E: Kirsty in the Saddle

Kirsty in the Saddle
by Angela Hadley

I'd been going to the gym for barely a month when he asked me. I was
flattered, of course, and I can't say it wasn't what I'd hoped for. But
what I got was something completely unexpected.

Christian, his name was, and he was a Hunk with a capital H. After only
a couple of visits I'd paid my additional sub, so that he could be my
personal trainer.

I looked forward to my sessions in the gym, not so much for the
invigoration of exercise -- though I know that some people do get
hooked on the endorphins that exertion produces.

No, if I'm honest I have to admit it was the prospect of seeing the
delectable Christian, with his fantastic physique, his easy manner, and
his careful attention to me. He had this knack of making you feel as if
you were his only client. Or, if others were around, that you were, at
the very least, his _favourite_ client.

I especially enjoyed using a machine for the first time. Christian
would explain it to me, while holding my arms or legs in the correct
positions. Sometimes I got it wrong deliberately, just so I could feel
his hands on me again.

I'd made a special trip to the sports shop, and bought some wonderful
gear. Incredibly expensive for what it was, but the skimpy top (they
used to call me _Bursty Kirsty_ at school) and the minuscule shorts
felt fantastic on me. I washed them after every session. I loved the
way the Velcro allowed them to fit me exactly. At the beginning of
every session I always had a good look in the changing room mirror,
just before I walked into the gym.

Anyway, a month or so after I started there, Christian was filling in
my chart at the end of a session. When he finished writing he slipped
the pen into its loop and looked up at me.

"You know, Kirsty," he said, putting down the clipboard and folding his
arms, "I'm getting some new equipment delivered next week."

I tore my gaze from his bronzed biceps and wondered how he found the
time to use the tanning room.

"I'd like someone to test it out, before, you know, putting it into
general use."

"Mmm?" I said, noncommittal, though my heart was racing.

"Yeah, I've asked a few of my _best_ clients if they'd like to come for
a special session, after hours." My heart sank a little. Others too. Oh
well, I should be thankful for small mercies.

"Okay," I said. "When will it be?"

He told me it would be the end of the following week, if the stuff
arrived as expected, but he'd let me know.

He was as good as his word, telling me on the Monday that he'd set it
up for Thursday evening, when the gym would normally be closed. He said
that Dave and Sue, a married couple I vaguely knew, would also be
there.

Come Thursday, I remembered Dave and Sue telling me about a holiday
they'd booked, and that they'd doubled their sessions to get into shape
for it. Strange that I'd not seen them around. I had a sneaking
suspicion that this week was one of those they were due to be
away.

So I wasn't entirely surprised that evening when Christian let me into
the gym himself and locked the door behind us.

"Sorry," he said. "No Dave and Sue. It seems I muddled the dates of
their holiday. So it's just us."

"That's okay," I said, trying to be cool, though my heart thumped as I
made my way to the women's changing rooms.

"Whenever you're ready," Christian called after me. "I'll be in my
office."

I shucked off my day clothes, noticing that I'd come out in gooseflesh
and that my hands trembled. _Pull yourself together. He just wants to
test out some equipment. What's the big deal?_

I put on my newly washed gear, and stopped opposite the big mirror as
usual. I looked great, though I say it myself. The sessions were really
having an effect. With a little grin on my lips I all but danced into
the gym.

No sign of any new stuff, though. I walked over to the kiosk that
Christian called his office. He glanced up as I approached, and waved
me in.

"What d'you think?" he said, standing next to his new
acquisition.

I nodded, slowly. It was a bicycle. One of those highly technical,
stationary exercise bikes that records all your bodily parameters --
pulse rate, breathing, blood pressure, body temperature, skin
resistance. This one looked so advanced I wouldn't have been surprised
if it could scan your brain as well.

"As it's just you, there's no need to drag it out into the gym area."
He grabbed the handlebar and made as if to twist it. "You can try it
out here."

"Sure." I'd not ridden a bike in ages, but the prospect of sitting atop
this shiny contraption in Christian's office, while he adjusted things
-- and me, I hoped -- set my heart thumping.

"Shall we start, then?" he said. I nodded, giving him what I hoped was
an enthusiastic grin. _Mustn't be too eager._ I moved a little closer,
lifting an arm to grab the handlebar.

"Just a minute," said Christian. "I must adjust the size." He reached
down to fiddle with some knobs, twisting, pulling and re-tightening
them, until he was satisfied that the bike would fit me. "Okay, on you
get," he said, standing up.

Gingerly I clambered onto the bicycle, perching my butt on its narrow
saddle, leaning forward to grasp both ends of the handlebar, and
flailing with my feet as I tried to step on the pedals.

Christian chuckled. "When was the last time you were on a bike?"

"Can't remember," I mumbled, reddening.

"Here, let me help." He crouched down behind me and grabbed my ankles,
placing each shoe firmly on a pedal. Then I felt his big, powerful
hands on the bare skin of my waist. I caught my breath as he lifted me
off the saddle and positioned me further back, so that I had to lean
even further forwards to hold the handlebar.

"Comfortable?" he said, moving round the front of the bike and looking
into my face.

I nodded, forcing a smile. To be honest I felt a bit of an idiot, not
knowing how to ride a bike. How could I forget something like
that?

"The trick is to take your weight on the pedals and handlebars." He was
still grinning.

"I suppose you think this is funny," I said, trying to regain some of
my dignity.

"No, of course not...." But then he laughed. "Well, yes,
actually."

And I grinned as well, relieved that he was so relaxed about it. "Don't
worry," he said. "Lots of people have trouble the first time they use
an exercise bike. It's because it's fixed, and you don't have to keep
it upright."

"Oh, is that it?" I said, in a tone of disbelief. "I should have
realised...." We were both laughing now.

I began pedalling, feeling a little light-headed now that I was more at
ease. The pedal cranks seemed very long, and I had to lift my knees
high and and press my legs a long way down to complete the
strokes.

"Careful," said Christian. "Don't overdo it. Take it slowly at
first."

So I did. The rhythmic strokes soon had my pulse-rate up, and my
breathing fast. But I continued cycling along, and pretty soon reached
a sort of equilibrium. I felt I could pedal like this for ever.

"That's good," said Christian. "I think you've cracked it. Now, go easy
a bit while I adjust the settings."

I kept on pedalling, but didn't push too hard, as Christian adjusted
something on the handlebar control. I felt the saddle begin to move,
slightly at first, then in longer oscillations back and forth, in time
with my pedalling.

"Still good," he said, and flicked another switch. Now the handlebar
itself began to oscillate, and as I continued to pedal I felt my body
being stretched with each combined stroke of the saddle and
handlebar.

I also became aware that my bottom was moving side to side over that
narrow saddle, the surface of which rubbed though my shorts in a most
tantalizing way. And I also noticed that Christian was staring at the
nose of the saddle as it peeped out from between my pumping thighs. My
face flushed hot at this realization, but I hoped it would just seem
like exertion.

Christian walked round behind me, and once more I felt those big hands
on my waist as my body moved back and forth. He didn't lift me, though.
Instead, he passed his fingers inside the waistband of my shorts, to
the tags that released the Velcro. I heard the rips and felt the sides
of my shorts part -- as they were designed to do.

His knuckles pressed against the base of my spine as he gripped the
fabric, and as I pedalled on, he pulled the shorts from under me, a
little at each stroke as the oscillations stretched me, until at last
the fabric came completely clear and I was left with my bare bottom
clasped around that slick saddle.

Christian returned in front of me, as still I pedalled on, staring
ahead, red-faced and not a little embarrassed. He placed my crumpled
shorts on his desk and looked into my eyes.

"There's one other gizmo on this bike that's not fitted to the standard
model," he said. "I've had this specially imported from Thailand, where
they do the modifications."

I kept on pedalling, acutely aware of the slick wet leather between my
buttocks. I felt exposed, and yet at the same time exhilarated. The
oscillations of the bike were giving me little bursts of pleasure each
time it stretched me out, the saddle-nose pressing into me. I didn't
want it to stop.

Christian leaned forward and flicked two more switches. The bike began
to increase its stroke still further, until I was really stretched, and
I had to slow my pedalling in order to keep balanced.

And then I felt a movement, right there in the saddle. It seemed to be
broadening, prying me apart. I tried to look, nearly coming off the
bike, but in that quick glance I saw that the saddle had split along
its seam, exposing a crack along its length, matching its mirror image
between my cheeks.

The saddle continued to split me apart as I pedalled, and Christian
watched me from his office chair, a tiny grin on his face, his gaze
unashamedly locked between my thighs.

What happened next should not have been unexpected, but still it caught
me by surprise. As I pedalled, the sweat pouring off my skin, and my
butt being spread wider and wider, I felt the touch of something else.
At first I wasn't sure, but it was more evident at each stroke -- a
hardness that was growing upwards from the saddle.

I risked a glance. Between the two halves of the split saddle protruded
a curved oblong. Milky white and about two inches in diameter, this
protuberance emerged, stroke by stroke, from the front of the crack in
the saddle, its sculptured, bulbous head perfectly positioned. As my
body alternately stretched and collapsed, this ersatz organ worked its
way into me, until I felt its full, delicious length filling my
interior.

At which point, to my delight, it seemed to lock into the oscillations
of the bike, thrusting and withdrawing at each stroke. I felt each
minute detail of its contoured surface rubbing across my most sensitive
regions.

The pleasure of these sensations gave me renewed vigour in my
pedalling, and I cycled on, eyes closed, through an imaginary landscape
of lust. I was hardly aware of Christian's hands on my shoulders and
back as he removed my top. But I did feel my breasts spill into his
briefly cupped hands, then felt my nipples brush against his fingers as
he held them below my oscillating torso.

My body was in the grip of that thrusting fake phallus, each insistent
penetration pumping me to new heights of ecstasy. The sweat slicked off
my naked skin -- it was all I could do to keep myself skewered -- till
at last, in one massive shuddering release, my hot, wet climax sapped
the very last of my strength, and the bicycle slowed to a halt.

I couldn't even get off the thing. Christian had to unhook me and lift
me clear. He carried me, naked in his powerful arms, to the showers,
where he stood me shakily against the tiles and hosed me down. He
washed my hair, towelled me off, and left me to dress myself.

In a short while I returned, fully clothed, to Christian's office. The
bike stood there, immaculate. He'd cleaned it up. There was no evidence
of its hidden secret.

"So," he said. "What do you think?"

"Well, I, er...." What did he expect me to say?

"I can let you have it for a really good price."

"What?" He wanted me to buy it?

"Sure I can. Delivery included."

So there you have it. He wasn't really interested in me at all. I was
just a punter. Never mind that I'd climaxed naked on an exercise bike
in his office, after which he'd carried my nude body to the showers and
washed and dried me. He just wanted to sell me something.
Typical.

But, as he said, it was a good price. And I _had_ tried it out.

I don't go to the gym so much now -- I exercise at home. It's relaxing,
and invigorating. And _very_ exciting.