The Older Guy at the Gym Offered Me a Private Lesson

I’m Sofía, I’m twenty-four, and I live in Rosario. Dark hair down to my shoulders, a medium build, hips I inherited from my mother and work to keep exactly the way they are. I’m not the kind of woman who goes to the gym to socialize: I arrive, I train, I leave. But the gym I started going to a month ago was desperately mediocre — twenty-year-old guys more interested in taking selfies than lifting weights, an uninspired instructor, music that sounded like a supermarket. I was about to cancel my membership.

Then Rodrigo arrived.

They call him the Croat. I don’t know whether he has Slavic blood or whether the nickname comes from some other story, and honestly I didn’t care enough to find out. What I did notice was this: a man in his mid-forties carrying himself exactly the way I’d want all men to carry those years. More than six feet tall. Arms the kind that aren’t built in one summer but slowly, over years, for real. Clean-shaven. A firm jaw. Gray at the temples that he made no effort to hide.

He walked in on a Monday at eleven in the morning with the calm of someone who knows every inch of the place belongs to him. Because it does: he owns the gym, and he’s had it for eight years.

I watched him cross the room and something in my head made a decision without consulting me. I imagined, with no effort at all, what that man had between his legs. I imagined myself kneeling in front of him. I imagined myself spread open under his weight. All of that ran through my mind in the time it took him to cross the room.

That day I stayed forty minutes longer than planned. I changed the order of my routine twice just to stay near where he was. It was ridiculous. I knew it. I did it anyway.

***

On Wednesday I got there early. During the week, first thing in the morning, the gym is almost empty — three young guys doing their own thing and Rodrigo going over papers at the front desk. I changed in the locker room more carefully than usual: the black lycra I’d been saving for when the situation deserved it, the sports bra, the cotton thong that shows beneath thin fabric. I went into the room knowing exactly what my plan was.

I went to the treadmill, put on my headphones, and set the speed to seven. I didn’t look where he was.

I didn’t need to. Ten minutes later he was beside me.

—Been at this gym long? —he asked, direct, without the detours younger guys use to start a conversation.

—Three weeks —I said, lowering the volume—. I used to go to another one, but I got bored.

—And this one doesn’t bore you yet?

I smiled without really looking at him.

—Not yet.

The conversation formed on its own. Names, where we were from, how long we’d been training. After a while came the question we both knew was coming sooner or later.

—Boyfriend?

—Not really my thing —I said—. I’d rather not make things too complicated.

Rodrigo nodded with that calm of someone for whom the answer confirms something he already suspected.

—Even better —he said—. More freedom for both of us.

I got off the treadmill with more movement than necessary. I felt his gaze following my shape. I didn’t bother pretending I hadn’t noticed.

***

On Friday I arrived knowing what I wanted to happen.

The gym was quieter than usual. I went straight to the weight area and started my back routine. I was lying back on the lat pulldown machine when I felt him come up behind me. Without asking permission, without announcing himself, he positioned himself behind me and placed both hands on my shoulders.

—Keep the shoulder blades together before you pull —he said—. Like this.

His voice was low, calm. The kind of voice that doesn’t need to get loud to be heard.

I repeated the movement. His hands stayed where they were a second longer than necessary.

—Better —he said.

He didn’t step away. He stayed beside me while I finished the set, giving me corrections I mostly didn’t need. It was the pretext, and we both knew it.

—Do you give private lessons? —I asked when I finished the last rep.

Rodrigo looked at me with that calm that was starting to feel intolerable precisely because it was so irresistible.

—I give very intense ones —he said—. Not everyone can handle the pace.

I stood up and faced him.

—I can handle quite a lot.

He smiled for the first time since I’d known him. It wasn’t a big smile, just one corner of his mouth lifting a centimeter.

—We’ll see about that.

He took my wrist carefully —firm, but carefully— and led me toward the back of the gym.

***

His office was also a storage room. A dark wood desk, boxes stacked against one wall, a long sofa by the window. The light came in slanted and yellow. It wasn’t a pretty place, but that was the least important thing about it.

Rodrigo locked the door. That detail didn’t escape me.

He came closer slowly, took the back of my neck with one hand, and kissed me without hurry. His other hand went straight to my ass, squeezing over the lycra, measuring the flesh. It was completely different from what I’d expected. That calculated calm, the kind of a man who knows he has time and doesn’t plan to waste it.

He lifted me up onto the desk and moved between my legs. He took off my short top with the same slowness. When he saw my sports bra, he pulled it down slowly, without tearing it, and my tits popped free, my nipples already hard. He looked at me for a full second before doing anything else.

Then he lowered his mouth.

He sucked one nipple deep into his mouth, tugging it with his teeth right to the edge of pain, and with his other hand he kneaded my free breast. I moaned louder than I wanted to. His right hand moved down, slipped inside the lycra, found the thong shifted to one side, and two fingers slid into my cunt at once. I was already soaked. The fingers went in without the slightest resistance.

—Look at how wet you are —he said against my neck—. Dripping since the locker room, I bet.

He pushed his fingers all the way in and curled them. I arched over the desk, gripping the edge with both hands. He moved them in and out with a steady rhythm, listening to the wet sound my cunt made every time he pulled them out.

—There’s a better place for this —he said, still fingering me—. You coming?

I nodded without thinking too hard.

He pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth without taking his eyes off me, and licked them clean. Then he ran his thumb over my lips, still wet, and made me open my mouth so I could finish cleaning them off. I did.

We left the gym like nothing had happened. I got on his motorcycle, clung to his back harder than necessary so I wouldn’t fall, and we rode the blocks to his apartment without saying a single word. I was wearing a soaked thong and my cunt was throbbing every time the bike hit a bump.

***

The apartment was tidy, surprisingly so. A spacious living room, a tall bar with two stools, a full-length mirror leaning against the back wall.

When he closed the door, our clothes started getting in the way. He yanked off my top, dragged the lycra down to my knees, and turned me around against the wall. He held me by the nape with one hand and with the other ripped the thong off in one single motion. I heard the cotton thread give.

—Kneel —he said.

I knelt on my own. Something in the way he looked at me made that impulse feel like the most natural response in the world. I unbuckled his belt, pulled down his pants and boxers at the same time, and his cock sprang free, hard, pointing at my face.

It was big. Bigger than I’d imagined all week. And I had imagined a lot. Thick at the base, with a prominent vein running underneath, the head red and wide. I took it in my hand and couldn’t quite close my fingers around it.

Rodrigo rested one hand on my head without pushing yet.

—Open your mouth —he said, in that tone I was already finding familiar.

I did.

I ran my tongue over the whole head first, slowly, tasting the drop of pre-cum already there. Then I took it into my mouth, just the head at first, and started sucking with my lips tight. His breathing changed above me. I liked that more than anything else in that moment. I took more, swallowing what I could, using both hands on the rest that wouldn’t fit. Saliva started running down my chin, my neck, my tits.

—All of it —he said—. Take it all in.

I grabbed his hips with my hands and forced my head down. The head hit the back of my throat and I gagged. Rodrigo held the back of my neck with both hands and didn’t let me come up all the way. He pushed slowly, measured, until he felt me start to take it, and then he pushed deeper.

—That’s it, breathe through your nose —he said—. Relax your throat.

He fucked my mouth for a long while, pulling out and pushing back in with a rhythm that kept building. I gagged two more times. Both times he eased up exactly when he needed to. Saliva ran from my lips in strings all the way to the floor. My eyes blurred with tears. I looked up at him from below with my mouth open and he looked down at me with that focused, dark expression, like someone enjoying something he knows he’s going to remember.

—Stop —he said after a while, and lifted me by the hair with relative gentleness—. If you keep going like that, I’m going to come in your mouth right now, and I don’t want to yet.

He took me to the sofa. He made me turn and bend over the backrest, standing, with my hips pressed to the edge and my ass lifted. He knelt behind me. For a few seconds he didn’t do anything. He just looked at me wide open.

Then he spread my cheeks with both hands and pressed his tongue to my cunt, from bottom to top, long, all the way. I screamed against the back of the sofa. He licked me slowly, sucking my lips, pushing his tongue in as far as he could. Then he went up to my clit and stayed there, circling with the tip, closing his lips around it and sucking. I grabbed his head from behind with one hand and pressed his face against me.

—Don’t stop —I said.

He didn’t stop. He slid two fingers into me while still sucking my clit and curved them, searching for the spot. He found it fast. I started shaking against his mouth, my legs going weak, and I came screaming, with my face pressed against the back of the sofa so I wouldn’t wake the whole building. He kept licking while I clenched around his fingers, not in any hurry to pull them out.

When he stood behind me, I was still shaking.

—Want me to put it in? —he asked, bluntly, without the code of euphemisms.

—Yes —I said.

He caressed my ass with an open palm, gentle at first, then harder. The slap made me jump. I moaned and put more weight on the backrest.

—Harder —I said.

He laughed under his breath. He hit me again, on the other side, and his handprint stayed behind.

—First you have to learn the training rules.

And just like that, he shoved it in.

The first thrust made me scream for real — not from pleasure, but from the physical impact of that cock making its way in without much ceremony. I felt myself stretching from the inside, every inch forcing its way in. Rodrigo stopped for a second, just a second, buried to the base, one hand firm on my hip.

—Keep going? —he asked.

—Don’t stop —I answered.

He didn’t stop.

Hands on my hips, hard rhythmic thrusts, the sound of our bodies slamming together, his balls hitting my cunt with every drive. The mirror on the wall threw back the image I hadn’t expected to see — him enormous behind me, filling me to the hilt, my hands gripping the sofa back, my tits hanging and bouncing with every thrust, my face with my eyes wide open and my mouth too. I let myself go.

He grabbed my hair, wrapped it once around his hand, and pulled back, arching me. With his other hand he found my clit and started massaging it while he kept fucking me from behind. His fingers moving in fast circles, his cock hitting my deepest point, my hair pulled taut. I came again without warning, clenching around him, and he sank deeper, taking advantage of the contractions.

—That’s how you like it —he said through clenched teeth, never breaking rhythm—. All wet, squeezing me.

We changed positions. He threw me onto my back on the sofa, spread my legs, and lifted them so my ankles rested on his shoulders. He drove into me again, this time with his weight on top of me, looking down at my face from above while he fucked me. At that angle he went even deeper. I dug my nails into his arms, his back, wherever I could reach.

—Look at me —he said—. Look at me while I fuck you.

I opened my eyes. He was on top of me, sweaty, jaw tight, looking at me with a concentration that made me close my eyes again from sheer pleasure.

—Eyes open —he repeated, slower.

I opened them. I didn’t close them again.

Then he took me to one of the bar stools. He bent me over the backrest with my hands planted, ass up, and went in from behind again. In this angle every thrust went even deeper, hitting an exact spot that made me see stars. He spoke right into my ear.

—Ask for it —he said at one point, still, buried to the hilt, not moving.

—More —I said.

—More what?

I closed my eyes.

—Harder, please. Fuck me harder.

He gave it to me. He started driving with all his strength, no rhythm, going for depth. The stool creaked. I screamed, not caring who heard.

At some point he lifted me off the floor and made me ride him. Me on top, hands on his chest, moving at my own pace, feeling the full weight of his cock inside me each time I came down. He let me do it for a while — watching, his hands still on my thighs, looking at my tits move — before taking control again and thrusting up from below with a force that shook me whole. I grabbed his shoulders and held on as best I could.

—I’m about to finish —I told him, my voice breaking.

—Me too —he said—. Hold on.

He sped up. He held me with both hands on my hips, lifting and lowering me however he wanted. I came trembling on top of him, clenching him with everything I had, and I felt him sink all the way in one last time, stay buried there, and unload inside me. I felt him pulsing inside me, jet after jet, while he held me tight against his chest so I wouldn’t move.

That was what I liked most of all: that even while he was as rough as I needed him to be, he never once let me fall.

***

When I was done, I was lying on top of him, breathing slowly. His cum was dripping down the insides of my thighs. The living room smelled like sweat and sex and something harder to name. Outside the window, the afternoon had advanced much further than I’d expected.

Rodrigo was stroking my back with an open palm. Not saying a word.

After a while he handed me a glass of water. I sat beside him on the sofa, still naked, and drank it slowly.

—You’re coming back on Monday —he said. It wasn’t a question.

—Yes —I said.

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye with something that wasn’t quite a smile, but wasn’t distant either.

—Good.

We stayed like that a while longer. The caresses were slow, almost calm, completely different from what had happened before. His hands traveled over what they’d already explored in urgency, now with no haste at all, as if learning the route by heart. He pinched one nipple lazily and slid two fingers into me again, playing with what he himself had left inside. He made me come like that one more time, silent, biting his shoulder, barely moving against his hand.

At some point I got up, found my clothes scattered between the living room and the entryway, put them on without hurry, and told him I was leaving. I left the torn thong on the floor.

—Monday —he repeated, watching me from the sofa.

—Monday —I confirmed.

I closed the door and went down the stairs with my legs still a little unsteady and his cum still warm between my thighs.

***

That was three days ago. Monday has already arrived.

I don’t know exactly what this is or where it’s going. I don’t care to know too much, either. I know Rodrigo is forty-four years old and has a gym and that voice that doesn’t need to get loud to be obeyed. I know what happened when he took me to his apartment, and I know I want it to happen again.

Today I’m going to get there at eleven in the morning in black lycra and without a thong underneath. When he comes over I’m going to lower my headphones and tell him I want another private lesson.

The rest, we’ll see.