Trained for Milking Read online




  Trained for Milking

  Copyright 2013 Mandoline Creme

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, or events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, alive or dead, is completely coincidental.

  ****

  When I walked into the gym that day, it would be fair to say I was a little nervous.

  My brain was rolling, full of the constant reminder that I needed to do this. That I had no choice.

  Well, I thought bitterly, I guess I could just give up the gig.

  My stomach felt cold, and my palms couldn't seem to get dry, no matter how much I rubbed them on my thighs. No, giving up was never an option.

  The facility was brightly lit, but quiet, which struck me as sort of nice. I was used to loud gyms, full of muscle bound men slamming weights, and girls chattering endlessly between college classes. I had picked this place only because the ad had claimed the trainer here would get me results. But, I had to admit, it was a relief to find the place wasn't crammed with people.

  I stood beside the small reception desk, feeling more anxious as I waited. There was no one sitting there, and I didn't know what, exactly, I should do. Rocking on my heels, checking my phone for the tenth time, I was halfway through exiting the doors and trying again later, when someone spoke up.

  “Oh, hey! You must be Freya!”

  Blinking, I glanced up and spotted what was, no doubt, one of the most fit, handsome men I had ever seen in person. He wore only a tank top and long shorts, so his perfectly carved shoulders and bronzed skin were available for me to ogle. If I had been nervous before, now I was flustered.

  He stood there, smiling with brilliant cheer, eyes sharp and alive. Dammit, Freya, say something! I swallowed, licking my lips to wet them. “Um, yeah! Yeah, I'm Freya.” I paused, staring at him stupidly. “You... must be Drake, then?”

  When he laughed, my heart thrilled. God, this guy is seriously hot. Are all personal trainers so sexy? I was smiling helplessly, my nervousness melting away. He extended a hand, and I grabbed it, feeling him squeeze deliciously.

  “You nailed it. Yeah, I'm Drake Cardine, the main trainer here. I hope you weren't waiting long, I was busy finishing another session.” His lips coiled, a look of polite chagrin. How could I have been mad at him?

  Pulling back my hand, I adjusted my bag self consciously and shrugged. “It's not a problem. You uh, you're the main trainer here? Does that mean you won't be able to work with me directly all the time? Am I going to have to be fighting over you with other clients?” I have a goal to reach, and fast, I can't be waiting around while he's with other people.

  Drake shook his head, and I was distracted by how it made the cords in his neck flex. “Don't worry. I read over your information. We'll get you in perfect shape for your fitness model gig.” His eyes twinkled. “You'll have me all to yourself, I'll be on you the entire time.”

  I couldn't, in my honest opinion, have blushed a brighter shade of red at the image that conjured up in my head.

  “That... that sounds great.”

  He laughed once more, then guided me further in to show me the gym.

  ****

  The place was called, simply, 'The Fitness Box.' It didn't seem particularly special, to me, but what did I know? There were treadmills, free weights, and a side room for yoga and such. I looked at it all, and found my confidence starting to slump.

  What could possibly make this place so different that it can get me in shape for that gig I want?

  I shot a covert look to the man who was, apparently, capable of getting me my wish. He's in amazing shape, if that's some indication of what I might expect, then...

  “Freya,” he said, making me jump.

  “Yes?” I adjusted my bag again, having trouble meeting those stark blue eyes. We had stopped by the dressing rooms, clearly at the end of our tour.

  “How long do you have before your gig?”

  Not long enough. “Three weeks, is that enough time?”

  Drake rubbed at his angular cheek, and I watched how his fingers moved. “Hmn. It'll be tight. But, I have an intense regimen that, if you follow perfectly,” he shot a serious look down at me, “should transform you by then.” With that, he melted his hard gaze into a friendly smile, and slapped me on the shoulder. “What do you say? Ready to do this?”

  What other option is there? I need that job. My own smile was weak, but I nodded.

  “Alright, I'll give it everything I've got. I'm ready to change my body.”

  If only I'd known, back then, how much change was really in store.

  ****

  We began immediately.

  I wore some sweat pants, and a tank top, and both were quickly soaked with my sweat. Drake had me jumping onto boxes, squatting with a weight in my hands, and finally running on a tread mill.

  Every time I did anything, he was there, close to my ear, telling me to work harder, push harder, to keep going. His scent, his energy, it was intoxicating. It was also a little distracting, but with how tired I was, I soon ignored how he made my heart pound, since the exercises were doing so even harder.

  I didn't know how long we had been at it, but Drake finally guided me over to a chair beside a small drink bar. Wiping my face with a towel, I watched curiously as he blended up something in a machine, handing me a large cup moments later.

  “Drink up,” he instructed, and I sniffed the liquid uneasily.

  “Do I have to? I'm trying to lose weight, what's in this stuff?” It looked thick, and smelled like vanilla.

  Drake seemed less than impressed by my hesitancy, and he came and sat beside me at the table. “Freya, do you trust me?”

  “Uh,” I started, unsure why he was suddenly so intense. “I mean, I guess I do--”

  “Do you think you know more than me about getting results?”

  “No, I--”

  “Then,” he smiled, a soft gesture in contrast to his brisk words, “listen to me, and drink that shake. You need what's in there, you're going to drink one of these after every work out. All of it, every sip, and quickly.”

  I wondered what he would have done if I didn't. If I, on a lark, had walked away and challenged his authority. For a long moment, we stared each other down.

  In the end, I drank the shake.

  “Good girl,” he beamed, and his compliment made me blush. The shake was tasty, surprisingly. Like sweet cream and hazelnuts. I drained it all down, my stomach aching from the abrupt fullness. But, after exerting myself, I had to admit I felt very relaxed. So relaxed, I could have taken a nap right there.

  “That wasn't bad at all,” I said.

  “I knew you'd like it. So,” he stood up and dusted off his palms. “See you tomorrow, bright and early.”

  There was no time to argue, Drake saluted me and walked off, leaving me to ponder if this whole situation might, eventually, get me what I was aiming for.

  ****

  That night, my dreams were strange.

  I couldn't have explained them, but I was rolling around in thick liquid, warm and sultry. It coated my body, made my skin slick. Everything felt amazing, every inch of my body tingled, and without a thought I rubbed my hands across the hard nipples on my chest.

  Between my thighs, I was already dripping. It was no surprise when I woke up, fingers buried in my panties and my sheets soaked in sweat.

  I didn't recall ever having a wet dream before. I had to admit, it was sort of nice, waking up and just feeling incredibly sexy and aroused.

  Without pause, I rolled my fingers over my already swollen clit, bringing myself to an incredibly fast orgasm. My muscles tensed, my hand slippery with my juices.

  Like in
the dream, my nipples felt tender and delicious, harder than ever before. Twisting them lightly, I arched into another burst of pleasure, wondering if I could actually get myself off again. I didn't have a chance to experiment, my phone suddenly buzzed, pulling me reluctantly from my bliss.

  One glance at the time, and I knew who was calling; Drake. I was late for my work out.

  Flushed, I didn't answer the call, I just hurried out of bed and threw on some yoga pants that seemed a bit tighter than I remembered. My sports bra was confining, as well, rubbing my aching breasts and making me wince. I didn't have time to pick another outfit, though, I didn't want to upset my new trainer more than he probably already was.

  In a skin tight top that showed a little too much cleavage, and pants that highlighted the curves of my ass and hips, I ran from my apartment and hurried down the street to the gym.

  ****

  As I expected, Drake was not pleased.

  He took one look at me, breathless and with my hair a mess, and pointed at the tread mill. “Twenty minutes, go.”

  I hung my head, and didn't waste a second.

  On the machine, I was panting, but there was another problem that presented itself. The friction of my sports bra was distracting, rubbing over my sensitive, hard nipples and making them into little protruding bumps. I caught a look at myself in the mirrors across the room, the way my breasts were bouncing with every step, and I blushed furiously.

  Why am I so turned on today? I was thankful the gym was quiet, there were only one or two other people doing their own thing, so I was spared some humiliation there. As if the fates were against me, that was when Drake came by, arms folded and his muscles flexing.

  His eyes were hot, almost angry as they stared at me. It made me more aware of my body, of how my pants were digging into my ass with every step, my thighs scissoring together. I realized, as my breathing increased and I started to sweat, that I hadn't changed my panties or cleaned up after my morning orgasm.

  Between my legs, my pussy was still soaked, and every motion seemed to be making it worse. My clit, swollen and tingling, was getting rubbed by the slick material as I ran. It was beyond distracting, it was almost obscene. I could see in my reflection the wet patch growing, the material starting to dig into my slit and almost highlight my pussy for anyone watching.

  Oh god, does Drake notice?

  This wasn't like me, I never got so turned on out of the blue. I kept running, as if to escape the growing wetness, the rising tingles shooting into my lower belly, but I each step just took me closer to what I was afraid of.

  I needed to stop running, or I was going to make myself cum.

  Anxiously, I shot a pleading look at Drake, ready to just jump off. His eyes, though, they were sharp as glass. As if reading my mind, he frowned and commanded me with irritation, “don't even try to stop, Freya. We have to make up for time lost, keep going, and faster!”

  I felt insanely ashamed about showing up late, but debated if it was worse to keep running. Was it actually possible for me to orgasm like this? Could my body really be getting that worked up?

  In the mirror, I watched myself, trying to make sense of what I saw. I had been in pretty good shape before, but I was chasing a fitness gig, I needed to tone up. Somehow, though, I thought that my outfit, my cleavage, it all seemed to enhance how I looked. My chest had been alright before, but the way it was bouncing, the bullets of my nipples outlined, I wondered if my breasts didn't look a little... bigger?

  No, that's crazy. Worry about the real things, like how soaked your pussy is getting!

  My cheeks were hot as embers, my panting loud, and not just from exertion. I was visibly excited, and the mounting pressure growing in my lower belly was about to erupt.

  I needed to stop, my clit was getting rubbed faster and faster, but I couldn't. I just couldn't let Drake down.

  The chance to escape was long gone, and with my head hanging down, I grabbed the handles on the treadmill and groaned through clenched teeth. The fire between my thighs spread, seeming to flow down to my toes, and everything tightened as the climax ripped through my body.

  I stumbled, losing my balance, my panties ruined and my thin pants damp from my own juices. Breathing heavy, humiliated and confused, I felt Drake grabbing my shoulders as I still rippled with pleasure. I had cum, and I had cum hard, in public.

  “Freya, are you alright?” He sounded worried, but I couldn't meet his eyes.

  “I'm... I'm fine,” I muttered, shaking as I let him help me off the machine. I nearly collapsed, but he guided me to a chair, where I sat down and blushed furiously as I felt my panties squish with my cum. Drake bent down, looking into my face, forcing me to stare at him.

  “Hey, sorry, I pushed you too hard.” His hand rested on my knee, and I trembled. “Take a moment, and we'll start up again, okay?”

  Swallowing, I nodded quickly. “Sure, yeah, alright.”

  I watched him stand, walking away to get me some water. Looking around, I thought one of the other people in the gym had been staring at me, but they darted their eyes away and I couldn't be sure. Frowning, I casually tried to adjust my sports bra, acutely feeling the material sliding over my breasts.

  Worse, there was no way to fix the juicy wetness from my orgasm, and my pants were clearly soaked. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't run away, not now. Drake returned, offering me a cup of water that I chugged gratefully.

  “So, let's try this again.” His smile was gentle. “Let's go do some light weights.”

  I should have said no, but I didn't.

  ****

  The workout was only slightly better.

  He had me facing the mirror, telling me it was to check my form. Every time I pressed the small dumbbells over my head, I moaned softly, the tight bra straining over my chest. I was sure, now, that I felt more 'swollen' all over than yesterday. I wondered if it was just from working out, somehow, or retaining water.

  When Drake finally let me stop, I was relieved. Staring at the firm shape of my nipples, and the gleaming sweat on my heaving cleavage was extremely embarrassing. Somehow, though, he never commented on it.

  What a professional. I wonder if he got hot and bothered watching me at all?

  Together, we sat, and I chugged the thick shake without argument. I was starving, and feeling burnt.

  “So, tomorrow,” he said, scratching at his hair as if he had reason to feel chagrin, “don't be late. Got it?”

  “Yeah,” I sighed, adjusting in the chair and wondering how much of the liquid coating me was sweat or cum, “I won't. I promise.”

  ****

  In my dream, Drake was kissing me. His mouth was hot, his fingers sliding down my curves and making me gasp. His touch was perfect, amazing; he seemed to know my body more than I did.

  He explored my neck, my long hair, licked the curve of my ear.

  It wasn't until he started fondling my breasts that I truly understood this was a dream. My chest was huge, pliant and resilient. These were not breasts, no, these were massive tits.

  His palms were swallowed by my creamy flesh, brushing my hard pink tips until I cried out. Everything was warm, everything was wet.

  When he suckled me, and I felt the sensation of milk flowing free, I woke up with a surprised yelp.

  Staring at my ceiling, trying to come out of the fog, I still felt the lingering sensation of his lips on my chest. Absently, I touched the front of my night shirt, not expecting to feel anything different. The roundness, the way my skin swelled, and the dampness soaking the material...

  I jumped up, gasping and wide eyed as I fondled my breasts.

  “Impossible,” I murmured out loud, cupping the larger mounds. I knew I wasn't dreaming, but still, this clearly couldn't be real. My mind buzzed, trying to understand, until I finally flew from my bed.

  In front of my mirror, I lifted my shirt, confirming my disbelief. My chest was, indeed, at least another cup size larger. Testing one of my bras made it all the more real when
I couldn't clasp it shut. “Fuck,” I breathed, shaking my head and making my long strands of hair tickle over my tingling breasts. “Fuck, fuck!”

  Turning away, I felt my thighs, coated in slippery liquid, and paused to reach between. In the process, I bumped my protruding clit, giving a passionate hiss. My dream came to mind, Drake's touch, his kisses, and I knew I was still reeling from the erotic images.

  There was no time for any of that though. I pulled my hand free with a grimace, resisting the urge to roll on my bed and tease an orgasm free. I had to do something, I had to figure out how to fix this sudden, random growth...

  The ring of my phone made me jump, eliciting a moan when my new breasts jostled. They were far too sensitive, like every cell was begging for attention. Grabbing my phone, I almost didn't answer until I saw the name.

  Drake.

  Clicking the button, I flinched at the tone of his voice. “Freya! Where are you? You're fifteen minutes late!”

  “I'm sorry, I know, I just--”

  “No excuses, do you want that fitness gig or not?”

  “Of course I do, but--”

  “No, no complaining. Get down here now, or our contract is through. I won't let you make me look bad by failing.”

  The click of the phone disconnecting made my stomach drop, my skin cold and clammy. I couldn't possibly work out like this, could I?

  My guilt, my sense of never giving up, it was strong. With a resigned sob, I pulled my night clothes free, feeling the air on my anxious body. My normal bras didn't fit, but my sports bras could stretch. Still, it was a chore getting it on, and my cleavage was obscenely deep. If I wasn't careful, my nipples would be exposed out of the top.

  My only option was to throw on a large shirt, which I combined with a pair of shorts. It would have to do, because Drake was already upset, and I didn't have time to make a new plan.