My trainer told me to meet her in the locker room before opening

It was quarter to seven on a Monday in March, and the gym still hadn’t opened to the public. The smell of the new rubber of the mats mixed with the lemon-scented disinfectant the cleaning crew ran through before dawn. Only the morning-shift receptionist, yawning in front of the screen, Yarissa, and I were there.

Yarissa Aragones was thirty-one, Dominican from Santo Domingo Este and, according to the center’s internal ranking, the personal trainer with the most booked sessions of the last quarter. She was one meter sixty-nine tall, with dark skin like polished mahogany, firm breasts straining against her burgundy sports top, and a sculpted ass that looked as if it had been drawn there on purpose beneath her black leggings. She wore her hair in long braids tied back in a high ponytail, two small gold hoops in each ear, and a discreet tattoo on her left rib reading, “Only God knows.” When she spoke, her Dominican accent flooded everything, thick and sweet, with a “papi” slipping into every third sentence.

My name is Iván, I’m thirty-six, and I came back to the gym five months ago after a divorce that left me in rough shape. I’m a financial consultant, I live alone in a downtown apartment, and before starting classes with Yarissa, I hadn’t touched a woman in months. I booked the first session because my doctor told me I needed to move my body or I’d end up even 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 shorts, headphones hanging around my neck, and the feeling that something different was about to happen. I’d felt 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 felt it especially in the way she smiled when she saw me walk in.

—Good morning, papi —she said, without looking up from the tablet where she tracked 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 doubled her silhouette with every step. I settled onto the leg press, set my legs in position, and started the first set. She stayed standing there, watching me with her arms crossed.

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

I did three sets without lifting my eyes. 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 open in that posture, the heat of her body hit me like a slap. I couldn’t help it. Under the thin cotton of my shorts, my erection showed in seconds.

Shit. Not again.

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

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

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

She slowly shook her head, never losing the smile. 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 hot knowing I’ve got you like this, all tight because of a Dominican Black woman. —She paused, brushed the bulge with the back of her fingers, barely touching it—. You know what? Today I’m going to give you a special class. One that doesn’t show up in the system. One I only give to students who behave very well… or very badly. Want it?

I swallowed hard. My head felt like it was going to explode.

—What kind of class is that?

—A private one. In the women’s locker room. No one comes in at this hour. There I’ll teach you how to really train, papi. How to let out everything you’ve been holding in for months. No rules, no interruptions. Just you and me. But you have to say it. Tell me you want the special class.

My heart was pounding against my ribs. I nodded before I even thought about it.

—I want the special class.

***

Yarissa grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the back corridor. She led me to the women’s locker room door, opened it with her staff card, checked in a glance that it was empty, and locked it from the inside. The light was warm, almost golden. The smell was different from outside: floral soap, vanilla from the air freshener hanging in a locker, a hint of clean sweat. Pale wooden benches, gray lockers lined up in two rows, long mirrors at the back, and beyond that, the showers with their white curtains half drawn.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening 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, the shorts after, the briefs last. I stood there in front of her with my cock fully hard, pressed to my stomach, throbbing. Yarissa looked me up and down without hurrying, like someone inspecting a new piece of equipment. She nodded slowly.

—Look at what you had hidden for me, papi.

She pulled off her top in one motion and left two big, firm breasts bare, the nipples dark and hard, the skin still shining with warm-up sweat. Then, with the same ease, she pulled her black leggings and underwear down to her ankles. Her sex was completely shaved, the thick lips already glistening with wetness. She sat on the edge of the bench and spread her legs.

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

I fell to my knees on the cold tiles. I grabbed her 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 rise in goosebumps. Then I focused on her swollen clit, sucked it, circled it with the tip of my tongue, released it only to take it into my mouth again. She took my head in both hands and pushed me deeper.

—Like that, papi… take your time… put your tongue all the way in… suck my clit… that’s it, that’s it… now two fingers inside… curve your fingers upward… touch there… ah, fuck, right there…

I slid two fingers into her without stopping licking her. I could feel her pussy tightening around them, the right thigh trembling slightly. Yarissa started grinding her hips against my face, shameless, setting the pace.

—Now three —she gasped—. Open me wide, papi… put the three fingers in… that’s it… shove them in up to the knuckle…

I did. Three fingers inside, tongue circling over her clit. She bit the back of her free hand to keep from shouting.

—Second lesson —she told me once she caught her breath—. The ass. Lick my ass too. I want to feel your tongue there.

I lifted her legs onto my shoulders and lowered my tongue to her asshole, pressing the tip in slowly, opening her up. She let out a long moan, not even trying to hide it.

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

I slid two fingers in carefully, twisted them, spread them. I went back up to her clit. Yarissa came on my face with a shudder that shook her whole body, her legs squeezing my ears, a hot stream running down my chin.

—I’m coming, asshole! —she shouted in a low, muffled voice—. I’m coming in your mouth! Swallow all of it!

***

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

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

She made me turn to face the metal and stood in front of me, placing her palms on a locker, arching her back and sticking her ass out just right. She looked at me over her shoulder, her braids falling over her sweat-damp back.

—Put it in my pussy first. Hard. I want to feel you open me all the way, papi. No fear.

I entered her with one 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.

—Ah, fuck… you’re bigger than I imagined… keep going like that… faster, motherfucker… fuck me like you fuck a real one… break me!

I started pounding into her hard, my hands digging into her wide hips, her braids swinging with each удар. The sound of flesh against flesh echoed off the locker metal. Yarissa pushed back each time, her breasts bouncing, her nipples brushing the cold steel. I grabbed her ponytail and pulled lightly, arching her back even more.

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

I pulled my cock out of her pussy, spit onto her tight asshole, and pressed the tip in. I entered slowly, millimeter by millimeter, feeling the sphincter open reluctantly around my thickness. When I was in to the base, Yarissa let out a long, deep, almost animal groan.

—Fuck… yes… break my ass, papi… put it all in… go hard, don’t stop now… fuck my ass like nobody’s ever fucked it!

I started moving hard, alternating short, sharp thrusts with slow, deep ones. I slid one hand underneath and rubbed her clit in quick circles. With the other I tugged her braids to arch her back even more. Yarissa came for the second time in a matter of minutes: her asshole tightening around me in waves, a hot current 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 dick in my ass! Don’t stop, papi, don’t stop!

I picked up 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 gasped—. Where do you want it?

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

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

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

—So good… so fucking good… papi… oh, you came so good…

***

She got up calmly, still trembling slightly. She took my 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 started filling the space within seconds. Yarissa stepped under the spray, let herself get soaked all over, let the water 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 part is the most private of the special class. I want to mark you. I want you to carry something of mine all day.

I knelt under the hot water. Yarissa stood in front of me, opened her legs slightly, 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 let out a warm golden stream straight over my face, my chest, and my tongue. The warm liquid ran down, mixing with the shower water, sliding over my skin like another layer. She moaned softly while doing it, controlling the stream, dispensing it slowly.

—Like that, papi… swallow a little… feel how I mark 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 off without rushing. She dressed in front of me while I stayed under the water, still trembling, not quite knowing what to say.

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

—Class over, student. Wash yourself well before you leave. And rest this week, because this class doesn’t repeat every Monday. Just so you appreciate it.

She left. The locker room door closed softly behind her. I stayed a long while under the hot stream, with the taste of Yarissa 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 main gym lights were already on, and the first members were beginning to come in with their backpacks.

I paid for the session on the way out, like any other day. She, from the other side of the place, lifted two fingers in the air in greeting and smiled. I walked to my car with my legs still heavy, my work polo stuck to my back, and the absolute, unmistakable certainty that that Monday at quarter to seven in the morning, something inside me had changed forever.