Honeysuckle

Chapter One

 

“Are you a personal trainer?”

I get that question a lot, mostly because I have the body for it. I work hard to maintain my body and it isn’t easy. I run. I watch everything I eat and drink. I spend too much time in the gym which is where I get hit on. A lot. Mostly by guys who have too much money and are barely able to maintain themselves. 

Gyms are terrible places to meet people. I know. Just about every guy I met at a gym and then went out on a date with, turned out to be an asshole.

Even the ones that were good in bed.

“No,” I automatically lied. I had just finished working out. I was hot and sweaty and I didn’t want to get involved in a conversation before I had a shower.

And then I turned around and immediately regretted it.

He was tall and well-muscled enough to show that he worked out but didn’t live around building muscle just to be huge. Not a gym rat. A health rat. T-shirt tight enough to show definition but not so tight he was a walking advertisement for steroids. Auburn hair, well-maintained showing that he didn’t have to shave his head and knew how to operate a hair brush. Shorts appropriate for working out, not so long that he was trying to hide that he had skipped every leg day and not so short he was advertising he was gay. 

And his face...okay, maybe he was a little older than me, but he wasn’t so old I was going to say no. 

I’ll admit it. He made my workout panties a lot damper than they already were.

“Too bad,” he replied. “I was looking for a personal trainer.”

Shit! “I know some if you’re looking,” I tried to recover. “They’d be happy for a referral.”

“Not for me,” he said. “For a friend of a friend.”

I was torn between just walking away and trying to string this out for at least a decent referral for a job. Being a personal trainer isn’t all money and glory. I had to work at it. I wasn’t getting rich, but I was paying the bills. I couldn’t just let an opportunity walk by. “Let me give you a number,” I said, maybe a bit too eagerly. “What is she looking for?”

“Just someone to keep her honest and moving every day.” A daily job. Even better. That was a steady flow of cash. If they could afford it. He handed me his phone. “Just give me the digits.”

He already had his contacts open. Officially no one was supposed to solicit work at the check in desk at the gym, but I wasn’t soliciting. I was accepting. Sort of. The gym I worked out at was a serious gym and had next to no amenities. The gyms I worked at were fancy and were only for those who could afford to work out in relative luxury. 

I punched in my number and edited the contact with my name.

“Cassie?” he said as he glanced at the phone when I handed it back. 

I wasn’t especially turned on, but I would have jumped his bones given the opportunity.

“That’s the name.” I had already lied once. I wasn’t going to do it twice.

He nodded and added some details to the entry. “I don’t suppose I could ask you out to some place for a bite to eat or some super protein energy drink?”

I should have said yes. I wanted to say yes. I should have said yes. I had an appointment that I was going to be late for even with a thirty second shower. “I’m sorry, but I have somewhere to be,” I said breezily as I headed for the women’s locker room. “Maybe some other time. You can find me here anytime.”

I raced through the shower and went to my first appointment of the day. Rich housewife. Rachel was her name. Pleasant enough to me. Talked shit about her husband at every opportunity.

When I first started with her I asked why she wanted to get into shape. The usual get to know your client chit-chat. 

Her answer. “I want to look good for my boyfriend.” 

It took me a second before I realized she was married. “Oh.” I didn't know how to react.

“Don’t tell my husband,” she said as we continued. “I mean, he probably knows I have a boyfriend. After all, he’s got more sluts at his office that he’s fucking than I have fingers.”

I hoped that was an exaggeration. 

It probably wasn’t.

Today Rachel just wanted me to make her do her exercises.

“Do you know what Kegels are?” she asked me halfway through our routine.

“Yes. Of course I do.” I got this question from almost all my clients.

“Do you do them?”

“Not as much as I should.”

“I’ve been doing them a lot,” she said. “Sex with Reggie is better than ever.” 

I couldn’t remember if Reggie was her husband or boyfriend.

It didn’t matter.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“You ever fuck two men on the same day?” she asked after the next set of reps. I liked working out in her house because she had a dedicated room just for exercise. It was fancy and wasteful, but I was making a buck off it.

“Uh...no.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Do you have...I mean… are you…? Shit. I’m fucking up.” She stopped lifting the barbell I had given her. “Forgive me for being so bold, Cassie, but are you a lesbian?”

I laughed nervously and ran my hand through my short hair dyed blue. It wasn’t the first time I had ever heard that question. I had short hair and obvious muscles. I didn’t wear much in the way of makeup, certainly not when I was with clients. Combine that with wearing casual workout clothing all the time. That, in most people’s minds, equals lesbian.

Just to be clear. I’m not.

“No, I’m not. I’m straight.”

Well, I’m straight enough.

“You know I’m having an affair, right?”

Why was she confiding this shit in me? Don’t rich suburban women have girlfriends and best gay friend interior designers and hairdressers to confide this stuff in?

“Yeah, I got that impression when you told you about your boyfriend.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No. It’s your life.” I had her switch to a different weight and set of arm muscles.

“I only started fucking Reggie because Michael was spending too much time fucking his sluts.” She let out a little moan. It sounded halfway sexual and halfway painful.

Not knowing what to say to that, I remained silent.

“And with your help, I got into a lot better shape. Michael started to have sex with me again.” She flipped aside her long, carefully colored and carefully cut hair to grin at me. “It wasn’t a problem at first, but Reggie liked my new body too.” She had lost almost thirty pounds under my care. “Yesterday was the first time I fucked the both of them on the same day. Reggie in the morning and Michael at night.”

“Wow. I...uh...I haven’t done something like that since college.”

“Really?” She seemed relieved to have found a kinship with me in slutdom.

I didn’t want to admit to her that I had never fucked two guys on the same day. I hadn’t even fucked two guys within the same monthly cycle.

Was I that boring?

I don’t think so.

“Yeah, but I was young and crazy.”

“Good. That’s...good to hear.”

I continued her on our routine. 

“Reggie is still better than Michael when it comes to sex but I have to keep fucking him if I want the money to keep flowing.”

“I understand.”

“Do you think I’m a bad person for having an affair?”

“It’s not my place to say.”

She stopped her lifting. “I want you to say.” She narrowed her eyes at me, making all sorts of judgments.

I needed to keep my job.

“Well, you say he’s having multiple affairs, so I suppose it’s only fair, right?” I smiled and readjusted her stance. If I was a lesbian, this would be a great way to meet women. I took them from out of shape to sexy. Maybe Rachel had wider hips and bigger tits than I liked, but I wasn’t going to be fucking her.

“Right,” she agreed. “I agree.”

“Maybe a little honesty would be good, though,” I suggested.

“What?” She stopped and narrowed her eyes again at me. I was stared her in the eyes for just a second before dropping my eyes down to her cleavage. She had to have fake tits. I hadn’t seen her naked, but every part of her body had gotten smaller since she had started working out with me...except for her tits.

I broke out in a nervous sweat to accompany the regular sweat I already had. “Well, you say he’s having an affair. Many affairs. Lots of women. Maybe he knows you have a boyfriend.”

“You haven’t said anything to him, have you?” She was accusing, not asking.

“No! I haven’t even met Michael.” Not exactly true. I had seen him a couple of times around the house but we had never spoke or been introduced. I was an employee to Rachel, not a real person.

“You think he knows I’m fucking Reggie?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. But you two already have an open marriage.”

She looked at me strangely.

“A de facto open marriage,” I clarified. “You’re both lying to each other and are willing to believe the lie for the marriage.” When the fuck did I become a marriage counselor?

“I’ll give that some thought.”

 

I was driving in my shit-box of a car when I got the call.

“Hello?”

“Is this Cassie?”

“Yes!”

“I was given your number. I’m looking for a personal trainer for a friend.”

It was the tasty snack from the gym. The day was looking up. I pulled over to the side of the road. No sense in dying when I was about to make bank (I hoped) and maybe score a date.

 

After arranging for an initial appointment and not giving myself away I went home to take care of myself. 

It wasn’t for a beauty regimen.

It wasn’t for a shower and change of clothes.

It wasn’t even to masturbate, though I would have been happy to incorporate that into my break. 

No, I just went home, tossed aside my t-shirt, peeled off my athletic bra and got out the pump.

Like way too many athletes I had taken some chemical assistance in order to get a boost. I had stopped way back in college, but the toll was taken. All things considered, I had gotten away lightly. While I had never had big boobs, they were made smaller by the drugs. They were made smaller still from my working out so much. 

And then I stopped the drugs and the reaction was...unexpected.

I didn’t notice exactly when I started lactating. It wasn’t all that unusual a reaction. Some women’s bodies responded weirdly to drugs. Mine did.

Stopping the drugs should have stopped the lactation. It didn’t.

I struggled with the pain. Nothing helped.

Nothing except hand expressing the milk.

That wasn’t good enough. I stupidly went out and bought a pump because it was a more efficient way of getting rid of the milk. It was also a more efficient way of making sure my body kept making milk.

The one small victory was that my tits didn’t grow. I was still just a B cup on my big days, most other days I was an A cup. 

But I needed to keep pumping out the milk otherwise the pain became too much. One time I tried to stop and got a blocked duct and that was more horrible in ways I don’t want to go into.

I was reduced to pumping my tits twice a day. It could have been worse. I still had a banging body so it was worth it.

Sadly, I didn’t get off on pumping my tits. It felt nice enough, but there was no sexual thrill. Some women learned to cum just from pumping. That was another downside. 

The last downside was that there were precious few men into women with muscular, athletic bodies that also lactated. Every date I had had since college, and even in college, ended badly when I took off my top and my tits started leaking.

Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe I should go lesbian.

 

 

Chapter Two

 

The snack from the gym wasn’t lying. He did have a friend of a friend. Her name was Honora (“Call me Honey!”). His name was Jacob. She was eighteen. Jake didn’t give me his age, but he had to be mid-thirties at the oldest.

I hoped.

I wasn’t much older than Honey and she needed some work.

“I just don’t want to go away to college fat!” was her primary request. She had four months to drop the unwanted weight; it was possible but...

Honora was a few inches shorter than me, and was at least thirty pounds heavier. None of it was muscle.

I had my work cut out for me.

What she did have going for her was a sparkling, upbeat personality, a cute face, and long blonde hair. She also had a well-shaped ass and she knew it.

We were in the girly gym that Jake was willing to pay for. I wasn’t sure of his exact relationship with Honora but if he was paying the bills, I was happy to go along with whatever they wanted. 

My young charge was wearing the most expensive and ridiculous workout gear possible. It wasn’t that her choice of fashion was bad, but I didn’t know that they made athletic tights in her size.

Maybe they were special order.

I’m just glad they didn’t say “Juicy” across her ass. 

“Just don’t do anything to make my ass look bad,” was her only restriction.

“We’re going to make it smaller and firmer,” I told her. “There’s no way around that.”

“Guys love my ass.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

It was true. She was right on the cusp of being too heavy, but for guys that were into big asses, hers was perfect. Plus she had big tits, presumably natural, to go along with it, so she was one of those cute and extra curvy girls who enjoyed the attention.

But at the same time she knew one more pound and she would make the transition from curvy to truly fat and her life would go downhill from there.

So...we worked out.

Much to my surprise Honora put her full effort into what I instructed her to do. By the end of the hour she was covered in sweat and exhausted. When I told her she was done, she collapsed on the floor and refused to move.

“I’ll die here. I’ll die happy,” she said. Or rather, she mumbled into the floor. She was face down. I had to hand it to the guys who liked her ass. It was nice.

“Get up and get to the shower,” I ordered.

When she didn’t follow my direction I quickly rolled her over, grabbed her wrists and pulled her to her feet.

“Whoa! You’re strong!” she complimented me.

“Thanks. Now get down on your knees and wipe up the sweat stain you left behind.” I pointed to the floor. There was no reason to be gross in the gym.

“Yes ma’am,” she said almost mockingly. “Anything else you need down while I’m down on my knees?” Honora didn’t exactly giggle, but the implication was made clear.

“Just wipe up your sweat.”

When she was done I followed her to the locker room to make sure she showered. I had enough experience with young women to know that some will do whatever they can to escape a mandatory shower. 

Not Honora though. She stripped off her sweaty clothes, dropped them on the locker room floor, and walked to the showers stark naked. Now, there weren’t many other women in the locker room at that point, but in my experience most were modest enough to put on a towel. 

I couldn’t help but sneak a peek. Even naked she had a nice ass. It was more than worthy of admiration. No stretch marks or cellulite; she was lucky to be young. I even got a quick glimpse of her tits. Big and not sagging, not yet anyway. She was at least a D cup, probably a double D. Dark pink areola with slightly upturned nipples.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I went to my own locker and fiddled around with equipment. I didn’t need a shower. I had another client in an hour so I had time to kill.

I knew a gym that catered primarily to gay men. It was just as much a hook up spot as it was a gym. 

I hadn’t ever hooked up with a client or anyone at any of the gyms I went to. I wasn’t sure what the lesbian protocol was and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to explore that with a girl ten years younger than me.

Honora came back wearing a towel covering up everything, somewhat to my disappointment. It had been too long since I had been with someone. I needed to go out on a date and get laid.

I was tempted and so I pushed the bounds of good taste and professionalism.

“Honora, take off your towel I want to get a good look at your body.”

A smile crept across her face. “Please call me Honey. Well, when you put it that way…” She dropped her towel without an argument or further explanation.

I got the impression that Honora was a bit of an exhibitionist and a slut.

That wasn’t good for me.

Or maybe it was very good for me.

She had all the right curves that I had observed as she walked away from me. Nice round bubble butt, big tits, smooth skin that was almost flawless. Freckles on her back and shoulders and a few on her cheeks and forehead. No tattoos and no piercings other than her ears. I couldn’t imagine that would last through college. She only edged and trimmed her pubes. They were a blonde shade darker than her head. I was a bit surprised she wasn’t completely bare between the legs but I couldn’t comment on that.

“Like what you see?” she asked, turning around twice, showing off more than was necessary.

She needed the attention.

“You have good body but you need to maintain and improve it. You don’t have any muscle mass.”

“Hell, I already know that.”

“We’ll be meeting Monday through Friday. Are you ready for this?”

“No.”

“Well too bad, Jacob is paying me and I’m going to make sure he gets his money worth.” She stood there in front of me, not moving, letting me all but eye fuck her. “You can get dressed,” I told her.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Is there a private room we can slip off to?”

“This is a gym, Honora. Not a bar or dance club.”

“I go both ways, just so you know,” she said with a wink.

“I’ll try to forget that. Get dressed.”

Sadly, I would have fucked her if we hadn’t been in the gym. Shit. You sleep with two different women during college and it chases you the rest of your life.

She started getting dressed. Naturally she started with a pink thong. Of course.

I watched her out of the corner of my eye. “What is up between you and Jacob?” I asked. “I’ve had parents and spouses pay for private personal training before, but never someone who wasn’t anything more than a friend of a friend.”

“Mom and Dad are divorced. They travel all over the place avoiding each other. Jake is the only responsible person in my life. He's the younger brother of my father’s college roommate. When everyone split he was the only responsible adult in my life who could keep an eye on me. ” She put on a bra that could have doubled as a hammock for a pair of small dogs. I was sad to see her tits covered up. “Dad’s some blah-blah-blah important money guy and throws money at problems like me to make them go away.”

“He doesn’t love you? What about your mother?”

She shrugged as she put on her skintight leggings. “They probably love me, but I’m a constant reminder they used to love each other and now hate each other. Dad’s working. Mom’s getting drunk and having plastic surgery. No time for me.”

It was sad, but hardly unique. I couldn’t take her back to my place and fuck her. That wasn’t fair. I’d just be using her for sex and she needed someone stable in her life.

That someone stable was Jake.

 

Jake called me in the hour I had between clients. “How did it go with Honey?”

“Fine. She seemed willing to work. Seems like a nice kid.”

Who was I kidding? I wasn’t that much older than her. 

“Great. Can I ask you out on a date then?”

I laughed at him. “I don’t date clients.”

“I’m not a client.”

“I don’t date friends of friends of my clients.” It was a lie. There wasn’t any professional conflict. “Besides, you hardly know me.”

“I met you at Ryan’s Gym. I want to talk to you about Honey.”

I sighed. “Fine. We can meet to talk about her. But it’s not a date.”

“Fine. It’s not a date.”

 

He gave me the address of where to meet him. It was a casual diner, he said.

It was, but it was in the ritzy part of town with incredibly marked up prices. I would have been underdressed in my workout gear, but half the women there were similarly attired, even if they were just walking in the park next door or meeting their boyfriends for a midday hookup.

He was casually dressed, but he looked good. 

Really good.

He smiled at me when I walked up to his table. If I was trapped in a terrible romcom I would have said I just melted at his smile. That would have been a big lie or at least sly code for “I creamed in my panties.”

And that’s when I realized that even though he looked good (really good) he didn’t look that good and I hadn’t gotten laid in far too long. 

Shit.

“How’s Honora?” he asked when I sat down.

“Good. She seems willing to work, but it’s only been a day.”

He nodded. “I’m just trying to do the best I can for her.”

“Right. She told me all about her family and how you sort of got stuck taking care of her.”

“Everything?” he asked, looking slightly worried.

“I don’t know about everything,” I hedged, “but she told me more than enough.”

“Even better,” he said with a tight smile. “You don’t want to know it all.”

“I’m sure. A quick question: did you know it was my number I gave you when we met in the gym?”

His smile became honest. “Yes.”

 

Jake’s cock was a perfect reflection of his body. Not too tall, not too thick, but perfectly formed and a pleasure to feast my eyes on. It was an even greater pleasure to feast my mouth on it.

It went pretty quick at the restaurant and we wound up back at his place. He had barely ushered me inside his very nice house when I went down to my knees in his living room, yanked down his shorts, and put his cock in my mouth. He was half erect when I went down to my knees. He was fully erect after only a few seconds of sucking. I hoped he wouldn’t blow his load too quickly.

He groaned as I managed to get all of his length into my mouth (deep throating was a trick I had learned during my slutty days in college—that was a liberal arts degree put to good use) and then he pushed me back. 

I was a bit offended.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t think we should be giving the neighbors a free show, do you?” He indicated the big front windows of his living room.

Smooth.

“Shit! Sorry!” I apologized as I started pulling his shorts back up into place. I didn’t see anyone through the window, so I figured we were safe. He didn’t live in a neighborhood with a lot of foot traffic.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, pushing his hand down to keep his shorts at mid-thigh. “Let’s just take this to the bedroom.”

Still on my knees, he gave me a little strip show. Shirt first. Then he kicked off his sneakers and managed to take his socks with them. From there it was easy for him to drop his shorts and step out of them.

I watched with my mouth watering the entire time.

My mouth and my pussy.

And, if I’m being honest, my tits as well.

Almost as if I weren’t there, he casually stepped around me and headed for his bedroom. Or at least I assumed he was headed to the bedroom. 

“Coming?” he asked after he went five steps up the stairs.

“Yes!” I said, happily pursuing his firm buttocks. I wanted to grab them while I was sucking him off. I was proud that I hadn’t replied Not yet! to his question. 

I met him upstairs in the bedroom. I barely had time to look around the place, but it was typical bachelor style. Austere and simple and probably maintained by a maid. All I saw was a big bed and generic artwork on the walls. 

The bed was all I needed.

Actually, I didn’t even need that. 

When we were safely away from prying eyes we kissed and embraced. His hard cock pressed against my stomach and I wrapped my fingers around his length. Once more I went down on my knees and resumed my blowjob.   

I don’t like to brag, but not only was I able to deep throat most cocks, but I was also able to undress myself while sucking cock. Shirt. Athletic bra. Sneakers and socks. Tights and panties. I wasn’t sure if Jake realized it or not that I had completely undressed myself, but keeping up a steady blowjob kept his focus on one thing: his cock.