hands on my head.

The water stops. “Better make sure all that mud is off”. You approach with a bar of coal tar soap and begin to lather my body with your hands, my hands on the tiles, legs spread. I’m still panting from the cold water and gasp some more as you reach round and run your hands over my cock and squeeze my balls, making me spring to attention. Pursing your lips you lather my now very hard cock extremely briskly ending with a sharp slap “I think you’re still rather dirty” you sigh, coming back with a pair of bristle brushes that you scrub me briskly with, neck to soles of feet, adding more soap until I am thickly lathered all over, my skin tingling fiercely. “Time for a rinse” you say, leaving the shower area and restarting the cold water for another minute. The jets pummel my body hard until you relent and I am left gasping and dripping on the tiles. You throw me a towel. “Dry off and come to the office for your inspection”.

I’m standing before you naked, skin cool, tight and tingling from the stingingly powerful cold shower you have administered, muscles still warm from the workout you made me do. Unlike the cold draughty changing room your office is warm. You sit behind the gym mistress’s desk looking at me cooly. “Hands on your head, legs spread please. The object of this lesson is self-control.” I am already quite aroused but your words make me extremely hard, especially as you glance at my cock. You stand and begin to undress in front of me until you too are naked. Standing behind me you run your fingers and fingernails gently down the inside of my arms, over my armpits and nipples, down the sides of my body, making me shiver and gasp. “Hold still! You’re more toned than when we started but there’s more hard work to do I think. At least you smell nice and fresh.”
Taking a tape measure you measure my waist idly letting it brush the tip of my cock and brushing my belly with your hands which makes me inhale sharply. “Don’t you dare! Or it’s back in the cold shower for you.” you whisper in my ear. Delicately, barely touching, you measure the length of my erect cock. I am panting trying to maintain control on the edge of an orgasm which you studiously ignore.

Walking back to the desk you produce a wand-like massage device with a round head. You brandish it, asking “Do you know what this is? I’m going to apply this to your penis and time your resistance to orgasm. I want you to hold on as long as you can. Keep your hands on your head.” In one hand you have a stopwatch and in the other the now buzzing device. The tip makes contact just below my glans as you click the stopwatch. The sensation is like an electric shock through my core and I cry out, clenching inside desperately trying to resist the onslaught of sensation. “Stand up straight!” you command, then softly you count out the seconds “One, two, three…” there is a boiling need for release against the unremitting mechanical buzz. “Four five six…” my internal muscles are hurting, barely holding back the pressure. “Seven, eight, nine…” I hold on for you, wanting to impress but the sensation is agonising, like a particularly punishing set of reps as you count out the teens. “Twenty-five, twenty-six, good boy!” Finally I reach my 30 second goal and can hold on no longer. I’ve been saving myself for you and my climax is extensive and profligate, spattering over the desk in a high arc as it pumps out from me in such intense waves of sensation. But I maintain the pose you require. It’s nearly everything but I yearn for your touch, to be inside you at this moment, which you are denying me for now.