Chapter 9 #2
“Mr. Walton wants you in the gym,” he announced, opening a drawer and removing what looked like a pair of pink athletic shoes and a sports bra to match. “These should fit you.”
I set the book aside. “Do I get, you know, actual workout clothes?”
Rudy shook his head. “Not necessary for today’s session.”
In the hallway, I followed him to an elevator I hadn’t seen before. We descended one floor, then walked down another corridor until we reached a set of double doors. Rudy pushed them open to reveal a state-of-the-art private gymnasium with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
“Remove your diaper,” Rudy instructed, his tone matter-of-fact. “Mr. Walton prefers you exercise unencumbered.”
I stared at him, momentarily forgetting my new resolve to play along. “You want me to work out naked?”
“Those are my instructions. Nothing but the bra and the shoes.” His expression remained impassive, professional.
I hesitated, then slowly removed the diaper, feeling strangely vulnerable without the bulky padding I’d come to associate with my new identity. Rudy took it from me and dropped it in a bin near the door.
“We’ll start with a five-minute cardio warm-up on the treadmill,” he said, guiding me toward the machine. “Then bodyweight circuits. Mr. Walton wants you in peak physical condition.”
I climbed onto the treadmill, acutely aware of my nudity except for the bra, which seemed to make my nakedness from waist to knees even more embarrassing.
As the treadmill started its gentle warm-up pace, I couldn’t help wondering what Georgia Jones would think about this situation.
The prim and proper teenage detective from my childhood books, working out basically naked while a huge, muscular man watched her every move?
The thought seemed so incongruous it almost made me laugh, despite my humiliation.
But then my mind wandered down a darker path. What if Georgia’s new husband—the one from my earlier fantasy—had specific ideas about her fitness regime? What if he’d told her personal trainer that he was allowed certain… liberties with his new bride?
I imagined Georgia, innocent and shy, being informed by her husband that her personal trainer would be helping her ‘release tension’ after workouts. Her protests silenced with a stern look and a reminder that she’d promised to obey.
The fantasy grew more vivid as I ran. Georgia, reluctantly following her trainer’s instructions to get on her yoga mat.
The muscular man positioning her on her hands and knees, face down, ass up.
Her husband sitting in a leather chair across the gym, watching with cool detachment as the trainer dropped his shorts and positioned himself behind the young bride.
“Your husband wants you to learn to please different men,” the trainer would tell her as he thrust inside, making Georgia cry out in shock and unwanted pleasure. “He’s training you to be the perfect little fuck toy.”
And Georgia’s husband would just watch, maybe sipping whiskey, as another man used his wife, his property, his little girl…
I nearly stumbled on the treadmill as I realized where my thoughts had gone. What was wrong with me? Why was I fantasizing about this?
Even worse, I found myself stealing glances at Rudy as he stood nearby, monitoring my workout.
His muscles strained against his tight black t-shirt, powerful thighs evident beneath his tactical pants.
Would Jax—my daddy—ever share me with his men?
The thought sent an unexpected thrill through my body that I couldn’t entirely suppress.
“Increase the pace,” Rudy instructed, reaching past me to adjust the treadmill settings. His arm brushed mine, and I felt a jolt of awareness at the contact.
“Yes, sir,” I responded automatically, my breathing quickening both from the increased exertion and my inappropriate thoughts.
Rudy’s eyebrow rose slightly at my use of ‘sir,’ but he said nothing.
For the next twenty minutes, he put me through a series of exercises—squats, lunges, push-ups—all performed without a stitch of clothing below my waist. I felt my body responding to the workout, sweat glistening on my skin as my muscles warmed.
Throughout it all, Rudy maintained his professional demeanor, correcting my form with clinical touches and curt instructions. But once or twice, I thought I caught his gaze lingering on my freshly shaved pussy or the curve of my ass as I bent into a downward dog position.
“Final set,” he announced, positioning me in front of a full-length mirror. “Fifteen glute bridges, then we’re done.”
I stared at my reflection, flushed and sweaty, as I lowered myself to the mat. The position required me to lie on my back, knees bent, feet flat on the floor. As I pushed my hips upward for the first repetition, I couldn’t help noticing how the movement exposed me completely.
“Higher,” Rudy instructed, his large hand suddenly on my lower back, guiding me into a more pronounced arch. “Mr. Walton wants your glutes and core strengthened.”
“Why?” I gasped, completing the third repetition.
Rudy’s expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes. “Mr. Walton believes a disciplined body leads to a disciplined mind. And he wants you… prepared for whatever he requires of you.”
The implication sent a shameful heat through my core that had nothing to do with the exercise. By the time I finished the set, my thighs were trembling not just from exertion.
“Good work,” Rudy said, offering me a towel. “Time to get you cleaned up for the seamstress.”
He led me to a shower area at the back of the gym. Unlike the bathroom attached to my bedroom, this space was completely open, with multiple showerheads along a tiled wall and no privacy curtains.
“Shower thoroughly,” Rudy instructed, leaning against the wall. “Pay special attention to where you’ve been sweating most.”
I stepped under the spray, turning my back to him as I reached for the soap.
The water felt heavenly against my heated skin, washing away the sweat and tension.
I tried to focus on the physical sensations, to block out the knowledge that Rudy was watching me soap my breasts, my stomach, between my legs.
“Don’t forget your bottom,” he called out, his voice echoing in the tiled space. “Your daddy is very particular about cleanliness there.”
My cheeks burned as I reached behind to wash my ass, knowing he could see everything. I rinsed quickly, eager to be done with this public display.
When I finished, Rudy handed me a fluffy pink towel. I dried myself hastily, expecting him to re-diaper me as Mateo had done. Instead, he handed me a short pink robe.
“The seamstress will need access to your measurements,” he explained as I belted the robe around my waist. “Your daddy wants you to wear this until she’s finished.”