Mr. Big: An Erotic Novella of Epic Proportions Read online

  Mr. Big

  Sylvia Redmond

  Copyright 2016 by Night Watch Publishing. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This story contains sexually explicit content and is intended for readers over 18 years of age. By downloading this document you acknowledge that you are over 18 years of age. All fictitious characters who are engaged in sexual acts in this book are likewise over 18 years of age, whether explicitly stated or not.

  Want free books? Click this link to join my mailing list – and if you want advance copies of my books make sure to join my ARC team!

  Other books by Sylvia Redmond

  Suddenly Hotwife

  Unprotected

  Sharing Amy

  The Will to Conceive

  The Blindfolded Tag Team

  and the rest of her collection on Amazon.com!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 1

  I was standing behind the counter, looking out at the sweaty bodies moving around the gym floor. It was a little after lunchtime on a Tuesday afternoon, and most of the hard muscle body builder types would not be trickling in until after five. That was fine with me – I was a personal trainer, and those types of guys never needed my services. My clientele was composed of an entirely different part of the gym population.

  A spandex covered blond strolled into the periphery of my vision. She was a gym regular, and I was fairly certain she was making a deliberate pass in front of the desk. She had the kind of body that looked like it had been sculpted out of spandex and granite by the same guy that makes Victoria Secret’s mannequins. She gave me a smile as she passed by that told me she was interested. I knew her well enough to know that she was a twenty-something who was unattached and free for the taking if I chose.

  Which meant she was totally not my type…

  I had been with enough girls like that to fill a gym like this, and I knew enough to know that they were trouble. Fucking girls like that usually involved a shitload of games that I had no interest in playing. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I would ultimately win in the end, because I rarely lost but the sex with them was usually just ok. It was the baggage that came along with those types of girls that made the rest of the ride unbearable.

  I had the muscular body type that came from years of lifting weights in places like this. That was one of the unwritten prerequisites of being a personal trainer that everyone accepted as fact. And being built like a brick shithouse was also one of the things that girls like that would always be interested in – a fact that I was certain had been true since the beginning of time. And fortunately for me, muscles also appealed to the type of woman that really revved my engine.

  My eyes drifted to the exercise machines that were closest to the front desk. There was a group of women that had come in together, and they were chatting away busily as they worked away on the machines. There was a tall brunette on the end, and I watched as she reached for her water bottle with her left hand. And there it was – the telltale glimmer of the one article of jewelry that always got me going.

  She was wearing a wedding band…

  Married women got my heart racing faster than any single blonde in a little spandex outfit ever could. To me there was something innately sexy about a woman wearing that gold on her finger that told the world she was committed to another man. For one thing, I knew a woman like that was experienced in a way that a single girl would never be. But ultimately, the commitment from a woman like that belonged to another man, and that was perfectly fine with me.

  Somewhere along the line I had lost count of the married women I had loved, and in truth I had never been counting to begin with. I was starting to believe I would live a perfectly happy existence if I lived all of my days never committing to a single woman. Girls that were looking for commitment always seem to have confidence problems and were looking for assurances that I didn’t want to give. Women who were already married had gotten their confidence boost long ago from someone else, and to me they were the best partners – for the fleeting point in time that I could call them mine.

  “Michael?”

  I turned to look at Tina, the receptionist at the club. She was looking at me with that expression that told me she had been talking to me for a full minute before I realized she was even there.

  “Hey Tina.”

  “Your 12:30 is here – Jackie O’neil? She’s been waiting for you.”

  Jackie fucking O’neil – how could I have forgotten Jackie O…

  “Right, my 12:30. Thanks Tina” I said, as I bolted from behind the desk.

  Chapter 2

  “Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

  I was counting off her crunches as she warmed up, relishing the view of Jackie O. She was one of my longest standing clients, and without a doubt she was one of my favorites. She ticked all the usual boxes for me – which was to say she was a sexy, married woman. But for her it was something else – a casual, confident sexiness that just kind of made the two of us click.

  Like a lot of gym rats, she went through periods where she came and went, and the times when she wasn’t around definitely saddened me. But now she was on the upswing again, which meant she was back to being a regular client. Although as I watched her doing the crunches, it was obvious that she still had some work to do.

  “Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

  She stopped in mid-crunch and gave me that look that told me to go fuck myself. And even with the dirty look, it was hard not to admire her brown eyes. It was the type of relationship we had developed with each other over the years, and I corrected myself as she continued on.

  “Sorry – eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one…”

  At times when I thought about it long enough, I realized it was probably Jackie O who had started my interest in married women. She just had that confident, cocky attitude that single girls never had. She was obviously happy with whatever was going on at home and she clearly wasn’t trying to impress me. That attitude, and the fact that she was gorgeous as shit, was just the kind of thing that drove me wild.

  She finished her crunches and lay on her back for a minute in exhaustion before getting to her feet.

  “Ok, what did you have in mind next, Captain Bligh?” she said.

  “Legs Jackie – it’s all about the legs today. I was thinking we would start with some Bulgarian squats.”

  She rolled her brown eyes at me with the anguish of someone who had suffered through the squats many times before. We walked to a quiet corner of the gym where we had some space and I grabbed her a couple of light dumbbells. I started talking her through the finer nuances of the movement and she held up her left hand.

  “Please, please – I am the queen of Bulgarian squats. Sit back and then you tell me whether you need to critique my movement.”

  I couldn’t help noticing the glimmer of her wedding band as she lowered her hand smugly and then started to do the exercise. If there was anything that made a sexy woman sexier, it was that little piece of gold wrapped around her ring finger. And Jackie O hardly needed any help looking sweeter, which meant for me that ring just pushed her over the edge. Who
ever the hell her husband was, he was one lucky guy.

  “See? Good stuff, right?” she said, and I suddenly realized that I had missed her first several squats.

  “Not too bad for an out of shape older woman” I quipped.

  “Fuck you” she said. “I’m one eighth Bulgarian by the way – and I can’t be more than five years older than you - you shit.”

  It came off of her tongue as naturally as some of my other clients said please or thank you, and I loved her for it. I also think it was one of the reasons I never made a play for Jackie O, although I had certainly had my fair share of opportunities. She was like that girl you ended up becoming best friends with in high school, and you just knew that making a move would fuck everything up. So I was content just to have my weekly sessions with her to keep my bantering skills sharp.

  She didn’t dress like the gym was a pick up joint either, which was something that even half the married women seemed to do. She was dressed in sweat pants and a loose tank top, the way that God intended people to dress when coming to the gym. But even in the sweatpants she was a knockout, doing little to hide the curves of her sexy body. Yes Siree - she was all that and a bag of chips…

  I felt a finger drag across my back and I turned to see one of my other clients standing there. Felicia Stanwick was also married but that was probably the only thing she had in common with Jackie O. She was standing there in a gym outfit that probably cost the equivalent of a week’s worth of salary to me, but it was still a pittance compared to the rock that was on her ring finger. She acknowledged Jackie with a barely perceptible nod before smiling at me to speak.

  “We’re still on for today?” she said.

  “Yep, 3:00pm – I’ll be there.”

  “Ok – see you then, Mr. Big” she said, before turning to walk away.

  I turned to look at Jackie who had stopped mid-squat to watch the little exchange. She was giving me that look that was telling me she wasn’t letting me off the hook easy.

  “What the hell was that about?” she asked.

  “Mr. Big? I guess it’s a nickname some of my clients coined for me – you know, massive biceps and all that.”

  “Not that you bonehead” she said.

  I knew where she was going. And I knew she knew I knew where she was going – but I was still obligated to head her off at the pass.

  “What’s happening at 3:00pm?” she asked.

  “Personal training – I do personal training on site at client’s homes, you know that. It’s something you would think about doing too, that is if you were really serious about getting into shape.”

  “Personal training” she said in a half mocking way. “You’re going to fast Felicia Stanwick’s home to give her personal training? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

  The implied accusation would have insulted me, if it wasn’t for the fact that I knew Felicia Stanwick was probably gaming me and the person making the accusation was Jackie O. But I still needed to at least feign annoyance.

  “What are you implying exactly?” I asked her. “I’ve been working with her here for months and she’s lost a ton of weight. She said she wanted to throw in a couple of sessions at home because she and her husband are going to Barbados in a couple of weeks.”

  She looked at me through a suspicious squint that was telling me she wasn’t sold with my explanation, which made sense because I wasn’t sold with it either.

  “Fast Felicia Stanwick?” I chided her. “Is that for real? You know each other?”

  “Well, I may have just made that up” she admitted. “But I know of her. And more importantly I know her type, that’s all.”

  “She’s harmless” I said, feeling uncharacteristically uneasy discussing another woman with Jackie O. “And I don’t need you concerning yourself with my clients. I’m more concerned about the fact that she interrupted your Bulgarian squats. So you’re going to need to start over. And try keeping your back straight this time.”

  Chapter 3

  I was thinking about Jackie’s comments as I drove to my three o’clock appointment. Part of me was annoyed by the accusations she was making. But the logical part of me knew what she meant when she said she knew Felicia Stanwick’s type. I knew exactly what Jackie was talking about.

  Because I knew Felicia’s type too...

  I was navigating through a neighborhood that was certainly well-to-do, and there were two things I noticed about Felicia’s house as I arrived. The first was that it was the biggest on her block, giving the visual that her husband made more money than anyone else in the neighborhood. The second was the fact that there was only one car in the driveway, implying there was only one person home. And I realized I would have expected nothing less as I made my way to her door.

  I told myself there was still a chance that this was all about exercising as I walked up to the door. I calculated that forty percent of the married woman who wanted my services were really interested in working out, or were at least too nervous about making a move. But I had put Felicia Stanwick in the other sixty percent from the first moment we started to work out together, and she had done little to make me change my mind. And when she answered the door, she all but killed her odds of proving me wrong.

  “Michael, so glad you’re here on time sweetheart, come on in.”

  She was wearing an outfit that I had never seen her wear at the gym – and for good reason. Her shorts were too short, even by crazy gym attire standards. But the top she was wearing barely contained her big tits, a fact that I knew was no accident. Her boobs were big and I was certain they were synthetic and expensive, and I had a feeling I was now going to find out for sure.

  “Is Mr. Stanwick home?” I asked her as I came into the foyer.

  It was a formality I needed to get out of the way. I knew there was no fucking way her husband was at home but I wanted it on the record before his wife started to get sweaty in front of me.

  “Robert? Oh no, he’s in Milan all week on business. He travels an awful lot for work Michael” she said casually as she beckoned me to follow her into the big house.

  It was the answer I was expecting, and frankly at this point it was the answer I was hoping for. I was watching her ass in those shorts she was wearing and it was starting to affect me exactly the way I knew she wanted it to. And as her left hand swung delicately as she walked, I could catch the gleam of the gold on her ring finger, a sight which stroked a part of me I was yet to fully understand.

  She brought me into a huge room that must have been their den. It had a gas fireplace in one corner along with a couch and various other expensive furnishings. The rug was plush and I could see that she had already laid out several mats in anticipation of whatever workout I had planned. Although I could feel my cock starting to stir and as it started to harden I knew hiding my arousal was not going to be easy.

  I hadn’t been completely truthful when I had talked to Jackie, and I was pretty sure she knew it when the words were leaving my mouth. Although the women at the gym were impressed with my muscles, she and I both knew it wasn’t the reason they called me Mr. Big. It sounded like a good enough reason, and it was why they were comfortable calling me that name in passing in the gym without raising any kind of suspicion. But the real reason for the nickname had nothing to do with the muscles of my upper body, and had everything to do with what I was packing down below.

  “I think it’s all about the core today Felicia” I told her as we entered the den.

  The gas fireplace was making the den almost too warm, which I suspected wasn’t by accident. I unzipped my sweatshirt and threw it onto the couch as I prepared to tell her what I wanted her to do. Her eyes immediately went to my arms as she did little to contain her leering, and I took the moment to take in another shot of her scantily clad breasts.

  “Why don’t you start by doing some planks, just to get you warmed up, ok?”

  She smiled at me and got down on her hands and knees to prepare to get in the plank position. I
t was one of the benefits of my job and I loved watching her body as she prepared to assume the position. And I had little guilt doing it because I knew that she loved putting it on display.

  She settled down onto her forearms and straightened her body as the muscles of her midsection went taut, engaging in the purpose of the pose. I watched as she tried to keep her breathing steady as her cores muscles engaged and the seconds ticked off what was not an easy exercise. Under ordinary circumstances, the act of guiding a woman through these exercises was an intimate and erotic routine. But watching Felicia Stanwick do them in her state of dress was anything but ordinary. My watch clicked of sixty seconds and I gave her a break.

  “Ok, give yourself a minute and we’ll do one more set.”

  I watched her ass relaxed as she lowered herself to the floor and she took a deep breath. She looked up at me and smiled and I could see the hint of perspiration just starting to form on her brow.

  “Remember when I first started with you? I couldn’t do that for longer than fifteen seconds.”

  “Absolutely” I said. “You’re a fucking rock star now.”

  She took the compliment with a smile like I knew she would. I knew women like Felicia Stanwick, which meant I knew about their husbands too. Half the time their wives were exercising to get any kind of compliment at all from their husbands, and the compliments rarely came. A compliment from another man was like catnip to a kitten, and I knew Felicia was reveling in it as she raised her ass off the floor again.

  “Sixty seconds starting now” I said, and she straightened her body onto her forearms again.

  Her big breasts hung almost to the floor as she did the exercise, and it was hard to look at anything else. The muscles of her core were firmly engaged, accessing the firmness of her ass. I tried to look at her body through the eyes of a personal trainer, but I was already starting to feel my big cock starting to stir. But looking at the sweat form on her exercising body was too much aphrodisiac for me to ignore.