My Trainer Summoned Me to the Locker Room Before Opening

It was quarter to seven on a Monday in March, and the gym had not yet opened to the public. The smell of new rubber from the mats mingled with the lemon-scented disinfectant the cleaning crew used before dawn. It was just the morning receptionist, yawning at the screen, me, and, of course, Yarissa.

Yarissa Aragones was thirty-one years old, Dominican from Santo Domingo Este, and according to the center’s internal ranking, she was the personal trainer with the most sessions booked in the last quarter. She was five foot six, with skin as dark as polished mahogany, firm breasts straining against her wine-colored sports top, and a sculpted ass that looked deliberately drawn onto her black leggings. Her hair was in long braids gathered into a high ponytail, she wore two small gold hoops in each ear, and she had a discreet tattoo over her left rib that read “Only God knows.” When she spoke, her Dominican accent took over everything, thick and sweet, with a “papi” slipping into every third sentence.

My name is Iván, I’m thirty-six years old, and I came back to the gym five months ago after a divorce that left me in terrible shape. I’m a financial consultant, I live alone in an apartment downtown, and before I started taking classes with Yarissa, it had been months since I’d touched a woman. I booked the first session because my doctor told me I needed to move my body or I was going to end up worse. I booked the following ones because of her.

That Monday was our eighth private session. I arrived in my usual clothes: a tight gray T-shirt, navy-blue shorts, headphones hanging around my neck, and the feeling that something different was going to happen. I’d sensed it since the previous session, when Yarissa corrected my squat with her hands pressed against my hips for a couple of seconds longer than necessary. I noticed it most of all in the way she smiled when she saw me come in.

—Good morning, papi —she said without looking up from the tablet where she was writing down my routine—. Today we’re going straight to the leg press. I want us to warm up hard.

—Good morning, Yarissa.

I walked behind her to the machine area. The LED lights hummed above us, and the wall mirrors duplicated her silhouette with every step. I settled into the press with my legs in position and started the first set. She remained standing, watching me with her arms crossed.

—More control on the way down —she told me—. Don’t let the weight go. Guide it.

I did three sets without looking up. On the fourth, she leaned in front of me to correct the angle of my feet on the platform. Her ass was inches from my face, and with her thighs spread by her stance, the heat of her body hit me like a slap. I couldn’t help it. Beneath the light cotton of my shorts, my erection became visible within seconds.

Shit. Not again.

I tried to sit up and cover myself with the towel. She turned slowly, a barely hinted smile on her lips, her black eyes shining beneath the white light.

—Ay, papi, what do we have here? —she said quietly, with that Dominican drawl that made everything sound like a caress—. This early on a Monday and you’re already like this? We’ve barely even warmed up…

—Sorry —I mumbled, my ears burning—. I… I can’t control it. I’m sorry, Yarissa, really.

She slowly shook her head without stopping smiling. She came closer until her sports top almost brushed my chest. She lowered her voice to a whisper.

—Don’t apologize, white boy. I like it. It gets me so fucking horny knowing I’ve got you like this, all tight because of a Dominican black woman. —She paused and brushed the back of her fingers over my bulge, barely touching it—. You know what? Today I’m going to give you a special class. One that doesn’t appear in the system. One I only give to students who behave very well… or very badly. Do you want it?

I swallowed with difficulty. My head felt ready to explode.

—What kind of class is it?

—A private one. In the women’s locker room. Nobody comes in at this hour. There I’ll teach you how to really train, papi. How to let go of everything you’ve been holding inside for months. No rules, no interruptions. Just you and me. But you have to say it yourself. Tell me you want the special class.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I nodded before I could think.

—I want the special class.

***

Yarissa grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me toward the hallway at the back. She took me to the women’s locker-room door, opened it with her staff card, glanced inside to make sure it was empty, and bolted it from within. The light was warm, almost golden. The smell was different from outside: floral soap, vanilla from the air freshener hanging in a locker, and a hint of clean sweat. Pale wooden benches, gray lockers arranged in two rows, long mirrors at the back, and beyond them, the showers with their white curtains half drawn.

This isn’t happening. This doesn’t happen to me.

—Take everything off —she said, standing in front of me—. I want to see you naked before we start.

I obeyed, trembling. The shirt first, then the shorts, and finally the underwear. I stood before her with my cock completely hard, pressed against my stomach and throbbing. Yarissa looked me up and down unhurriedly, like someone inspecting a new piece of equipment. She nodded slowly.

—Look what you’d been keeping from me, papi.

She took off her top in a single movement, baring two large, firm breasts, her dark nipples hard, her skin still glistening from the warm-up sweat. Then, with the same ease, she pulled down her leggings and black underwear to her ankles. Her pussy was completely shaved, her thick lips already glistening with moisture. She sat on the edge of the bench and spread her legs.

—Kneel, student —she ordered—. First lesson: eat properly. Start here.

I dropped to my knees on the cold tiles. I grabbed her by the hips and buried my face between her thighs without asking permission. I ran my tongue from bottom to top, all the way, slowly, feeling her skin break out in goose bumps. Then I focused on her swollen clitoris, sucking it, tracing its edges with the tip of my tongue, letting it go only to swallow it again. She grabbed my head with both hands and pushed me deeper.

—That’s it, papi… eat slowly… get your tongue all the way in… suck my clit… yes, yes… now two fingers inside… curl your fingers upward… touch me there… ay, coño, right there…

I slid two fingers inside her without stopping licking her. I felt her pussy clenching around them, felt her right thigh trembling slightly. Yarissa began moving her hips against my face shamelessly, setting the pace for me.

—Now three —she panted—. Open me up properly, papi… put all three fingers in… that’s it… get them in to the knuckles…

I did as she said. Three fingers inside her, my tongue circling her clitoris. She bit her free hand to keep from screaming.

—Second lesson —she said once she had caught her breath—. My ass. Lick my ass too. I want to feel your tongue there.

I lifted her legs and rested them on my shoulders, then lowered my tongue to her asshole, pressing the tip slowly and opening her up. She moaned at length, making no attempt to hide it.

—Deeper… put a finger in me too… slowly… yes, papi… turn your finger… now two… fuck my ass with your fingers while you keep eating my pussy…

I slipped two fingers inside her carefully, turned them, and spread them. Then I went back up to her clitoris. Yarissa came all over my face with a shudder that shook her entire body, her legs squeezing my ears, a hot wave running down my chin.

—I’m coming, you bastard! —she cried in a low, muffled voice—. I’m coming in your mouth! Swallow it all!

***

It took her a couple of seconds to recover. Then she pushed me by the shoulders, stood up from the bench, and cornered me against the row of lockers. The metal was icy against my back. Yarissa pressed her body against mine, kissed me violently, and bit my lower lip.

—Third lesson —she whispered—. Fucking hard. Turn around.

She made me turn toward the metal and positioned herself in front of it, planting her palms on a locker, arching her back, and sticking her ass out at exactly the right height. She looked at me over her shoulder, her braids falling over her sweaty back.

—Put it in my pussy first. Hard. I want to feel you opening me up completely, papi. Don’t be afraid.

I penetrated her with a single thrust and felt her all around me: hot, tight, still contracting from the previous orgasm. Yarissa let out a deep moan that bounced off the tiles.

—Ay, coño… you’re bigger than I imagined… keep going like that… faster, you bastard… fuck me like you fuck a real woman… break me!

I began thrusting hard, my hands digging into her broad hips, her braids swinging with every blow. The sound of flesh against flesh echoed off the metal lockers. Yarissa pushed back against me each time, her breasts bouncing, her nipples brushing the cold metal. I grabbed her ponytail and pulled lightly to arch her back farther.

—Now my ass —she ordered between pants—. Put it in my ass. I want it to hurt so good. Spit first.

I pulled my cock out of her pussy, spat on her tight asshole, and pressed the tip against it. I entered slowly, millimeter by millimeter, feeling her sphincter reluctantly opening around my girth. When I was inside to the base, Yarissa let out a long, deep moan, almost animal-like.

—Fuck… yes… break my ass, papi… put it all the way in… give it to me hard, don’t hold back now… fuck my ass like nobody’s ever fucked it!

I began moving hard, alternating short, sharp thrusts with slow, deep drives. I reached underneath her with one hand and rubbed her clitoris in quick circles. With the other, I pulled her braids to arch her back farther. Yarissa came for the second time in a matter of minutes: her asshole squeezing around me in waves, a hot stream running down the inside of her thigh, her cries muffled against the back of her hand.

—I’m coming again! I’m coming with your cock in my ass! Don’t stop, papi, don’t stop!

I quickened the pace. I felt that familiar pull at the base of my spine, the warning that it could no longer be stopped.

—I’m going to come —I panted—. Where do you want it?

Yarissa pulled away suddenly, turned around, dropped to her knees in front of me, and brought my cock to her lips without hesitation.

—On my face —she said, looking up at me and sticking out her tongue—. Paint me. I want to see you come for me.

I stroked myself a couple more times over her. I came in thick spurts: on her cheek, her nose, her parted lips, her neck, running down her braids and the curve of her breasts. Yarissa closed her eyes, smiled, and licked what had landed near her mouth.

—So good… so nice… papi… ay, you came so good…

***

She stood up calmly, still trembling slightly. She took me by the forearm and led me to the communal shower area at the back of the locker room.

—Last lesson of the day, student —she said as she turned on the hot water—. The closing shower. Come here.

Steam began filling the space within seconds. Yarissa stepped beneath the stream and let herself be soaked all over, allowing the water to run down her face and chest and wash away the traces of semen. Then she looked at me and pointed to the tiles at her feet.

—Kneel here, papi. This is the most private part of the special class. I want to mark you. I want you to carry something of mine with you all day.

I knelt beneath the hot water. Yarissa stood in front of me, slightly spread her legs, and parted her lips with two fingers. Her smile was different now, calmer, almost conspiratorial.

—Look closely at what I give you at the end of training. Open your mouth if you want to taste it.

I opened my mouth without thinking. Yarissa relaxed her body and released a warm, golden stream directly onto my face, chest, and tongue. The hot liquid ran down, mixing with the shower water and sliding over my skin like another layer. She moaned softly as she did it, controlling the stream and spreading it out slowly.

—That’s it, papi… swallow a little… feel me marking you… you’re mine until Friday… so good…

When she finished, she looked down at me with a satisfied smile. She turned off the tap, took a clean towel from the shelf, and dried herself unhurriedly. She dressed in front of me while I remained beneath the water, still trembling and not knowing exactly what to say.

Before leaving the locker room, she came over, gave me a brief kiss on the forehead, and squeezed the back of my neck with one hand.

—Class dismissed, student. Wash yourself well before you leave. And rest this week, because this class isn’t repeated every Monday. So you’ll appreciate it.

She left. The locker-room door closed softly behind her. I stayed beneath the hot stream for quite a while, Yarissa’s taste still in my mouth, my muscles vibrating, my head completely empty. When I finally came out, the receptionist greeted me as if nothing had happened, the gym’s main lights were already on, and the first members were starting to come in with their backpacks.

I paid for the session on my way out, as on any other day. From the other end of the gym, she raised two fingers in greeting and smiled. I walked to my car with my legs still heavy, my work polo clinging to my back, and the absolute, indisputable certainty that something inside me had changed forever that Monday at quarter to seven in the morning.