A Very Personal Trainer
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Authors: Justine Elyot
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Bdsm, #Romantic Erotica
A Very Personal Trainer
by Justine Elyot
Total-e-bound
www.total-e-bound.com
Copyright ©2011 by Justine Elyot
First published in 2011
NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others.
This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.
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A Very Personal Trainer
by Justine Elyot
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A Very Personal Trainer
by Justine Elyot
A Total-E-Bound Publication
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www.total-e-bound.com
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ISBN #978-0-85715-554-2
(C)Copyright Justine Elyot 2011
Cover Art by Posh Gosh (C)Copyright May 2011
Edited by Delaney Sullivan
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author's imagination and should not be confused 4
A Very Personal Trainer
by Justine Elyot
with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
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This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated
Total-e-burning.
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A Very Personal Trainer
by Justine Elyot
A VERY PERSONAL TRAINER
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A Very Personal Trainer
by Justine Elyot
Dedication
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Marlot: Charles C. Smith
Phish Food: Ben & Jerry's Homemade, Inc.
Starbucks: Starbucks Corporation
iPlayer: Philips Solutions, Inc.
Whittard: Whittard Trading Limited
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A Very Personal Trainer
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Chapter One
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non-specific people and objects who needed my attention in various ways. The trouble was that the
someones
and
somethings
appeared to outnumber the units of my attention by a factor of about ten to one. To be frank, things were getting out of hand.
I had let my gym membership slide, my wardrobe was like a rummage sale and any poor dogs needing bones would have been better off canvassing
Old Mother Hubbard
. My kitchen table was piled high with parking tickets, overdue bill reminders and dog-eared takeaway menus with the phone numbers circled in black marker.
Life was getting away from me, and I didn't like it.
A typical dinner of the period—pasta a la microwave. In other words, some hardened curly things in a blisteringly hot, tasteless sauce. It hardly embodied temptation. Neither did the pile of unironed clothes, the half-finished tax return or the dishes in the kitchen sink. That bottle of Merlot and family-sized tub of Phish Food on the other hand...
No, Lara, no. I would sometimes catch myself off guard in the mirror—pale, pasty, carrying several more pounds than my clothes could handle. My skin was dull and my eyes looked tired. I needed a haircut, but the last time I'd managed to get one I liked was in 2005. The messages on my 8
A Very Personal Trainer
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phone told me that I'd missed a dental check-up and my brother's birthday. The shit was in close proximity to the fan.
I was out of control. I had to do something about it. Quickly.
I opened my handbag and almost shut it again on being confronted with a hundred balled tissues, some capless lipsticks and three metric tonnes of loose change. But I had to brave the shoulder-borne rubbish dump if I was to make any progress, so I let my fingers pluck at the detritus until I unearthed the treasure I sought. The newspaper clipping Shona had given me when we'd met in Starbucks a few days earlier, still intact, not ripped or shredded yet. I'd been ten minutes late for our meeting and she'd been angry—actually really angry, not the kind of eye rolling 'it wouldn't be Lara if she wasn't a bit late' indulgent exasperation. I was hot at the memory of it, and so ashamed of myself.
"Hasn't it ever occurred to you, Lara, that constant lateness is incredibly disrespectful? It says, 'My time is worth more than yours.' Well, guess what? Your time is
not
worth more than mine. You need to sort yourself out."
"I've tried, Shona, I really have..." I wailed, teary-eyed.
"I know you have." But her face was still grim. Forgiveness was a long way off yet. "You've tried. But your willpower alone isn't enough, is it? Look."
She handed me the clipping.
Special Introductory Offer. Fifty-Percent Off All New-U Life
Coaches This Month.
"New-U?" I said, squinting at the advert, which was phrased in that evangelically positive and uplifting type of language I found really irritating.
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A Very Personal Trainer
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"Yeah, I know how it looks. I wouldn't have answered that ad either. But I've had an excellent personal recommendation from a friend. She was on the verge of a stress-related illness before she hired one of these people—the change in her is incredible. It's taken ten years off her. And she's given up smoking, too."
"That's...very interesting. I don't smoke, though."
"No, but you
are
so disorganised it's a wonder you manage to get dressed in the morning."
"Sometimes I don't," I confessed ruefully. "And do you remember that time I forgot to do up the zipper on my—"
"Yes. I remember. And so does every man in that pub."
"I don't
mean
to be so hopeless..."
"I know. So get help." She softened then, pushing over the rapidly cooling Americano she'd bought in advance of my arrival. "Will you promise me, Lara?"
I mumbled some words that might or might not have been a promise. And, three days down the line, there I was, staring at the clipping, mobile in hand, ready to commit myself to...self-improvement. Ugh. It sounded so goody-goody and smug. I lifted my eyes to the ceiling and noticed that mouldy patch I'd been meaning to get checked out.
Right. That's it
. I punched in the number, intending to leave a message on their answerphone, but to my consternated surprise, somebody answered the call. Why were they still in the office at seven?
I coughed a little, over their words of introduction, and remembered what Shona had said.
Ask for Dexter
. Dexter was the alleged miracle worker who'd rescued Shona's friend from the brink of gibbering lunacy.
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A Very Personal Trainer
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"Yes, I was wondering if I could book somebody...was looking at your special offer in the paper...do you know if Dexter is available?"
"Dexter? Oh, he's very busy just now—"
"That's okay. Forget it." I said the words in a grateful rush, feeling that I'd been let off the hook, or stepped back from the precipice. "I'll...leave it for now."
"No, no, just a second. He has a cancellation. He could see you tomorrow afternoon. Of course, daytimes don't suit everyone..."
I could have just said I was working...but the lie wouldn't come. Not that it was a lie—I work from home, so in theory, I might have been working...but it was more likely that I'd be watching soap operas on iPlayer.
"No, no, tomorrow afternoon is fine."
Am I mad? Tomorrow afternoon is not fine at all! I have
three deadlines to meet before Friday.
"Great. Our coaches usually like to meet with you in your home, so if you want to call a friend or family member to be with you for your first appointment—"
"Wait! You said...in my home?"
"That's right. It's much easier for them to get a picture of your needs and challenges if they see you in your home setting."
I looked around at my needs and challenges. The room was busting at the seams with them. This organiser man was going to back out of the house screaming. And I couldn't possibly get everything tidy by tomorrow afternoon.
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"I'm not sure...I don't think...could we not meet at your office?"
"Dexter is very clear on the way he likes to operate. He will want to meet with you in your home. As I said before, he's quite happy for you to have a friend or neighbour with you..."
"Oh. I don't know. Oh. Let me think about this..." I thought I might hyperventilate. Nobody ever came into my flat. It wasn't as if it was
that
bad—it just didn't project the image I wanted people to have of me. I wanted them to see Lara, the charming, slightly distrait, friendly, but busy, city girl. I didn't want them to see a mess. I wasn't a mess! I really...okay. I was.
"Dexter will be booked up to the end of the month..."
"Oh. okay." I was a mess. I knew it, deep down. I needed to be cleaned up. Put away. Tied with a neat ribbon. "You'll want my address then."
It was only later, in bed, that the enormity of what I'd signed up for hit me. I had agreed to pay a man to tell me what to do. Paying to be scolded and pushed around by some man! Was I mad? I didn't know. But I was certainly just a little bit excited...
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A Very Personal Trainer
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consigned to the recycling. I'd found a duster under the sink and had trailed it across a few surfaces, marvelling at the cloud of dust particles I'd disturbed in the process. Dust is so
interesting
to watch, isn't it?
Dishes washed, clutter hidden. Somehow everything still looked wrong, and I wondered if Dexter would eventually come to the same conclusion I had—that my problem was congenital and, as such, untreatable. List making simply wasn't in my DNA.
The buzzer jolted me out of reverie. It was two o'clock
exactly
—had he stood by the door waiting for the second hand to hit the twelve?
"Hello," I spoke cautiously into the intercom.
"Miss Fisher? Dexter from 'New-U' here."
"I'll buzz you in."
Was that a normal voice? It didn't seem unusual in any way. Not too high, not too deep, no accent, no speech impediment. Why was I so nervous? I tried to shake the foreboding out of me and remember that I was paying for a service! That put me in the driver's seat, didn't it? If he didn't suit me, I could fire him.
