Bubble-Butt Gym Whore

I started going to the gym after my boyfriend made a snide remark about my thighs.

We were sitting on the sofa together, watching some crappy TV show he liked. During a commercial break, an ad came on the air about an exercise bike. Rodney stared like an idiot at the ad for about 20 seconds, then he looked at me. He grabbed a chunk of my thigh between his doughy fingers.

“Looks like you’re letting yourself go a bit, don’t you think, babe? Maybe you could use one of those.” He pointed at the TV screen, which showed a girl who looked like she weighed 90 pounds, barely dressed in tiny pieces of spandex, pedaling away at a hundred miles an hour on the bike in her living room.

I was insulted and hurt, but not shocked. Rodney didn’t mean to be insulting. He just had no filter. I wondered sometimes if my boyfriend had an undiagnosed personality disorder. He seemed to have no clue about the effect of his words on people. He wrote code for a living, and social skills were not necessary for his job, to say the least.

Later, when I was alone in the bathroom, I cried a little. What Rodney said had been cruel, but he had a point. I’d put on about 10 pounds in the last 8 months. I wasn’t fat, but I wasn’t skinny, either. I’d been thin all my life, but stress, poor diet, and lack of exercise had taken their toll.

I shucked my clothes off and spun around in front of a full-length mirror. Somewhere, in the rational part of my brain, I knew my body would look fine to most people. But to my own critical eye, my body was less than ideal. I was a little thicker than I wanted to be in my thighs, my waist, my arms, and my face.

My butt still looked good. I was glad. Since I was a teen people had always told me I had a cute butt.

But I was 29 now, and I couldn’t count on youth alone to keep me looking good.

The following day, I signed up for a gym about a mile away — Excelsior Gym. It was right next door to a sportswear shop — Excelsior Sports Wear. The shop had opened about three years before, and its owner, a guy I had met at a party recently, had opened the gym only a few months. He thought they would go hand in hand: Buying sportswear would encourage people to sign up for the gym to put the clothes to use, and signing up for the gym would compel people to buy gym clothes.

I went to the gym to fill out the paperwork, and the owner, Rich, greeted me. After I signed the papers his assistant Alan showed me around the gym floor, taking me through the room full of cardio equipment, the free weight station, and the complete array of weight machines. There was a section of floor cleared of everything but blue mats where members could stretch and do yoga. Alan was a cute college student, studying to become a nutrition expert and personal trainer. I caught him checking me out a few times. It was flattering. Rodney hadn’t said anything nice about the way I looked for months, and I could have used some positive reinforcement. Alan’s quick, furtive glances at me did the trick.

I showed up the very next day to start my workout, starting out with a light warmup on a stairclimbing machine before moving on to the free weights and machines. I worked up a fair sweat. It felt great. It wasn’t too crowded. Rich was still building up the gym membership. I noticed most of the members were guys. That was fine with me. There was a kind of hardcore lifting vibe to the place, and the presence of men made me feel like I had to step up my game.

Immediately, the gym became a regular and important part of my life. I went four times a week, either early in the morning or after work. I spent less time at home with Rodney, but he didn’t seem to notice, except when he complained that dinner wasn’t ready on time. I waved off his complaints.

In only five weeks, I lost all the weight I’d gained over the previous eight months. I felt great, and if the mirror told the truth, I looked better, too: sleeker, fitter, sexier. The thinning and firming of my waist and thighs accentuated the cute bubble of my butt, too. I liked that. So, too, did some of the guys in the gym, if the frequent glances I caught them making meant anything.

I was ogled a lot. Because of the high ratio of men to women, there weren’t many women to look at, and I had to admit I was one of the cuter ones. The only knock against me was my clothes. My job as an office assistant didn’t pay enough to let me buy a fancy new gym wardrobe, so I had to make do with old t-shirts and loose shorts I had accumulated over the years to run in.

One day, after a late afternoon workout, Rich, the gym owner, asked me to step into his store, behind the counter, to talk about something.

“Tiffany, you look great,” he said, looking my sweaty body up and down. “The gym really seems to suit you.”

“Thank, Rich,” I said. “I feel like a new woman. I’ve lost ten pounds so far. Even put on some muscle. Feel that.” I held out my bicep to him, and he squeezed it.

“Nice!” he said. “So, are you still seeing that guy? What’s his name?”

“Rodney? Yeah, we’re still together. We’ve been living together the last two years.”

“Well, he must be happy. Having such a hot, fit girlfriend.”

“Rodney?” I said, rolling my eyes. “I don’t think he’s noticed. He hasn’t paid me a compliment about my looks in months. The only thing he compliments these days is my cooking. And he doesn’t even do that very much.”

“That’s too bad. Hard to believe. If it’s any consolation — I hope you don’t mind my saying this — you’ve been getting some compliments around here.”

“Really?” I asked. I knew guys had been checking me out, but I had no idea they were saying things about me.

“Really,” he said. “I’ve overheard guys talk about the cute redhead, and a few have even asked me your name, and if you were single.”

“Wow, I had no idea,” I said.

“I don’t think you know how attractive you are, Tiffany,” he said, and he paused. “Which brings me to something I wanted to ask you. I hope you don’t mind. Would you be interested in modeling some of the gym clothing we sell here? Like, wearing it during your workouts?”

I scanned the store, admiring the cornucopia of colorful sportswear covering the walls on all sides.

“Rich, I’d be happy to,” I said. “But I can’t afford it. My job is only part-time right now. It doesn’t pay enough for me to buy a whole new wardrobe.”

“Well, here’s the thing about that, Tiffany,” he said. “You don’t have to pay for it. If you let me pick out some things for you to wear, you can have them, free.”

“Really?” I asked. “Rich, that’s so nice of you.” I hugged him with my sweaty arms. “I can’t believe it. What a good guy.”

“Not that good,” he said. “I’ll be getting something out of it. You’ll be advertising my store. Better than a Yellow Pages ad, I think.”

I agreed. I gave him my measurements and sizes, and Rich told me the next day when I came in, he’d have an outfit for me to wear. I was excited. I hadn’t bought any new workout wear for months and months. The only condition was I had to continue working out at his gym. That was no problem. I was loving the workouts and what they were doing for my body, and to be honest, I was enjoying some of the attention I was getting.

The next day, I showed up late in the afternoon, per his request, eager to see what outfit Rich had picked for me. He ushered me to a small changing room in the back of the store. I closed the curtain behind me. The outfit lay folded on a stool.

It was unlike any gym outfit I had, or any I had ever worn. I wasn’t a prude about my body, but I’d never been a show-off, either. This outfit was skimpy, and it would show off a lot. The bottoms consisted of form-fitting black leggings. The top was white and blue and sleeveless, and form-fitting. Cute tiny ankle socks and blue gym shoes completed the ensemble. I took off my own clothes and placed them in a bag and put on the outfit Rich had chosen for me. When I was done, I looked at the results in the mirror.

My goodness! I had never seen myself like this before. Every curve of my body was exposed. The top had a built-in bra that held my medium-sized breasts firmly in place, but if you looked closely the outline of my nipples was just barely visible under the fabric. It was a good thing I’d lost weight, because the outfit left no imperfection in body form hidden. A little strip of my bare torso was visible between the top of the leggings and the bottom edge of the top. I tried pulling the top down, but it didn’t work. If I wore the outfit in the gym, I’d be exposing some of my belly to the other members, mostly men.

I stepped out of the dressing room, nervous. Rich was circling nearby, looking over a shirt rack. When he saw me, his eyes lit up.

“Wow, Tiffany!” he said with a huge grin. “You look fantastic.”

“You think so?” I asked, twirling nervously in front of him. “It seems awfully tight.”

“It’s supposed to be that way. You’ll get used to it. So I’m told. It’s great for workouts. Total freedom of movement.”

I noticed another guy in the store, about 15 feet behind Rich, sneaking glances at me and checking me out. My skin tingled. I was embarrassed. But it felt good to be looked at, too.

“Give it a try today, and see what you think,” he said.

I did. I stepped through the door from the shop to the gym. Immediately, I figured out why Rich wanted me to show up in late afternoon. It was a busy time for the gym. Today, it was packed. And they were all men.

Throughout my workout, it seemed like the eyes of the men were on me, even more than normal. I went through my normal routine, and I didn’t do anything to “sex it up.” But I couldn’t help exposing more than normal in the outfit. I did some hamstring curls, where I lay on a bench and pressed my calf against a cushioned bar and squeezed the bar, connected to a series of weights, toward my butt. I was highly conscious of putting my butt on display during this set, and I was aware of all the guys in my immediate vicinity as I squeezed my glute muscles and felt the muscles of my lean legs tense. I was putting on a show.

I got through my normal routine, aware at every second of the parts of my body I was displaying to the gym’s male clientele.

Afterward, Rich thanked me and told me I could take the outfit home, but that I had to wear it again at the gym. He told me he would have more outfits for me. I drove home, soaked in sweat from nervousness as much as from exercise.

Rodney barely noticed the new outfit when I got home. He was playing Fortnite at the large screen TV. Sigh.

I showered and dressed and made dinner. As I stood over the skillet, frying chicken, I wondered why the hell I was staying with Rodney. I knew what it was. It was money. I was barely making it on my job, as an office assistant, and Rodney was paying all the bills and the mortgage for the townhome we lived in together. Our understanding was that as long as I was cooking the meals and cleaning the place, I was pulling my weight. Early in the relationship, it seemed like sex was part of the equation, too. But in recent months our sex life had almost disappeared. I missed sex. Even sex with Rodney.

As boring as things were at home, they became more and more fun at the gym. Rich had new outfits for me on a regular basis. All of them were sexy, brief, and form-fitting. I got more daring, and I became more comfortable showing myself off. I went from wearing a cropped tank top to a bra top that could not have been any skimpier and still stayed in place during workouts. I went from wearing leggings to compression-style short shorts. I was keenly aware when pounding away on the treadmill that the bra top, despite its state-of-the-art sportswear engineering, could not stop my breasts from jiggling and bouncing as I ran.

I admit, I liked it. I liked showing off, and I liked the attention I got. I felt like one person at home and at work, and another person completely at the gym. It was like playing a role. I grew accustomed to it, but the thrill of being watched never went away.

One day, after a workout, I talked to Rich about how things were going at the store.

“Tiffany, it’s funny,” he said. “Business is good, but not in the way I expected. I was hoping to boost product sales: getting more girls to sign up for the gym and buy clothes, and getting guys, after seeing you, to buy more gym stuff for their girlfriends and wives. We’ve seen some boost in sales, but not much. But we’ve seen a big increase in gym memberships. I think you’re part of the reason why. Guys like a hardcore gym where they can get a good workout, and where they can stare at a pretty girl. So, it’s been great, but not in the way I expected.”

I blushed at the pretty girl remark. I felt good. I was enjoying the show I was putting on, and so were the guys at the gym, and I was getting free gym clothes, too. Win-win.

While talking to Rich, I noticed a man I hadn’t seen before, thumbing through a rack of shorts. He was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair. I glanced at him discreetly several times, and I saw, curiously, that he never once looked at me.

Rich saw me looking at the guy.

“That’s Dave,” he said. “New member. Owns the BMW dealership down the street. Loaded. You might be the reason he joined.” Rich laughed. “A couple of the salesmen that work for him joined a few weeks ago, and I overheard them talking about the ‘hot redhead.’ You. Two days later, Dave showed up, asking about a membership.”

“Well, I doubt I had anything to do with it,” I said. “He hasn’t looked at me once.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, Tiffany,” Rich said. “I’ve said it to you before: you’re better-looking than you realize. Look out for him. I hear he’s a real player.”

I could have used some good play time. I wasn’t getting much at home. The gym sessions were fun, but they weren’t giving me any sexual relief, and with Rodney so inattentive back at the house I found myself more and more often rubbing one out in the shower, by myself. These days, I was hornier than ever.

Rich was right: there had been an influx of new members, and the gym was getting more crowded. Most of the newbies were guys. I started seeing Dave at the workouts. I couldn’t help but notice him. He was movie-star handsome, with a square jaw and gray eyes, and a fit body sculpted by well-defined muscles. He often seemed to work out at the same time I did. But the funny thing was, he never looked at me. Oh, our eyes met occasionally. But I never, ever caught him ogling my body. I wondered if maybe Rich was wrong, and that he was gay.

I became aware, over the two weeks after Dave had joined, that I was making a special effort to show off for him. I didn’t want to be too obvious about it, but I knew I was. I arched my back a little more when he was around. I made a point of sticking my butt out a little farther when he was in the gym, and always in his direction. It became a challenge to me to catch him staring at me. But I never did. It was frustrating.

All my time and effort showing off in the gym may not have attracted Dave’s attention, but it did have other effects.

For one thing, it attracted everybody else’s attention. I could tell. If I looked in the full-length mirrors that covered the walls, I could catch guys sneaking glances at my body while I worked out, especially at my butt. So, I spent a lot of time doing exercises facing the full-length mirror on the wall, showing off my butt to the rest of the room behind me. It became a game: counting how many times I could catch guys sneaking furtive glimpses at my butt. I grew to love it.

It sounds pathetic, I know, like I was a low self-esteem gym Barbie desperate for the attention of horny guys. But I was getting so little attention at home from my boyfriend. I’d never gotten attention from guys like this. I’d never thought of myself this way my entire life. I felt like an actor playing a new role every time I stepped in the gym. And I loved it, I must admit. It boosted my confidence.

It did wonders for my physique, too. I didn’t just show off my ass, I worked the hell out of it. I lost count of how many thousands of sets of planks and squats and lunges I did. And all that exercise worked: although I lost some fat in my backside, I made up for it with muscle, and I sculpted my butt into a delicious, smooth, hard little bubble.

I never wore panties under my form-fitting shorts. I liked the feel of lycra, or whatever the space-age fabric was, on my skin. I shaved regularly, to keep myself smooth under the skin-tight, razor-thin fabric.

And I started getting ideas. Sexy ideas. With so much of my attention focused on my smooth, shaven butt, and with so many guys’ eyes focused on it at every workout as well, I started thinking about… well… butt sex. I’d never had it. Not once. When I was young, the idea seemed weird and distasteful. But I had girlfriends who had tried it and said it was fun. As time went by my opposition to it fell away, but opportunities never arose. My boyfriends didn’t express interest. One looked like he’d been snake-bit when I suggested it. So, when I started dating Rodney, I never brought the subject up. Rodney’s approach to sex, though reasonably enthusiastic when we started dating, was highly “vanilla.” He never struck me as an anal sex kind of guy. And I never asked.

One day before starting my workout I asked Rich if I could pick out my own outfit to wear that day, and he said, “Yes.”

I picked the smallest, sexiest outfit I could find. I found the tiniest shorts Rich sold, in pale blue, which I thought would go well with my red hair. I found a matching, equally revealing bra top. I wore no panties of any kind under the shorts, and they and the bra clung to my body like a second skin.

Dave already was in the gym when I entered and started doing my workout. I put on more of a show than usual, stretching in an exaggerated way on the blue mats near where he was lifting free weights, and running faster and bouncier than normal on the treadmill. When it came time to start lifting weights, I took my position at the bench press. I pressed my butt and shoulders against the black bench and pressed my tummy and chest forward before putting my hands on the bar. The weight was a bit heavy for me, but I thought I could manage it, and I wanted Dave to see my body straining against the barbell loaded with heavy metal plates. I knew that the shorts mounded tightly over my pussy and the strain of my nipples against the thin bra fabric formed noticeable dimples.

I steadied my hands against the barbell and prepared myself to lift. My body clenched.

“Do you need somebody to spot you?” I heard a deep voice ask.

It was Dave, standing over me, to the side, looking me in the eyes. He didn’t look at my body, although I wanted him to.

“Sure,” I said. I was glad he offered. It would be good to get the help, and now he’d be forced to stand over me. There was no way he could help looking at my body now.

I lifted the barbell up, off its rack, and lowered it to my chest. Dave kept his hands steady just under the bar without touching it. I thrust my back, shoulders, and arms up, in unison, forcing the barbell and weights above me until the arms were extended.

The weight of the bar forced my attention to what I was doing, keeping me from checking out Dave much, but I snuck a few glances at him to see if he was looking at my body. No luck. He was focused on the bar. I was glad he was there, because I couldn’t have finished the final rep without his help.

I sat up, chest heaving in an exaggerated way, after I was done.

“I’m Dave,” he said.

“Tiffany,” I said.

“Rich’s model,” he said. He smiled with a hint of mischief in his face when he said it.

The directness of the comment flustered me.

“I’m no model,” I said. “Rich asked me to wear gym clothes from his store to help promote them. I get the stuff free.”

“So, you’re getting paid to show off,” Dave said. “That’s a nice gig.”

“It’s not like that –”

“It sounds exactly like that,” he said, drawing closer, his face intent, but with that same sly smile. “I can tell you like to show off. Your butt, especially. You show your butt off around here all the time.”

Dave’s words, and the directness with which he said them, flustered me. I didn’t know what to say. I’d gotten accustomed in the gym to the guys being nervous around me, rather than me around them. But Dave wasn’t nervous at all. I wanted to argue with him. But I couldn’t. He was right.

“There’s nothing wrong with showing off your butt, especially one like yours. You’ve got a great butt. It’s one of the things that makes coming to this gym worthwhile.”

I didn’t know what to say, again. I blushed. I wanted to say something, but Dave spoke before I could.

“By the way, your butt’s looking really cute in those new shorts you’re wearing.”

His comment both irked and flattered me. I found myself disarmed by his directness and could only stammer a faint reply.

“Uh, thanks. I guess.”

“No problem. Turn around so I can see it better.”

I don’t know why I didn’t tell him to buzz off, or say something similar, but I didn’t. Without thinking about what I was doing, and still pleased, against my better judgment, at having heard my butt described as “cute”, I turned around until my cute, round, freshly gym-sculpted butt faced him.

“That’s a sweet butt. Listen, it’s nice to talk, Tiffany, but I’ve got to take off,” Dave said. “See you later.” I turned back toward him, but by that time he’d already turned away, and in a few seconds, he was out the door. He left me next to the bench feeling small and exposed and frustrated. He’d seen right through me, and I had nothing to say. He’d told me — not even asked me! — to show him my butt, and I’d done so. I shook my head. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me.

When Dave left, I had the gym to myself, surprisingly. All the talk about my butt left me feeling horny, and a naughty idea suddenly popped into my head. I spun around on the bench, so I was facing both the barbell and the mirror beyond the bench. I raised my legs and draped my ankles over the barbell, spreading my legs wide. I leaned back but sat up on my elbows, so I could see myself — and my butt especially — in the mirror. Then I got really naughty. I raised my butt off the bench and pulled the tiny shorts off my waist to my thighs. Now, looking in the mirror ahead, I saw the slit of my bare pussy and my tiny, puckered asshole, completely exposed. I’d never spent much time looking at my asshole before.

I heard voices getting louder and quickly pulled my shorts back over my bottom. I resumed my workout.

The next few times I ran into Dave at the gym, we chatted. I got to know more about him, and I told him about myself. I mentioned Rodney. He obviously was attentive to my words, so I tried to be careful about what I said. But I always had the feeling with Dave that I told him whatever he wanted to know about me despite my best efforts to be discreet.

“So, this boyfriend,” Dave said to me during a conversation one day, “Does he know about your modeling gig? How does he feel about your showing off your body in skimpy outfits in a gym full of horny guys?”

I still couldn’t get accustomed to the way he talked to me. My voice kept sounding small and halting after his.

“He doesn’t know,” I said. “He knows I come to the gym, and that’s all.”

“He’s never come here?”

“Rodney? No. He’s not the gym type.”

“What type is he? If you don’t mind my saying so, he doesn’t sound like much of a boyfriend.”

“It’s not like that,” I said. “I mean, we don’t always do things together, but he’s a good partner. He pays the mortgage and the bills.”

“Ah,” Dave said. “He’s a sugar daddy. Nice.”

I was shocked.

“Dave, that’s not appropri–”

“Spare me. I can see it. I can tell. I’m right. He’s your sugar daddy.”

“Dave, that’s not nice. I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he said. “You’re exactly that kind of girl. There’s a name for it, but we don’t need to say it.”

I wanted to slap him, but he turned and walked away before I could respond. I stewed in the gym after he left, but a little voice sounded inside me to counter my indignation.

It said, “He’s right, kind of.” The only reason I was still with Rodney was that he was giving me a free place to stay. But a sugar daddy got sex out of it, didn’t he? If so, he wasn’t much of a sugar daddy, because we weren’t having much sex. I wasn’t, however, going to say that to Dave.

That night, feeling horny but also wanting to prove Dave wrong, I decided to sex it up at home. I got home well before Rodney did, and I made chicken parmigiana. Rodney loved Italian food, and cooking was the surest way to get a kind word from him. I was a good cook, too, and I liked cooking for other people. I spiced things up by wearing black heels and a little black panty and thong set under my cooking apron.

For a while, it seemed to work. Rodney told me I looked sexy, and he heaped praise on dinner. It didn’t take too much coaxing to get him into the bedroom afterward. I did a little striptease for him. I seemed to have his attention. We got naked in bed together, and after enjoyable minutes of writhing and foreplay passed things were heading in the inevitable direction, when I decided to test the waters and try to steer things a different way.

I got on all fours, turned away from Rodney, with my newly sculpted, naked bubble butt turned up toward his face.

“Mmmmm,” he hummed, appreciatively.

“You like it?” I asked.

“I love it, babe,” he said. He began to stroke my wet pussy with his fingers. It felt heavenly, but I craved a different sensation.

“You can move your fingers up if you like,” I said.

Rodney ran his fingers from my clit into the groove of my pussy.

“Not there,” I said. “Higher.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“My butt. Touch my little butt hole,” I said.

“Uh, Tiffany,” Rodney said. “I’m not really into that.”

“Why don’t we try it?” I asked. “We’ve never done it there. Touch me and I’ll let you fuck me there. In my ass.”

“Ewww,” he said. “Not appealing. Let’s not go there.”

We didn’t go there. Instead, after a minute or so of more foreplay we settled into the usual routine. I climbed on top of him. Rodney liked me to ride him in the cowgirl position. I guessed it was because he could lie back and not do anything. It was the lazy man’s sex position. It felt fine, but I was frustrated with his refusal to fuck me where I wanted it, and I didn’t really enjoy it. When Rodney came, I pretended to come too, and we finished and then watched TV until it was time for bed.

Later, in bed, Rodney fell asleep right away, and I lay in bed awake for a long time, upset. I had to get out of my relationship with Rodney. It wasn’t satisfying, and it wasn’t going anywhere. But my current part-time job put me on a limited budget, and I’d have to find a way to make it work on my own with limited resources.

A few days later, near the end of a workout at the end of the day, Dave walked toward me as I was finishing a set of overhead shoulder presses with two dumbbells. We were the last ones in the gym. My body was covered in a film of sweat.

“Hey, Tiff, can I talk to you for a minute?”

He looked around the gym, apparently to confirm we were alone.

“Sure, Dave, what’s up?”

“It’s like this,” he said. He walked close to me in a conspiratorial manner. The manly scent of his sweat hit my nostrils. I liked it a lot.

“I know about my reputation. Some people call me an asshole. Especially with women. Maybe you think I’m an asshole. But I’m not. Not really. I’m just very direct. If I want something, I ask for it. People can say yes; people can say no. But I’m going to ask. That’s the way I am about everything: business, friendships, love, sex.” He put extra emphasis on the last word. He paused.

My curiosity was at a high pitch. He didn’t say anything right away. He looked closely at me, as though to determine once and for all if he was making the right decision about something.

The tension in the air was, shall we say, very high.

“Spit it out, Dave,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”

“OK, Tiff, here it is,” he said. “You know I like your ass, right?”

“Uh huh,” I said, in a small, quavering voice. I wanted to tell him to stop talking that way, or to go to hell, but I didn’t find those words.

“I want to fuck it,” he said. “I want to fuck you in the ass, Tiffany. What do you say?”

My shock was complete.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“You know what I said. I want to fuck you in the ass.”

“Dave,” I said. “That’s not funny. It’s offensive.”

“Hear me out,” he said, holding his hand up. “Like I said, I’m direct. I call it as I see it. You’ve been showing your butt off to me for weeks. Don’t deny it. It’s a great butt. I’ll bet you’re sex- starved with that loser boyfriend of yours.”

“He’s not a –”

“Tiffany, enough,” he said, with force. I stopped talking.

“I mean what I say. I want to fuck you in the ass. You’re free to say ‘no.’ But I think you’d like it. I’ve seen you check me out. I can see the way you’re looking at me right now. You can deny it, but then you’re just lying to me, and probably lying to yourself. Let’s do this.”

“Dave,” I said, stammering, “I don’t know you that well, and I’m seeing somebody. What you’re asking is offensive and it’s out of the question.”

“You need this, Tiffany,” he said, his voice firm and clear and his eyes steady on mine.

“How in the world would you know what I need?” I asked, trying to sound as indignant as I could.

“I sell luxury cars, Tiffany,” he said. “It’s my job to know what people need.”

“Dave –”

“I’ll pay you,” he said. His dark eyes bored into me. I felt them piercing through all my defenses and insecurities, felt his gaze laying my innermost needs and wants bare. It took an extreme effort to regroup and put up some resistance.

I was aware, in some vague way, that I should slap him for what he just said to me, but I didn’t. I couldn’t move my hands. I could barely move my lips.

“That’s not funny,” I said, after a while.

“I didn’t mean it as a joke, Tiffany,” Dave said. He paused again. “Ten thousand dollars.”

If I was surprised before, I was shocked beyond words now. Ten thousand dollars? To fuck me in the ass? He might as well have said ten million, for all the money I had in my bank account at that moment.

I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it. My mind started spinning over what ten thousand dollars would mean to my life. I could pay off my late credit card bill. I could move out of the place with Rodney and get my own apartment. That meant getting out of my dead-end relationship with Rodney. It would be like a pot of gold laid at my feet.

But I couldn’t do it. It was an insulting and offensive offer, no matter what it could do to improve my life.

“That is really obnoxious, Dave,” I said. “I’m going to try to pretend you never said that.”

“I don’t think you’ll be successful,” he said. He handed me a business card. “My number is on the card. You can call or text anytime with your answer. Even if you want to just text me to go to hell.”

I took the card, although a voice inside told me I should drop it on the floor. Once again, I didn’t know why I acted the way I did with Dave. I wasn’t accustomed to any man talking to me the way he did. He was so forceful. And handsome and rich. A part of me was flattered by his attention, even after all the nasty talk.

With a little effort, I turned away and started walking out of the gym.

“I meant it, Tiffany,” Dave said as I walked away. “I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars if you let me fuck you in the ass.”

I turned back to him and gave him my middle finger.

“Think about it,” he said, with a smirk. And then I left.

* * * *

I gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles as I drove home from the gym. I fumed at Dave — and at myself. At Dave, because of the outrageous offensiveness of what he’d said to me. At myself, because I couldn’t help but think that in some way, I had invited him to talk to me that way through my pattern of shameless behavior over the previous weeks.

When I pulled up to the driveway and stopped the car in front of the house, I pulled out my phone and his card. I texted Dave.

> What you said was very offensive.

I waited for a minute or two to get a response but didn’t get one at first. I exited the car and closed the door behind me when the familiar “ping” sounded. I looked at the phone screen.

< You didn’t say no.

I was so angry I almost threw the phone to the ground, but I stopped myself from doing so at the last second. I didn’t reply. I entered the house, boiling mad.

The house was quiet. Rodney wasn’t home yet. I decided that being angry at Dave for being an asshole wasn’t going to help me in anyway, so I would focus on the evening ahead.

I showered and after drying myself off primped a little in front of the bathroom mirror. I wanted to look good for Rodney. I thought a hot lingerie set might be overdoing it, so instead I pulled on a cute, short, tight-fitting dress and strapped my feet into a pair of chunky-heeled pumps. I turned around to look at my backside in the mirror, and I had to admit to myself that the tight dress molded my butt exquisitely. It wasn’t big, but it bubbled out from the dress in a cute, sexy way. Even Rodney would have to notice that!

I clopped over the fake wood floor to the kitchen in my heels and made dinner: spaghetti with marinara sauce and Italian sausage, bread, salad, and a bottle of red wine I’d stashed in the cupboard for a special occasion.

Rodney showed up half an hour later than I expected.

I left the kitchen to surprise Rodney with my outfit, hoping to impress him. His eyes widened on seeing me, so I knew I made at least some kind of impression.

“Wow, babe,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”

I approached him and wrapped my hands around his waist.

“I thought maybe we could have some fun this evening.”

I didn’t get the response I expected. He stood back from me with a frown.

“Sorry, Tiffany, but I’m really tired after work today. I’d like to just sit on the sofa for a while and watch the game. We can eat while we watch. Maybe we can have some fun after the game.”

So, we ate my delicious spaghetti in front of a basketball game, on TV trays. I wasn’t interested in the game at all. I was deflated, and glum. I looked really good — I knew it — but Rodney’s eyes were glued to the screen and the game.

After a few hours, and a finished meal and a few glasses of wine, we managed to have some fun. Or an attempt at fun. I pulled Rodney to the bedroom and pushed him back on the bed. I purred and cooed. He said some appreciative things, like “You look hot tonight.” But he seemed tired, and his words came a little slurry from the wine.

Eventually, our clothes came off, and we had sex. Rodney had me climb on top of him and ride him. He had an orgasm, but I didn’t. I couldn’t shake how disappointing it all was. I looked better than ever from all the gym work, and I was dressed as hot as ever, too, but Rodney just didn’t get that excited.

After coming, Rodney quickly fell asleep, leaving me to sulk in dissatisfaction. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I pulled something out of the nightstand drawer and walked to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me.

I looked at what I’d brought with me — a dildo. I chose that rather than a vibrator so Rodney wouldn’t hear me. Not that he’d probably notice anyway, because he slept like the dead, especially after a few drinks.

I took all my clothes off, and I hung them over a towel rack. A full-length mirror covered most of the inside of the door, and I looked over my body. I had to admit — I looked good. If Rodney couldn’t get excited or responsive enough to please me, looking like this, I wasn’t sure what more I could do.

I pulled a bottle of lube outside a drawer and sunk to the floor, facing the mirror, with my legs apart. I poured some lube over the head of the dildo and spread it up and down its length with my hand. In a few minutes I figured I’d be able to make myself come, Rodney or no Rodney.

I spread my legs a little more and lay back as well, propped up on one elbow, dildo tip poised outside my waiting pussy. But then I stopped. Underneath the waiting and slightly open slit of my pussy lay something else — the virgin star of my anus. Crowned in faintly crinkled and slightly darker skin than the skin around it, it seemed to stare back at me, forbidden, mysterious, and tantalizing.

I moved the dildo tip from my pussy to my asshole. And I pushed.

Wow, did I get some resistance. My virgin ass didn’t give a quarter of an inch at first. The gate was closed fast.

But I kept pushing. It was mesmerizing to watch the dildo against my naked flesh in the mirror. The dildo was baby blue, and it looked good against the pale, peachy skin of my butt and the darker ring of skin around my asshole. I spread my legs wider, hoping to stretch the anus hole so it would let the dildo in more easily. I couldn’t believe how lewd and exposed I looked! But it was hot. I was turned on. I kept pushing the glass rod against my hole. It wasn’t even that big a dildo. I wasn’t a big girl, down there. My body pushed back against it for a while.

Finally, after numerous attempts and massaging, the glass blue tip popped into my butt hole.

Oh, my goodness, that felt different. It was nothing at all like a dildo in the pussy. It wasn’t painful, and it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it felt… foreign. Like, it kind of felt good, but it also felt like it didn’t quite belong there. I mean, the butthole was supposed to be an exit, not an entrance, right?

But I was determined to make it an entrance, so I kept pushing. The dildo slipped in, farther. It wasn’t a big or wide dildo, but I felt a thick, strange fullness in my butt when it went in that I never quite felt with my pussy. Nerves were set off that had never been set off before.

I put more pressure against the back of the dildo and shoved. Slicked by lube and spurred on by the pressure of my hand, it went in. All the way in.

My ass was stuffed. For the first time in my life.

I wasn’t sure what to make of the feeling. It was completely different from the feeling of a cock or toy in my pussy. That felt natural. This felt… unnatural. Like a foreign invasion. But not bad. Good, actually. But strange-good.

I had to try it more to make sure. So, I withdrew the toy and watched closely as its length left my asshole. When it was nearly all the way out, with just a fraction of an inch still inside my asshole, I pushed back in.

“Ohhhh,” I said out loud on the bathroom floor. “Fuck yes.”

I fucked my ass with the dildo, starting slowly but soon quickening the pace.

Slowly, I became accustomed to the feeling. I began to enjoy it. While one hand stroked the dildo in and out of my asshole, another hand dipped down to my clit and began mashing against it.

“Unnnh,” I said, more loudly than I intended. I didn’t want Rodney to hear me.

I experimented with the position of the dildo as it entered me. Sometimes I pushed it this way, and sometimes I pushed it that way. I discovered that if I pushed the head up, toward my pussy, it gave me extra pleasure. I felt pressure against something inside me that made me want to come.

I put two fingers of my other hand in my pussy and pushed them as deeply as I could. My fingertips felt the pressure of the dildo in my anus. It was wild. I’d never felt anything like it before and had never imagined a feeling like that. Two objects in my holes, pressuring each other through a thin layer of flesh. It was pleasurable, in a way, but it was a pleasure I had to adjust to.

The longer the dildo pushed into the depths of my ass, the less strange it seemed.

I wondered what Rodney would think to see me on the bathroom floor, pushing the slender rod into my ass. He’d probably be appalled. Or maybe he wouldn’t even care. I wasn’t sure what Rodney thought about me at all.

I imagined his face, watching me as the dildo moved swiftly in and out of my anus. And then Rodney’s face turned pale and indistinct, and it gave way to another face: Dave’s face. I imagined Dave watching me, fucking my ass with a dildo, and his face was both eager and insolent, his eyes wide and his mouth twisted into a smirky smile.

Dave, I knew, would like seeing me on the bathroom floor with my legs splayed wide and a piece of rubber up my asshole. Rodney might look at me, aghast, but Dave would look at me with pleasure. It would confirm everything he thought about me — I was an ass toy, ready to be played with. He’d laugh at me. Then he’d fuck my ass, just like he said he wanted to do.

The thought of Dave’s laugh spurred me to pump the dildo into my hole harder and faster. With my free hand I frigged my clit, and within my minutes the orgasm shook me. I barely contained myself from crying out. My body spasmed on the bathroom floor.

“Tiffany, you in there?” Rodney called, rapping lightly at the bathroom door.

I freaked out. I hoped I’d remembered to lock the door. Thank God, I did, because I heard the knob twist as Rodney tried to come in.

“I’ll be right out!” I called in a shaky voice.

“What are you doing?” Rodney asked from the other side of the door.

“Just girl stuff,” I said, improvising.

“OK,” he replied. I heard footsteps as he walked away.

I knew “girl stuff” would make Rodney scram. Rodney’s curiosity had its limits, and I knew enough about them to know that if I said I was involved in “girl stuff” he wouldn’t ask any questions. I was sure he was off to play his video games again, or to go to sleep.

With Rodney out of the picture, and my orgasm completed, I spread my legs open again while lying on the bathroom floor, and I looked at myself in the mirror. My asshole was exposed, framed by a crinkly circle of flesh darker than the rest of my skin. It gaped open, just a bit.

To be honest, I’d never paid much attention to my asshole before. It didn’t seem like something worth paying attention to. It had never seemed sexy to me. But now it did. I felt wanton and wild with my recently violated butthole facing the mirror and my legs in the air. I felt like a different person. I liked this different person. I wanted to further explore what it was like to be this new, different person.

Eventually, I got up off the floor and I showered, scrubbing my entire body with loofa and soap, attending with extra care and vigor to the intimate space between my butt cheeks.

When I got out of the shower, I couldn’t stop thinking about how arousing and fun it had been to play with my ass for the first time. It didn’t take long for my thoughts to trend in another direction: I wanted someone else to play with my ass. I didn’t just want a dildo up there; I wanted a cock. A hard, sexy man’s cock.

* * * *

A few days passed. Things with Rodney got no better. My bank account balance didn’t improve. I felt glum and unsatisfied. Only the gym, and the wonders it did for my fitness and for the attention I got from men, buoyed my spirits.

I didn’t see much of Dave, and when I did see him, he didn’t pay much attention to me. We exchanged a few words now and then, but the subject of my ass never came up.

I felt horny. I itched between my legs, and between my cheeks. I wanted something I didn’t have. Rodney’s inattention and my dwindling bank account kindled my unfamiliar desires like logs thrown on a fire.

One night, past Rodney’s bedtime but before mine, frustrated and fueled by self-pity and two glasses of cheap wine, I finally texted Dave.

> OK.

It only took two minutes for him to reply.

< OK what?

My fingers danced in the air over my phone before hitting my reply.

> I accept your proposal.

I waited in agony for the next five minutes. I felt like he was dangling me like a spider over a fire. I felt helpless and exposed. I felt pissed off at him because of his insolence. And I hated myself a little because I so dearly craved his attention and approval and desire for me. But I waited, staring at my phone. Eventually his reply came back.

< Good. You made the right decision. You will not regret it. Wait, and you will get my instructions.

That was all. We had no more communications that night. I crept into the bedroom, softly so as not to wake up Rodney, and I took my place in our king bed, but I lay as far from Rodney as I could, staring into the darkness of the room away from him, and every particle of me was aflame with shame and arousal flickering in equal measure.

* * * *

And then, for a few more days… nothing.

I heard no more from Dave. I didn’t see him at the gym. After two days I began to wonder if his proposal was just a sick practical joke. I was sullen and quiet at the gym, at work, and at home with Rodney. Rodney didn’t seem to notice. He talked all the time about a project he was working on for his company, and when he wasn’t doing that he was eating the meals I cooked for him or playing Fornite.

After a few days I was in the kitchen cooking a pork tenderloin from a recipe I’d pulled from online when I heard the front door shut and Rodney’s voice call out.

“Hey, Tiffany. You got a package. From Fed Ex.”

My insides turned over. I skipped out of the kitchen and greeted Rodney, gave him a peck on the cheek, and took the package away. It was big.

“What is it?” he asked.

I didn’t know, for certain. But I hadn’t ordered anything, and deep down I knew who it was from and what it was about. But I couldn’t tell the truth to Rodney. I made something up.

“Just a bunch of cosmetics I ordered.”

I knew that would extinguish any faint flame of interest Rodney had in the package. I set the package aside and made dinner and plowed through an hour of painful small talk with Rodney while he ate the food I cooked for him.

I was fed up with Rodney. Done. All through dinner I thought about the package sitting and waiting on the little table in the hallway. I knew — I just knew — who sent it. The package, and whatever was inside it, interested me far more than anything Rodney had to say.

I urged Rodney to have extra helpings of wine at and after dinner. I knew it would make him sleepy. Sure enough, it did, and he trudged off to the bedroom while I was still wide awake.

When Rodney shut the bedroom door behind him, I cleaned up the kitchen and then ran to the package. I took it to the bathroom off the hallway where Rodney wouldn’t hear me, and I tore it open.

Inside the package lay another package, with an envelope fastened to it. The name “Tiffany” was written on the envelope, in meticulous, neat, script handwriting.

I tore open the envelope and threw it to the floor. A note lay inside. It said:

“Tiffany:

“I’m glad you accepted my proposal. You will not regret doing so. Inside this package you will find some things. Use them exactly as I instruct you in this letter.

“First, before you read any further, open the package and lay the contents before you.”

I did as Dave instructed. I ripped the interior package open in a frenzy. Shredded cardboard and paper soon littered the bathroom floor. When I was done, four see-through plastic bags lay on the floor in front of me, marked 1, 2, 3, and 4 in thick black ink.

I stared at the contents, and my jaw dropped, and I’m sure I would have looked stupid or drunk or something to anyone who had the chance to see me. Thank God, no one did.

Bag 1 contained three butt-plugs, of different sizes, and a bottle of lube. One small, one medium, one large. The large one looked ridiculously large. Like, no-way-was-that-going-to-fit-in-my-body large. All three were made of stainless steel, tear-drop-shaped, with pink glass jewels at their exposed ends.

Bag 2 contained a razor, a small hand mirror, and shaving cream.

Bag 3 contained an enema kit in a neat little cardboard box. Holy shit.

Bag 4 contained the skimpiest booty shorts and sport bra combo I had ever seen, in bright Kelly green.

When I was done staring and swearing and gasping at the four bags in front of me, I turned my attention back to the letter.

It resumed:

“Tiffany, you are a petite woman, though you have a nice-sized butt. I’m a large man. You will need to prepare your ass for me before we get together. Use the small butt plug first, and then the second, and make sure you are comfortable with the large one before our day together starts. Text me when you move up to each one.

“I insist that you completely shave yourself before our meeting. All hair must be removed — above and around your vagina and in particular every hair around your asshole. I want it totally smooth. If it does not pass my inspection, we will not go forward, and you will not get paid.

“On the day we meet, follow the instructions for the enema kit. I insist that you must be clean and ready to go.

“Finally, you will wear the outfit I am sending you to the gym. I will let you know exactly when. I’ve made arrangements with Rich. The gym will be closed to everyone but us that evening. Wear nothing underneath.”

My heart sank and I felt mortified, again. Dave had told Rich about our arrangement. I hadn’t expected our encounter to take place at the gym. I figured it would be at Dave’s house.

I felt like I was sinking deeper and deeper into a hole of depravity and surrender. But… I have to admit this… I liked all the attention. I liked the effort Dave had gone to. He’d planned it down to the last detail and I sizzled inside with the knowledge that I warranted so much of his attention. It made me feel good, and special, and hot.

It didn’t take me long to reply, on my phone.

> Got your package.

This time he took only a minute to reply.

< Good. I will text you soon about when this will happen. Follow my instructions to the letter to get ready before that time.

I texted him back, meekly and compliantly.

> OK.

* * * *

Another day passed without contact with Dave. I went to the gym and didn’t see him. I kept looking at my phone waiting for a message and didn’t see one.

The daily routine continued: working out at the gym in my skimpy outfits, enjoying the stares of the male members, and stewing inside over the inattention of my pseudo-boyfriend.

Finally, the message came.

< Wednesday at 7 pm. Between now and then, use the butt plug. Shave everything off. A few hours before our meeting, use the enema kit as instructed. Then dress in the outfit I gave you and your black ASICS workout shoes and matching socks and meet me at the gym.

I’d grown so accustomed to Rodney’s sloppy and mostly indifferent way of doing things that it was odd — but not entirely unpleasant — to deal with Dave’s overpoweringly insistent, demanding, and meticulous instructions. There was no beating around the bush, so to speak, with Dave. He wanted me, and he wanted me in a very particular way.

I reconciled myself to the idea that I was going to give myself to him. I was going to surrender my virgin asshole to his cock. I wondered what it looked like, and just how big it was.

A pall of nervous and restless anticipation settled over me as I waited for Wednesday to come around. I felt an uneasy — yet thrilling — crackle in the air everywhere I went. And I grew more aware than ever of the nerves around that little tawny bullseye between my ass cheeks. Many times a day I felt the urge to sneak a finger under my dress or my pants to touch it, and a few times a day I did. It tickled deliciously. It was weird — like I’d become acquainted for the first time with a part of my body after 29 years of living with it.

Two days before B-Day, as I’d come to think of it (“B” for Butt), I tried on the shorts and bra top ensemble. Oh my God it was skimpy. I’d worn some skimpy outfits in Rich’s gym, but this one made me look like I was ready for a performance at a stripper bar. The shorts were low on the waist and high on the butt cheeks. The bra top had little straps and minimal support and showed off tons of cleavage, and the pert buttons of my nipples pushed out conspicuously under the micro-thin spandex. I didn’t dare show Rodney because he’d get suspicious about what I was doing at the gym. Little did he know.

I tried the butt plugs, too. I started with the little one, and it was manageable, its head at its widest point just a little wider than the dildo I’d shoved up my butt a few days earlier. With my butt still amply lubed, I pushed the middle-sized one in, and that one was more of a challenge. I felt my sphincter stretched wide as I pushed vigorously, and my breaths came sharp and fast. I had to try hard not to make noise on the bathroom floor that Rodney might hear. At least it was in, and I sighed with relief.

But I knew there was one more, and I wondered about that. The steel plug inside me already was a lot for my little anus to take, but Dave insisted I try the big one to prepare for him. Could he really be that big? The one in me was, no question, enough practice for me to take Rodney up my ass, not that he’d ever want to be there.

I stared at the pink-capped plug in my ass in the bathroom mirror, lying naked on the floor, legs in the air, looking, I thought, as slutty and wonton as I ever had in my life. A feeling of chagrin mixed with utter delight swept over me.

What was I thinking?

I pushed the thought out of the way and grabbed hold of the middle-sized butt plug cap and pulled. The bulb of the head was all the way in, and it took some good pulling to get it past the sphincter going the other way. My ass popped loudly when the plug left me. Where the plug had been, a pink open hole remained, not fully closed, its depths disappearing into blackness inside me.

My asshole, I thought. Where I was to be fucked on Wednesday.

Since Wednesday would come soon, I tried the big plug. My goodness, it was big. I doused it with extra lube. I grabbed it firmly, aimed it at my partly gaping pole, and I thrust it forward.

Argh, that was difficult. The tip of the plug went in, easily enough, but as I kept pushing it grew wider against the tight, resistant ring of my anus. I didn’t think it was going to make it. I gasped, and I even called out, “Shit, Dave!” But at last, the boundary of my asshole slipped past the plug’s widest point, and then the plug slipped in fast, settling into place and stretching me wide.

It was an unsettling feeling, and it was hard not to think I was supposed to push hard down below to expel the invader. But I didn’t. I welcomed it, knowing it would help prepare me for the event to come.

“Dave,” I said out loud, to my nude self in the mirror, as I rotated the steel, lubed-up plug inside me.

Gradually, my backside grew accustomed to, and even fond of, the big plug inside me. I was filled in a way I’d never been filled before. No cock or toy had ever felt this way in my pussy.

I writhed around on the bathroom floor like an amateur contestant at a Spring Break strip show, twisting my body in every direction, and admiring the sight of my naked figure in the mirror and the pink-capped plug shoved up between my cheeks. The thing was huge. And it turned me on like crazy. Slowly, my ass adjusted to its girth. Soon after that, it craved it.

Eventually, I stopped writhing, I pulled the big steel invader out of my ass, I cleaned up and put all my toys away, and I went to bed. Rodney snored loudly, as always, but I slept like a baby.

* * * *

Wednesday came and I took a day off work. Fortune smiled and Rodney left the house for a change to spend the day in his company’s office. I had the house to myself to get ready for the evening. I was giddy with excitement.

First, the shaving. I opened Bag number 2 and pulled out its contents. I took a shower and took extra time washing my pussy and backside with a hot washcloth. Then I turned off the water, lay on my back on the shower floor, and got to work with the razor. I had experimented with shaving my pubes before, but never with such care. I swept the razor lovingly across my skin, holding the little mirror just so to make sure I removed every single stray hair. It took a long time, but when I was done my pubes and ass were as smooth and shiny as a billiard ball.

I wandered restlessly around the house for a few hours, naked the whole time. I was hungry, not having eaten much in the last 24 hours. I drank a lot of water. I drummed my fingers on every available surface.

The afternoon plodded on and drew closer to the appointed hour, so I went back to the bathroom and pulled the enema kit out of Bag 3. I read the instructions three times. I’d never used one before. I won’t go into details, but what a strange sensation that was. When I was done, finally, I was sure that my cute little butthole was as smooth and shiny and clean as a butthole could be.

My appointment time finally approached, and I pulled on the green shorts and bra Dave wanted me to wear. I laced up my black ASICS shoes over little white ankle socks that had a tiny green stripe, and for good measure I added my own touch — two green hair bands that gathered my red hair into twin pigtails.

When I was done, I looked myself in the mirror. I didn’t know what to make of what I saw — a 29-year-old woman with an unfamiliar mix of cute and hot and naughty and whorish. To me, it didn’t look like me. But I was pretty sure it was what Dave wanted.

“He’s paying you for this,” I said to the girl in the mirror.

“You whore,” I said again, almost spitting at the image in front of me.

She didn’t say anything back, but she didn’t have to. My mind had been made up days before. I was determined to follow through with Dave’s plan, which had become my own.

When the time came, I exited the front door, aware that any neighbors looking my way would see me in my outrageous outfit, and I walked to my car in the driveway. Let them see me, I thought. I didn’t care anymore. I had an appointment I meant to keep.

It took me only a few minutes to get to the gym, and I pulled the car into a space in the small parking lot. Only two other cars occupied the lot. I recognized one as Rich’s car, and the other was a sleek black BMW sport coupe that I assumed was Dave’s. It was after hours, and I knew the gym was closed. The side door to the gym was still open, however, as Dave had texted me it would be, so I let myself in and walked through the small foyer to the main gym room. It was cavernous and quiet, and almost, but not quite, deserted. A solitary figure stood in the middle of it, masculine and still, staring at me: Dave. He wore black pants and a white shirt.

“Tiffany,” he said, and he smiled with a sincerity that surprised me. “Good to see you.”

I felt exposed, and a little ridiculous. I showed off a lot of skin in the green gym outfit Dave had bought for me. I wondered if Dave thought the pigtails looked silly.

Dave’s eyes scanned my body, top to bottom, slowly, and he let out a long, loud whistle.

I guessed he approved.

“Come here, Tiffany.”

I walked tentatively toward Dave, and I saw movement to the side. I turned, and it was me — my reflection. The gym walls were covered in mirrors, so I could see myself approach Dave, in every direction. I had to admit, I looked good. The gym ensemble was tiny and utterly form fitting. My nipples jutted forward, and my butt bubbled out perkily in back of me. During my time at the gym, I had gained confidence in my looks, and right now I looked about as yummy as I ever had. I could tell even Dave was impressed.

I approached him until I was just a foot away, and without further ado Dave swept one hand behind my waist and the other behind my pig-tailed red hair, and he pulled me toward him. He overpowered me with his strength and his ardor, and he kissed me on the lips, hard. It was a good, long, skillful kiss — the kiss of a man who was well-practiced at kissing women and knew what he was doing. I surrendered my body and my lips to him. I hadn’t been kissed like that in more days than I could count. Maybe never. I was surprised he didn’t use his tongue. I sensed Dave would do whatever he wanted to do with me whenever he wanted to do it, and that he was in no hurry. The hand on my waist descended to my butt, and it squeezed me there gently. I cooed with delight, through the kissing.

He pulled away from me and spun me around, so we both faced the same direction, staring at our reflections in the wall mirror. Dave stood behind me, in his impeccably pressed white shirt, and my skimpily clad body looked small and helpless in front of his. His hands were on my hips. I trembled. A tingle rose through my body, starting at the spot between my legs that no man had yet touched, but that this man soon would.

“I knew this color would be just right on you,” he said. “Tiffany.”

“You like to say my name. You say it a lot.”

“I do like it. I like you. You look hot. Exactly the way I wanted you to. The pigtails are a nice touch. I didn’t expect that.”

He laughed, and then he pointed to a white envelope with my name on it, on a black bench a few feet away.

“That’s your money. You can count it if you want.”

“I don’t need to do that,” I said. I spun around, facing him, and now it was my turn to reach up, put my arms around his neck and kiss him. He smiled when our kiss ended.

“You’re full of surprises. You want this, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.” My girlish voice sounded so wan and thin after his own deep, masculine baritone.

“Tiffany, you understand that for the next two hours your body will be mine — mine to play with, and to take pleasure in, and to do with whatever I want to? You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Dave.”

“Did you follow the instructions I gave you?”

“To the letter.”

“Good. I believe you, but in a minute, I’m going to inspect you to find out. Before today, your ass has never been fucked by a man, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“It’s going to be fucked, today, Tiffany. Fucked long and fucked hard. I’ll do other things to you, but your ass will be the main course. You’re surrendering it completely to me for the next two hours. Do you agree to that, without any reservations?”

“Yes, Dave.”

No man had ever talked to me about my body in this way. His words were foreign, and delicious, too.

He resumed sweeping his hands over my body. They ranged freely. A strong hand slid up my bare belly to a barely clad breast and he squeezed it. I felt the strength in his fingers. A whiff of his manly scent caught my nose. He kneaded my breast, pushing it up and down, side to side. The other hand mashed against and kneaded an ass cheek, and then it swept around to the front, and he cupped my pubic mound. I pushed back against him. He knew exactly where and how to touch me, and his long finger traced the line of my pussy over the micro-thin lycra shorts. His hands went where they would, grabbing me, caressing me, exploring me. I stood passively, enjoying my surrender. Already my arousal was high.

I heard a deep but soft growl well up from his chest.

“I have to see you.”

His hands went to my bra and pulled, and I held my arms over my head. The bra was tight on my body, so its removal was a bit awkward, and my breasts popped out when the bra finally lifted over them, bouncing at Dave. His eyes feasted on my rosy nipples and pale skin, and then he kissed and sucked on each one. He bit down, very gently, on each tit, and I squealed with glee. God, it felt so good.

He finished with my breasts, although my breasts wanted more, and he crouched. He pulled my shorts down and off without further ceremony, and I stood naked in front of him, clad now only in green hair ties, white and green socks, and black shoes.

He pointed at a black workout bench.

“Sit, Tiffany.”

“Yes, Dave.”

I sat, and then he pushed firmly but gently on my chest, and I lay back. He took an ankle in each hand and lifted them over me.

“Spread your legs wide, and back, as far as you can. I have to inspect you now.”

I did as I was told, and when my legs were splayed as far back and as far to the side as they would go, I knew that I was completely exposed to him — both of my holes laid bare to his eyes.

He said nothing at first, and his silence made me nervous. Dave had stared at my body and at my butt many times, but he’d never seen me naked. He’d never seen my pussy. He’d never seen the asshole he’d agreed to pay me to fuck. I hoped he approved. I wanted him to want my hole as much as it wanted his cock.

“Beautiful,” he said. I sighed. He approved.

Dave’s hands were elegant and well-manicured, but they were strong, too, and I felt them against the skin between my legs, caressing me and pulling me open.

“You did a good job. No hair. You are completely exposed to me, and the sensation will be better.”

A long finger tapped my clitoris and descended, tracing the furrow of my pussy.

“You have a beautiful pussy, Tiffany. Someday I will fuck that, too. Maybe I’ll pay you, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just fuck your pussy because I want to. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. You understand the dynamic. I bought you for two hours. Your ass belongs to me. That makes you a whore. An ass whore. You understand that, right?”

“Yes… Sir.”

“Sometimes over the next two hours, I’ll call you ‘whore.’ I may call you other things. I’ll call you whatever I want to, and you’ll respond with ‘Sir’ and do whatever I want you to do. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He pushed a finger into the depths of my pussy.

“I won’t fuck your pussy today. That’s for later. But I will play with it while I fuck your asshole.”

The finger wiggled inside me. He found my g-spot with no problem and tickled it. I moaned. I’d never been with a man who took control of my body so easily and wielded his hands on and in it with such expert skill.

“Now, let’s check out the main course.”

He withdrew his finger from my pussy and slowly traced it downward, to the perineum, and downward still. Finally, it settled over the little hole that no man had explored before. He tapped it a few times, and he traced the fingertip in a tight circle around it. It tickled, and my body spasmed.

“You have a pretty asshole, too, whore. I knew you would. I could tell. It looks tight. You used the butt plugs I sent you, didn’t you?”

“Yes… Sir.”

“Including the big one?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. That will help. I’m large. You’ll see that in a minute. You’ll need every bit of preparation you can get. It may be uncomfortable at first, but you’ll like it. Don’t you think you’ll like it when I fuck your ass, Tiffany?”

“Yes, I think so, Sir. But I’m nervous.”

“That’s understandable. You should be. It’s your first time. You’re an anal virgin. But not for long.”

Dave’s strong hands pushed my legs back more and his face descended, and I felt his hot breath on my asshole. My eyes widened when the tip of his tongue began encircling it, so softly that I almost couldn’t feel it. But I did. I was surprised. I hadn’t expected Dave to do that.

But he did it, and when the tongue was done circling it touched the bullseye of my anus and pressed forward. It flickered back and forth. His tongue felt surprisingly strong and hard against me. It withdrew for a few seconds, giving Dave time to spit on my tight hole, and then the tongue went back to work, spreading the spit around and using it to lubricate the path forward into me.

I’d never felt anything like this in my life — never really imagined what it would be like. It felt dirty, and alien. But it was also arousing beyond belief. Dave’s was tasting my asshole! His tongue lapped up its flavor. It pressed forward more, and the tight, closed hole gave way, just a little.

Dave pulled back.

“I can see this will be a challenge. You’re tight down there. I like that.”

He sat up on the bench and turned his attention to my face.

“Were you surprised I did that?”

“Yes… Sir.”

“I love anal. It’s like a delicacy for me. I’m a connoisseur of women’s anuses. You did a good job cleaning up down there. You taste great. I get off on that smell. That might the best anus I’ve ever seen or tasted. We’re going to have a lot of fun. Won’t we, whore?”

“Yes, Sir.”

With that, he took my shoes and socks off and he paired them tidily on the floor nearby.

“I’ll let you keep the hair ties on. I like that look.”

“I’m glad.”

He looked at me, with mock consternation.

“I’m glad, SIR,” I corrected.

“You are good, Tiffany. You catch on fast. What a good whore.”

“I want to be a good whore, Sir.”

“Well, we’ll find out how good you are in a minute.”

Dave stood up and undressed. He removed his clothes with great care and draped them with equal care over a nearby pullup bar. When his shirt came off and his chest was exposed, I couldn’t help but react with a start. I’d seen Dave in the gym many times and I knew he was buffed, but I didn’t expect the Adonis-like sculpture of muscle that he revealed. He removed his pants and hung them up too, very neatly, and stood before me in tight black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. He bulged conspicuously. I wasn’t the only one who was aroused.

With no further delay he shucked off the briefs, and the biggest cock I’d ever seen sprang forth, erect and standing out almost straight from his body. Its length and girth were intimidating. Immediately, my mind began fretting about how it would fit in me.

Dave walked to me, fully naked. I snuck a glance at the two of us in the wall mirror. We were two completely naked, hungry animals in an empty gym. Dave swaggered over to me like a jungle cat, like he was about to eat me, and in a way, I guessed he was. He grinned and his hard cock waved back and forth as he drew closer. It was an insolent cock, a confident cock. I wondered how many women’s holes it had plundered. My hole was next.

“You like my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’ll learn to love it. It’ll be big for you, at first, but if you were able to use the butt plugs, you’ll be OK.”

I hoped he was right.

“Flip over, Tiffany.”

“Sir?”

“On the bench. Get on your knees and elbows and stick your ass in the air.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I did as Dave asked, and I waited.

Silence fell over the gym room as Dave said and did nothing at first. The anticipation was nearly unbearable.

“God, I’ve always liked your ass, Tiffany. As soon as I saw it. I’d heard guys at the dealership talking about you. The redhead with the hot ass. They kept going on and on about you, so I had to check you out. And I did and your ass — it was just the way they talked about it. That perfect bubble.”

Without warning, he slapped my ass with an open palm. I shrieked.

“And you loved showing it off,” he continued. “You played the cute, demure, shy girl, but those workout outfits you got from Rich kept getting skimpier and skimpier, and you grew bolder and more obvious about showing off your butt to all the guys in the gym. You thought you were being coy and discreet, but I was on to you. I could tell how much you liked it. I saw the way you arched your back and stuck out your cute butt so everybody could see it. Especially me.”

He spanked me again, harder. This time I tried to stifle a response, but I couldn’t wholly stop a little cry coming from my mouth.

“You really put on a show for me. You constantly pointed your butt at me and posed for me. You wanted to get my attention, didn’t you?”

He spanked me again, and I gritted my teeth.

“Yes, I did. But you weren’t like the other guys. I could never catch you looking at me.”

“I know. I’m good at that. I sell luxury cars, remember? I know people’s psychology. I know what people want, and I know how to make that want grow and become a need, until I can get what I want from them. Then I pounce. I almost always get what I want.”

He slapped me once again, just as hard as before. I was starting to enjoy the pain, but I wondered how red my ass was getting.

“I’ll admit, Tiffany,” Dave continued, “I wondered at first if I acted too quickly with you. I knew you’d react negatively, at first, but I worried for a little while that I’d scared you off. I really was worried. I wanted your ass so bad, and I thought maybe I wasn’t going to get it.”

I was in a crazy state. I loved hearing that Dave had worried, even if only briefly, about not being able to fuck my ass.

“But here you are.”

He smacked me again, and I grimaced with pain and moaned with pleasure at the same time.

“Here I am… Sir.”

“It’s time to fuck you, Tiffany.”

Dave reached down, to a black bag on the floor I hadn’t noticed before, and he unzipped it and pulled something out. A bottle of lube.

“This stuff is the best,” he said. “It’ll loosen you right up.”

I looked in the mirror to see what he was doing. He held the squeeze bottle over my ass and popped open the cap and his hand closed and the lube spilled out in a steady stream, directly into my ass crack. It felt funny and goose bumps popped up all over my skin. The lube trickled down the gap between my cheeks. Dave poured some of it over his cock, and he set the bottle down. He spread it all over his shaft and then used his hands to mash it around and into the entrance of my asshole.

Dave glanced into the mirror and caught me staring at what he was doing.

“Do you want to see, Tiffany? Do you want to see my cock going into your ass?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“OK.”

Dave moved the bench so it was at a 45-degree angle from the mirror. He pushed down on my back and my ass popped up higher into the air. Then I felt it. For the first time ever, a man’s cock head touched and stood eager and erect at the entrance of my asshole. I felt the big bulb mash against my opening. I looked in the mirror again. I moved the leg closest to the mirror forward so I could see everything. Dave’s cock was like a flagpole. I couldn’t imagine how it would fit in me. I also knew that somehow or another, it would, because Dave was determined, and Dave had paid for my ass and Dave always got what he paid for.

One of his hands grabbed my ass, hard, and spread it to the side, opening up the crack between my cheeks.

His pushed his hips forward and his other hand clutched his cock shaft to guide it forward to the right spot. The big head hit my anus. My anus resisted. But Dave wasn’t about to stop. I saw him move his cock in circles around the shadowy corona of my hole, spreading the lube around.

He pushed forward with his cock and he pulled my body toward him with his firm hand.

My asshole yielded little. His cock tip pushed maybe a fraction of an inch into me, and no more.

Dave kept pushing. I pushed, too, backward. I wanted it. I feared it — worried about how my backdoor would feel, filled up with that big cock — but I still wanted it.

Dave kept pushing, shoving his meat against my waiting and eager, but still-resistant, hole. I wanted it to give way. I wanted him in me, where no man had gone before. But my butthole had other ideas. It wasn’t ready to surrender.

Dave, however, wouldn’t be denied. He kept pushing, and the pushing got harder. His cock-tip was rock hard and it thrust its way just past the opening. I gasped at the feel of my ass being stretched wide. The tip pushed more. My reluctant ass gave up ground.

I looked at Dave’s progress in the mirror. About half the cock head was inside me, and the rest was still outside.

“Fuck my ass, Sir,” I called out.

Dave took his hand off his cock. Both hands gripped my hips, hard. He pulled my body back forcefully while his cock rocketed forward, and he filled me at last. I watched it happen in the mirror, spellbound.

The lube slicked the way. Dave kept pushing until his cock — its entire length — disappeared inside me.

The dildo and butt plugs had felt nothing like this. This was something wholly new — strange, foreign, unsettling, wonderful. I felt like my ass was being invaded. It belonged to Dave now, not to me. I would have collapsed if Dave’s strong hands hadn’t held me in place.

He ground his hard cock inside me, rotating his hips. I was shocked at the ability of my ass to accommodate him. It was weird and joyous at the same time. Never in my life had I felt so much pleasure at surrendering myself sexually to a man’s need.

He began to pull out, and I resisted, pushing back, until he slapped my ass again, hard, making me cry out, and I stopped. I waited passively while Dave took charge. He kept pulling out until the thick obstruction of his cock helmet hit the tight ring of my anus, but before pulling out all the way he stopped, and I waited, poised for him to plunder my ass again.

Plunder it, he did. He thrust in, hard and fast, and I gasped as my back entrance was filled once more.

Then Dave fucked me in hard, urgent, fast, deep thrusts. My ass delighted at his assault. I was getting used to the weirdness and accepting of the unique pleasure of ass-fucking. I wanted Dave to come in me, and I wanted to see his cum leave me and stream down my thighs.

But Dave had other ideas. He paced himself. I could tell he wanted to take his time. He had nearly two hours with me, and he was going to take advantage of every minute.

He pulled out, and my ass made a little noise when he did. It sounded loud in the silent room.

“Flip over, whore.”

I flipped over, again, with my back on the weight bench, legs wide, facing Dave. He put his hands under my ass and lifted it.

“Legs back, whore. Feet on the bench.”

I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but I complied as well as I could and my butt went into the air and my legs went back until my feet were behind my head, toes touching the bench. My pussy and ass stared at the ceiling, and at Dave. Dave stared back.

His mouth descended on me again. He tasted my pussy first, licking it in big noisy slurps, mashing my pussy lips every which way with his lips and tongue. Then he moved south, and his tongue dragged over my taint and into my ass again, only this time, with my hole prepped and gaping, his tongue went in farther. He tongue-fucked my open butt hole. My nerves were on fire. I was delirious with weird pleasure. My hand went to my clit so I could get myself off, but Dave slapped it away.

“I’ll let you know when to come, whore,” he said.

Dave kept me off-kilter with his tongue and fingers. He touched and licked every part of me down there — asshole, butt cheeks, clitoris, labia, taint. Everything. He’d get a steady, predictable rhythm going, and I’d go with it, getting myself ready to work up to an orgasm, and then he’d change the rhythm completely. With expert skill he kept me on edge, but he knew how not to push me over. It was pure, sheer ecstasy. A thought bubbled up from my sex-wasted brain: how weird it was that Dave was paying ME to give ME so much pleasure. But I knew he was getting pleasure from it too. And it pleased me to give him pleasure: pleased me all the way into deep places inside me I’d never known. Rodney had never taken pleasure in me this way. Dave was my first. Not just the first to fuck me in the ass, but the first to fuck me so down deeply and so purely that I felt my womanly essence bloom in a way I’d never experienced before.

And he kept coming. He twisted me and he turned me, and he kept fucking my asshole. He stood me up and pushed me against the wall and I stared at the way my flushed face looked in the mirror, and still he kept fucking my asshole. He threw me on the floor and lifted my legs in the air and I thought the firmness of the grip of his hands on my thighs would leave purple welts, and still he kept fucking my asshole. Minutes ticked past, and his assault on my asshole never stopped. I lost track of time, and still he kept fucking my asshole. He stayed hard the entire time. I couldn’t believe it. I’d never experienced anything like it.