Xcite Delights Book 1 Read online

  I grab my car keys from the hook by the sink, but he shakes his head.

  ‘We walk?’

  He shakes his head again. ‘We run.’ Then he gives my trainer-clad body a sceptical look. ‘I need to know how bad it is.’

  When we finally arrive at the gym, and he unlocks the door, I’m thinking death is imminent. He places a meaty hand against my neck and eyeballs his chronograph to check my pulse. I’m wondering if it’s even possible to count that fast. I’m not sure if the resulting grunt means it’s acceptable, or that he’s totally disgusted with my lack of fitness, but at least he’s not dialling an ambulance.

  He marches me at a fast trot to a back room with mirrored walls and free weights.

  I head straight for the nearest weight bench. It’s the perfect place to collapse and have a whimper. But I don’t get far.

  ‘Davis! About face!’ he huffs.

  And I’m standing at attention again, while he walks around me, hands on his hips muttering. ‘Uh huh, mmm hmm, right.’ He nods to my blue trainer bottoms. ‘Take ’em off.’

  ‘Sir?’ My voice cracks.

  ‘You want a beach job, I need to know what I’ve got to work with.’

  ‘I have a leotard, back home. Believe me, it doesn’t hide anything. If we could just wait–’

  ‘Take. Them. Off.’ Between each word he makes a stabbing motion at my trackie bottoms with an index finger that looks like it might be a registered weapon.

  I shove the trousers down and step out of them, embarrassed by the comfy, and now sweaty, granny panties I wore to work out in. I never expected to have to display them.

  ‘And the top.’

  ‘Really, I’d feel a lot more comfortable if we could do this after I get home and then I’ll just slip into the leotard and–’

  ‘Davis, you will do as I say or find yourself another personal trainer. I will not tolerate insubordination.’

  The thought of one hundred quid an hour flashes through my mind, followed in quick succession by the thought of a svelte, sleek new me in a red bikini, and I peel off the shirt to reveal an equally ugly white sports bra.

  But he doesn’t notice the bra or the knickers, instead he yells in my ear. ‘Drop and give me ten!’

  ‘Wha–’

  ‘Make it 20. Now!’

  I fall to the floor with all the grace of a wildebeest on ice, then I struggle through eight push-ups, arms trembling like I’ve got some spastic muscle disease just before I collapse on the floor in a heap.

  And suddenly he’s arched over me like he’s gonna put some kind of painful wrestling move on me. But just as I muster the breath to beg for my life, he wraps one tree-trunk of an arm half around my waist and supports himself with the other. ‘I’ll spot you,’ he says. ‘When I say 20 push-ups, I mean 20 push-ups.’ And there he is doing push-ups on top of my push-ups, all supported on three limbs, like a tripod, his hand splayed low on my belly, pulling me up every time he pumps up. He gives me just enough help to struggle through.

  It’s impossible for me to count. It’s impossible for me to think of anything other than Hawk Sturgis arched over me, his big hand pressing dangerously close to my pubic bone, his camouflaged crotch raking against my granny-pantied arse with each upward thrust. When I’m finished, he hauls me to my feet, pressed tightly against acres of hard muscle, and I’m very aware that one of those hard muscles just happens to be his cock.

  I’m surprised when he says, ‘Not bad, Davis. Most women have no upper body conditioning. You’d think they’d work a little harder on those pecs, do a few more push-ups, some flies. After all, it’s upper body conditioning that makes for good cleavage.’ I don’t know how he does it, but with a little shrug, and some sleight of hand, he unhooks my bra, slides the straps down off my shoulders and shoves it forward onto the floor. I try to cover myself with folded arms as he steps back and turns me to face him. ‘You got nice full breasts, Davis.’ He wedges my arms apart with his big hands and rakes a calloused thumb over each of my burgeoning nipples in doing so. ‘A few push-ups, maybe some dumbbell flies and your cleavage will give every bloke on the beach wood.’

  His gaze is like a magnet pulling my nipples all taut, and I wonder if it’s my cleavage that has given him wood, or if it’s just a permanent condition for the macho commando type. He motions for me to turn around, completely oblivious to the blush clawing its way up my chest and neck. ‘Your glutes are nice and poochy, the kind that will look good in a thong. It is a thong, isn’t it? Your bikini?’

  Before I can utter an embarrassed no, he hooks a thick finger in the elastic of my knickers and tugs them down until my arse is on candid camera. He ignores my yelp of surprise and keeps a good grip on the elastic while he offers a running commentary on the foibles and glories of my bottom. ‘No cellulite. That’s good. Nice heart shape.’ He cups each buttock and gives it a kneading squeeze. ‘Needs some firming. Nothing a few squats, some hack squats and a good running regimen won’t cure.’

  He kneels so his nose is just inches away from my exposed bottom, shoves the panties down until they pool around my ankles, then cups my arse cheeks like they’re two melons he’s contemplating at the market. And all the while he’s contemplating my arse cheeks, his hot breath is blowing its way right up the valley in between, straight to my cunt, and my labia are parting like the Red Sea in full anticipation. Bloody hell! This isn’t what I expected.

  ‘Spread your legs, Davis,’ he says. ‘I need to get a feel of your thigh muscles.’

  I do as he says, knowing full well that while he’s feeling my thighs, he’s getting a bird’s eye view of my puss. Did Alison go through this? Did she mind? ’Cause each time I feel his breath on my slit, I mind less and less. As he squeezes and kneads my upper thigh muscles, the tip of his heavy thumb just grazes my swelling pout, and I jump and gasp at the delicious shock of it. It’s like someone pressed the turned-on switch, and if I wasn’t hot and bothered before, I certainly am now. I’m tilting my hips forward, gripping and relaxing, gripping and relaxing, giving all those girlie muscles a stealthy workout. I’m trying not to hump air in my efforts to reel in his hot breath and wrap it all around my grasping cunt.

  ‘You’re carrying a lot of tension below deck, Davis. You have regular sex?’ he asks.

  I respond with several fish gasps before I find my voice. ‘Not regular, no.’ I figure that’ll be good news to him. That means I won’t have to give up sex to stay focused while he rebuilds my body into a temple.

  ‘Sex is like calisthenics on steroids,’ he says. ‘Damned important part of any training regimen. Any good one at least.’

  Before I can utter my surprise, he says, ‘We’ll start out with three times a week. See how you manage that, then we’ll work our way up from there.’

  He ignores my sputters of shock and continues talking to my arse. ‘Some people get really turned on by working out. They need sex afterwards to unwind and relax. Others want sex before they work out. They like the extra rush of endorphins. Me,’ he heaves a sigh that I feel on my pussy like a gale-force wind. ‘Me, I could go either way. Sometimes both. Your body will tell you what works.’

  I offer up a couple more fish gasps through a flaming blush before I manage to croak. ‘You mean you want me to ... mmm ... to masturbate as a part of my training schedule?’

  ‘I didn’t say masturbate, did I, Davis? I said you should have sex. The wanking, well it’ll do if you don’t have a proper work-out partner. Mind you, masturbation’s a good way to burn a few extra calories, I’ll grant you that, so yeah, I’d say have a wank whenever you feel the urge. But I’m not talking about self-pleasure here. I’m talking about real, genuine bumping and grinding. There’s no better workout.’ He manoeuvres himself to kneel in front of me, moving his hands up over my hips and abs, deep massaging the muscles like they’re dough and he plans to make some serious bread.

  ‘But, I don’t have a proper work-out partner,’ I say, trying not to grind my hips against his massaging hands
.

  He gives me that how-long-must-I-suffer-fools look and shakes his head. ‘Your body, I can do something about, Davis. But it’s up to you to exercise the muscle between your ears.’ He taps a finger against my temple, emphasising each word. ‘There’s just you and me. I’m your trainer and your work-out partner. That’s what you pay me for.’

  The light bulb finally comes on in my head, and my stomach manages half a flip-flop before the hand that has been massaging my abdominal muscles so expertly suddenly slides down until it nestles against my pubes. His thumb rakes my clit, causing me to offer up an undignified grunt. He knows he’s found the control switch, and, holy crap, does he know how to use it! The rough pad of his thumb circles and rakes, and circles and rakes my nib until it feels like a lead weight straining against his fingers.

  He nods to the bench I’ve been coveting, never taking his steel-blue gaze off my face. The hand not circling and raking moves to cup and squeeze my tits in turn. Then he scooches me back, and back, and back, almost like he’s herding me with his thumb on my clit until I plop down on the bench.

  He shakes his head. ‘The bench is not for sitting, Davis. Squat in front of it, and rest your elbows on it. This is a workout, remember? That’s right, now open your legs and lift until your weight’s on your elbows.’ All the while he continues to circle and rake my joy button, until I’m completely in his power, and I’ll do whatever he says, because the only other person who has touched my clit for ages is me.

  ‘Mm hm,’ he says, slipping his long index finger between my cunt lips and stroking. ‘Just as I suspected. You need some serious relief of a sexual nature, Davis, or we’re never gonna accomplish anything.’ He slides his finger up into my hole, and I swear I’ve had cocks in me that weren’t that thick. I go all ragdoll and limp, like he’s supporting me just on his finger, and I’m squeezing and gripping like nobody’s business.

  ‘Jesus, Davis! That’s one hard-gripping fanny you got there, and slick.’ He lets out a low whistle as he squeezes another sausage finger into my pout, and I’m wondering what the hell his cock’s gonna be like with fingers that size.

  ‘Put your feet on my shoulders,’ he orders. He doesn’t offer to help, and I figure that’s a part of the workout, all designed to make me look good in my bikini. When my weight is supported on his shoulders and my elbows, he goes exploring. Face first.

  Even his tongue is well-muscled. And long. It’s almost like it’s not a part of him, the way it wriggles and squirms and eats at me, all hungry and animal-like. He holds my labia splayed wide with his thumbs while his tongue darts in and out of my hole, then laps and slurps and presses at my clit. Then he starts all over again. He does this until I’m out-of-my-mind hot, and he has me squirming and writhing and babbling like some porn star. Then he starts nursing on my clit like he’s a newborn who’s just found a tit full of milk.

  And I come. Jesus, how I come! I’m bucking and bouncing, banging my elbow on the edge of the bench and howling like some banshee on heat.

  Then he pulls away, all wet and slick with my pussy juices, and I hear his fly unzip as he brings out the big gun.

  I scrabble and squirm for a good view of his very military cock standing at full attention. It’s as substantial and as pumped as he is. I feel a little twinge of fear at the size of him, but not for long, because my pussy’s pouty and anxious, greedy enough to swallow him down whole, and he knows it. He teases my lips wide open with one hand. With the other, he manoeuvres into position, then he shoves and grunts his way in, pushing my knees up against my tits in his efforts. Sweet Jesus, I have never been so totally and completely full of cock! As he begins to hump, I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on.

  He doesn’t support my arse with his hands. He makes me support my own weight, pressing up to meet him every time he thrusts into me. And the harder I press, the better the rub against my marbled clit.

  ‘Good girl,’ he breathes, reaching up to cup and knead my tits. ‘We get some of that pent-up energy of yours released and we’ll have you in shape in no time.’ He rakes my nipples to hard, raw points against his thumbs. Then he sucks me like he’s trying to suck me inside out. I bounce and squirm and buck all over the weight bench, digging my heels into his kidneys, riding Hawk Sturgis like he’s a bucking bronco and I’m a cowgirl.

  I reckon he’s a master of timing. He suddenly stops playing with my tits, grabs onto my hips like he’ll crush bone and jackhammers my cunt. He’s holding his breath, baring his teeth like an angry lion, and I’m hanging on for dear life, every muscle in my body trembling and twitching.

  It’s like some kind of feral battle cry when he comes, rattling the mirrors on the wall and raising the hair on the back of my neck. I can feel his cock go into convulsions in my hard grip, and that’s enough to kick-start my own convulsions. And we come and come and come.

  Even a hardened military man like Hawk Sturgis needs a little recovery time after all that coming. And when at last his pecs aren’t heaving like bellows, he speaks. ‘That’s a good start, Davis.’ He pulls away and tucks his cock back into the camouflage. Then while he’s wiping my pussy with the work-out towel, he lays a splayed hand low on my belly. ‘I reckon you’ll be sore tomorrow after your first day. Nothing to worry about. I know a few massage techniques that’ll work out the kinks.’ He offers me a serious look. ‘No pain, no gain.’

  ‘Permission to speak freely, sir,’ I say, watching him wipe and caress my pout.

  ‘What is it, Davis?’ He doesn’t look up. He seems totally focused on his efforts.

  ‘I know you said sex is a part of my training, but I’m wondering if–’

  ‘Damn right sex is a part of your training,’ he interrupts. ‘A very important part. But,’ he heaves a chest-expanding sigh. ‘Man’s gotta have some compensation, doesn’t he? You don’t work for free, do you?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘You got a problem with that?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ He offers me a smile that makes him look much less GI Joe, much more pussy-creaming hottie. ‘Don’t worry, Davis. You’ll toughen up just fine. And come summer holidays, well I reckon you’ll heat up the beach to boiling point in your new bikini. Tomorrow we’ll do some squats and work your legs and glutes.’

  ‘Same time?’

  He nods. ‘We’ll start with a run from your flat. But if you’re too sore, we might start with sex instead to loosen you up.’

  Suddenly getting up at five doesn’t seem so bad.

  We hear a key turn in the lock, and the lights in the outer hall switch on. I’m scrambling back into my clothes and Hawk Sturgis is watching me like he’s dreaming up his next torture session. But I don’t care. If he makes me come this good after every workout, I’m more than willing to honour the terms and conditions of the contingency plan, and I may just return my more modest bikini for a thong after all.

  As we step out of the gym into the anaemic daylight that has appeared while we were occupied inside, he slips an arm around me and nods in the direction of my flat. ‘We won’t run back this morning, since you’re just getting started and all. I can tell by the way you move you’re feeling a bit tender.’ He slides a hand down my back to cup my arse and give it a gentle knead. ‘In fact I think once we get back to your flat, I’ll see if I can’t loosen up some of those muscles for you so you won’t be so sore tomorrow.’

  In a peripheral glance, I can’t help noticing the camouflage front of his trousers is struggling for containment. And I’m willing to bet the slight swagger in his step has nothing to do with the hard workout or the heavy boots. Come to think of it, I’m sure I haven’t worked off my debt for the day yet, and that thought makes my pussy quiver right along with all the other muscles that are quivering and trembling from their first real workout in a long time. Suddenly, I’m very much looking forward to getting in good shape. After all, my body is my temple. It’s serious business keeping it fit and healthy.

  The Naughty Rich Girlr />
  by Angela Goldsberry

  I am the naughty, spoiled daughter of a very rich man. I always get my way. Nothing is too good for me and I’m too good for everything – and everyone. I’m the apple of my father’s eye and as far as he’s concerned I can do no wrong. If only he knew the kind of girl I really am. I wonder what he’d think of me then. You see, I love to be bad. In fact, I thrive on it. My halo is more than slightly tarnished. Only Daddy can’t see it.

  I’m enrolled in a small Catholic university; I rarely attend. But Daddy sits on the board of directors. I hardly think that, when the time comes, I’ll be denied a degree. Quite the contrary: I’m sure the good sisters will do anything to get rid of me, including grant me an honorary baccalaureate. Their prim and proper establishment hasn’t been the same since I arrived on campus. Not that it matters anyway. I’ll never work a day in my life. I’m having too much fun playing.

  I am a beautiful and commanding young woman and I work hard at staying that way. I go to the gym almost every night of the week, continually sculpting and shaping my figure in addition to fucking my personal trainer every chance I get. I’m almost Amazonian in appearance and I rather like it. I consider this as I glance into the rear-view mirror of my new black BMW. I dress to intimidate – it’s my motto in life. It doesn’t get me very far with most people but, then again, I can’t be bothered with people who can be intimidated.

  I carefully back out of my parking space in the college parking lot and shift into drive. The back tyres grab the asphalt tightly as I peel down the driveway at breakneck speed. Some day, I’ll get expelled for doing that, the groundskeeper has warned me on many occasions. I merely laugh in his face. Let them try. Daddy would never allow it.

  I roll down the window and let the crisp autumn air whip my chestnut hair about my face. I feel my best when I am in my element, and my element is shopping. So that is where I’m headed today. I light up a cigarette and tap the steering wheel with a brandy-tinted nail in time to the music blaring from my hopped-up speakers. One of my exes installed them for me last year, taking them from his own car after only a little pleading and one magnificent blowjob. I wriggle in my seat at the memory of it and my pussy starts to sweat. I’m such a naughty girl, aren’t I?