Chapter 1
Kate paused in the shadow of her front door. Ever since the kids moved out, her house has always been still at this hour. She stood there, weighing her keys in her hand, just long enough to let the moment register: this was the last time she would arrive home from work.
Her emotions bubbled, and she let out a deep sigh before she straightened, unlocked the door, and stepped into the foyer. Kate dropped her keys in a clatter onto the narrow table as she kicked off her shoes. Then she slung her purse over the back of a kitchen chair and peeled off her cardigan, tossing it with less care than normal onto the recliner.
At fifty-eight, Kate could easily count the nights she hadn't filled with laundry, dishes, grading papers, or creating lesson plans. Yet tonight, instead of chores, she flopped into the recliner, pulled the lever, and let the footrest spring out with a snap.
As she leaned back into the chair, she closed her eyes and listened. Beyond the white noise, she caught the indistinct chatter of Michael's conference call upstairs and the muffled hum of the dryer in the laundry room. Something told her to savor the quiet and focus inward. She felt her heartbeat in her throat, the faint ache in her heels, and the tickle of a stray hair on her cheek. Without opening her eyes, she shifted and sank about an inch deeper in the chair and breathed it all in.
It didn't feel real. In fact, Kate thought, it felt exactly the same as every other Friday. Thirty-three years in the classroom. Thirty-three years of lesson plans, bells, assemblies, field trips, and bake sales. And now, nothing.
They held a retirement party for her. There was a grocery store sheet cake served on paper plates, with plastic forks and tiny paper cups. The only thing separating it from a kids' party was that the cups contained soda instead of Kool-Aid, and the speech given by the principal, who barely knew her.
The plaque they had given her was in her purse, poking out between her sunglasses and a half-empty pack of peppermint gum. It read, "To Mrs. Kate Delaney, For Outstanding Service to the District."
The stairs creaked, and from around the corner. Michael, sixty years and five feet seven, shuffled in with his laptop under one arm. Although his build had thickened slightly over the years, he was not overweight, and his full head of hair was neatly groomed, giving the impression of a man who still cared about his appearance.
"Hey, superstar," he said, looking up.
She opened one eye. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"
He shrugged. "They can survive five minutes without me."
Setting the laptop on the kitchen counter, he came over and knelt beside the recliner, close enough that she could see the stubble he had missed shaving that morning.
"How does it feel?" he asked, half-whispering, as if asking her to share the secret to unlocking his future.
Kate wrinkled her nose. "Weird. Like I've lost my hall pass."
Michael grinned. "Hall pass? You're finally free, hon. You realize that, right?"
"Hmmm. Free." She thought for a moment. "I guess I'm free enough to watch Judge Judy all day if I want." She stretched her arms above her head, causing her back to crack.
"We need to celebrate. What do you want to do? Champagne? Chinese? Early-bird special at Applebee's?"
She made a show of groaning. "Applebee's? I'm not that retired."
He stood, stretching his own back. "Let me fix you a drink. What do you want?"
She closed her eyes again and mused, "Surprise me."
He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of Zinfandel. "You okay?" he asked, standing awkwardly above her, as if he wasn't sure whether to sit or hover.
"I'm great," she lied, and took the glass. She let the first sip settle in her mouth and savored the taste before swallowing.
Michael collapsed onto the loveseat beside her, and they sat in silence for a few moments, the way people do when their children have grown up and moved out and there's no obvious conversation to be had.
"You know," Kate said, breaking the silence while turning the glass in her hands, "I was thinking about joining a gym."
Michael nearly spit out his wine. "Really? A gym?"
"Why not?" She leveled her gaze at him, daring him to laugh.
He backpedaled, holding up his non-drinking hand. "No, I mean. You just never struck me as the gym type."
"What type am I, then?"
Michael paused, choosing his words carefully. "You're… the... type... who reads The New Yorker cover to cover," he said, tentative at first.
When she didn't stop him, he added with a touch more confidence, "The type who goes for long walks and judges people's lawns."
Feeling the need to keep digging his way out, he pushed on. "The type who bakes from scratch and never strays from the recipe."
Kate didn't interrupt. She just watched him spiral. It intrigued her how easily she could get him unravelled.
"I just think," she said, stopping him, "that now is as good a time as any. You know, to start some new habits. Maybe I should join the Y"
He nodded, a little too vigorously. "That's great, Kate. Really. But if you're going to do it, I think you should consider a gym with trainers who can help you get started. Want me to see what I can find?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You think I can't Google best gyms near me?"
Michael grinned comfortably as he knew how to navigate past this pitfall. "Of course you can. I just want to be a part of it… making sure you have what you want, the way you want it."
Kate took another sip of wine, keeping her eyes on the glass. Beside her, Michael seemed quietly pleased, as if her decision had settled something for him.
"I'm just worried," she confessed, "that all the gyms will be full of pretty people. You know the ones, twenty-somethings in spandex with perfect little ponytails. I don't want to be the sad old lady on the elliptical."
Michael's eyes softened. "You won't be. You're not old, Kate. And besides, the pretty people probably have their own gym somewhere in a strip mall with neon lights and loud techno."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
He shrugged. "I could always come with you. Do the couple's gym thing."
"Please," she said, stifling a laugh. "You hate gyms more than I do."
He sat up, "What about one of those women's gyms? You know, the kind where men aren't even allowed in the waiting room."
She considered it, rolling the wine around in its glass. "That's... actually a good idea."
"I have them sometimes," Michael said, sounding far too proud.
She batted at his arm. "Don't let it go to your head."
Then they talked, not about the gym, but about retirement: what to do with her classroom supplies, and maybe finally taking that trip to Italy they'd always promised themselves.
Eventually, the conversation shifted from retirement plans to what to do right then. They settled on Chinese takeout and a movie. Michael called in their food order and queued the movie on the TV while Kate topped off their glasses. Neither mentioned that he had not gone back to work, and by then it was clear he would not.
Later, after dinner, Kate stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection. Her long chestnut hair framed her face. The lines at the corners of her mouth seemed deeper than she remembered. The skin under her chin had begun to sag, a softening no moisturizer could reverse. But her eyes were still bright, still alert, and there was even a bit of mischief in them.
She stepped back from the counter, toothpaste fresh in her mouth, and ran her hands along her sides, taking in their shape. She didn't like what time had done. Gone was the slim, I can eat anything and not gain an ounce figure of her youth. She turned slightly, glancing at her profile in the mirror, noting the soft slope of her breasts and the way her backside no longer held the lift it once had.
Facing front again, Kate frowned at the outline of her waist. Gentle rolls had replaced the trim line of her younger years. She smoothed her palms over them, as if coaxing them back to their former place, picturing the body she might have again after getting back in shape. She donned a nightshirt and panties and turned toward the bedroom.
Michael was already in bed, glasses balanced on the end of his nose, reading from his iPad. He looked up as she entered, and for a moment, Kate saw him not as her husband, but as the college junior she'd met thirty-five years before who'd once brought her a single daisy and told her she was the most intelligent person he'd ever known.
She slid under the covers, feeling the cool sheets against her legs. "Hey," she said softly.
"Hey, yourself." He set the tablet on the nightstand and flicked off the lamp. In the dark, he turned to face her. "So you're joining a gym, huh?"
He could see the silhouette of her nod against the moon's lumination seeping in from the window. "I think it's time."
Michael drifted off to sleep as Kate lay in the dark beside him. She listened to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing, and somewhere inside her chest, a small spark kindled.
She let her mind wander, imagining the first step into someplace new, the hum of treadmills, the clink of weights, and the smell of sweat. She could hate it and never return, or she could find herself going back week after week until the faces grew familiar and it became part of her new routine.
"Tomorrow", she smiled as she thought to herself, "Tomorrow I begin."
Chapter 2
Kate paused in front of the gym entrance, catching her reflection in the tinted glass panels. In the angles and lighting, she could see several versions of herself, all holding the oversized purse under her arm.
It had taken her a few days of searching before she found a gym that seemed to fit her needs. Echelon's website was sparse, offering only a phone number.
When she finally called, the representative asked pointed questions, making it clear the gym was selective about its clientele. By the end of the call, she had been offered a trial month. It felt less like she had chosen Echelon and more like Echelon had chosen her.
She hesitated and then thought to herself, No time like the present, and pressed her hand against the cool metal plate on the door and stepped inside.
Unsure what to expect, she took in the lobby. The air had a faint sweetness to it, with a hint of eucalyptus. A sculpted concrete counter stood opposite the entrance. Its glossy top gleamed against the rougher front that displayed the gym's name as if chiseled in rock.
Seated behind the counter, a woman receptionist was typing while cradling a phone against her shoulder. Beside her sat another woman, waiting. She rose when she noticed Kate and stepped out from behind the counter. Her black and white striped suit was sharp, and her close-cropped hair was styled to perfection.
"Ms. Delaney?" She extended her hand, "Welcome to Echelon."
Shaking it, Kate nodded. "Thanks. I'm a little early."
"Early is better than late. I'm Ava. I'll show you in." And she turned toward the entrance to the facility.
Kate followed, noting that Ava was taller than she had seemed when seated. Her pinstriped jacket hugged her slim frame, the lines darting down to meet each pant leg, revealing only the tips of what looked like long heels. It was Kate's first gym tour, so she had no real expectations, but if she'd guessed, she would have had a spandex-clad escort, not a woman in a tailored power suit.
As they walked down the hallway, the lack of inspirational posters or ads for classes did not stand out to Kate. The plain stucco walls, painted in muted gray, were exactly what she assumed every gym would have.
At the end, Ava opened a door. "This is the Locker Suite."
Inside, Kate was struck by how different it looked from any locker room she'd seen in movies. The striped carpet with varying widths of grays and off-whites matched the tone of the walls. Instead of rows of lockers and long benches, there were private changing rooms, each with a bench, hooks, a hotel-style safe for valuables, and even a chilled bottle of water waiting on the small table inside.
"This is nice," she murmured, half to herself, half to Ava.
"You'll use Twenty-three," Ava said. "Wear the uniform provided. No jewelry or personal devices are permitted in the gym."
Kate changed into the black leodard bearing the Echelon logo on its hip that she found folded on the bench. The fit was snug and reshaped her in a way that made her stand a little straighter. She didn't even consider how they knew her size.
She placed her watch and wedding ring in the safe, then pressed in the numbers of her wedding anniversary to set the code. As the lock clicked shut, her thoughts went to Michael.
When she stepped out, Ava was waiting. "Ready?"
"I think so," Kate said. "A little nervous."
"That's normal," Ava replied. "Most of our clients are, at first."
Kate followed Ava into the gym and paused. The space unfolded in two distinct halves, separated by a wall of polished wood that rose nearly to the ceiling—high enough that no person could see over it.
To the left stretched what she imagined a traditional gym might look like. Rows of machines lined up in precise order, free weights stacked on metal racks, cushioned mats neatly rolled beside balance balls and resistance bands.
To her right was something entirely different. A raised platform ran the length of the room, divided into identical semi-private "suites," each one fully outfitted with its own compact selection of machines, free weights, and stretching area. Frosted glass partitions framed each space, offering privacy without complete seclusion. In every suite, a trainer worked one-on-one with a single client, the low murmur of their voices blending into the gentle hum of the room.
"Does everyone work with a trainer?" Kate asked.
"At first, yes," Ava replied. "However, after the first month, it's not required, but since it's included with the membership, most clients continue."
They stopped beside Suite One, where a tall, dark-skinned man stood waiting. He appeared to be in his seventies, but not in the same way most men his age did. His head was bald and gleamed under the lights. His short-cropped gray beard and mustache framed features marked more by experience than decline. His black nylon polo stretched across a chest still thick with muscle, and the fabric pulled smoothly over his strong, folded arms. He stood with the quiet authority and confidence of men decades younger, as if the years had chiseled him rather than worn him down.
"Kate, this is Victor Marston," Ava said. "He's our Studio Director, and he personally trains all new clients. I'll leave you in his capable hands." Then she turned and walked away.
Victor shook her hand. His grip was firm and steady. "Ms. Delaney. Welcome."
"These are our training suites," he said, leading her into the one nearest them. "This is where we'll spend most of our time together." He motioned for her to sit on the cushioned bench along the right wall.
"Today, we'll get you acclimated to our way of doing things," he began. He moved around the suite as he spoke, "Every client is paired with a trainer, at least to start. Consistency helps build trust."
Kate nodded, though her eyes darted to the mirrors across from her. She straightened in her seat, suddenly aware of her poor posture.
"Over time, though," Victor continued, circling back around to her, "some of our clients prefer change. Some choose to rotate among trainers, sometimes even seeing a different one each session. We encourage whatever helps them feel fully satisfied."
He let the words linger a moment. Kate was unsure if she should respond, but before she could, he spoke again.
"Each trainer keeps detailed notes so there's always continuity, no matter who you're paired with," he went on. "You'll be paired with me for the first month. After that, we'll decide together who suits you best," he explained. "Then, it's up to you. You can keep that trainer or, like many, rotate between them."
Kate exhaled slowly. The idea of being "rotated" unsettled her, but before she could process it further, Victor had already moved on.
"For now, we'll begin by taking your measurements and establishing your baselines."
Kate listened, wide-eyed, trying to absorb the information. But her attention kept drifting to the easy confidence in Victor's stance, and the quiet authority in his voice. She chose this gym to avoid the parade of barely-covered gym rats she imagined at other places. She hadn't expected this kind of distraction.
Victor crossed to a low cabinet in the corner of the suite and retrieved a sleek, black tape measure. "Let's start with your height," he said, gesturing toward the marked panel on the wall. Kate stepped over, heels together, and felt the cool slide of the measuring bar. "Five seven... and a quarter," he mused as he noted the number on the iPad in his hand.
"Now, if you'll stand here," he said, motioning her back toward the center of the room. He began taking measurements, circling her as he worked. The soft tape passed around her neck, then her wrists, forearms, and biceps, each measure being tightened snugly before releasing again.
She glanced at the iPad. "You're not writing anything down?"
"It's all Bluetooth," he said without breaking rhythm. "The device sends each measurement straight to the iPad as I take it. No paperwork, no missed numbers."
He knelt to take her ankle and calf measurements, his hands steady and never lingering. Lower thigh, then upper, the tape passing high along her inner leg near her crotch, before the device chirped softly and the number appeared on the screen. Kate kept her face neutral, but the nearness sent a warm prickle up her spine.
Victor rose and continued without pause. Hips, waist, bust. His touch was never anything but professional, fingertips brushing only as needed to settle the band in place. Once the device gave its faint beep, he'd move on to the next body part.
When he finished, he retracted the band and placed the device into its case. "That's all the initial sizing. We will repeat the measurements each week so you can see your progress."
He asked if she had any injuries, and when she told him only years of bad posture, he said, "Good. We'll start light."
Victor led her through stretches, making small adjustments to her form with quick, neutral touches. While they worked, he made small talk, asking about her. When she spoke, he listened in a way that made her more aware of what she was saying.
"My kids are grown, and I just retired. I guess I want to..." She stopped.
"Invest in yourself?" he prompted
She nodded, feeling like he understood.
"That's usually the hardest step," he said while molding her into the next stretch.
After twenty minutes, she was sweating but didn't feel rushed or judged.
"Your base is stronger than you think," he told her. "We'll build on that."
He set the resistance band back on its hook and gave her a small nod, signaling the session was over. He complimented her on a job well done and left her alone in the suite.
Kate sat for a moment on the bench, catching her breath and feeling the warmth in her muscles. She was drawing the energy to stand when she felt the presence of someone else.
Standing at the entrance, Ava asked, "How did it go?"
Kate straightened a little. "It was intense, but not the way I expected."
"That's the idea," Ava said. "We're in it for the long game. Victor will work with you exclusively for the first month."
Kate nodded. "I liked him."
"Good," Ava said. "Trust him. The best results happen when you let the process work."
After Kate changed, Ava motioned for her to drop the leotard into the hamper by the Locker Suite exit. Outside, the air seemed the same as when she arrived, but she felt different. More awake, more alert, and more aware of herself.
Chapter 3
On her second visit, she found herself scanning the weight room as she followed Victor toward Suite One. She wished that she could see into the other suites, but their doorways only opened onto the narrow walkway that ran along the wooden wall separating them from the main floor.
What she could see was the open weight room.
The women moved with quiet rhythm from station to station, each dressed in the same black, form-fitting leotard she had been issued on her first day. In the soft light, the matching outfits made them look like pieces from the same collection.
It struck her how alike they were. Nearly every woman was white, and most were close to her age. Their bodies were soft and rounded rather than toned, ripped, or super thin. They all looked like her—what Michael often referred to as "real women."
Each of them was paired with a trainer. The men stood close, offering a guiding hand or an adjustment to a machine. All of them were Black. Some carried the restless energy of their twenties, while others moved with the certainty of middle age. None seemed as seasoned as Victor.
Kate's eyes moved from one pair to the next. When she looked back, Victor was watching her, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he turned and continued toward their suite. She let her observations roll over in her mind, but kept them to herself.
The workout began much like the first session. Victor adjusted the resistance on her rowing machine, then stood nearby, watching her form. "Cleaner this time," he said as she finished the set. "You pick things up quickly. Do you play any sports?"
Kate shook her head, smiling. "Not since high school."
"What about your husband?" Victor asked while changing the settings on the next station.
"Michael? No, not really. He's more of a desk and laptop kind of guy."
"Athletic background at all?"
"Not that I know of. He's never been a gym person."
Victor studied her posture for a moment before speaking again. "Sometimes progress is easier when the people you live with are on a similar path, even if the goals are different. If he is interested, I could work with him. Not here during regular hours, of course. This facility is reserved for our women members. But I do private after-hours training for select clients."
Kate caught her breath between sets. "You would do that for him?"
"If it supports your results, yes," Victor said. "Think about it. The sooner he understands what we are building here, the better."
Later that night, Kate found herself feeling restless. She imagined the deepness of Victor's voice and the command with which his presence demanded. By the time Michael and Kate had finished dinner and settled in front of the television, her body was tingling with sexual energy.
They had a routine. Intimacy was usually reserved for Thursday nights, but Thursday was three days away, and she did not want to wait. She shifted closer on the couch, resting her hand on his upper thigh. Her fingers began to move in slow, circular strokes.
Michael glanced down at her hand, surprised by the break in their pattern. He smiled and shifted his hips to give her better access.
Kate unbuttoned his jeans and hooked her thumbs into the waistband. Michael lifted his hips, and she slid both jeans and underwear down to his thighs in one smooth motion. His erection sprang free, and she lowered her head into his lap, taking him fully into her mouth.
Within minutes, Michael tapped the back of her head, his signal that he was close. He was already bracing for the scramble of pulling up his shirt with one hand while grabbing and aiming his dick with the other to avoid a mess when he realized she wasn't stopping.
Kate didn't often go down on him, so his quick release didn't surprise her. What did surprise her was the surge of eagerness she felt to take it all. When she felt the tap, she only increased her pace, holding him in her mouth until she sensed the swell and pulse of his head. The first spurt hit the back of her throat, and she swallowed quickly, remembering the bitterness from the few times she had tried this before. She wrapped two fingers and a thumb around the base, milking the rest into her mouth before finally lifting her head.
She looked at him with a mischievous smile, then leaned in and kissed him full on the mouth.
Michael, not wanting to break the moment, kissed her back despite the unmistakable taste of his semen on her tongue.
Kate pulled back and met his eyes. "I love you, Michael Delaney," she said, licked her lips, then added, "I'm going to bed. Are you staying down here to watch TV?"
Michael nodded and watched her disappear around the corner and up the stairs.
In the bathroom, she moved through her familiar evening ritual of face cleanser, toner, night cream, eye cream, and brushing her teeth. She tied her hair up, slipped out of her clothes, and pulled on a soft nightshirt and panties before turning out the light.
In bed, she stretched her legs long and wide beneath the cool sheets. She smiled to herself, pleased that she had sucked Michael to completion. But as she settled into the pillow, her thoughts began to drift.
She saw Victor in her mind, felt again the press of his hands on her thigh as he measured her, imagined those same fingers drawing slow circles high on her inner leg the way she had just done to Michael.
A flush of heat stirred between her thighs. She slid a hand into her panties, parting her folds with gentle pressure. Curling her middle finger upward, she found her clit and used her pointer finger to pull back the hood. She stroked in small, steady motions until her body arched and the release came in a deep, rolling wave.
Breathing hard, she let her hand fall away, the aftershocks melting into a heavy calm. Within minutes, she had fallen into a deep, untroubled sleep.
Chapter 4
Michael woke to the quiet hum of the ceiling fan circling overhead. He lay still for a moment, staring at the dancing shadows it created as they stretched across the ceiling and down the walls. The night before played back in his mind: Kate sitting beside him, with her head in his lap, and her lips around his cock.
It had startled him almost as much as it had thrilled him. Kate rarely initiated sex, and when she did, it was usually due to a special occasion like his birthday. But last night she had leaned into it, swallowed without hesitation, and kissed him afterward like a woman reclaiming some part of herself. Michael had kissed her back, of course, but the taste of semen on her tongue lingered in his mouth long after she went upstairs.
What had gotten into her? Was this something he could expect in the future? Was it part of her new post-retirement routine?
Whatever it was, Michael wasn't complaining.
He got up, brushed his teeth, and made his way to the kitchen.
He saw the back of Kate as she was bent slightly, fishing for something from the pantry. Her dark hair was tied back, and her yellow terrycloth robe was cinched around her waist.
Emerging victorious, holding a box of Bisquick, she padded over to Michael and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"Waffle?" she asked, as if nothing unusual had happened the night before.
"Sure," Michael answered as he studied her, looking for some clue that would explain it.
Kate busied herself gathering measuring cups, eggs, milk, and oil. Adding the ingredients into the mixing bowl, without looking, she said, "Victor said something interesting at our session yesterday."
The name hung there. Michael shifted in his chair. "Yeah?"
She carried the bowl from the island to the opposite counter and began ladling the mix onto the waffle iron. "He said he could give you private training sessions. After hours, when the gym is closed."
"Me?" Michael blinked back his surprise as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
Kate smiled faintly. "Yes, you. He thinks that if we are both involved in the program, we'd both benefit more than I would individually. He said he could help you with strength, posture, even energy levels. He said he's selective about who he offers this to."
Michael rubbed his thumb along the rim of his cup. He wasn't sure what to make of it. "Why after hours?"
"Echelon is a women's only gym, silly."
Michael hung his head and shook it. "I don't know. I've never really been into working out," then, looking up to Kate, he asked, "What do you think?"
Kate tilted her head, pursed her lips in a thoughtful pause, then began, "I don't think it'd be what you'd expect. Victor focuses on balance, stability, as well as strength. He said it can change the way a man carries himself."
Michael dwelled on the words. Change the way a man carries himself. It didn't sound like her usual way of talking, and that unsettled him.
He stared into the rising steam of his coffee. "Maybe," he said slowly, raising the cup. "I'm not sure I want to get into..." He paused for a sip. "...all that. How much—"
Kate was ready for this and quickly cut in, "Victor said the first few sessions would be free so you could get a feel for the program before committing."
He nodded, more to end the conversation than to agree. "Ok. I'll… think about it."
Kate turned back to the counter and lifted the waffle iron to reveal four buttery, golden brown squares inside. She prepared the rest of the meal while Michael sat staring at his cup and the table's wood grain.
In his head, he repeated the name. Victor. He rolled it over and over, already certain it was a name he would be hearing again and again.
Later that morning, Kate passed through the lobby of Echelon with a spring in her step. She quipped a hello to the girl at the front desk and greeted Ava on her way to the Locker Suite with a brightness she hadn't felt in years.
While changing into her black Echelon-branded leotard, she noticed a damp spot in her panties. She stared at it for a moment, startled. Was she really this excited to see Victor? He had been on her mind all morning.
The realization gave her pause. Kate had always considered herself a conservative and faithful wife. A pang of guilt twisted through her stomach. She drew a long breath, then gathered herself and tugged the leotard into place.
When she stepped out of the Locker Suite and onto the training floor, her heart skipped a beat when she saw Victor waiting.
His arms were folded across his chest, the short sleeves of the black nylon polo stretched tight around his biceps. The fabric pulled inward, pressing his chest muscles together into a faint line, splitting the top into two halves.
His black polyester shorts hung loosely at mid-thigh, flaring when he shifted his weight. The elastic waistband rested easily around a lean, flat stomach, and though he wasn't built like a bodybuilder, his frame reflected a life of regimented exercise.
The standard trainer's uniform looked anything but ordinary on him. He had the body of a man who had never let himself go, and Kate felt a flutter in her stomach before casting her eyes downward to the floor.
Victor began the session with body measurements. Like before, his manner was professional and precise. His voice was stern as he called out numbers. Yet this time his hand lingered a moment longer on her waist, his thumb grazing the line of her hip as he stretched the black tape of the digital device across her body.
When he looped the tape around her thigh, his knuckles brushed along the smooth nylon of her leotard. When he adjusted it across her chest, his fingers grazed the underside of her breasts before releasing the clasp. Each casual contact carried an undercurrent of intent, a silent assertion of control.
Kate felt a jolt of excitement with every touch. Her body responded before her mind could protest. Her nipples tightened beneath the thin fabric of the leotard. The pang of guilt that had twisted inside her earlier dissolved, fading with each pass of his hands, until it no longer had any hold on her at all.
Once the measurements were complete, Victor instructed her through a series of stretching exercises, all the while correcting her posture and guiding her breathing. There was something different in his presence today. His voice had more authority in it than before.
"Hold," he said when her stance wavered. He placed his hand on her shoulder to steady her.
They moved through a series of controlled exercises, and then Victor had her lower herself to the mat.
"This one's about balance," he explained. "One arm extended, the other braced. You'll need an anchor." Victor offered his forearm. "Here. Hold on."
She gripped him lightly at first, then firmer as the exercise demanded. His skin was solid under her hand, the strength in his arm undeniable.
"Good," Victor said quietly. "Again."
For the second set, Victor motioned to the tablet in his other hand, saying, "I need to track this," and guided her hand lower. "Brace yourself," placing it on the inside of his thigh, "here."
Her fingers curled against warm muscle, higher than she expected. Her stomach twisted like before, and her palms started to sweat, but she held on. His free hand went to the screen of the iPad, his gaze fixed on the screen as if nothing about this arrangement was unusual.
"Hold," he instructed without looking.
His thigh was warm, thick, and shaved smooth. As she moved through the exercise, her hand slipped higher inside the leg of his shorts, and her knuckles grazed a softer, looser warmth. She startled as she realized that through the thin material, she could feel the unmistakable weight of his balls pressing against the back of her hand. This sent a sharp current racing up through her arm and into her neck, leaving her nerves buzzing as if they'd been struck by live wire.
Victor's eyes flicked down at her, not in surprise, but in acknowledgment. Kate's first instinct was to apologize, but she couldn't make herself speak. He stared at her intently for a moment, and then he said in a low, calm voice, "How is Michael?" and returned his focus to the iPad, as if her hand belonged there, and the accident itself had been part of his plan.
Kate's breath caught. The question, which was unexpected and very direct, almost stumped her as she tried to focus despite her hand still touching his scrotum. "He's… thinking about your offer," she managed.
Victor nodded slowly. "He should."
Kate's breath quickened. The strain of the exercise made her tremble, but the real challenge was ignoring the intimacy of the placement of her hand. The fact that he didn't acknowledge it only heightened her awareness.
At the end of the session, Victor closed the iPad, set it aside, and stepped close enough that Kate could hear his breathing. She kept her eyes down, so he dipped until their eyes met. He held her eyes with his until he straightened to his full height. His gaze was direct and fixed with intent.
"Convince Michael," he said.
Just that. Nothing more.
Kate's stomach fluttered. The command landed inside her like a switch being thrown.
That night, she pulled out all the stops. There was no debate, no hesitation. She moved with quiet purpose, each step a preparation.
She drew a long bath, shaved carefully, and applied a light powder and a faint, but sweet perfume that always drove Michael wild. Instead of her usual nightshirt and panties, she pulled over a see-through slip and the sexy robe she'd purchased for the previous year's Valentine's Day.
When she stepped into the bedroom, she let the robe slide from her shoulders and stood for a moment in the bathroom doorway, the light behind her silhouetting her body beneath the sheer garment, outlining her long legs, the curve of her hips, and the dark gap between her thighs.
She held there for a moment, knowing exactly what Michael would see. Michael startled as he looked up from his iPad. He'd only seen Kate this way on special occasions, and the sight froze him into a stare as his jaw slackened.
With a look of satisfaction, she crossed the room, climbed onto the bed, and crawled up until she straddled his thighs. She tugged gently until he surrendered the tablet, then she set it on the nightstand without breaking eye contact.
"Umm. Hello," he said, trying to sound calm as his excitement mounted.
She leaned in and kissed him full on the mouth, pressing herself close until he felt the points of her nipples through the slip. She pulled back just enough so he could see her smile.
"Hello back at you."
Then she kissed him again, slower at first, then deeper and with more intensity.
Michael's hands slid along her sides, up the length of her arms until their fingers interlocked. She forced his hands down and pinned them on either side of his head, holding them there for a moment. Then she let out an almost inaudible grunt before slipping free of his grip.
Kate slid down the length of his body, dropping kisses on his chest, then stomach as she moved lower.
She caught the waistband of his underwear with her teeth, tugged, and then slid them down with her hands, freeing his hardening cock. Her lips hovered just above him, then she dropped her tongue onto the base of his shaft, flattening it. She licked slowly up his length until her mouth closed over the swollen head. Michael groaned, threw his head back, and sank deep into the pillows.
She began a slow rhythm. With each pass, she would pause when only the head was in her mouth and manipulate the underside with her tongue, alternating between circular and flicking motions, and then sink back down. Michael closed his eyes, letting himself go.
Then, without warning, Kate lifted her head off his glistening shaft. He felt a chill as the cool air rushed over the slick surface. He lifted his hips as his body ached for her mouth to return.
"You know," she said softly while looking directly at him. She waited until he dropped his hips and returned her gaze before continuing, "Victor thinks you'd really benefit from his program."
Michael stared hard at her, his eyes widening at the mention of Victor. Before he could protest, she lowered her mouth again, sucking him harder and faster, intent on smothering away any trace of resistance.
Kate kept her mouth steady. This was the moment. If she was going to win him, it had to be here, now, when his body was already under her control. She told herself it was for Michael, but a hidden part of her wanted to please Victor, and that thought drove her harder than she dared admit.
Kate pulled off once more. This time, positioned her chin just above him, grasping his dick in her hand, and twisted slowly in a circular motion, focusing her attention on the tip.
"Strength. Energy. Confidence," she murmured, "Don't you want that?" She flicked her tongue across the head, then she slid him back into her mouth before he could answer.
Michael's breathing had become choppy. The rise and fall of his chest resembled a sea after a storm, its restless waves refusing to settle.
Kate bobbed her head, quickening her pace, then let him slip free with an audible pop.
"You need this, Michael, and I need you to say yes."
His face twisted with a mix of confusion and arousal. Why would she need this? Why would I? The questions barely surfaced before she swallowed him down again, and all thought dissolved into raw pleasure.
Kate hadn't expected the surge of excitement this manipulation gave her. The thrill tightened in her chest as she tucked her elbows in for balance. Her fingers traced slowly up his thighs, thumbs dragging lower until they curved beneath his balls. She pressed her legs together, stretching out so every motion was devoted to the act itself.
She pulled up again. Her thumb pressed firmly against the sensitive underside as she whispered, "Don't make me beg for something I already know you want to give me."
Kate again engulfed his cock into her ready mouth and this time started humming aloud. The vibration of her hum numbed her lips, but she knew it had the intended effect when Michael groaned loudly.
He gripped the sheets into balls with his fists, his hips dancing back and forth as he grappled with the contrast between the pleasure she was giving and the message she was sending.
Then she stopped again, staring up at him with her open mouth just out of reach. "All you have to do," she whispered, her hand tightening around his shaft, "is say yes."
She leaned in and gave a long, languid lick from the base to the head and sank down on him once more, causing a ragged sound from his throat.
"Kate…" he panted. "God…"
She drew up again, this time she let go completely. Michael's erection bounced as it throbbed. "Say yes," she repeated, eyes locked on his. "Tell me you want to please me. Tell me you'll let Victor train you."
Kate held his eyes as the pause stretched. He pulled the sheets up with his fists and raised his hips, trying to reconnect his penis with her mouth. She deftly avoided contact with little effort. He started trembling as he teetered.
"Yes," he finally gasped, the word breaking loose, but when she didn't resume, he pleaded. "Please, Kate. I said yes."
Kate's lips curved in a faint smile. "Yes, what? Tell me."
"Yes," Michael said, finally submitting. "I'll let Victor train me."
Her eyes narrowed, and her grin widened into a look of pure triumph. She held his gaze, making sure he saw her satisfaction in his surrender. Then, without breaking eye contact, she lowered her head and sealed her lips around his cock one final time. This time, she didn't stop. She worked him with steady determination until his body arched against the bed and he spilled into her mouth.
Michael's whole body tensed with each spurt. She winced from the bitterness of his semen as she swallowed. Then she curled her lips inward over her teeth and clamped down tight, pinching him. She dragged her mouth slowly up his softening cock, squeezing out the last of his ejaculate as his body twitched helplessly.
Kate repeated this until she was sure she had milked him dry. After she finally let him slip free, she hovered over him for a moment, staring down at his dick as it shriveled beneath her. She breathed hard through her nose, her mouth holding the last of his semen shut inside.
Then she slid up his body, pressing her weight against him, leaned down, and kissed him full and deep. She forced every trace of his cum into his mouth, holding it there until he had no choice but to swallow.
She broke from the kiss and smiled at him. In a low, stern whisper, she said, "Good." Then she rolled over onto her side of the bed, pulled the covers up, and went right to sleep.
Michael lay there speechless. His heart felt like it would pound through his chest. He'd never seen Kate behave this way, and he wasn't sure which unsettled him more, the pleasure or the fear.
Chapter 5
The next morning, Kate was anxious. She woke before Michael, carefully slipped from the bed, and descended into the kitchen to start breakfast. Her performance the night before was like an out-of-body experience. She achieved what she intended, but went further than she expected. Much further. Now she wasn't sure what that meant.
Would Michael be angry? Would he feel betrayed? Would he see her as manipulative? Had she crossed a line she wasn't prepared to keep walking?
She beat eggs into an omelet mix and steadied herself with the chores of the morning until she heard Michael coming down the stairs. Determined to set the tone, she met him at the bottom step with a hug and a light kiss on the lips.
"Good morning, darling. Sleep well?"
A little dazed and still groggy, Michael shrugged as he walked past her and pulled a chair from the table. He dropped into it heavily, letting his back slam against the slats and his head tip back, his neck barely catching its weight.
Kate started cooking at the stove, watching him out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to ask, to pry, to know exactly what he was thinking.
"You look like you barely slept," she said lightly, sliding the pan across the burner.
Michael grunted, rubbed his face with both hands, and sat forward. His elbows hit the table, his eyes fixed on an empty spot between them.
"It was… different," he muttered finally.
Kate turned, spatula in hand. "Different good?"
He didn't answer right away. He just stared at the table, and for a moment, she thought he might shut her out. Then his eyes lifted to hers. His face was heavy, and his expression unreadable.
"I don't know yet... Maybe," he admitted.
Kate served breakfast, and they ate in silence.
Michael pressed his finger down on the blade of his fork and severed another section of omelet. He only managed a few bites before pushing his plate aside.
Standing up, he drained the last of his coffee and muttered, "I have a meeting." He set the empty mug on the table and disappeared around the corner.
Kate's stomach wrenched as she watched him walk away. After finishing her own breakfast, she cleared the table and set to tidying the kitchen.
Her mind wandered as she rinsed her plate and placed it in the dishwasher. The thrill of the power she felt the night before still coursed through her veins. Holding Michael beneath her control was intoxicating, but it clashed with the unease she was feeling now.
Yes, she achieved her goal. Michael had agreed to let Victor train him, but his distance over breakfast concerned her. Did he agree in the moment and then regret it afterward? Was he resentful of the way she pressured him?
Upstairs, Michael plopped into his office chair and sat for a moment to gather himself before joining his first conference call. The routine of work kept his brain mostly occupied, but when he found himself in a meeting that went a little too long or sifting through emails, his mind would slip back to the night before. Not the act itself, but how he felt when Kate had coerced him.
By late morning, Kate had showered, dressed, made the bed, and worked her way through the laundry and the rest of her morning chores. She slung her large purse over her shoulder and paused at the mirror by the door.
She checked her makeup and fixed a loose strand of hair. She felt different this morning. She was worried about Michael's distance at breakfast, aroused at the thought of seeing Victor, and she felt guilty about it all at once. Shaking the thought, she grabbed her keys and headed out to Echelon.
By lunchtime, Michael's mind was in overdrive. Usually, he would go to the kitchen and fix himself something to eat, but today he sat and stared at his computer screen.
He opened a browser and typed Echelon.
He had to scroll down a bit before finding the gym's website.
The website that loaded was minimal with muted colors. Unlike the big chain gyms, which plastered their sites with photos of pretty people in spandex and long menus of classes, Echelon's site bore only a phone number below a single, elegant line of text:
Echelon: A private sanctuary for women who value transformation through dedication, discipline, and discretion.
Michael sat back in his chair. This didn't sound like a gym slogan or tagline. It sounded like an invitation to a cult or secret society. He hoped for trainer bios, maybe even a picture of this Victor fellow, but instead, this was all he had to go on.
He scanned the page again, but there was nothing else to chew on except a thin line of text tucked on the site's footer: ©2025 Marston Equity Group, LLC.
Meanwhile, Kate entered the lobby of Echelon and was gestured to wait by the receptionist. After making a quick phone call, she said, "Please wait for Ava."
Moments later, Ava appeared, walked up to Kate, and without a word, handed her an ivory-white envelope, then turned and walked away. Surprised by the transactional and formal nature of the exchange, she glanced over at the front desk to see the receptionist watching her intently. Kate slipped the envelope into her bag and proceeded to the Locker Suite.
Michael opened a second tab and searched Marston Equity Group. There was no company site. There was only one hit: a business listing.
Company Name: MARSTON EQUITY GROUP, LLC
Entity Type: FLORIDA DOMESTIC LIMITED-LIABILITY COMPANY
File Number: 25027891
Filing State: Florida (FL)
Filing Status: Active/Compliance
Filing Date: March 5, 2025
Company Age: 5 Months
Registered Agent:
Victor Elias Marston
801 E Camino Real, Suite 7
Boca Raton, FL 33432
Products/Services: Health and Wellness | Private Clubs | Lifestyle Management
Governing Agency: Florida Department of State
He sat back in his chair and whispered the name under his breath. Victor Elias Marston. Could this be Kate's Victor?
In the private changing room, Twenty-three, Kate pulled the straps of the black leotard over her shoulders. She slipped off her wedding ring and watch and placed them in the safe.
She retrieved the envelope Ava had given her from her purse and examined it. It was thin and made of glossy white linen with a single word written it in neat, deliberate script: Michael. The back bore a medieval-style red wax seal with an Echelon crest pressed deep in the center.
She weighed the envelope in her hand. It was very light, and for a moment, she considered breaking the seal herself, but instead, she placed it in the safe beside her wedding ring.
