Client Focused

FuelMix wondered why a certain male personal trainer only appeared to have a female clientele.

He received his answer. The gym was crowded.  People were packed closer together than usual.

The trainer was putting a skinny white pussy with a jawline and a wedding band through her paces.  At the end of her set she perched on the bench and spread her legs.  "My husband says he can see results" she crooned.

"So can I" said the trainer in a low voice, stepping into the space between her thighs, his T-shirt brushing against her breasts.  She giggled softly.  He took out his I-Phone and pretending to check the screen, took a picture of her tits.  She giggled again.  He grinned.

"What are we going to do now?" she enquired.

"We need to work on your posture" he said authoritatively, brushing his hand down her back.

" I think we should do my abs and hips" she purred.

" OK, but you'll need to lie down for me to work on you".

"I know" she smiled.

FuelMix groaned in disgust - a little too audibly.  The trainer leered at him in defiance.  The pussy glared and hissed.  "Thanks for the blog material", thought FuelMix, "I've just immortalized hourly-charging sleaze in UnderArmour and track pants".

Her abs and hips workout was a parody. The trainer knelt, crouched, laid next to her to show her the moves and hovered over her.  The pussy heaved and sighed.  The trainer grinned.

At the end of "the session" they lingered at the water cooler giggling, before picking up their stuff and heading out together, rubbing their shoulders and hips against each other.

Memo to pussy:  Make sure the catbox is cleaned before the husband gets home.  Pun intended.

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