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| About Angela Hadley: Surrounded by other people's writings at her work as a librarian in Hampshire, England, Angela Hadley felt compelled to produce some words of her own. She now writes whatever takes her fancy-- or wherever her fantasy takes her -- a questing whisper in the uproar. |
Kirsty in the Saddle
by Angela Hadley
I'd been going to the gym for barely a month when he asked me. I was flattered, of course, and I can't say it wasn't what I'd hoped for. But what I got was something completely unexpected.
Christian, his name was, and he was a Hunk with a capital H.
After only a couple of visits I'd paid my additional sub, so
that he could be my personal trainer.
I looked forward to my sessions in the gym, not so much for the invigoration of exercise -- though I know that some people do get hooked on the endorphins that exertion produces.
No, if I'm honest I have to admit it was the prospect of seeing the delectable Christian, with his fantastic physique, his easy manner, and his careful attention to me. He had this knack of making you feel as if you were his only client. Or, if others were around, that you were, at the very least, his _favourite_ client.
I especially enjoyed using a machine for the first time.
Christian would explain it to me, while holding my arms or legs in the correct positions. Sometimes I got it wrong deliberately, just so I could feel his hands on me again.
I'd made a special trip to the sports shop, and bought some
wonderful gear. Incredibly expensive for what it was, but the
skimpy top (they used to call me _Bursty Kirsty_ at school) and
the minuscule shorts felt fantastic on me. I washed them after
every session. I loved the way the Velcro allowed them to fit me
exactly. At the beginning of every session I always had a good
look in the changing room mirror, just before I walked into the
gym.
Anyway, a month or so after I started there, Christian was
filling in my chart at the end of a session. When he finished
writing he slipped the pen into its loop and looked up at me.
"You know, Kirsty," he said, putting down the clipboard and
folding his arms, "I'm getting some new equipment delivered next
week."
I tore my gaze from his bronzed biceps and wondered how he found
the time to use the tanning room.
"I'd like someone to test it out, before, you know, putting it
into general use."
"Mmm?" I said, noncommittal, though my pulse was racing.
"Yeah, I've asked a few of my _best_ clients if they'd like to
come for a special session, after hours." My heart sank a
little. Others too. Oh well, I should be thankful for small
mercies.
"Okay," I said. "When will it be?"
He told me it would be the end of the following week, if the
stuff arrived as expected, but he'd let me know.
He was as good as his word, telling me on the Monday that he'd
set it up for Thursday evening, when the gym would normally be
closed. He said that Dave and Sue, a married couple I vaguely
knew, would also be there.
Come Thursday, I remembered Dave and Sue telling me about a
holiday they'd booked, and that they'd doubled their sessions to
get into shape for it. Strange that I'd not seen them around. I
had a sneaking suspicion that this week was one of those they
were due to be away.
So I wasn't entirely surprised that evening when Christian let
me into the gym himself and locked the door behind us.
"Sorry," he said. "No Dave and Sue. It seems I muddled the dates
of their holiday. So it's just us."
"That's okay," I said, trying to be cool, though my heart
thumped as I made my way to the women's changing rooms.
"Whenever you're ready," Christian called after me. "I'll be in
my office."
I shucked off my day clothes, noticing that I'd come out in
gooseflesh and that my hands trembled. _Pull yourself together.
He just wants to test out some equipment. What's the big deal?_
I put on my newly washed gear, and stopped opposite the big
mirror as usual. I looked great, though I say it myself. The
sessions were really having an effect. With a little grin on my
lips I all but danced into the gym.
No sign of any new stuff, though. I walked over to the kiosk
that Christian called his office. He glanced up as I approached,
and waved me in.
"What d'you think?" he said, standing next to his new
acquisition.
I nodded, slowly. It was a bicycle. One of those highly
technical, stationary exercise bikes that records all your
bodily parameters -- pulse rate, breathing, blood pressure, body
temperature, skin resistance. This one looked so advanced I
wouldn't have been surprised if it could scan your brain as
well.
"As it's just you, there's no need to drag it out into the gym
area." He grabbed the handlebar and made as if to twist it. "You
can try it out here."
"Sure." I'd not ridden a bike in ages, but the prospect of
sitting atop this shiny contraption in Christian's office, while
he adjusted things -- and me, I hoped -- set my heart thumping.
"Shall we start, then?" he said. I nodded, giving him what I
hoped was an enthusiastic grin. _Mustn't be too eager._ I moved
a little closer, lifting an arm to grab the handlebar.
"Just a minute," said Christian. "I must adjust the size." He
reached down to fiddle with some knobs, twisting, pulling and
re-tightening them, until he was satisfied that the bike would
fit me. "Okay, on you get," he said, standing up.
Gingerly I clambered onto the bicycle, perching my butt on its
narrow saddle, leaning forward to grasp both ends of the
handlebar, and flailing with my feet as I tried to step on the
pedals.
Christian chuckled. "When was the last time you were on a bike?"
"Can't remember," I mumbled, reddening.
"Here, let me help." He crouched down behind me and grabbed my
ankles, placing each shoe firmly on a pedal. Then I felt his
big, powerful hands on the bare skin of my waist. I caught my
breath as he lifted me off the saddle and positioned me further
back, so that I had to lean even further forwards to hold the
handlebar.
"Comfortable?" he said, moving round the front of the bike and
looking into my face.
I nodded, forcing a smile. To be honest I felt a bit of an
idiot, not knowing how to ride a bike. How could I forget
something like that?
"The trick is to take your weight on the pedals and handlebars."
He was still grinning.
"I suppose you think this is funny," I said, trying to regain
some of my dignity.
"No, of course not...." But then he laughed. "Well, yes,
actually."
And I grinned as well, relieved that he was so relaxed about it.
"Don't worry," he said. "Lots of people have trouble the first
time they use an exercise bike. It's because it's fixed, and you
don't have to keep it upright."
"Oh, is that it?" I said, in a tone of disbelief. "I should have
realised...." We were both laughing now.
I began pedalling, feeling a little light-headed now that I was
more at ease. The pedal cranks seemed very long, and I had to
lift my knees high and and press my legs a long way down to
complete the strokes.
"Careful," said Christian. "Don't overdo it. Take it slowly at
first."
So I did. The rhythmic strokes soon had my pulse-rate up, and my
breathing fast. But I continued cycling along, and pretty soon
reached a sort of equilibrium. I felt I could pedal like this
for ever.
"That's good," said Christian. "I think you've cracked it. Now,
go easy a bit while I adjust the settings."
I kept on pedalling, but didn't push too hard, as Christian
adjusted something on the handlebar control. I felt the saddle
begin to move, slightly at first, then in longer oscillations
back and forth, in time with my pedalling.
"Still good," he said, and flicked another switch. Now the
handlebar itself began to oscillate, and as I continued to pedal
I felt my body being stretched with each combined stroke of the
saddle and handlebar.
I also became aware that my bottom was moving side to side over
that narrow saddle, the surface of which rubbed though my shorts
in a most tantalizing way. And I also noticed that Christian was
staring at the nose of the saddle as it peeped out from between
my pumping thighs. My face flushed hot at this realization, but
I hoped it would just seem like exertion.
Christian walked round behind me, and once more I felt those big
hands on my waist as my body moved back and forth. He didn't
lift me, though. Instead, he passed his fingers inside the
waistband of my shorts, to the tags that released the Velcro. I
heard the rips and felt the sides of my shorts part -- as they
were designed to do.
His knuckles pressed against the base of my spine as he gripped
the fabric, and as I pedalled on, he pulled the shorts from
under me, a little at each stroke as the oscillations stretched
me, until at last the fabric came completely clear and I was
left with my bare bottom clasped around that slick saddle.
Christian returned in front of me, as still I pedalled on,
staring ahead, red-faced and not a little embarrassed. He placed
my crumpled shorts on his desk and looked into my eyes.
"There's one other gizmo on this bike that's not fitted to the
standard model," he said. "I've had this specially imported from
Thailand, where they do the modifications."
I kept on pedalling, acutely aware of the slick wet leather
between my buttocks. I felt exposed, and yet at the same time
exhilarated. The oscillations of the bike were giving me little
bursts of pleasure each time it stretched me out, the
saddle-nose pressing into me. I didn't want it to stop.
Christian leaned forward and flicked two more switches. The bike
began to increase its stroke still further, until I was really
stretched, and I had to slow my pedalling in order to keep
balanced.
And then I felt a movement, right there in the saddle. It seemed
to be broadening, prying me apart. I tried to look, nearly
coming off the bike, but in that quick glance I saw that the
saddle had split along its seam, exposing a crack along its
length, matching its mirror image between my cheeks.
The saddle continued to split me apart as I pedalled, and
Christian watched me from his office chair, a tiny grin on his
face, his gaze unashamedly locked between my thighs.
What happened next should not have been unexpected, but still it
caught me by surprise. As I pedalled, the sweat pouring off my
skin, and my butt being spread wider and wider, I felt the touch
of something else. At first I wasn't sure, but it was more
evident at each stroke -- a hardness that was growing upwards
from the saddle.
I risked a glance. Between the two halves of the split saddle
protruded a curved oblong. Milky white and about two inches in
diameter, this protuberance emerged, stroke by stroke, from the
front of the crack in the saddle, its sculptured, bulbous head
perfectly positioned. As my body alternately stretched and
collapsed, this ersatz organ worked its way into me, until I
felt its full, delicious length filling my interior.
At which point, to my delight, it seemed to lock into the
oscillations of the bike, thrusting and withdrawing at each
stroke. I felt each minute detail of its contoured surface
rubbing across my most sensitive regions.
The pleasure of these sensations gave me renewed vigour in my
pedalling, and I cycled on, eyes closed, through an imaginary
landscape of lust. I was hardly aware of Christian's hands on my
shoulders and back as he removed my top. But I did feel my
breasts spill into his briefly cupped hands, then felt my
nipples brush against his fingers as he held them below my
oscillating torso.
My body was in the grip of that thrusting fake phallus, each
insistent penetration pumping me to new heights of ecstasy. The
sweat slicked off my naked skin -- it was all I could do to keep
myself skewered -- till at last, in one massive shuddering
release, my hot, wet climax sapped the very last of my strength,
and the bicycle slowed to a halt.
I couldn't even get off the thing. Christian had to unhook me
and lift me clear. He carried me, naked in his powerful arms, to
the showers, where he stood me shakily against the tiles and
hosed me down. He washed my hair, towelled me off, and left me
to dress myself.
In a short while I returned, fully clothed, to Christian's
office. The bike stood there, immaculate. He'd cleaned it up.
There was no evidence of its hidden secret.
"So," he said. "What do you think?"
"Well, I, er...." What did he expect me to say?
"I can let you have it for a really good price."
"What?" He wanted me to buy it?
"Sure I can. Delivery included."
So there you have it. He wasn't really interested in me at all.
I was just a punter. Never mind that I'd climaxed naked on an
exercise bike in his office, after which he'd carried my nude
body to the showers and washed and dried me. He just wanted to
sell me something. Typical.
But, as he said, it was a good price. And I _had_ tried it out.
I don't go to the gym so much now -- I exercise at home. It's
relaxing, and invigorating. And _very_ exciting.
END
by Angela Hadley
I'd been going to the gym for barely a month when he asked me. I was flattered, of course, and I can't say it wasn't what I'd hoped for. But what I got was something completely unexpected.
Christian, his name was, and he was a Hunk with a capital H.
After only a couple of visits I'd paid my additional sub, so
that he could be my personal trainer.
I looked forward to my sessions in the gym, not so much for the invigoration of exercise -- though I know that some people do get hooked on the endorphins that exertion produces.
No, if I'm honest I have to admit it was the prospect of seeing the delectable Christian, with his fantastic physique, his easy manner, and his careful attention to me. He had this knack of making you feel as if you were his only client. Or, if others were around, that you were, at the very least, his _favourite_ client.
I especially enjoyed using a machine for the first time.
Christian would explain it to me, while holding my arms or legs in the correct positions. Sometimes I got it wrong deliberately, just so I could feel his hands on me again.
I'd made a special trip to the sports shop, and bought some
wonderful gear. Incredibly expensive for what it was, but the
skimpy top (they used to call me _Bursty Kirsty_ at school) and
the minuscule shorts felt fantastic on me. I washed them after
every session. I loved the way the Velcro allowed them to fit me
exactly. At the beginning of every session I always had a good
look in the changing room mirror, just before I walked into the
gym.
Anyway, a month or so after I started there, Christian was
filling in my chart at the end of a session. When he finished
writing he slipped the pen into its loop and looked up at me.
"You know, Kirsty," he said, putting down the clipboard and
folding his arms, "I'm getting some new equipment delivered next
week."
I tore my gaze from his bronzed biceps and wondered how he found
the time to use the tanning room.
"I'd like someone to test it out, before, you know, putting it
into general use."
"Mmm?" I said, noncommittal, though my pulse was racing.
"Yeah, I've asked a few of my _best_ clients if they'd like to
come for a special session, after hours." My heart sank a
little. Others too. Oh well, I should be thankful for small
mercies.
"Okay," I said. "When will it be?"
He told me it would be the end of the following week, if the
stuff arrived as expected, but he'd let me know.
He was as good as his word, telling me on the Monday that he'd
set it up for Thursday evening, when the gym would normally be
closed. He said that Dave and Sue, a married couple I vaguely
knew, would also be there.
Come Thursday, I remembered Dave and Sue telling me about a
holiday they'd booked, and that they'd doubled their sessions to
get into shape for it. Strange that I'd not seen them around. I
had a sneaking suspicion that this week was one of those they
were due to be away.
So I wasn't entirely surprised that evening when Christian let
me into the gym himself and locked the door behind us.
"Sorry," he said. "No Dave and Sue. It seems I muddled the dates
of their holiday. So it's just us."
"That's okay," I said, trying to be cool, though my heart
thumped as I made my way to the women's changing rooms.
"Whenever you're ready," Christian called after me. "I'll be in
my office."
I shucked off my day clothes, noticing that I'd come out in
gooseflesh and that my hands trembled. _Pull yourself together.
He just wants to test out some equipment. What's the big deal?_
I put on my newly washed gear, and stopped opposite the big
mirror as usual. I looked great, though I say it myself. The
sessions were really having an effect. With a little grin on my
lips I all but danced into the gym.
No sign of any new stuff, though. I walked over to the kiosk
that Christian called his office. He glanced up as I approached,
and waved me in.
"What d'you think?" he said, standing next to his new
acquisition.
I nodded, slowly. It was a bicycle. One of those highly
technical, stationary exercise bikes that records all your
bodily parameters -- pulse rate, breathing, blood pressure, body
temperature, skin resistance. This one looked so advanced I
wouldn't have been surprised if it could scan your brain as
well.
"As it's just you, there's no need to drag it out into the gym
area." He grabbed the handlebar and made as if to twist it. "You
can try it out here."
"Sure." I'd not ridden a bike in ages, but the prospect of
sitting atop this shiny contraption in Christian's office, while
he adjusted things -- and me, I hoped -- set my heart thumping.
"Shall we start, then?" he said. I nodded, giving him what I
hoped was an enthusiastic grin. _Mustn't be too eager._ I moved
a little closer, lifting an arm to grab the handlebar.
"Just a minute," said Christian. "I must adjust the size." He
reached down to fiddle with some knobs, twisting, pulling and
re-tightening them, until he was satisfied that the bike would
fit me. "Okay, on you get," he said, standing up.
Gingerly I clambered onto the bicycle, perching my butt on its
narrow saddle, leaning forward to grasp both ends of the
handlebar, and flailing with my feet as I tried to step on the
pedals.
Christian chuckled. "When was the last time you were on a bike?"
"Can't remember," I mumbled, reddening.
"Here, let me help." He crouched down behind me and grabbed my
ankles, placing each shoe firmly on a pedal. Then I felt his
big, powerful hands on the bare skin of my waist. I caught my
breath as he lifted me off the saddle and positioned me further
back, so that I had to lean even further forwards to hold the
handlebar.
"Comfortable?" he said, moving round the front of the bike and
looking into my face.
I nodded, forcing a smile. To be honest I felt a bit of an
idiot, not knowing how to ride a bike. How could I forget
something like that?
"The trick is to take your weight on the pedals and handlebars."
He was still grinning.
"I suppose you think this is funny," I said, trying to regain
some of my dignity.
"No, of course not...." But then he laughed. "Well, yes,
actually."
And I grinned as well, relieved that he was so relaxed about it.
"Don't worry," he said. "Lots of people have trouble the first
time they use an exercise bike. It's because it's fixed, and you
don't have to keep it upright."
"Oh, is that it?" I said, in a tone of disbelief. "I should have
realised...." We were both laughing now.
I began pedalling, feeling a little light-headed now that I was
more at ease. The pedal cranks seemed very long, and I had to
lift my knees high and and press my legs a long way down to
complete the strokes.
"Careful," said Christian. "Don't overdo it. Take it slowly at
first."
So I did. The rhythmic strokes soon had my pulse-rate up, and my
breathing fast. But I continued cycling along, and pretty soon
reached a sort of equilibrium. I felt I could pedal like this
for ever.
"That's good," said Christian. "I think you've cracked it. Now,
go easy a bit while I adjust the settings."
I kept on pedalling, but didn't push too hard, as Christian
adjusted something on the handlebar control. I felt the saddle
begin to move, slightly at first, then in longer oscillations
back and forth, in time with my pedalling.
"Still good," he said, and flicked another switch. Now the
handlebar itself began to oscillate, and as I continued to pedal
I felt my body being stretched with each combined stroke of the
saddle and handlebar.
I also became aware that my bottom was moving side to side over
that narrow saddle, the surface of which rubbed though my shorts
in a most tantalizing way. And I also noticed that Christian was
staring at the nose of the saddle as it peeped out from between
my pumping thighs. My face flushed hot at this realization, but
I hoped it would just seem like exertion.
Christian walked round behind me, and once more I felt those big
hands on my waist as my body moved back and forth. He didn't
lift me, though. Instead, he passed his fingers inside the
waistband of my shorts, to the tags that released the Velcro. I
heard the rips and felt the sides of my shorts part -- as they
were designed to do.
His knuckles pressed against the base of my spine as he gripped
the fabric, and as I pedalled on, he pulled the shorts from
under me, a little at each stroke as the oscillations stretched
me, until at last the fabric came completely clear and I was
left with my bare bottom clasped around that slick saddle.
Christian returned in front of me, as still I pedalled on,
staring ahead, red-faced and not a little embarrassed. He placed
my crumpled shorts on his desk and looked into my eyes.
"There's one other gizmo on this bike that's not fitted to the
standard model," he said. "I've had this specially imported from
Thailand, where they do the modifications."
I kept on pedalling, acutely aware of the slick wet leather
between my buttocks. I felt exposed, and yet at the same time
exhilarated. The oscillations of the bike were giving me little
bursts of pleasure each time it stretched me out, the
saddle-nose pressing into me. I didn't want it to stop.
Christian leaned forward and flicked two more switches. The bike
began to increase its stroke still further, until I was really
stretched, and I had to slow my pedalling in order to keep
balanced.
And then I felt a movement, right there in the saddle. It seemed
to be broadening, prying me apart. I tried to look, nearly
coming off the bike, but in that quick glance I saw that the
saddle had split along its seam, exposing a crack along its
length, matching its mirror image between my cheeks.
The saddle continued to split me apart as I pedalled, and
Christian watched me from his office chair, a tiny grin on his
face, his gaze unashamedly locked between my thighs.
What happened next should not have been unexpected, but still it
caught me by surprise. As I pedalled, the sweat pouring off my
skin, and my butt being spread wider and wider, I felt the touch
of something else. At first I wasn't sure, but it was more
evident at each stroke -- a hardness that was growing upwards
from the saddle.
I risked a glance. Between the two halves of the split saddle
protruded a curved oblong. Milky white and about two inches in
diameter, this protuberance emerged, stroke by stroke, from the
front of the crack in the saddle, its sculptured, bulbous head
perfectly positioned. As my body alternately stretched and
collapsed, this ersatz organ worked its way into me, until I
felt its full, delicious length filling my interior.
At which point, to my delight, it seemed to lock into the
oscillations of the bike, thrusting and withdrawing at each
stroke. I felt each minute detail of its contoured surface
rubbing across my most sensitive regions.
The pleasure of these sensations gave me renewed vigour in my
pedalling, and I cycled on, eyes closed, through an imaginary
landscape of lust. I was hardly aware of Christian's hands on my
shoulders and back as he removed my top. But I did feel my
breasts spill into his briefly cupped hands, then felt my
nipples brush against his fingers as he held them below my
oscillating torso.
My body was in the grip of that thrusting fake phallus, each
insistent penetration pumping me to new heights of ecstasy. The
sweat slicked off my naked skin -- it was all I could do to keep
myself skewered -- till at last, in one massive shuddering
release, my hot, wet climax sapped the very last of my strength,
and the bicycle slowed to a halt.
I couldn't even get off the thing. Christian had to unhook me
and lift me clear. He carried me, naked in his powerful arms, to
the showers, where he stood me shakily against the tiles and
hosed me down. He washed my hair, towelled me off, and left me
to dress myself.
In a short while I returned, fully clothed, to Christian's
office. The bike stood there, immaculate. He'd cleaned it up.
There was no evidence of its hidden secret.
"So," he said. "What do you think?"
"Well, I, er...." What did he expect me to say?
"I can let you have it for a really good price."
"What?" He wanted me to buy it?
"Sure I can. Delivery included."
So there you have it. He wasn't really interested in me at all.
I was just a punter. Never mind that I'd climaxed naked on an
exercise bike in his office, after which he'd carried my nude
body to the showers and washed and dried me. He just wanted to
sell me something. Typical.
But, as he said, it was a good price. And I _had_ tried it out.
I don't go to the gym so much now -- I exercise at home. It's
relaxing, and invigorating. And _very_ exciting.
END
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