Alba

I press my palms together and bow to the screen, breaking into a gentle clap.

“Still fucking around with gadgets, I see,” my father sneers. He’s in his golf shirt, the white one with blue trimming, tucked neatly into his golf pants. They’re the nice golf pants, the ones that mean he’s on his way to a client meeting. ‘Never let your leisure go to waste,’ he’s told me.

Sweat drips from every part of me, wetting my headband, my shirt, my shorts. I wipe my face with the towel and click my cleats free from the pedals. “It’s just keeping me fit,” I shrug off his criticism with a lifetime of practice.

“Caleb,” he sighs. From the exasperation on his face, you’d think he’s having to explain which way is up and which way is down. “You’re making real money now. I know because I’m the one signing your paychecks. You don’t have to fuck around with these video trainers anymore. You can afford to hire the real thing.”

I raise my palms, glare right back at him. “What do you even care?”

“It’s pathetic,” he says, “Seeing you hide from people. You need to get used to employing help, to delegating the dirty work to others.”

“What do you mean? You’ve got me supervising that El Camino project. I am delegating to people, at work. When I’m home I just want to be home.”

He shakes his head, his ultimate symbol of paternal disproval. “Caleb, Caleb, Caleb. Work, home, country club, restaurant. What’s the difference?”

“Dad…”

“Caleb.” He says it with finality. “Hire a fucking trainer.”

“Where am I even supposed to find a trainer?” I am perfectly capable of finding a trainer, this is just me whining, being childish and stubborn. I regret saying it even before the last word is out of my mouth.

Dad knows it, too. “Christ, Caleb. If you can’t figure things out for yourself… Anyway, Paula knows someone. Ask her.” He walks away shaking his head, done with this conversation.

Paula is Dad’s assistant. ‘Executive Administrator,’ they call her. She’s got a keen nose for office politics, a shrewd attention to detail, an unquestionable sense of discretion, and a butt the size of a forklift. The first three things are important to Dad, the last to Mom. Not that Mom’s the jealous type, but big women certainly aren’t Dad’s type, and having an assistant Mom knows he’s not attracted to lets us all live in harmony.

I call Paula. “I need your help.”

“What was that, Sugartits?”

“You can’t–” I swallow the rest of it, start over, “Paula, I need your help, please.”

“Better. Not great.”

I stop myself from groaning. “Hello, Paula. How are you today? Lovely? Great to hear. May I please request your assistance?”

Her snappy voice echoes from the speaker. “You know I work for your dad, right? Not you? I’ve already got a full plate of things to get done today, honey.”

“Can’t you help me with this one small thing? Pretty please, with sugar on top?”

“Depends on what the thing is now, Caleb, doesn’t it? And what are you prepared to do for me?”

“Do you know a fitness instructor? Someone that’ll come to the house?”

“A fitness instructor? You’re calling me to find a fitness instructor? Honey, I’ve got a stack of receipts a mile high I’m supposed to file and none of them match up to the charges on the card, I’ve got three flights to somehow cancel and re-book by noon, Angela in development is hounding me for answers to all the questions your daddy’s too busy to respond to, and I’m supposed to magically find time to go to the mall and buy the perfect birthday gift for your Uncle Bob before the dinner tonight–”

“I’ll do that.”

“Wuzzat, honey?”

“Help me with this and I’ll take care of Dad’s gift to Uncle Bob. And anyway, Dad said you helped him with a personal trainer before, so can you just get the same one for me?”

Paula pauses, a rare thing. “He said that?”

“Yeah,” I say. Didn’t he say that? What’s so weird about that? “And what’d Dad say about the gift? What should I get Bob?”

“Uhh… I dunno, hon. He’s your uncle. Get him a sand wedge or something. Just make sure you spend at least five hundred dollaridoos.”

I nod into the phone, even though she can’t see that. “A five hundred dollar sandwich, right.”

“No, dear. A golf club. For the sand traps. Whatever, it doesn’t matter, get him an iPad or something,” she sighs, “And the, uh, trainer. What time do you want her there?”

“You mean, today?”

“Your dinner’s at seven-thirty, but your afternoon is looking quiet. So what if I have her come at four?”

“That’s sooner than I expected. But, uh, sure, that’ll work.” That’ll be good, actually. Working out twice today will make me feel less guilty when I inevitably resort to heavy drinking tonight when exposed to the whole extended family.

“Charge her to the account on file?”

I laugh. If Dad wants me so badly to have a fitness instructor, making him pay for it sounds deliciously appropriate. “Yeah, yeah, do that.”

“Okaaaay…” Paula says, “And don’t forget the gift! You screw me on this, Caleb, you’ll regret it!”

“Paula, I’d never.”

“I know, honey.”

That afternoon, after a day spent working from home, not even bothering to change out of my workout clothes, my phone dings with the reminder for the trainer. Though I was forced into it, I find myself strangely anticipating this. Someone who can customize a fitness routine to my personal situation? That idea doesn’t sound too bad, once I get over my own stubbornness.

Although, four pm rolls around and nobody’s here. Four-oh-five, the minutes tick past, four-oh-eight, four-oh-nine, four-ten. I roll my eyes, pick up my phone to call Paula, ask her what the fuck, when at four-twelve a black Mercedes rolls down our brick driveway, glides to stop in the little loop.

I’m at the front door, holding it with one hand while I watch the young woman emerge from the driver’s seat. She’s fit, in a thin workout jacket and tight gray workout pants. And as her high brunette ponytail — held together with a pink scrunchy — swishes side to side, I see that she’s cute as well. And wearing pink lipstick and eyeshadow and big gold hoop earrings?

I say, “You have any trouble finding the place?”

“Nope.” She struts past me, small duffel bag swinging, her gaze sweeping around the foyer, taking in all the marble and grand staircases and vases. “Why, am I late or something?”

“Uh, just a little.”

“Sorry.” She does not seem sorry. “Nice place. So, where are we? I’m Alba, by the way.”

I show her to the house’s gym, a room tucked into the cliffside behind the garage, with big picture windows looking out over the bluffs at the Pacific Ocean below. “This is where the magic happens,” I say, immediately regretting the dumb cliche.

“Hrmph.” I get sent a polite grin. She looks at the scattered exercise machines, yoga mats, free weights, and inflated rubber ball things I never know what to do with. But damn if she isn’t cute. How does it work if I’m attracted to my trainer?

“So,” I say, “Should we, um, get started?”

“Sure. What do you want to do first?” There’s a goofy lilt to her tone I don’t understand, a knowing gleam to her eye. She drops her bag to the floor and unzips her sweater, tosses it onto her bag.

Topless now but for a sportsbra, I force myself not to gawk at her big tits, at the way the elastic material clings to their plush shape, at the way her nipples dent the fabric in two enticing little teases. I manage to regain eye contact, see her grinning at me. “Er,” I stumble, “How do you normally start?”

With a smile that’s sly and impish and throwing me off, she walks through the gym like a queen reviewing her harem, knowing she could have whichever she wants, however many times she wants. She saunters up to the free weights and bends over, her pants stretching around her ass, outlining its delightfully plump and fit shape, and stands back up with two tiny five-pound weights in her hands. She effects a curl and says, “How about these?”

I frown. “Ok…” I grab the twenty-pounder, sit on the bench and start to do bicep curls. “How many reps per set?”

“You’re so strong,” she giggles, “Mmm, keep going until I say.” Resting her hand on my shoulder, she sits next to me, then folds my shirt up to my armpit and rubs my bicep as it flexes. She bites her lip, smiles at me. She’s cute, and very close.

“Um,” I say, searching for words, for something, anything to deflect from my nervousness, “Does it feel, um, right?”

“Oh, it does,” she says, then holds up her own arm in flex, “Do you want to feel mine?”

“Uhh…”

She takes my hand anyway, places it on her arm. “Go ahead, squeeze.”

I squeeze. She doesn’t actually have all that much muscle mass, but her skin is very soft, very smooth. “Nice, nice,” I mutter.

She hops up. “Let’s do leg presses.”

“But shouldn’t I do my other arm…?”

“We’ll get back to that later,” she says, sitting at one of the machines. Padded bars are on either side of her calves. She spreads her legs, pushing them outwards, the pulleys making it so a stack of weights ascend behind her. “This is a good one, a very important exercise.”

I stand in front of her. “It is?”

“Oh yes. You’ll feel it right in here.” She draws my attention with her fingers, running them up her inner thigh, knee to crotch. As her legs stretch wide, her pants tighten and the mound of her pussy presses out into the fabric. “It will give you good groin strength.”

It’s almost as if she wants me to look. “I, um, see.” I shake it away, stop myself from checking out my trainer. “Should I take a turn now?”

“Taking turns is good,” she giggles.

I sit, adjust the weight, start doing the routine.

Alba puts her hand on my thigh, drags her fingers up my muscles, pushing my shorts up as they work. It tickles. “Very good,” she says.

Though it’s through fabric, her hand is very close to my dick, a fact I try to shove from my mind but find difficult to ignore. I continue doing the press, praying I don’t get a boner.

“What are you workout goals?” she says.

“Oh! Yeah.” A distraction! A chance to talk about something else, something that’ll put me at ease. “Improved muscle tone, obviously. I don’t need to be a weightlifter or anything, but I do want some form. And to keep up with cardio, keeping my blood pumping. I’ve got five to ten extra pounds I could afford to lose, you know?”

“Don’t we all,” she laughs, even though she’s not carrying extra weight herself, “What makes your blood pump? You look like… a runner?”

“Cyclist, actually,” I nod at the stationary bikes. There’s two, side by side — the one that’s always been here, and the one I brought home with me from college.

“I love it,” she says, flitting up and over to the bikes, “Let’s do it.”

I frown. This is completely out of order, no consistency to this workout at all. I step out of the machine and freeze. Alba’s taking off her pants. “What’re you doing?” The words spurt from me.

She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Pants get in the way when biking.” She bends one knee, which of course pushes her ass out. My eyes slide to the gray strip of fabric which runs from her waist down between her ass cheeks. It’s tight, leaves absolutely nothing uncertain about the shape of her butt, about the puffiness of her pussy. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Uhh…”

“You should take off your shirt. Those baggy shorts, too,” she says, “They’ll just get tangled up.”

“I, um…”

“C’mon,” she giggles, “What’s the point of having a nice gym like this in your own home if you can’t even get comfortable during your workout?”

“Ok,” I find myself nodding, as if this makes sense. “Ok,” I repeat, talking myself into it.

On the bike next to Alba, I’m self-conscious, naked but for my little tight black undies. They don’t leave much to the imagination, and Alba’s doing nothing to set me at ease as she wantonly checks me out. “Better, no?” she giggles.

“If you say so.” I try not to stare at her ass, force my eyes forward as I start pedaling.

She pedals too. But the bikes face the back wall, and the back wall is mirrored. It’s supposed to make the room bigger, make it so you can see the ocean view no matter which way you face. But Alba’s and my eyes meet in the reflection, and her smile is full of mischief. “C’mon, Caleb,” she jeers, “Put your back into it! Show me what you got.”

She pedals fast, spinning the flywheel with the sleek sinews in her thighs and calves.

Finally, we’re getting somewhere. I catch myself up, match her pace for pace.

“Good. But let’s see if you can keep up with me,” she taunts, picking up speed, turning up the resistance.

I do the same.

“We’re jogging,” she says, “Sixty seconds.” She stands on her pedals, gunning the bike with heavy footfalls. Her tits bounce in her bra, her ass swings side to side.

I stand, match her.

“That’s right,” she says, reaching over to smack my butt.

“Hey!” But I laugh.

“Yeah, boy. Work up a sweat!”

“Let’s do it!” I’m getting into it.

“Is that how you like it? Hot and sticky?”

“There’s nothing like a good workout.”

Her gaze traces down my torso, lingers at my crotch. “Oh, I agree.”

She bikes hard, an endurance-pushing onslaught of speed and resistance, and I struggle to keep up with her. But I do, finding being nearly naked with my trainer a weirdly motivational circumstance. It’s like there’s nothing to hide, no excuse with which to shield myself. And as the timer on the bike clicks over to the fifteenth minute, and sweat drip drip drips down my face and arms and chest and back, Alba brings her pedals to a stop. “Ok, now, before you cool down, there’s something we need to do.”

“There is?” I pant.

“Yes, come.”

She springs off the bike, grabs the weight bar, and lifts it over her head. “Spot me.” She’s breathing hard, her tits swelling in her bra with each breath.

“Uh,” I say, stumbling over and standing in front of her, arms out as I suck down air, “Ok, like this?”

“No,” she giggles, “Stand behind me, hold me steady.”

“Ummm…” I move behind her and reach out towards her waist. My hands freeze an inch above her skin. This feels too intimate, like I’m doing something wrong.

“C’mon,” she encourages, “Hold me.”

Ok, I tell myself, ok. This is what she wants. I bring my hands in, hold her just below her ribs.

“No,” she says, “Higher.”

I slide my hands up, just an inch.

“Higher, Caleb. Hold my chest.”

I look up at the bar over her head. “Your, um, your chest?”

“It’s the best place for support,” she says, “And it will really help me. My form.”

My hands go higher. I’m at the hemline of her bra. Underboob brushes against my finger.

She barks, “Higher!”

She doesn’t mean…? Tentatively, hesitantly, experimentally, I bring my hands up, cup her sportsbra. “Um, like this?” The weight of her breasts is against my palms, her hard nipples impossible to ignore in my fingers.

“Yes, but firmer.”

I whimper and grab her boobs more firmly. I pinch my eyes closed, try not to enjoy it.

“Good,” she smiles, beginning to move the bar down, then up, then down again. And it’s not just that my hands are groping her big, heavy tits, or that her nipples are stiff against my palms, or that my bare skin is sweaty against her back, it’s that her ass is pressed against my crotch. With each rep her round bubble butt bounces against my dick. Her bare butt, covered only by thong. And my dick, protected only by thin, tight viscose fabric.

While she demos the set my penis does what penises do, growing stiff, pointing at what it wants. And what it wants is Alba. I blush, feeling incredibly inappropriate, like I’m a little schoolboy.

“You’re paying attention, right?” she says, panting as she lifts the bar. “It’s important that you’re getting this, because it’s your turn next.”

“It is?” I squeak.

She hands me the bar, loads it up with more weight, and stands behind me, arms around me. “Now, lift,” she says.

I lift.

“Hold it there,” she says, her fingers dragging down my chest. She’s not holding me like I was holding her, not that I think it would help if she did. But the slow trace to her fingernails, it’s tickling, teasing my skin. “Steady,” she says, her touch swirling down around my belly.

My arms start to quiver. “How much longer?”

“You’re a strong boy,” she coos, lips nearly brushing my ear. “Ooh, what’s this?”

I gasp, struggling to keep the bar suspended when I feel her hands pass over my undies, pressing into my skin through the material, circling around the base of my cock.

“Caleb,” she chastises, “Your dick is hard.”

I completely miss the mockery in her tone. “Sorry!”

Her fist wraps around my shaft. “Really hard!”

“It, um–” But my sentence never finishes, instead breaks into a whimper as she tugs on my cock.

“You bad boy,” she says as she strokes me, “Thinking that you could fuck your personal trainer. I’m not that type of girl, Caleb.”

She cups my balls, and it’s too much. My arms give way, the weight bar crashes to the ground with a deafening rattle and thud.

“I can’t continue to be your trainer if you can’t keep yourself in control.” She slides to fingers down the full length of my shaft, the fat tent in my shorts clearly showing my rock-hard cock. A wet spot has formed at the tip, and the elastic band pulls away from my waist as my erection pushes against the fabric.

“I’m sorry!” I whimper.

“What’re we going to do about this?” She squeezes my nuts, kneads them. “Do you have any suggestions about what we could do with your fucking massive dick?”

Wait… is she upset? Or is she coming onto me? My uncertainty lodges in my throat, though, as her hand slips beneath my waistband and skin-on-such-sweet-soft-skin strokes my penis. She rubs my cock so beautifully. I shudder with need.

I spin around in her arms, grab her ass.

“Fucking finally,” she says, pressing her hips against mine, “I was wondering when you’d catch on.”

I dig in, really exploring her butt, squeezing and groping, slide a tentative hand between her cheeks, up her thong.

It just makes her smile spread wider. And her smile is so pretty.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

“You like getting your cock sucked?”

I nod.

Her eyes sparkle as she drops to her knees. She peels down my shorts, my fat dick springing free and slapping her in the cheek. She holds open her mouth, passes it near the tip without actually taking me in. I feel the softness of her lips and the heat of her breath and no more. “Cuz I’m amazing at sucking cock.”

She extends her tongue, slowly licks up my underside.

I moan and sigh. “Fuck…”

She holds my dick against my belly and sucks my balls into her mouth.

I shudder and groan. “Oh fuck…”

She winks at me, and then she takes my cock in her mouth. And it goes in and in and in until her lips are against my base and my dick is down her throat. She swallows, and it’s tight warm bliss like nothing I’ve ever felt. My jaw goes slack, my eyes go blurry.

The room’s silent but for my quiet whimpering, and I can hear the wet choking sounds coming from Alba’s throat. Her eyes water and her nose runs, but she doesn’t pull back.

If she keeps this up, though, I’ll cum, and I don’t want that. Not yet, at least.

I grab her by the ponytail and pull her off my dick.

She coughs, wipes her mouth, and grins. “Too much?”

“Fucking incredible,” I pant.

She scans the room. “Sit over there,” she points at a bench beneath a weight machine, “Get comfortable. I’ll go slow, draw it out.”

I go where she points. She kneels between my legs and again sucks my cock. This time she teases, taunting me with her tongue, giving me the as-promised drawn out pleasure. I stare at her, transfixed by the sight of this crazy cute woman taking my dick into her pink-painted lips, running her tongue up its length.

And then I’m distracted. Because in this position, I’m facing the mirror. Through the reflection, I watch Alba’s head bob over my crotch, her hair bounce against her neck as she goes, her big hoop earrings swing. I see her tan and sexy back, her fantastic thong-clad ass on full display, big and round and perfect, with an amazing little mound of pussy between her legs.

I am overwhelmed, never having had such a perfect blowjob.

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this from a beautiful girl like Alba, and I’m not caring, not a concern in the world beyond her lips and tongue and smile and how perfectly suited they are for pleasing my erection.

She slurps and sucks and my cock is positively glistening with her spit. She drags her silken tongue over my balls and all the way to my tip, curling it against my glans. She strokes the base of my shaft while wrapping her mouth around the head. She takes me all the way in again, impossibly, amazingly deep.

Then she smacks my cock against her cheek. “You ready to cum?”

“Uh-huh,” I nod weakly.

And she does this thing with her tongue, I don’t know what, swirling it like a sidewinder, like she’s licking me in three places at once and it’s more than any man could possibly take.

I groan, my eyes rolling back in my head. My orgasm is coming. I blink, make myself watch. Alba doesn’t slow, knows where I am. With big eyes, she watches me back. And then, at last, the semen flies from my cock. It sprays into Alba’s waiting mouth in a thick, heavy load. A long time coming, cum oozes and oozes from me as she licks it up, swallows it down.

“Oh… fuck…” I moan, the relief of climax folding over me like a heavy blanket.

“Damn,” she giggles, “I think I killed him.”

“Fuck, Alba. That was fucking incredible.”

“Thanks!” She stands, smiling contentedly to herself as she pulls her clothes back on. She pulls her jacket over her shoulders, zips up, and grabs her back. “I’ll show myself out.”

“Wait,” I say, “What about the rest of the workout?”

“Workout?” she frowns, “Huh? You only paid for the one.”

“But we weren’t even half done?”

“What do you mean? You came, right? That’s what I was here for.”

“I, uh…” I shake my head, the first distant glimpses of understanding beginning to crest. “You’re not… I mean, you’re a, um, escort?”

Her gaze is narrow. “Yeah. What’d you think?”

Holy fucking shit. I’m reeling, the world spinning, gravity no longer aligned with the horizon.

She turns towards the door again. “Anyway…”

“Wait wait wait,” I say, the puzzle pieces aligning only as the words take form, “Have you been here before? To this house, I mean?”

She stops and looks around. “I don’t know. I’ve been to a lot of houses. Why?”

“I think– I’ve got a request. It’s not sexual. And I’ll pay you extra.”

“I’m listening.”

My father arrives home twenty minutes later, and I’m waiting for him. “Hey, Dad.”

“Caleb,” he grunts, setting down his bag of clubs.

“I hired a personal trainer, like you said. Paula was a big help there.”

He grunts again. “Ok.”

“Want to meet her?”

He turns, frowns. “Why would I want to meet her?”

But she’s already come out from around the corner. I say, “Alba, this is my father. Dad, Alba.”

Alba waves, shit-eating grin on her face.

Dad, however, is frozen stiff and turning beet red.

I burst into laughter. “Give Paula a real special thanks from me, would you, Dad?”

Steam doesn’t actually come from his ears, but I swear he’s close.

I walk Alba out to her car. She says, “That was pretty funny, but was it a hundred bucks funny?” She holds out her hand expectantly.

I pass her the note. “Absolutely. You were a treat, Alba. Not exactly what I thought I was getting into, but, well, let’s just say I’m going to remember you.”

She chuckles, sits down in the driver’s seat. “Bye, Caleb.”

“By the way, if you know anyone, I’m looking for a personal trainer. A real one.”

But she just shakes her head and drives away.