For Copperblue
Content warnings for this story (click here for guide):
This year would be her year. Rachel was determined. No excuses and no putting it off. This year she would actually get active and stop loafing in bed at weekends. She’d become fit and healthy and sleep better and all of that. But she was aware her best intentions fell away after mid-January, when the excuses and allowances kicked in. She needed answerability, and the best way to get that was to hire a personal trainer. Someone just mean enough to keep her running and just nice enough that she wanted to haul herself down to the park to impress them.
Throughout December Rachel researched local fitness services. There were group runs but she’d be able to slope off without being noticed. No, it had to be some dude with boundless energy who would push her into healthy habits. After looking through pages and pages of qualified gym bunnies and nearly giving up, she found a page for Consequences Fitness. The trainer, Carl, was a youngish guy (30s maybe? Well-maintained 40s?) with a stern look, holding his hands on his hips for comic effect. The spiel was appealing and self-aware, all levels were welcome and the testimonials were glowing. Under ‘My Methods’, Carl had written:
“I’m very strict, and only take on clients who are willing to work or face the consequences. You can quit at any time, but while you’re training with me, failing to show up, lack of focus, lateness and not trying your best will result in forfeits. I’m firm but fair, and the punishment is always proportionate, if a little embarrassing. If this doesn’t scare you off, send me an email and let’s discuss your goals.”
Rachel grinned. Burpees, laps, carrying kit – she could handle the odd forfeit. She emailed Carl right away and they arranged a January taster session.
On the morning of the first session, Rachel woke up groggily and groaned. Ten minutes to change and get down there. She texted Carl “Sorry – running late. Be there in 15. R” and stumbled into her new shorts, pulling on a sports bra and cropped t-shirt.
She arrived at her session 20 minutes late, and recognised Carl immediately. He wore a loose t-shirt, dark shorts and bright blue trainers, and had his hands on his hips for real this time.
“Not a good look for the first run-through,” he frowned. “I do expect punctuality.”
“Sorry,” said Rachel, swigging from her new bottle. “I didn’t sleep well. I might need to take it easy this time.”
Carl raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious about getting fit? I have a waiting list of clients – especially at this time of year – so if this isn’t for you, we should cut our losses.”
Rachel spluttered. “No no no – I mean, I AM. I’m sorry about this. It won’t happen again.”
Carl smiled. “It certainly won’t. OK, let’s get going. Star jumps! Keep going until I say stop!”
Rachel sprang into action, flinging her arms up in the cold morning air. Easy! Except Carl seemed to forget about her and stare off into the distance. After two minutes, she was feeling exhausted.
“Carl?” she puffed. “Can I –“
Carl turned round and looked at his watch. “OK, you can switch to butt kicks.”
What? Rachel wanted a break. She scooped up her bottle and took a gulp before jogging on the spot, kicking her bottom with every step. This went on for another two minutes and she began to get irritable, huffing and puffing.
“I don’t think I can –“
“Kick crunches!” announced Carl, and straightened out her arm, pointing it toward her opposite foot. “I want your toes touching your opposite hand with every kick! 60 seconds! Go!”
Rachel’s chest burned and her face felt like a roasted tomato, but she tried to do as her coach asked. After 20 seconds she gave up and grumpily kicked her foot a few inches off the ground.
“Why are you stopping?” asked Carl. “Get those toes up! Up!”
Rachel managed two more, her abdomen groaning, but then gave up and lay in the grass.
Carl tutted. “OK, that’s another forfeit. This is just the warm-up, Rachel! I know you’re a beginner but these are baby moves!”
Rachel mumbled and glugged more water. After a few seconds she sat up.
“I need a gentler start. Like, I dunno, some yoga stretches?”
“You mean you didn’t warm up before you arrived?” Carl frowned. “That’s essential. We don’t want you injured. Afraid I’m adding that to your forfeits too.”
Rachel stood up, frustrated. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Backchat? That’s another one. Dear me,” said Carl. “You’re really racking these up. We’re not even halfway through our session. Still want to keep going?”
“Yes,” said Rachel, determined not to give in. She was still tired but pretty sure she could last another 30 mins. Come on, she thought. You want to be a sack of potatoes watching telly or someone with a fitness routine?
“I’m ready,” she said.
“OK, then we’re going to spend the rest of the session clearing your forfeits,” said Carl. “Let’s start with the lateness. Run round the perimeter twice please.”
The park was not huge, but the outer ring was half a mile. For someone who struggled to jog for a bus, Rachel found the prospect daunting. Nevertheless, she set off.
As she jogged, Rachel dug out a protein sachet she’d popped into her arm pocket, tore off the top and glugged it. Ugh – expensive sludge. She dropped the packet in a bin and continued round, surprised at how well she seemed to be doing. On the second lap, though, the burning started in her chest and her legs began to complain. She found herself breathing through her mouth and downed the rest of her water to relieve the dryness. Somehow, somehow, she made it round and flopped to the ground before her coach.
“Good job!” he enthused. “See? Not so bad.”
“Uhh,” said Rachel, catching her breath.
“Fill up your water bottle and we’ll get onto your lack of warmup.”
Once Rachel had returned, having filled, half-emptied and refilled her bottle from the fountain, Carl took her over to a tree stump in a secluded corner of the park.
“A lack of warm-up is a serious thing,” he said. “If your muscles are cold, you can hurt yourself. Even little kids know that.”
Rachel mumbled something apologetic.
“We’re going to warm you up for your punishment,” said Carl. “Take down your shorts.”
Rachel did a double-take.
“What?”
“Or you can go home and I’ll refund you and that’s the session wasted,” said Carl. “Take down your shorts like a good girl.”
Rachel blushed at the childish treatment. He was serious.
“Are you going to be a big girl about this, or are you going to cry all the way home?” said Carl, his voice steady. “Girls who don’t warm up get their bottoms warmed up for them.”
Rachel looked around. Nobody nearby – just a dog-walker in the distance – and she really did want to prove she could do this. But – oh God, did she have to?
“I’m waiting, Rachel,” said Carl, sitting on the tree stump.
Blushing an even deeper red, Rachel took down her shorts to reveal white knickers.
“That’s very sweet,” grinned Carl. “Those will need to come down too.”
Hesitating, Rachel looked at him pleadingly. She could go home right now. She could.
She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and took down her knickers. The breeze whistled over her clitoris and she realised this was actually turning her on.
“Over my lap,” said Carl. “That’s where a naughty girl like Rachel goes.”
Rachel took another look around and nervously lay across his lap. Carl’s legs were firm and hard, pressing against her belly. She was suddenly aware that she needed the toilet from all that water, and willed herself to hold it.
“A good warmup,” said Carl, “lasts around 10 minutes. So we’re going to give you 10 spanks. Ready?”
Rachel winced in anticipation and nodded.
CRACK.
Carl’s hard hand landed on her bottom.
“Count them,” he instructed.
“Ah! Wuh! One!” she gasped in shock.
WHACK. The second burned on top of the first.
“T-two!” she managed.
WHACK.
“Three!”
CRACK.
“F-f-f!”
“Sorry? Do I need to redo that one?”
“No! FOUR!”
With every spanking, she felt herself growing wetter, especially when she wriggled and his hands pinned her in place. Dizzy, she yelped and squirmed until finally the last slap landed.
“T-TEN! TEN!”
“Good girl!” Carl helped her up. “You can pull up your knickers and shorts now you’re all warmed up. Such a good girl, taking your forfeit so well!”
As Rachel did so, hardly able to look at her coach,] she felt the wind skate over her burning bottom and realised her short-shorts didn’t cover the little red moons peeping out.
Carl chuckled. “Ah, don’t worry. Just one more forfeit to go and then she can take your sore little bottom home.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. Surely he’d had enough fun at her expense! Fine, fine! One more damned forfeit!
“I need the toilet,” she said shyly.
Carl ignored her and rummaged in his bag. “Ah yes, here we are. I keep these for girls who give me backchat, as you did earlier.”
He pulled out a red, yellow and blue dummy with a little clip.
“What?” Rachel backed away.
“Whine like a baby and you get a dummy,” said Carl. “Besides, I saw you mouth-breathing on your run earlier and this should help train you to breathe through your nose. Come on, in we go!”
Rachel’s face was on fire. This was mortifying. A smacked bottom and a dummy? She felt about an inch tall.
“Or we can call the whole thing off just because someone’s a bit grumpy,” teased Carl.
Rachel snatched the dummy from him, paused, then popped it in her mouth.
“Let’s just clip this onto your shirt so you don’t lose it,” he said, and Rachel hoped he hadn’t noticed her hard nipples beneath her top.
“Adorable!” he declared. “OK, run to the edge and back 10 times for me, and then you’re done for today.”
Rachel’s bladder was bursting.
“Cah I go -kuh –“ she began, the dummy blocking her words. She moved to remove it but Carl shook his head.
“That stays in until your run is complete, or it’s another forfeit,” he warned.
“Buh – cah I go -kuh – the koiruh?” Rachel begged.
“The toilet? Absolutely,” said Carl. “As soon as you’ve done your lengths. I’m sure you’re a big enough girl to hold it till then.”
“Buh -!” Rachel whined.
“I’d get going if I were you,” said Carl, gesturing to the edge of the park, and Rachel moaned, her belly groaning as she began to jog.
The first two or three lengths were ok, but Rachel cringed as people passed by and giggled at her dummy. As she turned to run back the first time, a little boy asked his mum why the lady had a red bottom. Rachel sped up to pass them, feeling ridiculous and babyish, as she huffed and puffed along with her smacked bottom and paci on show.
After the sixth back-and-forth, her bladder began to complain more insistently and Rachel’s jog slowed down as she focused on holding it.
“Three more! Don’t you dare stop!” yelled Carl, grinning. “Are you an athlete or a toddler?”
Rachel touched in for the penultimate run and shuffled back out to the fence. But just as she reached it, her body rebelled and with alarm, she felt a warm wetness escape her.
“No no no no no,” she muttered to herself in panic.
“Back to me! Nearly there!” yelled Carl. “Are you in a spot of bother, Rachel? Come here and let Coach look at you!”
For a second Rachel couldn’t move, focusing on stopping any more pee dripping down. A little dark patch appeared on her shorts. Perhaps he’d believe it was sweat? Oh God.
She managed to compose herself and began the slow jog back but just as she neared Carl, a dog barked loudly behind her and she jumped in fright. It was enough. She felt the wetness trickle out of her, then run freely, soaking her shorts as she looked down in dismay. A dark stain covered the fabric as rivers ran down her chilly legs into her shoes. She looked up to see Carl grinning.
“Aww, poor Rachel. Someone have a little accident on her first big-girl run?”
Rachel could only stare, rooted to the spot, as the warm wetness cooled, leaving her standing in sodden shorts. She felt a tear trickle down her cheek.
Carl offered her a towel he’d brought, which she wrapped round herself in shame.
“I think we’ll call that forfeit complete,” he said. “Well done, little Rachel. Someone had a very exciting first session, didn’t she?”
His cooing tone only served to shame Rachel further.
“You can wash and return that next time if you like,” said Carl. “But you should know I don’t allow toilet breaks, so if there is a next time – if you choose to come back – you might want to wear pull-ups. In fact, I insist on it. They’ll look so cute under your shorts and you won’t have such an awkward walk home.”
It was all Rachel could do to nod. She trudged home, squelching in the towel, and it was only when she made it to her bathroom, stripped off the pee-soaked bottoms and looked into the mirror that she realised she still had her dummy in.