TOUCH ME MORE, DADDY

Chapter 1:

The Booking

I stared at my phone screen, thumbs hovering, heart already doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did when I thought about texting him. It was barely nine in the morning on a stupidly hot Saturday in July, and my dorm room felt like a sauna. The upcoming gymnastics trials were in two weeks, and my coach at college had been riding my ass about flexibility and endurance. I needed something extra. Something intense.

I needed Dom.

My finger tapped send before I could chicken out.

Riley: Hey Coach, sorry for the last minute thing but any chance you have a spot open today? Like… now? Trials are killing me and I’m freaking out. I can pay extra.

I tossed my phone on the bed and paced, biting my thumbnail. Dominic Reyes. Forty-five years old, built like a damn tank, covered in tattoos that peeked out from under his compression shirts. Ex-pro athlete turned private trainer. His home gym was legendary luxury equipment, mirrors everywhere, that deep commanding voice that made my stomach tighten every single time he corrected my form.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Dom: Riley. You know I don’t usually do same-day, especially on Saturdays. What’s going on, kid?

I smiled despite myself. He always called me “kid” even though I was nineteen and turning twenty in a few months. It should’ve annoyed me. It didn’t.

Riley: I’ve been practicing on my own but my splits aren’t deep enough and my endurance is shit. I need someone to push me hard. Please, Coach? I’ll bring coffee.

Dom: Coffee won’t save you from what I’ll put you through today. You sure you can handle it? Last session you were tapping out after ninety minutes.

My face heated up. He remembered. Of course he did. I typed faster, legs pressing together without thinking.

Riley: I can handle it. I promise. I’ve been stretching every morning like you showed me. Just… I need more. Deeper work.

There was a longer pause this time. I chewed my lip, imagining him in his big house, maybe shirtless already, scrolling through his phone with those massive hands. God, what was wrong with me? He was more than twice my age. My trainer. But every time those big palms adjusted my hips or pressed down on my lower back during stretches, I got stupidly wet. Embarrassingly so.

Dom: Alright, little athlete. Be here in forty-five. Wear the tiny black shorts I like the ones that don’t hide shit when you sweat. And skip the sports bra if you’re feeling brave. We’re doing full intensity. No half-assing today.

My breath caught. He liked those shorts? I’d worn them last time and noticed him staring, but I thought I was imagining it. Heat pooled low in my belly.

Riley: Yes, Coach. Thank you so much. I’ll be there.

Dom: Good girl. Don’t be late. And Riley?

Riley: Yeah?

Dom: Come ready to be pushed. Really pushed. You asked for it.

I set the phone down, thighs clenching. My pussy was already throbbing just from a few texts. This was so bad. He was my trainer, not… whatever my brain kept turning him into. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it his deep voice growling instructions, the way sweat would bead on his tattooed chest, how his muscles flexed when he demonstrated moves.

I changed quickly, slipping into the tiny black shorts that barely covered my ass and a cropped tank top. No bra, just like he said. My small tits felt extra sensitive against the fabric. I threw on a hoodie for the drive, grabbed my gym bag, and headed out.

The drive to his place took twenty minutes. His house was in a fancy neighborhood big modern place with a private gym wing. I parked, heart hammering, and walked up to the side entrance he always left open for clients.

I stepped inside the cool air conditioned gym and my breath hitched. Dom was already there, wiping down a bench. He was shirtless, of course. Broad shoulders, thick arms covered in dark ink, abs carved like stone, and those low slung gray sweatpants that did nothing to hide the heavy outline of his cock. At forty-five he looked better than most guys my age. Stronger. Meaner in that hot, experienced way.

“Riley,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel. He turned, eyes dragging slowly down my body. “Right on time. Hoodie off. Let me see what I’m working with today.”

I swallowed hard and unzipped it, letting it drop. My nipples were already stiff against the thin tank.

Dom’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Good. Those shorts look even better than I remembered. You wet yet, kid? Or do I have to work for that?”

My face burned. “Coach! I…I’m just nervous about trials.”

He chuckled, deep and knowing, stepping closer until I had to tilt my head back to look up at him. He towered over me. “Nervous, huh? That why your cheeks are flushed? Drop the bag. We’re starting with warm-ups. But first tell me exactly what you need from me today. Be specific.”

I shifted on my feet, already feeling the dampness between my legs. “I need you to stretch me deeper. Make my splits better. Push my endurance. I keep… holding back on my own.”

Dom’s eyes darkened. He reached out, big hand gripping my chin gently but firmly, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Holding back? That’s not gonna fly here. Today I’m gonna push every limit you’ve got. You’re gonna sweat, you’re gonna shake, and you’re gonna thank me for it. Understand?”

“Yes, Coach,” I whispered, voice breathy. His thumb brushed my lower lip and I nearly moaned.

He released me and stepped back, clapping his hands once. “Then let’s go. Mat. Now. Legs wide. Show me that flexibility I’m paying for, the flexibility you’re paying me for.”

I moved to the big mat in the center, heart racing. As I dropped into a straddle stretch, I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and hungry. This was just the booking, just the start of the session… but something felt different today. More charged.

Dom crouched behind me, hands pressing down on my thighs, spreading me wider. His breath was hot against my ear.

“That’s it, Riley. Deeper. You want me to stretch you deeper, don’t you?”

I bit back a whimper. “Yes… please.”

The day had only just begun, and I was already completely screwed.