From: misslilyo@aol.com (MissLilyO)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking
Subject: The Personal Trainer - (cons, sex)
Date: 26 Jul 1995 03:47:58 -0400

Hi.  New story.  M/F spanking/consensual/sex.  Don't like that stuff? 
Move on.
Hope you like it.  Comments welcome.
____________________________________________________

      THE PERSONAL TRAINER

Power.  There's something narcotic about it.  It is nowhere more
tangible than on the 58th floor of the Denton Building in the
penthouse offices of Jacqueline Denton, President and CEO of one
of the most financially successful corporations in the world.

Amongst an elite group of mega-corporate warriors, Ms. Denton
has a reputation for having drawn first blood in more than one
power struggle, takeover attempt, and acquisition skirmish.  A
striking woman of 48, she still turns heads when she walks into
a boardroom, opera box, or toney watering spot.  Like any
powerful leader, she is adored by some, feared by many, and
disliked by not a few, but she can boast that among her
employees she is almost universally respected.

She came close to losing that respect over the past two years,
as the hardworking lady was moving close to the edge of
burnout.  She had managed to keep Denton Industries safe from an
unfriendly takeover, and had boldly expanded into some highly
speculative markets over the howling objections of major
stockholders.  That she was proven right later didn't ease the
stress of the moment, and the tension was evident in her general
disposition.  Residents of the 58th floor had learned to tread
lightly during those dark days.

Like anyone moving in the heady circles of wealth and power,
Jacqueline had succumbed to some of the trends of the rich and
super-rich.  She had a hair stylist who charged a $1000 for a
haircut.  Her personal dietitian had her drinking malted mango
shakes for a month to keep her hips trim and cleanse her
system.  Silk worms worked overtime for months to keep her
fingernails looking perfect.

However, the climate on the 58th floor recently changed
permanently for the better, when Ms. Denton hired her personal
trainer.  Since he came into her life, the change in her was
noticeable to friend and foe alike.  Her skin glowed with a
healthy radiance.  She seemed fit and moved with athletic
grace.  If she had been confident before, she now seemed
invincible.  Always a beauty, she had a quality that placed her
beyond the merely beautiful.  More important to her hard-working
staff was the change in her disposition.  Though she never
lowered her expectations of excellence, she became more patient
with errors that were due to reasons other than carelessness.
She took the time to acknowledge outstanding performance in a
personal way, and the employees responded by knocking themselves
out for her.  The morale had never been so high among her top
level people.

To an individual, they all attributed the changes to the arrival
of Jordan, the mysterious man who attended to Ms. Denton's
physical training every week.  She'd had a large suite adjoining
her office remodeled into a gymnasium, equipped with all manner
of state of the art exercise equipment.  The contractor doing
the work had been from out of town and worked from plans
designed by an architectural firm other than the one who was
usually retained for Denton's design work.  A firm specializing
in acoustics held a substantial subcontract on the project.

There was only one door to the training room, accessible from
Ms. Denton's private offices.  On Thursdays, from 1 p.m. on, the
staff had standing orders not to interrupt their boss for ANY
reason whatsoever, no matter how dire the emergency.  They were
not to knock on that door even if there were a fire in the
building unless it was a conflagration of disaster proportions!
One secretary had the temerity to knock on the door once when
she'd gotten an urgent telegram from their branch office in
Rome, but she was shortly in the unemployment line.  No one had
interrupted her training time since.

As he did every Thursday, Jordan appeared at the reception desk
promptly at 12:55 p.m., clad in a short sleeved tee shirt that
clung to his sculpted muscles, and sweatpants that did more than
hint at the attributes of the man who wore them.  Carrying his
black sports bag, he spoke with quiet authority to Pamela
Winkler, the Floor Receptionist.  "Please inform Ms. Denton that
I have arrived, Ms Winkler," he said.

In three seconds, she was leading him to Ms. Denton's personal
secretary, and then watching his tight buttocks wistfully in the
clinging sweats as Sherry Johnson admitted him to the
President's offices.

When the door had closed behind him, he looked approvingly at
the woman before him.  She had changed from her stylish
corporate uniform to her training clothes, and pulled her hair
up out of the way in a short ponytail.  "Let's get started,
shall we?" he said, without preliminary small talk.

Jacqueline followed him into the gym, carefully locking and then
bolting the door behind her.  The only sound in the room was the
efficient whisper of the air conditioning system.  "Let's start
with a massage," he suggested, and pointed her to a thickly
padded workout bench.  She sat with her hands on her knees and
he stood behind her stroking the tension from the muscles in her
neck and upper back. "Lay face down," he directed, and moved his
powerful hands to her lower back, pushing and circling till she
moaned her pleasure at the attention.

"What did you have planned for me today?" she asked.

"I thought we'd warm up a bit first, and then do some serious
bench work.  You've been keeping up with your walking and
swimming, I take it?"

"Oh yes!  And tennis.  I try to play three times a week, rain or
shine.  The Club has indoor courts as well."

"Very good.  Very well, then.  A warm up."

He helped her to stand up and he sat down on the bench, drawing
her across his knees.  Her short flouncy skirt was flipped up
and over her back and he drew her white cotton panties down to
her knees, looking at her still-firm bottom and the tendrils of
curls which peeked out from her moistening sex.  Moving her
about to maximize the height of her bottom, he raised his hand
and brought it down sharply but not too severely on her right
cheek.  A tiny "oh" escaped her, but she did not cry out.  He
matched the spank with another in perfect symmetry on the left
side.

With gradually increasing intensity, he warmed her bottom,
spanking thoroughly every inch before starting anew, drawing the
most delicious shade of crimson from her pampered skin.  Two
sharp smacks on her sit spot brought a cry from her, and he laid
on harder and harder till she was bucking and crying and
wiggling at the fire planted on her fanny.

Deciding that the warm up was sufficient, he held her in place
over his knee and rubbed away some of the flames, soothing and
smoothing until the heat lessened somewhat.  She sighed and
pushed back against his hand.

At last he helped her to her feet and she stood before him, tear
tracks still staining her face.  She knew better than to rub her
bottom, and forced herself to stand with her hands at her sides
awaiting his next orders.

"Now let's work the bench a little," he said.  "On knees and
forearms, Jackie."  No one, but NO one called her Jackie except
this man.  "Naked, please."

"Yes, sir," she said, and hastened to obey him, removing her
schoolgirl skirt and white blouse, pulling her little panties
the rest of the way down to step out of them, and removing the
white cotton bra.  She stood before him in her womanly ripeness
for a moment before arranging herself on the bench as he'd
instructed her, kneeling with her weight on her forearms and
knees.

"Wide apart for me, Jackie," he said.  Quickly she moved her
knees to very edges of the bench, affording him a delicious view
of her plump nether lips and dark curls dampened with her dew.
"Head down on your hands."  Her bottom was pointed high in the
air, but he demanded it be higher, and she strained to comply.

"Reach for them," he told her, as he pulled a slender leather
paddle from his bag.  She heard the whistle of the first spank
coming and lifted her naked bottom to meet it.  Her first taste
of the leather landed squarely in the middle of her widespread
cheeks, and the sound rang out despite the room's acoustics.

"YEEEEOOOOOW" she cried.  Each loud crack of the leather pulled
yet another cry from her as her bottom became enflamed, and
turned a deeper carmine color.  His consummate skill with the
leather implement was evident in the expert way he painted her
perfect skin, leaving a pattern of stripes horizontally.  He
jumped up on the bench and stood straddling her. Raising the
paddle high, he now brought it down now in a vertical pattern.
The licks of the paddle caught her naked thighs, and
occasionally just whispered at the pouting lips, causing the
most delicious cries from her.

Long after she screamed out that she could take not one more
spank, he continued bringing the paddle down in a skillful arc.
At last, he stepped around and knelt behind her on the bench on
his knees.  Without preliminary tenderness, he took her from behind,
although the evidence that she was more than ready for him was
clearly visible. It was not lovemaking, it was conquest and
within seconds she cried out her shattering release, the spasms
continuing when he joined her moments later and collapsed against her
tormented bottom.

Thirty minutes later they had showered and shared a pitcher of
chilled juice.  Jacqueline was once more the picture of the
stylish executive, cool and professional.  Jordan cupped her
chin and looked with his glacier blue eyes into hers.  "You did
well, Jackie.  We'll work with the overheads next week.  Be
prepared for a very heavy workout.  Keep up with your arm
weights, both bi- and triceps, do your leg lifts and tummy
curls, and I want at least twenty laps a morning in the pool."

"Okay, Jordan," she promised.  "I'll be ready."

"Yes, I know you will," he smiled.  "Next Thursday then.  Wear a
frilly summer dress.  I'll want to rip it off when I've tied
your hands over your head."

"I will!" she breathed.

And then she was showing him out the door, the radiant glow of
her blush and the sparkle in her eyes making her seem half her
age.
*****
Two days later she was having lunch with Edith Goldsmith, whose
galleries were among the most successful in the world.  Edith
was a plump, graying woman with knowing eyes that missed little
in life.  She had a vitality to her that was attractive, if not
in the traditional fashion model sense.  Today, however, she was
tired-looking and seemed to be carrying the weight of the world
on her shoulders.  "I can't understand how you do it and still
look so fabulous, Jacqueline.  God, I just HATE you!"

Jacqueline looked at her friend of more than 20 years and said,
confidentially, "Actually, Edith, I'm feeling this good because
of my personal trainer.  He's a bit of a snob, but with my
recommendation I just know he'll see you...." and she began to
scribble his number on the back of the cocktail napkin...

END...


Lily O'Valley (MissLilyO@aol.com)