My Personal Trainer Novels & Stories

That’s when I saw him. Ryan. Thirty years old, 6’2” of pure muscle and quiet authority. He was the head personal trainer who often closed the 24-hour gym. Broad chest, thick arms veined from years of lifting, and a jawline that could cut glass. His dark hair was always slightly messy from training clients, and his grey compression shirt clung to every ridge of his abs tonight. Our eyes met in the mirror.

What I did not account for was Zev. Zev who is twenty-eight and built like a response to prayer and has been my personal trainer for six weeks and keeps his hands exactly where they're supposed to be and his eyes exactly where they're supposed to be and says things like "Good form" and "Engage your core" and "Three more, you've got this" in a voice that should require a permit to use in enclosed spaces. Six weeks of that voice and those hands and this morning something is different and I feel it the second I walk through the door.

SERA “You need to stretch your legs a little more, ma'am,” The trainer said and I groaned, he smiled then. “You're laughing at me?” I asked with a fake frown and he shook his head. “This is stressful,” I complained and sat on the pavement. This is the second time he'd been here and so far, Kai and I had built a good relationship. I found out on the first day that he was also Damian's personal trainer, that scared me. Why would Damian ask his personal trainer to train me? Was he planning to murder me?

Trisha brightens, clapping and making us wince, she quickly apologizes before gesturing to the trolley lady, who in turn serves us hang over tea. While I sip on the tea, I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on me. They feel eerily familiar. I try to shake it off as everyone introduces themselves, it’s pointless. Even when I shift in my seat, it’s like laser focused on me. I’m not sure why that’s happening. I’ve not done anything wrong. Yet. “So, each of you will have a personal trainer. Some of them, well, most of them, veterans. They’ll teach you everything, including how to hold your splits.”

Alex. He was nothing like I had imagined. Thirty-five years old, tall, and built like someone who lived in the gym. His black compression shirt stretched tight across a powerful chest and clearly defined abs. His arms were thick and veined. His dark hair was short and neat, and when his eyes met mine, they were sharp and focused. He moved with the kind of quiet confidence that made the air feel thicker. “Emma?” His voice was deep, calm, and commanding. “I’m Alex. I’ll be your personal trainer for these sessions.”

I knew I was in trouble the second I walked into the private gym after hours. The lights were dimmed, and Jax was already waiting for me, arms crossed over his massive, tattooed chest. At 28, my personal trainer looked like he was carved from stone, ripped muscles, sharp jaw, and those intense dark eyes that always made my stomach flip. “Zara,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You skipped three sessions this week. Three.” I shifted nervously on my feet, still in my office clothes. “Jax, I’m really sorry. Work has been crazy and…”

he says between sobs still holding on my neck. To anyone who doesn't know me, I'm belle, mommy belle to all of you littles. I'm a professional mommy, it was my job to help littles who had hard time going through their classification. Until my last assignment, Heath, a singer who almost ended his career with one big tantrum. Just ask Twitter about it, I'm now his permanent mommy, I'm also the founder of professional group who help littles to become happy little angels. The call of this morning was about a kitten, the new mixed classification, seven years later and we're still having difficulties to match them. A kitten named Toby just went through his transition.

"Miss Patterson, we shall begin your personal training under the theme defense." "Personal what?" Her jaw dropped, and then laughed dryly, not believing her ears."Train me for what? Am I going for a military exam or mission? Please tell me that was not part of the contract." She pleaded and sighted a big black punching bag dancing in the middle of the arena which began to taunt her. "I'm training you for something worse." "What?" "Rapists," he hissed out the single word with gritted teeth. "How many times will I have to tell you that --"

This is a ALL BOYS SCHOOL and that man is my personal trainer. Yuuki Toshita and me? Hajimemaste! Watashiwa Siege Ayato desu. ---

She vaguely gestures in Archie’s direction, floundering. “You mean my body?” He looks a little bashful all of a sudden. He runs a wet hand through his hair again. “It’s from weight training, mostly. I have a personal trainer. I would never be able to figure out workouts and all that stuff by myself. Since I have to sit at a desk for like nine hours a day, I try to stay healthy.” “You do seem very healthy,” She blurts out. Archie looks at him quizzically. “Oh. Thank you?”